synopsis :: you’re a kook, jj is a pogue. your parents find out you’re together. what could possibly go wrong? thankfully jj is there to catch the falling tears
based off this request
warnings :: none, mentions of a fight
word count :: 1.2k
pairing :: jj maybank x kook!fem!reader
outerbanks masterlist (not yet linked!)
The humid Kildare air was thick with the scent of marsh water and cheap beer as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the marsh in bruised purples and golds. At the Chateau, things were as chill as they could be. John B and Sarah were tangled together in a hammock, Pope was trying to explain the mechanics of a rusted winch to Kiara, and JJ was perched on the porch railing, mindlessly flicking a lighter open and shut.
The rhythmic clink-flick of the lighter was the only thing grounding him. He’d been off all day. Shorter fuse than usual, eyes constantly darting toward the dirt path leading to the road.
"Earth to JJ," Kie called out, leaning back in her lawn chair. "You’ve been staring at that street for twenty minutes. You expecting a package or something?"
JJ forced a grin, the practiced, lopsided one that usually hid everything. "Just waitin' for the inspiration to strike, Kie. Thinking about taking up interpretive dance."
"Please don't," Pope muttered, not looking up from his manual.
The banter was cut short by the sound of tires crunching on gravel, fast. A pair of high end LED headlights cut through the twilight, far too bright and far too expensive for the Cut. A sleek, white SUV skidded to a halt just inches from John B’s rusted-out van.
John B sat up, squinting. "Who the hell is that? Topper? Rafe?"
The Pogues stood in unison, a collective wall of defense. JJ’s lighter stayed shut in his palm. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He knew that car.
The driver’s side door flung open, and you stumbled out.
You didn't look like a Pogue. You wore a silk camisole and expensive linen trousers, the uniform of Figure 8. But you were also shaking. Your hair, usually perfectly styled for country club luncheons, was a wild mess, and even from the porch, they could see the dark tracks of mascara staining your cheeks.
"JJ?" your voice broke, thin and desperate.
The group went dead silent. Pope dropped his wrench. Sarah’s eyes went wide, darting between you and the blonde boy standing next to her.
"y/n?" John B asked, his voice laced with pure confusion. "What are you doing here?"
You didn't answer him. You didn't even see him. Your eyes were locked on JJ. When you caught his gaze, a fresh sob escaped your throat, and you started toward the porch, your steps uneven.
JJ didn't wait. He cleared the porch railing in one fluid motion, landing in the dirt and sprinting toward you. He caught you just as your knees started to give way, his rough, calloused hands gripping your waist while yours flew up to clutch at his salt stained t-shirt.
"Hey, hey, I got you," JJ whispered, his voice dropping an octave, losing every bit of its usual bravado. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, pulling you so close there wasn't an inch of air between you. "Shh, y/n, I'm right here. You’re okay."
On the porch, the silence was deafening.
"Uh," Pope started, his finger pointing aimlessly at the scene. "Does... does anyone want to explain why a Figure 8 princess is currently melting into JJ’s arms?"
"Since when do they even know each other?" Kie added, her brow furrowed. "JJ hates kooks. He spends fifty percent of his time complaining about her neighbors."
Sarah, who had grown up in the same circles as you, looked stunned. "That’s y/n. Her dad is on the board of the restoration project. She’s... she’s supposed to be dating some guy from Charleston. JJ, what is going on?"
JJ ignored them. He was busy brushing the hair out of your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears with a tenderness none of the Pogues knew he possessed. "What happened? Did someone hurt you? If one of those country club douchebags touched you, I swear to God—"
"No," you choked out, clutching his wrists. "It’s my parents, JJ. They found the letters. They found the pictures of us at the wreck. My dad... he said if I didn't stop seeing 'that Pogue trash,' he was sending me away tonight. I just... I couldn't. I left. I drove and I didn't know where else to go."
JJ’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. The "Pogue trash" comment clearly stung, but his priority was the girl trembling in his arms.
"You're staying here," JJ said firmly. It wasn't a suggestion.
He turned back toward the porch, still holding you tightly to his side. The four faces staring back at him were a mix of shock, betrayal, and awe.
"JJ," John B said softly, stepping down the stairs. "Man, how long?"
JJ sighed, his defensive walls creeping back up just a fraction, though he didn't let go of you. "Four months. Since the bonfire at Mason’s. I didn't tell you guys because... look at her, man. She’s got everything to lose. I didn't want the kooks coming for her, and I didn't want you guys giving me hell for 'sleeping with the enemy.'"
"We wouldn't have given you hell," Kie said, though her voice lacked total conviction. Then, seeing the state you were in, her expression softened. "Okay, maybe a little. But JJ... you should've told us."
"I'm sorry," you whispered, finally looking at the group, your eyes red and puffy. "I know I'm the last person you want here. I'll go, I just... I needed to see him."
JJ’s grip tightened. "You aren't going anywhere."
He looked at John B, a silent plea in his eyes. John B, who knew better than anyone what it was like to be hunted by the Figure 8 elite, simply nodded.
"The Chateau’s a safe house, y/n," John B said, a small, welcoming smile tugging at his lips. "Even for kooks in distress. Sarah, you got some clothes she can change into?"
Sarah was already moving. "Yeah. Come on, y/n. Let’s get you cleaned up. Pope, go get some water. JJ... stop looking like you’re going to punch a hole in the wall. She’s safe now."
As Sarah led you inside, JJ stayed in the yard, watching your retreating back until the screen door swung shut. He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for months, his shoulders finally dropping.
"Four months, JJ?" Pope asked, whistling low. "You kept a secret for four months? I didn't think you had the lung capacity for that."
JJ reached into his pocket, pulling his lighter back out. Clink-flick. "She’s different, Pope. She's the only thing in this whole damn island that makes me feel like I’m not just some kid from the Cut destined for a jail cell."
He looked at his friends, his expression raw and honest. "I love her. And if her old man wants to call me trash, that’s fine. But he’s not taking her away."
The Pogues exchanged a look. They knew that tone. JJ Maybank had found something worth protecting, and for the first time, it wasn't a treasure map or a gold bar. It was a girl from the wrong side of the island who had found her way home.
a/n :: @mirrorballdickinson I hope this lived up to your expectations! Thank you again for requesting!!
Summary ; Mattheo Riddle never meant to fall for a soft, clumsy Hufflepuff with doe eyes and heart-shaped lips. But then you crashed into him—literally—and his world hasn’t known peace since. One look, and he was ruined. You? You’d been quietly in love with him since third year. Now the walls are crumbling, hands are held, and secrets are slipping through nervous smiles. Hogwarts is watching. So is Mattheo. And all he wants… is you.
A/N ; I MISSED ALL OF U SO MUCH, sorry for taking like.. 2 weeks writing this.. please listen to this playlist while reading!! (yes i did make a whole playlist just for this fic)
Warnings ; none, just silly, pure fluff
Word count ; 9.2k
The corridors of Hogwarts had never felt longer.
Not in the metaphorical sense.
In the soul-crushing, gut-twisting, every-damn-step-makes-you-later kind of way.
You were late.
Again.
And not just five-minutes-casually-stroll-in kind of late. No. You were sprinting-at-risk-of-death, McGonagall-will-actually-murder-you-in-front-of-the-class kind of late.
Your arms were full. Books stacked haphazardly against your chest, rolls of parchment threatening to slip between your fingers, and a quill stuck in your hair like a forgotten soldier. Your house robe flapped wildly behind you like a cape caught in a storm, your tie was loose and slightly crooked, and your left shoelace? Completely untied—again. But you had no time for that. No time for anything.
Your bag bounced awkwardly on your shoulder with every clumsy step, and a piece of toast (half-buttered, slightly burnt) was hanging between your teeth—because even when you were late, a Hufflepuff did not skip breakfast.
“Shit—excuse me—! Coming through!” you yelped as you sped past a pair of 2nd years, who jumped out of the way like you were a rogue bludger.
Your heart pounded, lungs burning as you bolted down the hallway, murmuring rushed apologies to everyone you weaved past.
“Move—sorry—late—don’t hex me—!”
A few students glanced at you in confusion, some in concern. You were a blur of panic and parchment. An adorable, chaotic mess of golden hues and scuffed boots, tripping over your own feet as you tried to remember where the hell Transfiguration was even held today.
And then—
The turn.
The worst corridor in all of Hogwarts. Narrow. Slippery. Cursed by Merlin himself, probably.
You swung around the corner at full speed—
And collided with something solid.
Hard.
There was no warning.
No time to stop.
One second you were running, the next—
CRASH.
Books exploded out of your arms. Your toast flew. You fell backwards with a loud, winded “oof!”, hitting the stone floor hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs. Your elbow scraped against the flagstone, and a ripple of pain shot through your side.
Scrolls rolled. Notes floated through the air. Your Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook skidded halfway down the hall.
You blinked, stunned, trying to remember which direction was up.
And then a voice.
Low.
Sharp.
Already irritated.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Your blood went cold.
That voice.
You pushed yourself upright, wincing as your bag finally gave up and slumped to the floor. Your hands reached blindly to gather your fallen things, not even looking up yet.
“I—Merlin—I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t looking, I swear I didn’t see—”
The shadow over you grew darker.
“Do you always run through corridors like a lunatic, or are you just blind?”
That voice. That tone.
You knew it.
Everyone knew it.
You looked up—
—and your heart stopped.
Mattheo Riddle.
Your stomach dropped through the castle floor.
Of all people to body-check at full speed, it just had to be him.
Him. The boy who could silence a room with a stare. The storm behind the green eyes. The sixth-year Slytherin who was constantly in detention and yet always managed to look like he owned the place. Known for black coffee, black coats, biting sarcasm and wicked smirks. Dark curls. Sharpened jaw. The smell of cigarettes and pine.
Mattheo Riddle wasn’t someone you just bumped into. He was the person people avoided.
And yet here you were—on the floor, trembling like a kicked bunny, and he was standing above you, glaring like he’d just been hexed.
You fumbled, crawling on your knees to snatch up your papers. Your hands shook. Your thoughts scrambled like marbles on the floor.
You didn’t dare look at him again.
Until you had to.
Your book—the one with your scribbled name on the cover and a few heartfelt doodles in the margins—was in his hand.
He crouched slightly, picking it up, fingers adorned with silver rings glinting in the morning light.
You lunged for it.
Your fingers brushed his.
And in that exact moment—
Time. Stopped.
It wasn’t poetic. It was terrifying.
Because the world suddenly went quiet. Everything blurred. Your lungs forgot how to work.
And when your eyes finally met his—really met them—
Mattheo’s entire world flipped sideways.
He froze.
His scowl faltered.
For a brief, impossible second, Mattheo Riddle forgot where he was.
Because you…
You were—
Radiant.
Not in the obvious way.
Not like Fleur Delacour or those impossibly perfect Beauxbatons girls.
No.
You were something different.
Something real.
With your hazel doe-eyes, glossy from panic and slightly glassy from the run, framed with lashes so long it should be illegal. Your cheeks were flushed a deep rose from the sprint, sun-kissed skin glowing under the filtered morning light pouring in from the arched windows behind you. A light dusting of freckles danced across the bridge of your Roman nose, and your bottom lip was red—bitten anxiously, shaped like a soft little heart.
Your sun-kissed skin glowed, warm and flushed from running, a light sheen of sweat on your collarbone catching the light. And freckles—freckles, like stars, scattered across the bridge of your nose and cheeks.
There was a wild curl of hair stuck against your forehead, and for some reason, Mattheo wanted to reach out and fix it.
His hands itched to touch your face.
You looked like you’d just fallen out of a damn dream.
Your face was a goddamn poem.
His brain refused to reboot.
He had never seen someone so soft. So real. You looked like warmth personified and chaos in a bottle. Like you’d trip down stairs and then apologize to the stairs. And he hated how badly he wanted to keep looking at you.
Your robes were still slightly twisted from the fall, your notes still falling around you, and yet somehow—you looked like a painting come to life.
His jaw clenched. His mouth opened—then closed.
“I-I’m so sorry,” you suddenly said again, lowering your gaze as you reached forward to take your book from his hand. “I didn’t mean to ruin your morning—Gods, I feel awful, I didn’t even see where I was!”
And then you spoke again.
“Thank you…” you whispered, voice breathless, barely above a hum.
And Mattheo swore his chest ached.
You stood up, arms full again, more flustered than ever. You didn’t even notice the way he was staring. You were too busy stammering your apologies again.
“I-I’m really sorry—I didn’t mean to waste your time—I just—I’m already late and I can’t afford another detention—I have to go—!”
You bowed slightly, cheeks burning, and turned—
—and ran.
Just like that.
Your cloak whipped behind you, your hair bouncing, your footsteps fading.
Gone.
Mattheo stayed exactly where he was.
The world slowly came back into focus.
Distant murmurs. Footsteps. A nearby classroom door creaking open.
And still, he stood there.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
His hand was still halfway in the air, like your touch had paralyzed him.
Alone.
Dazed.
“…Well,” came a voice from behind him, thick with amusement. “you just got hit by the cupid's arrow.”
Mattheo blinked.
Once. Twice.
The corridor was suddenly too quiet. Too still. The morning chatter of passing students seemed to fade beneath the buzz in his ears. His heart was still pounding like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the chaos was over. His hands remained stiff at his sides, one of them still twitching slightly from the lingering phantom of your touch.
He didn’t turn around.
He just stood there, eyes locked on the empty stretch of hallway where your cloak had fluttered out of sight. Like he expected you to come running back. Like this was just the first half of something.
“Mattheo.”
Still no answer.
Lorenzo huffed dramatically behind him.
“I said,” he repeated, louder now, “you just got hit by the cupid's arrow. In the chest. Dead-on. Right through the soul.”
Mattheo exhaled slowly, like he was trying to come back to his body. He finally turned his head just enough to glance at his friend, but not enough to fully face him.
“I’m fine,” he muttered.
“You’re not fine,” Lorenzo replied, moving forward to stand beside him now. “You look like someone cast a Confundus charm on you and then kissed you on the mouth.”
Mattheo rolled his eyes, but it lacked heat. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Oh, am I?” Lorenzo snorted. “You were crouched on the floor staring at him like he’d just fallen from the heavens and personally knocked the devil out of you.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“Mate, you didn’t even move for like… a whole minute.”
“I was stunned.”
“You were enchanted.”
Mattheo growled under his breath, brushing invisible lint off his coat.
Before he could tell Lorenzo to shut the hell up, a third voice joined them, smooth and unimpressed.
“What did he do this time?” Theodore Nott asked as he approached, his tone dry like he was already preparing to be disappointed. A book was tucked neatly under his arm, his uniform crisp as ever, and he eyed the two of them like a teacher walking in on misbehaving children.
“Oh, not what he did,” Lorenzo said, lighting up like he’d just found an audience. “It’s what happened to him.”
Mattheo stiffened.
Theodore raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. He got into another argument with a Ravenclaw prefect? Got caught sneaking out again? Hexed someone’s broomstick?”
“Worse,” Lorenzo said, eyes gleaming. “He just got tackled by a fifth-year Hufflepuff and now he’s in love.”
Theodore’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile just yet. Instead, he looked at Mattheo carefully. Slowly. Measuring.
“You’re joking,” Theodore said.
Mattheo stayed silent.
Lorenzo laughed. “He’s not. It was the most tragically romantic shit I’ve ever seen. Books flying, parchment floating, bodies crashing—it was like watching a badly written love story unfold in real time.”
“Lorenzo.”
“No, listen,” Lorenzo continued, stepping in front of Mattheo like he was delivering a TED Talk. “The kid ran into him like a fucking comet, slammed them both to the floor, scattered his life across the corridor—and instead of yelling? Our boy here just stared.”
Theodore crossed his arms, finally intrigued. “Stared?”
“Like a lovesick Victorian widow, I swear to god. He didn’t even blink when their eyes met.”
“I didn’t fucking stare,” Mattheo finally snapped, face hot.
“Oh really?” Lorenzo drawled. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like your soul got yeeted out of your body and replaced with butterflies.”
Theodore chuckled. “What did he look like?”
Mattheo hesitated.
Lorenzo grinned. “He’s not gonna tell you.”
“Because he doesn’t remember?” Theodore asked, glancing between them.
“Oh, he remembers,” Lorenzo answered before Mattheo could speak. “He’s been quiet because he’s mentally replaying it like it’s a bloody memory orb.”
Mattheo let out a sharp exhale and finally spoke.
“He had…” He paused. His voice dropped a little. “Hazel eyes. Big ones. Kind of panicked-looking. Lashes like—fuck, I don’t even know how to describe them. Dark. Long.”
Theodore’s eyes narrowed just slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“And?”
“Freckles. Light ones. Right here—” Mattheo tapped the bridge of his own nose. “Across his cheeks too.”
Lorenzo looked like he was physically vibrating.
“You’re so far gone.”
“Shut it.”
“And?” Theodore prompted.
Mattheo swallowed.
“Sun-kissed skin,” he muttered, almost begrudgingly. “Like he’d been in the sun too long but it worked for him. There was this curl stuck to his forehead. And he was flushed from running. And his mouth—”
“Oh my god,” Lorenzo whispered.
“—was heart-shaped. Kind of bitten red. He looked like he’d just been kissed and didn’t know what to do with himself.”
Theodore whistled low. “That’s… detailed.”
“I wasn’t trying to memorize him,” Mattheo snapped. “It just—happened.”
Lorenzo practically squealed. “You fell in love in under thirty seconds.”
“I don’t even know his name.”
“That makes it better,” Theodore said casually.
Mattheo looked at him like he was insane.
Theodore shrugged. “Now you have a mystery. Tragic. Beautiful. A real Hogwarts fairy tale.”
“I’m going to hex both of you.”
“Do it,” Lorenzo challenged, grinning. “Hex me with your love-struck frustration.”
Mattheo groaned, dragging his hands down his face.
He couldn’t stop seeing it. Seeing you. The flutter of your lashes. The heat in your cheeks. The way your voice trembled with nervousness but never once turned cold. You weren’t scared of him. Not really. Just flustered. Sweet. Apologizing like you’d bumped into anyone, not someone people called a dark prince behind his back.
And the way your fingers had brushed his—he still felt it. Warm. Soft. Unintentional. But it burned through his entire arm like a brand.
He didn’t even know your name.
But you had looked at him like you didn’t know his reputation. Like you weren’t sizing him up. Like he was just a boy who got in your way. And that… that stuck with him.
And now?
Now the echo of your voice wouldn’t leave his head.
And neither would your fucking freckles.
And why did he feel like he was never going to stop thinking about you?
────────────────────────────────
Later, in the slytherin common room. . .
Theodore had barely finished his third sarcastic comment when the Slytherin common room door burst open like it had been kicked by destiny itself, echoing with the dramatic stomp of leather boots and the clatter of five chaotic souls who never entered a room quietly.
Pansy was first—storming in with wind-blown curls and fury in her walk like she’d just returned from burning down a classroom. Her cloak hit the floor before she even fully crossed the threshold. “Alright, which one of you emotionally constipated pricks is radiating disaster vibes?”
“It's Mattheo,” Blaise answered before anyone else could speak, strolling in after her with the elegance of someone who thought life was a stage and he was the main event. He made finger guns at Lorenzo. “My senses tingled the second he said ‘it wasn’t a big deal.’”
Astoria trailed behind them, popping a sugar quill into her mouth and eyeing the room with mild disinterest. “If this is about Lorenzo crying over the Gryffindor Beater again, I’m going to hex myself into a coma.”
“I told you it’s not me this time!” Lorenzo huffed from his seat, hands flying up defensively.
Draco was next, rolling his eyes as he practically slinked into the room like a cat who knew you had food but didn’t want to ask. “Don’t flatter yourself, Lo. Nobody cries over people with shaggy hair and bad broom control.”
“Excuse you—he’s aggressively attractive—”
“—and aggressively dumb,” Draco snapped.
Pansy didn’t even pause as she spun on her heel and pointed directly at Mattheo, who was still stiff by the fire like a statue sculpted out of regret.
“You.” She narrowed her eyes. “You did something. Or something happened to you. Your aura is all… twitchy.”
Mattheo scowled. “Nothing happened.”
“Your face says otherwise,” Blaise grinned, tossing his bag across the table and draping himself dramatically over the nearest armchair like a Victorian widow.
“Oh, this is going to be good,” Astoria said, climbing onto the back of the sofa and perching like a judgmental raven.
Pansy leaned in closer, squinting. “Why do you look like someone just told you love is real?”
“He does,” Blaise said, gasping.
“Oh no,” Draco deadpanned, turning to Theodore. “Tell me it’s not what I think it is.”
“I’m afraid it is,” Theodore replied calmly, taking a slow sip from a teacup that had somehow materialized in his hands like dark magic. “He got hit. Hard. And not by a spell.”
Pansy gasped like she’d just found out someone was pregnant. “You’re in love?!”
“I’m not in love,” Mattheo snapped too quickly.
“Oh my god, you are,” Astoria said, absolutely beaming now. “This is better than when Lorenzo accidentally proposed to that Ravenclaw in Charms class.”
“That was one time—!”
“You were on one knee, Lorenzo!”
“—she dropped her wand!”
“Shut up!” Mattheo growled, but no one even heard him.
“Okay, someone tell me everything,” Daphne announced, breezing in last, her braid swinging behind her like a cape of judgment. She sat beside Astoria like royalty joining the court. “And don’t leave out the dramatic bits.”
Lorenzo stood up with flair, like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life. “Picture this: corridor. Early morning. Our beloved Mattheo, minding his own brooding business. Suddenly—boom. A Hufflepuff—adorable, frantic, five-foot-something bundle of chaos—slams into him at full speed. Books go flying. Toast hits the floor. Papers flutter like snow. And then—”
“Let me guess,” Pansy interrupted. “They locked eyes and time stopped?”
Mattheo groaned into his hands.
“HE STARED,” Lorenzo said proudly. “Like his soul left his body.”
“I didn’t stare,” Mattheo muttered, but even he didn’t sound convinced, his voice cracking at the end.
“You stared so hard I thought you were about to drop to one knee and ask for his hand in eternal servitude,” Theodore said, not even looking up from his book.
Pansy squinted again. “Wait—did your voice just crack?”
“It did not—”
“MATTY.” She pointed like she was summoning lightning. “You always voice crack when you lie. That was a full octave higher than normal. Don’t test me.”
“You sound like you’re going through second puberty,” Draco added.
Blaise wheezed into the couch. “He’s gone. Cooked. Deep-fried. Fully seasoned. Pack it up.”
Mattheo stood abruptly, eyes wide, hands clenching at his sides.
“I’m not gone.”
“Oh, okay,” Daphne said sweetly. “Then describe him. Calmly. Casually. Like someone who isn’t having a complete gay panic.”
Mattheo clenched his jaw.
Then, grudgingly: “Big hazel eyes. Doe-like. Pretty lashes. Freckles. Brown skin. Roman nose. He smelled like vanilla. He was flushed. His voice was soft. He looked scared, but he still smiled. I think he’s Arabic. Hufflepuff tie. Probably fifth year. Cute.”
The silence was explosive.
Astoria gasped. Blaise fell off the arm of the chair. Draco straight-up wheeled away in his own seat.
“I think I’m ovulating,” Pansy whispered.
Daphne clutched her pearls. “This is the most romantic shit I’ve ever heard from you, and I’ve read your detention letters.”
“I hate it here,” Mattheo muttered.
“I hate how turned on I am by you being this soft,” Blaise wheezed.
There was a beat of pure silence.
Not the normal kind—the oh shit kind.
It was the kind of silence where you could feel everyone in the room turning slowly, mentally rewinding Mattheo’s poetic-ass description like a memory orb on loop. The tension hung in the air like a cursed potion about to explode.
And then—
“Oh my Merlin,” Daphne gasped, eyes wide, voice pitched just slightly higher than usual. “You’re talking about Y/N L/N.”
Mattheo blinked. “Who?”
“Y/N,” she said, already sitting up straighter like a royal gossip gremlin who’d just sniffed blood. “Fifth-year Hufflepuff. Pretty. Quiet. Freakishly polite. Literal angel face. Arabic. Rich. Absolutely glows like he’s got permanent lighting from the gods. That’s him.”
Mattheo stared at her like she’d just said his future was tattooed on his back.
“Oh my god,” Pansy whispered, covering her mouth in glee. “That’s the one?”
“I saw him spill pumpkin juice on himself once and apologize to the table,” Astoria added helpfully.
“Yeah, and remember when that stray garden gnome ran through the courtyard and he cradled it like a wounded animal?” Blaise said.
“Wait,” Daphne continued, as if struck by divine memory. “I once saw him asleep on Cedric Diggory’s shoulder in the Great Hall.”
Mattheo’s head turned so sharply it was a miracle his neck didn’t snap.
Daphne blinked innocently. “What? He looked adorable. All curled up and peaceful—like a baby fox. Cedric didn’t even move, just let him nap there.”
“You’re gonna storm down there and what?” Pansy laughed. “Glare him into a date?”
“Trip him into your arms again?” Blaise wheezed.
“Throw Cedric into the Black Lake?” Draco offered.
“He’s not seeing Diggory!” Mattheo hissed.
“CRACK,” the whole group shouted.
Mattheo pointed at them, one by one, like he was mentally drafting their execution orders.
“I SWEAR TO SALAZAR,” he seethed. “IF ONE MORE PERSON—”
“Admits you’ve got it bad?” Pansy asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Mentions Diggory?” Blaise said.
“Suggests you’ve already written your wedding vows?” Astoria offered.
“Calls him your future husband?” Lorenzo added.
Mattheo threw his hands up, eyes wide with pure, boiling chaos.
“I WILL BURN THIS COMMON ROOM DOWN.”
The next morning . . .
Mattheo Riddle was not known for being quiet.
He was known for brooding in corners like a haunted painting, snapping at anyone who spoke too loud near him, and throwing people into walls if they breathed in his direction the wrong way.
So the fact that he was now crouching behind a fucking suit of armor outside the Great Hall just to get a glimpse of you?
Yeah. That was news.
“Are you hiding?” Pansy hissed from where she and the others stood huddled nearby, all of them peeking like this was a military op and not Mattheo having a public breakdown.
“I’m not hiding,” Mattheo muttered, tugging his coat up like a hood.
“You’re crouching behind Sir Cadogan’s left thigh, bro,” Blaise said. “That’s textbook hiding.”
“Shut up,” Mattheo growled. “Is he in there?”
“He’s at the Hufflepuff table, duh,” Astoria said, peeking in. “Drinking hot chocolate like a baby deer. There’s whipped cream on his nose. I think I just got pregnant.”
“Oh my god, he’s even holding his mug with two hands,” Daphne whispered like she was seeing the face of the divine. “This is disgusting. I love it.”
“Who’s he sitting with?” Mattheo asked, eyes narrowing.
“Diggory’s not there,” Theodore added casually, reading Mattheo’s mind like a damn seer.
Mattheo relaxed. Slightly.
“Do I look—” he glanced down, adjusting his collar, brushing nonexistent dust off his lapel “—casual?”
“You look like you’re stalking prey,” Draco said. “Which is very on-brand, but not helpful.”
“Should I just—walk in?”
“You’re asking us for advice on flirting?” Pansy said, eyebrows raised to the heavens. “Mattheo. Sweetheart. You don’t flirt. You glower until people cry.”
“I don’t want him to cry!”
“Ohhh,” everyone said in unison.
“Shut up,” Mattheo muttered, cheeks flushing as he stood up and finally peeled himself away from the armor.
The doors to the Great Hall loomed like the gates to hell.
He could do this.
He could just walk in, act chill, act normal, get his books or something, bump into you again like it was fate, and start a conversation that didn’t end in you running for your life.
Easy. Totally manageable.
He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and stepped inside.
The Great Hall was warm, filled with the quiet hum of post-breakfast chatter and clinking cutlery. Sunlight spilled through the enchanted ceiling, dancing across your skin as you laughed at something one of your friends said.
Mattheo’s heart stopped.
You were smiling. Bright. Soft. Eyes crinkling, lashes kissing the tops of your cheeks, one hand still clutching your cocoa like it was precious cargo.
Your hair was slightly messy. There was a smudge of ink on your wrist. Your tie was a little loose.
And you looked… unfairly good.
Then—your eyes flicked up.
And you saw him.
Mattheo froze.
Your smile softened.
Not a smirk. Not a beam. Just the faintest, shyest curve of your lips—like you were surprised, a little flustered, but maybe… maybe happy?
You tilted your head in recognition. Eyes wide. Curious.
Mattheo’s entire nervous system imploded.
Mattheo’s feet carried him forward automatically. He passed the Ravenclaw table. Then the Gryffindors. His palms were sweating. His brain was static. He didn’t even know what face he was making.
Then—
“Hi,” you said softly as he reached your end of the table.
“Oh—um,” you looked down at it. “It’s just—hot chocolate.”
Mattheo nodded. “Right. Yeah. I like hot chocolate. Sometimes.”
Sometimes? SOMETIMES??
His soul was exiting his body.
“Cool,” you said, and you smiled. Again.
Mattheo swore his knees buckled. Slightly.
And then—over at the Slytherin table?
Hell broke loose.
Astoria looked away with her jaw clenched, face turned violently toward the opposite wall like watching any more of this would make her burst into flames.
Blaise had one palm slapped across his face, muttering, “Oh my fucking god he’s doing it. He’s doing it.”
Lorenzo was folded in half and burying his face into Theodore’s shoulder, while Draco looked like he was trying to crawl inside Theo’s robes to hide from reality.
Theodore wasn’t moving. Not even blinking. He was trying. Trying so hard not to combust. His ears were red. He looked like a single syllable from Mattheo would make him lose the last molecule of sanity he had.
Pansy had gone completely still, her face frozen in a look of pure disgust, like she’d just watched someone confess their undying love to a garden gnome.
And Daphne?
Daphne let out the kind of long, exhausted sigh reserved for retired professors and overworked mothers. “Merlin help us all,” she muttered, “he’s actively combusting.”
Back at the Hufflepuff table, Mattheo was still standing there.
Motionless.
Unblinking.
Glitching.
Your smile softened as you tilted your head, offering your hand.
“I’m Y/N.”
Mattheo took your hand like it was made of crystal and he was afraid he’d crush it. Your fingers were warm. Soft. And somehow—comforting.
“…Mattheo.”
You tilted your head. “I know.”
He blinked. “You do?”
“People talk about you,” you said with a shy little smile, thumb brushing your mug.
Mattheo’s heart dropped. “What do they say?”
“That you’re scary.”
Instant tension.
His jaw locked. His shoulders tensed. His stomach twisted.
But you kept talking. And softly—sweetly—you added, “But also that you like dragons.”
He blinked again.
“What.”
You giggled, and it made his breath hitch. “One of your friends said you were reading a book on dragon runes last week.”
Mattheo’s soul left his body for the second time.
God fucking damn it, Lorenzo.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “I like them.”
“I think that’s cool.”
Mattheo blacked out. Again.
Your fingers played with the edge of your sleeve as your eyes flicked up shyly, waiting. You looked like you were about to say something else—but Mattheo beat you to it.
Sort of.
“I, um… you’re really…”
Hot? Cute? Stunning? Celestial?
“…Fast.”
You blinked. “What?”
“In the corridor. When you ran. You’re… fast.”
You stared at him.
Mattheo braced for death.
Then—like a miracle—
You laughed.
Like, really laughed. Soft, surprised, slightly wheezy at the end, one hand covering your mouth as your shoulders shook a little.
And it was the best fucking thing he had ever heard.
“Sorry,” you said, cheeks pink with amusement. “That’s the first time someone’s complimented my… speed?”
At the Slytherin table, it was carnage.
Astoria had turned fully around, hands over her ears like she couldn’t take it anymore.
Blaise was whimpering into his hands. “I can’t watch. I’m gonna throw myself out the window. Someone stop him.”
Lorenzo and Draco were clutching each other, crying into Theodore’s shoulder, muffling their screams in his uniform. Theodore hadn’t blinked in twenty-three seconds and was beginning to vibrate.
Pansy now looked physically ill. Like Mattheo had committed a crime against romance itself.
Daphne? Daphne was now taking notes in a little notebook titled “Riddle’s Emotional Downfall: A Case Study.”
Meanwhile, Mattheo was preparing to relocate to another planet.
“I’ll just—crawl into the Forbidden Forest now,” he muttered, face in his hands and turning away.
“No, wait—Mattheo!” you laughed, reaching out without thinking and touching his sleeve.
He paused.
Turned.
And you looked up at him with the softest eyes he’d ever seen.
“Would you maybe… sit with me tomorrow? For breakfast?”
Mattheo stared.
You were offering. Inviting. Letting him in. That small smile on your face was real, not forced. You looked nervous. Hopeful.
You weren’t mocking him.
You weren’t scared.
You were just… sweet.
“…Yeah,” he said, voice cracking like a dying violin string.
Your smile grew.
“Cool.”
Mattheo turned around made his way back to the Slytherin table like a man returning from war.
Silent. Dead-eyed. Emotionally obliterated.
He didn’t look at them. He couldn’t. His palms were sweaty, his heart was still thundering, and your little giggle was replaying in his ears like a haunted lullaby. You’d smiled at him. Twice. Maybe three times. And for what? His speed?
“Fast,” he muttered under his breath, horrified. “I told him he was fast.”
The moment he sat down—smack.
“OW—what the fu—Blaise?!”
Blaise had slapped the back of his head with a flat palm. “That was for all of us.”
Mattheo glared at him. “You don’t get to hit me.”
“I do when you flirt like a Quidditch concussion victim,” Blaise deadpanned, still visibly recovering from secondhand embarrassment. “Fast? FAST? What the hell does that even mean?”
“You complimented his speed,” Pansy said, still looking like she’d been personally assaulted by the interaction. “Are you dating him or racing him, track star?”
Mattheo groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“Oh my god,” Astoria mumbled, now sipping water while still facing away from him like she couldn’t even look at him. “I turned around for five minutes and came back to witness a murder. Of your dignity.”
“Y/N probably thinks you hit your head on the way in,” Lorenzo said, wiping fake tears. “I can’t believe you told him you liked his mug.”
“I panicked!” Mattheo hissed, voice muffled by his hands.
Draco gave him the most evil smirk he could summon. “You looked like a toddler meeting a Disney princess. You were giddy, mate. I thought you were gonna faint.”
“You glitched in real time,” Theodore added coolly, eyes narrowed in fascination. “You froze, spoke nonsense, voice cracked three times—which I counted, by the way—and now you’re blushing so hard your freckles are showing.”
“I don’t have freckles,” Mattheo gritted.
“You do now,” Pansy said, still sneering. “That was embarrassing.”
“You should be arrested for that performance,” Astoria muttered. “Sent to Azkaban for public emotional nudity.”
Mattheo finally lifted his head, hair a mess, eyes bloodshot from emotionally combusting. “I wasn’t that bad.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Daphne, who had been calmly reviewing notes like a bored therapist, snapped her notebook shut.
“You told him he was fast,” she said, like it was a diagnosis.
“He giggled,” Blaise added. “And you stood there. Like a statue.”
“He laughed in your face,” Draco said. “And you said—‘I’ll just crawl into the Forbidden Forest now.’”
The group collectively howled again.
Theodore leaned forward, voice low. “And then he invited you to sit with him tomorrow.”
Mattheo blinked. “He… did.”
Pansy gasped. “Wait, are you blushing again?!”
“I’M NOT BLUSHING—”
“Crack number four,” Astoria said, raising her drink in salute.
Mattheo dropped his forehead onto the table.
Daphne patted his back. “That was so embarrassing,” she said softly. “Do it again tomorrow.”
────────────────────────────
Later that night . . .
The dungeons were quiet. Too quiet.
The hour was late, the castle humming softly in its sleep, and Mattheo was sprawled on his side in bed, one arm under his pillow, the other thrown carelessly over his chest. His brows were furrowed, mouth parted slightly, dark curls falling messily over his forehead.
His breathing was steady.
But his dreams? Absolutely not.
══════
It started with you laughing.
Of course it did.
In the dream, you were sitting across from him in the courtyard. The sun was warm, the wind was soft, and for some reason, you were looking at him like he was the only person in the world.
You had that stupid hot chocolate again.
You were giggling at something he said—he didn't even remember what he said, only that your smile was so bright it made his chest hurt.
Then, you leaned forward.
Just a little.
“Mattheo,” you whispered, voice soft like silk.
He blinked. “Yeah?”
You reached up. Tucked a curl behind his ear.
Dead. He was dead. The dream killed him.
You smiled again—sweet and sleepy—and your nose bumped his lightly, your lips barely a breath away from his—
And then you kissed him.
Soft.
Just once.
Just barely.
His brain short-circuited. He was kissing you. You were warm. Your hand was on his chest. His fingers were brushing your jaw and your lashes fluttered against his skin and—
Mattheo shot up in bed like he’d been stabbed.
The dorm was dark. His chest was heaving. His skin was hot. His mouth was dry.
“What the actual fuck,” he gasped, yanking the covers off like they’d personally betrayed him.
He blinked into the shadows, heart racing like he’d just run a marathon.
“A dream,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “It was just a fucking dream.”
He dragged a hand down his face.
And then he growled.
“WHY was it so GOOD?!”
He looked at the ceiling like he could fight the gods.
He kicked the blankets. Violently.
“I kissed him. I kissed him?! He touched my HAIR?! What the FUCK is happening to me—”
A soft creak came from across the room.
Theodore, half-asleep and deeply unamused, poked his head out from behind the curtain of his bed.
“Did you seriously wake me up because you had a wet dream about the Hufflepuff?”
Mattheo froze. “It wasn’t—shut the fuck up.”
“You were moaning.”
“I was NOT—”
“Mattheo, you said his name.”
“…No I didn’t.”
Theodore raised a brow. “You said it. Real soft. Real dreamy. Real sad.”
Mattheo grabbed a pillow and hurled it across the room. “GO BACK TO SLEEP.”
Theodore snorted. “Maybe try sleeping without tongue-kissing your feelings next time.”
Mattheo flopped backward into his bed, slamming the covers over his face.
“I hate my life.”
Theodore’s voice drifted through the darkness. “No, you just love a Hufflepuff.”
“I’m gonna hex you.”
“Good night, lover boy.”
Mattheo groaned into his pillow like it could smother the memory of your dream-lips.
But deep down?
He already knew.
He was so, so screwed.
────────────────
The morning was golden and cold.
Sunlight filtered softly through the enchanted ceiling above the Great Hall, casting streaks of pale gold over the long, polished tables and illuminating the floating candles like a slow, delicate fire. Outside, frost clung to the windows. Inside, warmth pulsed from platters of breakfast food and the hush of conversation rose in cozy hums beneath the clinks of cutlery.
It was the kind of morning where everything felt slow and sacred.
And you?
You were already seated at the far end of the Hufflepuff table—just like yesterday.
Only now, you had a second mug sitting next to yours.
Waiting.
Mattheo saw it the second he stepped into the hall—and the second he did, his lungs forgot how to work.
There you were. Sitting cross-legged on the bench, warm scarf bunched loosely around your neck, house robes half-slipping from your shoulder like you hadn’t noticed. You were buttering a croissant with the back of your spoon, not your knife, and there was jam smudged on the side of your mouth.
Your eyes were slightly puffy from sleep. Your hair a little messy. One of your socks was mismatched, just barely visible under the fold of your robe.
And somehow?
You looked like sunlight made human.
You were humming softly to yourself. Completely unaware of the panic you were causing on the other side of the hall.
Mattheo just stood there for a second. Frozen.
Hands in his coat pockets. Shoulders tense. Eyes fixed on the second cup.
There were only two possible explanations.
1. It was a coincidence. Someone else's cup. Nothing to do with him.
2. You actually meant it. You’d brought it… for him.
His heart skipped. Then punched against his ribs.
His throat was dry.
“What’s he doing?” Blaise whispered across the Slytherin table, peering over the collar of his robe.
“He hasn’t moved,” Theodore muttered.
“He’s frozen again,” Pansy sighed.
“Is he breathing?” Astoria asked, deadpan.
“Should we push him forward?” Lorenzo offered. “Maybe give him a shove?”
“Do not make eye contact with him right now,” Daphne said calmly, slicing her toast. “He’s having a moment.”
Mattheo blinked slowly.
Pulled his shoulders back.
Tried to look casual and failed miserably.
He did the thing where he adjusted his coat lapels even though they were fine. Ran a hand through his curls. Tugged once on the hem of his sleeve like that would stop him from shaking.
He glanced back at his friends, who immediately pretended to look in every direction but his.
Astoria had her face in her water glass. Blaise was very suddenly fascinated by the texture of a napkin. Theodore was reading a book upside down. Draco just gave him a double thumbs-up.
Mattheo inhaled like he was about to step off a cliff.
And walked toward you.
You spotted him just before he reached the table.
You’d been trying so hard not to look at the door every five seconds, trying not to be that obvious—sitting up straighter every time it creaked open, pretending to reread the same sentence in your book over and over.
And then you saw him.
He was walking toward you—coat open, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times. His green tie hung just a little loose around his neck, as if he’d tried to tighten it and gave up halfway. His boots thudded softly against the stone floor with each step, but his eyes? Locked straight on you. Not the Hufflepuffs around you. Not the food. Just… you.
Your breath caught. Your fingers twitched nervously near your cocoa mug.
“Mattheo!” you said before your brain could stop you, voice just a little too excited. Warm. Hopeful.
His lips parted like he hadn’t expected you to sound that happy to see him.
His steps hesitated for half a second—shoulders tensing like he was processing your smile in real time—before he adjusted course slightly and made his way directly to the spot you’d left open.
Your chest fluttered when he sat beside you.
Close.
Closer than you expected.
His coat brushed your arm. You could smell his cologne—something sharp and smoky, but underneath that… something warm.
You pushed the second mug toward him with a bashful little tilt of your head. “I wasn’t sure if you liked coffee or cocoa, so I picked cocoa again.”
He looked down at the mug, then at you, his lashes lowering, then rising again slowly.
“Thanks,” he said quietly, voice thick and low and a little rough around the edges.
You swallowed.
The space between you felt too loud. You tapped your fingers once against your mug before quickly tucking your hands into your lap. Your leg brushed his knee. You didn’t pull away.
Mattheo sat still. Tense. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. Like he was afraid one twitch would ruin everything.
“…You nervous?” he asked suddenly, voice soft and unreadable.
You blinked. “W-What? No! I mean—maybe? A little? Are you?!”
The corners of his lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “You just flinched like I proposed.”
Your eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god, I did—”
You covered your face with both hands, voice muffled. “Please pretend you didn’t see that.”
Mattheo chuckled under his breath. It wasn’t a laugh full of teeth and mockery. It was quiet, like it surprised him. Like you surprised him.
The silence returned.
But this time, it wasn’t awkward.
It was tender.
You peeked through your fingers, then slowly lowered your hands to your lap again, trying not to let your knee bounce. He was looking straight ahead now, blinking slowly, biting the inside of his cheek.
Your pinky brushed his.
He stilled.
So did you.
Your heart jumped to your throat. You couldn’t breathe. Neither of you moved. Not right away.
Then—slowly—you turned your head.
He looked back.
And this time?
It hurt.
The way his eyes searched yours—like they weren’t allowed to. Like it was forbidden and he was doing it anyway. Like you were the softest thing in this sharp, hard world he lived in.
His gaze dipped to your lips. Just for a second. You saw it. He knew you saw it.
But he didn’t look away.
You did. Barely. Cheeks flushing as you swallowed again, throat dry.
Mattheo shifted. His hand twitched between you both. And it almost looked like he was about to reach for yours.
And then—
“MATTHEO’S TOUCHING HI—”
Blaise’s shriek sliced through the Great Hall like a Bludger through glass, so loud and so sudden that forks clattered onto plates and every single head whipped toward the Slytherin table.
Blaise had shot up from his seat, arms in the air like he’d just scored the game-winning goal at the Quidditch World Cup, face lit up in a mix of manic pride and absolute hysteria. “MATTHEO’S TOUCHING HI—”
His moment of glory was tragically short-lived. Pansy, eyes wide with the rage of a thousand banshees, grabbed him by the mouth and physically yanked him back down with a hand over his face. He squealed into her palm, kicking his feet, but she held on like her life depended on it.
“Bitch, SHUT THE FUCK UP,” Lorenzo and Draco screamed in perfect unison, both lunging across the table—one grabbing for Blaise’s flailing arm, the other going for his collar. They looked like zookeepers wrangling a particularly stubborn golden retriever.
At the head table, McGonagall dropped her spoon with a metallic clatter.
Flitwick nearly fell off his stack of books.
Professor Sprout just smiled and sipped her tea like it was none of her business.
Snape glared over his goblet, pinching the bridge of his nose, his expression screaming why am I alive for this?
Every other table had stopped mid-bite. Ravenclaws stared, mouths open. A pair of Hufflepuff second-years were clutching each other, whispering, “is this… normal?”
Gryffindor’s end erupted in giggles, Seamus and Dean smacking each other’s arms, while Hermione shushed Ron as he snorted pumpkin juice through his nose.
Astoria and Daphne, meanwhile, slid so low in their seats they were practically horizontal, hands covering their faces as if trying to phase out of existence. Astoria muttered, “I’m not here, I’m not here, I’m not here,” over and over. Daphne just groaned and mouthed, “I’m transferring.”
Theodore, ever the strategist, sat back and pulled out his copy of Advanced Potion-Making, flipping the pages with exaggerated disinterest. When someone looked his way, he didn’t even blink—just shrugged. “Exchange student,” he said. “I don’t know them.”
Pansy was still wrestling Blaise, hissing, “Do you WANT him to die of embarrassment?!”
Blaise was half-under the table now, eyes huge above Pansy’s fingers, still desperately trying to point at Mattheo like a witness at a crime scene.
Lorenzo had gone feral. “SIT YOUR ASS DOWN, WE ARE NOT DOING THIS TODAY.”
Draco’s voice cracked as he threatened, “I will glue your mouth shut, Blaise, I SWEAR.”
You were frozen, hand still half-raised where your pinky had brushed Mattheo’s. You blinked once, then twice, the tips of your ears burning red as every eye in the room shot to you and Mattheo.
Mattheo, for his part, was staring murder at his entire house, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring like a pissed-off dragon who’d been forced to join a knitting club.
And then, somehow, it got worse.
Silence.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then someone at the Gryffindor table (probably Fred, if the snickering was any clue) yelled, “IS IT TRUE LOVE OR JUST HAND-HOLDING?”
That set off another round of cackles.
Neville dropped his toast.
Hannah Abbott gasped, “Oh my god, they’re blushing!”
Even Professor McGonagall let out the faintest sigh, muttering, “For Merlin’s sake…”
Mattheo pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to convince himself he could turn invisible with sheer willpower. You, meanwhile, couldn’t stop the shy, nervous laughter bubbling out of you, one hand pressed to your lips as if you could hold back your smile.
Your pinky was still resting against Mattheo’s.
He didn’t move it away.
After what felt like a year of chaos, the hall slowly returned to normal—but you could still feel the eyes, the whispers, the heat crawling up your neck and across your cheeks.
Mattheo glanced sideways at you, lips twitching like he wanted to laugh and scream all at once.
“They’re… intense,” you whispered.
Mattheo grumbled. “They’re vultures.”
“They’re… sweet,” you said softly. “In a terrifying way.”
Mattheo looked at you again.
You were still laughing.
Not at him.
Not meanly.
Just… amused. Warm. You looked happy.
That killed him worse than anything else.
You leaned your elbow slightly, just enough to let your pinky brush his again—and this time, you didn’t move away.
And Mattheo?
Mattheo smiled.
Really smiled.
The kind of soft, rare smile he gave no one.
You grinned, finally letting yourself relax, nerves melting just a bit with the way he looked at you—like the rest of the world could do whatever it wanted, and he’d still only see you.
You walk side by side out of the Great Hall, the air fresh and cold, sun cutting silver across the stone. Mattheo’s fingers brush yours once, twice, before you finally, silently, reach for his hand and fully link your fingers with his.
He freezes, just a half-step, like the touch is a spell. You glance up.
Mattheo meets your gaze, the confusion and hope swirling in his eyes so obvious it almost makes you laugh.
You squeeze his hand—just a little.
His palm is warm, a bit clammy, and you can feel his thumb twitch against your knuckle.
You keep walking, steps falling in sync down the long hallway. A flock of younger Hufflepuffs stares in open shock from a nearby archway; two older Slytherin girls do double-takes and then whisper, and somewhere overhead, a ghost makes an exaggerated “aww” sound as you pass.
Mattheo keeps looking forward, lips pressed together, but you see the tips of his ears flush pink.
He glances down at your joined hands. Then at your face. Then back at your hands.
You smile, swinging his hand a little—just a tiny, dorky sway, like you’re trying to see if he’ll let you.
He lets you.
In fact, he blushes harder.
He clears his throat, voice a bit rough. “You… always this bold after breakfast?”
You raise your brows. “You want me to stop?”
“No.” His answer is immediate, a little too fast. He tries to play it cool—shrugs with the shoulder you’re not clinging to—but his cheeks are giving him away. “Just not used to… this.”
“Hand-holding?”
“Yeah. Or…” He fumbles for words. “Being… seen. Like this.”
You squeeze his hand tighter. “Sorry. I forget sometimes I’m supposed to care what people think.”
Mattheo lets out a breath. “It’s not you. I just—everyone’s always… looking.”
You shrug. “Let them look. I want them to.”
He stops in the middle of the corridor, yanking you gently to a halt. “Seriously?”
You nod, honest. “Seriously. If I could, I’d drag you through every corridor at Hogwarts until they all memorized the way you look at me.”
He stares at you. Like he’s never heard someone say something like that before. Like the words themselves are a foreign language.
He glances away, a shy smile curling up at the edges of his mouth.
“You’re kind of insane.”
You nudge him. “You like it.”
He snorts—an actual snort. “Yeah. Maybe I do.”
You grin, warmth blooming up your chest. The two of you start walking again, your stride a little more bouncy now. Every now and then, you give his hand another swing, and every time, he lets you.
You catch glimpses of your reflection in the tall castle windows—two boys, side by side, hands linked, a flash of gold and green in your ties, a mismatched mess that somehow fits perfectly.
“I still can’t believe you asked me to sit with you,” Mattheo mutters.
You shoot him a sidelong look. “You think I’m brave enough to not ask?”
Mattheo rolls his eyes, but his lips are twitching. “You were shaking so bad you spilled cocoa on yourself.”
“And you tried to act cool and said you liked my mug. Who’s the dork now?”
“Don’t remind me.” He groans, but he’s smiling—really smiling, for the first time today.
The two of you wind out through the open doors onto the lawn, your hands swinging back and forth between you. The air is crisp, the grass wet with dew. You don’t care.
You make your way down to the lake, passing a group of giggling second years who all fall silent as you walk by, jaws dropping. You and Mattheo pretend not to notice, but when you’re past, you both burst out laughing.
Mattheo shakes his head. “You know you’re starting rumors right now, right?”
“Good,” you say. “Maybe I’ll get a reputation. Maybe people will stop thinking I’m just a ‘quiet Hufflepuff’ and realize I’m actually the guy who made Mattheo Riddle blush in broad daylight.”
Mattheo nudges your side. “They’ll probably just think you’ve been cursed.”
“By what, bad taste?”
He grins, shaking his head. “By me. Being around me is… dangerous, you know.”
You stop.
Turn toward him, still holding his hand.
His eyes flick up, startled by your sudden seriousness.
“Mattheo,” you say, voice soft but unwavering. “I know who you are. I know what people say about you. But… I also know who you are when it’s just us.”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Who’s that?”
You lift your other hand, brushing his hair gently off his forehead.
“The boy who makes me laugh. Who gets nervous for no reason. Who blushes and tries to hide it. Who held my hand so tight just now I thought you’d break it.”
He stares at you, silent, something huge and unnamed growing in his eyes.
The silence stretches.
You step closer, until your noses nearly touch.
“You don’t have to be dangerous with me,” you whisper. “I like you exactly the way you are.”
Mattheo can’t look away.
He lets out a shaky breath, fingers tightening around yours.
His walls—those walls everyone else complains about—drop just a little.
He looks down. “I’ve never…”
You wait.
He glances up. “No one’s ever held my hand like this before.”
You smile, pressing your forehead lightly to his. “I’ll do it every day, if you want.”
Mattheo squeezes your hand again. “You’d get tired of it.”
You shake your head. “Not a chance.”
He laughs, the sound bubbling out of him, light and sweet and completely not how anyone expects Mattheo Riddle to sound.
You start walking again, your steps slow, hands still linked. The rest of the world melts away. For a while, neither of you says anything. There’s just the grass beneath your shoes, the occasional caw of a distant crow, and the rhythm of your breathing.
At some point, you swing your joined hands higher—ridiculous, childish, but perfect. Mattheo raises a brow. “Are you five?”
You swing his hand again. “No. But I’m happy. Are you?”
He looks at you.
Really looks.
And the way his eyes soften, just for you, says more than anything he could say out loud.
“I think I am,” he admits.
You give him your brightest, softest smile—the one that makes your eyes crinkle and your freckles glow.
For a few minutes, you both just exist together. You pass the old willow by the lake, then make your way up a little hill where you can see most of the grounds. The wind is chilly but gentle. You don’t let go.
He glances at your entwined fingers. “Everyone’s staring.”
“Let them.”
“You’re not embarrassed?”
You shake your head. “No. Are you?”
Mattheo hesitates, then shakes his head, too. “Not anymore.”
He squeezes your hand again. Just because he can.
You turn to face him fully. “What?”
He shrugs. “Just making sure you’re real.”
You laugh and let go for a second—only to turn and really take his hand, palms pressed flat, fingers locked. You give his hand a full swing and twirl, dragging him with you. He stumbles, off-balance, and you both burst out laughing again.
You end up chest to chest, both out of breath, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.
He leans in, voice barely a whisper. “You’re trouble.”
You grin. “You like it.”
“Maybe I do.”
The sun is rising higher, the castle buzzing to life behind you, and every so often you see heads peeking out the windows, a few Gryffindors gawking, even a couple professors pretending not to stare.
You and Mattheo don’t care.
You just keep walking, hand in hand, sometimes swinging, sometimes just holding, sometimes bumping shoulders on purpose.
You wander near the edge of the lake, stopping by a boulder half-covered in moss. Mattheo sits, pulling you down next to him, still not letting go.
You both watch the water, sunlight glinting silver and gold on the surface.
He says quietly, “This is the happiest I’ve felt in… a long time.”
You lean your head against his shoulder. “Me too.”
A moment passes. The breeze ruffles your hair.
Mattheo turns so you’re looking at each other, so close you can count the gold flecks in his eyes.
“Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
He hesitates. Swallows. Licks his lips.
“Do you… do you like me?”
You freeze.
Everything stops.
You blink, heart pounding so loud you think he must hear it.
He looks terrified. Completely exposed.
You stand up, tugging him with you.
You turn so you’re facing him, both hands gripping his now.
He waits.
You just look at him for a moment, letting all the feelings that have been bottling up finally show on your face. Every laugh, every nervous flutter, every quiet moment together, every time you caught yourself watching him across a crowded room—all of it, clear in your eyes.
You swallow.
Smile.
And with the softest, most sincere voice you’ve ever used, you say:
“I’ve liked you since third year.”
Mattheo’s mouth parts. He doesn’t speak. He just stares at you, thunderstruck, the world pausing around him.
And in that breathless, endless moment, with the sun shining and your fingers twined.
Hi!! I saw your latest work for Record of Ragnarok and I loved it sm! Could you do Yandere Nikola, Qin and Hades with a very clingy reader? like following them around, seeking their approval and so on, and if it's alright, could you add some NSFW to if? :3
Suureee! Heeey. I love Qin AND Nikola. Both of ‘em: ideal, hot, husbandos— though, my favouritistic ass says Nikola. But tbh, can’t not love Hades too! But anyway, hope you all enjoy
Nikola Tesla
Nikola is a very logical intelligent man so when he met you, whose has a interest in science too, he tried his best to fight against the obsession and the intense love he developed for you under such a short period of time, since he considers your feelings a lot
Though. Nikola does end up falling into the sick toxicity of Yanderes but he does not lose his scientific and caring mindset so whilst he is rather aggressive to others and protective over you and constantly works to impress you, he won’t push you around or disrespect your boundaries
Nikola is a rather shy Yandere, he doesn’t know how to approach and talk to you properly. He isn’t insecure— well, he’s semi-insecure and he wants to do the best he can to get you to love him and to his relief, it had seemed to work
Since you’re extremely clingy over him, whiny for his attention, following him EVERYWHERE and sitting beneath his contraptions whilst he works, trying to finish his vastly advanced inventions for his approval. You seriously do not need to ASK for Nikola to do any of this since he’ll do it all and more
Nikola’s a gigantic sweetheart, he is rarely violent or even that obsessive towards you since he is lenient and wants you happy, his obsession is mainly based on drawing pictures of you on the back of his blueprints or considering you in his work
To be honest, Nikola’s not that sexually driven at all… he’s actually a virgin and has been his entire life but if you want his attention in the bed, he’ll try his best to please you and yeah, you’ll take his virginity. This is just rare on his ends since he cares more about your connection with him emotionally
“Oh. No, no! Don’t do that! You… Lightbulb. You don’t need to work on my inventions for me to get my pure enamour. You make me delighted every day, you don’t need to impress me. I feel honoured just breathing the air you do. You always make me proud by merely trying and enjoying Science as I do”
Qin Shi Huang
Qin, on the other hand, is very arrogant and confident. King of confidence yet he has a very pristine palette for concubines since he almost never had a true lover. When he met you, he was surprised by how somebody so mundane caught his attention this way
Qin doesn’t really bother trying to fight his growing love and obsession with you a few days after meeting you since he knows he can fix you and make you the perfect Emperor (or) Empress for him. You’ll just need some improvement and he doesn’t mind being pushy and forceful about making you the Royal who fits being by his side
Qin is not clingy but quite hip-attached so he is constantly with you. Because he is the Yandere who completely dictates your life, he controls you and he isn’t ashamed of it. He needs to fix you and he doesn’t mind getting scold-y if it means you’ll listen to him
However, Qin doesn’t need to argue or forceful or even demanding as a Emperor with you since you’re already clingy and needy for his attention and his support and his impress. You want him to approve of your efforts to become a Royal as he wants and you get it after working so hard
Qin is a passionate lover, constantly pampering you with high luxurious grace of being the new Emperor (or) Empress of China with Qin. He shows love through his gifts, he suspects loyalty of you and he usually has you right besides him. Matching him in style and he already has you clad in a engagement ring
Qin views sex as an important part of a soon to be permeant marriage so he often likes to take you bed and he is quite the dominant man, he loves to feel you around his cock. He is quite sexually-driven and you’ll, at least, have sex with him twice a week~ enjoy how flexible and top he is
“Ài! You are not eating, eat! What? … you’re doing excellent with your manners. You don’t need to go overboard since I am very pleased with your efforts of becoming China’s best [emperor/empress], behind myself. Come now, let’s enjoy dinner together~”
Hades
Hades is the most content with developing a deep obsession and love over you in such little time that he barely knows anything about you but he truly doesn’t care, he cares about the cute person he has met and found out about so he quickly falls into his own dark desires and begins to chase you with no real shame over it
Hades is a graceful yet stern King and whilst he truly lives to serve his younger brothers and care for his Pantheon, he doesn’t see any issue with pursuing a lover and gaining a Husband (or) Wife for himself. He promises to take care of you and fight for your honour with all his might
Hades finds your clinginess and neediness and almost childish-like whininess over trying to impress him and have his joy and approval over your every action delightful. He’ll give it to you but he also plays along with all your work so he’ll wait until you’re happy before giving praise
Hades is not a aggressive or brutal Yandere at all, he is a gentle caring one. Even for a man like him, he doesn’t ever ignore you or your intake as he values your opinion, even if he does do things behind your back to fulfil his obsession over every little thing of you
Hades is a loving husband, right up. One, he does not hesitate to ask you to marry him when he learns you reciprocate his intimate love for you and two, he’ll make sure you feel like his equal and feel heard. He gives you what you want at the right time
Hades views sex as lovemaking, as an emblem of his forever lasting love for you and he’ll give it to you when he wants since he isn’t really one for wanting sex himself. So, like Nikola, he’ll fuck you into the mattress when you want it and he’ll give you a good night indeed
“Sugar skull. Come here, please. Why are you grating my Bident? Oh… you want me to make me happy? You already do by being yourself, I’d need have asked you to be my one and only [bride/groom] if I didn’t. Don’t sweat, you’re perfect to me”
TW: I'm not sure how to tag this so just be warned for some adequate smut. very short. size difference. sub character, dom reader
male reader but can be read as gender neutral, gender neutral partner/ can be read as male or female, fluff start, smutty ending.
Thinking about your petite partner....
imagine your petite partner, so small that your arms make them feel safe in a soft cage. so small that your arms cover them
imagine your petite partner, cozying up to you with your hands intertwined under the table during class, not caring about how sweaty your palms have gotten.
imagine your petite partner having to pull you down using your clothes just because you werent listening or they just want to give you a little peck. they grab your collar and pull you down just to give a small peck on the corner of your lips and intentionally missing.
imagine your petite partner being envious of your build, feeling a little insecure about how they're so small compared to you. you reassure them that if they wanted to, you could help with their build but also kiss their inner wrist and assure them you love them for who they are, no matter the body type.
imagine your petite partner being asked about their build and how did they achieve that. "oh well I work out just enough to be healthy and not have unnecessary fat on me. my height on the other hand, god took my inches because they knew id be too powerful with them." you know damn well the only work your your small petite partner has is when he sleeps an entire day off or rides your face till dawn.
imagine having your petite partner, sit on your thick thigh, mumbling how big you are compared to them. grinding their little ass on your meaty thighs as your hands guide them to move across your leg. theyre imagining, if this is how thick your thigh is, they wonder how thick you are down there.
imagine having your petite partner sit on your face, your hands almost encircle your partner's waist completely. pulling their sex closer to your face as you listen to their little mewls, weakly grinding against your face.
imagine having your petite partner taking control once in a while, trying to fuck you until your brain turns to mush but it backfires. Their attempts to fuck you, turn into a sloppy mess of trying to get you to fuck them instead, and they don't want it gentle.
imagine having your petite partner being naughty or cheeky minded, you're busy with your work and you feel their arms wrap around your neck from behind. "how about you do me instead of doing your work, hm?" getting you riled up and then they tease you by deciding to ignore your advances for the rest of the day.
imagine your petite partner begging their cute little ass to be fucked raw, their small butt to the skies and face crying on the sheets. you can't help but tease them back for their earlier tricks, sliding your hand to caress their sex and pulling away, whispering into their ear and grabbing their small fucking waist.
--
not my best work but was feeling a little thirsty so have this.
Note: @yonlyssguts Thank you so much for requesting! And I’m doing great, I hope you are too, and you enjoy the story I wrote you!
“JJ.”
“Mm?”
A soft laugh was heard, still drowned with sleep, a small raspy hint to it, but he found it all too perfect. “Open your eyes.”
The words were giggled out, and she most definitely see the teasing smirk upon his lips that he thought wasn’t visible.
“And what if I don’t?” He tested, voice muffled by the pillow that was practically stuffed in his face.
“Then no morning cuddles, or kisses,” the girl decided.
A loud squeal was heard as he flipped her over, now looking down at her sparkling tired eyes, still kind of faded from sleep.
“Well I can’t loose those things, can I?” He teased, stroking her hair out of her forehead’s way.
She giggled as his soft lips landed gently on her face, placing kiss after a kiss as he adored her. His mouth then placed a kiss on the tip of her nose before hovering over her own lips, a small smile showing on his face.
Her hands went to his neck, fiddling with the silver necklace he had on. “Why hello.” She giggled out. He smiled wider, leaning so their lips were touching but since they were smiling, the kiss wasn’t quite a kiss.
She finally pressed their mouths together, a soft hum leaving his as he kissed her back.
His lips tasted like salt water yet something sweet she couldn’t place, but she would be lying if she said she cared to figure it out.
“I love you,” JJ murmured against her lips, grabbing her hand to place it over his heart. His skin was smooth, soft and warm and oh so welcoming. It was pounding beneath her fingertips, showing her he meant the words with his whole chest.
Her own heart fluttered, utter happiness flooding her senses.
He loved her.
He loved her.
And she couldn’t be happier.
“And I love you,” she whispered back. The smile that stretched his lips was so wide it made her smile, hiding her face into his neck and pressing small kisses there. The skin was so soft and warm it felt like home.
“Hey,” he playfully scolded, pulling her face out of his neck. “Don’t do that; I want to see your pretty face.”
A laugh bubbled in her throat, covering her face so he still couldn’t see her, feeling his fingers fighting hers.
“No, no young lady. Show me your face; your pretty eyes. Come on,” he tutted, still trying to pry her fingers off her face.
She laughed once more, the noise muffed by her hands.
She finally let him release her hands, smiling wide at the sight of her face.
“There she is,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.”
She blushed, hiding her face again but this time in his neck. She started lightly kissing it, small and gentle lips on his skin.
“Hey that tickles,” he laughed, and it was her favorite noise ever.
Summary: Reader plays with Draco’s hair while he sleeps.
Warnings: Watching/touching/admiring someone while they sleep? Mention of suspense while reading a book, tenseness during slumber, mention of being trapped, think that’s it. :)
Sorry if it’s too short, I kinda rushed it. Hope you guys enjoy!
Masterlist
Request Requirements
The stack of pages was held in her hands, twinkling eyes scanning the pages as her mind took in the exciting story. Pale fingers was tracing mindless shapes on the skin of her arm, the pace changing every minute or so.
The climax was just on the verge of happening, eyeballs practically skipping over sentences as she died to know what happened next. The face to face encounter of the protagonist and the antagonist was too great, her brain wiring at the information being sprayed at her. Her stomach twisted, eyes danced, and she could feel sweat building on her head. Her eyes widened, the story revealing a secret that she couldn’t bear to face or figure out. Or, that’s what some people would think. She of course hadn’t had any trouble figuring the secrets of the book, digging through the clues that were dropped casually throughout the story and putting them together to make a puzzle picture that was just discovered to most readers. (But not to her of course. She already figured it all out.)
For the reason of her eyes widening was the fact that she got it correct, her assumptions and theories she gathered turned out to be right the whole time.
She found herself lost in the pages that the book had to offer, truly getting sucked in the imaginary world the author created for entertainment.
But wouldn’t it be lovely and truly divine, she thought, setting the book down once she finished it. If the world that was so imaginative and fictional was real?
She sighed at the thought, picturing herself trapped in a tower in a dark abandoned land, looking hopelessly out the window for her lover to arrive and successfully rescue her.
For she knew who would come and serve her right. He would be the only person who would, not that others wouldn’t try only to face him.
But platinum hair was best suited for her, for she wouldn’t have any other interests but he.
Thinking of him now, she just then discovered that his fingers halted their movements not too long before, and her mind couldn’t help but wonder what the purpose was.
She looked over at her love, only to find him in soft gentle slumber, eyelashes tangled together as his pillow lips parted for a quiet breath.
She smiled soft, hand reaching over to cover him more with the blanket he had himself wrapped in, only for it to previously roll down his shoulders.
She then laid down softly next to him, her elbow holding her up as she used the same arm to place it near his head, almost like she was protecting him.
The face of her love was closer to her, so she now noticed the soft crease in his eyebrows, along sided with the visible tenseness on his shoulders. She shook her head softly, for that simply couldn’t do, and so she pointed out her pinky finger and reached for his forehead. Her finger practically brushed his skin, in between his eyebrows, stroking the crease away as she watch a sense of peace come over him, his eyebrows raising in a calming manner.
She smiled then, knowing he was peaceful now because of her doing.
She then lent forward, lips puckering as she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, fingers uncontrollably going to his hair strands. His hair was very soft, and how he kept it that she didn’t know, but that was his secret to keep because she simply liked wondering how he did it. Once her fingers reached a soft knot in his strands, most likely from his hands digging into his hair anxiously throughout the day, she was worried if she undid it with her fingers it would wake him up, so she carefully grabbed her wand, wood smooth beneath her finger tips.
She pointed the tip to his hair, whispering soft Charms as she watched the strands undo themselves. She smiled soft, putting her wand away as it was now long forgotten, her mind swarming with thoughts of her lover.
She sighed contently, fingers brushing through his hair slowly.
A intake of breath was heard, forcing her attention to his soft face. It scrunched up for a second, eyes fluttering as his silver eyes opened. He blinked a couple times, moonlight reflecting in his pupils making his orbs sparkle. He felt the touch in his hair, the extra blanket covering him, and his eyes met hers.
His lips curved into a soft smile, left hand reaching for her as it soon rested on her thigh, stroking the skin through the fabric.
“Hey, loves.” His voice was groggy and deep, but she liked it. She replied with a smile, fingers moving in his hair once again.
A sigh escaped his lips, head turning to rest near her chest, chasing for warmth. She kissed his forehead once again, mouth leaning towards his ear. The skin was warm on her lips as she whispered the truth. “I love you.”
She felt his lips stretch into a soft smile against her clothes, so she smiled too. His smile always made her smile, despite if she could see it or not.
“Oh but I love you most.” He mumbled into her shirt, voice muffled but she heard him all too well.
A flush came about her cheeks, traveling to her ears.
“Doubt it.” She replied, despite her red face.
Draco answered with a hum. Either he didn’t hear her, or did and chose to ignore it.
“You smell good loves; new shampoo perhaps?”
“Draco, I’ve been using this shampoo since First Year.”
Draco hummed again, snuggling his face into her neck. She heard him sniff as he smelled her hair again. “Mm? First Year? I should smell your hair more often loves.”
The girl rolled her eyes, stroking the hair on the back of his neck. She kissed it, keeping her mouth pressed there as her nose touched his warm skin.
“Ahh. This feels nice.” Draco murmured. She then felt him smirk into her neck. “What do you say we do this more often?”
Summary: Lando only needs one person after the 2024 Vegas Grand Prix.
Warning(s): Mild language, use of Y/N, self doubt(lando).
"Weight of the world on your shoulders, I'll kiss your waist and ease your mind"
The last echoes of the Las Vegas Grand Prix still hung in the air, but in the quiet confines of Lando Norris' driver’s room, it was just the two of you. The race, the interviews, the public’s pressure—it all felt miles away now. All Lando could feel was exhaustion. It wasn’t the kind of tiredness that came from physical effort—it was emotional, mental, the kind that soaked into every fiber of his being after months of fighting for a championship that, in the end, slipped through his fingers.
The whole season had been intense. The relentless scrutiny, the expectations, the public pressure to fight with Max Verstappen for the title, it all came crashing down on him. Everyone wanted him to be a rival, wanted there to be tension between him and Max, even though the truth was, he and Max had shared a friendship that no one truly understood. But in the eyes of the world, the narratives didn’t always match reality.
Lando pushed the door open to his driver’s room, and when he saw you there, all of that weight seemed to lighten, even if just for a moment. You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, wearing one of his oversized hoodies, your legs tucked beneath you. There was an undeniable comfort in that scene—the one that made everything feel right, even in the middle of all the chaos.
“Hey, you.” You glanced up at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “You look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”
Lando couldn’t help but chuckle, though the sound was tinged with exhaustion. “Yeah, it feels like that too.”
You raised an eyebrow, the affectionate teasing always there. “I thought you were the one who was supposed to have the energy after a race weekend.”
He let out a dramatic sigh, his feet dragging as he slowly made his way over to you. “I’m pretty sure all my energy just died the moment the race ended.”
You laughed softly, watching him flop onto the couch next to you. The relief of being back with you was immediate, like a deep breath after holding it for too long. Lando’s head found its way into your lap without a second thought.
You looked down at him, your fingers tracing absentmindedly through his hair. “ You’ve been working so hard. But you don’t have to do it alone, you know?”
Lando closed his eyes, letting your words sink in. He didn’t know why he was so surprised by that—he knew you’d always been there for him, through all of the highs and lows, through every single tough moment. You had been his rock this season. But even now, after everything, he couldn’t shake the feeling of needing to hear it.
“I don’t think I would have made it through this year without you,” he admitted quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Everything’s been so... heavy. But you’ve always been there to keep me grounded.”
You smiled softly, gently moving a strand of hair away from his forehead. “I’m always going to be here for you, Lan. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”
Lando let out a shaky breath, his eyes still closed. He could feel the warmth of your hand on his head, soothing the tension he didn’t even realize had settled there. “It just feels like... everyone’s been waiting for me to mess up, you know? Like they want me to fail, want me to be this villain just because I’m not Max.” His voice cracked slightly, though he tried to mask it with a half-hearted laugh.
You frowned, your fingers gently cupping his face, tilting his head up to meet your eyes. “They don’t understand, Lan. They don’t see what I see, what your fans see. They don’t see how hard you’ve worked, how much you’ve given. You’re not a villain. You’re not anything like that. You’re Lando Norris—one of the best drivers out there.”
He stared at you for a moment, your unwavering support and love a balm to his bruised soul. “It just feels so lonely sometimes. Like, I’m doing this all for everyone but no one’s really on my side.”
You squeezed his shoulder gently, feeling the weight of his words. “I’m on your side,” you whispered. “I’ll always be on your side.”
Lando smiled softly, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. “You’re all I need. I don’t need anyone else. Just you.”
You kissed the top of his head gently, feeling the connection between you two deepen, as if the moment would stretch on forever. He was so strong in front of everyone, always pushing, always fighting, but here, with you, he could finally let himself relax.
The moment lingered, your hands caressing his hair, the sound of his breathing steadying as he melted into you. But then, with a slight grin, Lando looked up at you from his position in your lap. “So, I was thinking...”
You arched an eyebrow, knowing he was up to something. “Oh, really? What’s going on in that mischievous head of yours?”
He flashed a grin, eyes gleaming. “Well, after everything this season, I think I’ve earned a reward. You know, like... a vacation.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, your fingers tracing lightly along his jaw. “A vacation, huh? What kind of vacation are we talking about?”
Lando wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “Somewhere with beaches... lots of sunshine... and maybe I’ll get to see you in all of those pretty little bikinis.” He was clearly enjoying your reaction, his voice teasing but also full of a certain warmth that could only come from someone who truly adored you.
You stared at him, narrowing your eyes with a teasing grin. “Oh, so this is all for a bikini, huh? What happened to all your talk about hard work and the championship?”
He laughed softly, leaning in close to plant a soft kiss on your neck. “I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”
You rolled your eyes but couldn't fight the smile that tugged at your lips. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, though your heart was racing with the thought of the two of you escaping to somewhere far away, just you and him. Away from all the cameras, the expectations, and the noise of the world.
“Fine,” you said with a sigh, though the smile never left your face. “But only because you’ve been a good boy this year.”
His grin widened, and he pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “I knew I’d win you over. Only two more races left”
You chuckled, shaking your head but snuggling closer to him. You ran your fingers through his hair once again, feeling the peace in his body as he relaxed further into your embrace.
“Do you ever feel like you’ve been through the hardest parts, only for more to keep coming?” he asked softly, his voice a little quieter now. “Like, after all of this, there’s always something else waiting for you?”
You smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “That’s the thing about you, Lan. You always push through. Every time something hard comes your way, you face it head-on. And no matter what anyone says, you’ve got a heart that’s bigger than all the noise around you.”
Lando’s chest tightened at your words. You always knew how to make him feel like everything he did mattered, even when he felt like he was losing. “I just don’t want to disappoint you. I never want to let you down.”
You smiled at that, the sincerity in his words making your heart swell. “You’ll never let me down, Lan. You’ve already given everything. And no matter what happens next year, I’ll be right here.”
Lando sighed, a soft, contented sound, as he curled into you more. “I just want to focus on the two of us. No more outside noise. Just you and me. That’s all I need.”
You kissed the top of his head gently. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do, Lan. We’ll take on next year together. And we’ll make it our best year yet.”
His eyes softened as he gazed up at you. “I love you, Y/N. I always will.”
The words hit you in a way they always did—gentle but deep, like a secret only the two of you shared. “I love you too, Lan. Forever.”
And as the two of you sat there, the world outside seemed so far away. The championship, the pressure, the doubts—it all faded. In this moment, with him in your arms, everything was perfect.
For Lando, it wasn’t the titles or the fame that mattered. It was you. And with that thought in his heart, he finally let himself feel the peace he’d been longing for all season.
