I'm just a girl

"I need a little fresh air and a latte." ----- She/her pronouns, 21

[ifsf]

AAAAA! I finally watched Agatha!

It was so fucking good! I will not be able to stop thinking about it for a while. I'm obsessed.

AND AUBREY PLAZA. She was so good, AND she looked amazing the whole time!

[ifsf]

I wanted to rewatch basically immediately. But now, to get the most, I'm thinking I rewstch WandaVision and Doctor Strange....

But then I thought; I might as well just rewatch everything with Wanda

[redeemingvillains]

the hit list - mattheo riddle - sneak peek!

"Girls come and go," Theo said, "But boys are forever" he smirked, raising his glass as they all shared a toast. Mattheo had at least had the decency to press a kiss to your cheek, which made you think you were somehow exempt, above their rule of law and the loyalty that held them together. You stopped pacing and slumped into your chair as you stared out the window, tears drying as you watched the late spring sun settle into the highlands. Slowly, ever so slowly as you watched it disappear, setting the world in an unforgiving darkness, your agony gave way to something new, something iron hot. You stood, grabbed your quill, and ripped a piece of parchment haphazardly as you steadied yourself enough to write with such force you nearly tore through the page. 1. Blaise 2. Draco 3. Lorenzo 4. Theo A slow smile crested your lips.

[puddlesoffrogs]

BARK BARK BARRRRRRRRKKKK tear him to flippin shreds

[peachesmendes-deactivated201903]

“don’t double text”

i will deadass send you ten messages in a row on completely different topics

[illbegottenfaith]

least sought after girl in the land (a My Man on His Willpower inspired fic)

your boyfriend on his self-help kick is something you don't understand

a/n - mannn its rlly been way too long i completely forgot how i format my fics hehe, i started this fic when i was taking a socrates/self-help class in fall 2025 (around the release of mbf) so this is a loooong time coming heh (this fic is totally not a way for me to flex my self-help module wdym wdym 😛😛😛) anyways pls be nice its my first fic in a long while tyty

tropes/warnings - some mildly suggestive content, established lovers, comedyyyy

word count - 3.5k

taglist - @kandralice @justme989898 @iamheretoread1234 @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @user089167 @lillytrannn

The greenhouse was nearly empty. The air still smelled faintly of damp earth and crisp sprouts from the lesson earlier, and the humidity wasn't doing your hair any favours. Still, you appreciated the pleasant warmth underneath the glare of the steadily intensifying sun as dusk grew nearer. The only sound was the soft scrape of your knife against the shrivelfig’s skin. It was therapeutic.

That is, until a familiar arm snaked around your waist, tugging you flush against robes softened from wear, with a faint, lingering scent of cedar.

“Nott,” you admonished, albeit half-heartedly. “You're going to make me cut my thumb off.”

“And yet,” Theo murmured into your hair, voice low, "you haven't." He nestled his head into the crook of your neck, watching idly as you sliced. "Shall I try again?"

You elbowed him lightly, swallowing a smile. “Alright, smartass. Don’t hover. You’ll make me nervous.”

"I make you nervous?"

Clearly, you hadn't elbowed him hard enough the first time. Theo stifled a groan, making an indignant sound in the back of his throat. "So when I hover, it's a nuisance, but when it's you - "

"That's different. I possess sensibilities and faculties you don't."

"Such as?"

You held up your knife.

"The ability to not cut my thumb off."

Theo rolled his eyes, ducking his head to press a chaste kiss to the knuckle of your thumb before you resumed your work.

"So," you said, flinging the skin off the fig, "I take it N.E.W.T level materials are to your liking?"

"Yes. That, and the new class I'm taking."

You looked up. “New?”

Theo finally pulled away, turning to lean against the worktable beside you. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the underside of the table.

"Self-Cultivation and the Subconscious Mind."

You furrowed your brow as you tried to place the professor.

"By Trelawney."

You stared at him, your hands slowing to a stop.

"Please tell me you're doing a bit."

Theo swept up your shavings, suddenly very interested in your cutting board.

“You’re joking. Trelawney? Trelawney? Pseudo-crystal-balls, scammy-tea-leaf-readings Trelawney?"

Theo gave you a look. “Alright, cool it with the attitude."

You snorted. “Self-cultivation,” you repeated, somewhat mockingly, slicing your next shrivelfig with exaggerated care. “She's hardly cultivated herself, if you ask me.”

"Well, her syllabus is solid," Theo argued. "She's touching on continental philosophy, East Asian rituals, and look - not one word about her beloved Cassandra."

It's a poor attempt at a joke, one you didn't bother laughing at. You watched his impassioned face a little uncertainly. Neither of you was new to Trelawney's elaborate yet hollow hocus pocus. It was just like her to take advantage of the vulnerable. And as much as Theo hated admitting it, self-improvement was something he was touchy about. You imagined it had something to do with the tension between his arrogance and his desire to be a better man than his father.

And yet...his eyes held a gleam you'd never seen before.

Despite your well-founded skepticism, you relented.

“You’re sure?”

Theo gave a half-shrug.

“I think I could stand to change a few things,” he said simply.

You paused, caught off guard by the sincerity. For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the greenhouse and the slow, deliberate scrape of your knife against the cutting board.

You didn't walk around with the impression that you had the world's most perfect boyfriend. As sweet as Theo could be when he wasn't trying to hide that side of him, he was guaranteed to drive you up the wall every now and then. Still, you didn't like this idea. It felt...foreign. It made your tongue sit weird in your mouth.

You could feel him watching you intently. You felt ridiculous; you were clearly overreacting. It was just school. You mentally shook yourself, reaching for another shrivelfig.

How much could a person truly change?

"Well," you said, keeping your voice clear, slicing through the fig, "if that's what you want."

Theo gave a distracted nod, a slight frown creasing his forehead. You put your knife down, scooping your figs into a jar.

“No Cassandra?” you mused with a teasing lilt to lighten the mood. "Whatever will she talk about?"

Theo's lips quirked, his eyes picking up a familiar slant that evoked funny feelings in your chest.

"Hardy har har, you're hilarious. Now hurry up with your figs. Dinner's started and I'm starving."

Making a face at the end of your last look-through, you flipped over the parchment. Your essay was finally done, and the next one wasn't due until a week later. That left you with a good, stress-free 6-and-a-half-day break before you had to start on that one. You rolled out your joints, from your elbows to your knuckles, and stretched your back.

From your desk, you looked over to where Theo was lying on your bed in what looked to be a considerably more comfortable position. It had been a few weeks since Trelawney's class had started, but the dedication with which he stayed on top of it suggested that the novelty of the subject had yet to wear off for him.

Even now, he lay slumped with a hand propping his head up, eyes lidded, engrossed in some unreasonably heavy tome with a waning attention giving way to sleep. Somewhat unethically, you drank in the sight of his eyebags, mussed hair and unbuttoned shirt from your vantage point. Exhaustion looked ridiculously good on him.

"I'm calling it a night," you announced, placing your quill down.

When Theo didn't even stir, you tried again.

"You've been reading that for ages. You're going to spoil your beautiful, perfect eyes reading that long."

He finally looked up at the mention of his beautiful, perfect eyes - self-absorbed prat that he was - his mouth curving into a sloping smile. He flipped a page.

"You worry too much."

"Occupational hazard of dating someone whose idea of fun is having his skull smashed open by a Bludger."

Theo's smile faltered. He looked tired in more ways than one.

"I keep telling you, the idea is to avoid the Bludgers."

"Thirty percent of professional Quidditch players suffer from significant brain damage by the end of their career," you argued earnestly, not without some anxiety. Theo stared at you.

"You have got to stop listening to the WWN," he muttered, glancing back at his book. You shifted in your chair, turning to face him.

"What are you reading anyway?"

Theo sighed. "Further reading for Trelawney's class." He pulled away from the book, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. "She already has us thinking about our final projects. "

You shook your head. "I still can't wrap my head around how you're taking her so seriously. Have you forgotten when you thought she sabotaged your Divination final?"

He suppressed a groan. "Don't."

"Because I haven't."

"Yeah, I know, Y/N."

"You were so convinced it was a trick teacup or something."

"Never have I ever seen tea leaves behave that w- " he began heatedly, stopping only at the sight of your ill-disguised amusement.

"Oh. I see how it is." Theo finally shut the book and set it aside. His eyes were suddenly bright in the candlelight. A thrill ran through you. "Trying to get a rise out of me, L/N?"

You shrugged coyly, nibbling at a fingernail.

"Me? Get a rise out of you?"

You were laying the faux innocence on a little thick, but Theo's bedroom eyes were finally fixed on something other than that book - rather appreciatively, too. You stood and padded towards him. He instinctively grabbed your wrist, his thumb dragging over your pulse point.

"I thought you were too spiritually evolved to be bothered by uneducated mortals like me."

His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline alarmingly fast. He tugged you down onto his lap, and you let him, a giddy feeling somersaulting in your stomach. His arm caught your waist, his nose brushed your temple, and once again, he was the Theo you knew and loved - the one who couldn't go two minutes without having his hands on you.

Theo's mouth found yours as he toyed with the hem of your blouse. His teeth grazed your lower lip. It felt comfortable, familiar - at least, it almost did. As you tangled your hands in his hair, a faint, smoky scent sliced through the hazy heat.

It hit you like a ton of bricks. It was the same foreign scent that clung to his books, his notes, his quills. Something earthy and woody and wholly unwelcome, as far as you were concerned.

"Teddy," you gasped before you could stop yourself, momentarily agitated.

Theo's hands barely slowed. He hummed against your skin.

"Hmm?"

But how to say it? You couldn't find the words to express the frustration choking you. This class clearly meant a lot to him. What if you hurt his feelings? Or worse, what if you drove him away?

And now he was close, impossibly close. He was pressing a kiss to the stuttering pulse point under your jaw. You tightened your hold on him, rigid and confused by the thoughts plaguing your head.

"You smell like sandalwood," you murmured hesitantly instead. Like incense. You gave a shaky breath of laughter. His mouth was already moving again, slow and deliberate. You kissed him back, harder this time, anything to knock the thought clean out of your head.

The sour scent lingered in the air, looming ominously in the back of your mind.

Every relationship goes through its slumps, don't they?

At least, that was what you spent the next couple of weeks trying to convince yourself. You couldn't be insufferably, madly in love, ripping each other's clothes off forever. It was only natural that Theo was starting to feel a little distant from you. It was only natural that the two of you were drifting to opposite sides of the bed. It was only natural that you were punching the air, repressing the urge to scream into your pillow, every night.

But no matter - there were 7 ways to liven up a romance again, and number 5 was shocking (according to Witch Weekly).

You gave yourself one last look over before heading out. This was much silkier and clingier than what you were used to wearing, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

You stepped out of the bathroom. Theo was sitting up in your bed, engaging in his now all too familiar routine of some 'light' bedtime reading.

"Remember that time in Florence, where you were reading that map wrong? Well, here Epictetus says - "

You cleared your throat.

The words died at his lips once he glanced up, finally registering the pointed look you were giving him. His breath hitched. Surprise flickered across his face.

"You look...different."

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him expectantly. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked uncomfortable.

"You know what Epictetus had to say about desires?"

Was he being serious right now?

You huffed, seeing where this was going. "I don't know and I don't care."

"That we must master them before they master us."

You stared at Theo blankly. It was all you could do to not roll your eyes in his face. Witch Weekly hadn't mentioned what to do with a boyfriend high on self-help. You deflated, feeling his interest in your pajamas, if any, waning with every passing word.

"Who?" you asked tiredly.

"Epictetus. Originally a slave boy to Epaphroditus, secretary to Nero, he was a philosopher who inspired the likes of Marcus Aurelius and..."

You didn't respond. As unsupportive as it was, you had begun tuning him out a lot more lately. You were starting to get very sick of the idea of some old, long-gone Greek guy dictating your sex life.

Theo didn't seem to catch the hint until you were climbing under the covers, muttering under your breath, fumbling for your eye mask in your nightstand.

"Good, different-good, is what I meant," he tried, but it was too little too late. You found your mask and put it on, turning your back to him. You could feel him draw closer, his hand tentatively coming to your waist, his thumb dragging across the fabric.

"Can't I get another look? Please?"

"I'm not in the mood anymore, Theodore."

Theo winced. He was really in the doghouse.

"I'm sorry. Can we try this again? I'll - "

You sat up, ripping off your eye mask.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not letting you read all night. I'm sorry for distracting you from your favourite class. I'm sorry I have desires." Theo had said none of those things, but this was quickly becoming one of those petty fights where you were a little more dramatic than you needed to be. It was stupid, but you were beginning to feel the familiar sting of hot tears pricking your eyes. "I'm sorry I'm not as hot or attractive as Epictetus."

To his credit, Theo looked appropriately dismayed. For the first time in weeks, you had no doubt he understood exactly how you were feeling. You were finally on the same page - just a horrible one.

"Y/N - "

"I'm tired, Theo," you said, sinking back into the bed. "I just want to get some sleep."

Your anger, as hot and quick as it had come, was already dissipating. Fleeting though it was, it had been sapping all the same. You weren't sure if it was the irritation, the uncomfortably warm blanket, or the past couple of weeks, but you were left feeling drained. You mumbled into your pillow as your eyes fluttered shut.

"Let's talk in the morning. Okay?"

You didn't wait for a reply as you drifted off.

A couple days before the end of the semester, you were making daisy chains with your friends in a corner of the Great Hall for May Day baskets. Well, Ivy and Melissa were making daisy chains. You were ripping up the smaller flowers that they were too slow to scoop out of your reach. Your friends, bless them, had been more than patient, but it didn't seem to help. The longer you went without talking Theo's ear off, the tetchier you became, and neither of you wanted to admit you were beginning to avoid each other. It was a hopeless, dismal situation that was doing your head in.

Melissa watched you rip off the petals of yet another daisy with a forlorn expression.

"You and Theo still not talking?"

You rolled your eyes.

"Why wouldn't we be talking?" you spat out bitterly, for what had to be the hundredth time. You picked up a couple of undamaged stalks and began weaving them together with a slightly manic energy.

"I should be soooo lucky to have a partner like him. My boyfriend...is empathetic. My boyfriend...is in touch with his emotions! My boyfriend..."

Your finger slipped. You crumpled up your daisy chain, relishing the ache in your white-knuckle grip.

"My boyfriend won't touch me with a twenty-foot pole, actually. And I'm sick of it."

You released your crushed creation, and stared at it. You were a little sorry to have destroyed so many perfectly good flowers.

"Aw, Y/N," Ivy petted. "Don't sulk. I'm sure it'll all turn out fine. Just give him time."

You lifted your head, a moody expression on your face. "I'm not sulking," you sulked. You shifted the beheaded daisies around disinterestedly. "I just want my boyfriend back."

You felt a hand settle on your shoulder, and you glanced up. Speak of the devil.

"Hey."

Theo was wearing a soft blue sweater, scrunched at the elbow in this sometimes-hot, sometimes-chilly weather. You turned your back to him, carefully picking out the next daisy.

"Ivy," Melissa said, "I think the table's getting a little full. Let's take the finished chains upstairs."

Ivy looked up. The daisy chains stacked on her head teetered dangerously.

"What do you mean? We've got plenty of room. Just put them on - ow, ow, okay, I'm coming."

While Melissa dragged Ivy away, Theo's fingers slipped off your shoulder as he sat next to you. His legs faced outwards while yours were crossed underneath the table. Good. At least you didn't have to look at his stupid face.

Theo's knee bounced restlessly. "Do you want to talk?"

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes.

"Talk about what?"

He thought for a moment.

"Maybe why you're so...pissed."

Unbelievable. He could not be this dense. You finally snapped.

"I hate your stupid fucking self-help class!"

"Okay, wow. That's...that's something."

"It is so full of shit. You are so full of shit. I don't even recognise you anymore. And - you wanna know something? Not once have I complained, or criticised or, or, or critiqued you, but now all of a sudden you're too good to sleep with me?"

"I never thought I was - "

"I've never cared how perfect you are, or how perfect you could be."

"Well, I'm not trying to be perfect."

Theo's eyes were shifty, and the patience in his voice was strained. You closed your eyes, trying to pick the right words jumbled in your frazzled state of mind. What was going to get the message through that thick head of his?

"Do you remember," you murmured, after a moment, "that pick up line you fed me at the Yule Ball, in our fourth year? The one you dragged Blaise along for?"

Theo scoffed lightly. You had a feeling the memory embarrassed him. You pressed on.

"You said something about...right. You said you heard that I liked bad boys. And you made Blaise say that - "

All these years later, the memory still pulled a wry smile onto your face.

"That you were the worst. It was...awful, really. It has to be one of the worst pick up lines ever. It doesn't even make any sense."

You opened your eyes.

"But it was sweet. It was you. Like that other time we were having a fight, and you were following me everywhere, begging to talk, and I kept saying I didn't want to talk to you, so you said -

"Can you want to talk to me."

You looked up. For the first time in weeks, there was a softness in his eyes that convinced you that you really were on the same page.

"So you do remember."

Theo's mouth twitched. He gently skimmed a daisy chain between the two of you.

"Kind of hard to forget." He tilted his head and sighed, almost wistfully, staring at the rafters of the Great Hall. "I'd be dead and buried before I forget anything about you."

You covered his hand. When his eyes met yours, stormy with conflict, you had the odd sensation of deja vu. There was something so familiar about this place, one that you would surely visit again and again. It felt like falling in love with him all over again. Like once again making the promise to coax him out of his tortured shell.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to improve yourself." You finally thawed, leaning into Theo, resting your head against his shoulder. "But it's scary to think a better version of you is a version without...me."

You felt Theo's chest rise as he sucked in a breath between his teeth.

"Don't say that."

"But it's true."

"No. How could you - " You lifted your head as Theo turned to face you. His eyes were fraught, rheumy, and he looked as though he were turning purple with all the unsaid things he didn't know how to get out.

"Before I knew anything about, you know, what I wanted to do, or who I wanted to be, I knew I wanted you."

You didn't know what to say. You rested your head on his shoulder. Theo pulled you closer.

"I'm always going to want you, Y/N," he said softly. From here, you could hear his heart hammering in his chest. The adrenaline, the panic - it was the most real Theo had been in weeks. "It's the only thing I know how to do."

As the two of you grew silent, you marvelled at how comfortably your cheekbone rested just above his collarbone, how your shoulder fit in the dip of his chest, how perfectly the two of you slotted against each other. There was something that was - and always would be - so familiar about Theo. You thought about your afternoons in the common room, your Hogsmeade dates, and every evening that ended just like this - head on his chest, eyes too heavy with sleep to open. It was a wonder there wasn't a depression in the shape of you carved into his chest. You'd stay there forever.

"So this is it, then," you mumbled.

"What?"

"You and me."

Theo flipped his hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, sniffling gently.

"Looks like it."

You sat up suddenly, having just remembered something.

"Aren't you allergic to pollen?"

"Very."

[obsessedwithceleste]

Love Lies

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw! reader

Based on this request 🫶🏽

Summary: You’re just as confused as everyone else when your mortal enemy wakes up fully convinced that you’re the love of his life. (Spoiler alert: literally no one else was surprised)

word count: 5.2k

©obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted, translated, or copied in any way or form. I do not consent to any of my content being fed to ai bots or programs of any kind.

It was cold and windy and wet as you stepped off the quidditch pitch, rain soaking you to your core. Thank Rowena you didn’t have to play an actual match in this weather. No, that honor went to the Slytherins and Gryffindors and you did not envy them at all, regular practice was enough for you.

As you make your way back to the locker rooms you see students and staff already beginning to fill the open stands and shake your head with pity. No amount of drying or warming charms were going to make it a comfortable match to sit through.

Just as you're about to turn into the locker rooms you feel yourself jerk back as a green robed shoulder slams past you, nearly knocking you off your feet.

“Watch it dolcezza,” a familiar voice slurs over the rain, condescension dripping from his words.

Despite your better judgement, you turn to find yourself facing none other than Theodore fucking Nott, broom in hand, and signature cocky smirk pasted across his face. God you hated that boy.

“Call me sweet again you pompous git,” you snap, glaring up at the Slytherin.

“Why waste my breath on you?” He retorts, matching your steely gaze, his lip curling up in a sneer.

You had never gotten along with Theodore. It was no secret among your classmates that the two of you hated each other. Despite being in many of the same NEWT level courses, sharing a love for quidditch, and both of you basically residing in the Hogwarts library, you simply could not tolerate one another’s presence.

It was strange perhaps, you’d done the analyzation yourself. By all accounts you two should probably be friends. But no amount of similarities or shared interests could make up for the fact that Theodore Nott was an insufferable, arrogant arse who only cared about maintaining his perfectly curated reputation.

"You're right Theodore, save a tree a bit of work why don't you. Rowena knows that tree is doing more for the world than you are," you reply coldly.

Theo opens his mouth to respond, but for maybe the first time ever, you see the boy falter, if only for a split second, before he's back to his usual stoic self. He scoffs.

"Just forget it, you're not worth it," he mutters under his breath, rolling those pretty blue eyes as he turns to go.

You shake your head at the boy, scoffing yourself.

"Yeah, do your best to forget me Nott, because I won't hesitate to forget you."

"Don't be mad."

"Just hear us out."

Oh dear god. As soon as you hear the combined voices of Mattheo Riddle and Lorenzo Berkshire, you know that you're about to be in for a ride. You look cautiously up at the pair from your seat in the library, on edge because wherever these two were, Theodore was sure to be nearby.

"He's not here if that's what you're worried about," Lorenzo offers with a nervous smile.

It's the kind of smile you would offer a skittish cat that you've cornered in hopes it doesn't bolt, and you had an unfortunate feeling that you were the cat in this scenario. Still you feel your shoulders relax a bit as the two carefully sit down at the table across from you.

"So uh. We heard about your, ah, little tiff, with Theo today," Lorenzo starts out awkwardly, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the castle at this moment.

"Bloody tosser never shuts up about you," Mattheo mutters so quietly you almost miss it.

You raise in eyebrow at the two boys in front of you, waiting for them to get to the point as Lorenzo gives Mattheo a sharp jab to the ribcage.

"Anyway," Lorenzo continues a bit too loudly, "There was a bit of an incident at the quidditch match today."

"Yeah, Slytherin lost. Again. I heard," you cut in, trying to wrap this up.

"Okay, ouch," Mattheo mutters once more, earning a glare from both you and Lorenzo.

"Did you also happen to hear that Theo was knocked of his broom?" Lorenzo asks.

Oh shit. As much as you couldn't stand Theodore, it's not as if you wanted the boy to get hurt. And you knew from personal experience, any quidditch injury should be taken rather seriously. But then, why were Theodore's two best friends sitting here in the library with you and not in the hospital wing with him?

You narrow your eyes at the boys across from you.

"So what does this all have to do with me? Nothing good could possibly come of you two starting the conversation with 'don't be mad' and 'just hear us out'."

Lorenzo fidgets nervously, shifting in his seat and Mattheo refuses to make eye contact with you. You truly had never seen the ever stone cold Slytherin boys look so wildly uncomfortable before.

"He got knocked out and when he woke up he was convinced the two of you are madly in love," Lorenzo rushes out, flinching back as if waiting for you to yell at him.

"And now the smitten tosser is requesting the presence of his beloved. He's really torn up about it too," Mattheo adds looking the most serious he’d been, probably ever.

But you were having none of it.

"Alright, hahaha, you almost had me there, you two actually sounded pretty sincere for a bit, but seriously it's not funny anymore. There's simply no reality where Theodore is in love with me, that's disgusting and I'm not stupid."

Mattheo and Lorenzo glance at each other with knowing looks before sighing in unison.

"On Salazar's good name, we are not lying or joking about this," Mattheo says solemly.

"And we didn't want to involve you in this whole thing anyway. We know about how well you and Theo get along. It's just that Madam Pomfrey is concerned that, until she's able to brew something to get Theo's head back on right, any world crushing stress or shock might have lasting, long-term psychological effects or what have you," Lorenzo finishes, emphasizing his last point rather strongly.

You continue to stare at the two boys in front of you as if their heads had been replaced by hippogriffs, slowly understanding what they were asking of you.

“Oh absolutely not. There’s literally no way. I’m not going up there.”

You hated the smell of the hospital wing. It was far too... sterile. Unnervingly so. The last hour of your life had been a blur and frankly you still weren't entirely sure how Lorenzo and Mattheo had managed to wrangle you all the way up to the hospital wing, but here you were.

As you make your way to the large double doors that lead into the infirmary, you send one last pointed glare to the pair of Slytherins behind you before turning, steeling yourself as you prepare for the worst.

The first thing you notice when you enter the brightly lit room is how strangely peaceful it is. As you quietly approach the rows of narrow hospital beds, the second thing you notice is how normal Theodore looks lying there asleep. There's no snarling lips, raised eyebrows, or biting words, it's just Theo. Tilting your head a bit, you're able to really admire the boy for the first time, not worrying about what insult he's going to throw at you next. He actually was rather attractive, you could see why so many of your classmates practically threw themselves at his feet. Maybe you would too if he weren't such an insufferable prat.

Just as you’re about to finally feel a bit more at ease, Theodore has to go and ruin it, because of course he does, by shifting a bit in his bed, eyes fluttering before settling softly on you.

“Morning dolcezza, finally come to see me hm?” he asks, lips curling up into a sickeningly sweet smile. You can see the adoration in his eyes as he looks up at you.

It should’ve been a sweet moment. Something straight out of a romance movie perhaps, but all you could hear was the way he had snarled ‘dolcezza’ at you earlier that day. Nothing but hatred and malice on his face. Not, this. Whatever it was.

“Please don’t call me that,” you blurt out, your body subconsciously stiffening, ready for whatever Theodore was about to throw back at you.

Instead though, he looks hurt. A frown flickers across his face making him look like a kicked puppy and you instantly feel a wave of guilt crash over you.

What the hell had happened out on that quidditch pitch.

Before the situation could get any more uncomfortable than it already was, Madame Pomfrey saves the day as she comes whisking into the hospital wing to check up on her charge.

“Hello dearie, you must be the one Mr. Nott has been going on about all evening,” she says with a knowing glance as she gives Theodore a quick inspection. “Now it’s been my understanding that Mr. Nott hasn’t quite been, well, himself since he woke up. Unfortunately, the specific brew that’s needed for these kinds of things takes a full moon cycle to whip up. Until then...”

You stare at the witch in horror. The idea of being stuck with Theodore for the next month made you want to vomit.

“I feel fine,” Theodore protests, shoving himself into a sitting position and reaching out to clasp onto your hand.

It takes everything in you to not recoil away and you shoot a look at Madam Pomfrey, hoping she’d speak some reason into the boy.

“Well, if you’re sure,” she says instead, “Mr. Nott is clear to go, but do come back if you start feeling dizzy again, I simply won’t have another student fainting in the corridors.”

With that, she ushers Theodore up and out of bed before shooing the both of you out of the hospital wing.

Once the metal doors clang shut behind you, you feel Theodore reach out, grabbing your hand once more.

“Let me walk you to your common room then?” He asks, giving your hand a light squeeze, already tugging you in the direction of Ravenclaw tower.

Resistance seemed futile at this point, so you let the boy drag you along doing your best to avoid conversation and eye contact. You receive several very bewildered stares as you pass your classmates in the hallway, but thankfully no one says anything. Not to your face anyway.

When you finally arrive at your common room door, even the golden eagle mounted to the door looks baffled by your choice of Slytherin companion.

Before you can pull away, Theo presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and you jerk away from him.

“Um, I’ll see you tomorrow carissima,” he murmurs, eyebrows furrowed a bit before he turns and disappears down the corridor.

The first week with Theodore glued to your side is, for lack of better words, literal hell. The next morning on your way down to the great hall for breakfast you simply want to melt into the floor in horror when you find Theodore waiting outside your common room door, garnering a good number of whispers and stares from your fellow housemates.

He takes hold of your hand once again and you begrudgingly follow, silently cursing the brunette boy and the rest of his bloodline.

“Have you finished the charms essay Flitwick assigned last week?” Theodore asks as you stroll through the corridor.

You want to burst out laughing at how comically mundane the question was given the absurdity of the whole situation, but you do your best to keep it together.

“Not quite, just have to wrap up the last few lines I think,” you reply, trying to keep it short.

“We can finish up in the library together tonight then,” Theodore decides.

You open your mouth to protest, but close it just as fast. If you were going to be stuck with this tosser, you might as well extort him you think begrudgingly to yourself.

You can feel several pairs of eyes on you as you sit down next to Theodore at the Slytherin table. Your blue robes stick out like a sore thumb making you rather self conscious. Still, his friends all greet you as if it’s the most normal thing in the world to have you sitting with them and you feel like you’ve entered the twilight zone.

As the rest of the week goes by, it’s all more of the same. Trying to hold back a grimace every time Theodore takes your hand or kisses your forehead good night, pretending you weren’t completely weirded out by the way his friends had so easily adapted you into their little group, ignoring the whispers and side eyes from other students.

Objectively speaking, this could be much worse. Theodore was actually rather tolerable to be around when you weren’t throwing insults back and forth. The real issue was that every time you thought to yourself that Theodore Nott might not be all bad, you’d get a sudden flashback of him and his friends picking on some innocent first or second year, or playing a particularly foul game of quidditch, or the time they’d hexed poor Hermione Granger’s teeth to keep on growing like a beaver's and you’d feel sick to your stomach.

You really didn’t think your hatred for Theodore was all that misplaced. When it came down to it, he and his friends could be down right bullies and you loathed the way they acted as if they were above others. Even now when it came down to it, your whole part in this little cooked up scheme was to protect Theodore’s ego.

It's in the second week that your perception on things begins to crack. You'd been spending a lot of time with Theodore and his friends and, you didn't really know what you had expected, but, it wasn't this.

It was the first time you'd ever been in the Slytherin common room. All dark and cold and dreary. Nothing like Ravenclaw tower, but they were on two opposite ends of the spectrum you supposed. You were sat next to Theodore, buried in your book, one that he had given you, and trying to ignore everything going on around you when a group of first year Slytherins come stumbling into the dungeons, huddled around a young boy who's skin was an alarming shade of electric purple.

You're not prepared for the way the students around you jump into action. Daphne Greengrass is by the boy's side in moments, wiping tears from his cheek as Lorenzo and Pansy interrogate some of the other's as to what had happened.

It had been some second year Gryffindors, one girl said her lower lip trembling. Apparently they had gotten their hands on some of the Weasley twins' underground candies and tricked the poor boy into eating a few.

You watch silently as Draco and Blaise examine the boy before ushering him off to their dormitory, confidently telling him a cure would be easy enough to brew.

In all the commotion, you don't notice Mattheo and Marcus Flint sneaking off to go find a certain group of young lions. But Theodore does.

"Better go make sure they don't take things too far," he sighs, rising from his place next to you and giving your hand a squeeze before following the other boys out of the dungeon. You don't even have time to protest.

You're about to just return to your common room and call it a night when Daphne finds her way over to you, having calmed down most of the shaken up first years, and sits down next to you.

"Sorry you had to see all that," she sighs looking tired and worn down.

"I didn't realize you all were so close," you state, gesturing to some of the older students who had seemingly taken some of the younger ones under their wing now.

"We have to be. If we aren't on our own side, who else will be?" she replies.

When she's met with silence she gives you a tight lipped smile before turning, ready to go.

"So when Theodore and Mattheo get into fights, is it always because—?" You let your words trail off, not really sure where you were taking this and Daphne turns to face you once more.

"Honestly? No. Sometimes they can just be massive pricks. They usually make up for it though." Daphne says as you nod your head in response. "We really do appreciate what you're doing for Theo," she says, switching topics. "I know you don't exactly see eye to eye, and honestly I can't blame you. I know how the boys can be. But between you and me, I've always suspected that he actually liked you, at least a little bit. Maybe this knock to the head got him to finally come to his senses," she laughs.

"I don't know about that. I'm pretty certain once Madam Pomfrey whips up that potion, he'll be right back where we left off," you reply, adding in your own nervous laughter.

"You're only saying that because you don't know what he was really like before. You don't have to believe me, but if you really gave him a chance- you never know."

"Maybe, but I'm pretty sure about this."

Daphne shrugs her shoulders.

"Suit yourself, but um, if you wouldn't mind, maybe don't go spreading this whole incident around the school? We try to keep these kinds of things, discreet. Don't want the other houses to see us sweat and all."

You take a good look at the girl beside you and then at the room full of Slytherin students around you, realizing for the first time that it really did seem as if they had the whole school against them.

"No, of course not. I didn't see a thing," you tell her.

Daphne gives you a grateful smile as she rises to leave.

"He'll be back in a bit. Probably be glad to see you still here," she says before disappearing to her own dormitory.

It's not long before Theodore finally returns, his face lighting up when he spots you still tucked cozily away in your corner, nose buried in the pages of your book.

Theo was very confused to say the least. It had been almost three weeks since he'd been knocked off his broom in that match against the Gryffindors, and things just felt, off. Truth be told, he couldn't really seem to remember much of anything since before the fall. Not clearly at least. It was all fuzzy shadows and warped conversation, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make sense of it all.

The only thing he was really certain about, was you. He remembered dreaming about you while he was asleep in the hospital wing, and how angry you had been that day before his match, though he couldn't quite place why. He had worried that that was why you weren't there when he woke up, maybe you were mad at him.

But then the next time he opened his eyes you were there, gazing down at him, and everything had just felt right. Your hand had slotted perfectly with his and he was sure that, out of everyone, you were the person he could trust the most.

So why did you look like you were in pain every time he approached? Why did you flinch away whenever his lips brushed the top of your head? Why did it feel as if you were holding him at an arms length?

All this swirled around in Theo's mind as he sat on the library sofa next to you, watching the warm glow of the fireplace dance across your face.

"Have I done something to make you upset carissima?" Theo asks, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them.

You look up at him, startled by the abrupt question as you snap your book shut.

"No, why do you ask?"

Theo watches you turn your body to face him now, tilting your head as he furrows his eyebrows, trying to put the words together.

"I just, remember things being different, I think," he replies, hating how his brain wasn't letting him form cohesive thoughts.

"Oh?" You look surprised at his statement, eyes darting away from him and Theo can tell he's onto something.

"Was it before the match? Before I fell? Were we fighting about something carissima?" He asks again.

It's obvious you're thinking hard about what to say as Theo reaches out to take your hands in his. For once you don't flinch away from his touch, instead just staring at your intertwined fingers.

"It was something like that," you mumble as Theo rubs careful circles around your knuckles.

“I don’t think I remember a lot very clearly. It’s frustrating sometimes,” Theo admits. “But I remember you.”

“Yeah? What do you remember about me?”

“I remember how you always say hello to the painting outside of the charms classroom. And how you like to sneak snacks into astronomy. I remember the time in third year when we were flying on the quidditch pitch and you were about to get hit by a bludger so I had to move you out of the way.”

You blink at the last memory Theodore shares. You knew what he was talking about, but that’s not how you remembered it. You had been flying yes, when Theodore had come out of nowhere, shoving you while in the sky and then turning, laughing while calling you an idiot. You’d never even seen the bludger.

“I remember kissing you under the bleachers, and holding you by the fireplace. I remember you telling me you loved me.”

And that's where he lost you. Those memories, you didn't know where they came from, but for Theo, they were real. And who knew he was such a sap? You'd never thought the boy was even capable of having emotions.

"Can we start over? I don't remember why you were upset. But I'm sorry. I just want what little memory I have to go back to normal."

Theo watches as you let out a deep sigh. Every word out of Theodore’s mouth was like a punch to the gut, absolutely devastating any sort of resolve you had still been holding.

“Sure Theodore.”

“Just Theo,” he corrects as he pulls you into his arms, tucking your head snuggly under his chin.

The last week you have with Theo, or at least with this version of him, you spend trying not to get too attached. You'd grown rather used to having the boy appear by your side to carry your books or to sneak snacks into the library for you when you'd spent the last several hours putting the final touches on your ancient runes essay. You didn't even mind having to constantly tell him and Mattheo to quiet down anymore.

As it turned out, Daphne had been right about one thing. Theodore and his friends could absolutely be obnoxious, arrogant, pompous pricks, but they did have their ways of charming their way back into your favor. The little parasites. They'd grown on you.

You knew that Madam Pomfrey had finished brewing the elixir before Mattheo could open his mouth just by the guilty expressions on his and Lorenzo's faces when they walked into the Slytherin common room. You'd been frequenting the dungeons a lot more recently, but it looked like that was about to come to an end.

"It's ready then?" you ask, tucking your book away as your hand falls to rest on Theo's arm.

Mattheo just nods his head as you all turn to look at Theo who's still focused on his own book.

"Hey. Madam Pomfrey says she wants to give you one last check. Just to make sure your head is on straight," Mattheo says, thumping Theo on the shoulder.

"Why? I feel fine," Theo replies, an air of annoyance laced in his voice as he's torn away from his book.

"Don't know mate. Just humor the old bat," Enzo sighs.

Theo rolls his eyes before reluctantly rising from the couch, offering you a hand up as well.

"Coming along carissima?" he asks, already reaching out for your hand, but you dodge away.

"I think I'm going to head back up to Ravenclaw tower actually. It's getting pretty late," you reply, feigning a small yawn.

As you exit the dungeons, Enzo catches you by the arm.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with? We don't know for sure that he'll, ya know, go back."

"It's fine Lorenzo. I just- I really can't be up there. We all knew this wasn't a real, permanent thing. I just want to finish my book," you reply, backing away. "I hope Theodore feels more himself, I guess."

You can see Lorenzo's face visibly shift as you revert back to Theodore's full name, his whole demeanor stiffening.

"Right well. Have a night y/n."

And then he's gone.

When you finally make it all the way back to your tower, you collapse onto one of the sofas overlooking the castle grounds, eager to distract yourself by diving back into you book.

"Just come back from the dungeons?" the voice of Marietta Edgecombe asks, dragging your attention away from your novel.

You nod your head, hoping your short answer would encourage the girl to move on quickly.

"I called that one so early on. I've been telling Cho for years, those two are going to end up together, I just know it. And I was right!" she says gleefully, giving your shoulder a little squeeze before flouncing off.

“You came,” Theodore’s voice rings out from his spot on one of the stone benches that lined the walls of the astronomy tower.

“I did,” you reply carefully, watching as he leans back inviting you forward.

It had been almost two weeks since the antidote had been brewed and Theodore looked like he hadn’t slept at all in that time frame. You’d spent that time avoiding him, and all the Slytherins really.

You were confused and you hadn't known what to expect when Theodore came back down from the hospital wing. It had been a strange past month, and now you weren't sure where it left the two of you. What did he remember? Did he care?

You take slow steps forward, Theodore’s eyes never leaving yours until you’re standing directly in front of him. He continues to just stare at you, the silence becoming deafening.

“What do you want, Theodore?” You ask finally, growing frustrated as you let out an agitated sigh.

“Just to talk, dolcezza,” he replies lazily, patting the spot on the bench beside him.

“Don’t call me that,” you mutter, rolling your eyes but taking a seat anyway.

“Don’t call me Theodore,” he shoots back.

You feel your eyebrows raise.

“So you remember then?” You ask.

“I remember. Everything from the past month. And before.”

There’s another pause, less uncomfortable this time though as you both consider his words.

“So why am I here Theo?”

“Cause I can’t keep you out of my head mostly,” he replies, rather resigned to the fact.

“Have you tried?”

Theo gives you an exasperated look.

“Obviously. If I could, I’d just loose feelings for you, but it’s not exactly easy to fall out of love with someone you’ve been holding onto for so long. What do you think I’ve been doing for the last two weeks?” He grumbles stubbornly.

"What do you mean 'holding onto for so long'?" you ask, giving the boy a puzzled look. You'd hardly call a month a long time.

Theo just looks at you again as if silently willing you to simply read his mind. Unfortunately for him, that's not how osmosis works. With another long, drawn out sigh, Theo rests his elbows on his knees letting his head fall into his hands as he mumbles incoherently into his palms.

"Huh?"

He mumbles something again, louder this time. You squint at the boy, trying to make something out.

"If you're trying to confess your undying love for me, you're doing an awful job," you tell him.

This gets Theo to glare up at you, a pout almost visible on his lips. Oh how the mighty fall.

"I've liked you for years," he mutters, his chin resting in his palms now as he refuses to look at you. Pride really was a strange thing.

"Well, you've been truly terrible at showing it, you insufferable prat," you say, giving his shoulder a light shove.

Theo just let's out a grunt, watching your hand on the bench next to him from the corner of his eye. Dear Rowena, you had no idea how you'd ended up falling for this prick.

"But, I suppose you've been, significantly less insufferable this last month or so," you finish, carefully resting your head on his shoulder.

"If you're trying to say you like me too, you're doing an awful job," Theo responds, causing you to immediately tear yourself away from the boy once more.

A smile finally cracks Theo's lips as he smirks playfully up at your deadpan reaction.

"I take it back. I actually hate you. You are the worst."

"Aw, come on now carissima, did the last month mean nothing to you?" Theo asks, pulling you back into him, the same way he did that one night in the library.

"It meant literally nothing. You were being weirdly nice and clingy the whole time," you reply, begrudgingly feeling yourself melt into him.

It wasn't your fault you'd been going through withdrawals the last two weeks, okay? Theo's chest shakes with laughter against your head.

"Contrary to popular belief, I can be somewhat tolerable sometimes."

"Then why the fuck have you spent the last several years being such a prick? It was just pushing me away you know."

"That was kind of the point," Theo says, making you scoff. "Love is weakness and all."

God, the emotional whiplash was going to make you sick.

"Well, which one is the real you?"

"Can't it be both?"

"Not if you want me to put up with your sorry arse."

Theo lets out another quiet laugh.

"Well, you might have to learn to love both sides, because I do fear you're stuck with me," Theo responds, pulling you closer to his chest. "Now come here you little minx."

Before you can protest, Theo's hand has found your chin, tilting your head up just enough for him to capture your lips with his own. It's soft, hesitant at first, as if he's not sure if you'll pull away or not. But your hand finds its way into his hair, pulling him closer still as you move your lips against his, nipping, teasing. You can feel the smile grow on Theo's face as he deepens the kiss, his other hand finding it's way to rest on your thigh.

When you finally pull away, you can still feel his warm breath on your face as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"For the record, I still hate you," you say, still slightly out of breath, a teasing smile playing across your lips.

"I'm sure you do carissima. I hate you too," Theo replies before engulfing you in his arms once more.

Taglist: @adreamingpendulum @ahead-fullofdreams

[simp-for-love]

Bitter beans and sweet leaves

Mattheo Riddle x fem!reader

Your coffee shop's peace is ruined by the new tea shop across the street — and its infuriatingly charming owner. Mattheo Riddle. Smug, flirty, and far too good-looking for your peace of mind.

Warnings: rival shop au (coffee shop vs tea shop), grumpy!reader x sunshine!Mattheo, pure fluff

Word count: ~ 2.1k

A/N: my another veeery late work for week 2 of @acourtofchaos's au festival. Don't bite me, read my fluff instead ♡

And huge thanks to @i-await for proofreading my jumbled mess of letters and to @pizzaapeteer for helping with collage. I love you 🩷

You noticed the tea shop before you noticed the owner.

It had appeared practically overnight — where there'd once been a dusty, forgotten storefront now stood a sleek, pale green exterior with golden lettering that curled elegantly: The Serpent & Sage – Loose Leaf Tea & Magic in a Cup. You saw the sign while sweeping the front of your coffee shop and immediately scoffed, feeling something like a knot in your stomach. You weren't psychic, but you'd seen enough movies to know: a tea shop opening right across from your coffee shop was the beginning of a very specific kind of war.

By the end of the week, the knot in your stomach had taken permanent residence. Customers began trickling over to the new place. Some even waved their greetings at you as they crossed the street with traitorous to-go cups in hand. You told yourself tea drinkers weren't your target anyway, but it still stung something inside you.

The first time you saw him, he was standing outside his shop, one hand lazily tucking a sprig of something herbal behind a chalkboard sign. He was tall, lean, dressed in loose black and forest-green linen, and far too pretty to be real and not a model. Tousled curls. Silver ring on his pinky. Dark, amused eyes that met yours across the street like he already knew you hated him.

He smiled. Smug and effortless.

You didn't nod or smile back, just went back inside to make yourself the strongest espresso shot imaginable, muttering something about cheeky bastards under your nose.

After that it was as if the dam was broken – you saw him everywhere.

You tried not to notice that he always arrived at the same time you unlocked your doors. That his shirts were always rolled at the sleeves like he'd been caught mid-task, a hint of ink or scar peeking out here and there. That his dark eyes always flicked to yours the second he stepped out. But you noticed. And it annoyed you. Everything about him annoyed you.

After a week, he had the audacity to come to your coffee shop.

He didn't order anything right away, just stepped in with a level of confidence like he owned the place, eyes sweeping the brick walls, then the counter to finally land on you. His presence felt too big for the room, like he was a fire lit in a space meant to stay warm, but could easily burn if he wanted to.

"You must be the grumpy coffee witch across the street," he said casually, walking closer to the counter.

You didn't even blink at his words, keeping your hands and eyes busy with rearranging beans. You didn't want to look at him and give him the impression that you're interested in this conversation. In his presence in your shop. "And you must be the smug tea cult leader trying to sabotage my business."

"Oh, I like you already," he said and smiled like he meant it. "I thought I should get a feel for my opponent," he added, eyes scanning your menu board, lips quirking at the aggressive chalked message:

COFFEE: FOR WHEN TEA ISN'T ENOUGH TO FACE YOUR LIFE.

"I don't do tea or whatever you call that thing with boiled water and leaves," you said flatly, not sparing him a glance.

"Tragic," he replied with a feigned sigh, not missing a beat. "I'll take the darkest thing you have. No sugar. No milk. I like my bitterness unfiltered."

You finally narrowed your eyes at him and almost scoffed. "So, like your personality?"

He grinned as if you'd just said something amusing. "Exactly."

You made his coffee a little too strong on purpose. To your annoyance, he drank it like it was holy. Not even a tiny scrunch of his infuriatingly perfect face.

"I'll consider this a peace offering," he said with a charming smile, putting the mug on the table.

You muttered grumpily through gritted teeth, feeling almost offended that he'd enjoyed the espresso you made, "It's a threat."

"Even better." His grin became even more infectious.

He left you a tip shaped like a little origami crane. You huffed at his childish attitude but didn't throw it away.

He came back the next day. Same time, same order, different origami animal. And the day after that. You didn't smile when he made a dumb pun about your “bitterness being the true house blend.” But you didn't kick him out either.

You told yourself it was fine. Harmless. Maybe someone would even consider it cute. But not you. Of course not. He paid for his coffee, after all, making your place some money. That was all.

So slowly it became a pattern. Every morning, right before the late-morning rush, he'd walk in with the same ridiculous confidence that consistently made you huff . He always had something to say — some quip, some observation, something just annoying enough to make you scoff and just clever enough to keep you on your toes.

"You know, if you ever stop glaring at me, I'll think you're sick."

"You know, if you ever stop talking nonsense, I'll think you're sick."

He always laughed easily when you snapped. And you... you suddenly found yourself snapping less and less.

Some mornings, he'd bring a pastry. "I made too many," he'd say simply, even though you knew his shop sold out by noon. He always brought two forks. One time, without thinking, you ate the whole vanilla croissant before realizing you were supposed to share it. He didn't comment. Just grinned quietly and a bit wider into his cup.

That became the next almost habitual thing. Small offerings. He'd stop by on slow days with odd herbal blends or matcha-dusted pastries. You never said thank you at first. But you started letting him in for five more minutes at a time. Maybe ten. Maybe more, you didn't really count. Sometimes he asked how your day was, and sometimes he made up fake gossip about your customers ("I think the guy with the beard over there is secretly an Unspeakable"). You rolled your eyes every time, but he started managing to get a twitch of a smile from you.

He flirted like it was his second nature, but never in a way that cornered you. Always just enough to leave the door open, never enough to push through it. You told yourself that was nothing, just his usual behavior. Despite some strange feeling in your chest at his words and already not-so-infuriating boyish grin.

Your customers began asking about him.

"Is the tea guy single?" one girl whispered as she waited for her cappuccino.

"Probably. Sociopaths usually are," you muttered under your nose. More out of habit than anything else.

But you weren't convincing. Not when you started looking across the street when business slowed, waiting for that inevitable moment Mattheo would glance up from behind his counter and give you that stupid little nod and smile like he'd been expecting your gaze. And you found yourself always nodding back.

And then one day, you made him a new drink without asking. Your own blend. Dark roast with a hint of lavender. You handed it to him before he could open his mouth and say something.

"It's experimental," you mumbled, feeling suddenly nervous and not meeting his eyes. It sounded like a pathetic excuse, but he accepted it. Mattheo took a sip. Blinked. Then grinned like he'd just won something precious.

"You're flirting," he exclaimed in awe.

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost fell out of your skull. "Please choke."

He didn't. Unfortunately. He just started coming in twice a day instead of once.

Business picked back up for you in the spring. It crept in quietly, bringing sun-warmed sidewalks and tourists who didn't know your rivalry lore at all. They flitted between shops without bias, snapping pictures of latte foam and floral tea tins, completely unaware of the way your eyes still found his across the street more often than they should. You started leaving your front door open during the day. Sometimes, you'd catch his laugh floating across the street — light, smooth, unbothered — and it would unexpectedly warm a part of you that no coffee had ever quite touched. He started sitting outside more often, at the small table he'd set up by his window, so he could wave at you whenever you stepped out for air. You told him it was distracting. He said that was the point.

The worst part? He was actually good for business. His customers wandered into your place out of curiosity and vice versa. People in the neighborhood started joking about the “coffee and tea love story” brewing on your street. You corrected them every time — rivals, you insisted — but your heart wasn't really in the denial anymore.

It became easy, somehow. Natural, even. The banter that once made your teeth grit now felt like part of your routine, as essential as grinding beans or steaming milk. He stopped being the tea guy in your head. He was just Mattheo now — annoying and clever and warm in ways you hadn't expected. All the small things he did made him a part of your life now. The way he'd catch your eye and wave like it was the best part of his day. The way your grumbling softened into a smirk before you could stop it. You told yourself it didn't mean anything, that it was just habit now, like opening the shop or wiping down tables at the end of the night. But when he wasn't there — on the rare day he opened late or had too many customers — you felt it. The absence of him. Like a missing beat in a song you hadn't realized you'd been humming all along.

One evening you stepped out just as the sun began dipping low, casting honeyed light over the street. You hadn't meant to look, but your gaze found him anyway. He was leaning against his doorframe, a mug in hand, watching the world go by. When he saw you, his whole face lit up like you were the first good thing he'd seen all day.

Without thinking, you listened to your heart for once and crossed the street.

He raised a brow as you approached. "Should I be worried? Is this an official surrender?"

You snorted but didn't stop walking until you stood right in front of him. "Not a surrender. A... ceasefire, maybe."

"A ceasefire,” he echoed in amusement, tasting the word. "I'll take it with pleasure. Do I get terms?"

You hesitated for a moment. Then, before your courage could fail you, you blurted out, "You could walk me home."

That surprised him, just for a second. Then that slow, genuine smile spread across his face, the one that always made your stomach feel oddly warm and light. "I'd like that."

The walk was quiet at first. Comfortable. The kind of silence that felt like shared warmth instead of empty space. The evening air smelled faintly of spring—flowers, rain on pavement, and the last traces of roasted beans from your shop.

"Do you think," he said eventually with a soft voice, "if we'd met anywhere else, I would've annoyed you less?"

You huffed a laugh at his kinda silly question. "No. You're inherently annoying."

He bumped your shoulder gently with his, smiling warmly down at you. "And yet, here we are."

You paused at your door, hand resting on the frame. You felt like you didn't want to come inside. Or maybe you just didn't want him to go.

He looked at you, really looked, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. No teasing now, no smirk, just that quiet fondness he sometimes let slip through.

"I'm glad you crossed the street," he said.

"So am I," you admitted softly, barely above a whisper.

And when he leaned down — slowly, giving you all the time in the world to step back — you didn't pull away, just looked up at him expectantly. His lips brushed against yours, soft as the breeze, warm as the setting sun. When he pulled back, he looked a little dazed. Like maybe this was what he'd been hoping for all along.

"See you tomorrow, grumpy," he murmured with an affectionate smile and a hint of awe.

"See you tomorrow, tea cult leader," you said, and this time, your smile reached your eyes.

You watched him walk away, feeling like maybe, just maybe, the knot in your chest had finally unraveled, softening into something warm and fluttery

[simp-for-love]

Where the Fire Breathes Soft

DragonTamer!Mattheo Riddle x Teacher!FemReader

You take your class on a field trip to a dragon sanctuary, expecting chaos and maybe a little fire. What you don’t expect is Mattheo Riddle — charming, clever, and surprisingly gentle beneath the smirk. Between sunbathing dragons, wide-eyed students, and a tour that turns unexpectedly sweet, you find yourself falling, just a little, for the dragon tamer with a crooked smile.

Warnings: none, fluff to the bones

Word count: 1,7k

A/N: my very late work for week 1 of @acourtofchaos's au event. Hope to catch up with the rest of them soon ♡

You’re pretty sure this wasn’t in the job description.

Sure, it mentioned field trips, but it didn’t say anything about standing ten feet away from a dragon the size of a cottage while trying to look calm in front of twenty excited eleven-year-olds.

You’ve never seen a dragon up close before — unless you count the fold-out pages in Fantastic Beasts for Little Wizards. Even then, it was hard to believe something so majestic and terrifying could be real.

But here you are, standing at the edge of a wide, green field fenced with enchanted barriers, blinking at a sunbathing Norwegian Ridgeback. It looks like an overgrown lizard lounging in the afternoon sun, its dark, iridescent scales gleaming like opals. Around you, a dozen kids press against the barrier, gasping and arguing over which dragon is the coolest.

"Miss! Miss!" little Clara tugs at your coat, eyes wide with awe. "That one just sneezed fire!"

You give her a smile, even though your heart’s trying to climb into your throat. "Yes, dragons can do that, sweetheart."

"She sneezed!" Clara insists, pointing. "She’s like me when I have a cold!"

A warm chuckle comes from your right, deep and effortlessly amused.

"That would be Marigold. She’s a bit dramatic, but harmless. Unless you're a cabbage,"

You glance sideways and promptly forget how to breathe.

The man standing next to you is tall, dressed in a well-worn leather jacket that’s clearly seen its share of flame. His dark hair is tousled, jaw sharp, and eyes startlingly intelligent with a hint of mischief behind them. There’s a dragon-scale glove tucked into his belt, and something about the way he stands — casual, confident, like the dragons answer to him — makes your knees go a little weak. His sleeves are rolled to the elbow, revealing strong forearms dusted with faint burn scars and inked runes. You catch yourself staring for a second too long.

"Oh," you manage. "Hello."

"Hi." He offers you a crooked smile, one that makes your heart do something unprofessional. "Mattheo Riddle. I work here."

You shake the hand he offers, and it’s warm, calloused, grounding. "I’m… You can call me Miss Teacher who is absolutely not terrified of dragons."

Mattheo laughs, low and easy, like sunshine on a cold morning. "Pleasure, Miss Teacher. You’re doing well for someone who looks like they might bolt."

"I’m just trying not to faint in front of the children."

"Good goal." He steps a little closer and lowers his voice. "Don’t worry. The dragons can smell fear, but they respect it. Means you’re smart."

"That’s comforting."

He grins wider, like he’s enjoying this, but not in a cruel way. Like he’s almost charmed by your honesty. “Which class is yours?”

"First-years," you say, glancing at the gaggle of kids giggling by the fence. "They’re obsessed with magical creatures right now. Their current theory is that dragons are just flying puppies with attitude problems."

"Not wrong," he muses with an amused grin. "Except for Blaze. Blaze eats puppies."

You gape at him in shock.

He blinks, then breaks into a laugh. The sound so warm and smooth that it makes your heart skip a beat. "Kidding."

You exhale the sigh of relief immediately. "Thank Merlin."

Mattheo chuckles again and gestures toward the enclosure. "Want a proper tour? I promise no incineration. Well, minimal incineration."

You arch a brow. "Do I get hazard pay?"

"No, but you get to walk next to me. That’s got to count for something," he says with a wink that sends a small stutter through your chest.

You laugh, caught off guard. "Charming, aren’t you?"

He gives you a little playful bow. "It’s in the job description," he said without any shame or second thought, grinning proudly.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ * ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ *

Mattheo turns out to be great with the kids. You watch from the edge as he kneels beside one of them, explaining the difference between ridge-back scales and horned-tail ones like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. He’s patient when they interrupt, gentle when they get overexcited, and firm when one of them tries to climb a fence.

You hadn’t expected that. You thought he’d be cocky, maybe even reckless. Swagger and smirks. But instead, there’s this quiet strength beneath all that charisma. Something solid and steady. And it makes you feel... oddly comfortable and safe.

You try not to stare too much as he gestures animatedly toward a Welsh Green gliding in a distant paddock. The sun catches in his hair, and for a fleeting moment, he looks like he belongs to the dragons. Not as their keeper, but their kin.

He catches your across the enclosure and winks again. You look away quickly, cheeks warm.

"Professor?" Clara tugs your sleeve gently to catch your attention. "Do you like him?"

You nearly choke at her question. "What?"

"You’re looking at him like my mum looks at the telly when the handsome prince comes on," she explained calmly with a child's simplicity.

You blink at her for a moment in silence, feeling the heat on your cheeks intensified. "Clara."

"It’s okay," she says seriously with a nod. "He’s handsome. You have good taste."

You consider for a moment whether it’s possible to sink into the earth and never return.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ * ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ *

Lunch is a picnic under the shade of a charmed willow tree. The kids are still buzzing, mouths full of sandwiches, declaring their dreams of becoming dragon tamers. Some sketch their favorite dragons with crumb-covered fingers. You watch their enthusiasm with tenderness and a hint of amusement in your eyes. Soon Mattheo finds you near the feeding pen.

"Enjoying yourself yet?" he asks, leaning casually on the railing beside you.

"It’s... actually better than expected. No one's on fire, so I’m calling it a win," you say with a smile tugging on your lips.

He unwraps a sandwich and glances at yours, still untouched. "Not eating?"

"I'm too enchanted. I mean—interested. In all this." You laugh awkwardly and a bit flustered. "I’ve never seen anyone so comfortable around fire-breathing monsters."

He raises his brow in amusement. "You’re a teacher. You’re surrounded by tiny monsters daily."

You chuckle softly. "Touche."

He gives you a sideways glance, smirking. "You’re braver than you look."

You hum quietly. "Is that a compliment?"

"It is," he says easily. "You strike me as the soft type. Sweet. But you didn’t flinch when Ember tried to lick your coat."

"I couldn’t. The kids were watching."

"Still, you didn’t run." His voice dips slightly, more thoughtful. "That counts."

You glance at him, studying the way the late sun catches in his hair, the curve of his smile that’s equal parts playful and kind. There’s something magnetic about him, something that makes your chest feel light and your stomach full of fluttering things.

"You’re not what I expected," you say quietly.

He arches a brow. "No? What were you expecting?"

"I don’t know. Arrogance? Recklessness? Someone who rides dragons without a saddle and uses bad pick-up lines."

He chuckles smoothly, eyes shine with amusement. "I do ride without a saddle, but I leave the pick-up lines to the desperate."

"I feel honored."

"You should." He nudges your elbow softly. "Besides, I don’t need pick-up lines. I’ve got dragons."

You laugh again, unable to help it. Something about him makes you feel safe and smile wider. "You really do."

For a moment, the air between you settles into something quiet. Easy and sweet. You don’t even realize you’re smiling until he says, "You should come back sometime. Without twenty tiny chaperones."

"Is that a professional invitation?"

"Only if you’re into professionalism."

You tilt your head slightly, looking at him. "And if I’m into dragons?"

He gives you a look that’s all charm and slow-burning mischief. "Then I’m very interesting."

Your heart does a little leap again. "I’ll think about it."

"You do that," he says softly, gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ * ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ *

The trip ends too quickly. The kids piling back onto the carriages with sticky fingers and loud voices, waving their goodbyes wildly at every dragon in sight.

Mattheo walks you to the gate, hands in his jacket pockets.

"Thanks for not letting us get eaten," you say with a small smile. You want to prolong this moment, to stay in this fairytale with dragons and Prince Charming for a little longer.

"Anytime." He looks at you, something warm flickering in his gaze. "You really were good with them. The kids."

You shrug a little shy, "It’s easy when you love them."

"I think they love you back."

"Probably because I carry sweets in my bag all the time."

He grins. "Might have to start doing that myself."

You look at him, heart fluttering again. "Do you flirt with every teacher who visits?"

He tilts his head as if considering your question. "Only the ones who make dragon farms feel like fairy tales."

You blink, looking at him with wide eyes. "That’s—"

"Too much?" he asked with slightly bashful and boyish smile.

"A little," you admit with a smile. "But I liked it."

He steps a little closer, just enough for you to catch the warmth of him, the faint scent of smoke and leather.

"Come back," he says quietly and softly. "Next week. Or whenever you like. No pressure. Just... I’d like to see you again."

You bite your lip, trying to hide the silly smile his words cause. "Maybe I will."

"Maybe?"

"Okay. Definitely."

He smiles like you’ve just handed him something valuable. And the shine in his eyes is utterly disarming. "Good."

You linger for a second longer, then turn to follow your class, heart full of butterflies and something almost as fiery as the dragons behind you.

As you step onto the carriage, Clara tugs your sleeve again and whispers, "He definitely likes you."

You glance back to where Mattheo stands by the gate, one hand raised in a lazy wave. His eyes locked on you.

You wave back. "Yeah," you whisper with a silly grin on your lips. "I think I like him too."

[cherryst4rg1rl]

I need Steve Harrington so bad

[obsessedwithceleste]

Divination for Dummies

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw! reader

Based on this request 🫶🏽

Summary: When the tarot cards tell you you’re going to fall in love, sometimes it’s best to just listen to them

word count: 6k

©obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted, translated, or copied in any way or form. I do not consent to any of my content being fed to ai bots or programs of any kind.

Divination was stupid. Theo knew it. Enzo knew it. But unfortunately for the two of them, Daphne Greengrass did not. She was quite the believer in fact—spending hours charting stars to gauge compatibility, gazing into her crystal ball, and practicing her palm reading. A load of bollocks and a complete waste of time in Theo's opinion, but, he wasn't a monster and so he humored his friend, content in blocking out Professor Trelawney's incessant babbling for an hour at the start of his mornings.

Theo was just admiring how particularly gray the walls of the castle were looking this fine afternoon when a sharp elbow to the ribs pulls his attention back to the old bat's class. Theo shoots a glare Enzo's way as he rubs his wounded ribcage pointedly. To only further his agitation, Theo notices that Trelawney is now stood directly in front of him extending a deck of tarot cards to him as she blinks her wide owlish eyes at him expectantly.

With a deep sigh and a rather dramatic eye roll, Theo plucks a card from the deck and hands it back to the witch without even bothering to glance at it. Trelawney doesn't seem to mind much though as she inhales sharply, a grin that seemed much too wide for her face forming as she flips the card back to Theo.

"Yes, yes. Just as I predicted dear boy. Just as I predicted. The Two of Cups!" She announces proudly, brandishing the card out towards the class.

Daphne squeals.

"Oh Teddy—"

"Don't call me that."

Daphne ignores him.

"How exciting. How romantic," she continues, clearly far more interested in the pull than Theo was.

She pulls out a script of parchment, finger tracing down the lines of notes until she finds what she's searching for. Then she shoves the parchment under Theo's nose.

"Look there. The Two of Cups—signifies mutual attraction and deep connections. A representation of kindred spirits in the early stages of falling in love. That's so romantic," she gushes, continuing on in her notes.

Enzo snorts doing a horrible job trying to stifle his laughter. Theo glowers, not even wanting to deign such a ridiculous concept with a response. This was ludicrous. The whole thing. Theo had been attending Hogwarts for well long enough to know that there was not a single present student in the school that he would even dignify having a romantic relationship with. He can't help but shake his head and scoff at the mere idea.

"Oh lighten up Teddy, heaven forbid you let Daphne have this," Enzo snickers, clearly enjoying the discomfort the whole thing brought Theo.

It was easy for him to say. It wasn't his love life being carefully dissected by their mystic enthused friend.

Being the new student at any new school was always going to be nerve wracking. But being the new student at a new school in a whole new country was significantly worse in every aspect. Whispers float down the corridors, your name echoing off the high ceilings of the castle, and eyes flicker towards the ground as you pass as if they hadn't just been staring shamelessly the moment prior. Normally the stares wouldn't bother you much, but the constant hushed voices were beginning to be unnerving. Your lips tighten as you move swiftly through the halls and you can't help but feel a bit self conscious as you smooth out your unfamiliar, deep blue robes.

You weren't exactly enthusiastic about your new school to begin with. It was different—of course it would be—but no matter how much you had prepared yourself for all the changes, it just hadn't been enough. Like really, they let a ratty, old—albeit sentient—hat determine house placements? You hadn't wanted that thing anywhere near your head, but it just couldn't be helped. Then, once you had been placed into your house, you come to find that yours is the only one in the entire school that requires you to solve a freaking riddle just to get into your damn room. Asinine. And to top it all off, the wretched school was literally impossible to navigate because the staircases, apparently, were also sentient and did whatever the hell they wanted.

All that to say, when you finally collapse into a seat in the back of, what you hoped was the History of Magic classroom, you were more than a little miffed. With an agitated huff, you try to stay invisible as more students begin to file into the classroom, taking their seats closer to the front. As seats fill, the extra buffer of breathing room melts a bit of the tension in your shoulders. When your professor—a ghost you notice dryly—begins to write on the chalk board, you finally feel yourself start to relax, pulling out a roll of parchment from your bag and carefully copying down each line.

Just as you're about to finish—The Gargoyle Strike of 1911—the classroom door swings open once more and a boy with brown hair and dark, calculating eyes saunters in. You're content with giving him a quick, uninterested glance before getting back to your notes, but unfortunately for you, the boy is rapidly approaching. His bag hits the floor next to you with a dull thread and you feel your lips turn downward into a frown as you look up at the boy once more in annoyance.

You watch as the boy's mouth opens as if to say something, but then his eyes meet yours and you watch him freeze, mouth agape for a moment then two. Just as it's becoming a bit uncomfortable, he seems to awaken from his trance looking shaken, brows furrowing as if he were wondering why on Earth he was just standing there like a fool. Still though, he tilts his head awkwardly—chin gesturing towards the rest of the class—and for the first time you notice that every other seat in the room seems to be occupied. With a sigh of defeat, you wordlessly turn back to the board, preparing to scramble to write down whatever you'd missed just now, content with simply ignoring this boy's existence for the the rest of class.

"A 'wildcat strike' refers to a stopping of work by unionized workers without authorization from the union. In 1911 the wildcats were winning, meaning things were moving in favor of the gargoyles—"

Good god this was horrible. You weren't even ten minutes into your first day of this new class and you already wanted to throw yourself off the top of Ravenclaw tower. It seemed as though many of the other students in class felt similarly as one of the boys sitting a few rows in front of you lets out a concernedly loud snore. You have to choke down a snicker as your eyes flicker up to the ghost at the front of the room, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn't care.

"That's Finnigan. There's a running bet on how long it'll take him to fall asleep after Binns starts monologuing," the boy next to you murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You turn to look at the boy, surprised to hear him speak after all, and for the first time take a good look. Shit. He was hot. You don't really get the chance to dwell too much on it though because he speaks again.

"That one next to him is Thomas. Any second now he'll start piling things on top of 'em. See how high the stack gets before it falls over or Finnigan wakes up. Whichever comes first."

As if on queue, the boy next to the snoring kid carefully places a thick text book on his friend's back. Then another. It's like you can't look away as you watch on in morbid fascination.

"They friends of yours?" you find yourself asking as the boy, Thomas, adds an ink well to his tower.

Your desk partner snorts.

"Hardly. Lions and snakes don't exactly get along," he says smoothly.

You have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but you don't want to ask. Instead you continue to watch as a bag of Bertie Bott's jelly beans, three quills, a sweater, and someone's pet frog is added to the pile. A potted plant is about to be placed on top when a sneeze sends the whole thing crashing to the floor. Professor Binns doesn't even blink as he just continues on. Finnigan's head shoots up as he takes in his surroundings once more, shoulders slumping when he apparently realizes where he is. Understandable.

The rest of class is an absolute drag as you flit in and out of different thoughts and daydreams. Anywhere was better than here, listening to this ghost drown on. If he were any less interesting, you're sure the entire class would die of sheer boredom and be cursed to haunt this very classroom with the old professor. Doomed to be subjected to the very thing that killed you all in the first place for all eternity.

After what you're certain is the longest hour of your life, class finally ends, but to your dismay, you realize that halfway through class you'd simply given up on taking notes. Dammit. As though reading your mind, the boy next to you slides his parchment towards you. His notes are impeccable. Perfectly neat rows in dark ink with not a smudge in sight.

"I can get them back tomorrow," he says simply, before returning the rest of his materials into his bag.

You open your mouth to thank the boy, but before you even get the chance he's gone in a swoosh of emerald green and black.

The whole thing leaves you a bit stunned. It was the first real interaction you'd had with, really anyone at your new school and you couldn't tell if you'd completely blown it or not. He'd seemed decent enough, whoever he was. And that's when it occurs to you. You hadn't even bothered to ask the boy's name.

"Mmm. What was their name again?" Theo asks, trying to appear nonchalant as he inserts himself into Enzo and Daphne's conversation.

The three of them occupied their usual spots inside the Slytherin common room, the soft glow of green flames painting their faces as their voices mix in with the other echoes of the dungeon. Enzo eyes Theo suspiciously, noting that—despite the unbothered front he put on—Theo's fingers couldn't seem to stop tapping anxiously against his knee. See, usually when Enzo and Daphne were participating in their daily debrief, Theo was staring off into the abyss, pointedly ignoring them. So it didn't take an intuitive genius to pick up on the sudden spike of interest he was showing.

"Y/n. They're from America," Daphne says helpfully, seemingly oblivious to the way that Enzo was trying to dissect their friend's inner most thoughts.

"Why all the interest? They catch your eye? Are you two already falling into the early stages of love?" He taunts when he isn't able to get a proper read on his friend.

Theo's heart stops beating in his chest for half a moment before he juts out his chin defiantly.

"All anyone will talk about. Just curious to know who all the fuss is about," he retorts, forcing his voice to remain steady as he continues to stare ahead, avoiding the curious glances of his friends.

He can tell Enzo doesn't quite buy it, but that simply isn't his problem to worry about at the moment.

So they were from America. Huh.

Truthfully, Theo didn't know much about America. Hadn't ever really cared to find anything out. He was familiar with Ilvermorny of course. Which was presumably your former school, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Maybe he'd ask you about it tomorrow.

Assuming he didn't freeze up again at the mere sight of you. Salazar's ball sack that had been bloody embarrassing. Theo couldn't think of a single other time he'd ever frozen up like that, brief as it had been. Usually Theo liked to consider himself to be quite suave. Charming even, if he did say so himself. And he did. It was completely unlike him to be rendered speechless. Especially not by the mere presence of someone with a pretty face.

But it simply hadn't been his fault. How was he supposed to expect that some great, higher power was going to reach deep into his inner most thoughts and desires—pull together every single physical trait that Theo could possibly fantasize about—and combine them all into one single heavenly creature, and then plop them down right next to him in History of Magic of all classes.

Fate was cruel.

And speaking of fate, there was also all that nonsense from Divination that morning to think about. Theo leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Surely the fact that batty, old Trelawney had predicted that he would fall in love was a complete coincidence in relation to him practically being prepared to propose to the new student in History of Magic a mere few hours later. How could it be anything else? Divination wasn't real. The whole class had been so close to being completely scrapped so many times that you either had to be a fool, or Daphne to believe in it.

Okay, so maybe Theodore was starting to believe it. A little. But what was he supposed to think as he watches you drag your feet through the door scowling? He feels his chest tighten as the two of you make eye contact and he watches as you make your way over to him.

"This seat taken?" you ask, already dropping your bag to the floor. "Didn't take you as one to be into this kinda stuff," you say conversationally as you pull parchment and a quill from your bag.

Theo scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not," he assures, "But Daph is," he adds, head tilting as he gestures to his friend.

He watches as your eyes dart over to the pretty brunette sitting happily between him and Enzo, assessing.

"Oh. Are you two?" The question lingers on your lips and Theo is quick to shake his head no.

Salazar he was being stupid. Of course you would assume—Why was he being like this?

"Nah. No. Daph's an old friend. Enz and I are just here for moral support. And an easy O." Theo hears himself drawl. "What about you? Training to become a seer?"

"Hardly. This was the only elective left that fit into my schedule apparently."

Salazar's balls you were perfect, Theo thinks to himself as Trelawney comes sweeping into the room. Her eyes are closed and her fingertips are pressed against her temples as she swooshes around the room, humming lowly.

"I feel new energy. An unfamiliar presence. You!" Trelawney screeches in her trembly voice, stopping in front of a poor, innocent Hufflepuff with an accusatory finger hovering dangerously close to their eyeball.

Theo can't help but let out a dry snicker and is delighted when he sees you out of the corner of his eye trying to hold back a laugh too. When it's clear to the old professor that the student in front of her had actually been present all year, her eyes scan the room, finally coming to a stop when they rest on you.

"Ah, there you are my dear! Your energy feels so concentrated on this side of the room, it simply drew me over," Trelawney babbles as she makes her way over. "Now let's see here. Palms up dear, palms up, let me have a look."

Theo watches amused, ignoring the weird kissing faces Enzo is making at him, as you sigh but still present your palms facing upwards to the professor. Her bony talons quickly engulf your hands, her eyes fluttering shut once more as her head tilts back, a low hum starting once more.

"Yes, yes. How interesting," the hums get louder as the professor's fingers dig into the lines of your palms. "I see. In the darkest hour, a dark shadow, it will over take you. Consume you."

Trelawney's eyes snap open and Theo watches her face melt back into a warm smile as she gives your hands one last squeeze.

"Welcome to class dear. We have much to learn, so much to see!"

Theo finds that he rather likes the way his heart swells when you turn to look at him, brow raised as you shake your head ever so slightly as if to say, 'what a nutter'.

"How many freaking goblin rebellions is it going to take before the British Ministry finally takes the hint and leaves those poor goblins alone?" you huff, slamming your books a little too loudly onto your table in the library.

You can feel Madam Pince attempting to burn a hole through your back as she glares at you, but you ignore her.

"Probably at least—" Theo checks his notes from the day's lesson, "six or seven. Unfortunately not every revolution to rid oneself of British rule is successful," he teases lightly.

You glare at the boy pointedly.

"I'm not even particularly, patriotic," you grumble, the word actually quite sour on your tongue, "but nothing brings Americans together quite like our mutual hatred of the British."

"Mmm. Do let it go on record now that my family is Italian," Theo replies dryly.

Theodore had very quickly become your closest friend at Hogwarts. From that first day in History of Magic the two of you just seemed to click. It also definitely helped that not only did he share your dry sense of humor, but he was also insanely smart, and very easy on the eyes. You'd been worried for a split second when he first introduced you to Daphne Greengrass, a familiar turning in your stomach that you'd quickly identified as jealousy flaring up, but it had been quickly squashed when Theo assured you that they were indeed just friends. But that was neither here nor there. You and Theo had become practically inseparable in the month that you'd been at your new school, much to the chagrin of his friends. You liked them too of course, and they'd been good sports about welcoming you into their little group, but with Theo it was just easy.

You slide your potions notes across the table just as Theo hands over his Charms essay for you to look over. No words exchanged, but you were both perfectly in sync. Easy.

It's far past dark when you finally push your chair back, the old wood scraping against the floor, and you force yourself to stifle a yawn.

"Alright. I'm calling it a night," you announce as you begin packing up your books. "I should head back in case it takes an hour to get that damn eagle to open up the common room door again."

You hear Theo let out a snort at your last comment. He'd heard well and good your complaints about that stupid hunk of metal.

"Guess I'll head out as well. Mattheo has been complaining that he never sees me anymore, but he's just mad he can't copy my notes anymore."

The two of you quickly gather the rest of your things, slinking out of the library right as Pince begins making her rounds to toss the last lingering students out before closing the doors for the night. The walk to Ravenclaw tower is made in comfortable silence as you walk side by side, both of you trying to ignore the way the back of your hands were brushing against each other as you went. When you finally arrive, a whole group of students in black and blue are outside the door when it swings open. Not wanting to miss your chance, you toss Theo a smile over your shoulder before disappearing with the crowd of students through the door.

As soon as you enter your room, you dump your bag on the ground at the foot of your bed, trade your stiff school uniform for a more comfortable track set, and turn right back out the door—a disillusionment spell on the tip of your tongue. You move silently against the walls, retracing the same steps you'd just taken, leading your right back to the library. It's dark now—you knew from experience that as soon as the clock hit ten, Pince was out the doors. You lift your wand, ready to cast the usual alohomora but tonight something stops you. Call it a gut feeling. You grip the handle of the heavy, wood door and without so much as a squeak, the door swings open. Huh. Maybe the cranky librarian had been in such a rush to leave she forgot to lock up.

Without giving it so much as a second thought, you slip through the doors, following the familiar path that lead you right to the heart of the restricted section of the library. Really, you often found yourself wondering, why on Earth did they have a so called restricted section, and then not even bother to put up a single ward to keep students from entering? Wasn't very restricted if they asked you. Your fingertips brush over the spines of different books as you pass through the shelves, pulling one from the shelf every so often if it catches your eye. The silence of the empty library was deafening, but you relished the way you could hear your footsteps echoing on the tile and the rustle of pages turning as you flipped through your nightly finds.

You're on your tiptoes, straining to reach a large tome from the top shelf when you catch sight of a dark shadow appearing out of the corner of your eye. God, you hoped it wasn't that old man Filch. He wasn't as bad as everyone made him seem, you'd been able to talk him out of snitching on you thus far, but it kind of ruined the mood. Your hand drops to rest on the handle of your wand as the shady figure draws closer and you prepare to throw one of your books its way just in case.

"What are you doing here?" the confused voice of Theodore rings out just as you're about to launch your copy of Moste Potente Potions at his head.

You feel your shoulders sag in relief. You hadn't been scared of course. Just vaguely alarmed. Then you let out a laugh.

"And what's funny?"

"Oh, nothing. Just Trelawney and her whole 'A dark shadow is going to overtake you' spiel," you snicker. "And what do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you ask rather indignantly, turning back to focus on the book that was just out of your reach.

"I come down to the library at night all the time," Theo replies, crossing his arms defensively.

"Well it's obviously not all the time because I've been here every night this month and I've never seen you down here," you reply casually.

You can practically hear Theo rolling his eyes at you.

"Well of course not all the time, Filch would start getting—sorry did you say you've been here every night? How has Filch not caught you?"

You shrug your shoulders noncommittally, glaring up at the book that seemed to be just taunting you.

"He has a few times, but we usually just chat for a little and then he'll send me on my way."

You don't see the absolutely stunned look on Theo's face.

"You chat? With Filch. About what?" Theo asks incredulously.

You let out an exasperated sigh.

"The weather. Cat toy recommendations for Mrs. Norris. His mother's retirement in France. I don't know, we chat about a lot of things."

You still aren't facing Theo, but if you had been, you probably would have laughed at the completely gobsmacked look that was written across his face.

"Now will you be useful and get that book down for me?" you ask, foot stomping impatiently on the ground.

Still too shocked to respond, Theo reaches up over your head, placing one hand on your shoulder for balance as he easily plucks the book you'd been reaching for off the shelf. Just as he's about to hand it to you though, it seems he comes back to his senses and that smug grin that you'd become so familiar with recently finds its way back to his lips.

"Uh uh uh, where's my reward?" he teases, holding the book just out of reach once more as he smirks down at you.

"Reward?" you ask dryly, looking up to raise an eyebrow at your friend.

Had he always been standing so close?

"I'm a Slytherin. I don't do something for nothing now," he says, voice like honey in your ears.

"What do you want?" you ask, eyes narrowing.

Theo tilts his head as if pretending to think.

"A kiss."

You blink, shoulders shrugging as you turn to face the boy properly. Seemed fair enough to you. You were definitely getting the best end of the deal. So you tug on the collar of Theo's sweatshirt, before crashing your lips into his. His lips are warm and soft and that's all you take note of before pulling away quickly. Theo is clearly stunned once more so you take the opportunity to finally get your hands on the book you'd been eyeing this whole time.

"Thanks Theo!"

Theodore Nott was dangerously close to never brushing his teeth ever again. Because you had kissed him last night. In some sudden, stupid burst of confidence he had asked you to kiss him and you did. It had been a complete joke—Theo hadn't even remotely considered that you'd actually do it, but you'd grabbed the collar of his jumper and then your lips were on his and he knew he was well and truly done for.

"Theo. Theo! You need to get your act together mate," Lorenzo grunts, elbowing his friend to get his attention.

"What? Stop that," Theo mutters, batting his friend away from him.

"Seriously. You're acting like a love sick puppy."Brie

Theo glares.

"Would take one to know one," he snaps, falling back in his seat with a huff.

Now it's Enzo's turn to narrow his eyes.

"I'm going to choose to ignore that because you're just upset that you didn't kiss y/n back," he responds.

Theo's eyes bulge at the bold—albeit correct—observation.

"Can you keep your bloody voice down?" he hisses, eyes flickering about to make sure no one had heard.

Luckily, you had only just entered the divination classroom so at least Theo was safe for now. Or maybe not.

"Morning," you say brightly giving the group a small wave and taking your usual spot next to Theo.

Theo opens his mouth to respond but, Salazar you smelled good today, and your lips, god your lips looked soft and pink and, the words feel caught in Theo's throat. Somewhere in the distance he can hear Enzo snickering obnoxiously, but all Theo can do is stare at you dumbly. This was mortifying. As soon as he figured out how to move again Theo was launching himself straight off this bloody tower.

"Hey, do you want to sneak into the library again tonight?" you ask casually, laying your things out on your desk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you were about to send Theo into cardiac arrest.

Of course I'll sneak back into the library with you. Especially if it means you'll kiss me again, Theo wants to say. But he has at least a little bit of dignity left, so he straightens himself in his chair, trying to maintain at least somewhat of an air of nonchalance as he finally strings a sentence together.

"Sure."

Okay, so a sentence might be giving himself a bit too much credit, but it was better than sitting there gaping like a daft idiot. You seem satisfied with his answer though as you turn to face the front just as Trelawney waltzes into the room with her usual dramatic flair. Theo drifts in and out of the lesson as Trelawney rambles on about tea leaves and the placement of tasseography symbols. He tried to focus. Really he needed to, because the alternative was his gaze finding its way to the curve of your lips and the way your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek as you furiously scribbled down notes.

The gentle sound of metal clinking on china pulls Theo wholey back to class as a spoon taps impatiently on the teacup in front of him as if urging him to drink. Glancing around he sees most of his classmates were already bottoms up. Drinking down the rather bitter liquid, Theo carefully places his cup back down in front of him, peering disinterestedly at its contents. Just looked like soggy tea leaves to him.

Trelawney insists on moving about the room though, dissecting the meanings inside each little cup and leaving behind a trail of utterly befuddled students in her wake. When she finally reaches Theo, he can visibly see her begin to vibrate with excitement as she moves his cup around in her hands, swishing the tea leaves back and forth.

"Look there, dear. Do you see?" she asks giddily, shoving the teacup back in Theo's face.

"No." he replies flatly, not even bothering to examine the wet leaves.

"Look closer."

Theo's nose is practically inside the cup now and he can hear you and Enz snickering on either side of him. Traitors. When he still doesn't say anything, Trelawney lets out a huff, sticking her crooked finger into the cup and speaking slowly as if explaining something to a small child.

"Right there. Don't you see?" she asks, as if it should've been the most obvious thing in the world. "An axe—" she swirls the cup to the side. "And a butterfly."

Theo stares blankly at the old woman.

"Use their notes and figure it out," she finally huffs in exasperation before sweeping off to another table.

As soon as she's gone and Theo makes eye contact with you he can't help but chuckle as Daphne scowls at the two of you.

"Look," she sighs, shoving her notes across the table for Theo to read.

The Axe—problems overcome

The Butterfly—success and pleasure

Wonderful. More nonsense. That was the problem with divination—the definitions were so broad they were basically meaningless. Overcoming problems and success? That could be about anything. Theo pushes the parchment back to its owner with a shrug. He'd just do what he always did and make something up for the assignment.

Shadows loom against the dimly lit walls of the library as you and Theo wander through the shelves together. Theo had been quieter than usual tonight. To be fair, he wasn't usually the most talkative person ever, but you had had to push to get your usual banter out of him. He clearly had something on his mind. You don't push though. That was something you both appreciated about each other—just being there together was enough.

Once you both have a sizable stack of books pulled together you tuck yourselves away in one of the back corners of the restricted section. Far enough that not even Mrs. Norris would bother to wander all the way back. You find yourself curling up next to your friend, legs pressed together and shoulders brushing as you cast a soft lumos charm just bright enough to illuminate the pages of your books as you read. The quiet is nice after a long day of navigating the crowded halls and classrooms of the school. Hogwarts was definitely a lively place, and you hadn't realized just how much you missed having some peace and quiet until you'd snuck out of Ravenclaw tower that first night.

"Do you think divination might not be completely useless?" Theo asks a while later, breaking the silence.

You look up in surprise before glancing down at the book he's reading—Divination Through the Ages: A Skeptics Guide—your eyebrows furrowing in thought. If you were being honest, you'd always thought that divination was, to be polite, dumb. In fact, you'd been rather pissed when your head of house, Professor Flitwick, had told you that it was the only class that would fit in your schedule. But you didn't think that was what Theo wanted to hear at the moment.

"I mean, all forms of magic have their unique uses I suppose," you reply carefully, wondering where this was going.

Theo just hums in response, continuing to finger through the pages of the book as you watch with curiosity. Finally, with a deep breath, he snaps the book closed and turns to face you. It's clear he wants to say something as you search his eyes which seem to be getting ever so slightly closer by the second. You can't help the way your eyes drop down to his lips as his tongue glides across his bottom lip nervously. They're so close now you can practically feel the way they had pressed against your own last night. However brief that encounter had been. When you finally tilt your head back up to meet his eyes once more, your nose brushes his and you feel your breath hitch. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was about to kiss you right now.

And then his lips are on yours and you feel your body go limp as he pulls you into him, your eyes fluttering closed as he molds you to him. Your book slips from your fingers with a dull thud as it hits the ground, but you hardly notice. Theo's lips are just as warm, and soft, and utterly intoxicating as you remembered them to be. You can feel Theo smiling against your lips as he pulls you impossibly closer and you forget where you are, what you were doing, everything except what it feels like to be held in Theo's arms.

When you finally break apart, it's your turn to blink in stunned silence as Theo gazes down at you, his breath warm against your cheek.

"Ever since you arrived, everything that divination has told me has come true," Theo says gruffly, clearly not pleased to be having to admit it.

You couldn't blame him. The two of you had kind of bonded over how unseriously you both took the class. Still though, you tilt your head, inviting him to continue.

"The first day we met—that morning in divination, a deck of tarot cards told me I was going to fall in love."

A dry laugh escapes Theo's lips as he pulls back, eyes trained everywhere but at you now. Which is probably for the best as you feel tendrils of heat creeping up into your face.

"I didn't believe them of course. Thought it was pure rubbish."

Your heart stutters for a moment before your eyes land on the book Theo had been reading so intently up until now.

"Hm. And did something change?" you ask cautiously, not daring to get your hopes up.

"Well, the soggy leaves in my tea this morning kind of implied that I should get my act together if I wanted any sort of success, so—" Theo lets out another wry laugh, though there's no humor in his voice. Just a nervous undertone that you can tell he's trying to mask.

"Well did you? Fall in love that is?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy around Theo for the first time.

There's a beat of silence where you can practically feel your heart trying to tear its way out of your chest. You hadn't quite realized just how much you wanted this until it was staring you in the face. Or rather anywhere but. Then Theo meets your eyes once more.

"I think I could. If I'm not half way there already."

His words melt every bit of tension you had been feeling previously as you let out a breath that you didn't know you'd been holding.

"I think I'm half way there too."

Everyone say thank you to the beta readers @simplyastra and @nottendo 🫶🏽

[redeemingvillains]

i am obsessed with this!! this is what god meant when he said fanfiction!!! i could literally see, feel and hear everything - i adore the way you write hogwarts; the classes and teachers and everything are so fun and creative and atmospheric, like i want to go there so badly!!!!

i also love the sense of humor you wind into your writing it literally makes it so enjoyable to read. plus this is one of my favorite tropes and reader was an american ravenclaw likeeee 💅🏼 did you write this for me?? i was cackling at the line about patriotism and then theo being like gentle reminder i’m italian. ughhh you wrote him perfectly and this was flawless beginning to end celeste!!!

[obsessedwithceleste]

Vee you’re the sweetest😭 I’m in tears, shambles, sobbing on the floor—god I love you sm🤍🤍🤍

[maidenofcrows]

I don’t talk about it enough, but I am going to clarify: I think about the Rietveld family at least once a day. Absolute minimum.

I want to know what Kaz’s parents were like. I want to know their names. I want to know why his mother is never mentioned. I want to know what kinds of stories his father told him and his brother at bedtime. I want to know if the family was whole and happy once or if they were always steeped in tragedy.

Kaz Brekker believed so resolutely in a father’s unshakable love for his child(ren) that he hinged a whole plot around it twice. And I’m just supposed to move on from that?

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

occasionally, you will discover an artist who drew roughly 300 beautiful pictures of your favorite characters over the course of a month and then never touched them again. you must accept this as a gift.

[shessocrazy-imsofucked]

[sexy-people-contests-2026]

Tumblr Sexyman Contest 2026 Round 2 Part 21

Mr. Ant Tenna (Deltarune)

Matt Murdock (Daredevil)

Voting ended onJun 15

Tenna fanart is by @9Aaaalt29 on twt

[blackcattimemachine]

MATT I BELIEVE IN YOU

[traumatized-tiefling]

I'm gonna tell my kids that this was House M.D.

[so-many-ocs]

listening to music that has nothing to do with Characters: omg this is so Characters

[juggalohidan]

hold on. give me a sec. its gonna be about them. wait.

[mromitosen]

I am a PASSIONATE commenter on fanfiction, but sometimes it slows down my reading because I don't want to read if I don't have the mental energy to leave the long comments I want to

Still, as an author, I know even a short note can mean the world.

So, I put together a little guide with different “levels” of comments, so it’s easier to leave something without overthinking!

Hopefully this helps someone else too!

[obsessedwithceleste]

@puddlesoffrogs

[strawlessandbraless]

Happy Pride to Dean and his giant rainbow slinky