#𝐦𝐚𝐥: ☘︎

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Hi ivy! For the holiday enemies to lovers prompts can you do 1,3,4 with Theo nott? Ofc you don’t have to use all of them if you don’t want to! Those 3 really stood out to me and I couldn’t pick just one 😅 thank you lovely!

Assuming this is your request @astonishment, thank you so much requesting! Hope you like it <33

theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader who gets him for the secret santa

THE SPIRALLING

There were exactly 47 hours and 12 minutes until the Hogwarts Secret Santa reveal, and you were on the verge of losing your entire mind.

Why? Because you had drawn Theodore freaking Nott as your Secret Santa recipient. Of all the people at Hogwarts, it had to be him: the cold, brooding, insufferable Slytherin who looked at you like you were the human embodiment of an unwashed sock.

“I’m cursed,” you moaned dramatically, sprawled across the couch in the Hufflepuff common room. “There’s no other explanation.”

From her chair by the fireplace, your friend Sarah barely looked up from her book. “What are you on about now?”

“My life is over,” you said, tossing an arm across your eyes for good measure. “I’ve been assigned him. The human icicle. The walking void of emotion.”

Sarah blinked. “You got Theodore Nott?”

You bolted upright, grabbing her arm like she’d just offered to save you from a sinking ship. “What do I do, Sarah?! What do you get someone who hates everything? A rock? A lump of coal?”

“Well…” Sarah started, but you were already off the couch and pacing.

“He’s going to hate anything I give him,” you wailed, hands flailing. “But I can’t not give him something because then I’ll look like a terrible person, and I’m not a terrible person, Sarah! I’m a Hufflepuff! We are legally obligated to be nice!”

“Legally?” Sarah said dryly, but you ignored her.

“And I can’t ask him what he likes because then he’ll know it’s me, and then he’ll think I’m stalking him, and—oh my gosh, what if he reports me to Snape?!”

“You’re spiralling,” Sarah said, but you were already halfway out the door.

STEP ONE: INTERROGATING THE ENEMY'S FRIENDS

Step one in your (brilliant, totally foolproof) plan was to interrogate Theodore’s friends. Casually. Subtly. Like a normal person.

Spoiler: You were not a normal person.

“Enzo!” you said brightly, sliding into the seat next to Lorenzo Berkshire at breakfast. “How’s it going? How’s life? How are your socks? Warm? Good. So, what does Theodore Nott like?”

Lorenzo froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. “What?”

“You know, hobbies, interests, favorite snacks, deepest fears,” you said, waving a hand. “The usual.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, no reason!” You laughed—a little too loudly. “Just curious.”

“Is this for Secret Santa?” he asked, smirking. “Wait. Did you get Theo? Merlin’s beard, you got Theo!”

“NO!” you practically yelled, nearly knocking over your pumpkin juice. “Of course not! That would be absurd. Ha! Ha ha ha!”

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Am not!” you huffed. “I’m just… conducting a holiday-themed survey. For… science.”

“For science?” he repeated, amused. “Right. Well, Sunshine, if you’re so curious about Theo, why don’t you just ask him?”

“BECAUSE!” You threw your hands in the air. “He’s scary, Enzo! He’ll probably hex me or—I don’t know—stare at me with those stupid intense eyes of his.”

“His stupid intense eyes?” Enzo grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t like him?”

“WHAT?!” You nearly fell out of your chair. “I don’t like him! I despise him! He’s rude and annoying and—ugh���he breathes too smugly!”

“Sure,” Enzo said, clearly not convinced. “Whatever you say, Sunshine.”

STEP TWO: QUESTIONING THE ENEMY

You were nothing if not persistent. So, against your better judgment, you cornered Theodore himself in the library.

“What are you doing for the holidays?” you asked, plopping into the chair across from him.

Theodore didn’t even look up from his book. “Why do you ask and/or care?”

“I don’t care,” you said quickly. “I was just… wondering.”

He finally glanced at you, one dark eyebrow raised. “Why?”

“Because I’m nice,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “And curious. And it’s the holidays! Aren’t we supposed to, like, bond or something?”

“I’d rather not,” he said, turning a page.

You scowled. “Wow. You really know how to spread holiday cheer, don’t you?”

“Was there a point to this?” he asked, looking at you like you were a particularly annoying fly buzzing around his head.

“Yes,” you said, folding your arms. “The point is… I was just wondering if you’re going home for Christmas.”

“No,” he said shortly. “Now, are we done here?”

Your scowl deepened. “Why aren’t you going home?”

“Why do you care?” he shot back.

“I don’t!” you said, your voice a little too high-pitched. “I just… thought you might be lonely or something.”

Theodore’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “Worried about me, Sunshine?”

“No!” you said, cheeks burning. “Don’t flatter yourself, Nott. I was just—ugh, forget it!”

You stood up so quickly you almost knocked over your chair, muttering under your breath as you stomped away. Behind you, Theodore chuckled softly.

STEP THREE: GIVING THE GIFT (AND HOPEFULLY NOT GETTING HEXED)

By some miracle (or maybe sheer stubbornness), you managed to find the perfect gift: a leather-bound journal, simple yet elegant, with Theodore’s initials embossed on the cover.

When the time came for the Secret Santa exchange, you watched nervously as he unwrapped it, your palms clammy and your heart pounding.

He stared at the journal for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he looked up, his piercing green eyes locking onto yours.

“Did you…?” he started, but you cut him off.

“It’s not a big deal!” you said quickly, waving your hands. “I just��I mean, you don’t have to like it or anything. It’s fine if you hate it. I just thought—”

“Mio sole,” he interrupted, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “It’s perfect.”

You froze, your brain short-circuiting. “It… it is?”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Then, because you didn’t know what else to do, you blurted, “You’re welcome! Merry Christmas! Okay, bye!”

You practically sprinted out of the room, your face burning, but you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face.

Maybe Theodore Nott wasn’t so bad after all.

BONUS

Later, when you were sitting by the fire, Lorenzo plopped down beside you with a smug grin.

“So,” he said, nudging you. “You gave Theo his gift. How’d it go?”

“Fine,” you said, playing with the hem of your sweater. “He liked it.”

“‘Liked it,’” Lorenzo repeated. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “That’s all.”

Lorenzo smirked. “You’re blushing, Sunshine.”

“I am not!”

Across the room, Theodore caught your eye, and for the briefest moment, he smiled—a real, genuine smile. Your heart did a little flip, and you quickly looked away.

Lorenzo laughed. “Yeah. Totally not blushing.”

“Shut up, Enzo!”

Lorenzo's laughter trailed off as you smacked his arm, though he didn’t stop smirking like the absolute menace he was. You crossed your arms and sank deeper into your seat, huffing.

“Say, Enzo,” you began, your voice carefully nonchalant, “you know Italian, right?”

He raised a curious eyebrow but shrugged. “Yeah, of course.”

You turned to face him, fiddling nervously with the hem of your sleeve. “What does… uh… mio sole mean?”

The smirk that spread across his face was so smug, you immediately regretted asking. “Ohhh,” he drawled, leaning closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Who called you that?”

“No one!” you said, your voice jumping an octave. “I just heard it somewhere, that’s all. Totally random. Not a big deal!”

Enzo’s eyebrows wiggled like he was performing some sort of comedy act. “Not a big deal, huh? Sure. Well, it means ‘my sun.’ You know, like…” He trailed off dramatically before pointing straight at you. “Sunshine. My sunshine.”

Your face burned so hot, you were pretty sure you were moments away from combusting. “Oh,” you squeaked, your voice barely audible.

Enzo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “So, Sunshine, care to explain who’s been whispering sweet nothings in Italian to you?”

“No one!” you said again, practically shouting this time. “I told you, I just heard it somewhere! That’s all! Ugh, you’re so annoying, Enzo!”

“I’m annoying?” he said with mock offense. “You’re the one coming to me with your mysterious Italian phrases. Next thing I know, you’ll be asking me how to confess your undying love to Theo in flawless Tuscan dialect.”

Your gasp was so loud, half the common room turned to look at you. “Excuse me?!”

Enzo’s smirk widened. “You’re excused.”

You sputtered incoherently, your brain a tangled mess of embarrassment and indignation. “I—he—there is nothing—you are impossible, Lorenzo Berkshire!”

Enzo laughed so hard, he nearly fell out of his chair. Meanwhile, you crossed your arms and buried your face in your hands, silently vowing to never speak to him again.

Across the room, Theodore caught your eye once more, his lips quirking up in a small, knowing smile. Your stomach flipped again, and you quickly turned away, cheeks blazing.

Enzo, noticing the exchange, gasped dramatically. “It is Theo, isn’t it?! Sunshine, you sly little—”

“ENOUGH!” You groaned, grabbing a cushion and whacking him with it. Enzo, of course, only laughed harder.

REQUESTED FROM : this post RELATED TO : this post

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Hi bestie what are your top 3 most favoritest movies of all time?

Hi Mal!! Okay, you really hit me with the hard-hitting questions here, but I’m ready! 😤 In no particular order because choosing favorites is like asking a parent to pick their favorite child (impossible!):

• Dead Poets Society – Listen, if I could stand on a desk and yell "O Captain, my Captain!" without being politely asked to leave public places, I absolutely would. 🤷‍♀️

• Little Women – And if Jo March asked me to run away and write books with her, I wouldn’t hesitate. Also, sobbing through 70% of this movie is basically a given, and I’m okay with that. And unpopular opinion but I loved Laurie and Amy together.

• The Princess Diaries – Mia Thermopolis is the awkward queen we all aspire to be. 👑 (And if Julie Andrews told me I was secretly royalty, I’d just say, “Where’s my crown, let’s go!”)

Not including series or animated movies here, because otherwise this list would be an absolute mess. Your move, Mal, what are your top 3??

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Ivy! Oh my goodness congratulations on 1k followers! I’m so incredibly happy for you! You’re the sweetest most talented person and this milestone is much deserved! I can’t wait for the rest of the world to see how great you! I love you 💛

Mal, you’re making me tear up! (っ˃̣̣̥ -˂̣̣̥ς) Thank you so much! I’m beyond grateful for your kind words—they mean the world to me. I’m so lucky to have your support, and I can’t wait for the world to see just how amazing you are too! Love you so much! (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )づ♡

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Hi, Mal! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) You just made my entire day—thank you so much! I’m so glad you enjoyed it. Sending you all the love! (づ> v <)づ💕

Ohhh can I request prompt number 11- wondering if there might be a way to spend the holidays together "accidentally" and number 15- "YOU want to spend the holidays with ME??""Now that you say it, it really does sound weird." with Barty crouch jr please? You can choose either or both whatever you want ◡̈ thank you in advance<3

barty crouch jr x reader where you both spend the holidays together

The Slytherin common room buzzed faintly with the warmth of the enchanted fireplace, but to you, it felt more like a tomb. The empty couches and eerie quiet of the holidays always did that. You lay sprawled on Regulus Black's bed—his perfectly made bed, which you were mildly ruining with your presence—and shot a glare toward his open trunk, half-packed with the precision only someone as uptight as Regulus could manage.

"That’s my bed you’re defiling," a voice drawled.

You bolted upright, realizing with horror that Reg wasn’t the one who spoke. You’d accidentally sprawled onto Barty Crouch Jr.’s bed. The realization made you leap off it like it burned.

"Ugh," you groaned, brushing yourself off as if the act alone could cleanse you. "Do you even wash those sheets? Actually, don’t answer that—I don’t want to know."

Barty smirked. “Why, jealous of the ‘type of girls’ who—”

“Stop right there!” you barked, cutting him off. “I don’t need a list.”

Regulus, seated on the edge of his own bed, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Merlin’s sake, do you two ever take a break from this?"

You folded your arms. "Reg, I think it’s fair to say that I wouldn’t need to if he didn’t exist."

"And yet, here I am," Barty said cheerfully, settling on the arm of the couch like he owned the place.

"Existing loudly, obnoxiously, and in the worst possible way," you shot back.

Regulus groaned. "You know, sometimes I feel like I’m babysitting. Why do you hate each other so much?"

“Umm, I don’t know, Reg,” you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe because he’s the most arrogant, annoying, insufferable, self-centered, overconfident, ridiculous—"

"Impressive vocabulary," Regulus deadpanned. "That’s seven insults in one breath. You’re rivaling Evans’ rants about Potter."

"Thank you," you said sweetly, before returning your glare to Barty.

He, for his part, looked far too amused. “I’m flattered, really. That much attention? I must be doing something right.”

Regulus ignored him. “Well, you’re going to have to tolerate him.”

“Pass,” you said immediately.

"Unfortunately, not an option," Reg continued. "You have two choices. Either come home with me for the holidays—awkward, tense dinners with Mother and Father included—"

"Barf," you interrupted.

"—or stay here at Hogwarts with Barty."

Your jaw dropped. "That’s not a choice! That’s Sophie’s Choice!"

Barty tilted his head. “Which one am I in this scenario? The kid that gets—”

"Don’t," you warned, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Regulus smirked faintly. "Well, what’s it going to be?"

You groaned. "Weirdly, staying with Crouch sounds like the better option. How did my life come to this?"

The Slytherin common room was hauntingly empty when the holidays began. The eerie quiet made you itch, and the firewhiskey you’d filched from the kitchens wasn’t doing enough to drown the loneliness. You sat in front of the fireplace, swishing the amber liquid in your glass as though it could conjure some company.

The door creaked open behind you. You didn’t bother turning around, but the low hum of voices made your stomach twist.

“…yeah, just up here,” Barty’s voice carried, warm and smooth in a way that made your teeth clench.

Moments later, he entered your line of sight—his arm slung around a girl whose name you vaguely recalled as Jessica. Or Miranda. Whatever. The two of them were all over each other, and you immediately looked back at the fire.

Barty’s voice broke through the air. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You took a long sip of whiskey. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”

The girl—still clinging to him—smirked, and you resolutely ignored her as she worked on unbuttoning his shirt. Barty, however, seemed distracted, his eyes flickering to you.

"How about we pick this up later?" he said suddenly.

The girl blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Very,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. She huffed, gathering her things, and stormed out.

Barty let out a long breath, plopped down beside you, and started buttoning his shirt. "Well, that’s not going to happen again."

You side-eyed him. “Shame. She seemed charming.”

“Jealous?” he asked, smirking.

You rolled your eyes and offered him the bottle of firewhiskey. "So, you know how I’m like—"

"Absolutely embarrassingly in love with me? Yes, I’m familiar. Go on."

"Can you take anything seriously?"

“Yes, I do. I take you very seriously.”

"Anyway," you continued pointedly, “you know how I’m, like, alone for the holidays?”

He tilted his head. "What are you talking about? I’m right here."

"You want to spend the holidays with me?"

"Now that you say it, it really does sound weird."

You groaned and leaned back against the couch, nursing the bottle of firewhiskey as if it held the answers to your problems.

“Careful,” he said, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Wouldn’t want you getting emotional on me.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” you muttered. “If I cry, it’ll be because I’m stuck here with you.”

Barty clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me, sweetheart. Truly. I’m a delight.”

“You’re a menace,” you corrected.

“Semantics.” He plucked the bottle from your hands and took a swig, ignoring your glare. “Besides, you’re the one who decided I was the lesser evil compared to awkward Black family dinners. Makes you wonder about your priorities.”

“I regret everything,” you deadpanned.

He grinned, leaning back to rest his head on the arm of the couch. The firelight danced across his features, softening the usual sharpness of his expression. For a moment, you hated how easy it was for him to look so... comfortable.

"Do you ever stop being smug?" you asked.

"Not when I’m winning."

"Winning what, exactly?"

He gestured vaguely between the two of you. "This. Us. Our rivalry. Whatever you call this disaster of a relationship."

"Relationship?!" you choked, nearly spilling your drink.

"Rivalry is a kind of relationship," he pointed out, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Merlin, just hex me now.”

"Tempting," he mused, stealing another sip from the bottle.

You reached over to snatch it back, and in the scuffle, his hand brushed yours. For a fleeting moment, your eyes met, and something in his expression shifted—so subtle, you almost missed it. But then he smirked, and the moment was gone.

“So,” he said, settling back. “What’s your plan? Drink yourself into oblivion until the new year?”

“Bold of you to assume I have a plan,” you muttered.

“Tragic, really,” he replied. “No wonder you need me.”

“I don’t need you,” you shot back.

“Sure you don’t,” he said easily, standing up and stretching. “Come on.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Get up.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m bored, and I’m not spending the rest of the night watching you sulk. We’re going for a walk.”

“A walk?” you repeated incredulously. “It’s freezing outside!”

“Good thing you have that fiery personality to keep you warm,” he said with a grin, already heading toward the common room door.

You didn’t know why you followed him. Maybe it was the firewhiskey, or maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation, but somehow, you found yourself trudging through the snowy grounds of Hogwarts, your breath puffing in the cold air.

“This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever made me do,” you grumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets.

“Oh, please,” Barty said, walking a few paces ahead. “If this is the dumbest thing, then clearly I haven’t been trying hard enough.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He turned back to glance at you, catching the fleeting moment of amusement before you could mask it.

“See? You’re having fun,” he said smugly.

“Barely,” you replied.

The owlery loomed ahead, its spires dusted with snow. Barty pushed open the creaking door, letting you step inside first. The warmth of the building, faint though it was, was a welcome reprieve from the cold.

As he wandered to a nearby perch, you pulled a letter from your pocket—the one you’d been avoiding since it arrived. Your parents had written to let you know they were home early from their trip and could come to pick you up if you wanted.

You scanned the letter, your eyes flickering over the words, before glancing at Barty. He stood by a window, his breath fogging the glass as he rubbed his hands together for warmth.

Without thinking too much about it, you pulled out a quill and parchment and began to write your reply.

Dear Mum and Dad, Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. Love, Me

You folded the letter carefully, sealing it before tying it to the leg of a nearby owl. The bird hooted softly, spreading its wings as it soared off into the night.

Brushing your hands together, you turned and made your way to where Barty was perched by the window. His breath fogged the glass as he stared out into the snow-covered grounds, looking strangely peaceful for someone who thrived on chaos.

“Enjoying the view?” you asked, hopping up to sit beside him on the ledge.

“Would be better if you weren’t ruining it,” he replied without missing a beat, glancing at you with a smirk.

“Oh, how tragic for you,” you said, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Should I leave you alone with your deep thoughts?”

“And deprive you of my company? I’m not that cruel,” he quipped, nudging you back.

You rolled your eyes, bumping him again, harder this time. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, smirking as he nudged you right back. “Sitting with me. Bantering with me. Some might call it quality time.”

“Some might call it punishment,” you shot back, unable to suppress the grin tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, before leaning back against the wall. The firelight from the sconces glinted off his features, making him look almost softer than usual.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “for someone who claims to hate me, you spend an awful lot of time in my presence.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, your tone light but your shoulder brushing his again.

“Too late,” he replied, smirking as he met your gaze.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, surprisingly. Instead, it felt… comfortable, even as the cold from outside seeped through the stone walls.

The walk back inside was quiet at first, snowflakes clinging to your robes as you made your way through the dimly lit corridors. The silence didn’t last long, though—because, well, Barty.

As you approached the main hall, he slowed, eyes catching on a towering Christmas tree tucked into a corner, adorned with only the faintest glimmer of lights.

“So, you know how-,” Barty began, his tone casual, almost too casual.

You smirked, cutting him off. “You’re obviously in love with me?”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Touché,” he said, not missing a beat. “But as I was saying—before I was so rudely interrupted—we don’t have to wallow in misery here. We could, I don’t know, decorate the Christmas tree in our common room.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And how exactly do you think we’re supposed to do that? There aren’t decorations just lying around.”

He gave you a sly grin, the kind that always spelled trouble. “I’ve got my ways,” he said with a wink.

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “That sounds suspiciously ominous, but fine. Lead the way.”

As he guided you through the castle, you couldn’t help but pester him. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Salazar, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” Barty groaned, though his tone held amusement.

“Excuse me if I don’t blindly follow someone whose life motto is basically chaos and poor decisions,” you shot back, earning a snicker from him.

Eventually, he led you to the seventh floor, stopping abruptly in front of a blank stretch of wall. You blinked, glancing around nervously. “Uh, Crouch, I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”

He smirked, completely unfazed. “You worry too much, treasure.”

Your cheeks heated at the nickname, and you shot him a look. “Treasure? That’s new.”

He waved you off, nonchalant, though his smirk deepened. “You’ll get used to it.”

“All right, fine, but if Filch shows up, I’m hexing you first,” you muttered, though you couldn’t stop the small smile forming as you followed him.

As he paced in front of the wall, you crossed your arms. “Crouch, hate to break it to you, but a wall isn’t going to help us celebrate Christmas.”

He paused, turning to you with mock seriousness. “I feel two things right now. One, you’re severely underestimating my brilliance. And two, if I can call you treasure, you can at least call me Barty.”

“Oh, sod off,” you said, laughing.

“Charming,” he replied, grinning.

Before you could retort, the once-blank wall began to shift, stones rippling like water before solidifying into an ornate door. Your jaw dropped as Barty casually pushed it open.

“Ladies first,” he said, gesturing with exaggerated chivalry.

You rolled your eyes, stepping past him. “Such a gentleman.”

“Only for you,” he quipped, his grin widening.

Inside, your breath caught. The room was filled with everything you could possibly need to decorate a Christmas tree: boxes of shimmering ornaments, strings of enchanted fairy lights, and even rolls of tinsel that sparkled like stardust.

“Is that—” you stammered, pointing at a pile of candy canes stacked next to a miniature sleigh.

Barty draped an arm over your shoulders, looking smug. “This is the Room of Requirement, treasure. Think of something you really need, and it appears—within reason. Found it when Evan and I were pranking Snape.”

You shook your head in amazement, eyes wide as you took it all in. “Merlin, I love magic.”

Barty watched you, his smirk softening into something almost fond. “Yeah, it’s got its moments.”

You turned to him, excitement practically buzzing off you. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s turn that boring tree into something worthy of our genius.”

He grinned, grabbing a box of ornaments. “Now you’re talking.”

You and Barty dove into the decorations like kids in a candy shop. He threw a strand of tinsel over his shoulder, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Would you look at that?” he said, holding up a glittery bauble. “This one’s almost as sparkly as you.”

You snorted, grabbing it from his hand. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Crouch.”

“Please, I’m just getting started.” He waggled his brows before draping a garish red-and-gold ribbon around the tree in one dramatic flourish.

“Subtlety really isn’t your strong suit, is it?” you said, hanging ornaments with a bit more care.

“Subtlety is boring,” he replied, holding up a pair of elf-shaped ornaments and making them ‘kiss.’ “Now this is art.”

Rolling your eyes, you flicked a sprig of tinsel at him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he shot back with a grin.

As the tree began to come together, you both stood back to admire your work—or, at least, your chaos. The tree was a glorious mess of mismatched ornaments, glowing lights, and way too much tinsel.

“Alright,” Barty said, clapping his hands together. “Time for the grand finale: the star.” He held it up, the light reflecting off its gilded surface.

“Go on, then,” you said, crossing your arms.

He scoffed. “You think I’m tall enough for this?”

“Why are you holding it, then?”

He gave you a mischievous look. “Because you’re going to sit on my shoulders, obviously.”

“Oh no, absolutely not,” you started, but Barty had already crouched down in front of you.

“Come on, treasure. Unless you want a very lopsided star?” He glanced back at you, his grin infuriatingly charming.

You groaned. “Fine. But if you drop me—”

“I won’t,” he said confidently. “Unless you insult my decorating skills again.”

With a roll of your eyes, you carefully climbed onto his shoulders. He stood up, holding your legs steady as you wobbled slightly.

“Stop moving!” you yelped.

“Relax, you’re doing great,” he said, his voice laced with laughter. “Just don’t kick me in the head.”

With a muttered curse, you reached up, placing the star delicately on the top branch. “There. Done.”

Barty gave a little celebratory bounce. “Perfect. You can come down now.”

You let out a relieved laugh as you slid off his shoulders, landing back on solid ground.

“See? Told you I wouldn’t drop you.”

You smirked. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

As you both stood there, admiring your handiwork, something peculiar happened. A small pop echoed above you, and when you glanced up, there it was—mistletoe, hanging innocently from thin air.

You turned to Barty, narrowing your eyes. “Really?”

He blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “What? That’s definitely not my doing.” He gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Could it be the castle itself, trying to tell us something?”

“Oh, cut the theatrics,” you said, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

He leaned in slightly, his grin softening. “Well, we wouldn’t want to anger the castle, would we?”

You gave him a long, suspicious look. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you’re still standing here,” he murmured, his voice lower now, more serious.

With a small smile, you stood on your toes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He responded immediately, his hands coming up to gently cup your face.

When you pulled back, his grin was back, brighter than ever. “So, does this mean you’ll let me call you treasure more often?”

You shoved him lightly, laughing. “Don’t push it.”

“Too late,” he said, his laughter echoing through the room as he pulled you back in for another kiss.

REQUESTED FROM : this post RELATED TO : this post

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Oh my god, Mal, you're making me blush over here! ( //>///<//) Thank you SO much for saying that! Honestly, hearing that you love everything I write just makes my heart do little flips—you’re literally the best! ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

And I’m officially thrilled to know that you’re a Barty girl now because… same!! (✿˶◕‿◕˶人◕ᴗ◕✿)

Also, the nickname “treasure”? Okay, I have to admit, it’s such a perfect fit, right?! That one actually came from @ellecdc, so you can totally thank her for that. (´｡• ◡ •｡`) ♡

You seriously make my day every time you say something like this, and I just wanna send you all the virtual kisses and loves because you are my treasure too. ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕

hey!! can i request a christmas fic of barty x reader with the prompt "ho ho holy shit you look good.", maybe they're getting ready to a christmas party and junior says this after seeing reader's outfit

also, i hope you're having a good day!!

barty crouch jr x reader where he likes your dress a bit too much

The apartment buzzed with the warm scent of pine and cinnamon, the glittering Christmas tree in the corner standing tall like a beacon of holiday spirit. Barty was standing in front of the mirror as he adjusted his tie.

You, however, were a whirlwind of Christmas excitement. The party was about to start, and you'd spent hours picking out the perfect outfit. Now, standing in front of the mirror, you fluffed out the skirt of your dark green dress trimmed with white faux fur. The puffed sleeves and velvet bow in your hair completed the look.

"Alright," you called out from the stairs of the girls dormitory, your voice brimming with anticipation. "I'm ready!"

Barty didn't even glance up at first. "Yeah, yeah," he said lazily, still adjusting his tie. "Bet you're all decked out in some—"

His words died mid-sentence as he finally lifted his head and looked at you through the mirror. His jaw dropped.

"Ho ho HOLY SHIT!" he exclaimed, leaping away from the mirror with the kind of energy usually reserved for winning Quidditch matches. He stalked toward you with a cocky grin, his eyes doing a quick once-over that sent warmth rushing to your cheeks.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your growing smile. "What? Too much?"

"Too much? Treasure, you're single-handedly putting every Christmas decoration in Hogwarts to shame," Barty said, spinning you around by your waist. "That dress, that bow, the sheer presence. I feel like I should be giving you gifts just for showing up."

You laughed, swatting at him lightly. "You're ridiculous."

"And you," he countered, leaning in conspiratorially, "are a literal Christmas miracle. Do you know how hard it is to make me speechless? This is history in the making."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the grin tugging at your lips. "Oh, please. You make yourself speechless every time you look in the mirror."

"True," Barty admitted with a dramatic sigh. "But tonight, you’ve outdone even me. I'm genuinely considering rewriting my Christmas wish list to just say: You in this outfit, forever."

Your laugh was bright, and Barty's eyes twinkled with pride. "You're impossible," you said, smoothing down the front of your dress. "Now, come on. We’re going to be late."

But Barty wasn’t done. He leaned against the doorframe, blocking your exit with a playful smirk. "Hold up. Before we go, there’s a serious matter we need to discuss."

"Oh?" you crossed your arms, tilting your head. "And what’s that?"

He pretended to think, tapping his chin. "Well, I’m worried about you, babe. If you walk into that party looking like this, I’m gonna have to spend the whole night fighting off admirers."

You snorted. "As if anyone could compete with your overconfidence."

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "The pressure on me is immense. But I’ll do it—for you."

You grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door, shaking your head. "You’re such a dork."

"Ah, but I’m your dork," Barty said, slinging an arm around your shoulders as you walked down the hall. "And tonight, I’ll make sure everyone knows it."

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[iamgonnagetyouback]

STOP STOP STOP YOU’RE MAKING ME CRY NOW, MAL .o(≧∀≦)o girly pop’s chaotic, dramatic energy is her entire brand!! Enzo absolutely picked up the nickname from Theo; they’re both menaces, I swear. And Theo?! UGH, why is he so effortlessly infuriatingly cool?! Like, PLEASE, sir, let her live!! But also, him smiling and calling her his sun??? I MELTED writing that part ( ∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩).

This comment is EVERYTHING, oh my gosh, thank YOU for making my entire day!! Now excuse me while I roll on the floor alongside you because SAME. Love you endlessly!!! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Hi ivy! For the holiday enemies to lovers prompts can you do 1,3,4 with Theo nott? Ofc you don’t have to use all of them if you don’t want to! Those 3 really stood out to me and I couldn’t pick just one 😅 thank you lovely!

Assuming this is your request @astonishment, thank you so much requesting! Hope you like it <33

theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader who gets him for the secret santa

THE SPIRALLING

There were exactly 47 hours and 12 minutes until the Hogwarts Secret Santa reveal, and you were on the verge of losing your entire mind.

Why? Because you had drawn Theodore freaking Nott as your Secret Santa recipient. Of all the people at Hogwarts, it had to be him: the cold, brooding, insufferable Slytherin who looked at you like you were the human embodiment of an unwashed sock.

“I’m cursed,” you moaned dramatically, sprawled across the couch in the Hufflepuff common room. “There’s no other explanation.”

From her chair by the fireplace, your friend Sarah barely looked up from her book. “What are you on about now?”

“My life is over,” you said, tossing an arm across your eyes for good measure. “I’ve been assigned him. The human icicle. The walking void of emotion.”

Sarah blinked. “You got Theodore Nott?”

You bolted upright, grabbing her arm like she’d just offered to save you from a sinking ship. “What do I do, Sarah?! What do you get someone who hates everything? A rock? A lump of coal?”

“Well…” Sarah started, but you were already off the couch and pacing.

“He’s going to hate anything I give him,” you wailed, hands flailing. “But I can’t not give him something because then I’ll look like a terrible person, and I’m not a terrible person, Sarah! I’m a Hufflepuff! We are legally obligated to be nice!”

“Legally?” Sarah said dryly, but you ignored her.

“And I can’t ask him what he likes because then he’ll know it’s me, and then he’ll think I’m stalking him, and—oh my gosh, what if he reports me to Snape?!”

“You’re spiralling,” Sarah said, but you were already halfway out the door.

STEP ONE: INTERROGATING THE ENEMY'S FRIENDS

Step one in your (brilliant, totally foolproof) plan was to interrogate Theodore’s friends. Casually. Subtly. Like a normal person.

Spoiler: You were not a normal person.

“Enzo!” you said brightly, sliding into the seat next to Lorenzo Berkshire at breakfast. “How’s it going? How’s life? How are your socks? Warm? Good. So, what does Theodore Nott like?”

Lorenzo froze mid-bite, his fork hovering in the air. “What?”

“You know, hobbies, interests, favorite snacks, deepest fears,” you said, waving a hand. “The usual.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Why do you want to know?”

“Oh, no reason!” You laughed—a little too loudly. “Just curious.”

“Is this for Secret Santa?” he asked, smirking. “Wait. Did you get Theo? Merlin’s beard, you got Theo!”

“NO!” you practically yelled, nearly knocking over your pumpkin juice. “Of course not! That would be absurd. Ha! Ha ha ha!”

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Am not!” you huffed. “I’m just… conducting a holiday-themed survey. For… science.”

“For science?” he repeated, amused. “Right. Well, Sunshine, if you’re so curious about Theo, why don’t you just ask him?”

“BECAUSE!” You threw your hands in the air. “He’s scary, Enzo! He’ll probably hex me or—I don’t know—stare at me with those stupid intense eyes of his.”

“His stupid intense eyes?” Enzo grinned, waggling his eyebrows. “Are you sure you don’t like him?”

“WHAT?!” You nearly fell out of your chair. “I don’t like him! I despise him! He’s rude and annoying and—ugh—he breathes too smugly!”

“Sure,” Enzo said, clearly not convinced. “Whatever you say, Sunshine.”

STEP TWO: QUESTIONING THE ENEMY

You were nothing if not persistent. So, against your better judgment, you cornered Theodore himself in the library.

“What are you doing for the holidays?” you asked, plopping into the chair across from him.

Theodore didn’t even look up from his book. “Why do you ask and/or care?”

“I don’t care,” you said quickly. “I was just… wondering.”

He finally glanced at you, one dark eyebrow raised. “Why?”

“Because I’m nice,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “And curious. And it’s the holidays! Aren’t we supposed to, like, bond or something?”

“I’d rather not,” he said, turning a page.

You scowled. “Wow. You really know how to spread holiday cheer, don’t you?”

“Was there a point to this?” he asked, looking at you like you were a particularly annoying fly buzzing around his head.

“Yes,” you said, folding your arms. “The point is… I was just wondering if you’re going home for Christmas.”

“No,” he said shortly. “Now, are we done here?”

Your scowl deepened. “Why aren’t you going home?”

“Why do you care?” he shot back.

“I don’t!” you said, your voice a little too high-pitched. “I just… thought you might be lonely or something.”

Theodore’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “Worried about me, Sunshine?”

“No!” you said, cheeks burning. “Don’t flatter yourself, Nott. I was just—ugh, forget it!”

You stood up so quickly you almost knocked over your chair, muttering under your breath as you stomped away. Behind you, Theodore chuckled softly.

STEP THREE: GIVING THE GIFT (AND HOPEFULLY NOT GETTING HEXED)

By some miracle (or maybe sheer stubbornness), you managed to find the perfect gift: a leather-bound journal, simple yet elegant, with Theodore’s initials embossed on the cover.

When the time came for the Secret Santa exchange, you watched nervously as he unwrapped it, your palms clammy and your heart pounding.

He stared at the journal for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he looked up, his piercing green eyes locking onto yours.

“Did you…?” he started, but you cut him off.

“It’s not a big deal!” you said quickly, waving your hands. “I just—I mean, you don’t have to like it or anything. It’s fine if you hate it. I just thought—”

“Mio sole,” he interrupted, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “It’s perfect.”

You froze, your brain short-circuiting. “It… it is?”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Then, because you didn’t know what else to do, you blurted, “You’re welcome! Merry Christmas! Okay, bye!”

You practically sprinted out of the room, your face burning, but you couldn’t stop the smile spreading across your face.

Maybe Theodore Nott wasn’t so bad after all.

BONUS

Later, when you were sitting by the fire, Lorenzo plopped down beside you with a smug grin.

“So,” he said, nudging you. “You gave Theo his gift. How’d it go?”

“Fine,” you said, playing with the hem of your sweater. “He liked it.”

“‘Liked it,’” Lorenzo repeated. “That’s all you’re gonna say?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “That’s all.”

Lorenzo smirked. “You’re blushing, Sunshine.”

“I am not!”

Across the room, Theodore caught your eye, and for the briefest moment, he smiled—a real, genuine smile. Your heart did a little flip, and you quickly looked away.

Lorenzo laughed. “Yeah. Totally not blushing.”

“Shut up, Enzo!”

Lorenzo's laughter trailed off as you smacked his arm, though he didn’t stop smirking like the absolute menace he was. You crossed your arms and sank deeper into your seat, huffing.

“Say, Enzo,” you began, your voice carefully nonchalant, “you know Italian, right?”

He raised a curious eyebrow but shrugged. “Yeah, of course.”

You turned to face him, fiddling nervously with the hem of your sleeve. “What does… uh… mio sole mean?”

The smirk that spread across his face was so smug, you immediately regretted asking. “Ohhh,” he drawled, leaning closer with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Who called you that?”

“No one!” you said, your voice jumping an octave. “I just heard it somewhere, that’s all. Totally random. Not a big deal!”

Enzo’s eyebrows wiggled like he was performing some sort of comedy act. “Not a big deal, huh? Sure. Well, it means ‘my sun.’ You know, like…” He trailed off dramatically before pointing straight at you. “Sunshine. My sunshine.”

Your face burned so hot, you were pretty sure you were moments away from combusting. “Oh,” you squeaked, your voice barely audible.

Enzo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “So, Sunshine, care to explain who’s been whispering sweet nothings in Italian to you?”

“No one!” you said again, practically shouting this time. “I told you, I just heard it somewhere! That’s all! Ugh, you’re so annoying, Enzo!”

“I’m annoying?” he said with mock offense. “You’re the one coming to me with your mysterious Italian phrases. Next thing I know, you’ll be asking me how to confess your undying love to Theo in flawless Tuscan dialect.”

Your gasp was so loud, half the common room turned to look at you. “Excuse me?!”

Enzo’s smirk widened. “You’re excused.”

You sputtered incoherently, your brain a tangled mess of embarrassment and indignation. “I—he—there is nothing—you are impossible, Lorenzo Berkshire!”

Enzo laughed so hard, he nearly fell out of his chair. Meanwhile, you crossed your arms and buried your face in your hands, silently vowing to never speak to him again.

Across the room, Theodore caught your eye once more, his lips quirking up in a small, knowing smile. Your stomach flipped again, and you quickly turned away, cheeks blazing.

Enzo, noticing the exchange, gasped dramatically. “It is Theo, isn’t it?! Sunshine, you sly little—”

“ENOUGH!” You groaned, grabbing a cushion and whacking him with it. Enzo, of course, only laughed harder.

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