clark kent thinks you're avoiding him... you are - drabble #1
🩵💗 - i have never felt so inspired in my life (total lie but still - clark kent has me in a chokehold - SUPERMAN WAS SO GOOD) this kind of fic is my fav (i've seen it done so so soooo many times with spidey, and i wanted to write my own little bit for superman!!)
corenswet!clark kent, miscommunication trope (im sorry), best friends (idiots in love) to lovers, yearning, MEDDLING LOIS, cursing (not from clark, obvi), secret identity reveal!!
word count: 1.6k
"I know you're in there."
Five words that scared the living daylights out of you. You felt horrible, sick to your stomach. Lying to your best friend wasn't something you particularly enjoyed doing, but it had to be done.
For your own sanity.
You couldn't take it anymore, your friendship.
You loved him so much, too much, some (Lois) could say. It was obvious to everyone but him, apparently. You decided on a whim that the best way to get rid of this affliction was to avoid him (by saying that you were sick). From there, you would strategically miss his calls and texts with well-planned-out excuses. That idea alone would last you a month, maybe two.
Or at least you thought so.
You stared at the door, clutching a pillow close to your chest as if that would calm you down. It didn't. "How did you know that?"
"Well, for one, your lights are on." He sounded impatient, borderline nervous. "I can hear your nervous breathing from here."
"Whoever you're looking for isn't here right now." Smooth, real smooth. You could tell he was breaking; he was probably clenching his jaw right about now. "Come back later."
"I know you're not sick." Damn you, Lois. "What's going on?"
"Nothing, Clark." Your plan for faking a cough was ruined. Most of your plans depended on your sickness. Shit. "I'm just tired."
"Tired?" You imagined your neighbors would be spying curiously at the conversation happening via yelling. "You've been tired for four days, sweetheart."
"You-" You screamed into your pillow, not caring if he heard you. He was horrible, mean without knowing. Mean, because he called you that nickname knowing the effect it had on you. "You're counting, I see."
"I need to see you." Again, was he aware of what he was doing to you, or was he truly so oblivious of his power over you?
"Fine." You muttered to yourself, stalking over, preparing your mind to become a steel trap, impenetrable to all, even those familiar with you. Especially those named Clark. You undid the many locks on your door (Clark's idea) and whipped it open. "Fine! Are you happy?"
God, he was gorgeous. His white button-up hugged his frame in all the right places, and his glasses were in his palm, as if he'd taken them off to nervously rub a hand over his face. "The happiest. Can I come in?"
You stepped aside, shutting the door behind him. "Well, you've seen me."
"What did I do?"
"What-" You frowned. "What makes you think you did something?"
You knew full well you'd given him more than enough to prove he was to blame for your disappearance. He raised an eyebrow, throwing his case and jacket on the couch.
It physically pained you to see him do that, to see him act so casually, like this was routine for him. Like this was home. "C'mon, sweetheart-" You tensed, and he gestured wildly toward you. "See!? You've never done that before. I did something." He stepped forward, his cologne weakening your resolve. "I need to know what it is, so I can fix it."
You walked around him, grabbing his coat and case off the couch, shoving them back into his hold. "You can't fix this."
"Yes, I can." He had the worst hero complex known to mankind. "I can because the alternative-" His voice cracked. "I can't lose you."
You didn't know what to say. You couldn't say he wouldn't lose you, because he was. He was actively losing you. "Clark-"
He opted to throw his things off to the side, their importance nothing compared to your friendship. Friendship. Just thinking the word made you physically nauseous. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" You tilted your head. "Sorry for what?"
"I should have told you." He looked crazed. "I should have told you immediately, but I didn't want to mess it up and-" Your hearing had gone, all your senses failing as your mind reeled with the possibility that maybe Clark, your best friend since high school, your partner in crime, was about to confess his feelings to you.
To you, who was wearing your comfy t-shirt and barely there shorts, whose face looked less than desirable, and whose blue light glasses were doing very little to curb the headache you'd developed.
"Clark, I feel the same-"
"I'm Superman."
Oh fuck. Your eyes welled almost instantly, stumbling over your words. "That's amazing!"
He looked suspicious, like he wanted to ask what you'd thought he was going to say. "Thanks, sweetheart."
You skirted around him, walking into your kitchen and rummaging through the fridge as if you hadn't just accidentally revealed your feelings to your best friend, who happened to be Superman. "So how long have you had these powers?"
"My whole life." He squinted. "What were you-"
"Do your parents know?" You grabbed a cucumber, angrily scrubbing away the germs before grabbing a knife.
"Yeah, I actually-" He tilted his head. "It's a long story."
"Well, I'm all ears." You sliced the cucumber slowly so you had longer to come up with more questions. "This is so exciting."
"What did you say, before I told you I was, y'know?" His arms were crossed, and you didn't know whether to cry or drool at the way the fabric fought against his biceps.
Suddenly, it all made sense, him being Superman. It honestly surprised you that you hadn't realized sooner.
"Sorry?" You grabbed a slice of cucumber, shoving it in your mouth.
"What did you say?" He stepped forward, gently peeling the knife out of your hand, reaching over you to place it in the sink. "Sweetheart, what's going on?"
"Please don't make me do this." Your eyes were wide. "Clark, it was nothing."
"Didn't sound like nothing." He let go of your hand, eyes desperately searching your face for answers. "You were missing for four days. Four days." His hand held your cheek, carressing it gently with his thumb. "I was a wreck. You wouldn't answer my calls or my texts. Even Jimmy was concerned."
"Well, that's sweet of him-"
"You know you've never kept a secret from me before."
"You don't know everything about me, Clark." Shit, that was low, even for you. "I- I meant to say, that..." You stepped out of his hold, grabbing a Tupperware to put the rest of the cucumber in. "Not everything has to be shared between us."
"Oh." His voice was tight, deeper than normal. Serious in a way you'd never heard. "If that's how you feel."
You nodded, too much of a coward to face him. "It is."
"Alrighty." He left the kitchen, grabbing his things from the floor. "Bye then."
"Bye." You watched as he walked out the front door, the door slamming loudly behind him. You would have jumped if you weren't completely numb.
Literally a second later, he burst back through, throwing his things on the ground again, stalking toward you. "Actually, I'm not done."
"Oh really?" You raised an eyebrow. "Because I think you are."
"No." God, he really was intimidating when he needed to be. Obviously, being Superman had its perks. "No, I'm not letting it end this way."
"It?" You scoffed. "There is no it-"
"Why are you being like this?" He looked like he did when you were younger, all flustered and angry, eyes wild and hands animated. "Why won't you just tell me what you said?"
"You really want to know?"
"Yes!" He yelled. "That's all I want!"
"I'm in love with you, you asshole." Tears were streaming down your cheeks in waves, dripping onto your shirt, well, actually, when you thought about it, it was originally Clark's. From high school, the lettering fraying from use. "I've been in love with you for years."
It was like you'd awoken a sleeper agent, because the next thing you knew, you were being picked up like you were nothing and placed on the kitchen counter. "Clark-"
He dove down, kissing you so passionately your eyes practically rolled all the way around. You gasped, grabbing his collar and pulling him even closer (if that was possible). His hands grabbed dangerously at your thighs, trailing up and down, sometimes pinching your hips, your waist.
It seemed like you stayed there for hours, letting out all those years of pent-up tension in one perfect, phenomenal, super kiss.
You were sure you could keep going, but Clark pulled back, smirking when you chased after his lips. "Sweetheart-"
"You can't just-" You huffed, chest heaving as the realization hit you like a punch. "You just-"
"Yeah." His forehead rested against yours, eyes bearing into yours. Well, you thought so. Somewhere along minute two of the kiss, your blue light glasses had fogged up. "You're so brave."
"Yeah?" You laughed. "Braver than Superman?"
"Much braver." He whispered. "I was-" He trailed delicate kisses across your jaw, laughing when your breath hitched. "I was trying to work up the nerve to tell you, and you beat me to it."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize." He found his way back to your lips, his nose resting against yours. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." You grinned, kissing his lips quickly, relishing in the fact that you could do that now for any and no reason whatsoever. "So how long have you been in love with me?"
"Gosh-" His eyes were black, the perfect blue lost below a sea of charcoal. "Give or take twelve years?"
"Twelve years?" You yelled, slapping a hand over your mouth, shocked at how loud you were. Clark peeled it away, kissing each knuckle gently as you whispered. "Twelve years?"
"M'honestly surprised you didn't figure it out."
You snorted, shaking your head at the way tonight had turned out. "You and me both, Kent."
PAIRINGS: mattheo riddle x ravenclaw!reader, mattheo riddle x fem!reader
WARNINGS: yearning final boss, overthinking, angst, mentions of death, TENSION, oblivious reader, dramatic love confession, fluff ending
WORD COUNT: 6.1k
🎶 : october - joey madeline
AN: 🩵♥️💛💗 - i love this one so so much!! hope you enjoy!!
Hogwarts, October 1995
“What the bloody hell is on your neck?”
“Good morning to you, too.”
“Explain.” Roger was apparently in no mood for comedy. His lips were quirked in the same way as when you were children and he was seconds away from throwing a temper tantrum.
“Really, Roger, at your ripe age, you should have better manners. Did Mother and Father teach you nothing?”
“I’m waiting.” His foot tapped impatiently against the floor, arms crossed.
You frowned, disappointed that he hadn’t taken the bait and blown his top. “It’s a scarf. Is that alright with you?”
“I know it’s a scarf, you ninny.” He practically hissed. “But why- It’s a-”
Cho sighed, patting her friend’s arm sympathetically. “Why are you wearing that scarf, babe?”
“Oh.” You looked down, giggling to yourself at the deep green and silver. “Must’ve mixed them up.”
“Mixed them up?” Roger looked as if he was going to faint. Good, served him right for being so dramatic. “Are you implying-”
“Calm down,” Cho whispered. “She’s obviously joking.”
“Exactly.” You smirked.
Roger sat down, pouring himself a glass of pumpkin juice. “Did he give it to you?”
“I’ll have you know this is Zabini’s.”
“Like that’s any better.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” You took a bite out of your muffin. “I don’t know why you’re upset. You’re not playing today.”
“You’re one to talk about manners.” Roger scoffed. “Mother would have your head if she saw you talking with your mouth full.”
You grinned wolfishly, giggling when Roger groaned. He was so easily vexed. “Mother isn’t here, is she?”
“Babe…” Cho frowned. “You’re disgusting.”
You shrugged, washing down your food with some tea. “Sue me.”
“You know, out of Slytherin and Gryffindor, I would rather have you root for the latter.”
You muttered under your breath. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”
“I’ll have you know that I-”
“You’re being rather emotional, that’s all I’m-”
“Alright.” Cho’s voice cut through the bickering. “Enough. Just eat your breakfast without arguing for five seconds.”
“Yes, Mum.” You wiggled your eyebrows.
Cho stifled a laugh behind her hand, but Roger, it seemed, would not rest until he knew the truth. “Why are you wearing it?”
To be completely honest, it wasn’t as interesting a story as you were making it out to be. You hadn’t shagged with a Slytherin; in fact, you hadn’t shagged anyone at all. You’d simply been walking down the corridor when Mattheo Riddle had seen you shivering.
He’d frowned when he’d seen you, a reaction you couldn’t help but laugh at. “Am I that appalling this early?”
“Don’t fish for compliments, Davies. It doesn’t suit you.” He gestured to your neck, laughing ever so slightly. “Forget your scarf, have you?”
“I was running late.” You stuck your tongue most unelegantly.
Perhaps not the best course of action. Anyone who was anyone knew of your crush on the boy, and sticking your tongue out like a child wasn’t a sure-fire way for him to fall in love with you. “It’s too late to go back now, I’ll ask Roger for his when I get to the hall.”
“Here.” He opened his book bag, digging through until he found his own scarf. “I won’t need it today.”
You were sure this was a dream. “Riddle-”
“Are you so stubborn that you won’t accept a gift?”
“No, it’s just-”
“Davies.” He raised a brow, annoyed with your resistance. “Just take the scarf.”
“Fine.” You whispered, snatching it from his outstretched palms before he could take it back. “Thank you.”
He had no idea what he’d done to your stomach, how it had been twisting in knots ever since. How you swore he’d been watching you as you ate your breakfast. A hand waved annoyingly in front of your face. “Hello? Are you still with us?”
You glared at your brother. “I happened to forget my scarf. Blaise saw that I was cold and offered me his, like a gentleman.”
“Oh.” He nodded slowly, like he was deliberating whether he was fine with it or not. “I can allow that.” You rolled your eyes, officially tired of your brother’s antics. “Don’t know why you were so adamant about not telling me.”
“Well, when you have a drama queen for a brother, you can never be too careful.”
“We should get going.” If Cho had been done with you both before, she looked entirely exhausted now. Roger quickly shoved the rest of his food down his throat, barely offering you a goodbye before stalking out of the hall. You were honestly shocked he hadn’t choked before your very eyes.
Cho stared, squinting as if she was trying to read your mind. “That’s not really Zabini’s, is it?”
“Does it matter?” You tried your best to look tired of the subject.
“No.” She leaned forward, her voice hushed. “But if it’s Riddle’s, you have to tell me all about it later.”
You grinned, nodding. “Of course.”
The game, while entertaining, had ended terribly for Slytherin, Gryffindor’s abilities far surpassing those of the team led by Malfoy.
That had been their first mistake, electing Malfoy as their leader.
The field had been flooded with red and gold almost instantaneously. Only one Slytherin remained, angrily watching from the locker room entrance. You approached him slowly, worried he would become skittish and dart away. “You played wonderfully.”
“Yeah?” Mattheo evidently found your compliment humorous, laughing bitterly to himself. “I’ve never thought you were a liar-”
“I never said the team played well. I said that you played well.” You crossed your arms. “Take the compliment.”
“Thank you.” You nodded, standing diligently beside him, both of you watching as the crowd became increasingly disorderly. His voice was scratchy but warm, like a jumper your mother bought you years ago. Comforting, but prickly. “Are you quite warm?”
“I am.” A small smile grew on your lips. “You know, it smells like you.”
His eyebrows rose, a horrible smirk sneaking through his disappointed expression. “Have you memorized my ‘smell’ then?”
You shoved his arm, shaking your head to distract from the way your heart had stopped. “Shut it.”
“I don’t think I will. I want to hear more about how I smell.”
You dared to look over, to actually take in his face, pale, a touch of pink on his cheeks. “Would you like it back, then?”
“Threatening me now?”
“Not exactly.” You giggled. “It’s just- you look ill.”
“Ill?” He gasped. “That’s rather rude of you to say.”
“You’re deathly pale.” You teased. “Almost as fair as the winter snow.”
“I’m fine.” Not only was he devastatingly handsome, but he was as stubborn as a jackalope. “Really.”
“Oh?” Your body seemed to have a mind of its own, moving before you could regret the action. Your palms, wrapped snug in your mittens, held his cheeks like he was something precious, something worth protecting. It had felt right in the moment; he had given you his scarf to stay warm, and now you were returning the favor. “You're freezing.”
His pupils had dilated, you found as you stared into them. He must be part Veela, because there was no normal explanation for the effect he had on you. “Davies…”
You hummed, your thumb gently caressing his cheek. “Yes?”
“I’ve wanted to-”
“Davies!” You jumped back, Harry’s voice ripping you from his trance. He stood just a step away, hair a mess, his eyes glimmering, with a bright grin on his lips. “Thanks for coming!”
“Of course, Haz.” You smiled, hugging him quickly. “Congratulations.”
“It was a team effort.” His eyes quickly darted toward Mattheo. “Well played, Riddle.”
As quickly as Mattheo’s walls had tumbled down, they’d built back up, only giving Harry a slight nod in response. “I’d like my scarf back now.”
“Of course.” You carefully unraveled it, placing it gently in his arms as if it were precious. To you, it was. “I-” He hadn’t even said goodbye, just whipped around and stalked toward the castle.
Harry nudged your arm, head tilted ever so slightly. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Dunno.” You shrugged. The little voice in the back of your head let you believe perhaps Mattheo had been jealous, but the voice of reason had thought that was ridiculous. You watched as he refused to look back, his scarf smacking the grass every so often. “Sore loser, maybe.”
It was horrifying how one moment you could be so completely in love, so overwhelmingly affectionate toward a person, and the next, you couldn’t bear to look at them.
It had happened so fast, you hadn’t even registered in your mind how your fifth year at Hogwarts had changed the trajectory of your entire life. Your heart had been broken before you’d realized, every time you looked at him, a reminder of the way you’d once felt about him. What had been an innocent crush turned into this painful reminder of your naivety. You wished that you’d never entertained his teasing, that you had stayed, at best, enemies.
Most of all, you wished you hadn’t fallen in love.
Hogwarts Express, September 1998
“You’ve drifted off again.” Hermione didn’t even sound upset anymore. If anything, she sounded empathetic, pitiful. “Are you quite certain you’re ready? We could always wait - the Headmistress said that-”
“Mione.” You cut her off. “I’m fine, really. Just thinking.”
Ron hummed, not bothering to look up from his game of Wizard’s Chess as he read you to filth. “You’re a terrible liar. Riddle isn’t worth all of this, honestly. Don’t know what you see in him - he’s not the most enthusiastic to speak to.”
You scoffed, throwing your long-forgotten novel at his head. “Excuse me, how do you even know I’m thinking about that- that git?”
“You have that horrible look on your face,” Harry murmured. “The one you have whenever you think of him.”
“It’s concerning that you know my ‘looks’ that well.”
He shrugged, leaning back against his seat. “You spend a year on the run with someone, you begin to know them.”
“Yeah, well…” You stuck your tongue out. “I’m not thinking of him. So there.”
“Whatever you say, love.” He hadn’t stuck on the subject very long, determined to beat Ron at Wizard’s Chess at least once.
“But now that we’re on the subject-” The trio collectively groaned. “Do you think he’ll come back?”
“I highly doubt it.” You frowned at Hermione’s words. “He’d be quite brave to show his face in Hogwarts again.”
“Well, there you have it,” Ron smirked. He’d seen how disappointed you were by her words. It was nice to have a friend who knew you so well. “Hermione says so, so it must be true.”
“It’s kind of odd being back here, isn’t it?”
You nodded, eyes lazily scanning the hall. The sight that had once brought you joy now brought flashes of horror, memories you tried to push to the very depths of your mind. You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was almost an out-of-body experience to be back in the hall you’d just watched dozens of your peers die in. To eat at the tables that had been used as makeshift beds for the injured, or worse, places of rest for the dead.
You should’ve taken Kingsley’s offer; you’d be halfway to becoming an Auror by now.
Harry, much like you, seemed to be entirely uneasy. His eyes looked glassy, much too sad for such a man his age. Too guilty. He’d confided in you how he felt that all their deaths had been on him, and they always would be. How, if he had just surrendered earlier, maybe Fred would be alive, maybe Teddy would still have parents.
You reached down, holding his hand tightly in yours. “It’ll be alrig-”
If someone asked you to describe Mattheo Riddle in one word, without any hesitation at all, you would say dramatic. Perhaps you knew him better than you thought, because in the next moment, as if sensing that you’d subconsciously missed him, the Great Hall burst open, and there, as proud as ever, he stood, draped in his Slytherin robes. The hall burst into a quiet chaos, most of your peers speaking in hushed whispers, shocked he had had the gall to return.
“You’re staring,” Harry whispered. “And you're clenching my hand so tightly I think it might fall off.”
“Sorry.” You gasped, letting go of the boy. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Don’t worry about it, love.”
You hated it, the way Mattheo still commanded your attention. He always had, since you were first years, but now, you felt entirely ashamed about it. When you used to look at him, your stomach would erupt into butterflies, and your head would become dizzy.
Now, you became nauseous, light-headed, but in an entirely uncomfortable way, like you would faint at any moment.
Hogwarts, June 1996
“Davies!” You ignored him, whipping around the corner, leaving a trail of fury in your wake. Your peers, nosy gits, the lot of them, whispered as they watched Riddle chase after you. “Davies, wait up!”
“Bugger off, Riddle.” You hissed. “I don’t particularly want to talk to you.”
“Oh?” You hated the way he made your insides turn to mush, even now when you wanted to punch his perfect nose. He walked a step behind you, allowing you the illusion that you could outpace him. “You’re talking to me now, aren’t you?”
“I swear to Rowena-” You whispered. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“What’s this all about?” He sounded as if he were frowning. Good. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks now.”
“I don’t owe you an explanation, Riddle.”
“You’re right.” Before you could even find the time to be surprised, he continued. “But I’d like one all the same.”
“You’d like one?” You stopped, your wand clenched tightly in your fist, eyes crazed as you whipped around. “Well, since you’d like one, let me explain, Your Highness.”
His eye twitched ever so slightly at the nickname, and a little drop of guilt crept into your mind. ‘Your Highness’ was the nickname most Gryffindors used to tease him about his father, whom he had gone most of his life without knowing. That nickname, while horribly rude, had not hurt him an eighth of the amount he had hurt you. “Davies-”
“You called me a pompous, arrogant brat, who would most likely never amount to anything but living in my brother’s shadow.” His face paled, and you found satisfaction in knowing that he was embarrassed. “Then, when Malfoy, Malfoy of all people, told you to stop, you kept going, saying that you couldn’t believe that you ever thought I was attra-” Your eyes welled, voice catching. “You couldn’t ever believe you thought I was attractive.”
“Davies, please-”
“I don’t want to see you ever again.”
“Love-”
“Don’t.” You raised your wand ever so slightly, finding satisfaction when you saw the smallest flash of fear in his eyes. “If you ever so much as speak about me, Rowena, if you even think of me, I will find you and I will make you wish you had never opened your pompous, arrogant, evil mouth again.”
His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to argue. It was horrible, the way hope seemed to burst through you. The worst thing about it all was that if he had just apologized then and there, you would have forgiven him, no questions asked. But then, in true Mattheo Riddle fashion, he nodded, crossing his arms. “Fine.”
Hogwarts, October 1998
Rumors were bound to spread; the whole of Hogwarts was desperate for any sort of gossip. You often wondered if anyone ever learned anything, because all you heard your fellow students talk of was who was shagging whom, and who had broken yet another of Snape’s cauldrons. (Well, now it was Slughorn, but the sentiment remained the same.)
Most, if not all, of the rumors could be traced back to his father. The most popular had been that he had been Voldemort’s executioner during the war, personally seeing to the deaths of hundreds of thousands of Muggles and magical beings alike.
The worst of them, the one that had made you feel truly horrible for him, was that Mattheo was not himself at all, that Voldemort’s soul, in the last second, had possessed him, as if he were nothing more than a host body.
Some poor first year, clueless to your connection to the boy and simply trying to participate in the Hogwarts rumor mill, found himself on the receiving end of a passionate rant about misinformation, the entire common room watching in moderate horror as you went on and on about how it’s not fair that we judge him by his parents.
Classes seemed to flash by; most of the information you already knew. Reason number two thousand, you should have joined the Aurors when you had the chance.
Most of your days were spent in the library, simply staring out the window, thinking. Thinking about how the only reason (not that you’d admit this to Hermione) that you’d come back was to see him, to know that he’d survived, that his father and his men hadn’t finished him off. School itself was behind you; it had been since you left with the trio the summer before your seventh year. First Ravenclaw in history to drop out, or so Roger had said.
“Davies.”
Of course, he had finally gathered up the courage to talk to you today of all days. You stood, clutching your books to your chest as if they were some sort of shield. “Riddle.”
He looked entirely uncomfortable, swaying back and forth to distract from the feeling. Served him right, you thought to yourself. “You look well.”
You couldn’t help but smile, trying to show that there was no ill will. At least, not as much as there had been last time you’d talked. “Thank you.”
“I’ve been a coward.” He practically blurted it out, eyes wide as if he was shocked by his own actions.
“Oh?” You stepped around him, finding pleasure in the fact that he instantly followed after you. “Do tell.”
“You must know that I’ve wanted to talk to you for years.” Your heart clenched, the desperation in his voice odd, something you had yet to hear from the man. He was stoic by nature, scared to let anyone in.
“What stopped you then?”
“I was scared.”
The second time today, he had shocked you. Mattheo Riddle, one of the best duelers you’d ever seen, probably one of the most powerful wizards of your time, was scared of you. “You’ve got to be joking. If anyone should be scared, it should be me of you.” You leaned closer, as if you were telling him your darkest secret. “You are, after all, the son of Lord Voldemort.”
He laughed. “Have they gotten to you then? The rumor mills?”
“They’ve tried. Luckily for you, I don’t fall for childish gossip quite so easily.”
“Luckily for me, indeed.” He smiled, the first true smile you’d seen on him in years. “I wanted to apologize for what I did.”
“Mattheo-”
“Just…” He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to a stop. The corridor was busy, and students pushed past you, staring while they whispered much too loudly. You could imagine the headline now, Ravenclaw’s Pride and Joy pulled to the Dark Side. “Let me apologize.”
“You really don’t need to-”
“I do.” He insisted. “I was harsh and unfeeling. It was entirely wrong of me, what I said.”
“I’ve moved on.” You whispered, wrist burning from his touch. “I haven’t thought about it in years.” Liar.
“Well, I have. It’s stayed with me like a disease. The guilt has been eating at me for years, and I cannot stand it any longer.”
He was truly oblivious to the effect that he had on you, of how deeply you still felt for him. And he never would. “There’s no need to feel guilty any longer, I swear. We were young, and you- I forgave you eons ago. I know whatever caused you to-” Your eyes watered. Merlin, maybe you hadn’t truly forgotten. “You were going through so much, and I understand-”
“That is no excuse.” He stepped closer, his breath moving the fallen strand from your braid ever so slightly. “You are making it rather difficult to apologize, Davies.”
“You really don’t need to.”
“Regardless, I am sorry.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “So deeply sorry.”
“I know.” You smiled. “Can you promise me something?”
“Anything.” Your heart clenched at his quick response. “I’ll do anything.”
You tried to sound as serious as you could, but his eyes trained on you made you loopy, grinning like the girl he’d known only three years ago. “No more moping, and no more feeling guilty.”
He nodded, holding his right hand to his heart. “As you wish, love.”
Hogwarts, April 1996
“You look on edge.”
You fought the urge to scowl. “What do you want, Riddle?”
“I-” The boy’s mischievous smirk faltered. “Is it so bad that I wanted to see you?”
“Yes, it is.” Your eyes darted toward the Room of Requirement, a sigh of relief escaping as the door melted back into the brick wall. It was ingenious, one of Hogwarts' many wonders. “I have plans.”
“Plans?” His eyebrow rose ever so slightly. “How vague.”
“They’re vague because they don’t concern you.” Your patience was growing thin.
“Oh?” He stepped closer, his cologne rendering you utterly defenseless. “Are they urgent?”
Malfoy’s horrifyingly yellow hair rounded the corner, eyes fixed on the wall that led to the entirety of the DA. Was that- your heart clenched. Shoved around in Filch’s grimy hands was a sobbing Cho Chang. “I really need to be going-”
“Let me accompany you.”
He sounded a little too eager. Had Umbridge sent him to distract you from helping your friends? You raised an eyebrow, curious to know the truth. “Why are you so interested in me all of a sudden?”
“I’ve always been interested in you.” He spoke so casually that you almost missed the meaning behind his words. “You’re an interesting woman.”
“Sure.” You laughed. “About as interesting as a teaspoon.”
God, his eyes bore into your soul. You were sure he could read your thoughts at that very moment, the way his gaze searched yours. “Depends on the teaspoon.”
Hogwarts, October 1998
“I’ve heard something.”
“Oh?” You raised a brow, not bothering to look up from your paper. “Do tell.”
“You and Riddle were seen talking in the corridor.”
You hummed, flipping the page. “Never took you for a gossip.”
“Well?” He leaned forward. “What happened then?”
“Ronald.” You folded the paper gently. “Must you pry into my affairs?”
“I’m not the one who had a very public conversation in the busiest corridor at school, now am I?” He smirked. “Out with it.”
“If you must know-” He nodded, hanging on to your every word. “He apologized.”
“Did he?” Rowena, he was way too smug. “How mature of him.”
“Quite. Now can I eat my breakfast, or will the interrogation continue?”
“Interrogation?” Hermione plopped down beside you. “What interrogation?”
Harry nodded, filling his plate. “I’m curious.”
“Stay curious.” You glared. “You lot are a bunch of nosy-”
“No need to be so hostile.” Ron teased. “Friends tell each other things, Davies.”
“I’m not telling, so might as well-” Ron had this horrible look in his eye, and you groaned. “Please don’t-”
“Riddle apologized to her.” You kicked his shin under the table, but he kept going. “Approached her in the hall. Apparently-” You rolled your eyes. “It was rather intimate.”
“Intimate?” Hermione laughed. “They were in the hall, Ron.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m simply relaying what I’ve heard.”
“What was he apologizing for in the first place?” Harry questioned.
“Nothing.” You looked over his shoulder, stomach flipping to find that Mattheo was already staring at you. “Nothing at all. Now if you’ll excuse me-”
Ron whined. “Don’t run away. I was just teasing.”
“Not everything is about you, Ronald.” You stuck your tongue out. “Besides, I have plans.”
“Plans?” Harry smirked. “Does it have anything to do with a certain Slytherin?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You muttered. “See you in class, Mione.”
“I’ll be right behind you.” The Gryffindor waited until you’d left the hall to reprimand the boys in front of her. “Really, you two are the worst of them all.”
“That’s rather dramatic, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t.” She watched as Mattheo raced after you, smiling to herself. “Leave the girl be.”
The Battle of Hogwarts, May 2nd, 1998
“One line!” The Ravenclaw first years stayed close as you ushered them down the stairs, gasping in fear as the castle they loved crumbled to ash. “It’s alright, everyone. Only a little longer-”
“Where do you think you’re off to, missy?” Amycus Carrow, the revolting git, stood in front of you, grinding his teeth. “The Dark Lord wants to-”
“The Dark Lord can go drown himself in the Black Lake for all I care.” One of the students behind you whined, another started to cry. “Look away, children.”
Flitwick, while rather meticulous, was a fantastic teacher. He’d seen something in you, believed in you in a way that most hadn’t. You’d excelled in his class from the first day you’d arrived, able to perform most advanced spells by age twelve. So when he’d asked you to hang back that random Tuesday, offering to give you lessons in wandless magic, you’d immediately accepted. At first, you hadn’t seen the need, but now, tasked with the protection of fifteen eleven year olds, you understood. “Don’t make me hurt you.” Protego Totalum. Protego Totalum.
“I doubt you could,” Carrow smirked, raising his wand. “Cruc-”
Thankfully, you had beaten him to the draw. “Impedimenta!”
Carrow fell with a loud thump, the children behind you cheering, jumping erratically with joy. You grinned, allowing yourself to take a breath before remembering that you were currently in the middle of a very active battlefield. “Alright, we’ve got to keep-”
A great loud yell echoed through the staircase, shocking all of you. “You- you wrench! You disgrace!” Behind you stood Alecto Carrow, Amycus’s twin sister, and, in your opinion, a conniving bitch. “Ava-”
You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that your shield would hold. Hoping that the first years would survive, and that your momentary lapse in judgement hadn’t just cost the lives of fifteen witches and wizards.
But the spell never came. Your eyes peeled open, cheeks growing hot when you saw Mattheo Riddle, in all of his glory, standing over a (you assumed) dead Alecto Carrow. “Mattheo?”
“Davies.” He grinned as he raced toward you, scanning you for injuries. “Are you quite alright?”
“You-” Your eyes welled, your adrenaline wearing off as you faced reality. If it hadn’t been for him, you would have died, most likely scaring the children behind you. “You saved us.”
“Are you alright?” His hands hurriedly searched your face, cheeks, and even your hairline for cuts. “I thought-”
“Thank you.” Melinda Turner, all four feet and two inches of her, squeaked. “Thank you so very much.”
Mattheo smiled, stepping back to wave at the first years. You found yourself almost following after his touch, wishing that you actually had a wound so he could fuss over you. “Don’t mention it.”
“He’s very brave, isn’t he?” Another whispered, causing giggles to erupt throughout your crowd. “And handsome.”
Melinda turned to you, her head tilted. “Is this your friend?”
You nodded without thinking, Mattheo grinning at the action. “He is, yes.”
“Is he your boyfriend?” Another, you couldn’t figure out who, blurted.
You laughed, shaking your head. “That’s enough out of you lot.”
Mattheo nodded. “You listen to Davies, alright? She’s very brave, much more than I am.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his compliment. The first years nodded, staring up at him as if he were a god. He grabbed you hand, squeezing it quickly. “Stay safe.”
“I will.” You whispered, watching for just a moment as he raced away.
That had been the moment you'd realized your crush had never gone away, and never would.
Ministry of Magic, 2000
Robards had just dropped off the tenth box of files this morning, asking that they be sorted alphabetically and chronologically, when an owl, one you’d never seen and certainly not the Ministry’s, landed on your desk. A note was clenched in it’s beak, dropping it in front of you.
“Thank you.” You reached out, petting it gently, smiling when it leaned into your touch. “Who sent-” As quickly as the owl had arrived, it had left, darting down the hall.
You stared suspiciously at the note, wary of touching it. Cursed items were a common occurrence in the Auror’s office, and you didn’t want to take your chances. Still, you had a feeling this was not one of those sorts of notes. You opened the paper, grinning at it’s contents.
You knew that handwriting.
Meet me by the fountain in five minutes.
You grabbed your purse, pulling out your mirror as you fussed over your hair. Harry watched with amusement, shaking his head. “You’re too far gone.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” He raised a brow. “So you’re not meeting Riddle?”
“Shut it.” You glared. “Don’t tell Robards where I’ve gone.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He grinned, shouting at your back as you ran away. “Have fun!”
You raced out of the elevator, smiling wide when you saw his familiar head of hair. “Riddle.”
He turned toward your voice, arms crossed, eyes mischievous as ever. “Davies.”
“To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”
“I have something to tell you.” Oh Merlin, not now, not here of all places. “Something I should have said a long time ago.”
“Don’t.” You were sure you were going to be sick. Mattheo Riddle was about to reject you in your place of work. Now, everytime you looked at the fountain, you would be reminded of the day he broke your heart for the second time. “Please don’t.”
“I have to, or I never will.” He took a deep breath. “You’re a beautiful woman, Davies.”
That had not been what you were expecting. You smiled, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.”
“I have to admit, that was not-”
“And I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Holy- your breath caught in your throat. “Come again?”
“I’m in love with you.”
“Is this a joke?” You had to be dreaming. “You? In love with me?”
He nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That is what I said.”
“Don’t be cruel.” Your eyes welled with tears. “I know you have a twisted sense of humor, but this is a new-”
“I’m not joking, love. I’ve-” He frowned. “Do you really believe I would do that?”
“Mattheo, you cannot possibly be in love with me.” This was a dream; it had to be a dream. Scratch that, this was no dream. This was your worst nightmare come to life. “There is no possible-”
“Don’t tell me how I feel.” He whispered. “You might not feel the same, but I couldn’t go another day without telling you. It was maddening, being around you and not being able to- to tell you.” He took you in, as if he was trying to memorize the moment. “You left. On the night I was going to tell you, you left.”
A few weeks ago, you’d gotten dinner, and after, he’d asked if you wanted to come to his flat for a glass of wine. You’d said yes, of course, but upon arrival, became so nervous that you lied and literally ran away while he yelled after you. “I did.”
“May I ask why?”
“I-” You gulped. “I had a business meeting.”
“At half past ten?” He was now smirking.
“Yes?” Your lie was a horrible one, easily seen through. “It was sudden-”
“I’m aware.” He took a step forward, practically towering over you. “You’ve done this four times now.”
“Done what exactly?” You looked up, heart thumping against your ribs, rattling your bones. “I’m lost-”
“Funny. So am I. Everytime I try to ask you back to my flat, something comes up.”
“An Auror’s work is never done.”
“Are you avoiding me, Davies?”
“Avoiding you?” You laughed. “I would never-”
“We’ve gone out four times now, and every time I try to make a move-” He huffed. “You run off. It’s utterly maddening.”
“Gone out?” This couldn’t be real. “Make a move? What do you mean by that?”
“Dates, Davies. Keep up, I thought Ravenclaw was the smart house.”
“That’s actually a common misconception and-” You shook your head, focusing on the conversation at hand. “What the bloody hell do you mean by ‘dates'? We’ve just-” Had he been taking you to dinner with the intention of- Rowena, you felt like you were going to faint. “Do you mean-”
“Have you honestly thought I asked you to dinner four times as friends?”
“Well…” Merlin, you felt like a right idiot. “Yes.”
He laughed so loudly the passing witches and wizards jumped, staring at the obnoxious man. “Davies-” He gasped between words, giggling like he was back in school. “You actually believed I was bringing you flowers, taking you to dinner, and escorting you home as-”
“If you’re going to tease me-” You hissed. “Then I’ll be leaving.”
“Ah ah ah.” He grabbed your wrist, stopping you before you could make your escape. “Not so fast.”
“Mattheo-” You whined. “This isn’t-”
“I’m going to say one last thing, and then we can never speak of this again.” His eyes were dark, darting to your lips every so often. “We can pretend this never happened.”
“Fine.” Not fine. You were very much not fine.
“You don’t need to love me back, but you must know-”
“Stop.” You smacked your hand over his mouth. “One second.”
He nodded, voice muffled from behind your hand. “Alright.”
“This is mortifying, what I’m about to tell you, so don’t make fun.” He nodded once more. “I’ve- I’ve loved you for so long that it’s embarrassing, for so long that everytime I talk about you my friends groan. I loved you even when I knew you didn’t love me, when you insulted me and I threatened you. You have been the only man I’ve ever even thought of, and-” You huffed. “All this to say, I love you too.”
He peeled your hand away from his mouth, wrapping it around your waist. You were flush against him as he leaned down, grinning wildly. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Alright, but I-”
“Shh.” He placed a finger over your lips. “Can’t very well kiss you while you’re talking, can I?”
“I mean-” He darted down, his lips colliding with yours. Your eyes practically rolled back, hands reaching up to grab his collar, trying to pull him even closer. He groaned, pinching your waist ever so slightly, grinning when you squeaked. “You-”
“What a Chatterbox you are.” He spoke as he kissed down your neck. “That will-”
“I’m at work!” Your eyes fluttered shut, relishing in the way he held you. “You cannot just-”
“Miss Davies?” You jumped, pushing the man away from you as you straightened your clothes.
“Sir.” You were most definitely fired. “I’m so sorry-”
He raised his hand, rendering you speechless. “Who is this young man?”
Mattheo grinned, extending his hand. “Mattheo Riddle, sir.”
“Ah.” Robards shook his hand, looking curiously between the two of you. “Are you quite done?”
You were sure you were dying of embarassment. “Of course, sir.”
“Well…” Mattheo whispered, and your eyes widened, elbowing him in the ribs. He gasped, clutching his side. “Salazar, woman!”
“I’ll see you back in the office.” Robards chuckled.
“I’ll be right behind you!” You whipped around, glaring at the man still reeling from your attack. “You are incorrigible.”
“And you are horribly violent.”
“Yes, well…” You frowned, taking a step closer. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” He shooed you away. “Go on then. I’ll see you later.”
“Later?”
He nodded. “I believe it's time for a proper date. ”
“Ah.” You smiled, kissing his cheek quickly. “Bye, then.”
He’d waited until you were almost back to the elevator to yell across the concourse. “You missed.”
Heat rose to your cheeks as you whipped around, glaring at the boy. “You’re relentless!”
He shrugged, grinning when you raced toward him, jumping up and kissing him once more. “Merlin!” His arms found their way back to your waist, squeezing your sides like the menace that he was. “Attacking me with no warning, might I add-”
“You’re impossible to kiss when you’re talking.” You murmured against his lips. “Do you know that?”
superman kidnaps you (or when clark kent misses you) - drabble #2
💗 - well now im just stuck in this writing haze - here's another one!! yes i know it's summer, yes i know the holiday season is a while away - but please humor me!!
corenswet!superman, clark kent x fem!reader, super fluffy, sweet, clark kent is a national treasure!!
word count: 1.1k
Metropolis was covered in snow. Not that you, or any of its other citizens, minded. Winter in Metropolis was magical, its own kind of perfect. The way the snow clung to the trees, swooping along each branch like an intricate web.
Christmas was in two weeks - and the city was more than prepared. Every store was decked out to the nines - Metropolis took holidays extremely seriously. And Christmas - well, it was basically your personal Super Bowl.
Shopping was stressful enough for your family, but now that you are Clark were official (going on five months), the pressure was getting to you.
You'd been scurrying down the streets, arms full of bags, when two (very strong) arms grabbed you, flying up so fast you probably had whiplash.
Seconds later, you were on top of the Daily Planet building, hidden away from prying eyes. You gasped, steadying yourself. "Jesus. Warn a girl next time you plan on stealing her away."
"Sorry." His voice was deep, authoritative in a way that had your heart thumping harder than it should. Judging from the horrible smirk that lay on your boyfriend's lips, he'd been listening. "Missed you, is all." There he was. As much as he tried, Superman never stayed for long when you were around. Clark always came back to you. While both had their pros and cons, you liked him better as Clark. As your Clark.
"You kidnaped me-"
"Hold on a second-"
"Against my will-"
"That's not exactly true-"
You laughed, setting down your bags. Hopefully, none of them had been damaged. "What would you call that little trick of yours then?"
"Sweeping my lovely, lovely girlfriend off her feet?" He practically sauntered over, his cape fluttering majestically behind him. "You've been so busy-"
"I have."
"And I wanted to see you."
"Don't you have something better to be doing?" You raised an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed by him. (That wasn't entirely true, but who were you to argue semantics with yourself?) "Like saving an innocent child or a squirrel?"
"Nope." He popped the 'p' dramatically, eyes fixed on your lips. Uh oh, a determined Clark was a dangerous one. He had this horrible way of getting what he wanted (which may or may not be because you wanted the exact same thing. Again, semantics.) "All the children and squirrels have been saved for the day."
"Clark..." You shook your head. "We can't. What if someone-"
He grabbed your waist, darting even further into the sky. So far up that you couldn't even see Metropolis. You screamed, clutching his suit between your fingers. "How many times have I- mh!"
He'd pulled your chin up with his pointer finger, planting a perfectly gooey, messy kiss on your lips before you could even finish your sentence. He even had the audacity to smile, attacking your face with a series of quick pecks, all meticulously planned out to fluster you. By the time he'd pulled away, you thought you were going to explode.
"You- every time-"
"Told you I missed you." He nudged your nose with his, humming in satisfaction. "What time do you think you're getting home tonight?"
"Let a girl breathe before you ask her those kinds of questions."
"Sorry." He didn't look the least bit apologetic. "Take your time."
If you could smack him without breaking every bone in your hand, you would. "You're a menace."
"Thank you."
You glared. Or at least, tried to. "To answer your earlier question, I don't know. I'm still not done shopping."
"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow. "Am I that hard to shop for?"
"NO! No, it's nothing like that." You felt nervous under his watchful gaze. "There are so many ideas, so many things I think you'd love, and I-" You realized how silly it all sounded once you said it out loud. "I don't want you to hate me. I don’t want to give you a subpar gift for our first Christmas."
"Hate you?" He looked disgusted. "I could never hate you, sweetheart."
"Ugh." You leaned your head against his chest, staring the giant S down like it'd done you wrong. "You're just perfect."
"I don't know about that." And humble. What a horrible combination. "Sweetheart?"
"What?" You murmured, now tracing the 'S' with your finger.
His pointer finger found its way under your chin yet again, your eyes meeting his gorgeous blue ones. "I don't want you to worry about this anymore, alright? Anything you get me will be perfect, because it's from you."
You sighed, reaching up to push a stray curl back into place. "I'm in love with you." Oh no. That was meant to be in your head.
"I figured."
"Shit." You didn't think you'd live any longer, with the way your heart was reacting. "You suck. You really suck, you know that?"
"Oh yeah?" He laughed, thoroughly entertained by your flustered nature. "Why's that?"
"You revert me back into this high school love-obsessed lunatic."
"I happen to like the love-obsessed lunatic in front of me." You rolled your eyes. He was too kind, too mushy, too loving for your own good. For his own good. "And for the record, I love you too."
"Oh." You grinned. "Perfect."
"Gosh." He was grinning too, his pearly white teeth practically shining. "Never thought I would get beat in the game of love. Or that my saving you would result in a confession."
"Agree to disagree on the whole 'saving' aspect of this trip." You smiled. "And I have to ask - how have I beaten you in the game of love?" It was a genuine question; you always felt like Clark did so much for you, hence the pressure for the perfect gift.
"Well, I wanted to say it first."
"Sorry to disappoint." You smirked. "And I might disappoint you again shortly."
"Huh?" He tilted his head, the look on his face reminiscent of a golden retriever puppy. "Why?"
"I need to go." He groaned, throwing his head back like a petulant child. You giggled, shaking your own head endearingly. "I'm sorry, but I have a lot of things to do. And you-" You trailed small kisses up his neck, stopping just before his lips. "You need to save the world."
"Alright, alright." He floated back down, the ever familiar Metropolis skyline coming into view. "I'll cook dinner tonight."
"No!" You whined. "I have a surprise."
He smiled. "Is it breakfast for dinner?"
"You know me too well."
"Well," Your feet touched down on the Daily Planet roof, but you made no movement to leave his hold. "Only because you know me too well."
"You're sappy today."
"I'm sappy every day." He kissed your lips sweetly. "You make me sappy."
"As much as I would love to continue this-" You gestured between the two of you, loving how his eyes grew dark. "You need to go. And so do I."
"Yes, ma'am." He gave you one last kiss on the cheek, saluting you playfully. "Stay safe. Please."
"I will." You waved goodbye, watching him fly away before realizing you had no way of getting back to the sidewalk. "Clark!" Your eyes widened, and you slapped a hand over your mouth a moment too late. "I mean, Superman! I can't get down!"
first of all, so so sorry that i've been so absent!! i needed a little break, but trust that it is over and i am full of ideas!!
this fic is getting posted this SUNDAY at 2pm EST, so make sure to keep an eye out!!
until then, here's a sneak peak of i can't forget...
“I’ve been a coward.” He practically blurted it out, eyes wide as if he was shocked by his own actions.
“Oh?” You stepped around him, finding pleasure in the fact that he instantly followed after you. “Do tell.”
“You must know that I’ve wanted to talk to you for years.” Your heart clenched, the desperation in his voice odd, something you had yet to hear from the man. He was stoic by nature, scared to let anyone in.
“What stopped you then?”
“I was scared.”
The second time today, he had shocked you. Mattheo Riddle, one of the best duelers you’d ever seen, probably one of the most powerful wizards of your time, was scared of you. “You’ve got to be joking. If anyone should be scared, it should be me of you.” You leaned closer, as if you were telling him your darkest secret. “You are, after all, the son of Lord Voldemort.”
He laughed. “Have they gotten to you then? The rumor mills?”
“They’ve tried. Luckily for you, I don’t fall for childish gossip quite so easily.”
“Luckily for me, indeed.” He smiled, the first true smile you’d seen on him in years. “I wanted to apologize for what I did.”
“Mattheo-”
“Just…” He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to a stop. The corridor was busy, and students pushed past you, staring while they whispered much too loudly. You could imagine the headline now, Ravenclaw’s Pride and Joy pulled to the Dark Side. “Let me apologize.”
“You really don’t need to-”
“I do.” He insisted. “I was harsh and unfeeling. It was entirely wrong of me, what I said.”
“I’ve moved on.” You whispered, wrist burning from his touch. “I haven’t thought about it in years.” Liar.
“Well, I have. It’s stayed with me like a disease. The guilt has been eating at me for years, and I cannot stand it any longer.”
He was truly oblivious to the effect that he had on you, or how deeply you still felt for him. And he never would. “There’s no need to feel guilty any longer, I swear. We were young, and you- I forgave you eons ago. I know whatever caused you to-” Your eyes watered. Merlin, maybe you hadn’t truly forgotten. “You were going through so much, and I understand-”
“That is no excuse.” He stepped closer, his breath moving the fallen strand from your braid ever so slightly. “You are making it rather difficult to apologize, Davies.”
“You really don’t need to.”
“Regardless, I am sorry.” He whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “So deeply sorry.”
“I know.” You smiled. “Can you promise me something?”
“Anything.” Your heart clenched at his quick response. “I’ll do anything.”
