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祝日 / Permanent Vacation

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Keni
we're not kids anymore.

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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
One Nice Bug Per Day
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JBB: An Artblog!

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@nokiileal
"Working 9 to 5"
synopsis | in which you, an english teacher, can't seem to find time to spend with your equally busy lawyer boyfriend, hiromi higuruma. and the stress and distance almost breaks you both.
content | MDNI. fem!reader. lawyer!higuruma x english teacher!reader. established relationship. porn with SO much plot like wow why'd i write so much. slight angst. dry humping. fingering. (brief) praise AND degradation because mommy marce likes to write both. masturbation (m!receiving). pinv. lots of fluff as well, my babies.
word count | 10.6k (because i fucking love hiromi higurma)
It's not often that you go toe-to-toe with the criminal defense attorney Hiromi Higuruma—in fact, it's so rare it might be considered unfeasible, an anomaly of sorts.
Not because you can't. Rest assured, Higuruma's profession had nothing on your natural ability to convince and persuade. You were one of those kids who were considered "beyond their years," an "old soul”. Many times, you had been told you should be a lawyer, which was just a kinder way of calling a child a 'bitch' before the child actually knew what that word meant. You had a fierce stubbornness that had yet to be shaken. But it wasn't like that with Higuruma. You seldom argued because you never really had to. Things fell into place with a man like him, you both worked in tandem, like two slightly differing dances moving around each other with a musical kind of ease and care. Dancing, and dancing, and dancing in spinning circles that sometimes gave you whiplash. And it's anything but argumentative.
Tom Riddle
⟢ Chaos Magic
Someone else - wearing Tom’s face - had dared to kiss you. The anger he’d felt before dims in comparison to the flames of heat coursing through his veins, like he’d been hit with a curse. ⟢ 2.7k words ⟢ jealous!tom
⟢ Chaos Magic Pt.2
He had longed for your touch. Your scent. You. He needed you like he needed air. Like he needed his magic. It was dizzying. It was horrifying. Tom wanted this feeling to leave his mind but never stop all at once. ⟢ 3.2k words ⟢ jealous!tom
⟢ A Little Death
Whenever you are around, it is like he surrenders himself to whatever affections you are willing to spare him. And he takes every touch with a greediness he only has felt for knowledge. For power. It is an all consuming feeling he cannot fathom. ⟢ 18+ ⟢ 6.9k words ⟢ touch starved!tom
⟢ Love Bug
On a quest, you are bitten by a creature known as the love bug. Tom is forced to confront the feelings he’s had for you when you’re suddenly all over him, acting in ways he’s only dreamed of. ⟢ 18+ ⟢ 5.8k words ⟢ submissive!tom
⟢ A Little Death Pt.2
There is something so painfully familiar about you, that it drives Tom into a state of obsession. He cannot let it go until it comes to him in the middle of your living, after having broken in to confront you; you’d obliviated yourself from his mind. And he was going to find out why. ⟢ touch starved!tom ⟢ 18+ ⟢ 9.2k words
⟢ Black out Days
After you are expelled from Hogwarts, you take up a job at Borgin and Burkes as a cursed objects hunter. Tom is always mesmerized when you breeze in to sell whatever it is you’ve found out in the field. Lines are crossed. Bonds are made. But it isn’t until you’re hurt, and stay with Tom, that he realizes how much you meant to him. ⟢ 18+ ⟢ 9.7k words
⟢ Keep on Loving You
You are the minister of magics daughter. Tom gets close to you in the pursuit of power, but he finds solace in the strange energy of your presence, and your unbearable love for muggle artifacts, ⟢ 18+ ⟢ 8.8k words
⟢ Flawless
It is no secret you had admirers at Hogwarts. The list was long and ever growing, but you'd never shown an interest in anyone, and Tom found comfort in that. It is not until someone catches your attention, and you confide in Tom that you had never kissed someone. He takes this opportunity to show you how to kiss, despite having never kissed anyone himself. Your first kiss belonged to him, along with your virginity. He would do anything for it. ⟢ 18+ ⟢ 8.7k
⟢ A Little Death Pt.3
Tom has read about love countless times. He never understood it; it sounded terrible. Maybe the worst sin of them all. Tom has always hated human behaviors, their desires, never giving into lust, or greed, or love. But with you, he gave into them all, selfishly. Happily. Wanting more and more. How easily he caved. How easily he gave into his human desires, something he thought he long ago burned out of himself. ⟢ 18+ ⟢ 10k words
⟢ Wicked Game
Tom did despise you. He despised you in the way that you did not look at him how he looked at you. He despised that you did not feel the same. He’d only come to realize his feelings only yesterday, but he burned for you the same he has always done. He just had a name to it, now. ⟢ academic rivals!au ⟢ 18+ ⟢ 5.5k words
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Coming soon
All I Did was Dream of You
⟢ Ever since Tom was a child, he has been dreaming of you. You were his only friend, the only thing he ever cared about, so much so that the waking world no longer interested him. He wants to be with you, permanently, but a secret of yours rocks the delicate balance of your relationship.
Post Sex Clarity
⟢ With girls throwing themselves at his feet, Tom thinks, why not? He indulges in sex, no strings attached, but it never quite satisfies him. Not until he meets you, and he realizes just how much a person can feel for someone else. 18+
⟢ untitled
You cared for Tom, maybe too much, and he was choking. He doesn't realize how badly he had needed your watchful eye checking on him until you're suddenly not there to remind him to eat, drink water, relax, and it drives him nearly to the edge.
Wicked Game
Summary: Tom did despise you. He despised you in the way that you did not look at him how he looked at you. He despised that you did not feel the same. He’d only come to realize his feelings only yesterday, but he burned for you the same he has always done. He just had a name to it, now.
Pairing: tom riddle x fem!reader
Words: 5.5k
Warnings: vague mentions of child abuse if u squint, academic rivalry!au, kissing, handjob
Authors note: this was requested by @roughlypinkfalcon ! got so inspired at 3am, i stayed up till 7am writing this lol. if anyone has any requests, i feel like writing so shoot me an ask or a message and i'll do my best! i haven't been writing much but i've been in the mood for it again yayy. i might do a pt. 2 if anyone is interested so lmk :D
In the darkness of the forest, Tom finds you. Neither of you were supposed to be out outside of the castle this late, especially in the forbidden forest. He had snuck out to retrieve an item of great importance to him, but had come back empty handed. He had deemed the night a complete loss, until he had stumbled upon you by the lake. It was exactly what he’d been needing. Blackmail, to keep you at bay. You had become an annoying thorn in his academic life.
Obliviate - Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader
PAIRINGS — Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader
SUMMARY — ✨ A brilliant girl. A dangerous boy. When Y/n falls for Tom Riddle, love becomes a battle between light and darkness. How do you save someone who doesn't want to be saved?
WORD COUNT — 2,5k
WARNINGS — destiny, Tom being Tom, possible grammar and spelling mistakes and A LOT OF ANGST, no smut, reader-insert
NOTE — english isn’t my first language, so if anything sounds off, it might be a translation mistake 😅 (also, pls tell me if something sounds weird!).
"If I’m forgotten, then I must forget as well—for love is like a mirror: it needs reflection." —Pablo Neruda
From the moment Y/n laid eyes on Tom Riddle, she knew he was different. There was something in his presence — a nearly tangible aura of power, a sharp intelligence, and an ambition that revealed itself in every gesture, every word. She saw him for the first time on the Hogwarts Express, during their first year. He sat alone, immersed in the pages of a thick, ancient book, his brow furrowed in utter concentration.
Something about Tom drew her in — an irresistible curiosity. She approached him shyly and asked about the book. He looked up, offering a cryptic smile, and a conversation began. That first encounter marked the beginning of a friendship that would deepen over time.
Being sorted into the same house—Slytherin—brought them closer still. Tom was different with Y/n: more open, more genuine. With her, he didn't have to pretend. While others saw only his charm and poise, Y/n saw the doubts, fears, and ambition he hid so carefully.
Y/n admired him deeply. He was brilliant, talented, destined for greatness. For a long time, the feeling she harbored was fraternal—a fierce desire to protect him, to support him. But after their sixth year, everything shifted. A lingering glance, an accidental touch, a laugh shared at just the right moment… Small things that once meant nothing now made her heart race.
Yet, in the following months, Tom began to change again. He grew distant. His once vivid eyes turned cold, unreadable. Y/n knew he was walking a dark path—one that might lead to his ruin.
They shared a passion for Potions, often spending hours in the library studying obscure ingredients and testing complex formulas. They also delved into non-verbal magic together, practicing silent spells and challenging the limits of their minds.
Y/n had always been drawn to Tom. He was the riddle everyone wanted to solve, Hogwarts’ golden boy, with a razor-sharp intellect, breathtaking looks, and that veil of mystery that captivated her. She remembered how he could make her laugh with dry wit, how intently he listened when she confided her fears and dreams. But now he had grown distant. And she missed him.
Tom had always been fascinated by pushing limits, by seeking knowledge beyond what was taught. Y/n knew of his interest in forbidden magic, in dangerous artifacts, in ancient secrets. At first, she thought it a phase — a natural curiosity in a gifted and ambitious mind. She never imagined it would become something so sinister.
She began noticing changes: his isolation, his ever-watchful gaze, his growing contempt for Muggle-borns. Whispers swirled through the castle. And deep down, Y/n knew: Tom was losing himself. But she couldn’t let go. She believed there was still light in him. That he could still be saved.
__________
"Time makes us forget. Some people forget quickly. Others simply pretend they no longer remember." —Erico Veríssimo
Y/n twirled across the dance floor, Tom’s hand steady at her waist. Slughorn’s party was in full swing, students from every house mingling in an atmosphere of luxury and laughter. She smiled, trying to lose herself in the magic of the moment, but unease clung to her like a shadow.
Earlier, she had seen Tom in a quiet conversation with Professor Slughorn. She hadn’t heard much, but one word had etched itself into her mind: horcrux. It sounded like a curse, an omen.
“Tom,” she began, as the music slowed to a soft, swaying rhythm. “About your conversation with Professor Slughorn…”
Tom turned to her, his black eyes locking onto hers. “What about it, my love?” he asked gently, though a glint of caution flickered beneath his calm tone.
Y/n shivered at the term of endearment. They’d never spoken to each other like that. It felt too intimate. She hesitated.
“You mentioned horcruxes. What are they?”
A muscle tensed in his jaw, but his smile didn’t waver. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just theories. Old magic.”
But Y/n knew Tom. He didn’t chase theories. If he was studying horcruxes, it was for a reason.
Before she could press further, he changed tactics.
“You look stunning tonight.” His eyes roamed her face. “I don’t say it often, but you matter to me.”
She flushed. She had always suspected Tom held her in some regard, but to hear him admit it? For a moment, she forgot all about horcruxes.
The music picked up again, and they continued to dance. Y/n let herself drift, even though something deep down told her something was wrong. Surrounded by envious glances and flickering lights, a dark presence loomed.
Still, she chose to ignore it. Just for one night.
__________
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” —Dumbledore
Golden sunlight spilled through the windows of the Potions classroom, warming rows of jars and cauldrons. Tom and Y/n worked side by side, arranging ingredients in companionable silence.
“I’ve imagined teaching here,” Tom said, carefully measuring drops of belladonna. “Passing on knowledge. Shaping young minds. It sounds… fulfilling.”
Y/n smiled. “You’d be a wonderful professor. Intelligent, driven. Your students would be lucky to have you.”
Tom met her eyes. “And you, Y/n? What are your plans?”
She hesitated. “I’ve always wanted to be an Auror. To fight darkness. To protect the innocent.”
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “An Auror? With your talent? Surely there are better uses for your magic.”
A tightness bloomed in her chest. She knew Tom’s fascination with darker arts, but she hadn’t expected him to scoff at her dream.
“I just want to do what’s right. To protect people who can’t protect themselves.”
Tom sighed. “You’re too idealistic. Aurors are pawns of the Ministry, bound by rules that aren’t always just. The world isn’t black and white, my dear. There are places the law cannot reach.”
She studied him. “What are you trying to say?”
He stepped closer. “That sometimes, justice isn’t enough. Sometimes, we must take matters into our own hands.”
A shiver ran down her spine. His words were dangerous—enticing. But part of her agreed.
She had heard of innocents sent to Azkaban. Of corrupt Aurors. Maybe Tom wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Maybe you’re right.”
Tom wrapped his arms around her.
And for a moment, she believed.
He kissed her—a silent pact.
She kissed him back, their world melting away.
When they broke apart, she whispered, “That was…”
“Incredible,” he finished with a smirk. “Just like you.”
She smiled, blissful. For now, the shadows were forgotten.
_________
The months following the Chamber of Secrets’ opening blurred into a haze of fear and uncertainty. Every corridor in Hogwarts seemed to hide a threat. And Tom, once again, vanished into mystery.
Y/n missed the quiet moments, the stolen glances, the tender words. Now, he was barely present.
On a cold winter afternoon, wandering through empty corridors, her steps led her to the library. There he was—alone, hunched over an ancient tome. But something in his face had changed: a deeper shadow now clouded his expression.
She hesitated, then stepped forward.
“Tom.”
He looked up, startled. “Y/n.”
They locked eyes for a long, heavy moment.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing important. Just... complicated things.”
She reached out. “You can talk to me.”
He pulled away. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Then he stood and left, not looking back.
Y/n remained, heart aching. And she knew—she was losing the boy she once knew.
____________
“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d” ― Alexander Pope, Eloisa to Abelard
The wind howled like a wounded creature, lashing against the castle windows and sweeping into the owlery. Y/n stood there, stroking her owl, which had just returned from home with a letter from her parents. Her gaze was lost in the distance.
Tom Riddle watched her in silence, noting the faraway look in her eyes.
The attacks had claimed a life. Hogwarts was closed, yet Y/n couldn’t accept that a student had been murdered in what was supposed to be the safest place in the wizarding world.
“Y/n?” he called, his voice soft as silk.
She turned, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
“Tom,” she replied, forcing a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to check on you,” he said, sitting beside her. “You seem distant. Is something bothering you?”
Y/n hesitated, her words catching in her throat. “I… I can’t stop thinking about Myrtle’s death,” she finally said, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t believe Hagrid is responsible.”
Tom’s brow furrowed, a shadow of irritation crossing his face. “Why doubt it? The evidence points to him.”
“I know, but… something doesn’t add up,” Y/n insisted, her brow creased in thought. “Hagrid loves magical creatures. He’d never hurt anyone.”
Tom folded his arms, his stance defensive. “You’re defending a half-giant? The one who opened the Chamber of Secrets?”
Y/n noticed the shift in his tone, the tension in his posture. She narrowed her eyes, suspicion beginning to rise. “Why are you so defensive, Tom? Do you know something I don’t?”
Tom stood, his expression hardening. “I don’t know anything, Y/n. I’m being realistic. The evidence is clear, and you’re being sentimental.”
Y/n rose too, facing him squarely. “I’m not being sentimental. I’m being fair.”
“Someone’s trying to frame Hagrid. And I can’t shake the feeling that you know who it is.”
Tom’s black eyes glinted dangerously. “And why would I? What would I gain from that?”
Y/n stepped closer, scanning his face for any trace of a lie. “You’ve shown a lot of interest in this case. And you always seem to know more than you say.”
Tom took a step back, the mask of indifference starting to crack. “I just care about Hogwarts’ safety. If Hagrid is guilty, he must be punished.”
Y/n shivered, but didn’t retreat. “Why do you care so little about Muggle-borns, Tom? Don’t you see the danger in thinking they’re beneath us?”
“Why waste your time defending them?” he shot back. “That girl who died—she wasn’t important.”
Tears welled in Y/n’s eyes. “You talk as if… as if she wasn’t human. As if her life had no value.”
“She didn’t have our value, Y/n. The value of those with true magical blood.”
She stepped away, horror dawning in her eyes. “Tom… did you have something to do with this?” she whispered.
He held her gaze, dark eyes gleaming. “And if I did, Y/n? What would you do?”
She searched his face. “I… I don’t know. But I can’t ignore the truth. No matter how much it hurts.”
Tom’s composure began to slip. “The truth is you’re naive. You believe in fairy tales, in heroes and villains. But life isn’t that simple. Sometimes, the ones you think are good are the real danger.”
“Then what are you, Tom?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Are you the danger?”
His answer came after a pause, ragged with conflict. “Maybe, Y/n. Maybe I’m the greatest danger of all.”
He stepped closer, eyes locked on hers. “But you don’t need to be afraid of me. I’d never hurt you. You’re… special to me.”
Y/n’s heart cracked like glass struck by stone. Every word splintered her further. The boy she loved—idealized—was a murderer. A monster cloaked in brilliance and charm.
Anger and grief collided inside her. How could she have been so blind?
“Tom… how could you?” she whispered. “You killed an innocent girl.”
“A worthless Mudblood,” he replied, voice like ice. “A necessary sacrifice.”
She recoiled in horror. “A sacrifice? You call murder a sacrifice? That’s… monstrous.”
Tom smiled—cold, cruel. “Monstrous? Maybe. But necessary. The wizarding world must be purified. Freed from those unworthy of power.”
“Because of her blood?” Y/n demanded.
“Because of the future,” he countered, lifting her chin with a finger. “We’re the same, you and I. Intelligent. Ambitious. Destined for greatness. Together, we could rule a world where pure magic reigns supreme.”
He traced a vision in the air with his wand. “Imagine it, Y/n. A world where our lineage is revered. You don’t need to hide in the shadows. You could shine—beside me.”
He took her hand. “Let go of justice. Let go of mercy. They’re chains. Come with me. We can reshape everything.”
She shook her head, tears streaking her cheeks. “I could never be part of a world built on suffering and blood. You’ve become… a monster.”
The word hit him like a slap. Monster. He saw fear in her eyes—and for a fleeting moment, doubt flickered inside him.
But it faded.
He stood straighter, colder. “I became what I had to be. And you can join me.”
Y/n stepped back, anger overtaking fear. “I will never join you, Tom. You’re a murderer.”
He met her gaze, eyes burning. “Then you’re against me.”
She turned and walked away.
Down the owlery steps. Into the cold, white night.
Tom didn’t stop her.
She knew he wouldn’t dare kill her — not now, not so close to his plans being fulfilled. A murder in Hogwarts would jeopardize everything.
Snow blanketed the courtyard like innocence, masking the storm in her chest.
Each step pulled her further from him.
He watched her go, her cloak whipping like broken wings.
And for the first time, Tom Riddle felt the ache of loss.
She had been the one person who saw beyond his masks.
Now she was gone.
____________
Years passed since that night in the owlery. Y/n graduated with honors and became a respected Auror—brave, brilliant, unyielding in the face of darkness.
But no title, no triumph, could silence the ghost of Tom Riddle.
She had tried to move on. Tried to bury the memories. But they haunted her—in dreams, in shadows, in silence.
One gray afternoon in London, a stranger handed her a pamphlet. “Come and forget,” it read.
At first, she dismissed it.
But days later, she found it again—creased and worn—in the bottom of her Ministry satchel. And she wondered: what if it was possible? What if forgetting could free her?
After a sleepless night, Y/n made a choice. She followed the pamphlet’s instructions.
Through winding alleys and forgotten streets, she found a door hidden beneath moss and stone.
She hesitated.
Then entered.
The room smelled of herbs and dust. Relics lined the shelves. And in the center, an old man waited.
“You’ve come to forget,” he said, as if reading her mind. “But forgetting comes at a price. Will you pay it?”
Y/n swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“Then close your eyes. Let the magic work.”
He raised his wand.
Pointed it at her temple.
“Obliviate.”
____________
Let me know what you thought in the comments, your feedback means the world. Who knows… PERHAPS this story isn’t over just yet.
𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐲 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭 Part 6 — 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝑒 𝐹𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹
SUMMARY: Christmas break leaves Hogwarts quieter than ever, until Theodore Nott follows you home to Sicily — where soft kisses, warm kitchens, loud family dinners, and moonlit confessions begin to heal parts of him he thought were ruined forever.
A/N: Characters aged up!! 18+ content ahead.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5
The castle had grown quieter overnight. Christmas holidays had officially begun the day before, and most students had already left for home.
Draco and Mattheo had gone to Malfoy Manor, Pansy and Daphne had departed for their respective families, and now Enzo and Blaise were standing in the Slytherin common room with their trunks, saying their goodbyes.
“Try not to burn the castle down while we’re gone,” Blaise smirked, pulling you into a quick hug.
Enzo grinned as he clapped Theo on the back.
“And don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t leave much.”
You laughed softly, waving as the two boys finally headed toward the carriages.
Once they were gone, the common room felt strangely empty. Only you and Theo remained. He turned to you, sliding his hand into yours. “Come with me.”
You followed him to his dorm. With the others gone, the room was completely silent — just the faint crackle of the fireplace and the sound of your footsteps.
Theo closed the door behind you, then pulled you gently toward him.
For a while, you simply stood there, kissing him. His hands rested on your waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of your sweater. The kiss deepened gradually, growing heavier.
Theo walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed, then lowered you onto it with careful control. He hovered over you, grey-blue eyes dark with want.
Theo’s fingers hooked gently into the waistband of your underwear before he paused, looking up at you through messy brown hair.
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
You nodded, pulling him down by his shirt.
“Yes.”
Clothes came off piece by piece.
Theo took his time, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, until you were squirming beneath him.
When he finally pushed inside you, you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Fuck… you feel so good,” he breathed against your neck.
He started slow, rolling his hips in a steady rhythm that made your toes curl. But as your moans grew louder, his pace quickened, turning rougher, more desperate.
One hand gripped your thigh, the other braced beside your head.
“Così stretta per me,” (So tight for me.) he groaned, voice low and rough.
You moaned at his words.
He kept going, switching between deep, slow strokes and sharper thrusts that had you crying out his name.
The sound of skin against skin filled the room along with your mixed moans and Italian curses slipping from his lips.
When you came, clenching hard around him, Theo followed shortly after, burying himself deep with a low groan and a few breathy words you barely caught.
Afterward, he didn’t pull away immediately.
He stayed inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.
Then he gently pulled out, got up, and returned with a warm, damp towel.
He cleaned you up carefully, wiping between your legs with slow, tender strokes, pressing soft kisses to your stomach and thighs the whole time.
“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms once you were both clean.
A few hours later, you were both in bed again.
Theo wore only black shorts, and you were half on top of him, head resting on his bare chest while he played with your hair.
You were talking quietly about nothing important when a loud thud made you both jump.
An owl had slammed against the window.
Theo got up, opened the window, and took the letter.
He scanned it quickly, then let out a slow breath.
“He said yes,” he told you, voice steady but clearly relieved. “I can stay with you for the holidays.”
You smiled brightly and pulled him back into bed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on leaving without you.”
The next day, you took the Hogwarts Express back to London, then apparated with Theo to your family home in Sicily.
Your family lived in a beautiful villa overlooking the sea. As soon as you stepped inside, warmth and the smell of fresh food greeted you.
“Tesoro!” your mother, Giulia, called out, pulling you into a tight hug.
She was elegant, with warm brown eyes and dark hair pinned neatly.
She turned to Theo with a kind smile.
“You must be Theodore. We’ve heard so much about you.”
Theo gave a small, respectful nod.
“Thank you for having me, signora.”
Your nonna, Rosa, appeared next, wiping her hands on her apron.
She took one look at Theo and immediately cupped his face.
“Che bel ragazzo! Handsome!” (What a nice boy!)
Your eight-year-old little sister, Sofia, peeked out from behind your nonna’s skirt, then grinned shyly.
“You’re tall,” she declared.
Theo’s lips twitched.
“And you’re very observant.”
Sofia decided right then that she liked him.
Dinner was an absolute feast — homemade pasta al pomodoro, fresh seafood, eggplant parmigiana, and warm bread with herbs.
Theo ate quietly at first, but you noticed the way his expression softened with every bite. The flavors reminded him so strongly of his mother’s cooking that his eyes grew distant for a moment.
“This is… really good,” he said quietly to your mother. “Thank you.”
Giulia smiled warmly.
“Eat as much as you want. You’re family now.”
The days that followed were peaceful and full.
In the evenings, you played board games together. Sofia constantly tried to cheat and giggled wildly whenever Theo caught her. He pretended to be stern but always let her win in the end.
During the afternoons, the three of you explored Sicily. You took Sofia to the beach, where she dragged Theo into the water and made him build sandcastles with her.
You watched them from the shore, heart swelling as Theo patiently explained to your sister how to make the towers stronger.
One evening, after Sofia had gone to bed, you and Theo sat on the terrace overlooking the sea.
He was unusually quiet.
“What are you thinking about?” you asked, leaning against him.
He stared at the water for a long moment before answering.
“I’ve been watching you with Sofia,” he said softly. “The way you take care of her… It made me think… what it would be like to have that with you someday. A family.”
You turned to look at him, surprised.
Theo rarely spoke about the future.
He continued, voice low.
“I don’t know if I’d be any good at it. But for you… I’d try. I’d try to be better than what I had.”
You cupped his face and kissed him gently.
“You already are better, Theo. You’re nothing like him.”
He pulled you closer, resting his chin on top of your head as the Sicilian breeze washed over you both.
For the first time in years, Theodore Nott felt something dangerously close to hope.
This took way longer to post than it should've argh
𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐈𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭
𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 | 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Tom surprises Y/N with flowers and chocolates on Mother’s Day even though she isn’t a mother yet, insisting she will be one someday.
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 - saw a tiktok with the audio "but daddy is bigger than me, he should be independent first" of this sooo wrote it.
You Belong With Me
pairing: ex!tomriddle x yn. slytherin!friendgroup x yn
summary: In their final year at Hogwarts, a tightly bound Slytherin circle navigates loyalty, power, and unravelling emotions. YN tries her best to push away any memory of Tom Riddle and their fractured past, but he refuses to let it stay buried. Between sharp wit and lingering obsession, some bonds prove impossible to break…
warnings: characters from loads of eras/fanfics, ex-boyfriend trope, bit of angst, bit of fluff, flashbacks, yn reader, fighting, possessive tom, jealous tom, slowww burn, yn lowkey hates mattheo ahhahaha
author's note: i've had the first 3 parts of this series in the drafts for a whileeee now. flashbacks are in italics
word count: 2.2k
Link to part two here
The library at Nott Manor did not feel like a place meant for seventeen-year-olds.
It felt ancient and full of secrets. Like every book lining the dark walnut shelves had chosen to be there, to consume the centuries of family affairs. Tall windows stretched toward the ceiling, letting in molten Italian sunlight that painted everything gold. YN could see dust mites drifting lazily in the heat and smell the faint gleam of polished wood.
And at the centre of it all, inevitably, was them.
YN sat at the piano near the far wall, her fingers ghosting over the keys, not quite playing a song, just testing notes as if the instrument were a thought she hadn’t decided to finish. Her hair fell over one shoulder, catching the light like something deliberately designed to be looked at. Her expression, however, gave nothing away. To the untrained eyes, she appeared calm, distant, and almost bored.
Theodore Nott occupied the chair beside her, long legs stretched out, a book resting open in his lap, though he hadn’t turned the page in several minutes.
“Everyone is being unusually quiet,” Blaise Zabini remarked from the chaise near the window, one brow raised as he inspected the room as if it owed him something. “It’s unsettling.”
“That’s because you haven’t started talking yet,” Draco Malfoy drawled from the floor, leaning back against the couch with a glass dangling loosely from his fingers. “Give it time.”
“I have been talking.”
“No,” Pansy Parkinson said, not looking up from her nails, “you’ve been narrating your own existence. It’s different.”
Lorenzo Berkshire snorted from where he was sprawled upside-down on an armchair. “I like it. It adds ambience.”
“It doesn’t,” Mattheo Riddle muttered, flicking ash from the cigarette between his fingers toward an already overfilled tray. “It just makes his voice louder.”
Theodore exhaled quietly through his nose. YN’s lips twitched just barely.
Across the room, Tom Riddle sat at a small table near the shelves, a chessboard laid out before him. He wasn’t playing anyone. He never needed to. One hand hovered over a piece, long fingers precise, deliberate. Calculating.
“I received a letter this morning,” Draco said, turning his head slightly, “Greengrass.”
Pansy’s head snapped up instantly. “Oh, do tell.”
“Not quite sure that's any of your business, Parkinson,” Draco replied smoothly. “I just wanted to let these other gits know that I'm in high demand this year... unlike them.”
“Give it a rest,” Pansy said, ignoring him entirely, eyes gleaming. “I heard that she spent most of her summer with Bewley.”
“Who?” Blaise added lazily.
"He finished Hogwarts last year, works for some fancy department in the Ministry. He was Slytherin, pure-blood, I believe." YN hummed absently, still plucking away at the ivory keys.
“Well, anyway, the interesting part is that earlier this month, they had a huge fight outside Toloman's Trinkets, that new shop in Hogsmeade, and she hexed him. I reckon he deserved it.”
“Most men do,” YN murmured.
Mattheo grinned. “See, that’s why she’s my favourite. So fiesty.”
“You say that to everyone,” Theodore said quietly.
“Yeah, but I mean it when I say it to her.”
YN tilted her head, looking at him with slight disgust. “How flattering.”
Tom moved a piece. The soft click echoed louder than it should have.
“Greengrass is a smart girl,” he said, voice smooth, almost absent. “Too smart for you, Draco. She knows how to control men, how to keep them wrapped around her finger, and more importantly, when to throw them away.”
Before she could stop her mind from wandering, the memories flashed before her eyes like a strike of lightning. Just for a second. But long enough for her heart to skip a beat—
“You don’t get to decide when you’re done,” Tom’s voice had been low, dangerous. It was calm, almost, in a way that caused fear to course through her soul.
Her wrist was still in his grip. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough to remind her it could.
“I already have,” YN snapped, trying to pull back, chin tilted in defiance that didn’t quite mask the flicker of something else. “You don’t own—”
“Don’t,” he cut in, quieter now. Worse. His fingers tightened just slightly. “Don’t say things you don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly,” she said, though her voice betrayed her just a fraction. “You don’t control me.”
Tom’s jaw clenched. His eyes dark and unreadable flicked over her face like he was memorizing it.
“Everything I do is about control. I get the final say, YN, when will you understand that?” he said. “No one walks away from me until I decide I'm done with them. Including you.”
Her fingers faltered, and a loud, dull note sliced through her memory.
Theodore noticed how she stilled. Seemingly unprompted.
He knew her better than anyone... he liked to believe he knew her better than Tom did. He saw the blank look in her eyes, the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly.
He didn’t look at her immediately. That would’ve been too obvious. Instead, he shifted slightly in his chair, voice low enough that only she could hear.
“You alright?” he murmured.
Her eyes flicked to his briefly. Offering a soft but absent smile as she stayed silent.
“You’re not answering me.”
YN let out a soft breath, a mask of indifference finding its way back home as she began to play a soft melody again. “I’m fine.”
Theodore studied her for a moment longer, then nodded once, accepting it, but not believing it.
Across the room, Tom’s hand stilled on the chess piece.
His gaze had shifted, sharp enough to cut.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, fingers curling slightly against the wood of the table. There was something dark in the way he watched them, something restrained.
Possessive.
Annoyed.
As if Theodore’s quiet concern was an intrusion.
As if it wasn’t his place.
As if... as if she was still his.
The thought slid through his mind as naturally as breath. Not in the way others might think. Not soft. Not sentimental.
Ownership wasn’t affection. It was a fact. And facts didn’t change just because people pretended they had.
By the time evening settled over the manor, the air had shifted.
The heat hadn’t faded, but something else had crept in, something restless. Anticipatory.
The pool glowed under soft lights, water shimmering like glass. Bottles littered the edges as laughter echoed louder.
YN sat cross-legged on the stone edge, shoes long abandoned, a drink dangling loosely from her fingers. Pansy lounged beside her, half-drunk already and entirely unbothered.
“I’m just saying,” YN insisted, gesturing wildly, “you think we're dumb... but we're not. You two are absolutely sleeping together.”
“We are not,” Mattheo snapped from across the pool.
“Ooh, so defensive,” Blaise noted.
Lorenzo nearly fell into the water laughing.
Theodore leaned back on his hands, watching it all with quiet amusement, the kind that never quite reached his eyes unless this group was involved.
“Pansy,” YN called lazily, tilting her head, “if you were going to have a secret affair, at least choose someone less obvious.”
“Oh, so now you’re judging my standards?”
“I’m judging your taste in men.” She grinned sharply.
“Shut it, YLN,” Mattheo growled.
“Who asked you to talk.”
"You did love, I know you adore me."
She did not. She might even go so far as to say 90% of the time, she despised him. She thought he was immature and careless. She thought he had no drive or ambition, and quite frankly, no place in this group. As far as she was concerned, he is the complete wrong fit for Pansy. "Please, Mattheo, your voice is giving me a headache, as it does most days."
“And the others?”
“I tolerate you.”
“That’s basically devotion.”
YN laughed softly... Ok, careless? yes. Funny? also, yes.
For a moment, everything felt easy.
Mattheo stood suddenly, grabbing her hand. “Dance with me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on. It's our last night of summer!”
He yanked her up anyway, ignoring her protest as music played faintly from somewhere. It was messy, ridiculous, spinning her badly, nearly slipping on the wet stone. Pansy and Blaise joined in, throwing their arms around as if they had no care in the world.
She laughed harder, trying to shove him away, but to no avail.
Mattheo liked to make the most of her friendliness when she was drinking. On any normal day, she would have hexed him the second he tried to touch her.
“You’re insufferable.”
Across the pool, Tom watched. Silent. Still.
His expression gave nothing away, but his grip on his glass tightened just slightly.
The way she laughed. The way she let herself be pulled into something chaotic, something careless.
Something that wasn’t him, but rather his arrogant little brother.
It shouldn’t have mattered. Yet his red-hot gaze bore into the side of Mattheo's head as if willing him to burst into flames.
King’s Cross was loud. Too loud.
Steam, chatter, movement, it all blurred together as they stepped onto Platform 9¾, their group cutting through the noise like something sharper, more deliberate.
They filled a compartment easily.
Draco and Blaise immediately took over one side, Pansy draped dramatically across the seats. Lorenzo pressed his face to the window in an attempt to catch a glance of the new 1st years. Mattheo sprawled wherever he pleased.
YN slid into the corner seat, Theodore beside her as always.
Tom sat across. 'Of course he did', she thought, 'Merlin forbid I get some bit of space from him after spending all summer together'.
The train lurched forward, and conversations all around the train picked up again.
The Great Hall was exactly as she remembered.
Candles floating. Ceiling enchanted. A lingering smell of something warm, sandalwood or cinnamon perhaps. Everything impossibly large except for the first years lined up, small and nervous.
She had stood there once.
Smaller. More uncertain.
Watching as names were called, heart pounding just a little too fast.
“Riddle, Tom.”
He had walked forward like he already belonged.
Like the world had been waiting for him.
The hat barely touched his head.
“SLYTHERIN!”
Applause. Whispers.
She didn’t know why, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. She felt something bubble in her stomach.
It wasn't nervous anticipation waiting to find out what house she would be sorted into.
It was excitement. Something about the pale, dark-haired boy made her feel excited.
YN found herself hoping even more to be in Slytherin.
“YLN, YN.”
Taking a deep breath, hearing the words of her mother in her head "always present yourself with grace... don't you dare bring down the YLN name", she straightened her back, walking with pride up to the stool where the mangy hat waited for her.
And then, the words she had been waiting for—
“SLYTHERIN!”
She bounced down the stairs, excited to join her lifelong friends under the green banner. Draco and Pansy had their arms wide open, waiting to welcome her. Theodore grinned and cheered the loudest while Blaise and Enzo clapped and whistled.
As the sorting ceremony went on, she turned to look at the Riddle boy in the eyes. "Hi, I'm YN YLN," her kind smile lighting up her face. He reached out his hand, his cold finger grasping onto hers, "Tom. Tom Riddle"
Warmth lingered in her chest as she blinked back to the present.
She couldn't help the way her heart fluttered, despite the unwelcome, persistent memoreis.
“You’re smiling,” Theodore murmured beside her.
“Am I? Don’t get used to it.”
“I won’t,” he chuckled.
They turned back to the conversation at hand as the feast appeared. YN wasn't one for unnecessary noise. She grew up as an only child in a house that had no love. She learned to find a lifeline in the silence.
But her only exception to that was the Hogwarts Great Hall.
Her heart felt full as she looked around. Children of all ages from the four different houses laughing and shouting in glee. She looked to her friends. From the outside, people perceived their lives as perfect, but no one knew the truth.
It was cold and filled with expectations yet never being allowed to make their own choices. But here, in Hogwarts, they were free. They were happy.
“You realise,” Draco said, cutting into his food, “this is our final year.”
“Don’t ruin it,” Pansy snapped.
“I’m adding drama.”
“You add nothing of value.”
“Debatable.”
Mattheo raised his glass. “To our last year of freedom.”
“To us,” Lorenzo added.
YN hesitated for half a second, then lifted hers too. “To us.”
Across the table, Tom's eyes met hers with determination. He lifted his glass, tilting it toward YN. "To us"
Just for a moment something unspoken passed between them.
Masterlist
Smut will be indicated with a *
Taglist
Asks that I've answered
Moodboards
Kinktober*
2k Celebration
3k Celebration
Shipping
All boys
Any Kind of Guy (All boys minus Tom)
Pet names
x Shy Reader
x Pregnant Reader
Play Thing* (Minus Tom)
Mattheo Riddle
Tom Riddle
Draco Malfoy
Theodore Nott
Lorenzo Berkshire
Blaise Zabini
Pasta La Vista
Theodore Nott X Italian Hufflepuff reader
—
Morning in Rome began with shouting.
Not angry shouting.
Alive shouting.
Vendors arguing over tomatoes in crowded piazzas, witches leaning out of apartment windows to gossip three floors down, enchanted laundry dancing between buildings while church bells rang loud enough to shake birds from rooftops.
You woke up to all of it every morning.
And you loved it.
“Tesoro!” your mother shouted from the kitchen. “You are late again!”
“I am always late!” you yelled back while pulling on your shoes.
“That is not charming!”
“It is a little charming!”
Your father snorted into his espresso as you rushed into the kitchen and stole a piece of focaccia directly off the cutting board.
“Animal,” he sighed.
“But happy animal.”
“You say this every morning.”
“And every morning I am correct.”
Your mother kissed your forehead despite herself. “Vai. Your professor already threatened expulsion twice.”
“Only twice? He’s getting soft.”
Then you were out the door.
Out into sunlight.
Into Rome.
Accademia delle Stelle wasn’t hidden behind walls or tucked away in some isolated castle.
Italy itself was the campus.
Lessons changed locations constantly depending on the subject, the weather, or whatever dramatic idea professors had that week.
History of Magic inside ancient ruins while illusionary battles replayed around students.
Astronomy on enchanted rooftops in Venice.
Herbology in magical vineyard terraces outside Florence.
Students traveled in groups through Floo stations disguised as cafés and bookstores, laughing loudly while juggling books and pastries at the same time.
And nobody sat quietly.
Ever.
Potions classes smelled like herbs and citrus instead of damp stone. Windows stayed open. Students argued over techniques while professors shouted back across classrooms.
At lunch breaks, everybody gathered in crowded magical courtyards.
Someone always cooked.
Always.
Wands stirred espresso.
Wands flipped vegetables in pans.
One boy from Napoli used his wand as a whisk while passionately insulting another student’s risotto.
“You murdered the garlic!”
“It is lightly burned!”
“It is devastated!”
Students burst into laughter around them.
You leaned against a fountain eating warm pizza while debating defensive spells with your professor loud enough for three nearby tables to join in.
“No, because fear-based magic collapses too quickly under pressure,” you argued, waving your hands dramatically.
“Incorrect,” your professor countered immediately.
“It literally happened during the Venetian dueling riots of 1892.”
“That source is biased.”
“That source is me getting full marks on my essay.”
The professor pointed at you accusingly. “Arrogant.”
“Intelligent.”
“Annoying.”
“Beautiful.”
The entire courtyard erupted.
That was school.
Noise.
Warmth.
Life.
And at the end of the day, everyone simply went home.
No dormitories.
No castle walls.
You returned to your family apartment every evening where your mother cooked while singing softly and your father pretended not to steal ingredients before dinner.
Home felt warm.
Messy.
Loved.
So when your parents sat you down one evening and carefully explained your mother had accepted a Ministry position in England, panic didn’t hit immediately.
You blinked once.
“England?”
Your mother nodded cautiously.
You thought about it seriously.
Then “What’s the food like?”
Both your parents stared at you.
“That,” your father said slowly, “is your first concern?”
“Well I assume school is still school.”
Your parents exchanged a look filled with such deep pity it should’ve warned you.
It did not
—
The apartment in London was quieter than any place you had ever lived.
Not bad.
Just…
Still.
People didn’t yell through windows.
Neighbours barely spoke.
Even magical London felt strangely rushed and restrained.
You tried not to think too hard about it.
Instead you unpacked spices into the kitchen while your parents used magic to hang paintings and accidentally argued over furniture placement for forty minutes.
That helped.
The first night, you cooked.
The smell of garlic and basil filled the apartment instantly, rich and warm and alive enough that your mother nearly sagged against the counter in relief.
“There,” you declared proudly while stirring sauce with your wand. “England improves already.”
Your father tasted it and looked emotional.
“You saved this country.”
—
Hogwarts looked like a fairytale.
You smiled immediately when you saw it across the lake.
“Oh, this is beautiful.”
And it was.
Huge towers disappearing into clouds, floating candles, endless staircases.
Beautiful.
Cold, too.
You noticed it first in the silence.
Students spoke quietly.
Nobody interrupted each other.
Nobody argued across boats.
Everything felt oddly careful.
Still, you smiled brightly when the Sorting Hat shouted “HUFFLEPUFF!”
The table erupted into applause as you sat down enthusiastically beside a few nervous-looking students.
“Hi!” you greeted immediately. “I’m from Rome. Is the pudding supposed to look this yellow?”
Several students blinked at you.
One laughed awkwardly.
Across the hall, at the Slytherin table, a dark-haired boy looked up briefly from his goblet.
Just for a second.
Then back down.
You didn’t notice him.
Theo Nott noticed you immediately.
Mostly because you sounded like somebody had dropped sunlight into the Great Hall.
Your first class the next morning was Potions.
That should’ve been comforting.
Potions classrooms smelled the same everywhere:
herbs, smoke, parchment.
You walked in smiling.
“Buongiorno!”
Silence.
Professor Snape turned slowly from the front of the classroom.
Oh.
One of those professors.
You knew this type perfectly.
Every school had one.
The severe academic who secretly enjoyed clever students but needed conversational effort first.
“My name is Y/N,” you continued brightly while sitting down. “I transferred from Italy and honestly your dungeon is very dramatic, I like it.”
Several students looked horrified.
From the back corner, Theo looked up from his book.
Snape looked unimpressed.
“Take your seat, Miss Y/N.”
You nodded seriously.
“Okay, so you are the strict kind. Understood.”
A faint noise escaped someone nearby that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh.
Theo quickly hid it with a cough.
Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“We will begin brewing the Cure for Boils potion. If anyone feels inclined to chatter instead of listening, they may leave.”
Interesting.
Very strict.
You lasted eleven minutes.
“In my old school,” you interrupted automatically, “we lowered the flame before adding horned slugs because the consistency becomes smoother.”
Silence crashed into the room.
Theo looked up again.
Snape stared at you like he regretted the invention of speech.
“You will follow instructions exactly as given.”
“Oh,” you said, blinking. “I thought maybe discussion was encouraged.”
“It is not.”
That landed strangely.
Not harshly.
Just…
Wrong.
Like stepping down and missing a stair.
You nodded anyway.
“Okay.”
Theo watched the confusion flicker across your face before you looked back down at your potion.
And for some reason, he remembered it.
After that, he started noticing you everywhere.
At first because it was impossible not to.
You talked with your hands so aggressively you nearly smacked a Ravenclaw with your wand in Charms.
You enchanted extra garlic into your dinner because “this soup tastes emotionally unavailable.”
You kissed a Hufflepuff girl hello on the cheek and nearly gave her heart failure.
You interrupted teachers constantly because you genuinely believed discussion meant engagement.
And every single time, the room reacted like you’d broken some invisible rule.
Theo noticed the exact moment you started understanding that.
It happened slowly.
You began apologizing before speaking.
Started raising your hand less.
Started laughing quieter.
And Hogwarts liked you better that way.
That was the part Theo hated.
Because he remembered the girl from the Great Hall.
The one who walked in talking like she belonged everywhere.
Then one evening he found you alone in the kitchens.
House-elves bustled around while you stood stirring sauce absentmindedly, quieter than usual.
“You cut basil incorrectly,” you muttered to yourself tiredly.
Theo leaned against the doorway.
“You insult vegetables often?”
You jumped slightly, then relaxed.
“Oh. You are the quiet Slytherin.”
“Theo.”
“Y/N.”
“You’re making sauce at midnight,” he observed.
“You’re lurking in kitchens at midnight.”
“…Fair.”
You snorted softly.
Theo watched you stir the sauce for another moment.
“You miss home.”
You immediately shook your head.
“No.”
Theo raised an eyebrow.
“You argued with a carrot five seconds ago.”
“That proves nothing.”
“It proves emotional instability.”
You laughed quietly despite yourself.
And Theo realized, very suddenly, that he liked making you laugh.
After that, he kept showing up.
Not intrusively.
Just… Near.
Sitting beside you in the library.
Watching you cook in the kitchens.
Listening while you complained about British tomatoes like they’d personally offended your bloodline.
And slowly he noticed something else.
You talked less now.
One evening in the library he finally said it aloud.
“You stopped arguing with professors.”
You looked down at your parchment.
“…People here don’t really like it.”
Theo frowned.
“I liked it.”
You looked genuinely surprised.
“You did?”
“You sounded alive.”
The words escaped before he could stop them.
Your expression softened painfully.
“In Italy everybody talks,” you admitted quietly. “Teachers argue back. Students interrupt. Nobody cares if you are loud.”
Theo looked at you carefully.
“And here?”
You smiled weakly.
“Here I think maybe I am too much.”
Theo’s jaw tightened instantly.
“No,” he said quietly. “I think everyone here is too little.”
You stared at him.
Really stared.
—
Then came winter.
Cold crept into everything.
You missed home so badly some nights it physically hurt.
Theo noticed that too.
Which was how you ended up walking into an empty classroom one snowy evening only to find absolute disaster spread across a table.
Burned bread.
Crooked pasta.
Sauce that looked medically concerning.
And Theo standing beside it covered in flour.
You stared.
“Theo.”
“I made dinner.”
“…Did dinner survive?”
“I followed instructions exactly.”
“Well there is your problem.”
Theo rolled his eyes slightly. “You mentioned missing Italian food.”
You tasted the sauce carefully.
Then immediately coughed.
“Oh mio Dio.”
“It cannot be that bad.”
“In Rome this gets you arrested.”
Theo finally laughed.
A real laugh.
Warm and low and unexpectedly pretty.
And suddenly you were laughing too, harder and harder until your stomach hurt and tears blurred your vision.
Theo watched you the entire time.
Softly.
Like hearing you loud again fixed something inside him too.
“There you are,” he murmured quietly. Theo watched in deep suspicion as you rolled up your sleeves.
“No,” he said immediately. “Absolutely not. You are not allowed to insult it further.”
You dipped the spoon into the sauce again, visibly fighting laughter.
“Theo, amore, this is not sauce. This is a hostage situation.”
“It smelled decent.”
“It smells aggressive.”
Theo folded his arms while you reached for the scattered ingredients around the table.
A little more garlic.
Fresh basil.
A tiny bit of butter.
You stirred gently with your wand, the sauce immediately softening into something warmer, smoother, richer.
Theo stared.
“…How did you do that?”
You looked genuinely confused.
“I cooked.”
“No, you performed ancient magic.”
You grinned and tore off a piece of bread, dipping it into the fixed sauce before holding it out toward him.
Theo hesitated before taking the bite.
Then blinked.
“That’s…” He looked offended. “That’s actually good.”
“Obviously.”
“You changed three things.”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense. You cooked with instructions.” You tapped his chest lightly with the spoon. “You must cook with feeling.”
Theo snorted softly. “You sound insane.”
“And yet I am correct.”
You both smiled.
The kitchen suddenly felt very small.
Very warm.
Theo was still looking at you strangely.
Softly.
Like he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with how much he liked you.
Your chest squeezed a little at the sight.
So before you could overthink it, you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
“Grazie,” you murmured.
Theo froze.
Actually froze.
You pulled back innocently, reaching for the bread again.
Then “…Does that mean thank you,” Theo asked carefully, “or does that mean you’re mine now?”
You nearly choked laughing.
“Theo!”
“I’m serious,” he said, still staring at you. “You’re very affectionate. I need cultural clarification.”
You laughed harder, covering your face.
“In Italy cheek kisses are normal!”
Theo touched the spot on his cheek slowly, eyes still fixed on you.
“Right,” he murmured faintly. “Normal.”
run to you
pairing: Oliver Wood & reader
summary: after years of being in love with your best friend you look back at the moments together that left their mark on you, and wonder if it's time to let him go.
content: she fell first but he fell harder; slow burn; fluff; angst
notes: Hufflepuff reader, no use of y/n, why do I feel like I could make this a "choose your own path" fic, the way I put all my favorite boys in it
wc: 17k (I'm sorry)
You can still remember the day you had met Oliver Wood. It had been early in your first year when the cold air of spring was still crisp, leaving you with no choice but to wear a scarf tightly around your neck. Or maybe you hadn’t, you weren’t sure. But Oliver had, that you can remember. It had been resting lazily over his sholders, loopsided after running down the hallway only to speak to you.
“Quingly!”
You hadn’t been thrilled about it, not at all. He had been part of a pletora of students that had approached you to tell you how much they liked your father. Most of them were obviously trying to get something out of telling you this, you thought, seeing their eyes gleam when they mentioned how they had tried to get an autograph from a professional player for years. Your polite smile had been stretching so thin at that point that you thought it might snap. That had been the last time for a long time that you would be anything but elated at the sight of Oliver before you.
“Quingly, right? Oliver Wood”
shout out to my grandma who made me think that moles were from flies pooping on you and i believed that.. for.. a long time..
things I won’t let ai take away from human writers
em dash
“not x, not y, but z”
short sentence stacking as a stylistic choice
none of these belong to ai. these are all what human writers have been writing since day one, way before ai was invented. ai was trained to mimic how human writers write — so em dash, not x not y but z and short sentence stacking would never have been used by ai at all if ai hadn’t learned and mimicked them from human writers.
no, you are not “fighting against ai” by accusing every work that has em dash, not x not y but z or short sentence stacking in it as ai-generated, you are helping ai harm the writing community by engaging in witch hunt and scaring human writers away from creating/sharing their works for fear of being wrongly accused of using ai.
speculations, accusations and ai witch hunt harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more.
A Trace In You - Fred W. x Slytherin!Reader
A/N: Fred Weasley has always always ALWAYS been my fav and I love reading fics like this but I decided to add extra gooey lore and molly angst bc bae went thru a lot
Warning(s): Fred being protective, Arthur basically being scared of his wife, mentions of death and loss. Reader is a pureblood from a rich family, distant relative to the blacks and distant cousin of draco (all purebloods are related somehow)
Word Count: 3.3K
Credit to @diviniyae for the dividers!! <3
“Baby, c’mon.”
Fred had been pleading with you for weeks now to spend your summer vacations at the burrow. Ever since the two of you started dating in your fourth year, you’d grown impossibly close to all his siblings, even Percy, for Godric’s sake. That’s how perfect you were for him.
He was known for being reckless, impulsive, and uncontrollable. He still was, but his storm had mellowed ever since he’d been with you. Pranks made to entertain instead of embarrass, jokes without singling out. He was still the same flashy, charismatic showman; now he was more mature, more reasonable. Loud as ever, no doubt of it, but he’d finally been balanced.
You were like wind to his fire; you might amp it down or fuel it, but you were always there. Your snarky remarks and witty comebacks offered him the perfect challenge; he’d hit the jackpot. You two could joke and laugh without offence or insecurity, without late nights wondering if a joke had a hidden meaning behind it because you read each other effortlessly. He never thought he’d fall for a Slytherin, especially not one with a family like yours.
Viktor Krum is such a hilarious character to me because his sole purpose is making Ron jealous. The poor man doesn’t have an ounce of depth and he so doesn’t deserve that.
When they had to pick a person for him to save for the second task of the Tournament and they landed on Hermione, I laughed so hard it nearly killed me because what do you mean there was no one else in the entire fucking world he cared about? Like, they hauled Fleur’s sister over from fucking France but Viktor had no one from his entire fucking school that he was attending for 7 years for whom he could give a single flying fuck? Man’s so one dimensional he barely feels like a person to me but I’m totally here for it.