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Buongiorno!
kiara. 18. intp-t. writer&poet. slytherin. hades kid. slytherin boys. criminal minds. formula 1. wwe. serious problems with older men.
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505
The Only Exception — Mattheo Riddle X OC — Part 3
GENRE: fluff GENERAL TW FOR THIS SERIES: swearing, explicit but non-graphic references to sexual acts, minors smoking, underage drinking WORD COUNT: 1.3k SONGS: 505 by Arctic Monkeys; Cry Baby by The Neighbourhood
☆ MASTERLIST TAG LIST
<PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER>
“I’d rather not lose you because of it.”
Mattheo’s words rang in my head as I was sipping my coffee, and I was almost unable to tell whether my head was pounding because of that or because of a possible hangover. Almost. Because words, however vulnerable, only hurt my head if mine.
“Miss Black, what a surprise, sitting at the Slytherin table in Gryffindor colours.”
Pretty sure it’s a migraine now.
“Good morning, Professor Snape,” I mumbled as politely as one possibly can when the Slytherin Head of House passed by.
Not even half a minute later, Kiara appeared with Pansy on her right.
“I smell Daddy Snape,” the prior exclaimed when they sat down across from me. The frown I looked at her with I was sure making my headache a thousand times worse.
“You seriously should be medicated.”
“Sedated, rather,” chimed in a low voice I knew all too well from behind me. “Seriously, Ki, when are you gonna stop looking at Snape like that?” Mattheo asked while sitting down beside me.
“The day you learn to lock the bloody door if you’re jerking off in the shower.”
Cheeks red and his voice pitched concerningly high, he shook his head, “I wasn’t!”
My amusement at his embarrassment earned an elbow in my ribs. “Ow, okay, sorry.”
“I swear I wasn’t.”
This time his words were fully meant for my attention and no one else’s, and the desperation in his eyes told me he didn’t want to be seen so vulnerable — not under-the-shower vulnerable though, regardless of whether he was even doing anything. Embarrassed vulnerable.
But I didn’t blame him for it.
“Move,” I felt Theo sitting down next to his girlfriend before I saw it.
“You fucker, that hurt,” I exclaimed when he stomped straight on my foot under the table. “Stay on your side of the table.”
“Ooh, someone’s grumpy. Hangover?”
“Fuck off, Theo, will ya,” I mumbled back.
“No time for this, anyway. C’mon, bella mia, we’re going to Hogsmeade.”
“What? But I was supposed to spend the day with Cassie,” Kiara protested, to which Theo, who had clearly planned something for the two of them in advance, sighed.
“Okay, then, you’re coming with us, Banshee.”
“What? No, I’m not third wheeling.”
“For fuck’s sake now, you two are unbelievable — Riddle.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, I’m tired, I don’t wanna go out.”
“And I’m hungover,” I muttered with the same level of excitement as Mattheo beside me.
“Why did we agree to do this again?” I murmured, stomping on the wet cobblestone road leading down to the village in my Converse — it wasn’t a wise choice.
“Because Kiara’s worse than your mother when she wants something. And she wanted to spend the day with you.”
I looked at the girl walking ahead of me, arm linked with her boyfriend. Mattheo was right; Kiara and my mother both got whatever they wanted, always. And even though I was protesting at first, I would follow my best friend anywhere she wanted me even with both legs broken.
First, we followed our friends into Honeydukes where I mostly just wandered between the shelves, estimating macros in my head.
“You’re reading the ingredients,” Mattheo appeared behind me.
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
“I’m… estimating.”
“That’s somehow worse.” He then reached up above my head and took a handful of Cauldron Cakes before taking a step towards the check-out desk, “Eating one won’t kill your gains and end your Quidditch career, Princess.”
“Yeah but eating one turns into five.”
He chuckled before turning around, and I stayed there, “my mind still partly occupied with estimating, partly regretting last night’s drinking, and partly distracted by the smell of his cologne lingering in the air still after he had left.”
Hours later, after helping Theo get a slightly tipsy Kiara back to Hogwarts on the slippery cobbled road (it was not for the weak for sure), I found myself running laps around the Quidditch pitch. Running, and sport in general, was something I had always found peace of mind in — probably that’s why I like playing Quidditch so much, too.
And today, I had more things on my mind than it could process all at once, or even in some sort of order. Because where do I even start processing?
Back to last night? What we talked about with Mattheo. I bet he doesn’t remember. And that’s the best-case scenario.
Or do I start stressing about the future?
Or do I begin with the relationship dilemma?
Because after the night before, I was sure I was fucked. Unfortunately not lireally. I wished it was easier, finding someone who put the same effort into me as I put into them. I was partly jealous of Kiara and Daphne for being in such secure and consistent relationships where the boys worshipped the ground they walked on. But also of Pansy because she was easygoing enough to get herself into hookups, no strings attached.
And I was somewhere in the middle, craving something easy but meaningful at the same time. Something real. And after Hogwarts, would I even be able to find it? What if—
“Oi, Trouble,” that nickname made me stop and spin around to look for the brunette. He was standing there by the Hufflepuff stands, waiting. “Get your nice legs off the pitch before you slip in the mud and break a bone.”
I frowned and that was when I noticed it had started raining. My ponytail was loose and the dtrands in the front escaped the once-tight knot and were now sticking wet to the side of my face. Clothes heavy, and shoes soaking wet, I bet I must have looked ridiculous as I closed the distance between us. Mattheo’s hood was on and he was holding another hoodie.
“How’d you know I was here?”
He then held up a piece of parchment. The Marauder’s Map. I was even more confused now.
“I was looking for you because you didn’t come down for dinner and didn’t see you at the Gryffindor table either. So I asked Potter—“
“—threatened his life, I bet—“
“—politely asked the bastard to give me this. And then I saw you were running laps in the freezing rain for like half an hour.”
I frowned, still confused. Sure, Mattie was a good friend and we’d always had this weird sense of understanding between us. The Riddle heir and the disowned Black, yeah? He showed me he wasn’t dangerous, and I showed him I wasn’t cruel, despite the names we hadn’t even got to choose.
But I hadn’t thought he cared so deeply.
“You should come inside.”
“Yeah.”
He then held the spare hoodie that had been dangling on his arm out to me.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t see more into it. It’s just a hoodie.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips but I wiped it before my head found its way out the neck of the sweater.
We’d already been walking back towards the castle, the map now in the pocket of the lent hoodie with the intention of giving it back to my housemate, “Hey, you wanna sneak into the kitchen? I could eat an entire hipogriff.”
That earned a snort, “Of course you could.”
After a holy feast made by the elves, I was ready to fall into my bed and sleep for like a week when I noticed the pocket of Mattheo’s hoodie was still not empty, even after giving Harry the map back.
Reaching into it, I pulled out a packet of Fizzing Whizzbees out of it with a green sticky note attached to it saying: “Stop estimating.”
The ingredients and nutritional values I had told him so much about (and which he still struggled to understand), were outlined with black permanent marker.
The smallest smile tug at my lips before I opened the wrapper.
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obsessed
PAIRING: lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader (she's also an implied slytherin but it's never once explixitly said, if I remember correctly) GENRE: angst TW: explicit sexual content (brief), maybe cursing? WORD COUNT: 1.1k A/N: omfg i haven't written enzo in sooooo long, it healed something in me haha SONGS: obsessed by Olivia Rodrigo
☆ MASTERLIST TAG LIST PART2
Questions. You hated them these days.
“Oh so you’re dating Enzo now?”
“Wasn’t he with…?”
Questions. And worse, doubts. People were doubting you, and whether or not you really were Enzo’s type. Sure, you hadn’t been exclusive for that long yet, but people, after his last relationship, turned to you with expectations you felt like you couldn’t jump.
You almost wanted to bring this issue to him.
Almost.
But you didn’t, because you were afraid he’d say he loved you more but his eyes would show otherwise. You hated the thought of seeing anything of her lingering on his mind, in his life.
Anyone would have sworn you were in love with her if they’d known how much you’d been thinking of her.
Somehow, this girl did not leave your mind for more than an hour at best, because there was evidence everywhere that this girl had once lived between the walls of the same castle as you. She graduated last year, which made her two years older than you. One year older than Enzo.
It’s not even a big age gap, neither between them, nor between you and her. But it was just perfectly enough to make you feel like a kid. While she was probably already having adult problems, you were still having Quidditch bruises and curfew.
Her name was everywhere — in yearbooks, on goblets and medals in glass cabinets (turned out she had been extraordinary in Potions and Herbology), and in overheard conversations. There was a picture of her you had seen in Slughorn’s office — bright eyes, shiny hair and a proud smile — that made you realise you’d only see this girl a few times while she had been studying at Hogwarts. You couldn’t help but wonder if Enzo had ever stopped by to look at her since they’d broken up.
No wonder she had earned a spot on The Shelf, though. Slughorn still talked about her essays.
Prefect.
Head Girl.
Fuck, you knew she was a Virgo, too. So neat, so detail-oriented, what other sign would achieve so much without breaking in the process?
”Why would he even settle for a Quidditch player when he had her?”
Enzo, in the meanwhile, was clueless. Clueless about how his ex-girlfriend’s passive presence ruled your every day, about how obsessed you were becoming with her and with finding the answer to this one question: what made him choose you after he had someone so close to perfect?
“What’s on your mind, beautiful?” he ran his fingers through your hair as your head rested on his lap. The common room was quiet, only a few students had been out here, the rest were probably in their dormitories. Your notes of Quidditch strategies lay on your chest discarded, though you should have been breezing theough them instead of internally obsessing over a girl you had never spoken to.
“Huh?” you mumbled. “Oh, uh, nothing.”
”’Beautiful’. Did he call her that too?”
He frowned at you — he knew you better than this. “C’mon, Y/N, lying? You know you’re terrible at that,” he teased with a soft smile.
He was crazy about you, but that somehow made it even worse. Because if someone could love a simple girl like you this much, imagine how much he could have loved someone so accomplished. You were so blinded by something that had already passed that you slowly forgot to get out of your own head and live what was yours — his love.
“So, what’s bothering you, baby?” he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.
You almost said it out loud.
Almost asked, ”Did you love her like this?”
But refrained last-minute and sighed, “I’m just stressed about Quidditch.”
His expression softened and he gave you a reassuring look, “You’ll crush Hufflepuff, my love. Don’t you worry a second.”
You tried giving him a grateful smile, but could only stretch your lips as far as am awkward pout.
He smirked nonetheless and leaned closer to whisper, “Let me just take your mind off of it for tonight,” and before you knew it, you were already led by him, hand in hand towards his dorm room.
It didn’t slow your racing thoughts down, though — in fact, it had only made them worse.
”Is she good in bed?”
”Does she give great head…”
”Do you think about her— no, I’m fine, it doesn’t matter.”
You couldn’t stop thinking about her and her and her, even as his fingers worked inside of you, even as your mouth was sliding up and down in sync with your hand on his cock.
You wished to forget about her, for one night at least.
You knew he loved you.
But why was it not enough for you to understand that a sunflower was never supposed to compete with a lily?
“You know you can tell me anything, right?” his voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
You were lying in bed side-by-side, but you rushed to put clothes on, feeling less than anytime before, feeling like he deserved soft, spotless skin over fading scars and blue-green bruises.
“Yeah.”
“Then why do I feel like you’re somewhere else?” he kept running his fingertips up and down your arm soothingly.
You chewed on your lips, helpless, torn between saying it and staying quiet. Because if you said it… there were too many possibilities. He could either blow up on you. Be mad at you. Tell you you were insane. Or worst-case scenario: admit she was still important to him. More important than you, and that you could never take up as much space in his heart as she had.
Or, if you stayed silent, it could open the already existing hole and turn it into a gaping chasm between the two of you.
So you decided to speak a few silent seconds later, “I sometimes wonder if you miss her.”
“Who?”
“Your ex.”
He could tell he frowned, even without looking at him, “Florence?”
“Yeah.”
“You think I do?” he asked, not accusingly, not mad, just surprised.
“Well, I mean…” you sighed, there was no going back now. “She seemed nice.”
Liar.
She seemed everything, effortlessly. She for sure was well-read — she had been a Ravenclaw after all. She was talented at every subject, good with the kids she tutored, and probably was the life of every party. She was it and he was trying to convince you he didn’t miss her?
You felt so young seeing her on every corner you turned.
He sighed, then, and pulled you into his chest. He smelled like cedar and sandalwood, and something so uniquely him. “Yeah, she was nice,” he started. “But there was a reason we broke up. You think I love you because you remind me of her. I love you because you don’t.”
“Really?” your voice sounded almost hopeful.
“Really,” he kissed the top of your head.
The reassurance felt like a hot shower after a long day — nice, easing your mind, but still burning your skin just slightly.
You let out a soft sigh as you felt yourself relax into him, and laughed at something he said.
His reassurance worked. For about five minutes.
Because Florence Fawley was still a lily.
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my way
PAIRING: lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader (she's also an implied slytherin but it's never once explixitly said, if I remember correctly) GENRE: angst TW: minor injury, swearing (brief) WORD COUNT: 2.3k A/N: part 2 of obsessed!! SONGS: my way by Olivia Rodrigo
☆ MASTERLIST TAG LIST PART1
December passed by and turned into the new year before you had known and you came back to Hogwarts as almost an entirely new person with newfound security in yourself and your relationship. In fact, you hadn’t brought it up ever since but he, you had noticed, made it an extra step every day to reassure you one way or another that he only had eyes for you.
It was sometimes a single flower.
A letter.
Sweets when you were on your period.
You had seriously been living every girlfriend’s dream.
Your biggest concern was honestly not having enough time and patience to finish both your Potions and Transfiguration essays.
You were sitting by Enzo’s side at the Slytherin table during the feast the evening you had arrived back to the castle with the rest of the students who celebrated Christmas at home. You were lightheartedly taking jabs at Blaise and Theo, so just as usual, when Dumbledore stood and spoke up, "Before we begin the spring term, as Madam Pomfrey has agreed to take on a trainee this term, I'd like to welcome back one of Hogwarts' former students—”
You were in the middle of swallowing a snicker at Theo who had stuffed about six grapes in his mouth and looked ridiculous, like a squirrel.
“—Miss Florence Fawley.”
Clapping.
Your heart stopped.
Then you turned to look at Enzo who only sat there beside you with his fork lifted halfway to his mouth, looking confused at the girl next to Madam Pomfrey sitting with the teachers.
She was just there, smiling at a few people from the Ravenclaw table before her eyes started searching the Slytherins.
For Enzo, you assumed.
Then she found him, and you felt small — until his hand found your waist, and you sagged against him, leaning your head on his shoulder.
It was a statement. Quiet, but definitely one that put your mind at ease.
“Ow, shit, Pansy, that hurt,” you cursed at your friend as she walked you to the infirmary a few days later.
You took a wild Bludger — better said, the Bludger took you, straight off your broom, and caused a dislocated shoulder during Quidditch practice.
“Shall I go in with you?” she asked, an apologetic smile on her lips.
“No, no, I’ll be fine. See ya at dinner, I guess,” you sighed before pushing the heavy wooden door open in the Hospital Wing.
You knew how it went by now — go in, sit on an empty bed, and eventually, when the matron had time she would come to check and treat you. You were an expert, to say the least, at getting injured.
The weirdest thing about always having some sort of bruise or cut wasn’t even the way you got them — but how Enzo had always made sure to take care of you, even after Madam Pomfrey checked on you. Even if it was only the side of a fingernail. He was just genuinely that kind and loving when it came to something as real as your relationship was.
You sat on the bed, deep in your own thoughts when a pair of legs appeared in your vision.
“Hi,” her voice was soft, you could only compare it to honey. Then you looked up to be met by the girl from the pictures. The girl whose ghost had been haunting you. “Madam Pomfrey is busy so I’ll be checking on you,” she smiled, and you could only think it was a trap.
“Uh, thanks,” you murmured. She wasn’t as tall as you thought. “Ouch,” you hissed when she touched your shoulder.
“Quidditch?” was all she asked.
You nodded, “Yeah. I’m a Chaser. Bloody Goyle confused me for a Ravenclaw at practice and his Bludger hit my shoulder.”
She let out a soft huff and shook her head with a small smile. “I saw you fly yesterday. You seemed unstoppable out there — I get why Lorenzo must like to watch you at matches.”
Huh. Was that… a compliment?
But your ears focused more at how she said his full name. You only called him Lorenzo when you were mad at him — or when he tickled you so hard your belly hurt from laughing too much.
You almost asked her something that was definitely not something you should ask when you first meet your boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend, so you stayed silent instead.
You almost forgot about your dislocated shoulder until she put it back into place and you winced in pain with a hiss.
“I know, I’m sorry,” was all she whispered.
And then all you told Pansy and Daphne at dinner was “Well, she’s more human than I thought.”
You couldn’t believe how much time you spent being jealous of this girl. Looking back at it now, it seemed so immature and unfounded.
A few more visits to the infirmary made you realise Florence Fawley was more introverted than you thought at first — when you still hadn’t met her.
She asked you about Quidditch. Told you she had wished to be better at flying so she could have played while at Hogwarts.
She became less and less like the expectations you had set for her judged by her accomplishments, and more human by every sentence that left her mouth.
She gave you medicine for period cramps, but more like a friend and not as a Healer.
However, that friendliness lasted for about two weeks.
“Hi, Enz,” you entered his dorm with fresh gossip to tell him about a Hufflepuff in your year, and you found him reading something that looked like a letter. “Your mother sent that?” you asked while crossing the room, ready to get comfy with him on his bed.
“No.”
“Oh?”
“Can I see?” you peeked over to see the parchment. It was a poem in neat handwriting that made you frown. “Who?”
“No,” his face darkened in disappointment and a hint of anger.
“No?”
“Florence sent it.”
Your stomach dropped.
The room went silent. Not the peaceful kind of quiet you usually shared with him. The kind where every thought in your head suddenly became too loud.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
You were speechless. Why would she send him a poem?
He set it aside on the bed and shook his head.
Your blood boiled, and it was only for a second that you thought he’d give up on you. Because the way he looked at you, and how he pulled you in told you everything you needed to know — he needed this poem just as much as he needed a Bludger to the face.
“Why would she send you that?”
Enzo sighed, running a hand over his face.
“I don’t know.”
And that answer somehow made it worse.
“You don’t know?”
“No.” His voice softened, but there was still something frustrated underneath it. “Because I don’t know what she expected me to do with it.”
You looked down at the parchment.
“Maybe she expected you to remember.”
A pause. Not a guilty pause. A sad one.
“I do remember, Y/N.”
Your chest tightened. Because that was the one thing you hated admitting. Florence wasn't some random girl. She had been part of his life.
“But remembering someone doesn't mean wanting them back.”
You pulled back to look at him, “She knew about me.”
And then all you could read off of his face was anger.
“She knew we were together.”
“Yeah.”
“And she still sent it.”
“Yeah.”
Then he paused before cupping your cheeks between his hands, “Before you start overthinking, I need you to understand something. Florence was important to me. She was my girlfriend. I’m not going to pretend she wasn't. But she doesn't get to walk back into my life and act like nothing changed. Because I’m with you and I love you, Y/N.”
You nodded but you could feel the insecurity creeping up your spine. And before you could have stopped, you asked, “Do you ever miss her?”
He didn’t even think before answering, “No.”
It was simple as that.
“I miss being that age sometimes because last year, the NEWTs were something the teachers liked to scare us with, and I had more time to do things other than studying. But Flo?” He shook his head. “No. Because I don’t want the life I had back.”
He then took a short pause and rested his forehead against yours, “I want this one.”
She sent a few more poems, and letters too, like the first one, but Enzo didn’t even bother to read them. Then she went silent for a few days. You couldn’t make peace with the thought that she thought she could come and take him just like that and how she played you. You found it vile and disgusting.
And if she had kept it up, you wouldn’t just stand and watch her immature moves at trying to take your boyfriend.
Then she dropped the next bomb.
Her, tending to the cart in the infirmary, in a sweater that was definitely not hers. Not hers but your boyfriend’s.
You froze in the doorway.
It was navy. A little too big on her shoulders, the sleeves rolled twice over her wrists. The left cuff had begun to fray where Enzo always absent-mindedly tugged at it while studying.
There wasn't a chance you were mistaken.
Your stomach twisted.
Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe he'd lent it to her years ago and she'd simply never returned it. Maybe she'd found it tucked away in an old trunk. Maybe— No.
She knew exactly whose jumper it was.
"Morning," Florence greeted warmly when she noticed you. "Shoulder again?"
You forced your face into something resembling a smile.
"Sprained wrist this time."
Her eyes flickered to the bandage wrapped around your hand before she nodded sympathetically.
"Sit down. I'll get some dittany."
Does it still smell like him?
The thought made you feel sick.
Maybe she was just trying to rile you up now.
And she was getting to you. Embarassingly so.
You couldn’t contain yourself anymore, though.
“Nice jumper.”
She looked down “Oh,” then smiled, “It is.”
Then silence. You were waiting for her to maybe say something about it. She didn’t. So you asked, “Where’d you get it?”
“Lorenzo gave it to me years ago.” Then, after a brief pause, “I never gave it back.”
You searched her face for something.
Guilt.
Embarrassment.
A sheepish laugh followed by, I really should return it.
Anything.
But Florence only busied herself with arranging bottles on the trolley as though she'd merely commented on the weather.
Now your blood did boil. Not because of the jumper itself. Because she knew Lorenzo Berkshire had a girlfriend and that said girlfriend was standing right in front of her.
And yet she kept choosing reminders.
Poems.
Letters.
Now this.
Maybe each thing on its own meant nothing.
Together, they painted a picture you were no longer willing to ignore.
You'd spent weeks convincing yourself Florence Fawley wasn't the villain you'd imagined.
Now you couldn't tell whether she'd changed, or whether she'd simply started showing you who she really was.
This was a battle now. Of which you decided to be the winner.
That same afternoon, you were walking past the Greeenhouses when you spotted Florence Fawley inside.
With your boyfriend. Her head was bowed, tears slipping down her cheeks, and both of her hands wrapped around his.
Now she was properly standing in your way. You almost stormed inside, but decided against it because if you had, you would have probably hexed someone.
But the picture of them holding hands?
It remained in the foreground of your mind as you walked away.
You didn’t give up, though. But you needed time to think it through.
“Baby, please open the door,” you heard Enzo’s voice through your door, and when he didn’t stop trying with the doorknob, you flicked your wand with a sigh and a quiet ”Alohomora.’
It swung open and he stepped inside, already opening his mouth to tell you something important. “I talked to her.”
“I know.”
“What?” he stopped, just standing there, watching you and trying to read your facial expression.
“I spent weeks believing I was crazy,” you stood up. “I felt so bad for judging her for so long when he turned out to be actually kind. And then she sent you poems and letters and wore your jumper, and I saw you talking to her today and felt like I had to compete with somebody else to win my own boyfriend. How is that fair? How is it fair to me to hold herhand, Lorenzo.”
He winced at hearing his full name.
”He hates when people call him Lorenzo,” Florence told you the other day, “Except when I did.”
“No,” he shook his head then.
“Don’t.”
“But I wasn’t,” he shook his head, then continues, “She grabbed my hands.”
You stayed silent then, because, that made more sense than any conspiracy in your head.
“You know what I told her?” he continued, taking a measured step closer to you. You let him. “I told her I hoped she became an amazing Healer.”
Another few seconds of silence before he continued. He was now standing right in front of you, his hands reaching for your face. “And that I already have someone in my life that I love. “She keeps trying to remind me of my past. But every time she does, all it reminds me of is how sure I am about my future.”
You let him pull you in, and your head, clearer than anytime during the past weeks, rested against his chest as he just held you.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Florence Fawley was still a lily. But one that belonged in someone else’s garden.
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Fallingforyou
The Only Exception — Mattheo Riddle X OC — Part 5
GENRE: fluff GENERAL TW FOR THIS SERIES: swearing, explicit but non-graphic references to sexual acts, minors smoking, underage drinking WORD COUNT: 1.5k SONGS: Fallingforyou by The 1975
☆ MASTERLIST TAG LIST
<PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER>
“Stop eating the icing, it won’t be enough to cover the cake,” I took the bowl from Kiara, who still had the spatula in her hand, licking the frosting off of it.
“I bet this is what Snape tastes like,” she exclaimed.
I felt like throwing up, “You know what, eat it. I don’t want to put this on the cake anymore,” I flinched. “You’re gross.”
“And you’re prude,” she grinned.
“No, you’re too explicit for your own good,” I shook my head, concentrating on the cake I was cutting in half with the intention of the halves being approximately the same thickness. “Pass me the strawberries, please.”
She did, then went back to sit on the counter next to the cake while I was working on it for Theo’s upcoming birthday. “So are we gonna talk about it?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“You. Mattheo. Whatever’s between the two of you.”
I stopped for the time my heart skipped a beat, but only looked at her from the corner of my eye. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Yes, there is!”
“No, there is not because there’s nothing going on between us.”
The door opened then, and Mattheo stepped inside, “Ki, I can’t keep your boyfriend away from the kitchen. You’re babysitting from now.”
Ki grinned, then, after she hopped off the counter and fixed her skirt, hugged me and said, “Alright, we’ll talk when you’re ready. You’ll come around,” and walked out.
So there I was now, alone with Mattheo in the kitchen. “What was that about?” He asked, walking up to me and the cake. “How can I help with that?”
“Just Kiara being herself,” I sighed. I loved my best friend, but I was also a firm believer that there wouldn’t be anything to talk about. Because it was just a harmless crush that’d eventually fade. “And… I don’t know. I barely know what I’m doing, even.”
“But your mother’s a chef.”
“Yes.”
“And you bake killer brownies.”
"I meant my brain's a mess today.”
“What’s bothering you, Princess?”
You.
And that damn nickname again.
Fuck.
His eyes were searching me. It was a genuine question.
I sighed, “Too much to study lately, and I just can’t turn my brain off, especially with the upcoming game against Ravenclaw,” I told him while placing the top layer onto the previous one.
He watched me for a second longer than I was comfortable with.
“You’re lying.”
My head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
“You're stressed,” he corrected, reaching for the bowl of icing. “Just not about Ravenclaw.”
I opened my mouth to argue before closing it again.
He wasn't wrong.
He dipped the spatula into the frosting and held it up awkwardly. “Now... tell me where this goes before I ruin Theo's birthday.”
A laugh escaped me despite myself. “There,” I pointed to the centre of the cake. “Not too much.”
“You're talking to the man who once burnt toast.”
“We don't even use toasters.”
“Exactly.”
I snorted, shaking my head.
“You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
He spread the icing with surprising concentration, tongue poking slightly against the inside of his cheek.
“You know,” I said after a while, “for someone who claims not to know what he's doing after Hogwarts, you're oddly patient.”
He shrugged without looking up.
“Theo's mum used to bake with us.”
The room fell quiet.
He'd never mentioned her before. Of course, I knew about his childhood; after his father disappeared trying to kill Harry, Mattheo was taken in by the Notts. Elena had raised both boys until she died when they were eight. After that, Tiberius Nott had done everything to make them unlearn the good qualities they had learnt from Mrs Nott.
“Elena let us decorate the cakes,” he continued, smoothing another layer of frosting. “Theo would eat more icing than he put on.”
“That explains a lot.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, “It does.”
I looked down at the strawberries in my hands.
“I wish I'd met her.”
“So do I.”
It wasn't dramatic or tearful, just nostalgic. It was like peeling back layers nobody else had seen before.
For a while, the only sounds were the scrape of the spatula against the cake and the rain tapping softly against the kitchen windows.
Then, without looking at me, he spoke again.
“You're going to play well against Ravenclaw.”
“You don't know that.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“Because when your head's a mess”—he finally looked over, offering me the spatula—“you fly like you're trying to outrun it.”
“Happy birthday, mate,” Enzo said, clapping Theo on the shoulder the next afternoon. Kiara had spent her entire morning decorating the common room so it would look more like an actual living room in a nice cottage rather than the dungeons beneath the school. Fairy lights were everywhere, the cake already waiting for Theo on the coffe table, candles lit and reading 71 instead of 17. Could you tell who was behind that…
Theo laughed upon seeing it, and pulled his girlfriend closer into his side.
“How does pushing thirty feel?” Blaise teased before giving his friend’s shoulder a squeeze.
“You’re ancient,” Mattheo grinned.
“You’re literally a month younger than me.”
“And yet somehow wiser.”
“That’s not how age works.”
After singing Theo happy birthday in Italian (which turned him into a total sap, just like intended), and him opening his presents, the cake got cut while glasses clinked together. I was still sitting above my slice when everyone else was already talking over each other, or dancing.
Everyone but Theo.
He had been staring at the remnants of a slice of cake on his paper plate, half-eaten, half smashed.
“Hey, birthday boy,” I nudged his knee. “A shot?”
He nodded and drank it immediately after I poured him some fire whiskey.
He stayed silent for a beat before asking, “You made it? The cake.”
I nodded, “Ki said you liked this kind so I tried. Was it that bad?”
He shook his head immediately, “No, not at all. It just reminds me of my mum. Father’s always hated birthdays, said it only made people weak and vulnerable. But Mum baked cakes for us every year. This is my first since she…” he cleared his throat before continuing, "I never know whether I'm supposed to miss her more on her birthday or mine.”
My heart broke at his words. I knew he was grateful, obviously. But losing a parent and then facing something that reminded you of them is harder than words could ever describe.
We both fell silent as we got lost in our own thoughts, but then he broke the silence. “Thank you for the cake. And the notebook, it’s beautiful.”
“I thought it’d come in handy if you really took that trip around Europe.”
“Thanks, really.”
“Just don’t break her heart,” I looked over at my best friend who was drinking and talking to Pansy and Enzo. She looked so free — I’d never seen her so happy before.
“I won’t,” a beat of silence, then, “Don’t break his, either,” my eyes wandered to Mattheo on their own for a millisecond before I looked back at Theo with a frown.
He snorted, “Don’t give me that look. You two are so obvious — you’ve been orbiting around each other for weeks— dare I say months. You already know when he needs silence and when he needs words.”
He stopped for a second.
“You don't even realise you're doing it. You are already acting like a healthy couple, why wait any longer?”
“He’s my friend,” I protested.
He nodded, “Exactly.”
I frowned, at which his grin widened, “That’s the problem.”
A quiet laugh escaped him, “He’d kill me if he knew I told you all this.”
I frowned, “Then why are you?”
He looked over at the boy in question, “Because he never will.”
I sighed and looked over to where Mattheo was talking to my cousin before I could stop myself. He was defensive; arms crossed, lips pressed together tight — and I hated how well I was able to read his body.
“Cass,” Theo’s voice pulled me back into reality. “I’ve known Mattheo my entire life. He doesn’t let people in.”
He paused for a beat before hitting me with, “Do you think this is how he treats everyone?”
I didn’t say anything because I knew he was right.
Then he continued.
"He notices when you skip meals. He knows where to find you. He keeps giving you pieces of himself and pretending they're nothing. The hoodie. The sweets. His sketchbooks. His nightmares. Do you know how many people he's told about them?"
"...None?" I whispered, which earned a sad smile.
"Exactly."
Now I had no defense. I ran out of excuses and could only give him whatever was left untouched from the reality behind my words. "What if I'm wrong?"
"You're many things, Cassie, but blind isn’t one of them.”
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Fade Into You
The Only Exception — Mattheo Riddle X OC — Part 6
GENRE: fluff GENERAL TW FOR THIS SERIES: swearing, explicit but non-graphic references to sexual acts, minors smoking, underage drinking WORD COUNT: 1.4k SONGS: Fade Into You by Mazzy Star
☆ MASTERLIST TAG LIST
<PREVIOUS CHAPTER
“There is no way this is comfortable.”
“Shh, you prick, don’t wake her.”
“Aw, it’s the boyfriend speaking.”
When I opened my eyes, the room and the faces above me were all blurry but I knew it was Draco and Mattheo talking.
“Hi, Angel Eyes, come, I’ll take you to bed” and then my eyes were closed again. In no time, I was held in bridal position by two strong arms, and all I could feel was a heart beating under my ear and my favourite scent in the entire world filled my lungs.
I could get high on this.
On him.
Heavy breathing, my mind alerted and I sat up immediately. Mattheo was in bed next to me, sitting, trying to regulate his breath as his tears rolled down his cheeks continuously without seeming to come to a stop.
I didn’t have to be told to know what was happening. He had a nightmare.
I was on my knees in front of him
on the creaky bed before I knew it, and holding his cheeks between my palms.
“Shhh, it’s okay. It was just a dream. You’re safe.”
I kept telling him these affirmations over and over again until he grabbed my shirt — I don’t remember putting this on. I was in a dress…?
“It’s okay, Mattie,” I whispered while leaning my forehead against his. “You’re safe, hun.”
I was using all the pet names I had in mind. All the pet names I thought I’d use romantically, in a relationship, not while trying to calm my friend.
But he’s not really a friend now, is he?
And honestly, seeing his face — vulnerable eyes, the saddest pout I’ve ever seen, tear-ridden cheeks — while listing all these names with ‘You’re safe’s has ruined every last one of them for anyone else.
“Don’t… I-I—“ he tried but only started sobbing harder so I pulled him in against my chest.
My heart was aching for him. I wished that I could help somehow, make it better, easier for him, take up all his pain, but knew it was a dead end, wishing for them.
“I’m here and not going anywhere, pretty boy,” I kept a hand running through his hair while the other splayed over his back, trying to keep him safe and secure him against my chest.
“Can you hear my heartbeat?”
He nodded.
“Good. Means you’re awake and safe. Just… keep listening to it, honey.”
And he did just that.
For about a minute.
Then he looked up at me and gripped my shirt with both hands now, “Don’t leave me,” he pleaded, and my heart broke all over again for this boy.
Leave him? What a stupid thing to think.
“I won’t,” I wiped away his tears, though my words only encouraged them to come faster and stronger. I was helpless, had no idea what the protocol in this case was.
“Shhh, I’m not going anywhere, you hear me?”
“Don’t leave.”
“I won’t.”
“No, I-I mean don’t leave m-me.”
He didn’t like being seen like this. But this side of him didn’t scare me. In fact, it only made me love him more.
“It’s not so easy getting rid of me, Mattie,” I tried calming him again, and I opened my mouth to say something but he was faster.
“I love you.”
My heart skipped so hard I thought it might stop altogether, but then composed myself when I realised he had probably meant it the same way Theo or Enzo would.
Platonically.
As a friend, or a sister.
So I swallowed my pride and kissed his forehead the way Mum used to kiss mine when I had nightmares, “I love you too.”
After he’d calmed down, we fell into silence but didn’t let go of each other for a long time.
“Thank you,” he said as the silence between us had started stretching far too long.
“You don’t have to,” I shook my head and squeezed him once against myself.
Then we fell quiet again.
The tension was palpable, there were too many things left unsaid between us.
So I asked, “How did I end up here? And when’d I change?”
“Uh, you didn’t. Kiara put one of my shirts on you so you would be more comfortable.”
I just nodded.
“And you fell asleep on the couch so I took you here.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s the bare minimum.”
I snapped when he said that, “No it’s not!”
“What—“
“The bare minimum would have been putting a blanket over me. Or waking me up and walking me to the Gryffindor Tower, but not taking me into your bed, in your shirt like we—“
“Like we what?” he cut my words short by asking, but I didn’t have it in me to say it out loud.
My cheeks were redder than my Quidditch robes.
He took a deep breath to steady his voice before talking, “Like we had slept together? Or like we were two people who enjoyed each other’s company and had been friends long enough to let the other see them as vulnerable as sleeping trusting the other enough to fall asleep beside them without expecting anything in return? Trusting the other enough to let her see him have a nightmare?”
His voice kept getting angrier progressively, but it had a hint of desperation to it too.
I stayed quiet when he stopped for a minute.
“Cassie, tell me, what’s the name of the game we’re playing? Because I’ll be completely honest with you if i’d already started, I like to keep who I really am to myself but I showed you. I gave you every piece of myself I swore I’d take to the grave but I laid all my cards face up on the table and you seem to be pulling out right after.”
That made my blood boil.
“Of course I am pulling out! We’ve been dancing on this thin line between friends and lovers for the longest. Sorry if myconfusion confused you, but I’ve had enough of not knowing where we even stand anymore!”
“Are you not listening to me? I told you I loved you!”
“And I said it right back!”
“But you meant it platonically!”
“No, you meant it platonically!”
We both went silent as the realisation hit us both.
“Wait.”
Neither of us spoke after. The room suddenly felt too small and impossibly quiet.
Then he broke the silence, “You thought I meant it platonically?”
I nodded.
He let out a helpless laugh. “Angel Eyes, I’ve been losing my mind over you for months.”
My heart started racing.
He continued. “Theo’s known before I did. Kiara knows. That stupid cousin of yours knows. Everyone around you knows, except for you.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” I shook my head, fidgeting with my claddagh nervously.
“I thought…” his voice trembled before he could have continued. “I figured you were too good for me.”
“No, I thought you’d just wake up someday and realised you deserved better,” I shook my head, voice small.
“But then tell me, how does one want better than the best, baby?” he chuckled, his voice carrying so much emotion it almost sounded broken. “Do you even know how amazing you are?”
I let out a shaky sigh and rested my forehead against his. I could feel his breath on my lips, then his nose brushed against mine.
Then our lips met. I was pretty sure it was me initiating it, but I had been waiting far too long for it to happen to pay attention to who kissed who. I felt like a giddy child on Christmas morning. His lips were soft and fit against mine perfectly. He didn’t rush it, it was slow, and romantic, and earned. His palm found my cheek and pulled me closer for the duration of the kiss. It was long, and all-consuming.
Then, when we parted, he looked me directly in the eyes. The faint, magical glow seeping in through the underwater windows painted his face a green-ish colour despite it being the middle of the night.
His voice trembled slightly as he said, “I’ve never wanted to fall in love but then you made me want to make an exception.”
He took my right hand and slipped my ring off my finger, “Can I flip this?”
I froze for a second.
He’s asking you to be his girlfriend, eejit, say yes!
“Please.”
So he did, and then the heart wasn’t facing away from me anymore. I was taken. I was a girlfriend.
“I love you, Cassie. Romantically.”
When he added the last word with a crooked smile, I chuckled, “I love you too, Mattie. Romantically.”
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But Not Tonight
The Only Exception — Mattheo Riddle X OC — Part 1
GENRE: fluff GENERAL TW FOR THIS SERIES: swearing, explicit but non-graphic references to sexual acts, minors smoking, underage drinking WORD COUNT: 1.1k A/N: i didn’t think i’d ever open tumblr to post again, but here i am, more than a year after the last time i have. i’d been writing and then rewriting this series and this is the fourth time i have rethought the concept, and the first time i was able to finish it. so if you’re reading it, i hope you’ll enjoy it just as much as i have enjoed writing!!! SONGS: But Not Tonight by Depeche Mode; Movies by Conan Gray
☆ MASTERLIST TAG LIST
NEXT CHAPTER>
One of the things I hated most about dating — and I’m going to sound selfish for this — had always been the fact that it worked out for everyone but never me. Even if two people broke up in the end, they had a beginning and a middle. I had neither.
I had friends, sure, but at some point I had to realise I was replaceable, and that boyfriends and girlfriends were going to come along for them and I’d stay alone.
Even if they’d promise me not to drift away.
Especially then.
I watched Enzo fall for Daphne, and while I was happy for them, I also felt the withdrawal very deeply.
I wished it had happened to me, too — hoped that someday, love would find me the way it found everyone else, hoped it wouldn't always pass me by and leave me with situationships that went nowhere. Like that Muggle bloke last year with the awful stick-and-poke tattoos and the Sid Vicious wannabe haircut that made him look like he'd fought an inferius.
But I dreaded it, too: letting someone in, opening up, only to fear they'd find someone prettier, smarter, easier to love—and leave.
And sure, finding The One at the age of 16 is not impossible, though an unrealistic standard the modern romance books set — and maybe Cher Horowitz. And I’m not saying I was looking for it, no. I just wanted to feel something like love, even if it had ended up in heartbreak.
And Mattheo, well, he seemed to be on the same page as I was.
“Where’d you leave Theodore 'I don’t know a word in English but will get into your knickers in two minutes' Nott?” I looked up at Mattheo as he approached and sat beside me, already pulling a cigarette out of his pocket with that lazy smirk on his lips.
“Charming his way into your best friend’s knickers,” he replied, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and a slight bit of annoyance I knew he was trying to keep at bay just as much as I was. “Plus, he knows English — just maybe not C2 level.”
Rolling my eyes, I leaned back on my palms as the late-autumn night wind blew around us on the top floor of the Astronomy Tower. The stars glittered above, indifferent to the teenage soap opera Hogwarts had seemed to turn into lately.
“He’s got the subtlety of a troll with a concussion,” I muttered, eyes on the dark sky. “Honestly, I’m not sure if I’m more disgusted or impressed.”
Mattheo let out a low chuckle, the sound curling around me like smoke. He flicked his lighter, the tiny flame illuminating his sharp features before he brought the cigarette to his lips. “Enzo says the same about you.”
“Enzo can go stick a broom up his hole for all I care,” I replied slowly and measured, drawing a faint, sneeze-like chuckle from the boy next to me. “At least I don’t go around—”
“—Shagging everything that moves?” he grinned at me, earning a glare from me. “Heard that line once or ten times from you.”
I flipped him off.
It didn’t wipe the grin from his face.
“You in a sour mood today, Princess?” he nudged my shoulder with his before offering his cigarette to me.
“You absolute gobshite.”
I still took the cig and a drag from it. It burnt just right, something finally quieting the buzzing thoughts in my head and the too-many feelings in my chest.
“Gobshite,” he mocked with a fake Dublin lilt. “Are you gonna start the jig, too?”
“I will hex you off this fuckin’ tower,” I threatened without any real heat behind my words.
I passed him the cigarette back, the knot in my brows finally easing somewhat. Mattheo caught my gaze, then his eyes drifted to the fresh scar on the side of my neck where it disappeared beneath the collar of my Gryffindor jumper, pale in the moonlight. “What happened?” his voice suddenly turned concerned.
“Draco was playing fair during duelling,” I tried to keep my voice steady and unbothered, but I did not manage to keep the slight tremor out of my tone.
“That little fucker,” He snarled immediately, eyes darkening, but I shook my head.
“It’s fine, I once broke his nose when we were kids. Playfighting. My head smashed it, my aunt had to mend it for him,” Trying to downplay the sting, I forced my voice to stay steady.
Draco and I had always been a little difficult, like siblings — but his father obviously didn’t exactly liked the fact that his son of precious blood was playing with the filth. To Lucius, family relations only mattered as long as one was not smearing dirt all over the Malfoy name. Draco and I had always remained on good terms, though. Especially during Hogwarts months, because his father’s arm was not long enough to reach there.
“Wicked,” Mattheo smirked a little, though his gaze was still a little bothered by the cut and by my faked nonchalance. “Remind me not to piss you off, Black.”
I snorted, “What, afraid I’d break your nose too?”
“That, or something else,” he kept his tone casual, leaning into a more teasing tone as he continued, leaning a little closer to rile me up, and Merlin, was he doing a great job at it already. “I’d hate seeing you break something you might want to ride later, Princess.”
My mind short-circuited, and I could feel my cheeks grow a violent shade of red as he continued on grinning like he hadn’t just implied me ending up in his lap — in future tense, like he was just so sure I’d end up like that.
Snapping out of my embarrassment, I shoved him a little, “You absolute pig!”
Mattheo just chuckled softly, the sound smug and low, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. “I’m only saying what you’re thinking, darling.”
Scoffing, I scrambled to my feet while he laughed.
Actually fucking laughed.
“Get fucked,” I snarled, still reeling from the image of me riding him instead of sitting there flustered.
“Oh, that’s the plan,” he continued in the same, teasing, sickly-sweet tone. “But not tonight, unfortunately.”
“Keep dreaming,” I called out while walking towards the staircase.
“Believe me, I will,” he replied in a sing-songy voice, “and trust me, you’ll be starring every one of them.”
I had to swallow a strangled noise, and before hurrying down the flight of stairs, I could hear him call out, in an amused tone, “Goodnight, Black.”
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SLYTHERIN BOYS - THEIR FAV PLACES TO BE KISSED
THEODORE NOTT: neck, behind his ear
MATTHEO RIDDLE: biceps, face
LORENZO BERKSHIRE: hands, lips
DRACO MALFOY: thighs, waist
BLAISE ZABINI: arms, neck
TOM RIDDLE: back, hips
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SLYTHERIN BOYS - THINGS THAT TURNS THEM ON
THEODORE NOTT: the way you look at him
MATTHEO RIDDLE: neck kisses and when you're jealous
LORENZO BERKSHIRE: when you're wearing his shirt
DRACO MALFOY: messy hair and when you're wearing high heels
BLAISE ZABINI: when you're explaining something
TOM RIDDLE: basically your existence
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SLYTHERIN BOYS - SENDING NOTES IN CLASS
THEODORE NOTT:
MATTHEO RIDDLE:
LORENZO BERKSHIRE:
DRACO MALFOY:
BLAISE ZABINI:
TOM RIDDLE:
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kiara's intro:
LINKTREE
c.ai: coralines-blade
REQUEST FORM
CHARACTER MASTERLIST
CHARACTER REQUEST LIST
writing blog: @inksoakedparchment
personal blog: @sweetcolorfulies
you can request in my google form or on coralines-blade asking
TEACH ME
pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader
genre: smut
trope: teacher x student
word cunt: 936
tw: AGE GAP, smut, dirty talk (please scroll if you don’t like these things)
a/n: smash
masterlist
It’s your last year in high school, you’re already an adult - you’re eighteen years old - but also a teenager with a more mature mind than the people your age. And you have a crush on your fucking English teacher. His salt-pepper hair and beard with his muscled body but also he has a tiny stomach. The way his veins hands play with the marker when he doesn’t write on the board or when he bites his lip while searching for the right word. It’s your favourite lecture.
He always gives a story, a novel or an essay for every week and he gives a topic or a word to make you write anything that comes to your mind. Last week’s word was ‘Forbidden’ and you immediately started writing a teacher-student novel. It came out about fifty-two pages. You gave it to him two days ago during the last lecture you had and today? You have English again.
The lesson finishes and you make your way out of the classroom but he calls out.
“Miss Y/L/N?”
“Yes, Mr. Pascal?” you turn around and look at him.
“Lock the door, please,” he asks you seriously and you do as he asked. “Come here,” he gestures and you stop next to him, dropping your bag on the floor.
“I want to talk about your novel, Miss,” he looks up at you.
“What’s the problem with that?” you raise your eyebrow.
“Nothing just, ‘His dark blue jeans stretch on his perfectly shaped thighs, the white shirt almost rips when he lifts his arm to write on the board, and I just want to bite in those biceps. Mr. P looks like a man who likes to fuck rough and I want to be under him. Or on top of him, I don't care. His salt-pepper hair looks so soft, and the way his brown eyes meet mine when he talks about some age-gap romance, it turns me on. I want to be fucked on his desk. And he does it after the lesson’ about this,” he looks up at you. “Mr. P? Age-gap romances and I think this ‘Mr. P’ is an English teacher. Or am I reading too much into it?” he runs his hand through his hair.
“You’re not,” you shrug nonchalantly.
“It’s inappropriate, Miss Y/L/N,” he shakes his head and sighs.
“The look in your eyes when you see me in skirts, that’s inappropriate. This is just a novel,” you call him out.
“It is?” he runs a hand up on your thigh. “Did you put this short skirt on, because you want to tease your teacher, Miss?” he grips your inner thigh and you gasp.
“I did, sir,” you nod and he stands up, letting your thigh go.
“You’re filthy,” he pushes your head down on his desk. “But you get what you want. You get what your young pussy needs,” he leans to your ear, pressing his crotch to your ass. “A real man’s dick, princess,” he whispers.
Pedro rolls your skirt over your ass and spanks it.
“No underwear? I knew you were a slut. The look in your eyes, the way you’re pressing you’re thighs together during every damn lesson, thinking I didn’t notice,” he scoffs. “I did.”
You hear he pulls his belt out of his jeans and without hesitation, he spanks your butt with a damn belt. Five times on each cheek. You can’t help but moan from the pleasure and pain. He knows exactly what he’s doing and damn you like it.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he traces circles on your hips.
“I want you to teach me how you like to fuck. I want to be sore and I don’t want to walk properly,” you moan out.
“Good girl,” he groans and takes off his trousers.
With a fast, ruthless thrust, he slams his dick into your pussy, stretching you open as he fucks you hard and relentlessly, his pace brutal from the start. The force knocks the breath from your lungs, your body jerking against him, but he doesn’t slow down—he only grips you tighter. His fingers twist into your hair, yanking your head back until your scalp burns, but all you can do is cry out his name, your voice breaking with every punishing thrust.
You can only hope the building is empty because there’s no way in hell you’re being quiet. His other hand slides down, rough fingers wrapping around your throat, forcing you upright against his solid chest. Your head spins as he tightens his grip just enough to steal your air, to remind you who’s in control. His breath is hot against your ear, the low growl of his voice sending shivers through your overstimulated body.
“Take it,” he orders, his teeth grazing your jaw before he drags his mouth down to your throat. His lips crash against your skin, kissing, biting, sucking hard enough to leave marks—proof of how thoroughly he’s claiming you. Your body trembles, helpless against the onslaught, but fuck, you don’t want him to stop. Every rough, punishing thrust sends shockwaves through you, pushing you closer to the edge, your mind unravelling in the pure, raw intensity of him.
“Cum for me, my dirty little secret,” he bites your earlump.
Your eyes roll back in your head and you cum with trembling body, moaning his name while your pussy squeezes his dick and that was the last push for him too. He bites your shoulder as he cums in you.
“You’re mine, understood?” he pants caressing your waist.
“Understood,” you mutter, trying to catch your breath.
WHEN THE WALLS FALL
pairing: cm punk x fem!reader
genre: fluff, smut, angst
trope: frenemies to lovers
word cunt: 2,329k
tw: age gap (you're in your twenties and he's in his forties), smut - spanking, dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving)
a/n: motivation is back i guess, he’s my new muse<33
song: take me down by hazel
masterlist
Your relationship with Phil is, well, quite odd to say at least. You and Phil became friends when you joined WWE and he just approached and welcomed you warmly. It was strange at first because when you watched WWE and him on TV, he was a damn asshole - but still he was your favourite. Then within a few months, you started hang out as friends, then on a night when you were drunk, - he was drinking Pepsi - leaned in and captured his lips in a soft kiss. When you leaned back he was staring at you with widened eyes and totally shocked by your actions. The next day you met at work and he asked you out but you laughed and said the previous night’s kiss was a mistake and you were drunk. He pressed his lips together and just nodded and from then you’ve been in a frenemy status. Not friends anymore, not enemies but something is off and this hatred is still between you. He’s angry because you rejected him after you kissed him, you’re furious because he’s avoiding you like it’s his full-time job.
Before your biggest match tonight against Rhea Ripley - for the Women’s World Championship title -, he approaches you with a serious expression.
“Good luck tonight, Angel,” his face softens with a smile.
“Thank you,” you look into his gorgeous green eyes which are full of support.
You turn around as your entrance song ‘Rein Raus’ by Rammstein starts playing after Rhea gets in the ring and you start walking in confidently.
You’re mouthing the lyrics, it’s one of your favourite songs so it was obvious this gonna be your entrance song, it’s powerful with dirty meaning. Perfect.
The match is still going after twenty minutes when you finally drop your bomb; ‘Flames’. Your finisher move. With a fierce rush, you execute a powerful double underhook DDT, spinning her in midair before slamming her headfirst to the mat. The impact is so intense, that the crowd collectively gasps, holding their breath. You don’t stop there. You quickly climb on the top rope and spring off into a Phoenix Splash, landing perfectly on Ripley. You pin her down, the referee starts counting and then the bell rings. You stand up in disbelief, she couldn’t kick out your pin. A smile spreads across your face as you close your eyes and in a moment the title is in your hands. You climb on the top rope holding the belt in the air and the crowd chants your name like it’s a pray.
After you change into comfy clothes in the locker room, ready to leave, he leans on the doorframe.
“Congratulations, Y/N,” he smirks and nods proudly.
“My body is screaming in pain, Mami is reckless,” you laugh “But thanks, it means a lot actually.”
“You’re the Women’s World Champion, Angel. You should be proud,” his eyes soften and you feel your stomach flip.
Angel. The nickname he gave you when he first saw you in all-white gear with extreme white makeup. Punk complimented you before, then after the match, he said you look like an angel and a goddess at the same time. But your angelic eyes made him stuck with Angel.
“I’m proud to be honest. I earned my title and I fought for it a lot,” you smile at him.
“You sure did,” he laughs softly “Have a good night, Y/N.”
“You too, Phil.”
When he turns around a piece of paper falls out of his back pocket but he doesn’t notice. Punk disappears behind the corner as he makes his way out. You pick up the paper and fold it out, revealing words. Lots of words. It’s a damn letter. You look around and when you make sure you’re alone you sit down on the bench and start reading it.
‘Dear Angel,
I’ve written a hundred letters to you, and I never had the guts to give you a single one. This one’s no different. I don’t even know why I’m writing it now, but here I am. I don’t think I’ll ever give it to you, but I guess sometimes you have to get things off your chest, even if they never see the light of day.
I’ve been standing here, watching you win tonight, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you. You’ve worked so damn hard for this, Angel. I’ve always known you had it in you, but watching you finally take that belt? That’s something else.
It’s funny, though. I’ve been thinking about that night two years ago more than I’d like to admit. We hung out, you got drunk, and yeah, you kissed me. You were stumbling, and I was just there—doing my best to keep it together while you had your fun. I didn’t drink, I don’t do any of that, but I couldn’t help but feel… something. And the next day, I asked you out. I’m sure you remember it. You rejected me. Said it was a mistake, that you were drunk and it didn’t mean anything.
I wasn’t pissed off. Hell, I was probably more disappointed in myself for even thinking there could be something there. Maybe you didn’t want someone like me. Maybe I’m just too damn old, grumpy, and set in my ways for someone like you. I mean, maybe that’s why you rejected me, right? I’ve got this edge about me, and the age gap—hell, it’s probably just another thing to add to the list of reasons why I’m not what you’re looking for.
But here’s the thing, Angel. I’ve been lying to myself ever since. I’ve been acting like I don’t care, like it doesn’t matter, but it does. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this now—maybe it’s because tonight, watching you with that championship, I can’t pretend anymore. I’m proud of you. I respect you. I don’t care if you never feel the same way, but I can’t keep pretending I’m not still a little hung up on you.
I’m not asking for anything, Angel. Don’t worry, I’m not about to lay all of this at your feet. I’m not going to make things complicated. I’m straight edge, I’ve always kept my distance, and I’ll keep doing that. But I needed to write this, for myself. To stop pretending I don’t feel this way.
You’re a champion. You always have been. I guess I’ve just been too scared to admit how much you mean to me.
Anyway, this letter probably won’t ever see the light of day. You won’t ever know it exists, and that’s okay. Maybe it’s for the best. But just know, somewhere out there, I’m still cheering you on.
Punk’
Your tears are flowing down your cheeks, regretting these two years you avoided your feelings for him. God, you’ve been in love with him since you first talked to him and he made you become his friend. You still can’t forget that kiss, his soft lips on yours, kissing you back. The surprise in his eyes being slowly replaced by desire but he took you home and tucked you in bed.
You stand up still crying, the letter in your coat’s inner pocket and you start running like you do it for your life. Actually, you are. Because it’s your life and you want him to be in your damn life as a lover. As a partner.
When you reach his house, soaking wet because of the rain, you lie on the bell. He opens the door only in grey sweatpants clearly confused.
“What are you doing here, Angel? Did you run? Jesus, you’re soaked,” he sighs and pulls you in.
“What is this?” you take out the letter from your pocket and push it on his chest.
The air stuck in Punk’s lungs and slides his hand on the letter, staring into your soul.
“Did you read it?” he asks with fear.
“That’s why I'm here, dumbass,” you laugh bittersweet as you take off your coat and kick your boots off.
“How did you—”
“—It fell out of your pocket. And you disappeared before I could take it after you,” you wipe away a tear “Do you really feel this way?”
“I do,” he mutters under his breath.
“Oh my god,” you laugh and grab the back of his neck, crashing your lips to his.
He kisses you back but in a second he gently pushes you away.
“Angel, what was this?” he lets the letter fall on the ground and cups your cheeks in his hands.
“I don’t know why I rejected you two years ago. I was afraid that I’d be a young toy for you. I was afraid I’d fall for you damn hard. But I did anyway,” you swallow nervously.
“So you say we’ve been feeling the same thing for two years now? And neither of us did anything?” he laughs bitterly.
“Looks like,” you shut your eyes.
“Look at me, Y/N,” he lifts your chin and you open your eyes.
He leans in and kisses you deeply with hunger and frustration. The situation quickly turns heated and your hands slide on his naked chest, he grabs your thighs and lifts you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you into his bedroom and throws you on the bed.
“You thought I only wanted you as a toy back then?” he grabs your ankles and yanks you to the edge of the bed “I’m going to play with you. You’re my dirty little slut, my nasty toy from now on. And I’m going to make sure you will never forget this night, and me,” he whispers in your ear and shivers go down your spine “Got it?”
“Mhm,” you hum. The heat which radiates from his body makes you weak. His words make you feel you’re going to cum right now.
“Good girl,” he smirks and takes off your jeans with your thong and throws it away “You’re so damn wet for me, Angel,” he mutters on your inner thigh and presses sloppy kisses on it. In a second he buries his head in your pussy, and a loud moan escapes your lips. His tongue - oh my holy fuck - fucks you. Licking and eating you out like you’re his last dinner, sucking on your clit while looking into your eyes.
“Phil,” you moan his name “I’m gonna cum,” you grip his hair and press his face more into your pussy.
“Not yet, Angel,” he leans back grinning with your juices on his chin.
You groan impatiently. He grabs you and puts you on middle of the bed, then takes off your t-shirt.
“No bra? You filthy slut,” he sucks on your nipples, while you arch your back for him.
He kisses your body everywhere he can, and then he takes off his sweatpants, kneeling on the bed naked.
“How is that gonna fit in me?” you look at his penis then into his eyes.
“Oh, Angel. I’ll make it fit,” he smirks and he climbs on top of you, positioning himself between your legs.
Without hesitation, he pushes his dick inside you, with one, long thrust. You cry out his name loudly, making sure his neighbours going to know who’s living in this house.
“Jesus Angel, you’re so damn tight,” he sucks in a sharp breath.
He starts thrusting first slowly and when you start moaning in pleasure, he picks up a rough pace. Your hips meet with loud sounds which makes you feel more desired. His hunger is apparent in his groans and whimpers. Before you could cum, he slides out of you and he turns you on your stomach and pulls your ass up.
“Count to ten. This is your punishment for making me wait this long for your delicious pussy and your perfect heart,” and he slaps your ass light.
“One,” you hum. The second slap is way stronger than the first.
“Two,” you moan softly. The third? Ruthless. Finally, you reach ten, and your ass cheeks are burning, and your pleasure is dripping down on your inner thigh.
He positions himself behind you and slams into your pussy and starts fucking you like a damn animal. He turns you on your back and grabs your throat tightly while rocking his hips to yours.
“My little, kinky slut. I feel your pussy squeeze around my dick as I apply pressure on your perfect throat. Like your new necklace, Angel?” he pants as he throws his head back. He looks like a fucking god.
“Yeah,” you force out the answer. You can’t think just feel. You feel everything. He grabs your hips and you already feel the marks of his hands are going to be there tomorrow.
He doesn't slow down, if it’s possible he just fastens his pace.
“Cum for me, Angel,” he groans.
And this pushes you over the edge. You scream his name, tightening around him and his dick twitches, cumming inside you.
He leans down and kisses your jawline then your lips with affection and care. And with love.
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers on your lips, staring into your soul.
“I love you too, Phil,” you smile at him softly.
He slowly pulls out of you and goes for a warm, wet towel and takes care of you. Wiping away your and his mixed cum which is dripping out of you, then he gives you one of his boxers and t-shirt, but he sees how exhausted are you and dresses you up. He puts on sweatpants too then climbs next to you, pulling you close to his body.
“Please be here when I wake up,” he whispers, begging with his eyes.
“I would never leave,” you shake your head and snuggle to his chest “I love you,” you close your eyes and immediately drift off to sleep.
“My Angel,” he presses a kiss on your temple and slowly falls asleep too.
taglist: @sunkissedscribbles @kandis-mom @idkkkkkkk123lgb @siriusblackslefttoenail
SLYTHERIN BOYS REACTING TO THEIR GIFTS + WHAT IS IT
THEODORE NOTT:
༯ you put on your new blood red sexy underwear and you lay under tree. you shout his name to come out of your room because his present is here. he comes out and when he looks at you, his jaw drops. then he grins and quickly undress himself but when you see his goofy christmas boxer, you start laughing. but the laughter immediately stops when he captures your lips with his. it was the best christmas present he’s got in his life.
MATTHEO RIDDLE:
༯ you put some hot pictures in an envelope and you give it to him. Matt opens it and his jaw drops, then he bites his lower lip. he’s giving side eyes then he rips your clothes off and buries his head between you thighs. christmas dinner is readyyy!
LORENZO BERKSHIRE:
༯ you made him a memory book, with all of your cinema, opera and theatre tickets, some pictures of you two and lot of lyrics from your fav songs. he opens it and a huge smile appaers on his lips. Enzo kisses you but it’s getting heated and what you can say? the whole neighbourhood knows your boyfriend’s name now.
BLAISE ZABINI:
༯ you got him concert tickets to Måneskin and he did his little happy dance then he takes you to the bedroom and he shows you how thankful he is.
DRACO MALFOY:
༯ you bleached blonde a lock of your hair for him and bought a poison green suit for him because you finally make him to meet your family. it’s the biggest gift for him because his exes didn’t introduce him as a boyfriend when he met their family. now he’s happy. he feels loved finally.
TOM RIDDLE:
༯ he told you that he wants you to be naked for a whole day when you started dating but you refused. now you give him that. he wakes up finally and you’re cleaning and decorating when he comes out of your room. he stops and ha asks you why are you naked, you answer him. don’t have to mention that he showed you how much he loves you everywhere in the house.
collab w @sunkissedscribbles
taglist: @sunkissedscribbles @kandis-mom @idkkkkkkk123lgb @nottslvttt
DECORATING W THE AVENGERS
pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader
genre: fluff
trope: couple goals x decorating w the avengers
word cunt: 311
tw: none
a/n: merry christmas<3
“Alright, team,” Tony announced, clapping his hands together. “This year, we’re going all out. I want the tower to scream Christmas overload by the time we’re done.”
“Overload is an understatement,” Natasha muttered, untangling a string of lights with a pointed glare in Tony’s direction.
You laughed as you carried a box of ornaments to the tree, nearly bumping into Bucky, who was hauling an enormous wreath over his shoulder. “Careful there, doll,” he teased, his lips curving into a small smile.
“I’m careful,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “Unlike you and that monstrosity of a wreath. Where’s that even going?”
Bucky glanced at the oversized decoration and shrugged. “Stark said ‘bigger is better.’ You know how he is.”
“Yeah, I do,” you said with a grin, setting the ornaments down. “Need help with it?”
He tilted his head, considering you for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, actually. If I’m going to survive this decorating extravaganza, I could use a partner.”
You followed him toward the massive windows overlooking the city, the wreath wobbling precariously in his grasp. “You’ve got this,” you encouraged, steadying it as he hooked it onto the wall.
When he stepped back to admire the work, you realized you were standing closer than you’d intended, his presence warm and solid beside you.
“Looks good,” you said softly, glancing up at him.
Bucky’s blue eyes met yours, a flicker of something softer crossing his face. “Yeah. It does.”
“Hey, lovebirds!” Clint shouted from across the room, breaking the moment. “Stop staring at each other and get back to work!”
Your face flushed as Bucky rolled his eyes, but you caught the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Guess we’d better get back to it,” he said, handing you a strand of tinsel.
“Guess so,” you replied, your smile matching his as you got to work.
taglist: @sunkissedscribbles @kandis-mom @idkkkkkkk123lgb @nottslvttt
SLYTHERIN BOYS AND THEIR FAV SCENTED CANDLES
༯ THEODORE NOTT:
vanilla & cinnamon bc smells like you and you love cinnamon cookies
༯ MATTHEO RIDDLE:
coffee because you drink too much coffee
༯ LORENZO BERKSHIRE:
rose & tulip. he always gives you roses and tulips because it’s your fav flowers
༯ BLAISE ZABINI:
salty caramel bc both of you love it
༯ DRACO MALFOY:
green apple. do i have to explain?
༯ TOM RIDDLE:
dark chocolate. once he poured on your body melting dark chocolate and he licked it off your body
taglist: @sunkissedscribbles @kandis-mom @idkkkkkkk123lgb @siriusblackslefttoenail
YOU BELONG TO ME
pairing: bucky barnes c fem!reader
genre: fluff
trope: couple goals
word cunt: 696
tw: nond
a/n: my poor love
The quiet hum of Christmas music filled the cozy apartment as you added the finishing touches to the hot cocoa. Steam curled from the mugs, carrying the scent of cinnamon and chocolate, and the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights cast the room in a warm, golden hue. You could hear Bucky moving around in the living room, his heavy boots thudding softly on the floor as he adjusted a string of lights on the window.
“I think you missed a spot,” you teased, stepping into the room with the mugs.
Bucky turned, his lips quirking into a small smile. “You’re lucky I’m letting you talk to me like that,” he replied, his tone light. “I don’t do this decorating stuff for just anyone, you know.”
“Wow, I’m honored,” you said, handing him a mug.
He took it, his gloved fingers brushing against yours, and for a moment, the room felt warmer than it should have. His smile softened, and he nodded toward the couch. “Sit with me?”
You followed him, settling beside him on the plush cushions. The snow was falling steadily outside, the world beyond the window a blur of white. It felt like you were in your own little bubble, removed from the chaos of the world—a feeling you cherished more than you cared to admit.
“I don’t remember the last time I had a real Christmas,” Bucky said quietly, his gaze fixed on the snow.
You glanced at him, your heart tugging at the vulnerability in his voice. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, taking a sip of his cocoa. “I mean… all of this. The lights, the tree, the quiet moments. It feels normal, you know? I haven’t had normal in a long time.”
You reached out, placing your hand over his. “Well, you’ve got normal now. And you deserve it, Bucky. More than anyone.”
His eyes met yours, and something unspoken passed between you—a quiet understanding, a recognition of shared pain and resilience.
“Thanks,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, but rather comfortable, like a blanket wrapping around you both. You leaned your head against his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted slightly, his arm coming to rest along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against your shoulder.
“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment.
“At what?”
“Making someone feel like they belong.”
Your heart squeezed at his words. You tilted your head to look up at him, finding his blue eyes already on you. “That’s because you do belong, Bucky. Here, with me.”
For a second, he looked like he was going to say something, but the words seemed to catch in his throat. Instead, he reached up, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.
“You don’t have to do anything to deserve being loved,” you replied softly. “You just have to let it in.”
His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find the truth in your words. And then, slowly, he leaned in. The kiss was gentle at first, tentative, as if he was afraid of breaking something fragile. But as you kissed him back, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and the hesitance melted away.
The world outside disappeared, the snow, the lights, the music—all of it fading into the background. All you could feel was him, the steady warmth of his body, the way his lips moved against yours like he’d been waiting a lifetime for this moment.
When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other, you couldn’t help but smile. “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”
He chuckled softly, his breath brushing against your lips. “Best Christmas I’ve had in a long time.”
The snow continued to fall outside, and for the first time in years, Bucky Barnes felt at peace. And as you sat together by the light of the Christmas tree, wrapped in each other’s warmth, you knew this was only the beginning of something beautiful.
taglist: @sunkissedscribbles @kandis-mom @idkkkkkkk123lgb @nottslvttt
