i alrdy wnt 2 read abt cat!reader with d slytherin boys >:3
in honor of me adopting a cat yesterday!!!!!!! (his name is goober and he's maybe 2)
I have decided to write a little thing about cat! reader literally based on one of the other cats that we saw at the shelter. her name was rose and she was a tortoiseshell cat and the sign said she had a lot of "torti-tude".
I hope you all enjoy and I look forward to expanding on this character soon!!
It started as a joke. One offhand comment from Blaise during a study session and now it had spiraled into something you weren’t sure you could ever live down.
“She’s got torti-tude, I swear,” Blaise said with a smirk, nudging Mattheo as your tiny tortoiseshell form strutted across the Slytherin common room with all the grace (and sass) of a queen. “Look at her! That tail flick? That glare? She’s judging us, I can feel it.”
“I think she hissed at me for sitting on her cushion,” Draco added, dramatically offended, arms crossed as he leaned back on the velvet couch. “It’s not labeled, you know.”
“You know better than to sit there, mate,” Theo snorted. “That’s her throne when she’s in cat mode. Honestly, I respect it.”
“She's like a little empress,” Enzo added from the fireplace, where he was tossing her-well, your-favorite enchanted feather toy lazily between his fingers. “All fluff and fire. One moment she’s curling in your lap, the next she’s biting your wrist if you dare pet her wrong.”
Mattheo, for his part, watched you with a fond smile, head tilted as you lazily blinked from the windowsill, tail flicking like a metronome of judgment. “It’s not just attitude,” he said. “It’s precision. She’s selective. Strategic. If she deigns to sit in your lap, consider yourself blessed.”
“She bit you yesterday,” Blaise pointed out.
“She warned me first,” Mattheo replied with a smirk. “With her eyes. I ignored it. That’s on me.”
You let out a soft mrrrp and leapt down from your perch, weaving through their legs with feline grace, brushing your tail purposely across Theo’s shin. He grinned.
“There it is. Torti-tude. Sharp as ever.”
As the boys continued to banter, you allowed yourself a smug little purr. They could tease all they wanted-deep down, they all loved it when you transformed. You were untouchable. Regal. Chaotic. And they adored every second of it.
Especially Mattheo, who would always wait for you to curl up beside him before pretending he wasn’t the softest Slytherin of them all.
Hello! I just wanted to say that I absolutely adore your writing! You're doing an amazing job! 🫶 If it’s not too much, could you write a story where Mattheo comforts his girlfriend who’s having really bad period cramps? I’d really appreciate it! 🩷 Thanks a bunch!
OH!!! thank you so much!! that literally means the world. :')
I am also sorry this has taken so long but I was waiting until I was close to my period because I also wanted comfort lol. BUT THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE
also matty would be so sweet with this.
The Slytherin common room was cloaked in its usual moody ambiance-deep greens, flickering candlelight, and the dull echo of rain tapping against the windows that peeked into the lake. It was quiet for once, most students having drifted off to dinner in the Great Hall, leaving behind only the hush of fire crackling in the hearth.
Mattheo stepped through the entrance, tugging off his tie and muttering something under his breath about Pansy being dramatic during group work again. He was ready to complain, to drop onto the couch with a groan and maybe even coax you into helping him with Charms homework.
But then he saw you.
Curled up tightly on the couch, one of the thick, green blankets wrapped around your shoulders, knees pulled to your chest like you were trying to disappear. Your face was pale, jaw clenched, and your eyes fluttered shut in pain. One hand was clutching your lower stomach like it physically hurt to move.
His heart dropped.
“Love?” he said softly, instantly crossing the room. You didn’t answer. Just let out a low, miserable whimper.
That was all it took. His annoyance from earlier vanished.
He kneeled beside you, brushing your hair out of your face as his eyes searched yours. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
You finally looked at him, lips trembling. “Just… cramps. Really bad ones. I’ve already taken something for it, but it’s not helping much. I feel like I’m being stabbed from the inside out.”
Mattheo’s brows furrowed in concern, his voice gentling. “Why didn’t you get me or send me a message?”
You shrugged weakly. “Didn’t want to bother you…”
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You could never bother me.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “I’ll be right back, alright?”
You blinked after him, confused as he disappeared up the stairs to his dorm. Less than five minutes later, he returned-his arms full.
He had one of your favorite oversized jumpers, a hot water bottle charmed to stay warm, a bar of Honeydukes chocolate, and even a glass of water. You stared at him in disbelief as he set everything down carefully like it was sacred.
“You’re a wizard,” you murmured as he tucked the hot water bottle gently under the blanket against your stomach.
“I’ve heard,” he said, grinning softly. Then he slid in behind you, pulling you into his lap so you were nestled against his chest. One arm wrapped around your middle, warm and grounding, while his free hand rubbed soft circles into your lower back.
“You don’t have to stay,” you whispered, even though your body melted into his.
Mattheo leaned forward to rest his chin on your shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re in pain, and I’m your boyfriend. This is literally in the job description.”
You let out a shaky laugh, tears prickling the corners of your eyes from a mix of pain and how gentle he was being.
He kissed your cheek, then your temple. “Just rest. I’ll be your hot water bottle and emotional support pillow all night if I have to.”
And he meant it.
When your breathing evened out and your body stopped trembling quite so much, he stayed-stroking your hair and holding you close, whispering terrible jokes in your ear until he got the softest laugh.
Because maybe he couldn’t take the pain away, but he’d be damned if you had to face it alone.
Posting this anon because this obsession is not healthy, most of the slytherin boys fandom agree that Louis Partridge = Enzo Berkshire, specifically when he played Tewkesbury in Enola Holmes.
I finally had the time to rewatch the first movie and start the 2nd movie. Can u write a fic inspo Tewkesbury to Enzo? i can't get him out of my head its kllng me😭😭😭 i need more of him, ehem louis ehem, Call me
OKAY! i honestly haven't seen the movie, SO i tried my very best based on the trailers and tik toks about his character. so i do apologize if it isn't 100% correct.
I hope you like it!!!
There was something about the way Enzo Berkshire walked through the halls of Hogwarts that suggested he didn’t quite belong-but not because he was out of place.
No, he fit just fine. Too fine, in fact. Robes neatly pressed, tie always a little askew like he’d been running late from the Astronomy Tower again. He had the unmistakable air of someone raised among pureblood traditions and silver-plated expectations. But his heart? That was another matter entirely.
People whispered about his lineage-old money, old magic, the kind of family that donated entire wings to the castle and still managed to act like they didn’t care. But Enzo? He was different. He ducked out of class meetings to sketch plants in the Greenhouses and stayed late in the library reading about Muggle revolutions. He never looked for a fight, but he wouldn’t back down from one, especially when it involved standing up for someone who didn’t have the right name, or the right accent.
You noticed it the first time he sat beside you in Charms without being assigned to-how he tapped his quill against his parchment when he was thinking too hard, or how he always smiled sideways, like he wasn’t used to being looked at softly.
He noticed you too.
Not just your wand work or your grades, but the way you refused to laugh at jokes that punched down. The way your hands twitched before you cast, like you carried more magic than you were ready to admit. You weren’t impressed by his name. You asked questions he couldn’t answer easily.
You once told him, “You talk like you’ve read every book in the library, but live like you’re writing one no one’s allowed to read.”
He hadn’t known whether to kiss you or thank you.
He still doesn’t know.
But he does know this: when he walks through the castle’s ancient stone corridors, tracing secret passages and dodging legacy, it’s not the portraits or the power that keep him grounded.
It’s the memory of your voice echoing in his mind like a spell he doesn’t quite understand-but desperately wants to learn.
And if he ever rewrites the path his family set before him?
