Celeste(?)

Shhhh

[whotfisceleste]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡Out of sight, but on your mind♡ˎˊ˗

Celeste🫧 25. Spicy Pisces. INTJ-T. Tate McRae enthusiast. Ravenclaw. Daughter of Athena.

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[redeemingvillains]

only for you - mattheo riddle

summary: mattheo is certain he knows what affection is, until he meets you. word count: 1.4k author's note: just another random drabble 🤷🏼‍♀️

Mattheo Riddle was not starved for touch.

Far from it, actually.

He was intimately familiar with the feeling of a cold palm across his cheek, of the choking jab of a wand at his throat, he even knew the shock of a fist in his stomach; his father had taught him that much.

He also knew the feeling of a broken nose beneath his fist, the echoing ache of a black eye, the distinct burn of a split lip.

But not everything was so dark, he told himself, for he also knew frantic hands that tugged and pulled at buttons and zippers, the scratch of nails down his back, wet, messy, meaningless kisses; affection, surely.

He'd been touched plenty.

So he couldn't fathom why when your hand met his arm, he pulled back.

You'd leaned casually over him at breakfast, steadying yourself against his arm with a gentle touch to reach for the coffee and he'd yanked back so hard you nearly dropped the carafe and toppled off the bench beneath you.

"S-sorry!" you said genuinely, pulling your hand off of him and meeting his gold-flecked brown eyes that looked at you with alarm.

He held his arm close to his chest, protectively, like you'd burned him. Because, in a way, it felt like you had.

Your palm had radiated warmth, a gentle pressure, a rush of sweet serotonin that made his head feel like he'd sucked helium. It was perhaps the only touch he didn't have a framework of understanding for and his brow furrowed in confusion before he turned from you, intent on ignoring the feeling you'd stoked inside of him.

But it was as if his body was seeking you out after that, perhaps craving the unknown and unfamiliar, because suddenly you were everywhere.

He was leaving the quidditch pitch after practice, head down, fumbling with the fabric wrapped shoddily around his swollen fingers, cursing quietly as they twinged when he nearly ran straight into you.

You came up short in front of him, your breath caught in your lungs as you blinked up at him; he noted the tint of blush on your cheeks and the flutter of your long lashes.

Your eyes caught the movement of his hands and with a quick searching glance you slowly reached forward to help.

Your hand came to his large palm and though he didn't intend to, he jerked away again. Not far, but in some sort of automatic reaction to whatever it is that you were.

You paused, your touch lingering until he held his hand forward again and you gently adjusted the wrapping, careful, patient, and unrushed.

He forgot how to breathe.

Your fingertips brushed his palm, delicately danced around his swollen fingers and his pain was long forgotten as he felt something much stronger swelling in his stomach, a blooming, an unfurling, a hurricane of pixies.

You pinned the medical wrap with exceeding care and looked up softly and smiled.

"That should at least get you to the infirmary" you said quietly.

There was his furrowed brow again.

"Thank you..." he said with a lilt at the end, like it was a question, because you were a complete enigma to him.

"You're welcome, Mattheo" you said kindly, and then slid past him without another word.

He turned to watch you go.

You didn't want anything from him, he didn't think. You weren't coming on to him, though he wouldn't have minded it. So what the hell was your deal? He couldn't figure it out.

All he knew is that if that is how the gentlest brush of your fingers on his palm made him feel, he desperately wanted more.

Mattheo found small ways to get close to you after that; conveniently running into you between Potions and Divination, so you'd have a long walk through the castle together.

Then, bumping into you in Tomes and Scrolls after he'd heard you talking about a new book you wanted the previous night at dinner. He had to act like he knew what the hell you were talking about as you eagerly explained the plot; all he knew is that he liked the way you smiled, and liked the way being close to you made him feel; a contact high that he rode the entire afternoon by your side.

When you both returned to the castle, feet shuffling over the cobblestones at the clocktower courtyard your feet slowed beside him and he turned just in time to catch you as you threw your arms around him, looping them over his shoulders in a hug.

He froze, tense, his hands held out awkwardly on either side of you, unsure of what to do until you nuzzled in closer, your cheek against his and his body folded into you, his automatic defense system dropping and his arms circling you, daring to hold you against him.

He took a breath.

Another.

And he felt your warmth radiating through him in a type of magic he didn't understand but vowed never to stop seeking.

"So, you and YN, huh?" Theo mused as he twirled an unlit cigarette between his fingers that night in the common room.

Mattheo cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You hitting that, orrrr?"

"What?" No!"

He wasn't sure why the insinuation infuriated him, though perhaps it had something to do with the glint in Theo's eye, like he'd thought about it himself.

The spinning stopped and suddenly Mattheo had Theo's full attention.

"Are you... with her?" he asked.

"I — no?" Mattheo answered, confused. Because you weren't together, right? Yet everything with you felt so incredibly intimate, stripping him bare from the inside out. It was more intoxicating than anything he'd felt for or done with anyone before you.

The thought alone made him panic.

Because he realized suddenly he didn't want to share you with anyone else.

On one of those afternoons where the sunset seemed to linger, sending bursts of peach and orange over the oaks and pines as they swayed in the warm breeze Mattheo walked by your side as you admired the wildflowers in the field past the greenhouse. Because, of course that's what you were doing; he didn't even know this field was here, but you saw beauty everywhere, even where he was sure none existed.

He knew he needed to say something; he felt like he had a swarm of bees in his throat that he couldn't swallow as the words danced and garbled in his mouth; he didn't even know where to begin.

"What...—" he tried, his feet stopping as he looked down at them and rubbed the back of his neck, the familiar furrow in his brow returning, scrunching his face in a permanent look of uncertainty you'd grown accustomed to.

"What are we? What is this?" he asked with a hint of exasperation.

You smiled softly and looked up at him in the pink-peach filter of the waning day. His face was both puzzled and pained and you reached up to smooth the ever-present crease in his brow.

He tensed, rigid beneath your touch before relenting, the confusion on his face giving way to compassion, his amber-gold eyes searching yours.

"What do you want this to be?" you asked.

I want you all to myself. I want to feel this way every single day. I want to make you feel the way you make me feel. I want, I want, I want.

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Slowly, he reached for you, trying to emulate the way you touched him: reverent, unrushed; not greedy, not hungry, not harsh. He reached to cup your face and let the pad of his thumb brush your cheek, tender and sweet.

He felt pressure like building nausea in his stomach that he knew well enough now to call nerves, and a thumping in his chest he'd learned was care, a tremble in his hand that you taught him was the effort to be gentle and an ache in his bones that he knew was longing and perhaps the beginning of something akin to love.

He leaned forward, pulling you towards him, and he brushed his lips over yours.

Sunshine erupted inside of him.

You forgot how to breathe — a night's-worth of summer fireworks between your ribs.

Your palm came to rest on his cheek but he didn't pull back, and your other hand fisted his shirt but he didn't tense; you laughed against his lips and he laughed back, carefree and weightless and he realized all at once that he was never starved for touch, only for you.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco @wybieivy @cipheress-to-k-pop @aur0ral1ghts @revesephemeres @midnights-with-him @mishtay @ccbear5000 @mooniez

[whotfisceleste]

Oh look at that, Vee has done it again

[affectioncas]

SESAME SYRUP | theodore nott

word count: 2,733

summary: (includes smut) theodore will drop anything for you. always. no matter what. at the expense of anything. even a one year relationship. he plans on proving just that to you.

authors note: long time no see!!! it's currently 2am and i'm severely jet-lagged, so i wrote this instead of sleeping lol. i kind of hate this but whatever i'm feeling delusional bc i'm running on 3 hours of sleep. anyway enjoy!

🌷 masterlist

“Are you even listening?”

Theodore snaps his eyes back towards the woman in front of him, clearing his throat as he tries to make himself look more alert. He straightens out the collar of his shirt instinctively. “Sorry, sorry. Yes, I am. You were talking about… Astronomy, right?”

Pansy glares at him from across the table, taking an angry sip of her wine before putting the glass back down. “No, I was talking about this stupid essay I have to write for Muggle Studies. I was an idiot for signing up for that elective.”

“Can’t you just, like, study? For once?” Theodore replies harsher than he intended, but it’s honestly getting harder and harder for him to pretend that he actually cares about this conversation.

“You know what, just forget it.” Pansy sighs, and he almost feels bad because of the look on her face, like she just got kicked in the gut. The two of them continue to eat in silence. The atmosphere is supposed to be nice; Theodore had picked this place out weeks ago for their anniversary dinner, warm candlelight enveloping the room and the soft drape of curtains paired together to give the illusion of privacy and intimacy. It’s perfect. Too bad him and Pansy aren’t.

“You can talk to the professor, maybe.” Theodore tries again, twirling his fork absentmindedly around his nearly empty plate. “Ask for an extension.”

Pansy mumbles something under her breath, and she doesn’t look happy. Theodore knows he should feel remorseful, but instead he just feels that familiar twinge of annoyance he gets whenever he’s around her for more than 30 minutes. “What? Speak up. I can’t hear you.”

Pansy glares at him, but before she can respond, Theodore’s phone rings.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, fumbling for his phone in his pocket. Theodore’s planning on just seeing who’s calling and returning their call later, but when your name flashes across the screen, he can feel his heart do somersaults.

Theodore glances up at Pansy, then back to his phone, then to Pansy again. He knows he has seconds to make this decision. It’s his anniversary dinner. His girlfriend of a year now is sitting in front of him, mad for honestly good reasons, eyeing him expectantly, waiting for him to put the phone down. But he can’t.

“I have to take this,” Theodore mumbles, standing up quickly as if he can run away from Pansy’s glare that can cut through steel.

“That better not be who I think it is, Theodore.” Pansy’s tone stops him dead in his tracks, and when he turns to look at her before walking away, her expression almost makes him go back. Of course it’s who she thinks it is. Of course it’s you. There’s no one else he would drop everything for. Pansy knows that.

Theodore says nothing. He simply nods before walking out.

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing Theodore says to you after he picks up the phone. He knows you wouldn’t have called him for no reason because you were aware of his dinner plans. He runs his free hand through his hair, pacing outside the restaurant, his eyes glued to the pavement below him.

“No.” Your voice is panicky, and Theodore can feel his mind spinning.

“What’s wrong, amore? Tell me.”

“I-I was just- I snuck into the kitchen to make some cookies for us and I burned myself. Merlin it hurts so bad, my skin is bubbling and-” The sound of your hiccup interrupts your tangent, and Theodore’s heart burns in his chest just by the thought of you hurt and alone. “And I can’t go to the infirmary because then they’ll know I was sneaking around, and-“

“I’m coming right now,” he replies right away, with no questions asked. “Go back to your dorm. I’ll be there in 5 minutes.”

“Theo, what-” He doesn’t let you finish your sentence. Theodore hangs up quickly before stalking back inside the restaurant. His mind isn’t even on Pansy as he grabs his coat from his chair, shrugging it on.

“I have to go,” Theodore says coldly, barely sparing Pansy a look as he throws down his card onto the table. “Pay with this.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Pansy pays no mind to his gesture, standing up to match his stance with her hands clenched into fists at her side.

“I don’t have time for this, Pansy. Don’t make a scene.” Theodore sighs, exasperated, as if she’s doing him a disservice by being angry.

Pansy’s face falls, and if Theodore didn’t know her any better, he would think she’s going to kill him right then and there. “You will always choose her, won’t you?” Pansy whispers, her voice more vulnerable than Theodore had heard in months.

Theodore reaches a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly, his gaze fixed on his discarded napkin on the table. His eyes trail from the glasses of wine, the unfinished food, the candles and flowers on the table, and he almost winces. It’s not what he wants. It’s never really been what he’s wanted.

“Yeah.” Theodore speaks with a tone of finality, and as he observes Pansy’s reaction, he can see that it’s over in the way her expression becomes guarded and her eyes turn glassy.

He gives her time to respond, to talk, to say anything. But she doesn’t. Pansy sits down again and begins to eat without a word. Theodore pays her no mind as he walks out again.

He knows he should feel bad, and he does, but not in the way most would think. He feels like an idiot for wasting a year with someone he didn’t really care about that much. At least, not in the way he cares about you. Not even close. 

“Show it to me.”

“No,” you huff, tears in your eyes as you hide your left arm behind your back. “It looks disgusting.” Your voice quivers as you watch Theodore rummage through your bathroom cabinets, looking for a First-Aid kit.

“Weren’t you the one who called me? You asked for my help.” Theodore finally finds it, guiding you to sit on the edge of your bed. He settles in between your legs, kneeling so that he can be level with you. “Now show me.”

Your eyebrows furrow, because you know he’s right, but it doesn’t make him any less annoying. You say nothing as you slowly show him the burn wound on your inner forearm, having to look away because the sight of it is too disgusting for you.

“You’ll be okay, principessa. It’s not as bad as it looks.” Theodore says it so convincingly and so reassuringly that you almost believe him.

You watch Theodore as he opens the kit, looking for any sort of antibiotic ointment. “If it hurts, squeeze my shoulder, okay?” You nod in understanding, and you find yourself turning your gaze towards the ceiling again.

“I’m scared.”

“I know, beautiful. I’ll make it better soon. Just talk to me to get your mind off this.”

You whimper as he starts to rub the ointment on your skin, your fingers curling into the sheets in pain. “I-Isn’t Pansy mad?” The question slips out; anything to distract yourself.

Theodore is quiet for a moment. He didn’t expect that question from you. “It doesn’t matter.” He keeps his answer vague, but you see right through him.

“And what exactly does that mean? I’m sure she’s furious. I… I felt so guilty for calling, but I just didn’t know what else to do.”

“Don’t you dare feel guilty,” Theodore says fiercely. “I’d drop anything for you. You know that.”

His words make your head drop, your gaze landing on him yet again. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly the problem.”

Theodore stops his motions, his dark gaze moving up to meet yours. “Don’t act so innocent,” he murmurs, his free hand grazing your cheek with his fingertips. His touch lights your body on fire. “You knew exactly who I was with and what I was doing. Yet you called, because you knew I would come.”

You blush furiously, partly from his touch but mostly at the way he completely saw through you. “You don’t need to worry, piccolina. I’m just as jealous of a person as you are, if not more.”

“Can you shut up?” You hiss, glaring at him as he starts to wrap your burn with a bandage, his smug smile sending a familiar bolt of warmth into your lower stomach. “Just answer my question.”

“What, if she’s mad? Of course she is. She always is. But it doesn’t matter anymore.” Theodore finishes with your wound, lifting your arm to press a gentle kiss to the bandage. You swear he’s trying to seduce you with the way he looks up at you through hooded eyes and touches you so reverently. Or maybe that’s your wishful thinking.

You will your voice to stay steady. “Why exactly would that not matter?” The sight of Theodore in between your legs, his tousled hair paired with his messy dress shirt and slacks, makes you shift uncomfortably under his gaze, your thighs subconsciously rubbing together. Unfortunately for you, nothing you do ever goes unnoticed by Theodore. Nothing.

“Let’s just say… Pansy is none of my concern anymore.” Your heart leaps to your throat, and you hate how pathetically excited you sound when you say, “you’re not together anymore?”

Theodore’s head shakes side to side as he laughs, his warm hands sliding up your cool, bare, legs. “No, tesoro. We’re not.” His molten voice melts through you, your panties sticking to you as he looks at you like he wants to consume you whole. He licks his lips as his eyes drop down to your skirt, painfully obviously trying to get a good look at what’s under.

“What does that make you feel, amorina?” He whispers, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs without taking his eyes off you. “Turned on, I’m sure. I can see how wet you are for me.”

“Shut up,” you repeat, your fingers threading through Theodore’s soft locks of hair to try and tug his head away from you, but your efforts are futile. Not like you’re trying that hard anyway.

“Fine.” You gasp as his head dips under your skirt, his calloused hands reaching for your knees to pull them apart forcefully as he licks a long stripe up the gusset of your panties. “I’ll shut up then,” Theodore murmurs against your skin, his teeth pulling your underwear down to expose your sensitive cunt.

You tug on Theodore’s hair, your hips desperately lifting off the bed under you as he starts to devour your pussy. It all happened so fast you can barely even form words as the pleasure washes over you in waves. Every languid lick, flick, and thrust of his tongue makes you whine out unabashedly, your head lolling backwards as you lose all train of thought.

“Theo, fuck!” One particularly harsh suck of his lips on your clit has your thighs clamping around his head, his hands moving to grip your waist tightly as he works you towards your orgasm. “I-I’m close,” you manage to slur out, biting your lip as he tongue-fucks you. You can feel the coil in your stomach twisting impossibly tight, before it all disappears.

You jerk your head down, your eyes widening as you look down at him, his lips puffy, his cheeks red, his eyes blazing. “No,” you whisper, your hands finding his shoulders, crawling up his neck and trailing down his chest, desperate for any kind of touch that he isn’t giving you anymore. “W-why’d you stop?”

You sound so incredibly broken you’d be cringing if you weren’t so fucking close. “I don’t think you deserve to cum yet, amore.” Theodore murmurs, bringing his face closer to yours. “What- oh, baby, you’re crying? Already?”

“Theo,” you whisper as his hands cup your cheeks, tears rimming your eyes. You feel absolutely fucking crazy, the heat between your legs aching until the point of pain, your muscles tense beyond belief. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m pretty sure I can,” Theodore whispers back almost mockingly, kissing your forehead with such softness you almost get whiplash from the juxtaposition of his actions.

“Listen,” he mumbles, his nose brushing against yours as he looks into your soul with his dark eyes that make you feel like you’re freefalling. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?” You can feel yourself nodding, even though you didn’t make a conscious effort to. “I know you are. And that’s why you’ll take what you get without being greedy, hm?”

You whimper under his gaze, his breath fanning tantalizing over your lips, and you want nothing more than to taste him for the first time, to feel his passion through intimacy, to melt under his touch so completely that only he can put you back together. You can do nothing but nod again, your hands fisting in the sheets beside you to stop yourself from doing something rash.

“I’m proud of you,” Theodore whispers, and your heart almost explodes in your chest. You gasp softly as his fingers trail up your inner thigh, toying with your folds before he slips one finger in.

“Fuck,” you whine loudly, dragging it out as his lips land on your neck, finding your sensitive spots that make your legs twitch and your toes curl. “Theo,” you moan almost drunkenly as he pumps his finger, slowly, in and out of you, curling it against your walls to make you see stars.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he whispers, almost awestruck as he drinks in every single one of your reactions. “I love you so much, piccolina. So so much.” His pace increases with every passing second, his free hand reaching under your shirt to tease your nipples. If your eyes open, you’d be able to see his desperate gaze, watching you so ardently with a look that could make you fall apart.

His words along with another one of his fingers is enough for you to convulse around him, your mouth falling open as you scream his name, your body shaking so hard you can barely feel your muscles as they clench tightly.

“I love you, Theo, I love you.” You repeat it over and over, like a mantra, as you cum, and he groans every time your pussy flutters around his fingers or your ‘I love you’ is particularly whiny.

Your back falls onto the mattress behind you, and you jolt as Theodore slowly slides his fingers out of you. “You’re dripping,” he murmurs, entranced as he lowers himself again to stare at your pussy, his eyes wide with desire and hunger. “Bambina, please. Please let me eat it again. Please.”

“Theo, I just came- oh!” You’re interrupted by his tongue, your hips shaking with pleasure. “N-no, I can’t. Not now.”

Theodore crawls up onto your bed and over you, his face hovering over yours. You’re taken aback by how disheveled he looks; his curls fall messily, and his eyes look almost feral. You’re almost disgusted with yourself at how much you love this new side of him, this side of him that will beg and plead with you to let him pleasure you.

“Baby, please. I’ll do anything. I need you, amore, fuck. Just let me taste that sweet little cunt again, baby. So tight and perfect. I need it. I need it.” His face falls into the crook of your neck, burrowing in so deeply and inhaling your scent as his hips rock helplessly into the mattress under him. Fuck, you can’t say no.

“Just give me five minutes,” you whisper, pushing the hair out of your face as you let your eyes close. You can practically feel the rush of relief that consumes Theodore as he falls onto the bed next to you with a huge sigh.

“Thank you, bella. Thank you.”

“I should be thanking you.” You mumble, turning onto your side to be able to throw your leg over him, tucking your head into his side. “I should burn myself more often.”

“Don’t be silly,” Theodore whispers as his own arm wraps around your figure, holding you close to his chest. “You don’t have to burn yourself to get my attention, amore mio. All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll be there. Always.”

[lexamiele]

Long Way Home

Blaise Zabini x reader

Word count: approx. 4k

Summary: there aren’t enough seats on the hockey bus, so you end up sharing. Hockey player!Blaise x sports photographer!reader

Warnings/be aware: fem!reader, literally just tooth-rotting fluff, Blaise is so soft for reader, so much hockey slang.

A/N: thank you guys for baring with me while I literally scrapped a whole other story and wrote this one instead! I hope it was worth it. An extremely delayed submission for @i-await Blaise’s Banquet.

The energy on the hockey bus was electric as you climbed aboard, the purple LED lights that lined the interior adding a transcendental ambience to the crowded vehicle. You were grinning ear-to-ear as you walked down the aisle with your DLSR camera clutched in your hands. Around you, players and coaches reviewed the game excitedly, discussing their favorite goals and saves. Shifting your camera to your left hand so that you could pull out your phone with your right, you opened the team’s Instagram and selected the option to start a new story. As you held down the ‘record’ button, you filmed the raucous, invigorating scene around you.

“...and then Zab with the OT clapper!” 

Mattheo Riddle, the team’s starting right defenseman, was having such a loud conversation with his blue-line partner, Theodore Nott, over the back of his seat that his voice somehow defeated the clamber around him. Several of his teammates turned eagerly at the shout.

“Zab with the OT clapper!” Lorenzo Berkshire repeated, pointing at his fellow winger next to him. The bus exploded in a thundering cheer for the man of the hour, Blaise Zabini, who’d won the night’s away game for your university with an unbelievable overtime shot. 

“Top shelf!”

The noise was overwhelming, and you nearly pitied the opposing team as they filed out of the nearby rink’s entrance, but the feeling was quickly forgotten as you turned back to Blaise. He’d already been awarded a comically large plastic wrestling championship belt in the locker room for his efforts, and he was now laughing as he held the belt in his hand.

You ended the video as the cheering transformed into incoherent yelling and the occasional howl from one of the rookies, grinning at the team’s antics. Selecting the option to add text to the story, you typed, “Lots of love for number 7 on the bus tonight.”

Biting back a nervous grin, your stomach flip-flopped subtly at the sight of Blaise’s laugh replaying on your phone. You paused, taking a moment to push the thought aside before pressing the button at the bottom of the screen to post the story. 

When you glanced up, you realized that Blaise had stood from his seat, the plastic belt laid across the armrests. Your smile widened when you realized he was starting a speech. Crouching down into the aisle, you ensured that all his teammates and coaches could see.

“...thanks, boys.” He flashed a little smirk that made his teammates chuckle and your chest flutter dangerously before continuing. “But I want to acknowledge that this game was an incredible team effort! We showed up tonight, we played from end to end, we beat the number one team in the league because we are undefeated!”

The bus erupted into another wave of deafening cheers, applause, and whistles that set the floor vibrating underneath your feet and made your lips crack with a grin. There truly was nothing like the spirit of this team, your team – although you didn’t play, they’d claimed you long ago. Nights like these, with an away game won, spirits soaring, and a long drive back to your home campus ahead of you, were your absolute favorite. 

“Let’s hear it for your captain, Malfoy!” Blaise’s speech reached a fevered pitch as he yanked the blond boy from the seat he’d taken across from Blaise and Enzo. “Absolute beauty.” Despite looking slightly jostled, Malfoy grinned as his teammates cheered for him, offering the boys a wave like a movie star greeting a crowd of supporters. You giggled, setting your phone down on your knee and letting your camera hang around your neck so you could applaud. “Your tendy, Flint, with thirty-seven saves!” 

“Woohoo!” You let out a cheer that was easily drowned out by the clamber of the bus as the team cheered Flint’s best performance of the season.

“Berky, with the hatty!” Blaise’s speech continued on as he shouted out the impressive performances of the night to raucous applause, from goals to puck blocks to Riddle’s five-minute fighting major after he’d dropped the gloves with a rival defenseman who’d cross-checked a rookie in the head minutes before.

Of all the jobs you’d had since high school, this one was by far your favorite. During your freshman year of college, you’d received a mass email that the university’s D1 hockey team was looking for a photographer and social media manager, and with the thought that you had nothing to lose, you’d submitted your portfolio on the application portal. You’d scarcely believed your eyes when, a few weeks later, you’d received another email from the team’s head coach, informing you that you’d been selected. 

Initially, you’d been intimidated beyond belief. You were surrounded by future NHL prospects, after all. Your hands had shaken so badly during your first practice that nearly all the video you’d taken was unwatchable. But the boys had warmed up to you quickly, putting your worries at ease. By the end of the season, you were invited to team dinners and parties, basically an honorary member of the team. Three years into your favorite gig and you were inseparable from the hockey players.

“...and our photographer, who shows out, every. Single. Game!” 

Your eyes widened as the gazes of the players and coaches suddenly trained on the space where you were crouched on the floor. Chuckling, Blaise reached his hand out to you and you took it, standing up with a sheepish grin as the team roared, applause and loud whistles echoing across the bus. You tucked your phone back into your pocket and stepped closer to Blaise, who immediately slung his arm around you. Nervous giggles slipped from your lips, your cheeks feeling fiery. 

“Guys!” you protested, but Blaise shook his head, pulling you in closer to his chest.

“Half of you owe your profile pics to this one, don’t lie.” He nodded towards you and you laughed, knowing just how many of the boys around you had one of your hockey action shots as their Instagram profile picture. “You can thank her for all those DM’s, yeah?” You rolled your eyes at that, smacking him lightly in the chest. But as you looked up at him, you saw him beaming down at you, and for a split second you forgot how to breathe.

As quickly as it began, it was over. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road!” Grinning, Blaise released you and pointed up towards the front of the bus, where the bus driver chuckled back at him through the rear-view mirror. The team gave one last cheer as he tossed the plastic belt in the carry-on compartment above his head and sat back down in his seat. Then, the bus driver revved the engine and the vehicle grumbled to life.

After placing your camera in its case and setting it above with the carry-on bags, you glanced around and realized you’d committed a considerable oversight. In all the commotion as the team had boarded the bus after the win, you’d been so busy doing your job and filming content that you’d forgotten to find yourself a seat. Most of the athletics buses were huge – typically, there were far more seats than there were passengers on the bus, but as you looked around, there looked to be none available.

“Am I going crazy, or is this bus smaller than usual?” You tossed a worried glance at Draco, figuring he would know the answer. As the bus lurched forward, you stumbled, grabbing the edge of Blaise’s seat for support. 

Draco shook his head. “One of the athletics buses broke down this morning, and apparently everyone and their mother had an away game tonight. The small ones were all they had left.” He rolled his eyes, an expression of deep annoyance crossing his face. 

“What’re you so mad about?” Theo Nott scoffed in Draco’s direction, jutting his thumb at you. “She’s the one without a place to sit.”

“How were there enough seats for everyone on the way here but not on the way back?” You frowned in confusion.

Nott jerked his head toward the front of the vehicle. “Pucey rode here with his parents, but he’s coming back on the bus.”

You shrugged, letting out a wry laugh. “Guess I’m taking the aisle, then.” 

“No way.” Blaise’s objection was immediate as he shook his head. “C’mon, Berky and I’ll pack it in.” He threw back the armrests cordoning off his seat from Enzo’s and began to move away from the aisle and towards the window, nodding for his seatmate to do the same.

“Uhh…” Enzo glanced over at you and then down at his and Blaise’s seats, where there was clearly little more room to be found. “Yeah, sure.” Scooting down as best he could, he managed to create approximately two more inches of room before being squished between his linemate and the window.

You eyed the sliver of seat by the aisle they’d managed to empty. If you really, really tried, you might’ve been able to fit a quarter of your left thigh in the available space. Hockey players weren’t generally small humans, and there was no way they were going to be able to fit two of them and one photographer in a space meant for two people. “Guys, it’s really fine.” You weren’t overly fond of the idea of riding home cross-legged in the aisle, but as long as the driver didn’t hit too many sharp turns, you were sure you would be alright.

“C’mere.” Blaise patted his thigh, nodding towards you. “Just sit on me, then.”

You could’ve sworn the entire bus heard the breath that got stuck in your throat. Swallowing it thickly, you gave your head a little shake as you tried to ignore the way that your heart seemed suddenly determined to run away in your chest. “I – what?”

He shrugged, shooting you an easy grin. “It’s fine, just sit here.”

“I’m a whole person, I’m heavy! I can’t just sit on you for a couple hours.”

“What, you think I’ve been slacking in the weight room?” He let out a little scoff, and he would’ve looked almost offended if not for the playful glint in his dark eyes. “Sit.”

Finally, you relented, shaking your head and trying your best to look exasperated despite the fluttery feeling in your ribs. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you let him pull you into his chest, settling you across his huge thighs. As strong as he looked on the ice, he felt even stronger beneath you, your skin tingling where you felt his muscles tense and flex against you. He smelled ridiculously good, the scent of his expensive musky cologne enveloping you. You hoped with every fiber of your being that he couldn’t feel the embarrassingly loud pounding of your heartbeat as you sat against him.

“Comfy?”

You could feel the way his voice vibrated through his chest, surrounding you and seeping through your skin. It was an agonizing bliss, as was the little smirk he flashed your way, telling you that he knew he was teasing you.

“Yeah, I’m good.” The words were rushed, shoved from your mouth before your voice had the chance to waver.

When exactly you’d caught feelings for Blaise, you weren’t certain. Maybe it was during that first practice, when you’d filmed all of the boys answering a question as they exited the locker room and he’d given you a great sound byte with a handsome grin before winking and welcoming you to the team. Or maybe it was after the team had won the championship during your freshman year and he’d declared you their good-luck charm, insisting that you hold the enormous trophy and snatching your DSLR camera to take a picture. Perhaps it was piece by piece, day by day, your crush taking shape with every little pre-practice hug, every arm offered to help you across the ice when you needed to film from the opposite side of the rink, every wink and grin and touch. All you knew was that one day at the start of last season, your feelings had hit you like a train, and ever since that day, you couldn’t think straight or even breathe properly in the presence of one Blaise Zabini. 

He was your friend, just like any of the hockey guys. You were basically one of his teammates. But there were times when you wondered whether the two of you might be dancing on the edge of something more, glancing into the deep end and wondering whether you ought to jump in. You knew you shouldn’t make assumptions – all the hockey boys were flirts. It was probably just wishful thinking. Still, every time he wrapped his arms around you or complimented your photos after a game, you couldn’t help but get your hopes up. You were only human.

Trying to distract yourself, you leaned forward, trying to engage in whatever frenetic conversation Theo and Draco were having.

“...the Leafs are not going all the way this year!” Theo gave the bottom of his seat a frustrated smack. “You all wasted Marner, you’re wasting Matthews and Nylander, I’ll bet you miss the playoffs.”

“That’s rich, coming from the Oilers fan,” Draco scoffed. “McDavid’s walking the second he’s a free agent.”

You rolled your eyes, having heard this argument a million times before. “Canes are winning the cup,” you replied, your tone almost bored. “Anderson’s unreal, Slavin’s a wagon, they’ve got Aho, Ehlers, they’re getting a good season out of Taylor Hall…you can’t change my mind.” 

The boys glanced at each other, then glanced at you, wordless. Draco frowned, his mouth opening and closing a few times in futility. 

“That’s a good take,” Enzo finally said, breaking the silence with an emphatic nod. “That’s a really good take. Nice one.” He held his fist out for a bump and you obliged, laughing.

Glancing back at Draco and Theo, you shrugged your shoulders. “Your teams both suck.” You crinkled your nose playfully, keeping your gaze forward though you could practically feel Blaise’s eyes boring into the back of your head. Turning, you finally acknowledged him. “Sorry, Leafs fan.”

He raised his eyebrows, the intensity in his gaze sending a flurry of tingles across your skin. “Really?”

You turned around more fully to look at him, your weight resting on his right thigh as you moved in his grip. Shrugging, you widened your eyes in false innocence. “What? I’m just telling it like it is.”

Looking you up and down, he let out an incredulous little laugh. “You should keep in mind where you’re sitting before you go telling it like it is.”

The thing about your crush on Blaise was that you somehow couldn’t resist the urge to dig yourself in even deeper, even though you should’ve been trying to dig yourself out.

As you crossed your arms, you raised your own eyebrows. “What are you gonna do about it? Drop me?”

The edge of Blaise’s grin twitched, his nose scrunching playfully. “Nah.”

His strong arms were suddenly around you, pulling you all the way into his chest. You let out a little shriek of surprise, but then you felt the worst part – fingers digging into your sides, sending ticklish sparks through your stomach as a full-on scream slipped past your lips. Thankfully the bus was so loud that most people didn’t even turn around, but your cheeks burned as an unrelenting fountain of giggles poured from your lips thanks to Blaise’s torment.

“Blaise! Please!” You twisted and squirmed in his grip, but he was way too strong, and you could feel him smirking into your shoulder as his fingers teased your skin. “Pleaseee!”

“Who’s the best team in the league?” His voice lilted teasingly.

“The Leafs! The Leafs! I’m sorryyyy!” Finally, he relented, leaving you giggling and breathless in his arms.

“You heard it here first, boys. She’s a Leafs fan.”

Draco nodded astutely, glancing at you where you sat slumped against Blaise’s chest. “It’s for your own good.”

“No it is not,” you protested with a huff, sitting up. “And that was a sentiment provided under duress.” Turning, you crossed your arms as you pouted in Blaise’s direction. “You’re mean.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gave a low chuckle as he circled his arms around your waist. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You didn’t – you stayed perched on his thigh as Mattheo passed back a fifth of Fireball and everyone drank, fueling the loud conversations and card games spawning throughout the bus. With the help of the alcohol, your muscles lost their tension. You relaxed back into Blaise’s arms, occasionally piping up to contribute to the heated hockey debates and chaotic partying stories. 

“I can barely drink this garbage anymore,” Theo groaned as he took another swig of the liquor. “Not after that post-'ship barn-burner our rookie year.”

“Wasn’t that the night you fell out the window of our Uber?” Blaise chimed in. Your eyes widened as you let out a giggle.

“Yes,” Theo groaned, looking as though he regretted bringing it up.

“Got his bell rung and he wasn’t even on the ice.” Mattheo’s face popped up in between Theo and Draco as he turned around in his seat, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Wait, pause, I have so many questions.” You held up one finger in Theo’s direction. “Please tell me the car wasn’t moving.”

“Nearly parked.” Theo winced.

“Nearly?” 

“The back wheel only hit him a little.” Mattheo scrunched his nose, holding his thumb and forefinger slightly apart.

Shaking your head, you grinned. “That explains a lot.”

You felt the rumble of Blaise’s stifled laughter in his chest as Theo narrowed his eyes in your direction.

Enzo chuckled, nodding towards you. “You know, I always forget you weren’t around that night. Seems like you’ve been hanging out with us forever.”

“Didn’t think I was quite ready for a night out with you guys yet,” you mused. “I suppose I was right if Theo was falling out of car windows.”

“You sure came out after the next ‘ship, though.” Mattheo cracked an enormous grin as you groaned.

“Don’t even remind me!” You clamped your hands firmly over your face, shaking your head. “Never again. I can’t even think of gin without gagging.”

“Remind you of what?” Draco chimed in. “The drinking contest with Riddle? The arm-wrestling competition with the bouncer?” You aimed a swift kick at his shins and he dodged it, smirking. “Dancing on that table in the middle of the bar?”

“You’re the worst.”

“Zab carrying you home?”

You froze abruptly, your hands dropping from your face. Staring at Draco, you furrowed your brows in bewilderment. “Wait, what?”

Draco let out a low chuckle, a half-smile on his lips. “You don’t remember?”

Shaking your head, you thought back to that night. You remembered stumbling in the heels you’d foolishly worn as you walked back towards campus, but nothing after that. Shifting, you turned towards Blaise. 

“What happened?”

He exhaled softly, a little smile tugging at his lips. “It was no big deal. You were wearing those huge heels and you tripped, I didn’t want you to hurt yourself walking back.”

“He was hysterical,” Theo added dryly.

“He yelled at me in the middle of the street for letting you drink so much,” Mattheo drawled.

“Blaise!” You let out an incredulous little laugh. “It was my own stupid fault for drinking so much. You shouldn’t have yelled at Mattheo.”

“See?” Mattheo gestured so intensely in your direction that Draco was forced to duck. Blaise scoffed before turning back to you.

“You cut yourself when you fell,” he added. “I just brought you back to your dorm, helped you clean up your knees, and made sure you weren’t gonna be sick. ‘S all.”

“The dishes in the kitchen…” you trailed off, remembering the soapy dishes you’d woken up to in your sink the next morning. You’d always figured you’d cooked yourself a meal in your blacked-out state, wondering at how you’d managed to avoid burning the whole building down. “Did you cook for me?”

A low, breathy laugh slipped past his lips as he gave you that little smile that could melt you in an instant. He shrugged. “You said you really wanted mac n’ cheese.”

Your lips parted but you couldn’t find words, your heart fluttering in your chest with such intensity that you knew Blaise could hear it. But if he could, he didn’t mention it, instead gazing at you with that impossibly soft smile.

“Zab, you’re such a simp, it’s unreal.”

Mattheo’s voice provided a profoundly unwelcome snap back to reality, his smug grin hovering over the back of Theo’s seat like the Cheshire cat.

Before you could respond, you heard Blaise scoff, his muscles tensing beneath you. “I’ll show you a simp, Riddle.” You watched as his eyes narrowed in his teammate’s direction and his lip curled. “I’ll put you through the glass at practice tomorrow, you hear me?”

Despite the former’s love for a good fight, you could tell Mattheo had no desire to go toe-to-toe with Blaise as his eyes widened. “Heard.” He disappeared back into the group of seats ahead of you.

You couldn’t help but giggle at the memory of the defenseman’s alarmed expression as you turned back to Blaise. “Could you really do that?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I wouldn’t,” he clarified, nodding in Mattheo’s direction. “But don’t tell him that.”

As the bus continued to cut through the pitch-black mountain roads, a sliver of the moon shining down on its passengers, the effects of the alcohol began to wane and the inside of the vehicle grew quiet. Players began to put in headphones, snack, or close their eyes, the remaining conversations growing hushed. Enzo soon fell asleep as Draco read and Theo stared out the window, leaving you and Blaise the only ones softly whispering to each other. 

You were completely cuddled up to him, sitting on his thigh with your knees pulled up to the seat, your head resting against his chest. His calloused fingers absentmindedly trailed across your ankle, his other hand wrapped around your waist. Your gaze was trained on the screen of your phone as you clipped the video footage you’d captured of the game, hoping to have a few posts ready for the team’s TikTok account by the end of the bus ride.

“Wow,” Blaise murmured, his eyes drifting down to your screen as you put the finishing touches on the clip of his game-winning goal. “You’re amazing at this, you know.”

You felt your cheeks growing warm, an irresistible grin tugging at your lips. “Says you, Mister OT-game-winner.” Giving him a gentle nudge in the ribs with your elbow, you giggled. “With goals like that, the posts make themselves.”

“Nah.” He shook his head. “There’s no way I could make that look like that.”

It was technically true – you’d added slow-motion and reverberation effects so the viewer could see every moment of the goal, every last second of buildup until he released the shot and the puck fired into the net. Still, you shrugged, a little smile on your face. 

“Just a little editing.”

He laughed, the low sound a whisper in the night. “Whatever you say.”

You finished another video before abandoning your work, turning off your phone and gazing out the window to let your eyes rest. The feeling of Blaise’s fingers trailing across your skin and the delicious smell of his cologne lulled you into a state of relaxation, your nerves slipping away entirely. 

Only time would tell what this night meant, but you didn’t want to worry about that yet. You felt nothing but safety, allowing your breathing to fall in time with his and your eyes to flutter closed as his fingers began to twine in the ends of your hair. Blaise had taken care of you before and he’d take care of you now. As you finally rested, you knew this was exactly where you were supposed to be.

Credits: images ltr: Pinterest by seapiscean here, Pinterest by rosegoldenhoney here, Pinterest by ggs_library here | divider by @saradika-graphics here

[redeemingvillains]

the hit list - mattheo riddle

been through some bad shit, i should be a sad bitch. —— who would've thought it'd turn me to a savage?

summary: 'girls come and go, but boys are forever?' mkay. we'll see about that. word count: 2.5k soundtrack: sorry not sorry - demi lovato author's note: @puddlesoffrogs thinks this reader is toxic. i personally think her actions are completely reasonable 🙂‍↕️

The words spilled from Mattheo’s mouth like poison, and three things happened immediately.

First, you couldn’t remember how to breath; the single thing your body was designed to do automatically was suddenly broken.

Next, you felt a scream, a cry in your throat ripping through you, gaining momentum as it pinged off every place you felt pain, which was everywhere.

And third, you felt the molten hot touch of anger, of rage, of shame for being hopelessly, soul-crushingly in love with him when he could turn around and say, “You’re great, I’m just… not feeling it. It’s about to be summer, you know? Better to let us have our own fun.”

As if this somehow benefited you too.

As if he wasn’t crumbling the very walls of the world around you as he confirmed what you’d always feared: the two of you were grossly mismatched. He was the prince of the school, he was smirked lips, a cigarette between his fingers, ice cold stares and hands that ran hot over your body. He was stolen glances and whispered promises, lies you now realized.

"You’re fucking perfect."

"You’re all I can think about."

Though never those three big words. And by the grace of Salazar you’d held them in too, even though you felt them, and would have sold them to him for a kiss and a prayer.

And you?

You were lovely in your own right, relatively popular, but it was no secret that you and Mattheo had caught everyone by surprise. You had been cautious, careful, wary at first but logic and reason soon gave way to desire, too content with his attention and the way his lips captured yours, the way he’d hold your chin in place, captivating you, to think through the consequences.

So you came to define yourself by him. Who were you? Riddle’s girl. A Slytherin, a libra, sure, but you were first and foremost Riddle’s girl.

Until you weren’t.

People walking by eyed your conversation with low whispers as they passed and Mattheo took a quick drag of his dwindling cigarette before dropping it to the floor and crushing it, like your heart.

You still couldn’t find your breath and you still couldn’t find your words and the world began to blur behind fat tears you didn’t want him to see, so you held your head high, pushed past him, and walked away.

If you’d learned anything in your time as his girlfriend, in the year spent with his group of friends, it was the art of hiding your emotions behind an implacable facade.

Mattheo stuck his tongue into his cheek, his eyes narrowing at your reaction, as he watched you walk away from him, forgetting that there were several other things they had taught you as well.

Anger.

How to hold a grudge.

And revenge.

You stumbled into your room, slamming the door behind you and wiped furiously at the tears that refused to stop pouring, hiccupping as you fought against your body’s every desire to break down.

You were taking gasping breaths, trying to find your air as you paced back and forth, your eyes squeezed shut, your mind a whirlpool of painful memories, trying to dissect what had ever been true and what had been a lie and failing miserably.

Then, a particular memory appeared like a spell.

Enzo breaking up with some girl last year, her running from the Great Hall, the way her cries echoed off the stone walls as he nonchalantly grabbed a roll and stuffed it in his face. Your eyebrow quirked; were they really all so heartless? "Better to cut if off now," he said, emotionless. "She was far too into me. I mean, do I look like I’m settling any time soon?" He'd laughed. The guys had laughed along with him. You rolled your eyes. "Girls come and go," Theo agreed, "But boys are forever" he smirked, raising his glass as they all shared a toast. Mattheo had at least had the decency to press a kiss to your cheek, which made you think you were somehow exempt, above their rule of law and the loyalty that held them together.

You stopped pacing and slumped into your chair as you stared out the window, tears drying as you watched the late spring sun settle into the highlands.

Slowly, ever so slowly as you watched it disappear, setting the world in an unforgiving darkness, your agony gave way to something new, something iron hot.

You stood, grabbed your quill, and ripped a piece of parchment haphazardly as you steadied yourself enough to write with such force you nearly tore through the page.

1. Blaise 2. Draco 3. Lorenzo 4. Theo

A slow smile crested your lips.

Mattheo was well practiced in exuding indifference. But he’d be lying if he said your reaction didn’t bother him.

He thought he was ready to let it go, to get on with his summer, to get the fuck out of Hogwarts and get into some proper debauchery with his friends. But he’d been with you longer than anyone else and as such he’d been steeling himself for you to scream, to cry, to fight back, to call him names, to hex him, to beg him to stay. But he got nothing. And that left him in a mental pretzel.

He twiddled with his lighter.

He’d already checked and you’d blocked him on every social.

He nudged Blaise. “Give me your phone.”

Blaise side eyed him, ready to argue, before Mattheo plucked it out of his hands.

He opened the first app he could find and searched your name.

Nothing.

“She’s off the grid, mate. Think she deleted everything.”

"Hmpf." He tossed the phone aside and lay his head back on the common room couch.

Two nights later you were home, sitting amongst your trunk and a pile of clothing, unpacking for the summer, when Mattheo texted you.

"Ifcked up. Canwe tkl?"

Drunk.

Your fingers hovered over your phone and you thought about it, really thought about it for several moments, because isn't this exactly what you wanted? To talk? To get him back?

You bit your bottom lip.

No.

What you wanted was never to have had your heart shattered in the first place. What you wanted was for the ache in your chest to dissipate, to go fifteen minutes without crying, to stop replaying every moment of the last year with him on repeat.

What you really, truly wanted was for him to feel a modicum of the pain you felt now.

(1) BLAISE ZABINI.

Blaise was easy.

He was the kindest of the group, the one you were closest to. It almost made you feel bad.

Almost.

He had texted you immediately the day Mattheo had broken up with you to make sure you were okay, and within a week he stopped by your house to check on you. You opened the door, a wobbling pout on your lips.

“Ah, dammit, come here” he’d said, welcoming you into his strong arms.

He was warm from the sun and smelled clean and fresh. You found genuine comfort in his embrace but you pulled back slowly, your cheeks brushing, and you turned your head to press your lips to his before either of you could think about it.

You waited for him to pull back.

He didn’t.

You let it linger, feeling him return the gentle pressure. And then...

“Oh, gods, I’m-I’m so sorry, Blaise. I’m such a mess” you said, pulling back and covering your face with your hands, feigning embarrassment. "Please let’s forget that ever happened."

“Yeah, n-no worries, it’s alright YN” he conceded, a smile on his lips.

(2) DRACO MALFOY.

Draco was going to be harder.

He was shrewd... but he was also soft and it was far too easy to bump into him in the small town not far from his parents' place.

He, too, managed to have compassion for you in his cloudy grey eyes and one drink together at the pub on the corner turned into two, as you gently, easily stroked his ego, and fed him the praise you knew he so desperately adored.

“Surely they’ll make you head boy next year, Draco, there’s no one better suited to it. You’re the smartest, most cunning of our class.” You smiled at him under lidded eyes, moving to adjust his collar, letting your fingers brush his throat where you saw his adam’s apple bob.

You reached onto tiptoes and let your lips slide over his, soft and warm. He squeezed your waist, clearly struggling to decide whether to pull you in or push you away.

You stepped back, enjoying how starstruck he looked as you bit your lip flirtatiously.

“Enjoy your summer, Draco” you said, before sauntering away.

(3) LORENZO BERKSHIRE.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t leaving Enzo as a little treat for yourself.

You planned a girls' night out that just so happened to be at his favorite club in London on the same night that his favorite DJ was playing. What were the odds!?

Then, you bumped into him like it was the purest coincidence on the outskirts of the dancefloor and he forgot not to stare as his jaw dropped and eyes blew wide. He’d never seen you like … this: skin aglow, a carefree smile, flushed cheeks and glossed lips, bright eyes that twinkled when they saw him, and as predicted he was thinking with his dick long before he knew what hit him. You were hot, like hot hot, he’d always thought so but now … now you were broken up, single, right? And you were looking at him like maybe the exact same thing was going through your mind.

It went a little further than you expected.

One minute you were hugging each other, laughing at the coincidence, and within 22 minutes his tongue was down your throat as he lifted you and pressed you into the wall as his hand swirled beneath your dress.

You left that night laughing, dizzy, and buzzed.

(4) THEODORE NOTT.

Theo was always going to be the hardest.

He wasn’t your friend like Blaise, he wasn’t soft like Draco and he wasn’t easy like Lorenzo; he was Mattheo’s best friend and he wasn’t going to fall for your bullshit.

But a year in his presence taught you exactly what made him tick; you knew his likes, his dislikes, his weaknesses, his fantasies, it’s amazing what guys will say after a few too many whiskeys late into the night.

So on a Sunday afternoon at the coffee shop in Little Italy next to the best bakery in town while wearing a dress that screamed summer in Positano that sat high on your thighs, with strappy sandals, a tinted lip and winged eyeliner you knew you had him the second he saw you.

"YN?" He asked. "What are you doing here?"

His voice was accusatory like you had encroached on his space, but he couldn’t hide the way his dark eyes landed on every inch of you, like he wanted to look away but couldn’t.

"I was thinking of you, actually" you admitted sheepishly. "You always talked about this place, I thought I’d tried it and see if the espresso was as good as you said it was..." You paused for dramatic effect, let your eyes fall, your lip quiver. "I can get it to go–"

"–No, no, sit, you can’t drink it out of plastic" he said vehemently, pulling out the seat beside him.

For a few moments it was uncomfortably quiet. You took small sips, set your cup down. The cafe was small, and you were pressed nearly shoulder to shoulder. You mustered your courage and turned to look at him; at this distance you could smell him like cigarettes and cologne, could feel his warmth against you.

"Theo," you started quietly. "For what it's worth, I never believed what Mattheo said about you."

He reared back, confused.

You continued, mirroring his confusion. "You know, that you only get girls because your Italian? And they think it’s exotic and–"

"–He said that?" He muttered, genuine hurt in his voice that you told yourself you'd feel bad about later because that hurt, that vulnerability was all you needed.

You leaned in quick, chaste, pressing your lips to his and then pulling away, even though you felt his fingers lingering on your thigh.

"I said too much, I should go" you muttered, rising to leave before he could stop you.

You waited until you rounded the corner to smile.

Your silence that summer drove Mattheo absolutely crazy.

And for some reason his friends seemed awfully quiet too.

He was actually looking forward to coming back to school, to getting his head on straight.

Until you passed him in the hall.

"YN?" he said before he could stop himself, more of an outward expression than an effort to get your attention, because you looked… great.

“Hi, Mattheo” you said, warm and genuine.

“Have a good summer?" he asked.

“A really great summer, actually! Just busy, full of fun, tried a lot of new things" you swallowed your smiled. "You?"

“Yeah, a bit quiet" he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know, the guys were busy..."

Got him.

"Yeah, Enzo’s trip to Ibiza sounded amazing though" you quipped.

His eyes shot to yours. He didn’t know Enz went to Ibiza.

"And Theo finally getting to see his family on the Med?" you continued, unwavering, "Plus Blaise and Draco seeing Mumford and Sons? I die! About time, don’t you think?"

Mattheo's eyes narrowed. He didn’t know any of that. And if you weren’t even on socials… how did you...?

You could see the gears turning.

“...I didn’t know” he admitted.

“Oh!” you feigned a look of genuine surprise before you pursed your lips innocently. "But Mattheo," you said curiously, stepping towards him, getting right up in his grill as you reached to straighten his tie, "I thought you and your friends were inseparable? What was it? Girls come and go but boys are forever? Or is that that just what you tell yourselves about your loyalty to one another?"

Your eyes met his and burned hot with a fire he could feel coming off of you that made his heart drop into his stomach.

“Perhaps they’re not as loyal to you as you think” you whispered against his ear, before letting go of him with a light shove and brushing past him.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” he shouted after you.

You smirked without turning around.

That night each of the boys sat on their respective four poster beds in amiable silence; on their phones, flipping through the Quidditch Times. Mattheo twirled his lighter in his fingers, faster, faster, faster, stewing as he side-eyed the boy to his left.

If looks could kill, there would be nothing but a pile of ash on Lorenzo Berkshire’s bed, because Mattheo knew it was him who betrayed him. He knew he eye-fucked you constantly, knew he had next to no morals to begin with. His fingers itched for his wand but before he could think better of it he erupted.

“The fuck happened with you and YN?” he said loudly, angrily, like a growl. His hands and eyes stayed on his lighter in an effort not to kill his alleged best friend.

The room quieted to the creak of a single floorboard and the echo of laughter down the hall.

No one so much as breathed.

And then.

“Look—”

“Mate—”

“She!—”

“Amico…”

His head wrenched up to see all four of his friends, eyes wide, staring back and forth at each other, before looking back at him.

Draco was as red as an apple.

Blaise was visibly sweating.

Lorenzo wore a lazy pout, not nearly as upset as he should be.

And Theo looked down at his hands.

The sum total of everyone Mattheo cared about, everyone he trusted was in this room. And as an uncomfortable silence echoed around him he realized with an aching heart that in a single summer he’d not only lost the only girl he’d ever loved, but he lost the loyalty and trust of the only brothers he’d ever known.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco @wybieivy @cipheress-to-k-pop @aur0ral1ghts @revesephemeres @midnights-with-him @mishtay @ccbear5000

[redeemingvillains]

with all due respect - lorenzo berkshire

summary: lorenzo berkshire is a compulsive playboy, an obsessive flirt and a disastrous tease, so when you come to visit hogwarts for the spring term hot off of a terrible breakup, your best friend pansy has one rule: he can look, but he can't touch. word count: 4.6k author’s note: i love this messy, chaotic, disastrously hot boy.

Lorenzo's head throbbed with the reminder of every shot he'd taken the night before as he rubbed his hand slowly over his face and sunk further into the common room couch.

Pansy had “called a meeting" whatever the fuck that meant; all it had entailed thus far was getting dragged out of bed alongside the rest of his friends who looked just about as terrible as he felt.

She stood in front of them and cleared her throat as he peered at her behind half-open eyes that he tried to shade from the bright morning light.

"My best friend is coming to visit for her spring term" she announced.

No one said anything.

One person grunted.

"She has recently been through a horrific breakup and she's coming here to relax and escape. She is NOT—" she said loudly enough that Mattheo jumped, clearly having dozed off "—here to have a fling, a hookup, a one-night stand—"

Lorenzo raised his hand.

Pansy's eyes shot furiously to him.

"—nor a sneaky snog."

He lowered it.

"I am kindly asking—begging you to keep your hands and your dicks to yourself...Please" she said, closing her eyes in an effort to rein in her emotions and control herself before she shot Lorenzo another glare.

His lip curled in anger.

"Why does this feel pointed at me?" he asked.

"You went to the party last night with Penelope Farrell and left with Avery James. Do I have to say anything further?" she asked.

"Since when is that a crime?" Lorenzo replied, genuinely confused, a hand to his heart.

"He's been trying to get with Avery for ages" Blaise mumbled in support.

Pansy rubbed her temple.

"Just... be nice and keep your hands off of her, Berkshire" she relented.

He raised his hands in mock surrender and, seemingly satisfied, she pointed her ire elsewhere.

As soon as her back was turned Blaise leaned over with a sizable stack of coins in his hand.

"Two hundred galleons says you can't resist" he teased.

Lorenzo's eyes narrowed at him.

"Do you really think I'm incapable of restraining myself?" he asked, his voice rising in frustration at the way everyone was picking on him amidst how fucking horribly hungover he was.

"Yes" all five of them responded.

"Give me that" he snapped, yanking the coins out of Blaise's hand. "You've got a deal" he said, shoving them deep in his pocket.

That evening the boys were back on the common room couches, showered, changed and with decidedly more energy, ready for another night of debauchery as they passed a bottle of firewhiskey around whilst focusing on the videogame in front of them.

"Why does Pansy take for fucking ever to get ready, Malfoy?" Mattheo asked, his eyes glued to the TV as his fingers slammed the controller.

"We're going to miss the start of the match" Blaise mumbled.

"Every time. Every fucking time" Lorenzo agreed.

"—Alright, alright, enough, we're ready!" Pansy huffed behind him.

"Sorry!" offered another voice, one he didn't recognize.

He pulled his gaze from the TV as his friends looked over his shoulder.

Blaise's jaw quite literally dropped.

Theo fumbled his controller onto the floor.

And Mattheo's character died tragically on screen, completely forgotten.

Enzo turned to see Pansy before his eyes slid to you and his next breath caught in his throat.

His heart stopped and stuttered like it was trying and failing to restart. And his mind emptied completely, void of thoughts, of words, of his effortlessly cool and calm composure and any concept of what expression he should have on his face.

Suddenly every warning, every glare in his direction, and every bribe made an enormous amount of sense, because you weren't just jaw-droppingly gorgeous, you were the perfect amalgamation of every. single. one. of his weaknesses, from your hair, to your eyes, your lips, every dip and curve of your body and the way you were dressed.

If Lorenzo had spent a lifetime describing what perfect looked like to him, Merlin himself couldn't have conjured you.

He swallowed.

And then you glanced at him and fucking smiled, a beautiful, genuine, heart-wrenchingly perfect smile on flawlessly glossed lips and Theo leaned in, whispering just loudly enough for him to hear.

"Amico... you are totally fucked."

The boys gathered their composure and recovered quickly as they stood to greet you and shepherd you out the door, but Lorenzo beelined for Pansy.

"Pans, Pans! Hey. Heeeeyyy you look so nice tonight—"

"—No."

"What?" he asked innocently. "I can't compliment you?"

She whirled on him as the others walked past, fawning over you in a way that had him looking wistfully at your departing figure.

Pansy snapped her fingers in his face.

"I'm not an idiot, Enzo, I know she's your type."

"My TYPE? Pansy. She was made for me. Are you joking yourself?" he asked, exasperated. "This is bigger than you and me, babe, this is divine intervention—"

"—No, this is my best friend, whom you promised you'd leave alone."

An unexpected wave of emotion washed over her that had Lorenzo hesitating as he saw tears line her eyes.

"It's...bad, Enz. This guy really did a number on her and what she absolutely doesn't need right now is a messy rebound."

He pouted. He sneered. And he tried valiantly to ignore the creeping feeling of sympathy and compassion he felt welling up inside him, squashing it further and further down.

But Pansy put up with their shit constantly and he couldn’t remember a single time she’d ever asked for anything in return.

He opened his mouth and closed it again like a fish out of water, gasping for air, because that's exactly what he felt like.

The girl of his dreams had all but fallen into his lap.

And there wasn't a fucking thing he could do about it.

"I- fuck - fine" he muttered bitterly, depressed.

Pansy patted his back sympathetically and the two of them moved to catch up with the group.

Lorenzo pushed through the crowd at the Three Broomsticks completely and utterly deflated.

It was packed and the buzz of the crowd that normally would have fueled his exuberant energy felt overstimulating and annoying.

The group had managed to squeeze into a small booth that barely fit you all and in the hustle to arrange themselves, Mattheo, Blaise and Theo left Enzo the spot next to you, shooting him a wink and several thumbs up, whether in support or to torture him he didn't know.

He hadn't said a word to you, and he didn't intend to start now.

Being close enough to feel the weight of you against him, to smell your perfume, sultry and spicy, was enough to make his leg jiggle anxiously under the table, enough to force him to keep his hands and his mouth squarely occupied with his butterbeer as he stared at the quidditch match on the television.

So when you nudged him, he intentionally ignored it.

Until you nudged him again.

"Hey!" you said, leaning in to him to be heard over the noise of the crowd, close enough that he could feel your warm breath on his neck.

S'fine. Totally fine. I'm fine he thought as he turned his attention to you. His eyes rushed to drink you in hungrily, starved of trying to deny himself as he traced your lips, your bright eyes and your beautiful fucking smile that made his insides feel like someone had his heart in a vice.

You motioned him closer and he ducked his head.

"Montrose or Ballycastle?" you asked, nodding towards the TV, referring to the two teams on the screen.

"Oh, uhh Ballycastle" he answered, following your gaze to the action there. "We're Falmouth fans, but if not them, then, yeah Ballycastle for sure."

You smiled and nodded approvingly. "I think they have a shot if Quigley can get a few early goals" you agreed.

His eyes shot back to you.

"You... know quidditch?"

"Of course I do, what do I live under a rock? It's our national sport" you quipped, rolling your eyes as you took a drink of your butterbeer.

And for the life of him he couldn't stop staring at you, as he felt his soul crumble into a little ball. You didn't seem to notice, though, as your eyes stayed fixed on the screen and you chatted away.

"For what it's worth I also looovee Falmouth. I know everyone says they're too violent, but I think that makes their matches more entertaining" you shrugged.

"—That's literally what I've always said" he mumbled. "We're beaters" he said, pointing between him and Mattheo. "We take a lot of... inspiration from them" he laughed lightly.

"Yeah?" you asked, turning your attention back to him, your eyebrow quirked. "Okay, between the Broadmoor brothers who do you like better Karl or Kevin?" you teased.

He could have died.

He could have melted off his seat and then apparated to another town to start a new life where this wasn't happening because fuccckkkk you weren't just hot you were fucking cool. You knew quidditch, you rooted for Falmouth.

He was going to kill Pansy.

He could have cried if he wasn't so intent on making sure you never ever stopped looking at him the way you were now, interested, excited, intrigued.

"Karl, obviously" he said quickly, dismissively. "Anyone who says otherwise is sorely misinformed—"

"—Absolutely not! No!" you shot back and your conversation delved into a heated argument about Falmouth's starting line, their match strategy, and how they stacked up against other teams in the league that had the two of you so totally absorbed with each other that when everyone else went to get a drink you waved them off, entirely too focused on your conversation whilst Lorenzo was entirely too focused on you.

Over the next several days whether you were eating breakfast or walking to Hogsmeade you found yourself gravitating towards him, squeezing in beside him, seeking his company. Something about him, the way he looked at you, the way he respected you made you feel comfortable, like you had a place amidst this impenetrable group of friends.

His smile was genuine, not given lightly or carelessly, but earned and his eyes had a surprising warmth in them that you loved to study when you held his attention.

He was devastatingly handsome in a careless and boyish way with his gorgeously long hair and a penchant for biting his bottom lip when he listened to you. He was magnetizing, enticing in a way that should perhaps make you want to keep him at an arm's length after everything you'd been through with your ex, but you found yourself unable to resist, just as you couldn't resist the thought of running your fingers through his hair, or over his lips...

…Your mind wandered, lingering on the way he'd looked in his fitted t-shirt this morning and the sound of his laugh but even as you lost yourself in your fantasy you couldn’t deny the ache you felt at the way he responded to you because even when you felt yourself flirting shamelessly with him, you didn't get anything from him in return.

Not a cheeky comment. Not a smoldering gaze. Not a brush of his hand. Nothing.

Pansy had described him as “a compulsive playboy”, “an obsessive flirt”, “a disastrous tease” and you thought you’d had a connection beyond the undeniable attraction between you; but if he wasn’t showing you an ounce of interest… what was wrong with you?

In your aggravation you’d started to lay it on thick, showering him with your attention, prolonged eye contact, a well-timed glance at his lips, ample praise, endless compliments, and indulgent physical touch from squeezing his muscular arm, to laying your head on his shoulder.

You even went so far as to rest your hand precariously high on his thigh last night where you could feel his muscles tighten in response, yet he hadn’t even broken his conversation with Theo, only turning to you later to offer a half smile.

You could have screamed.

Enzo lay in bed that night and stared despondently at the top of his four-poster bed questioning his morals as he listened to a storm kick up outside.

He'd always prided himself on his loyalty to his friends, but it was becoming near on impossible to deny you.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew you were flirting with him. He reveled in the way your eyes glinted at him, sinful in their insinuation, the way you touched him, squeezing his arm when you talked to him, or the way you'd nudge into his side when he walked, like even inches between you were too much.

And when you'd squeezed his leg the other night?

He'd had to grab a pillow from the couch to put over his lap and then pointedly ignore you for 20 minutes, and even still he'd just about thrown you over his shoulder.

He was exhausted.

He groaned and ran his hands down his face as thunder and lightning rolled loudly in the clouds overhead.

Fuck it he thought as he rolled out of bed and pulled on sweats, padding into the common room, there was no way he was going to get any sleep.

The searing lightning cast long shadows in the dark corridors and the dank air hung with the electricity of the storm, the noise of which reverberated off the stone walls of the dungeon louder than it did in the rest of the castle, which was why he didn't hear it at first.

He shuffled and rubbed his eyes until the thunder offered a reprieve long enough that he heard the distinct sound of muffled crying.

He picked his head up and saw you curled on the couch, a blanket nearly over your head.

As the next crack of lightning came, you cowered in fear and his feet moved before he could think of doing anything differently.

"Hey, hey" he said, coming to kneel in front of you.

As soon as you saw him, you sat upright and furiously wiped the tears from your face.

"Hey Enz!" you said with such manufactured cheerfulness that he briefly shook his head in confusion.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes searching your face in a way that was so earnest, it made your chin wobble again, but for a completely different reason.

"S-so sorry, I thought I was alone" you said, ignoring his question.

The storm cracked again and you jumped, eyes slamming shut.

"It’s s-silly to be scared, I know it's stupid, I'm f-fine" you lied.

He thoughtfully placed his hands on either side of your legs, deftly avoiding touching you as he met your eyes.

"You're sitting in the dungeon of a 1000-year-old castle in the middle of a storm that echoes in here loud enough to hurt my ears. Shit scares me too, all the time."

That made you pause, and now it was your turn to look confused as you took as shaky breath.

"No, but I shouldn't be crying, I'm sorry—"

"—Stop apologizing" he said, laughing quietly. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

You muffled a hiccup.

"But it's annoying when girls cry. And I know it's stupid to be afraid of storms."

He was genuinely baffled as he tried to say something before you interrupted him.

"Look, you don't always have to be so nice, Enzo. I know how guys think."

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes as he looked at you until it clicked, your fear, your words…

"Hold on, did-did your ex tell you you were annoying when you cried and stupid when you were afraid?" he whispered.

And just hearing the words from someone else's mouth made you realize how genuinely fucked up it was. You shrugged in defeat, at a loss for what to say in response as tears crowded your eyes again.

"Fucking hell" he said, forfeiting the effort to keep his distance as he sat next to you and pulled you into his arms.

You curled into him eagerly, nearly crawling into his lap, getting as close to him as possible and when the next flash of lightning came, he held you tightly against him and then rubbed your back as the thunder subsided.

"Did you ever hear about the time Theo's grandma ran from the cops?" he asked. "It's a great story."

You could tell he was trying to distract you and you let out a breathy laugh and shook your head as you sniffled.

He launched into the story, perfectly mimicking Theo's Italian accent in a way that had you laughing a little at first and then belly laughing by the end.

Enzo's deep voice continued to rumble beneath where your head rested just above his heart and between that sensation and the feeling of his warm arms around you, you fell into a deep sleep.

As you got heavy in his arms and he felt your warm breath against him he relaxed, relieved that you were okay. After a few minutes, you wound your arms further around him and snuggled into him, letting out a contended sigh.

He swallowed and let out a steadying breath as his insides churned, because this was going from wanting to pin you against every surface and kiss you until you forgot your own name to a whole hell of a lot more.

He'd hooked up with plenty of girls, but he couldn't ever remember holding a single one until they fell asleep.

Before long your warmth and the perfect way you held him, grasping his sweatshirt in your fingers like you never wanted to let him go coaxed him into a deep sleep of his own.

He dreamt of you, and he dreamt of the press of your warm lips to his cheek and when he woke up, he was alone.

At breakfast the next morning, you slid silently in beside him and bumped his shoulder in acknowledgement as you smiled up at him. He glanced down and smiled at you, quickly scanning your face and barely meeting your eyes but he didn't say anything, choosing instead to turn and talk to Blaise. Because even though falling asleep with you in his arms might have been the very best thing he could have wished for, after last night he finally understood that Pansy had been exactly right.

You had been hurt, you were still hurting, and you deserved someone a hell of a lot better than him on the other side of your pain. He was done trying to pretend like this could be something you both knew it couldn't, done trying to let himself dream a dream that would never come true.

Your heart sank.

And your insecurities grew.

Because despite the fact that you'd fallen asleep in Lorenzo's arms, head resting on his heart, fingers wound in his sweatshirt, things between you were still painfully platonic in a way that made your head spin.

“What’s the deal with Lorenzo?” you asked Pansy that afternoon, attempting to make it sound casual as you swiped your mascara in preparation for the boys’ quidditch match.

Her shrewd eyes shot to you. “What do you mean?”

“He’s ... hard to read.”

“That’s the infamous Berkshire charm. He’ll give you just enough attention to get what he wants and then he’ll ignore you like you never meant a thing to him. Didn’t I tell you?”

“Yeah, I guess…” you said, worrying your bottom lip, warring with the Lorenzo she described and the one you thought you knew.

“Why, did he do something?” she asked.

You laughed humorlessly. “No quite the opposite.”

Her eyebrow cocked.

“Pans, I’ve been laying it on thick and he won’t even give me the time of day. I-I think I’m broken” you said, your words and worries pouring out of you now.

“What if no one ever wants me again? What if I’ve lost my touch? I mean, I feel like all of your friends are completely blind to me. They’re sweet don’t get me wrong, it’s just not how you described them. And Enzo? I swear to the gods he and I are perfect and I don’t even mean that because I want to climb him like a fucking tree, which, of course, I do but... I'm catching feelings” you said, sighing as you blotted at the blossoming tears beneath your eyes to keep your fresh makeup intact.

She groaned and rubbed her forehead.

“Alright, alright, stop, please. Promise you won’t kill me?”

You sniffed and looked at her before your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I threatened the shit out of them. They know that this” she said waving her hand around you “is strictly off limits.”

“Pansy!!!—” you moaned.

“—I didn’t want you coming here and having your heart shattered all over again!! Do you know how many girls have tried to come up to me to see if I could just talk to Theo or Enzo or Mattheo for them? It’s sickening, it’s a bloodbath, I wasn’t putting you through it!—”

“—So you’re saying I have a chance?!”

Pansy sighed, rolled her eyes, and let her head fall back to stare at the ceiling before speaking, resigned.

“I’m saying that if I gave Berkshire the greenlight... he’d probably propose.”

You let out a noise that was something between a squeal and a scream as you jumped up and down, your mind aflutter with the possibilities.

You looked down at your fitted t-shirt and jeans and then to her, bundled in Draco's team-issued quidditch sweatshirt and smiled.

The cold spring wind nipped at your cheeks, turning them a rosy red as you watched flashes of silver and green dip and dive, though your eyes lingered on Lorenzo.

You pulled the sleeves of his team-issued sweatshirt over your hands and huddled into the warm fabric, noticing more than a few sidelong glances and whispers at the sight of you wearing his name, which you pointedly ignored.

When they won the crowd was raucous in their celebration, humming with anticipation of the party to come and Pansy was no exception as she dragged you by the hand through the crowd.

"C’mon, I want to be the first to the keg—" she'd started.

"—Can I meet up with you, actually?" you asked as your eyes shot tentatively behind you to the locker room.

She shot you a scandalized look before grabbing your face and kissing your cheek.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" she said teasingly as she departed.

"That's a short list!" you shouted after her.

She flipped you off over her head.

You situated yourself just outside the locker room door. You could hear their music, their excited celebrations muffled though still palpable, like a spell. A few players trickled out here and there as you waited, the passing time giving you just enough opportunity to feel uncertain when the door creaked open again.

He was running his hand through his damp hair, his long strides quick and sure but he faltered to a stop when he saw you.

He noticed you were wearing the Slytherin green and silver, and was just thinking how good it looked on you when his stomach dipped and then dropped faster than it had all afternoon on his broom when he realized that it was his sweatshirt, his name you were wearing.

There was no way he could be normal about how that made him feel as his palms became clammy.

"Hey!" you greeted him enthusiastically as he approached you; you always lit up for him in a way he’d never get sick of. "That was awesome! You did great!" you said warmly as you moved toward him.

"Oh! M'sweaty" he protested, albeit weakly, as he felt your arms wrap around him and he pulled you closer.

For all the girls he'd hooked up with, none had ever waited for him after a match like this and certainly none of them had ever worn his name. He held you a little closer as his heart raced in a way that had nothing to do with the energy he'd just exerted.

He felt you press into him further and took that as his sign to let you go, resigned.

But you pulled back slowly pausing right as your noses brushed, your eyes twinkling at him as they sparkled and then drew down to his lips. He could feel himself start to sweat again, felt it drip down his neck, his back, as he rolled his bottom lip into his mouth and bit it, hard.

“I—" his voice croaked and his palms squeezed your hips harder, cementing you in place and all you could think was bless this boy for being such a good listener.

“Pansy told me” you relented.

He pulled back further in an attempt to better read your expression.

“Abouuutttt?”

“What she said about me being firmly off limits?”

He eyed your face for any sort of a joke as he felt his adrenaline pumping.

“Please don’t fuck with me” he said, strong and forceful.

And then his eyes slammed closed and his face scrunched because he couldn’t look at you and think at the same time.

“Look, Panys’s right" he said. "You deserve a good guy, a really good guy and I don’t think I’m—"

You shifted against him and he felt your lips fall electric on his own. And whatever noble thought he’d been having dissipated at the warmth, the wetness, the faint taste of strawberries as he groaned and cupped your face with his hands and kissed you back hungrily moving his lips over yours again and again and again, consuming you as he pushed you into the wall betraying everything he’d held back, everything he’d dreamed about as his tongue rolled over yours and you squeezed him tighter. He kissed you hot and hard and desperate in a way that had you mindless, breathless.

His lips left yours and you panted, gasping, only to feel him trail open-mouthed kisses down your neck, licking you, tasting you, then sucking hard enough to leave a mark in a way that made you shiver. You could feel him smile against you as he pressed another kiss to your lips.

Your eyes fluttered, lidded and glazed over completely.

“What if I don’t want a good guy?” you asked.

He was in love.

E P I L O G U E

Lorenzo's arm was wound tightly around your shoulders as he pushed the common room door open. The party was in full swing and he navigated deftly through the sea of bodies without ever letting you go until he found his friends.

Conversation stopped as they looked from your flushed cheeks to your smudged lip gloss, to the trio of hickies on your neck and finally to Lorenzo’s shit-eating grin and shining lips.

“Panys’s going to kill him. She’s going to fucking bury him” Mattheo muttered as he shook Theo beside him to get his attention.

“Hmm? Oh fuck” he said the second his eyes landed on you.

“This should be good” they whispered to each other as they eyed Pansy to see her reaction with bated breath.

But all she did was sigh and smile at you, and you smiled back.

“Wait, what!? Hang on!” Mattheo shouted as he began to argue with her about equal opportunities and unfair advantages.

Lorenzo reached into his pocket, fingering the coins there.

“Blaise?” he asked as each of the boys turned to him.

“With all due respect, which, of course, is none” he said before he leaned over and slammed the coins in Blaise’s hand.

“Fuck you.”

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried  @girllblogging777  @foivetimesacharm  @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123  @slytherinscreamqueen @loverliner @smut-anarchy @locknco @wybieivy @itznotsophia @cipheress-to-k-pop @aur0ral1ghts @revesephemeres @midnights-with-him

[simplyastra]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐞 — 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

SUMMARY: Soulmates shared everything. Including scars. When Umbridge's detentions begin exposing soulmate pairs throughout Hogwarts, one bloody sentence on the back of your hand changes everything.

A/N: For my lovely, wonderful @obsessedwithceleste. Astra loves Cel and hopes this came out good<3

Tagging: @delulugirl2000

Soulmate AU

The soulmate bond had always been cruel in its honesty.

From the moment you were born, your soulmate’s scars appeared on your skin like quiet promises. A small scrape on your knee at age six. A faint burn on your forearm from some childhood accident. Tiny, whimsical marks that told you somewhere out there, someone was living.

You were both sorted into Slytherin in first year. You and Mattheo Riddle had been in the same friend group since then — you, Mattheo, Theo, Draco, Blaise, Enzo, Pansy, and Daphne.

No one knew who their soulmate was yet. The scars were still small and meaningless.

Until the summer before fifth year.

Voldemort had returned. The world was darker. And one night, you stood in front of your mirror at home, staring in horror at the new scars that had bloomed across your back — thin, angry lines like someone had been whipped or cursed.

You traced them with trembling fingers, heart aching for whoever was on the other end of this pain.

You didn’t know it was Mattheo.

Fifth year brought Umbridge.

The pink toad took over Defense Against the Dark Arts and quickly turned it into a nightmare. Detentions became frequent. Her quill wasn’t just a writing tool — it carved the words you wrote into your skin with blood.

The first time Enzo got detention, Susan Bones showed up the next morning with the exact same cut on her hand. The soulmate reveal spread like wildfire.

You tried to stay out of trouble.

But one afternoon, you spoke back when Umbridge insulted Harry.

Detention was immediate.

That evening, you returned to the Slytherin common room with fresh, stinging words carved into the back of your hand:

I must not support liars.

The common room was nearly empty — most people were still at dinner.

You sat by the fireplace, cradling your bleeding hand, trying not to cry.

Footsteps echoed from the boys’ dormitories.

Mattheo came down the stairs, absently scratching at the back of his own hand with a scowl.

When he saw you, he froze.

His eyes dropped to your hand.

The exact same words were carved into his skin, still fresh and bleeding.

The air left the room.

Mattheo’s face went pale.

He crossed the room in seconds, dropping to his knees in front of you.

His hand reached out, hovering over yours like he was afraid to touch you.

“...It’s you,” he whispered, voice cracking.

You stared at him, tears finally spilling over.

All those years.

The small scars on your knees. The faint burn on your arm. The thin lines that had appeared across your back last summer — Mattheo’s scars.

And now this.

“You’ve been carrying my scars this whole time?” you choked out.

Mattheo looked wrecked.

He gently took your injured hand in both of his, staring at the bloody words like they were a curse.

“I thought...” His voice was hoarse. “I thought my soulmate was someone else. Someone who didn’t have to see all the ugly parts of me. The scars from my father. The ones from... after he came back.”

You lifted a hand to cup the side of his face.

“I saw them,” you whispered. “The ones on your back. The one across your ribs. I’ve had them since last summer. I stayed up all night wondering who was hurting so much.”

Mattheo let out a broken sound and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck.

You clung to him just as tightly, both of you shaking.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry you got stuck with me.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, cupping his face.

“I’m not,” you said fiercely. “I’m not sorry it’s you, Mattheo.”

He stared at you for a long moment, eyes glassy, before pressing his forehead against yours.

“All this time,” he breathed. “I’ve been hating the world... and you’ve been walking around with my pain on your skin.”

You gave him a watery smile.

“And you’ve been carrying mine.”

Mattheo kissed you then — desperate, trembling, full of six years of unspoken everything.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, breathing you in.

“I'm not hiding anymore.” he whispered. “Not from you. Never from you.”

You nodded, tears still falling.

“I'm not, either.”

He gently lifted your bleeding hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it, right over the cruel words Umbridge had carved.

Then he stood, pulling you up with him.

“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go clean this up. I’ve got scars to take care of now.”

You smiled through your tears and let him lead you toward the dorms, fingers intertwined.

For the first time, the scars didn’t feel like burdens.

They felt like proof.

Proof that even in darkness, you had found each other.

Aand the next day Umbridge is sacked, jk 🥲

[whotfisceleste]

OMG

[my-hearts-kickdrum-type-beat]

Wish You Were Sober

Pairing - Adrian Pucey x Malfoy! Reader

Summary - After the swiftest and smuggest victory in Hogwarts quidditch history, the Slytherins held their usual party. Blared music, flowing drinks, the works. The sweetest words come out when alcohol goes in; but are they ever true?

Warnings - Consumption of alcohol and weed, mentions of sex, vomiting, emetophobia, drunken behaviour, crying, pain relief. Inebriated angst with the happiest of happy endings, since I cannot write sad ones.

WC: 3.2K

When you were ten years old, you left home on a biting September morning, and were dropped off at King's Cross station by your surprisingly teary mother and father.

The wait to pull out of the platform was long and boring.

In your lap was your newly-bought owl. You had refused to have it stored away with the trunks like some sort of toad. Cassiopeia, you named her. Her feathers were soft, and they matched your hair. She cooed when you rubbed her head.

"How are they all full?" Miles squeaked, stood in the narrow corridor with the other boys, red-faced as they began to run out of compartments to double check.

Marcus sighed and pushed him to keep walking. He didn't even know Bletchley — all of the boys' fathers had introduced them at the station — but he felt that he needed the push.

Adrian pressed himself against the door of a compartment as a few fourth years ran up it. He huffed and turned his head, looking through glass and seeing you alone.

"Hey, this one's fine."

"There's a girl in there." Terrence said plainly, like that was fear enough to not go in there.

Adrian rolled his eyes and slid the compartment door open.

Your head turned at the sound as your owl cowered into your chest.

Adrian forced a rather nervous smile, looking at you. "Hi. Sorry about.." He gestured to your scared owl. "Yeah. Would it be okay if we sat with you? Everywhere else is full."

Feathers ruffled against your hand as you attempted to calm your bird, nodding at the boy.

The group entered and sat down. All of you were introduced. The rest is history.

Now, years later, you were seventh years. Seventh years with the deepest dungeon dorms, the highest honoured titles, and the most infamous reputations as if you were competing with one another.

Each of you were known for different things. Marcus for his amazingly string-less juggling of girls, Terrence for his proclivity with transfiguration, Miles for his troublemaking, Lucian for his deafening laugh that has gotten him many detentions, and Adrian, for causing that laugh.

You loved one another for different reasons to different levels, but in the end, Adrian was your best friend, and you were his.

Secrets between you two remained secrets. He trusted you more than anything, and had bared parts of himself to you that he was shamed to even think of. They were always met with comfort, never judgment.

In the same ways, he comforted you. Wiped your tears when bottling them up ended badly, listened to your frequent rants and helped you however he could.

Often with your exhaustion. Many titles were attached to your name — heir, captain, try-hard — and they grew heavy quickly.

Regardless of how those words weighed on you, you had to bear them all the same.

And you did so with pride.

You were an heir to the ancient houses of Malfoy and Black, a "prodigy", — Lucius' words — and Slytherin's quidditch captain. The last of which titles you held dearest to your heart.

Earlier today, Slytherin had beat Gryffindor; all thanks to your quick thinking mid-game, repositioning the beaters onto the day's strongest chasers, and running circles around Wood like he owed you money: you were amazing, as always.

The match was followed by a rager of a party, full of flowing drinks, blow, and laughter loud enough to top the deafening music.

The dance floor was full, centred by you in your skimpy dress, and your favourite boy. Adrian had a delicate grip on your hand, and waist, and a slightly tipsy grin on his face as he spun you.

Dancing was one of his favourite things to do with you. The rhythm seemed to flow effortlessly between your bodies, it always ended up being more of an embrace than a show.

After a while, you decided to take a break from dancing and ran off with some ravenclaw girlfriends to get high as a kite off of hufflepuff weed.

Adrian left the floor and hung back against the wall with Terrence, — he didn't enjoy parties, only came because the others forced him — sprawled out on a couch sipping gin leisurely, pleasure thrumming through his body from the satisfaction of the afternoon's win and the drink's effects.

Across from the pair was Flint in an armchair, a ravenclaw in his lap as he sook a different kind of pleasure, his hands gripping the globes of her ass with a charming smirk.

Pucey rolled his eyes. Marcus always did this. Fucked some random in a broom cupboard and came stumbling into the dorm, either talking about it or vomiting his guts out when everyone was just trying to develop their hangover in peace.

The image did make his mind wander. Who were you with?

Maybe Davies. He was eyeing you all night… always loves to appear with the convenient excuse of "quidditch captain things". Adrian scoffed to himself like a petulant child, he needed to get a grip.

You were entitled to your flings, it's not as if he hadn't had a few carnal nights. You could shag whomever you wanted, and when Lucian would ask if anyone had fun last night; talk about it at the breakfast table. Even if the thought made bile rise into his throat.

The truth always bubbled to the surface of a stewing pot of jealousy: you weren't his. As much as he wished it wasn't so, that was your choice. It's not like he's subtle with his feelings.

By Miles' description, he's always looked at you like you'd spiked his pumpkin juice with amortencia.

Bole's clicking fingers in front of his face snapped him out of his trace.

He refocused his eyes just in time to grab the shot of alcohol floating, and downed it. The burning of his throat dragged him down to earth.

Sweet Merlin, Flint's girl's moaning.

Adrian got up to go find you — the clock said 2, you were likely hammered by now —, because he was in no way keen to watch Marcus walk the edge of becoming a father.

You were tucked onto an unstable table in a corner with your girls, eyes red, hair messy but gorgeous all the same, a lazy grin on your face.

An alternate dimension had taken you; aka, you were off your ass intoxicated.

Adrian breathed out in relief and began to walk over, taking to the congratulations and pats on the back in passing kindly.

He smiled when he saw you, squeezing past your friends and leaning down to murmur in your ear so you'd hear him over the pounding tunes.

"You okay?"

Glossy lips were slightly ajar, an unintentional pout on your face as you looked up at him, eyes wide like a newborn baby's.

"Yeah…" Slurred like it was the first word you'd ever said.

A chuckle escaped him. "Yeah?" He teased, raising a large hand to smooth down your frizzing hair.

Your head nodded like it was hinged, and he huffed in amusement once again.

"Think you can walk?" His other arm wrapped around your waist, ready to carry you. The words were soft and tender, an utter contrast to the hot, lusty air in the common room.

A long "Uh…" left your mouth, and was finished by one of your bemused friends.

"Not a chance."

He nodded without looking away from your face, slowly pulling you to the edge of the table and easily lifting you into his arms. He began his walk through the crowd and down the girls' stairs.

Ringing was all you could hear, and he was all you could smell. The way he held you was so effortless; large biceps not being strained in the slightest…

"Adrian…" You murmured with a slurred, melodic voice, head nuzzled into his chest.

Suddenly nothing felt ecstatic.

"What is it, darling?" He asked quietly, taking a glance down. The music from the party dulling as he descended the stairs step by step.

It was like your stomach had churned itself into a knot, and you gagged, jerking weakly into his arms.

"Shit." Was muttered under Pucey's breath. He rushed down the last few steps and pushed your dorm door open, shutting it with a silent spell and rushing you into the ensuite.

He placed you on your knees before the toilet, the hand on your waist guiding you there unintentionally pushing on your stomach, making you all the more nauseous.

A pained, unattractive half groan, half burp left your mouth.

Adrian rushed to get behind you and gathered your hair into his hand just in time for the contents of your stomach to empty.

Thankfully, it was all at once.

You slumped forward, groaning weakly as your hands gripped the bowl.

Adrian rubbed your back slowly, letting your hair free from his grip to reach up and grab a washcloth from the edge of the sink.

He shifted to come to your side. Your head felt like a weight, but you looked up at him. There was no airy happiness remaining from five minutes ago. Just messy hair, glassy eyes, and wet lips.

The brown-haired boy gently wiped around your mouth.

"You'll feel better now, love." He murmured quietly, dropping the cloth and drawing you into his arms carefully, scooping you onto his lap. "You needed that."

"Ugh…"

His large hand cupped the side of your head, holding it gently against his chest. His lips pressed against the crown of your head.

A long sigh escaped you, your hand curling around his bicep for some sort of purchase.

"You need to stop drinking that pink bullshit."

Narcissa seemed to have spawned into your bathroom, with the way you were being lectured.

A lazy chuckle escaped you. "You'll be puking in half an hour. Shut it."

He huffed, shivering slightly at the thought. He fucking hated vomiting…

You sighed again, and shifted to look up at him, laying your arms over his shoulders. "Thank you for getting me when you did."

The corners of his lips immediately turned upwards, and he tucked some loose hair behind your ear. "Don't thank me. It's my job."

You shared his smile, looking at him so fondly. He really was the best bloke you would ever find. He was kind, and soft, and still looked at you like you were delicate after you had just expelled the contents of your stomach right before his eyes.

Clearly, you were a melancholic drunk.

Your voice was quiet and intimate, still slightly slurred. "Y'know I love you."

Those words always did something to him. They wrenched his heart as equally as they filled it. He nodded, slowly rubbing your back to give his clenching fingers something to do.

"I don't love you like I love the others."

His blue eyes were piercing your soul, his expression suddenly pensive, and his hand stilled.

This silent breath charm better have worked. You stood on your knees and leaned in to kiss him.

He dodged your lips with the greatest self restraint anyone could have. His forehead dropped against your shoulder as you whined in drunken confusion.

One moment you were telling him you loved him, the next you were trying to snog him. It all happened so quickly.

"Adrian?"

"You're drunk, love." His arms wrapped tightly around you, hiding the scrunched look on his face. "Don't do anything you'll regret in the morning."

"I…" You murmured, trying to catch your words. "I won't." Salty tears began to well in your eyes. "You don't love me."

That made him let out a humourless huff, lifting his head just to look into your eyes, cupping your face. He uttered your name quietly and painfully.

"Of course I love you. What are you on about?"

Tears dripped down your face as you sniffled, the drink making it even harder to calm yourself. "You don't wanna kiss me." Spoken shakily.

"That's not-" He sighed and wicked droplets away from your cheeks with his thumb. "You're pissed. You don't actually want this." The sight of your tears made him want to cry too. His voice was low and resigned, sad and despondent. "You just want to shag someone."

An incredulous sob left your lips.

Adrian immediately regretted his words. Fucking idiot can't keep his own insecurities to himself, and now is making you wail. Great.

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"I love you." You murmured as you tried to catch your breath, face contorted and reddened with emotion. "Not like a 'best mate' or somethi-"

Adrian sucked in a quick breath and looked away. "No."

You sobbed, leaning your head into his caress desperately. "Kiss me. Please?"

"Darling-"

His hand was wet from your tears, and he let it drop from your cheek. You were looking at him with pleading eyes. You would never beseech for anything. It broke him to see you do so for such a void prize.

"Will you stay with me?" You asked shakily.

It was often that you sleep in each other's arms, but after the callous rejection, you weren't sure.

He sighed and nodded. He must hate himself.

After that heavy exchange on the bathroom floor, he lifted you into bed and undid the intricate buckles on your heels. Then he climbed in with you, and let you cuddle into his chest.

It was quickly that you fell asleep.

At 4am when he sat back against the wall of the ensuite, waiting to vomit again after he had already done so once, he thought of you.

Denying you was the right choice. You were drunk out of your mind, and you didn't mean a word of it; he wasn't some rapey opportunist who would kiss you when you were in that state.

But something inside of him felt wrong. It was the alcohol, pushing him for more, pushing him to let go of everything holding him back and snog you until your lips were swollen.

It would've saved you bawling on the bathroom floor.

No. He made the right choice. You were out of it. You didn't love him like that.

After he had gotten sick again, Pucey crawled back into bed, curling himself around you from behind.

It was midday by the time you woke. There was a drum in your head, pounding. Thank Merlin for the pain potion yesterday's self proactively put on your bedside table. It was knocked back your throat, and began working instantly.

Then you were more aware of the arms tight around your middle. Adrian's hot breath was warming your neck.

Your eyes shut in relaxation, nuzzled comfortably in the covers.

Then you remembered. Fucking hell.

Crying your eyes out, ruining your friendship while high out of your mind.

You tried to shift out of his arms, pulling roughly.

That woke him. He mumbled something unintelligible against the back of your neck, drawing his arms around you tightly, pinning you against his bare chest — he had stripped off his shirt after his second time getting sick.

Shit.

Your name was a sleepy murmur from his lips. You stayed silent.

The only sound in the dark room was the rustle of duvet.

Consciousness found him gradually, until his headache and memories of last night were at the forefront of his mind.

You rolled onto your back, reaching for a pain potion for him. All you could hope for was his amnesia.

He took the vial graciously and swallowed it down in one gulp, then turned his head to look at you.

Those blue irises were taken over by large pupils, a thoughtful look on his face as he raised one hand to your cheek.

You gave him an uncharacteristically nervous smile,and immediately straightened your face out after, regretting it.

"Sleep well?" He asked roughly, as his hand rubbed your waist slowly.

You nodded.

"Good."

A huff left you as you built up the courage to speak. "Last night-"

The brown-haired boy shook his head, and stroked his thumb just below your eye.

"We don't have to talk about it." The words hurt to say, but they had to be said all the same.

"You were drunk, I get it."

For a long moment, you were silenced, eyes flitting across his face with the knowledge that this moment was a crossroad for your relationship, one that you had avoided for far too long.

You let a hand slip to his back — so it had something to do besides mess with the covers — and moved your head so your nose was almost touching his.

"I meant it."

Adrian's hand stilled, his eyes widening with incredulity.

Now, you were emboldened. The sheets were warm with the heat of your bodies, and smelled like alcohol and sweat. It felt so natural leaning in, kissing his cheek.

"I love you, Adrian."

A hand lifted to caress where your lips had just touched, leaning your forehead against his.

The boy was stunned. His eyes were wide and his entire form was stilled, like if he moved you would disappear. But quickly, he found sense.

"I fucking love you too." He chuckled nervously, delicately holding your face in his hand. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple and tucked your head under his chin, breathing in the scent of your hair.

There was no way to describe the feeling, besides a deep sense of correctness. This was where you belonged, in his arms, held and loved.

"Can I kiss you now?" You murmured against his neck, voice softly teasing.

He huffed softly in amusement, rubbing your back. "Once I brush my teeth, baby."

You didn't wait for him to do so.

Your mouth probably tasted like you had licked the ground, how different would it be kissing him?

So swiftly, you clasped his chin in your hand and crashed your lips together.

The kiss was long and final, hungry and visceral. Disgusting to most, deeply intimate to you.

An hour and a half later, the pair of you rocked up to lunch, fashionably late.

You were wearing his jersey, and a pleased-with-yourself grin.

Adrian guided you onto the bench with a hand on your lower back, then slipped in beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist, reaching for a slice of toast like a starved orphan.

The boys across from you were eyeing the pair of you with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

"That the only thing you ate this morning?" Marcus was the first to tease, as ever.

You chuckled and took a bite of a sharply sour green apple — your favourite. Adrian's face was smug as he shook his head no.

He leaned in to press sickening kisses against your cheek. "She's far sweeter."

Flint laughed at his friend's entrancement.

"Did you two get married after I blacked out?" Miles asked, elbows on the table, hair going every which way as he powered through this day.

"Sadly no, but it's on my to do list." Adrian said with a large, arrogant grin, looking down at you like he had one the lottery.

If his scrawny first year self could see him now, his eyes might pop out of his head. Seeing himself with his lips locked onto the most perfect girl he could think of.

It's safe to say his shit-eating expression would not dull soon.

Adrian Pucey m.list ⌯⌲

hi this is my first time writing for adrian

i already have another done... i can't help it i love having hot men that i can make my own

anyway i hope you like him and my silly writing

feedback and requests are always appreciated!

ty for the read my loves <3

Slytherin boys taglist

@weirdowithnobeardo @idiotussupremus @sunshinewhosketches @venuxsw @stargirl777foru @imnotnotgabrielle @lavande3 @nottinmyheart @itsbelindak @dearstefany @sttvrdustt @revesephemeres @littlemadamred @missshrimpy @nottendo @esmerai-artemis @impossiblynoisywasteland @whimsical-reveries @kaorisakamotofan @siruslyloony4u @oliviasblogtime @iamheretoread1234 @scriptedinkbyxim @toetickler5 @foxherder @kkinou

[simplyastra]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 — 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

SUMMARY: In a world falling apart, you were the only thing that ever made sense to Mattheo Riddle. So when he almost loses you— he breaks in a way no one has ever seen before.

A/N: Mentions of sex, lot of grief, what else do I say, takes place during the war

The library was quiet that afternoon, the kind of heavy silence that only existed between towering shelves and the faint scratch of quills in the distance. Mattheo Riddle moved through the Restricted Section’s outer edges with his usual careless grace, hands shoved in his pockets, searching for the tome on ancient runes that Theo had demanded he borrow.

“Fucking Theo and his obscure shit,” he muttered under his breath, scanning the spines.

His fingers closed around the leather-bound volume. He tugged.

From the opposite side of the shelf, the book jerked hard in the other direction.

Mattheo frowned, tugging harder.

It resisted again — this time with surprising force, as if someone on the other side had grabbed it with both hands.

With one final, irritated yank, the book came free toward him — only for it to be snatched completely from his grip at the last second.

Mattheo rounded the shelf in three long strides, irritation flashing in his dark eyes.

There you stood — smaller than he expected, robes neat, holding the book against your chest like a prize. Your expression was calm but unmistakably smug.

“Problem?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

Mattheo’s gaze narrowed. “That’s my book.”

“Funny,” you replied smoothly, “it was in my hands first. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Riddle.”

He stepped closer, towering over you, but you didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your head, studying him with sharp intelligence that caught him off guard.

“You’re brave,” he said, voice low and edged with curiosity. “Or at least brave enough that you don’t know better than to steal from a Slytherin.”

“I’m a Gryffindor, and I'm not stealing. I’m borrowing. For actual academic purposes, not whatever dark arts project you have planned.”

Mattheo’s lips twitched — almost a smile, but not quite.

“Bold. Most people would’ve handed it over by now.”

“Most people aren’t trying to finish an essay on advanced warding runes before curfew,” you countered. “If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll let you look at it after I’m done.”

He laughed — a short, surprised sound.

“You’ve got nerve.”

“And you’ve got a reputation,” you shot back, eyes sparkling with challenge. “But I’ve read enough to know reputations are usually exaggerated.”

You turned to leave, book tucked securely under your arm. Over your shoulder, you delivered the final line with perfect, sweet venom:

“Besides, you’re much prettier when you’re not scowling. Shame it doesn’t happen often.”

Mattheo stood frozen as you disappeared down the aisle. It took him a full ten seconds to realize the compliment had been an insult wrapped in silk.

By the time the realization hit, you were long gone.

He stared at the empty space where you’d been, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face.

“Interesting,” he murmured to himself.

From that day on, Mattheo Riddle made it his mission to pursue you.

He started small — witty remarks when your paths crossed in the corridors.

“Still hoarding books that don’t belong to you?” he’d murmur as he passed, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours.

You’d fire back without missing a beat: “Still letting your friends do your homework for you?”

During Quidditch matches, when Slytherin played, he’d catch your eye from his broom while chasing the Quaffle. He’d wink — bold and unapologetic — right before executing a sharp dive that left the crowd roaring.

You tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped every time.

In the Great Hall, he’d sit across from his friends but let his gaze drift to the Gryffindor table where you were seated, sometimes sending a paper airplane charmed with a single sarcastic line:

“Enjoying that book you stole?”

You never backed down.

You matched his sharp tongue with your own clever retorts, never raising your voice, never stuttering. You were quiet by nature in large groups, but one-on-one with him? You became lightning.

Weeks turned into months.

Mattheo found himself seeking you out more and more. He’d “accidentally” end up in the same library corner, or join you on the Astronomy Tower when you went there to study stars instead of smoke.

Slowly, you began to see past the rumors.

He wasn’t the heartless villain everyone painted. He was sharp and guarded, yes — carrying the weight of his father’s name like a curse — but there were moments when he let the mask slip.

When he spoke about wanting something real, something that wasn’t tainted by legacy.

When he listened to you talk about your favorite books or your dreams beyond Hogwarts without interrupting with a joke.

One rainy evening in the library, after hours of quiet studying side by side, he finally asked the question that had been burning in him.

“Why don’t you run from me like everyone else does?”

You looked up from your notes, meeting his eyes steadily.

“Because I see you, Mattheo. Not the name. Not the rumors. Just you.”

That was the night he kissed you for the first time — slow, intense, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he rushed it.

You kissed him back, fingers curling into his robes, and something shifted between you irrevocably.

During the winter holidays of seventh year, you invited him to celebrate your eighteenth birthday at your family home in London.

Your parents welcomed Mattheo warmly despite knowing exactly who he was.

At first, he felt like an intruder, tense and overly polite, convinced he might be a burden. But your mother especially took to him immediately, treating him like her own son — fussing over him at dinner, laughing at his dry humor, and pulling him into conversations about everything from Quidditch to showing him your childhood pictures.

Your father was quieter but kind, clapping him on the shoulder and telling him he was always welcome.

That night, after the cake and laughter and your parents had gone to bed, Mattheo pulled you into your room.

The kiss that started soft quickly deepened with months of built-up longing. His hands roamed slowly over your body, learning every curve as if memorizing you. He was gentle yet confident, undressing you with reverent touches while whispering how beautiful you looked, how long he had wanted this.

You felt desired and safe in his arms as he took his time, moving with a mix of hunger and tenderness that made your heart race and your breath catch. He made sure you felt every bit of his attention, every kiss and touch building until pleasure washed over you in waves.

Afterward, he got up quietly to bring you water and a warm cloth, he held you close against his chest, tracing lazy patterns on your bare back with his fingers, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your shoulders, and your lips, then pulled the blankets over both of you, wrapping you securely in his arms as if he never wanted to let go.

You fell asleep tangled together, his heartbeat steady under your cheek.

The war changed everything.

Seventh year brought darkness. Death Eaters roamed freely. Attacks on innocents became nightly news. Fear hung over Hogwarts like a shroud.

You and Mattheo stole moments where you could — whispered conversations in empty classrooms, his arms around you in hidden alcoves, promises that you’d survive this together.

The Battle of Hogwarts erupted without warning.

Explosions rocked the castle. Curses lit up the night sky. Students and teachers fought side by side with the Order of the Phoenix against the invading Death Eaters.

Mattheo moved through the chaos in a frenzy, heart pounding, wand raised. He wasn’t fighting for his father’s side — he was fighting to find you. To protect you. To get you out.

“Where is she?!” he demanded to no one in particular, blasting a curse at a masked Death Eater who had his wand pointed at some First year.

He rounded a corner near the Charms corridor and froze.

You were backed against a crumbling stone wall, robes torn, breathing hard.

Antonin Dolohov advanced on you, his wand raised, a cruel smile twisting his face.

You were holding your own — blocking curse after curse with impressive shields — but you were tiring, cornered.

Dolohov shouted the words with vicious delight:

“Avada Kedavra!”

Time slowed.

Mattheo’s world went blank with pure terror.

At the exact same moment, he lifted his wand and screamed,

“Stupefy!”

— aiming it directly at you, praying the red jet would hit first, knock you unconscious, make you drop before the green curse could reach you.

Everything happened too fast.

Your body jerked, as one of the two spells hit you. You crumpled to the ground instantly, eyes closing, limp.

Dolohov smiled with crooked teeth and turned to attack a group of fleeing students instead, disappearing into the smoke and dust.

Mattheo couldn’t breathe.

His legs felt like lead as he stumbled forward, one slow, weary step after another. The world tilted. His vision blurred at the edges.

Pansy and Daphne skidded around the corner first, closer than he was.

Pansy let out a choked sob the moment she saw your still form on the ground.

“No… no, no, no—”

Pansy dropped to her knees beside you, hands shaking as she reached for you. Tears streamed down her face immediately.

“Wake up! Please wake up!”

Daphne’s face was pale, eyes wide with horror as she knelt too, gripping Pansy’s shoulder.

The boys arrived moments later — Blaise, Enzo, Theo, and Draco — all of them skidding to a halt. Their expressions turned hollow, the usual sharp wit and arrogance drained away in an instant.

Theo spotted Mattheo first, stumbling toward the scene like a ghost. He moved quickly, trying to intercept him.

“Mattheo— wait—”

Mattheo shoved past him, dropping hard to his knees beside your body.

Pansy, sobbing openly now, gently let you go so Mattheo could pull you into his arms.

He cradled you against his chest, one hand supporting your head, the other pressed desperately to your back as if he could will your heart to beat stronger.

“No… come on, love,” he whispered, voice cracking for the first time anyone had ever heard.

“Don’t do this. Don’t you dare leave me here.”

Tears — real, hot tears — spilled down his face as he rocked you gently, forehead pressed to yours.

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I should’ve found you sooner. I should’ve kept you safe. Please… come back. I can’t— I can’t do this without you. I can't live in a world where you don't exist.”

His shoulders shook with silent, gut-wrenching sobs.

The boy who never cried broke completely in the ruins of the corridor.

“You were supposed to outsmart all of us. You were supposed to keep matching my stupid banter. Wake up and call me an idiot again. Please.”

Pansy turned into Daphne’s arms, crying harder as Daphne held her tight, tears silently tracking down her own cheeks.

The boys stood in a loose circle, faces pale and devastated. Enzo looked away, jaw clenched. Blaise’s usual composure shattered as he stared at the ground. Draco’s hands trembled at his sides. Theo placed a hand on Mattheo’s shoulder but said nothing — there were no words.

Outside the castle, the final confrontation unfolded. Voldemort emerged from the Forbidden Forest with his followers, Hagrid walking brokenly behind him, carrying what everyone believed was Harry Potter’s lifeless body. The defenders of Hogwarts — students, teachers, Order members — stood gathered on the grounds, faces etched with grief and exhaustion as Voldemort’s voice rang out, announcing Harry’s death and demanding surrender.

Inside the ruined castle corridor, the Slytherins stayed clustered around Mattheo as he continued to break, whispering broken apologies into your hair, begging you to come back.

Then — outside — Harry fell from Hagrid’s arms.

Gasps and shouts erupted as the Boy Who Lived rose, alive. The duel between Harry and Voldemort ignited. Wands connected in a burst of light. Harry shouted “Expelliarmus!” Voldemort screamed the Killing Curse. After minutes of tense silence, the Elder Wand flew from Voldemort’s hand. The Dark Lord fell — dead.

In the sudden, stunned silence that followed, something miraculous happened inside the castle.

Your finger twitched.

Enzo noticed first. His eyes widened. “Mattheo…”

Mattheo didn’t hear him at first, still lost in grief.

Then your eyelids fluttered.

You gasped sharply, bolting upright as though breaking free from ice, chest heaving as air rushed back into your lungs.

The entire group froze in shock.

Mattheo’s head snapped up. His tear-streaked face went blank with disbelief, then flooded with raw, overwhelming relief.

You blinked, disoriented, looking around at the devastated corridor and the circle of devastated faces staring at you.

Your hand lifted weakly to Mattheo’s wet cheek, thumb brushing away a tear.

“Hey… why are you crying?” you whispered, voice hoarse but steady.

Mattheo let out a broken sound — half sob, half laugh — and crushed you against his chest, arms wrapping around you so tightly it was almost painful. His hands shook violently as he held you, heart racing so hard you could feel it against your own.

“I thought I lost you,” he rasped into your hair, voice thick with emotion. “I thought the Killing Curse hit you. I Stupefied you — I had to — to save you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You hugged him back just as fiercely, understanding flooding through the confusion.

“You saved me,” you murmured. “You always do.”

The rest watched in stunned silence as the two of you clung to each other amid the ruins — Pansy crying tears of relief now, Daphne smiling through her own tears, the boys exhaling shaky breaths as the weight of grief lifted.

Around you, cheers were rising as news of Voldemort’s defeat spread.

But inside, in that broken corridor, the real victory was this: you were alive, breathing, and back in Mattheo’s arms.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes searching your face like he was memorizing every detail.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” he said, voice rough but laced with that familiar sharp affection.

You smiled weakly, brushing his hair back.

“I won't. Only as long as you're by my side.”

Mattheo laughed — a real, watery laugh — and kissed you fiercely, pouring every ounce of fear, love, and relief into it.

Around you, students and teachers began to flood in, gathering lost loved ones, friends reuniting, laughter and the sounds of crying all around.

The war was over. The darkness had lifted.

And in the middle of the ruins, the boy who was supposed to be a villain held the girl who had stolen his heart — and his book — and finally let himself believe in a future worth fighting for.

This is probably the longest thing I've written till now, I still wish I wrote a bit more.

[whotfisceleste]

Ugh this is so perfect in every way😫

[simplyastra]

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭

SUMMARY: Theodore Nott thought surviving Dueling Club would be the hardest part of his week. Turns out, surviving his angry girlfriend was significantly worse.

Based off of this request. @red--roses hope you like it<3

You were furious.

It wasn’t the fact that Theodore had gotten hurt in Dueling Club. It was the fact that you had to hear it from Lavender Brown — three days later — that he’d taken a nasty curse to the ribs and had been walking around like nothing happened.

So when he finally found you in your room that evening, you didn’t even let him speak first.

“You got hurt,” you said flatly, arms crossed. “And you didn’t tell me.”

Theo sighed, running a hand through his messy brown hair. “It wasn’t serious. I handled it.”

“That’s not the point, Theodore.” You used his full name like a weapon.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“I’m your girlfriend. You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle. You don’t get to keep me in the dark ‘for my own good.’”

“I was protecting you,” he said quietly, jaw tight. “You already worry enough.”

“I’m not a child,” you snapped. “If you can’t trust me with the truth, then what are we even doing?”

The argument ended in a tense stalemate. Theo tried to reach for you, but you stepped back and left him standing there.

And that’s when you decided on petty terrorism.

The next evening, the entire friend group was gathered in the Slytherin common room for a casual dinner.

You sat right next to Theo like nothing was wrong — except everything was wrong, and you were making sure he felt it.

You picked up a piece of spaghetti with your fork, looked him dead in the eyes, and cut it cleanly in half.

Mattheo choked on his drink.

Theo’s eyes flicked to the broken pasta, then back to your face. He said nothing.

Pansy’s eyebrows shot up. Daphne pressed her lips together, trying not to smile.

Later, when Theo reached for the salt, you moved it just out of his reach.

When he gave you a look, you smiled sweetly.

“Communication is so important in relationships, don’t you think, Pansy?” you asked.

Pansy nearly lost it. “Oh my god.”

Enzo was grinning like an idiot. Blaise leaned back in his chair, thoroughly entertained. Even Draco looked amused.

Theo's jaw ticked. You weren't done.

When Mattheo asked Theo something about Quidditch practice, you turned to Mattheo with an innocent expression.

“Do you actually listen when people talk to you, Mattheo? Or do you also decide what people can and can’t handle?”

Mattheo laughed, raising his hands slightly. “I’m not getting involved in this.”

Theo finally spoke, voice low.

“Can we talk?”

You blinked at him, feigning innocence. “About what, Theodore?”

Blaise muttered under his breath, “She’s evil. I respect it.”

Later that night, you “accidentally” moved Theo’s bookmark three chapters forward in the book he was reading.

When he noticed, he gave you a long, tired look.

You just smiled and went back to your own book.

The group was losing their minds in the background.

“Ten galleons says she wins,” Enzo whispered.

“I’m not betting against her,” Pansy replied. “She’s unhinged right now.”

Theo eventually cornered you near the fireplace when most people had gone to bed.

He looked exhausted.

“Are you done?” he asked.

You crossed your arms. “Are you going to stop hiding things from me?”

He stepped closer, voice softening.

“I thought I was protecting you. I hate worrying you. I hate seeing you scared because of me.”

“I’m more scared when I find out from other people that you’re hurt,” you said, voice cracking just a little. “I’m your girlfriend, Theo. Let me be there for you. Even when it’s ugly.”

Theo stared at you for a long moment, then pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll tell you next time. Even if it’s stupid and small.”

You hugged him back, tension finally draining from your shoulders.

“…You’re still Theodore for the rest of the week though,” you mumbled against his chest.

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling through him.

“Fair enough.”

You smiled into his sweater.

Because no matter what, he was still your Theodore.

I've finally gotten enough motivation to go through my drafts and publish them lol.

[whotfisceleste]

Astra girl you totally under sold this, this is gold🤭

[simplyastra]

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐲 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐭 Part 6 — 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝑒 𝐹𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹

SUMMARY: Christmas break leaves Hogwarts quieter than ever, until Theodore Nott follows you home to Sicily — where soft kisses, warm kitchens, loud family dinners, and moonlit confessions begin to heal parts of him he thought were ruined forever.

A/N: Characters aged up!! 18+ content ahead.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

The castle had grown quieter overnight. Christmas holidays had officially begun the day before, and most students had already left for home.

Draco and Mattheo had gone to Malfoy Manor, Pansy and Daphne had departed for their respective families, and now Enzo and Blaise were standing in the Slytherin common room with their trunks, saying their goodbyes.

“Try not to burn the castle down while we’re gone,” Blaise smirked, pulling you into a quick hug.

Enzo grinned as he clapped Theo on the back.

“And don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t leave much.”

You laughed softly, waving as the two boys finally headed toward the carriages.

Once they were gone, the common room felt strangely empty. Only you and Theo remained. He turned to you, sliding his hand into yours. “Come with me.”

You followed him to his dorm. With the others gone, the room was completely silent — just the faint crackle of the fireplace and the sound of your footsteps.

Theo closed the door behind you, then pulled you gently toward him.

For a while, you simply stood there, kissing him. His hands rested on your waist, thumbs brushing under the hem of your sweater. The kiss deepened gradually, growing heavier.

Theo walked you backward until your legs hit the edge of his bed, then lowered you onto it with careful control. He hovered over you, grey-blue eyes dark with want.

Theo’s fingers hooked gently into the waistband of your underwear before he paused, looking up at you through messy brown hair.

“You sure?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, pulling him down by his shirt.

“Yes.”

Clothes came off piece by piece.

Theo took his time, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, until you were squirming beneath him.

When he finally pushed inside you, you gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck… you feel so good,” he breathed against your neck.

He started slow, rolling his hips in a steady rhythm that made your toes curl. But as your moans grew louder, his pace quickened, turning rougher, more desperate.

One hand gripped your thigh, the other braced beside your head.

“Così stretta per me,” (So tight for me.) he groaned, voice low and rough.

You moaned at his words.

He kept going, switching between deep, slow strokes and sharper thrusts that had you crying out his name.

The sound of skin against skin filled the room along with your mixed moans and Italian curses slipping from his lips.

When you came, clenching hard around him, Theo followed shortly after, burying himself deep with a low groan and a few breathy words you barely caught.

Afterward, he didn’t pull away immediately.

He stayed inside you for a moment, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

Then he gently pulled out, got up, and returned with a warm, damp towel.

He cleaned you up carefully, wiping between your legs with slow, tender strokes, pressing soft kisses to your stomach and thighs the whole time.

“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms once you were both clean.

A few hours later, you were both in bed again.

Theo wore only black shorts, and you were half on top of him, head resting on his bare chest while he played with your hair.

You were talking quietly about nothing important when a loud thud made you both jump.

An owl had slammed against the window.

Theo got up, opened the window, and took the letter.

He scanned it quickly, then let out a slow breath.

“He said yes,” he told you, voice steady but clearly relieved. “I can stay with you for the holidays.”

You smiled brightly and pulled him back into bed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Good. Because I wasn’t planning on leaving without you.”

The next day, you took the Hogwarts Express back to London, then apparated with Theo to your family home in Sicily.

Your family lived in a beautiful villa overlooking the sea. As soon as you stepped inside, warmth and the smell of fresh food greeted you.

“Tesoro!” your mother, Giulia, called out, pulling you into a tight hug.

She was elegant, with warm brown eyes and dark hair pinned neatly.

She turned to Theo with a kind smile.

“You must be Theodore. We’ve heard so much about you.”

Theo gave a small, respectful nod.

“Thank you for having me, signora.”

Your nonna, Rosa, appeared next, wiping her hands on her apron.

She took one look at Theo and immediately cupped his face.

“Che bel ragazzo! Handsome!” (What a nice boy!)

Your eight-year-old little sister, Sofia, peeked out from behind your nonna’s skirt, then grinned shyly.

“You’re tall,” she declared.

Theo’s lips twitched.

“And you’re very observant.”

Sofia decided right then that she liked him.

Dinner was an absolute feast — homemade pasta al pomodoro, fresh seafood, eggplant parmigiana, and warm bread with herbs.

Theo ate quietly at first, but you noticed the way his expression softened with every bite. The flavors reminded him so strongly of his mother’s cooking that his eyes grew distant for a moment.

“This is… really good,” he said quietly to your mother. “Thank you.”

Giulia smiled warmly.

“Eat as much as you want. You’re family now.”

The days that followed were peaceful and full.

In the evenings, you played board games together. Sofia constantly tried to cheat and giggled wildly whenever Theo caught her. He pretended to be stern but always let her win in the end.

During the afternoons, the three of you explored Sicily. You took Sofia to the beach, where she dragged Theo into the water and made him build sandcastles with her.

You watched them from the shore, heart swelling as Theo patiently explained to your sister how to make the towers stronger.

One evening, after Sofia had gone to bed, you and Theo sat on the terrace overlooking the sea.

He was unusually quiet.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked, leaning against him.

He stared at the water for a long moment before answering.

“I’ve been watching you with Sofia,” he said softly. “The way you take care of her… It made me think… what it would be like to have that with you someday. A family.”

You turned to look at him, surprised.

Theo rarely spoke about the future.

He continued, voice low.

“I don’t know if I’d be any good at it. But for you… I’d try. I’d try to be better than what I had.”

You cupped his face and kissed him gently.

“You already are better, Theo. You’re nothing like him.”

He pulled you closer, resting his chin on top of your head as the Sicilian breeze washed over you both.

For the first time in years, Theodore Nott felt something dangerously close to hope.

This took way longer to post than it should've argh Taglist<3: @ressya @mrsjohnnysuh @janasdaylight @bambi-cloud9 @maradcrs @piayaluvsya @iheartharrypotter @froggiedragon @renchai @awhimsicalrhapsody1612 @ghostsfavknife @noir-moons @superlegend216 @arshiyuh @riri87235 @altnfree @mxryxmfooty

[whotfisceleste]

Eeeeeee this is so fluffy and heart warming—I’m in looove

[idkausersworld-deactivated20260]

The cat problem

Paring Theodore nott x reader

Summary: Theodore Nott has one problem: his girlfriend's cat absolutely hates him. After weeks of failed peace offerings, public humiliation, and an unexpected kitten rescue, Salem finally decides Theodore is worthy of approval—though life with the mischievous cat is still far from easy.

The first time Salem hissed at Theodore Nott, nobody thought much of it.

Cats hissed. Theodore was a Slytherin. It happened.

The second time, Salem launched himself off a windowsill like a furry missile and smacked Theodore directly in the face.

That got people's attention.

Especially because Salem loved everyone.

Professors.

Students.

Ghosts.

He'd once sat in the lap of a complete stranger from Durmstrang during a school visit.

But Theodore?

Apparently he was public enemy number one.

"You know," Theodore said flatly, pulling black fur off his robes, "I think your cat is possessed."

You looked down at Salem, who was purring loudly in your arms.

"He's literally purring."

"He's purring because he thinks he won."

Salem blinked slowly.

Theodore narrowed his eyes.

Salem narrowed his back.

It felt like a challenge.

—

The rivalry continued.

For weeks.

You'd be sitting with Theodore in the library when Salem would appear from absolutely nowhere.

The cat would jump onto the table.

Walk directly across Theodore's notes.

Sit on Theodore's homework.

And stare.

Just stare.

Theodore would stare back.

Neither moved.

It became so common that students started placing bets.

"Three sickles says the cat wins."

"The cat always wins."

"That's true."

Theodore hated that they were right.

—

One afternoon you arrived at the Great Hall to find Theodore sitting alone.

Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

Theodore never sat alone voluntarily.

Then you noticed the small saucer beside him.

"What is that?"

He looked up.

"Tuna."

"Tuna?"

"Tuna."

You stared.

Theodore stared back.

Then you looked down.

Salem was sitting directly across from him.

Also staring.

The entire table had gone quiet.

Everyone was watching.

Waiting.

Theodore slowly pushed the saucer forward.

Salem sniffed it.

The room held its breath.

Then Salem slapped Theodore's hand.

Hard.

The saucer tipped over.

Tuna went everywhere.

The Slytherin table erupted into laughter.

You nearly fell off the bench.

Theodore looked personally offended.

"I bought that."

Salem walked away.

—

The next strategy involved toys.

It failed.

Salem stole the toy.

Then ignored Theodore.

—

The third strategy involved treats.

Salem accepted the treats.

Then hissed anyway.

—

The fourth strategy involved Theodore attempting to have a heartfelt conversation with him.

You found him in an empty classroom.

Talking to a cat.

"You don't even know me."

Salem blinked.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot."

Salem yawned.

"I care about her."

Salem turned around.

And walked away.

Theodore sat there in silence.

"Did I just get rejected by a cat?"

"Yes."

—

The situation became famous around Hogwarts.

Students would stop Theodore in hallways.

"How's the cat?"

"Not speaking to me."

"Any progress?"

"No."

"Thoughts and prayers."

Theodore threatened several people.

It changed nothing.

—

Then winter arrived.

Snow covered the castle grounds.

The air turned sharp and cold.

And one evening, after dinner, you couldn't find Salem anywhere.

Normally that wouldn't be unusual.

But Salem always came back eventually.

This time he didn't.

An hour passed.

Then two.

Then three.

Your stomach twisted.

You searched the common room.

The library.

The courtyards.

Every classroom you could think of.

Nothing.

By midnight you were genuinely worried.

"Theodore."

He immediately looked up from his book.

"What happened?"

"I can't find Salem."

Theodore was already standing before you finished speaking.

—

For the next two hours, both of you searched Hogwarts.

Every corridor.

Every staircase.

Every hidden corner.

Still nothing.

You tried not to panic.

Tried being the important word.

Because Salem had never disappeared this long.

"What if he's hurt?"

"He's fine."

"What if he's not?"

"He is."

"What if—"

"He is."

Theodore's voice was firm.

Certain.

Even if he wasn't completely sure.

—

Eventually they checked outside.

Snow crunched beneath their shoes.

The grounds were almost completely empty.

Wind swept across the lake.

Then Theodore stopped.

"What?"

He pointed.

A small black shape sat beneath a stone bench.

You immediately ran.

"Salem!"

The cat let out a tiny meow.

You dropped to your knees.

Relief hit so hard it almost hurt.

Then you noticed something.

Salem wasn't alone.

Curled around him was a tiny gray kitten.

Ridiculously small.

Shivering.

"Oh."

Theodore crouched beside you.

"Oh."

Salem looked incredibly pleased with himself.

As if he'd solved world hunger.

The tiny kitten peeked up at them.

Then sneezed.

—

Back inside the castle, the kitten received food, blankets, and approximately thirty-seven minutes of attention.

Salem supervised.

Naturally.

The tiny kitten refused to leave Theodore's lap.

Which was ironic.

Considering Salem hated him.

Theodore sat perfectly still.

The kitten asleep against his chest.

You smiled.

"You look good with a cat."

"Don't tell anyone."

"Too late."

—

Salem watched from nearby.

Suspiciously.

Theodore noticed.

"Don't start."

Salem blinked.

"You've spent months terrorizing me."

Blink.

"I helped find your child."

Blink.

"You owe me."

Salem stood up.

Walked across the room.

And jumped into Theodore's lap.

The entire room went silent.

Theodore froze.

You froze.

Even the kitten looked surprised.

Salem settled down beside the sleeping kitten.

Curled up.

And began purring.

For several seconds nobody spoke.

Then—

"Oh my god."

Theodore looked horrified.

"You saw that."

"I saw that."

"He likes me."

"He likes you."

Theodore looked genuinely proud.

Like he'd just won a Quidditch championship.

Salem immediately ruined the moment by stealing one of Theodore's buttons.

But still.

Progress.

At last.

And from that day on, Salem no longer treated Theodore like a sworn enemy.

He treated him like family.

Which, honestly, wasn't much gentler.

[whotfisceleste]

[xoxoluvnicole]

That Red Dress

Synopsis: theodore requests you to join him at the annual winter ball for fraternities. as always, theo manages to make you feel basically invisible next to him. on your way to get some air you run into an old (male) friend. jealousy ensues and theo drags you into a random bathroom just to show you how good he makes you feel.

Pairing: frat boy! Theodore Nott x f! reader

Content: 18+ MINORS DNI - reader is wearing a dress, mentions of hair and makeup being done, google translate italian, cursing, suggestive talk straight off the bat, mentions of consuming alcohol, theo being a twat, theo being jealous for no reason, porn with plot, (kind of) risky/public sex, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up pls), ass slapping, hands bound w/ belt, power dynamic, dom! theo, sub! reader, insults during intimacy (slut), oral (m and f receiving), multiple f orgasms, choking, throat fcking, mirror sex, breeding kink if you squint (creampie), no aftercare

Word Count: 3.9k

Note: i don't even know what to say tbh. i had to take a moment and think about my life choices mid writing the content warnings... ANYWAY- i think this fic is really hot and i might've went a bit overboard but i'll let you guys decide. hope you all enjoy my horny hours. also- this is my holiday post! not super holiday centered but it's set during December so.. happy holidays! i proof read myself, so i'm sorry if theres some bad grammar or whatever. thank you for reading! you're all wonderful :))

Frat boy AU

Two months ago, Theo came to you with the invite to accompany him to your universities annual fraternity winter ball.

"What, like as a date?" You side-eyed him, trying not to smile.

His eyes rolled at your comment, "No- I want to have a pretty girl to show off."

His response honestly really irked you, but that's an issue for another day.

Today, you found yourself sat on the floor of Theo's room in front of a full length mirror finishing your makeup and hair. You could see Theo walking towards his bed in the reflection of the mirror. He was clothed only with his dress pants on to expose his bare chest to the cool December air. You caught the sight of the beard he had been growing this past month, all of his brothers doing "no shave November". The facial hair had made you feel some certain type of way. The sensation of the hair scratching your chin anytime you kissed sent shivers down your spine. And don't even start with how it felt when he went down on you..

HOWEVER, that was not what tonight was about. The winter ball was an important event that brought all of the fraternities together, celebrating the charity fundraising they had done the past year. The expectations for the night were high, everyone was to be on their best behavior.

Theo put on his white button up, standing behind you to fix his collar. "The party bus should be here soon, you better get your dress on."

You waved him off over your shoulder, "I'll get ready on my own terms, thank you very much."

"You know I'll leave your pretty ass behind." He scoffed. He picked up his belt off the floor- the same belt that had been used on you in a multitude of different occasions.

Blood rushed to your face, adding to the blush you had already applied. You weren't sure if it was the compliment mixed with a threat or the memories of the belt.. You looked down into your makeup bag in an attempt to hide your physical reaction to him.

One of his frat brothers called his name from downstairs, something about starting their pre-game. Theo grabbed his suit jacket and Oxfords (which he never failed to remind everyone around him they were made with real Italian leather straight from Milan). "I'll be downstairs. Don't take forever."

You hummed a response as he slipped out of the door, closing it behind him. You stood and walked into the bathroom where your dress was hanging from the shower curtain pole. You felt the satin texture under your fingers as you removed it from the hanger.

It was the most beautiful dress you had ever laid eyes on. A red empire style formal gown with a slit running up the length of your right leg. You felt gorgeous, spinning in the mirror to admire yourself. The black kitten heels slipped onto your feet easily, hoping they wouldn't kill you by the end of the night.

You heard the front door downstairs open, followed by Theo calling your name from the bottom of the stairwell. "Hurry up, cara!"

You shuffled out of the room as fast as you could without tripping, turning the corner of the hall to see Theo standing on the last step. When he saw you, he stood up taller and you could've sworn you saw him slightly straighten his jacket.

"La mia bellezza.." His words were quiet while his eyes never left your figure descending the stairs. He reached his hand up to help you steady yourself.

Both feet made contact with the first floor before you reached for the tie donning his neck, "You look very handsome."

His hands landed on your waist almost as to ground himself. He kept scanning your body, taking in the beauty that stood in front of him. He met your eyes, pulling you into a deep kiss. The smell of his cologne flooded your senses the closer he pulled you in, the familiar scent of a bonfire crackling during a warm summer night.

He finally pulled back when he heard his name called from outside. His right hand raised as an invitation for you to exit the door ahead of him. In the same motion of you turning on the balls of your feet, you felt a firm hand make quick contact with your ass. You tried to act mad- but how could you when he looked at you like you fulfilled his every fantasy?

The party bus was warm, Theo's arm slung around your shoulder with flasks of whiskey making the rounds. You could feel the burning eyes of your "date" hot on your skin. His fingers drew shapes on your bare shoulder mid conversation with his friends.

~

The ballroom that the event was held in was breathtaking. The room was casted in a warm glow, coming from both the chandeliers and Christmas lights. Circular tables with red napkins for accents and holly-focused centerpieces. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, reaching out to touch the high ceiling. A string quartet played quietly next to it. The room was full of fraternity members from all chapters at your university; Girls who were invited as plus-ones hung on off their arms. Working attendants made their way through the crowd with trays of appetizers and champagne flutes.

Theodore's hand sat possessively on your hip, making it near impossible for you to stray from his side. There was a stark contrast in his possessive hold and the way he would introduce you to guys from other frats.

He mingled with some other fraternity guys that he had met at past charity or university events. They were always beaming to introduce their girlfriend to everyone else in attendance. You even heard a few "fiancée's" thrown in there as a sparkling daddies-money ring was flashed in front of you.

The conversation would start, shaking hands and saying the usual lines of how long its been. When the spotlight shifted onto Theo for him to introduce the girl hugged into his side, it seemed like he almost forgot you were there until he looked over. His eyes would trail over to you, lips holding the most pursed smile you had ever seen. He'd say your name and then look directly back to the other guy, "Just a.. friend."

Some of the guys caught his bullshit, eyebrow raising with all sorts of questions when the word "friend" left his mouth. Their eyes would make note of his hand pressed tightly into your waist before ever so slightly shaking their heads to focus back on what they were talking about. A lot of the girls shot you sympathetic looks almost telepathically telling you to fucking RUN. However, when you looked up at Theo and your pupils dilated.. It reminded you of the hold this man had over you. If you hadn't known any better you would've bet money he placed some sort of curse on you.

You leaned into Theodore's ear as he was talking with someone else, "I'm gonna go find the bathroom."

He nodded and tapped the pads of his fingers on your lower back twice. You navigated your way through the crowd of people, smiling at some of the people you recognized. You found your way into a quieter room that had a nice fireplace and some gorgeous white furniture that people were relaxing on. You heard your name called from behind you while you were peaking down hallways to find the washroom.

You turned around to see Cormac, an old friend that you used to be in a study group with. He was sat on one of the couches, a short glass in his hand was filled with some sort of alcohol.

You smiled, turning to walk towards him. "Oh my gosh, Cormac? How are you?"

He stood from his seat, carefully maneuvering the glass around you to give you a hug. "I've been good. It's been a while.." He smiled, pulling back from the hug, "Here, sit down."

You gently sat on the faux leather; The fabric of your dress contorted to your sitting position, exposing your bare right leg. He sat down next to you, turning his body so his arm holding the glass was propped against the back of the couch. "You look good. Damn, it feels like it's been forever." A smirk appeared on his lips as he took a sip of the drink.

"You're not too bad yourself." You smiled, watching his eyes read over your dress. It had to have been well over a year since you last saw him. You both took a few general classes together which allowed you to get to know him. "Why are you here?"

His shoulders shrugged, "I got into Sigma Chi as a legacy last year. My dad was the president when he went here and wasn't fond of the idea of me not following in his footsteps."

You hummed, head slightly nodding. "Oh- It seems like you don't want to be apart of it?"

He shrugged again, taking another sip from his glass. "Wasn't apart of my plans, but I guess it's a good network to be apart of."

Your mouth opened to respond when you heard your name barked from behind you. A heavy hand landed on your shoulder, a hand you knew all to well. "Got lost finding the bathroom?" Theo's eyes glanced at you, dark and angry.

"No, I- I just ran into an old friend." You tried to keep your voice even as to not rile up Theodore even more.

Theodore nodded, eyes turning towards your friend in a threatening manner. Cormac extended his free hand towards Theo, "Cormac.. I used to be in some classes with her."

Theo barely acknowledged the words he spoke, looking at the hand a few inches away from him and ignoring it. "I've been looking all over for you. It's been like fifteen minutes." His voice was low as he slid his fingers down your arm to take your hand.

"Yeah, I was just talking to him. We haven't seen each other in a while."

Cormac's eyes flicked between you, sitting up straighter. "So- Are you.. together?"

The darkness in Theo's eyes deepened- if that was even possible- when he looked back towards your friend. You felt your arm being tugged, pulling you from your seat. You stumbled on your heels, grabbing for Theo's shoulder. "None of your fucking business, mate." He had already begun to walk away, dragging your hand with him.

You looked behind you for a quick second to see Cormac's confused face. Your balance was off, heels tapping against the fancy marble floor while Theo just kept on walking. "What is wrong with you?!"

He dragged you down an empty corridor, spinning you to look directly at him. His breath was hot, "What's wrong with ME? What's wrong with you?" His index finger pushed into your sternum. "You tell me your going to the bathroom and then force me to come find you talking to another dude?"

"I didn't force you to do shit." You moved your face closer to his, challenging him. "I was catching up with a friend, you're the one who saw it as something else. Not my fucking fault you're jealous."

One of his hands quickly grabbed the back of your neck, forcing your mouths together. His tongue slipped past your lips as to claim some sort of dominance. You felt your face become hot as you realized the setting of which this was happening. Theo had you letting out small gasps when he bit your bottom lip, all while you stood in a barely lit hallway.

He pulled away, his hand still squeezing the skin on the back of your neck. His eyes glanced around and remembered where you were. He looked back at you with his face so close that your noses brushed together, "We're gonna find a private bathroom that I can fuck you in so hard you forget about that stronzo."

You barely had a moment to process what was said before he grabbed your wrist, pulling you down abandoned hallways. The two of you swiftly walked up a stairwell in a spot of the estate you didn't even know was there. You tried your hardest to be quiet on the hardwood floor as Theo tried different doorknobs.

Theo found one door deep into the second floor that was unlocked. He pushed the door open, hand slamming against the wall to flick the light switch. You were dragged in to one of the fanciest bathrooms you had ever stepped foot in; perfect white tiled floor with a soapstone counter you could almost see your reflection in. The mirror had those expensive LED lights behind them, illuminating the room in a cool light.

In one motion, Theodore pinned you against the door as he locked you both in. You could barely get a breath before he kissed you so hard that your teeth clashed together. His hands grabbed at your thighs, pulling your one leg onto his hip. You planted your hands on his chest, pushing gently against him for just a second of air.

"I swear you do this shit on purpose." His voice spoke against your mouth. You caught a slight scent of alcohol on his lips.

You looked up at him, your voice quiet and sultry. "All we did was talk."

"I don't mean that," He picked you up so both your legs were now wrapped around his waist. He shifted to bring you over to the counter, setting you down so he was between your parted knees. "I'm talking about this damn dress.."

His hands traveled up your sides until he found the curve of your breasts. "I wanted to take it off you the second I saw you walking down those stairs, bella." His one hand slipped under the top of your dress, his thumb and index finger teasing your nipple.

Your head fell back slightly at the sensation, "Well, why didn't you then?"

"-wanted to see you walk around in it for a while," His mouth dragged against your neck, landing under your ear for a moment. "Fuck.. You should've seen your ass in this thing." With the last word he bit down on your skin.

Your hand grabbed for the hair at the nape of his neck, arching your chest closer to his. He took that as an invitation to attach his mouth to your chest, sucking at the skin of your tits. "Jesus- Theo.." You were already breathless at his hasteful movements. You slipped a hand between your bodies, reaching for the hard-on that now showed behind his zipper.

He pulled back from you, grabbing your wandering hand with a strong grip. "No..." He smirked at you, pulling your hand behind your back. "You're not the one in charge here, bambina." With his free hand, he quickly undid his belt and slid it away from himself. He grabbed both your wrists, pushing you forward into him so he could see over your shoulder. At this point, he could've bound your wrists together without looking- But he liked watching you struggle against his grasp.

The warm leather was pulled tight against your wrists, the buckle locking your hands together. He nudged you backwards again, mouthing at your jaw while he did so. His lips brushed yours but he held back to not give you the pleasure of a full kiss. "So pretty when you can't do anything to help yourself.."

"You're infuriating.." You breathed against him.

He hummed, head cocking to the side. His hands found their way under your dress, moving the fabric out of the way so he could kneel between your legs. The grin on his face grew when he saw the absence of panties. He looked up through his half-lidded eyes, "Were you hoping for something, slut?"

Before you could answer, he dragged your hips towards him forcing your elbows to make contact with the cold countertop. His tongue pressed flatly against you before licking up to your clit. You gasped out, trying to move against the belt that had no give. His saliva began mixing with your slick, sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves every so often. His facial hair scratched against you in a way that made you hope he never shaved again.

Your thighs squeezed against his ears, "I- oh my.. fuck-." All you could do was ramble incoherently as his mouth alone brought you to the edge. Your head fell back, bumping against the mirror. Theo massaged your thighs while they shook against him, tongue lapping up your orgasm.

When the shaking subsided, he rose back to his feet. He pulled you towards him with his hand wrapping around your neck, applying the perfect amount of pressure. He kissed you just so he could force you to taste yourself on his tongue. His beard glistened with remnants of your pleasure when he pulled back. "So fucking good..." He whispered but you could barely hear it, the lack of oxygen to your brain was dizzying.

He picked you up off the counter to place you on your feet, only for you to fall to your knees. The tight fabric of his pants was now directly in front of your face. You glanced up at him through your eyelashes. Theodore moved to pull his suit jacket off his shoulders, averting his gaze from you for only a second. You seized the opportunity, mouthing at his clothed erection.

He grabbed your hair, pulling your head back to look fully at him. He stood in his white button up that was tight in just the right spots. "You wanna taste me?" His jawline was sharp due to his short breaths.

You nodded, letting out a pathetic "mmhmm.. yeah."

He dropped your hair from his hands, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down from his pants. His cock nearly smacked you in the face when he finally freed himself. It was perfectly pink, the tip already leaking just at him eating you out.

You licked up the slit, coating your tongue in precum. Theo breathed heavily above you as you felt him reach his hands out to stabilize himself on the counter. You took just the end of his cock into your mouth, taking a moment to appreciate it.

"Fuck-" Theo's voice was gravely as he looked down at you. "Take all of it, you fuckin' slut." His hips moved forwards, pushing the rest of him into your mouth.

You tried to quickly adjust to his sudden movements, doing your best to take all of him as it touched the back of your throat. Your hands pulled at the belt confining them, wanting so desperately to touch Theo. Drool began to escape your lips when your tongue slid across the underside of his cock.

"So good.." Theo reached a hand down to caress the top of your head as his hips pulled back. He smiled down at you, it wasn't long before that smile turned sinister.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair just to shove himself back into your mouth. Your eyes widened at the feeling of him keeping your head in place just so he could slam his cock down your throat. You desperately tried to breath out of your nose, hands pushing against the leather binding them together.

It went on for a few seconds before you started to gag around him, saliva mixed with his precum coated your chin. Theo's body began to shake, "Fuckin hell- oh my.. porca miseria." He pulled his erection from your mouth, hands flying down to lift you off the floor. His words were quick and ragged as he spun you so your chest laid against the counter. "Get up- I'm g'na finish in you, cara."

Before you could even protest, he threw the fabric over your waist to expose your ass. He pushed his hand down against your upper back, forcing you to arch into the cold stone. His other hand grabbed your hip just to help himself slam into your core.

You gasped, "Holy- fuck!" Your forehead pressed against the stone in an effort to calm yourself. He pulled you back onto his crotch, hips slamming towards you. It made an erotic noise ring through the bathroom, skin hitting skin mixed with the wetness between your legs.

He pulled his hand back to give your ass a sharp slap. You cried out when you felt his hard hand come down, you were sure you would wake up with a bruise tomorrow. "I- Theo.." Your words barely made sense as they spilled out of your mouth, "-M so close.. Gonna cum.." Your voice was strained from the moans being ripped out of your lungs.

"Good- Cum on me, slut." His hips quickened to a brutal pace. He wrapped a hand around your throat, pulling you back into his chest. "Look at yourself while I wreck you.." He was barely able to finish his sentence before he moaned against your ear.

You blinked through the tears of pleasure so you could watch Theo fuck you into next Tuesday in the mirror. His eyes met yours in the reflection, eyes dark and pupils blown. It only took a few more thrusts for you to come undone on him. Your chin dropped against Theo's hand on your throat, body basically crumbling onto the counter.

Theo came quickly after you, his movements stuttering as you felt the warmth of his release in your lower tummy. The room was filled with short curses as you both tried to catch your breath. Theodore inhaled deeply above you, lifting himself off of you. He slapped your ass one final time, making you squirm at the same time he pulled out. You felt the mix of your orgasms drip down your thighs.

"Fuck-" Theo grabbed your wrists to release them from their confines. Your skin was sensitive from the friction that occurred.

You lifted yourself onto your elbows, rubbing your eyes to try and get the fog out of your brain. Behind you, Theodore tugged his trousers back up to tuck his spent cock away. He casually slid the belt back through the loops on his waist.

You stood up straight, turning just to have to reach behind you to stabilize yourself again. Theo chuckled at you, picking his jacket up from the floor. "Pull yourself together, bella." He took a step towards you to meet in a languid kiss.

You adjusted your dress so the fabric draped to cover yourself again. You watched Theo as he stood there, looking at you try to compose yourself. "How am I gonna walk past everyone out there like this?" Your words were breathless.

He shook his head, moving to help you put his suit jacket over your arms. "If anyone asks.. you drank too many champagne flutes and got really sick up here."

You nodded, pushing yourself off the counter just to be met by Theo's hold. He swept your legs under you, cradling you in his arms. He bent towards the door, fingers leaving your body for a second to twist the lock. "Act tired."

You sighed, head falling against his shoulder. "I don't have to act.."

~

[itsgretta]

wordcount: 1.2k pairing: theodore nott x f!you warnings: 18+, oral (m!receiving), throat fucking Masterlist

Theodore Nott was the type of guy who preferred silence. A quiet, perceptive boy, whose head was a neatly sorted library where each thought had its own shelf. And like any other library, it had a simple rule—no loud noises, no talking, and no ravishing his brain with waffle.

You, on the contrary, were the most infuriating, inveterate (and favourite) chatterbox in his life. You would rather die than stop your mouth from constant running. Professor Flitwick praised you for a perfectly executed spell? Pansy would hear an earful until she started begging with teary eyes for you to finally shut up. Daphne Greengrass nearly pushed you off the Grand Staircase and didn’t even look at you? Fuck, Astoria better be ready to hear what you think about her sister down to the smallest detail.

It was a mystery for everyone how two such opposites could even exist alongside each other. Oh, the answer was pretty simple—he was the only one doing all the talking when there were only the two of you.

Well, someone must do something with you. Killing you was not an option—your house would lose the greatest asset that could easily sweet-talk Professor Slughorn into calling off the test that, surely, nobody had been prepared for. Or defuse the tension between Draco Malfoy and Mattheo Riddle, who had gone at each other like two mad dogs again over yet another nonsense.

So, there was no better candidate to save Hogwarts from you—Theodore Nott would take that burden upon himself.

*** “Fuck, cara mia, just like that.” A raspy groan sent another heated, syrupy liquid down your insides. “Taking me so well... Your mouth was made for my cock, yeah? Look at me when I talk to you.”

It was hard to concentrate on Theo’s flushed face when hot tears were streaming down your cheeks. His hand gave your hair a harsh, impatient tug, forcing you to take another inch of him down your throat. Your nails were digging into his thighs, as if you were trying to push him away, allowing you just a moment to take a breath and not to choke around his thick length.

“Th—” your muffled grunts were so addictive to his ears, curving Theo’s lips into a wry smirk.

“I can’t hear you, tesoro. Is it too much for your little mouth? Tell me.” He bent down slightly, his grip on your hair tightened, a painful prickling scratched the back of your head.

You looked up at him—eyes gleaming in the dim light of his dormitory—and jerked in his hold, but Theo’s dark chuckle rumbled somewhere inside his chest.

“Oh, I’m starting to miss your voice since you’ve been so quiet lately.” A playful taunt added another layer into insatiable arousal that had been pooling in your lower stomach the whole evening and set your whole body on fire. Maybe even the cold stone floor against your knees was beginning to melt from the stifling heat in the room.

You sucked on his cock again, tongue tracing the throbbing vein just underside of it. Theo let out a deep growl, his free hand cupped your tear-stained cheek, thumb gently brushed away the remaining salty drop.

“I know you can do better that this, non è vero? Amore, don’t disappoint me.” He gave you an encouraging pat, only to push his cock further down your mouth afterwards. The tip grazing the back of your throat, a choked sob coursed violently through your entire body. Theo moaned at the vibration, his half-lidded eyes hungrily watching you drool all over your chin, bruised lips stretching around him so lovely he couldn’t stop grinning at the view before him.

You hollowed your cheeks just like he loved it; the head-spinning musky scent of his skin and his citrus cologne clanged to your skin. Merlin, you had so much to say right now—you could feel the bubble forming inside your chest, ready to burst out in strings of annoyance, complaints, and, of course, your oh-so-important opinion about him. He could see it too: in your glossy eyes, furrowed brow, in another pathetic attempt to push him away with your trembling palms on his thighs.

And he, like the true savior of Hogwarts, shut down your resentment with a forceful roll of his hips and a firm grip on your head. A surprised, very much angry gasp had never found a way out because Theo shoved his cock down your throat until you began to cough around it. You slapped him, and Theodore pulled out with a pleasant sigh and laughter. The milky-white, ropey saliva had connected you two just for a moment for Nott’s artistic nature to savor the sight, before he tapped your wet lips with the swollen tip.

“Nott, I fuc—” you hissed, wincing at the humiliating sound of skin-on-skin contact.

“Stare zitto, tesoro, stare zitto. Shut up.” Theodore rolled his eyes and with a fast, rough push silenced you for the second time today.

He gave you only a few moments to collect pieces of your shattered mind before he began to fuck your throat like his personal toy. You squeezed your tear-filled eyes shut; nails were clawing at his thighs, making Theo stiffen with a sharp intake of breath. But the welcoming tightness and those sweet whines of yours were dulling any pain, only bringing him closer to the edge.

“You have a perfect mouth, cara mia. I don’t know why everyone finds it so irritating. I think it was made for me to fuck it. Don’t you agree,my love?” His voice was thick with Italian accent, low and heavy, just like his cock on your tongue right now.

Theodore Nott, a quiet and perceptive boy, was reduced to a moaning, growling mess with his hands fisting your hair. Slurred murmurs of something like ‘cazzo’, ‘oh Dio, sì’ and ‘più veloce’ filled the small room; even though you didn’t understand a word, his broken mumbling was enough to damp your underwear with your own slick. A throbbing ache between your legs was only growing with every passing second of Theo’s grunts and the echoing, filthy noises of his battle against your mouth.

“Fuck, I’m going—cazzo… Let me…” His head fell back, entire body shuddering from the upcoming release. “Let me come in your throat. Be a good girl, tesoro, and take it.”

His cock twitched; the pace became erratic, almost aggressive while he used you just to chase that blissful peak. Your cute little mouth swallowed him almost fully, leaving only few inches untouched, but he fixed that grave mistake of yours with his own palm. A few strokes, a choked moan, and your throat, closing around his cock, finally sent Theo into hot ecstasy. He kept your head in place when the tangy ropes of his cum began to hit the back of your throat repeatedly.

You swallowed everything—you didn’t have a choice, to be honest. And when you realised that it was safe to finally push him away, you, much to your surprise, could only stare at him disapprovingly.

“Holy shit, tesoro…” he breathed out heavily, dark locks falling over his sweaty forehead, blue eyes foggy, and his body tingling in a sugary-sweet dizziness. “Now, do you have something to say?”

You pressed your glistening lips into a thin line; the bruised throat was raw and sore—every sound scraping against the abused flesh like a sharpened blade. You’d have to keep your mouth shut for a few days, that’s for sure.

“Silence, finally.” Theodore grinned, a triumphant note laced his voice.

Hogwarts was saved.

[whotfisceleste]

raw--I mean awww

[lexamiele]

Sweet Heat Lightning

Blaise Zabini x Reader

Word count: approx. 2.4k

Summary: Blaise finds himself missing you in the heat of July.

Warnings/be aware: kissing, fluff

A/N: my first contribution for Blaise’s Banquet, hosted by the amazing @i-await !! Inspired by Sweet Heat Lighting by Gregory Alan Isakov.

The air was stale in Zabini Manor even in the late hours of night, just as hot and miserably sticky as it had been while the sun was in the sky. Outside, the full moon glowed and the stars flickered in the midnight sky, dancing until they were overcome by jagged bolts of blue light. Sudden cracks of heat lightning lit up the atmosphere, highlighting the vast tracts of land around the Manor, seemingly emphasising the house’s isolation in the English countryside. The ordinary hoots of owls and late-night rustles of leaves were unheard even through the Manor’s open windows, the usual nocturnal creatures seemingly silenced in their quest to escape the heat and the stormless lightning.

Inside the house, a single occupant suffered the sweltering weather. While the rest of the Manor lay dormant, dark and shuttered, rays of light from a solitary bedroom pierced the midnight air.

Blaise stared up at the vaulted ceiling as he lay in his bed, his silk sheets cast aside. Even his skilled cooling charms were easily overcome by the canicule. He’d surrendered to the loathsome July weather, brooding in his misery. Listlessly, he turned his head, glancing out the French doors that led out onto his balcony. The night sky and his own translucent reflection stared back.

The emptiness of the bedroom betrayed the fact that Zabini Manor was hardly Blaise’s home. He was merely passing through this place, counting down the days until September. His school trunk sat alone, tucked into a vast walk-in closet, but he often visited it. Afternoons ticked by as he eyed the ebony-stained wood and the silver hardware, thinking of the upcoming school year.

Normally, summer wasn’t so bad. He’d often spent the months traveling with his mother or visiting the Malfoys. This year, though, his mother had brought home a new contender for the title of Mr. Zabini just in time for Blaise to return from Hogwarts. June had been filled with the discomfort and frustration of trying to accommodate yet another stranger in his mother’s house, spending hours in his room as he avoided the arrogant smirks and prideful glances of the interloper. Blaise couldn’t understand why the blokes all looked so satisfied with themselves – they were always gone within the year, accompanied by a scant explanation from his mother and an uncomfortable silence that filled the crevices of their conversations for a time.

Mercifully, his mother and the stranger had left for Cote D’Ivoire together on the second of July. Being left out of the family holiday scarcely bothered Blaise at first. However, as midnight threatened to turn the twenty-fourth into the twenty-fifth, the silence of the Manor began to feel like a taunt. He and Draco had used and abused the empty house in about every way imaginable throughout the month, throwing parties every night of the week and inviting everyone they knew. But when the lights turned off and everyone went home, he was met with the same hollow solitude, reminding him yet again that he was alone. Like a monster under the bed in the mind of a child, the emptiness hid away until the weary hours of night, when it slipped out to invade every crevice of the place.

When he couldn’t stand the silence anymore, he dipped a hand into his school trunk and pulled out a bundle of letters. Your handwriting danced across each page, and he could practically hear your voice speaking to him as he read the words stretching across the parchment. Though you were away on your own holiday with your parents and sister, reading the descriptions of the sights you’d seen and the stories you’d sent him about your family’s adventures helped quell the emptiness in his chest.

For much of his life, he’d scarcely given the idea of love a passing thought. Perhaps it had earned a cold laugh from his lips when Nott or Berkshire was down bad for some girl, but little more. The revolving door of Messrs. Zabini in his mother’s house had created little doubt in his mind that “love” was little more than a passing notion, a matter of convenience or a temporary impulse soon to be disposed of.

Then, Blaise met you.

You were his assigned dueling partner in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He wasn’t sure what deep-seated masochism had made him fall for the person required to throw hexes and jinxes at him from across the classroom, but every little combative flicker in your eyes and incantation from your lips intrigued him all the more. In October, he found himself looking forward to a class he’d previously held in little regard. By November, he was practicing spells in the Slytherin common room just so he could impress you the next time he saw you. But in December, he found himself facing the prospect of a change in partners as Professor Snape stood at the front of the classroom, frowning and telling his students that they’d make lousy duelists if they only learned one person’s style of combat. So he did what any normal person would’ve done.

He pretended to be struggling immensely in a subject he was consistently acing so that he could be tutored by you.

When you agreed to help him, he felt like he was on the top of the world. The thought of having no more reason to talk to you every week had created this horrible, suffocating feeling in his chest that he didn’t quite understand, but was relieved to have pushed aside for a few more months. However, it quickly became apparent that Blaise did not need help with Defense Against the Dark Arts. He easily grasped every concept you explained to him, and he was terrible at pretending otherwise.

But to his surprise, you kept showing up to each scheduled tutoring session, even once you’d run out of lessons to teach. At first, the two of you did the Defense homework together or revised for your exams. Then, you started just talking, spending hours in the library or one of your common rooms telling each other about your days and laughing about the ridiculous drama that was always in the air at Hogwarts.

In February, during one of those rambling conversations, you confessed to Blaise with a soft voice and downcast eyes that no one had ever bought you flowers before. He couldn’t fathom the thought that no one had shown you the treatment that you deserved. The little downturn of your lips and sadness in your ordinarily confident eyes invaded his mind until he was ready to make a fool of himself just to make you happy. The Slytherin who’d once only had an icy laugh to offer at the thought of love was suddenly spending his waking hours thinking of ways to spoil you. You came back to your dormitory on Valentine’s Day to a bed full of the most flowers you’d ever seen in one place, sitting in the arms of a stuffed bear taller than your headboard and as wide as the mattress it was sitting on.

By March, most of your study sessions consisted of more snogging than studying, which Blaise considerably preferred to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

When Blaise said goodbye to you for the summer, his chest felt like it was liable to split in two. The lump in his throat as he wrapped you in his arms at Platform 9 ¾ was, frankly, embarrassing. Although you assured him that the time would pass quickly and the two of you would be reunited in no time, every day that stood in the way of holding you again seemed to pass more slowly than the last. The formerly jaded heir to the house of Zabini now laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, your face flashing through his mind over and over as he desperately tried to wish away the month of July

In the distance, another jagged bolt of heat lightning flashed through the sky. The wind whipped across the open acres of the Zabini estate, threatening a thunderstorm and sending branches knocking against the doors to the balcony. Blaise rolled over in bed, thoughts of you still running through his mind as the wind howled at his back.

The echoing knocks against the French doors grew louder - more insistent.

Frowning, Blaise sat up abruptly. That wasn’t the sound of leafy branches scraping the balcony. Someone was knocking at the door. Taking ahold of the wand that was perched on his bedside table, he stood, slipping across the room and toward the French doors. In the darkness, he couldn’t discern anything but the shadowy shape of a figure standing on his balcony.

Just as he began to point his wand, another crack of light appeared in the sky. The face peering back at him through the door was your face. Your skin was glistening with sweat from the excruciating temperature and your hair was stuck to your forehead but it was you all the same.

“How –” The word fell from his lips in a rush as he hurriedly closed the rest of the distance between you two, throwing the doors open. He was greeted by the sweet smell of your perfume and your bright, beautiful smile as you looked back at him. Before you could so much as step over the threshold, his arms were around you, clutching you as close to him as he could possibly manage.

“How are you here?” His voice was muffled as he spoke into your hair. He could scarcely believe this was real. Every wish he’d made in the emptiness of the Manor had suddenly come to fruition.

“My parents had Ministry business in London.” Your face was pressed into Blaise’s chest, and he felt your grin widen as he pressed kisses into your hair. “My sister said she’d cover for me if I wanted to see you while they were gone and, well…here I am.”

“But the anti-Apparation wards…” He trailed off, still not understanding how it was possible that he was holding you in his arms.

“I can fly a broom, you know.” Blaise finally released you to see you smirking playfully up at him. “Perhaps I’m not as great as you, Mister Chaser, but I do manage. It’s not like it was difficult to find the place.” You waved a hand at the enormous Manor house with a laugh. “In fact, it’s rather hard to miss.”

“You flew halfway across the country to see me?” Gone was any trace of the arrogance that most of the wizarding world associated with Blaise Zabini. He was staring at you with unbridled bewilderment.

“I was worried!” You held your hands up in an emphatic gesture. “You sounded so…empty in your last few letters. I hated the idea of you all by yourself in this big house.”

“You are…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he stared at you in wonder. “Come here.” Taking a hold of your waist, he pulled you towards him, crashing his lips into yours.

You twined your arms around his neck, a little whine slipping from your lips, and he groaned unabashedly. He longed to lose himself in you and never resurface, to drown himself in the taste of your lipgloss and the smell of your perfume. Every one of his senses was overtaken by you and he couldn’t imagine a better reality than the one he was experiencing right this instant.

“We should go inside,” you finally murmured, your voice shaky and breathless. “ I think it’s about to storm.”

Any awareness of the heat lightning in the air had slipped into the deep recesses of his mind the moment Blaise saw your face, but he realized with a start that you were right. Hot wind blew threateningly across the balcony and in the silence, he heard the first low rumblings of thunder in the distance. “Come on, love.” With a gentle hand at the base of your spine, he guided you through the open doors.

Despite the heat, Blaise clung to you as the two of you collapsed into his bed, stroking your hair tenderly while you laid your head against his chest. You clutched his other hand in yours, playing with the silver rings on his fingers as you spoke in low voices and watched the incoming storm through the windows.

“Did your mum tell you when she’ll be back?” There was a hint of hesitation in your tone, seemingly afraid of the answer that he gave as he shook his head. The sadness in your gaze as you glanced back up at him made his chest ache – he desperately wanted to assure you not to worry about such things.

“It’s alright.” He shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance. “Rather them be away than have some strange bloke here.”

A furrow appeared between your eyebrows that he immediately tried to smooth away with his thumb. A rumble of thunder filled the silence as you chewed on your bottom lip. Then, after a moment, you finally spoke. “We should go somewhere together.”

Blaise let out a low huff of amusement. “Where?”

“Anywhere.” He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear as you glanced up at him. “Anywhere that’s not a massive, empty house where all you can hear is your own thoughts. We can get on our brooms and go to the sea, or the city, or some Muggle suburb where we can watch the neighbors argue about the latest gossip. Just…somewhere else.”

“‘S alright now.” His lips curved upward into a smile. “You’re here.”

“You sap.” You crinkled your nose at him, but you were grinning from ear to ear.

His eyes softened. “We can go wherever you want.”

You laid nose-to-nose with Blaise, whispering into the late hours of the night as rain began to pour down onto the Zabini estate, finally banishing the oppressive heat. Plans for adventures floated through the air, offering excitement for the days ahead. When you finally fell asleep, it was in his arms. He watched your eyelids flutter and droop and your body relax, grinning as you snuggled closer to him. Finally, he closed his own eyes, the knot of emptiness that had lived in his chest having finally vanished.

Credits: images ltr: Pinterest here, Spotify, Pinterest by austecel here | divider by @saradika-graphics here

[whotfisceleste]

Lexxxx you eat up every single time I swear😌

[ravenclaws-stuff]

La Mia Principessa

Blaise Zabini x Malfoy!reader

Tags: fluff, pre-relationship, mutual pining, brother's best friend, pro quidditch player!reader, plays for the Holyhead Harpies, mention of a poison attempt, oblivious reader, established Hinny, mentioned Dramione, Lucius is no longer with us🤷‍♀️, probably inaccurate quidditch terms, idiots in love

A/n: This is a part of the #blaiseappreciationevent hosted by the lovely @i-await Thank you so much for hosting this. You are absolutely brilliant. Our boy deserves so much love.

WC: 3642

Blaise M List | Join My Taglist

The roar of the crowd wraps around as Lisa catches the golden snitch. You and Ginny share a proud smile, high giving from each other. “Knew she could do it.” Ginny nods, tilting her head towards the rest of the team flying towards Lisa. “Let's go.” The two of you quickly join, flying a victory lap around the stadium as the crowd erupts with life, cheering on Lisa.

Clapping on Lisa on the shoulder, you walk into the locker room. “Told you you would be amazing.” She blushes, shrugging off your hand before walking to her locker. “It's only the first game. Still have time to botch the rest of the season.”

Ginny stands up on the bench, pointing straight at Lisa. “You, Lisa Turpin,” the locker room falls quiet as everyone gathers around, wanting to hear the captain’s words. “are an excellent player. One of the best chasers this league has ever seen and will be an even better seeker.” Lisa nods, wiping her hands on his pants. “Thank you guys.”

Clapping her hands, Ginny smiles down at the team. “Alright ladies, enough mushy shit. Everyone change, go see your families. After that, were celebrating!”

As everyone walks into the family suite, you nudge Ginny with your elbow. “In a rush to get back to Saint Potter?” Ginny laughs, bumping her hip into yours. “Don't you know it. I was promised a delicious reward if we won.” She wiggles her eyebrows as you scrunch your nose in disgust. “Please spare me the details Gin. Tell me more and I'll be forced to obliviate myself.” Ginny laughs, head tilted back. “Laugh all you want but when I do obliviate myself, you will get stuck training someone captain." Ginny groans at the thought. If there was anything she hated, it was training. “Nevermind.”

“Oh my beautiful girl, you played so wonderfully.” Mum pulls you into her arms, wrapping around you tightly. “I am so proud of you.”

She came to every one of your games, whether they were home or away. No matter the distance.

You pull back, smiling as you push the hair of your her face. “Thank for coming mum. Means a lot to me.” Her silver eyes shimmer as she pats your cheek, before leaving to congratulate the rest of the team.

“Good game.” You turn, grinning from ear to ear. “Draco! What are you doing here? I thought you weren't supposed to return until next week.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Do not tell me you seriously thought I would miss your first game of the season. Dumber than I thought.” You roll your eyes. Asshole.

“Thanks for coming Dray.” He wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into your side. “Lisa did well.” You hum, resting your head on his shoulder. “She was quite nervous. Switching positions can be nerve-racking but I knew she would be great.”

Draco stayed for a few more minutes before excusing himself, giving you a poor excuse about finding Potter. You knew he was searching for Granger. You giggle, watching as his blonde hair disappears. Your big brother has a crush on the Golden Girl. Ironic.

Utilizing the fact everyone was busy, you walk out to the balcony, silently relishing in the victory. It was the start but you could feel it, this was your year. The year the Harpies will go all the way.

An arm wraps around your waist, but you don't freak out. No point when you knew exactly who it was. The sweet smell of coffee and surprisingly floral.

“You did so great princess.” A deep raspy voice mumbles into your ear, your body betraying you as it relaxes at his touch. “Hello to you too Zabini.” You say, removing yourself from his grip.

Blaise Zabini, the man of your dreams and nightmares. Devilishly handsome, intelligent enough to hold a proper conversation with you, and a ladies man. Constantly published in Witch Weekly with women throwing themselves all over him. Yet he is the only person who even captured your heart, even in the slightest.

With a nervous smile twitching across his face, Blaise pulls a hand and a beautiful bouquet of flowers from behind his back. That would explain the floral scent. “What? No ‘Thank you Blaise. You're so amazing and handsome.’ That's not very nice of you princess.”

You force a fake smile into your face as you take the flowers. “Thank you Blaise.” He chuckles. “And?”

The cellphone crinkles under your grip. “Quit calling me that. I'm not a princess.” Blaise steps forward, the air between you thickens. The tip of his brand new designer touches the toe of your own sneakers.

“You are the first girl born in the Malfoy lineage in over a century.” He reaches up, brushing a knuckle against your cheek. “Besides you will always be my princess.”

------

Groaning, you shield your eyes as Ginny shoves her tongue down Scarhead's throat. “Can't you be like normal couples and go shag in the loo. Nobody wants to see this!”

Ginny pills back, fixing her dress. She smirks as Potter rests his hand under the table, presumably on his thigh based off the look in Ginny's eye. “Let's be real. Many people would pay to see this. But why don't you go find Zabini and snog him? Maybe it'll get you to relax and actually enjoy yourself.” She teases before whispering into Potter's ear, causing them both to slide out of the booth

Snog Zabini? Gross. Why would anyone, let alone you, want to know how his lips felt? Or how they taste? Or how he-

“Did you miss me ‘princess’?” You look up to find your date placing a drink in front of you, before sliding into the booth. “Why would I miss you? You are nothing but a pain in my ass.” Blaise chuckles as he wraps an arm around your shoulder. “As long as I'm your pain, I'll take whatever I can get to be in that pretty little mind of yours.

Ignoring the way his words send a flutter to your heart, you push him away. Well at least try to. “You could have sat across from me, you idiot.” Blaise shakes his head, lips curling into a devious smirk. “Now why would I sit anywhere else but next to you? Besides I promised your brother I would keep an eye on you.”

The swarm of butterflies violently transfigure into a sharp pointed daggers. “Oh fucking course. You know what, I'm not a fucking child. A fact that you and Draco seem to forget.” Blaise sighs, uncoiling his arm from your shoulder. “Princess.” You hold your hand up. “No Blaise. I am a grown woman. I do not need to be babysat.”

“Of course you don't. That is not what we are doing.” He shakes his head when you try to protest. “You had your turn to talk now it's mine. You are Y/n Malfoy, international quidditch star and one of the two heirs to the Malfoy vaults. So yes we keep an extra eye on you, especially after someone tried to poison you last season.”

His words set in along with guilt. “I'm sorry. I know you're just looking out for me. I shouldn't have taken my mood out on you.” You mumble, resting your head on his shoulders. Blaise tenses, his breath getting caught into his throat. You tilt your head up, catching the way his throat bobs.

“You alright?” He nods, letting his arm fall around your waist this time. “Of course I am. Got a drink and my best girl with me. What else could I need?” Laughing, you lay your back down, singing as his body heat wraps around you like a soft blanket. “Tell me bout work?”

Without a doubt, Blaise had always been a safe place. When mother and father argued over hushed topics, when Draco received the dark mark, during the trials, and even now. He was like a breath of fresh hair, like finally coming home.

As he talked vividly of his work, your eyes grew heavy, making it difficult for you to keep them open. A soft kiss was pressed against the side of your head. “Sleep princess. I will be right here to protect you. Always.”

------

Potter's house was crowded, filled with his closest friends and their family celebrating yet another win for the Harpies. Although this wasn't just any ordinary win, it was fun the league cup. And for the first time in history, the Holy head Harpies had won.

You look around the living room, a proud smile spread widely across your face. Not only had your team had one, you also had been invited to the British national team to compete for the Quidditch world cup. You just hadn't mentioned it. Not yet anyways.

You couldn't help the way your eyes grew misty, overwhelmed with the pure unfiltered joy racing through your veins at the sight before you.

Draco stood beside Hermione, an arm around her waist and she talks to Theo, most likely about work. Pansy, Daphne, and Ginny were gossiping on the couch about Pansy's latest date. Harry, Ron, and Blaise stood by the fireplace with a glass of firewhiskey in hand.

None of you could have ever imagined this before the war, yet you wouldn't change if for the world.

Your eyes linger on the dark skinned Italian. You notice everything. The slight stubble on his chin. The way his sleeves are pushed up his forearm. The way he favored his left leg more after an injury from the war. How he lingered more these past couple of months. Always brought your favorite snacks, grumbling how hangry you can get. Soft feather like kisses here and there. Even cancelled a meeting when he date of the league cup was announced.

Your heart betrays you. Falling for him. You knew it would only lead to heart break. Eventually Blaise will grow tired of you and move on.

As if feeling the weight of your gaze, he tilts his head, smiling softly before raising his glass. You wave, unable to hold the smile back. Before either of you could move, you were called, more like summoned to the couch.

“When are you finally to give in? The man wants you.” Ginny teases. You shake your head. “I refuse to be another knot on his bedpost.” You miss the look shared between Pansy and Daphne. “Beside he only wants me for the thrill. Best friend's little sister and all.

Clink clink.

Harry clears his throat, smiling nervously. “I want to thank everyone for coming and congratulations to our leading ladies, Y/n,” Your cheeks warm as Blaise cheers, loudly clapping. “And Ginny.”

Harry holds his hand out. Ginny giggles like a school girl as she allows him to pull her off the couch.

"While we are surrounded by all of our friends, I couldn't think of a better time." You couldn't bold back a smile even if you tried. Harry let go of her hand, going down on one knee. Ginny covers her mouth as tears pool into her eyes.

"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, his hair is as dark as a blackboard."

Laughs were barely contained as Ginny glared at the savior. Yet she didn't interrupt.

"I wish he was mine, he's really divine. The hero who conquered the Dark Lord." He chuckled. "Believe it or not, that was the first poem written for me. I should have known at that moment you were it for me. Everyday, I thank Godric you waited for my dumbass. Will you please do me the honor of becoming mine? It would be really divine." Ginny smacked Harry on the back of his head, nodding her head. "Of course I will. You idiot."

“How much you want to bet they're shagging right now?” Blaise jokes, wrapping an arm around your waist. Laughing as you look around the garden, you notice the absence of the happy couple. “If you were looking for an easy win, you should have asked Ron.” Blaise scoffs, the amusement morphing into something more serious. “I would never define you as easy.”

Understanding the underline of what he was saying, you removed yourself from his arms. "I would hope anyone who actually knew me would understand how much I hate to be a game." You held my chin high just like mum taught me and walked away, missing the confused look painted on his face.

"Why does Blaise look like you kicked his puppy?" Draco asked, joining you in the kitchen. You rolled your eyes. "Why would I kick Blaise's imaginary puppy or did Zabini get a furry companion to keep his bed warm in between his slags?" Ron's eyes went wide, never seen this side of you before.

"You are really dense, aren't you?" You furrowed your brow. "What are you talking about, Dray?"

He gave you a hard look, one that would be hard to decipher if you wasn't a Malfoy.

"He hasn't had anyone in his bed in over a year. Hasn't been on one date. Hasn't flirted with any other person." Your breath catches.

"A year?" He nods and walks away.

"Don't tell me you're that blind Malfoy?" Ron shakes his head in disbelief. "He stares at you like you personally painted the stars into the sky."

How did did not see it? It must have been obvious if Ron noticed. You grab a glass of firewhiskey, drinking it in one gulp.

Does that mean Blaise actually likes you?

------

Sighing, you mindlessly open the fridge. Without practice, your days became dull. No wind through your hair. No scored goals. No cool broom tricks when Gwen wasn't watching. Just dull.

With a wave of your hand, the kettle on the stove fills and starts to heat up. While waiting, you head to your room to change out of your pajamas, slipping into a pair of muggle leggings you bought with Hermione.

You smirk, checking yourself out in the mirror. Oh if father could see this. If Azkaban didn't kill him, you were certain the sight of his little girl in muggle clothes would. Or even better, the fact that his son is in love and dating the Golden Girl.

A knock on your window pulls your from your thoughts. A soft smile forms at the sight of your second favorite owl. Hermes, the Eurasian Eagle-Owl his fourth stepdad gifted for his birthday.

You quickly cross the room, opening the window to let him in. “Hi Hermes. Wonderful to see you again. I missed you.” You say, watching as he flies to the perch on your desk. Laughing, you scratch his head as you grab a treat from your drawer. “Would you like a treat?” He hoots quietly, leaning into your touch. “Of course. Now you rest and when you feel up to it, you can return to Blaise.”

The kettle screeches, startling the poor owl. “Sorry Hermes. Thank you once again.”

You tear open the envelope as you finish making your cup of tea. You shake your head, chuckling at the messy scrawl of his handwriting.

‘Be ready to go out by noon. Dress nicely. I want to spend time with my favorite witch.’

Your cheeks ache from the amount you were smiling. After taking much needed time and ice cream, you finally accepted that there was a chance that Blaise might actually reciprocate feelings. That is what you will find out tonight. Possibly. As long as you don't chicken out.

No sooner had you picked your shoes and purse up, Blaise knocked on the door. You quickly walk to the door, freezing just in front of it. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat.

"Princess, open the door." Blaise called from the other side. "It's getting cold."

You place my hand on the doorknob, giggles bubbling out.

"What if I don't want to?" You smirked.

You could hear the eye roll. "So you don't want to go to La Tagliatella." Your mouth waters instantly. It was only your favorite restaurant and of course he knew that. You opened the door with a smile.

"Well I guess I could be convinced." He laughs, hand shoved in his pocket. "Of course you can be. You have always been food motivated. Have been since we were kids."

You blush looking away. "Hey it's not a bad thing. I love a woman who can eat. Plus it makes it easier for you to forgive me when I piss you off."

Blaise lets his eyes roam over your figure, taking in your dress and shoes dangling from your fingers. "Well don't you look absolutely breathtaking. But you are missing something."

You frown, looking down at your outfit. “What do you mean? If you're going to criticize my outfit, I'll-”

Blaise chuckles as he pulls a box out of his pocket. Your eyes widen. "I..is that for me?" You whisper nervously. He nods, shifting his weight.

Most people wouldn't be able to see it, but you could see how nervous he was. You take the small box from him, carefully opening to find a beautiful charm bracelet.

The center is a lilac star. Another was a flame and a ferret. You chuckle, fight the tears that wanted to slip down your cheeks.

"Thank you." You whispered barely audible, looking up at him. “I love it.”

After a few moments of silence, he clears his throat. "Are you ready to go? We have a reservation at 11." You smile. "Let me put on my shoes and place my wards, then we can go."

With wards tighter than the ones at the manor, you turn to Blaise, startled to see him smiling as he watched you.

"Something wrong?" He shakes his head. "No, but did you know you scrunch your nose when you're concentrating? You used to do it all the time while studying." You look away, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

"We should go. Don't want to be late."Blaise chuckles at your obvious and poor attempt to change the subject. He offers his arm. "Ready, my lady?" You nod, taking his arm. "Lead the way, my lord."

The two of you decide to walk back to your house instead of using the floo. Claimed the day was too beautiful to waste, but really neither of you wanted this “date” to end.

Sitting on the couch with your feet tucked under you, a small content sigh falls from your lips. "Thank you for today, Blaise." He sits next to you, placing a hand on your thigh. "Of course. Anything for my princess."

"Your princess?"

He nods, eyes looking anywhere but at you.

"Only if you're okay with that." You place your hand on top of his. His head snaps up, brown eyes meeting yours. You search his dark chocolate eyes for any signs of a game. Finding nothing but honesty, you smile nervously. A weight in my chest lifted.

It wasn't a game. It never was.

An idea popped into your head, a cruel but hilarious idea.

"Say please." Blaise looks shocked. "Please?" You nod, mischief sparkling in your eyes. Blaise nods, the shock being replaced by amusement. "Okay, I will."

He stands up off the couch, and smirks down at you. You giggle placing a pillow on your lap as you eagerly wait for what he will do. The one thing about Blaise, he was theatrical.

Much to your surprise, he kneels down on one knee, taking your hand into his. You tried to hold back the nervous giggle, but failed. The noise only seems to encourage him more as his chest puffs out.

His hands were warm. Like the fireplace in the Slytherin common room.

"Y/n Malfoy, my star, will you do me the honor and allow me to court you?" You raise your eyebrows, causing him to chuckle. "Please?" He adds. Unable to fight the smile any longer, you nod. "Yes.” You whisper, a wave of sudden and intense emotions crashing over you.

He brings your hand to his lips leaving a soft kiss on the back of it. You gasp, your skin tingling. It was just like you imagined. Blaise lifts his head, eyes meeting yours, the same intense emotions swirling in his. “About time princess.”

"Guess what?" You whisper, scared to break the comfortable silence. Blaise hums, tugging on the ends of your hair. You watch Astrid, your cat, climb her tree as you try to find the words.

"I made England's national team." Blaise froze next to you, his head slowly turning as if he was a character from one of those muggle films Hermione took you to.

"Are you serious?" He exclaims, pulling you into his lap. You nod, hands resting on his shoulders. A wide proud grin spread across his face.

"How has Draco not spilled it yet? He's shit at keeping secrets." You blush and look away. "You're the first person to know. I wanted you to know first." Blaise stills underneath you, his hands on you tightens on your hips.

"Really?" He whispers. You nod nervously. "When I found out, you were the first person I wanted to tell." He leans up and places a haste kiss on your cheek.

"Princess I am so proud of you." His arms wrap around your waist, squeezing you tightly. "I can't believe you told me first. Your mum is going to be mad." You shake your head,knowing he was right.

"I'm sure she'll be more enthusiastic about us courting."

You lean forward, resting your head on his shoulder. "Draco is going to kill me isn't he?" You kiss the side of his neck, hiding your smile. "Probably." Blaise sighs, hands rubbing small circles on your back. “Worth it.”

------

[whotfisceleste]

CAS IM SCREAMING SCREECHING AHHHHHH where are my discord emotes when I need them

This is literal gold omg

[idkausersworld-deactivated20260]

Ink

Paring: Theodore nott x reader

Summary:During Potions class, Theodore’s friends notice your initials written in ink on his wrist — and realize he absentmindedly wrote them there himself. Unfortunately for him, the teasing only gets worse when Slughorn overhears.

Ink splattered across Theodore’s fingers every single day.

Nobody questioned it anymore.

Between essays, Quidditch strategies, and the endless notes he pretended not to care about, his hands were almost always stained black or dark blue. It was normal.

What wasn’t normal was the fact that halfway through Potions, Enzo suddenly grabbed his wrist across the table.

Theo looked up instantly. “What?”

Enzo stared at him for a long moment before his mouth twitched.

“Oh, this is tragic.”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “You’re irritating even when you’re quiet.”

“No,” Enzo said slowly, turning Theo’s arm slightly toward the light. “You’re just embarrassingly obvious.”

Theo frowned.

Mattheo leaned over next, immediately bursting into laughter loud enough for half the class to look over.

“There’s actually no way.”

Theo finally looked down at his wrist.

Written in dark ink, right beneath the sleeve of his uniform, were your initials.

Not messy.

Not accidental-looking.

Carefully written.

Like he’d traced them there absentmindedly during class.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh my God,” Mattheo wheezed. “You’re gone. Completely gone.”

Theo yanked his sleeve down immediately. “Shut up.”

“You wrote her initials on yourself.”

“I did not.”

“You literally did,” Enzo said. “That is your handwriting.”

Theo stared at the potion in front of him like he wanted to drown in it.

Because the worst part?

It was his handwriting.

He remembered exactly when he’d done it too — late in History of Magic while half-asleep, listening to you whisper answers beside him.

He hadn’t even realized.

Mattheo looked delighted. “That’s revoltingly romantic.”

Theo looked physically ill hearing that sentence.

“You’re never speaking again,” he muttered.

Unfortunately for him, Professor Slughorn chose that exact moment to appear beside the table.

“Mr. Nott,” Slughorn said pleasantly, “why are your classmates laughing instead of brewing?”

Theo immediately straightened.

Mattheo, still grinning like an idiot, pointed directly at Theo’s wrist.

“Because he’s in love, sir.”

Theo nearly dropped the potion bottle.