#Hexes & Hushes

[brights-place]

⋆˚࿔ 【 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞‼ - Aftermath Of The Halls 】 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Read The full book on my wattpad

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A males voice filled with annoyance echoed in the hallways "Honestly! This year's orientation was terrible! that boy ruined it!" Riddle stood in the hallway with a scowl plastered on his face fists balled up as if he was going to choke something or someone.

"Now, now." Trey patted a hand on Riddle is the shoulder slightly squeezing it tight the vice-housewarden walking just behind his lower classman smiling softly  "We got everything under control, thanks to you Riddle." He added on watching as the red haired male is heart ahoge bobbed.

Riddle turned slightly to look at Trey over his shoulder "Who did that boy think he was?!" Riddle fumed, still not entirely over the mishap from the ceremony. Trey sighed "Riddle-" Riddle cut off Trey still red faced "He was so cocky! That look in his eyes!" "Riddle" Trey repeated trying to get Riddles attention "And don't get me started how cocky he looked when he tackled me- Oh don't get me started when he said that the queen of hearts liked him! Someone our age would never met her unless they were fae and-" "Riddle" Trey said slightly louder making Riddle face his upperclassman with a sour face "He was a She" silence slowly filled the hallways as Riddles red face dimmed blinking at Trey if he just spoke in a differnet language.

Riddle blinked “The boy with h/c hair and purple highlights?” “Yes” “The one who shoved me down?” “Yes Riddle” silence filled the two once more before Trey sighed.

"It was her first day, although I'm not sure if she'll be remaining on school grounds since the Dark Mirror said she was the daughter of a seven... plus crowley was quick to deny it too" He responded hoping that condoling his housewarden would get him in a better mood so he wouldn't be as strict with the new students in the welcoming party.

Trey witnessed how Riddle spoke up once more face not as red as before yet still aggravated "Even so if she was a woman that does not give her an excuse along with that beast that invade the ceramony" Riddle sighed as Trey continued to walk beside Riddle down the hallway tuening a corner "I'm sure Crowley's sorted it all out by now they've most likely been sent home by now and the monster removed from campus." He suggested feeling a little calmer as the redness of Riddle's face faded.

"Yes but If I do recall the mirror has stated quite many things along with the fact you have corrected me that the he is a she... if she was the daughter of a seven which one we must demand from crowley-" "Riddle! Trey!" Riddle was cut off by Cater as the ginger haired male rounded the corner the same time as the two waving a hand at them with a cherry smile "The new students are all assembled for the welcoming party." He hummed.

Riddle nodded his head his own hand placing onto his hip as he stared down the ginger "Thank you for the report, Cater. Has the venue been prepared in accordance with the laws of the Queen of Hearts?" Riddle stared intensly at his upperclassman silver eyes eyeing Caters face  "I assume the roses have been painted in an alternating pattern of red and white?"

Cater grinned one hand holding his phone that he moved slightly as he beamed "Naturally! They're perfect"

"Very well" Riddle stated in acknowledgement to the response walking past Cater to resume his trail to the hall of mirrors "Then let us hurry back to the dorms." Riddle froze after a few steps turning to look over his shoulder at his upper classmen with furrowed brows "If I see anymore trouble both of your heads will roll" His voice laced with authority "Remember that." "Yes, Housewarden." The two answered in sync staying still as Riddle turned back away from the both of them and continued to walk down the halls shoes tapping against the floor once more.

Cater let out a soft sigh, shoulders slouching as the smile slid off his face. "Good thing we finished repainting the roses in time..." He whispered reaching up to fiddle with one of the two loose strands that were in his face "You sure work me hard Trey." Trey glanced at the ginger from the corner of his eye giving cager a small smile.

Voice close to a whisper and kept quiet so the younger red haired make wouldn't hear Trey spoke "Thanks for your hard work, Cater." "So where did the girl with highlights go?" Cater questioned quietly having left much earlier than the rest of the students before Crowley had sent them all out of the mirror chamber "Crowley should've sent her back home by now considering what the Dark Mirror said about their soul... though I would of thought he'd let her stay but he went on a tangent about how she was a girl" Trey's answer was flat his eyes focusing on the path in front of him but lingering on the back of Riddle's head in concern.

"Aww... I was hoping I could've gotten a pic with her for Magicam... I could of gotten massive likes" Cater pouted shoulders slouching over a bit more in disappointment "We rarely get freshie's who acutally have good fashion taste" Trey hummed used to Caters constant blabbers about Magicam "Riddle didn't seem very fond of her... even though he thought she was a boy..." He whispered a bad feeling settling in his stomach over how quickly Riddle took a dislike to the girl especially when he saw Riddle nearly lash out on the girl for saying that she knew the queen of hearts and she liked her.

Cater gave the green-haired boy a look before grinning"Chill out, Trey. Riddle's uptight about everything it'll be fineeee." The ginger laughed off glancing over at Riddle to make sure the redhead hadn't heard him before whispering "Plus, we got a party to get too so have some fun and relax for once." Cater suggested wiggling his brows giving his dorm's vice-housewarden an easygoing grin.

"Or~" Cater said in a melody tone "You could always bake some more photogenic dishes..." He suggested giving Trey a shoulder nudge to see if he could pull out a couple more pics for his Magicam posts.

Cater just received a small grin in response Trey adjusting his glasses as he replied "I thought you said all the new Heartslabyul students were gathered and waiting."

Cater flinched at Treys words widening, and eyebrows furrowed as he was gawking at Trey Trey grinned at his friend a smug look forming on his face "I don't think you'll be taking many photos this year since you're suppose to be taking care of all the freshmen Cater." Cater's expression fell as a guilty look spread across his face as he fiddled with a strand of hair again a nervse habit Trey picked up on from his friend "I thought you forgot about that..." He complained earning a small chuckle from Trey.

The sound of Riddle's heels against the tiling came to a halt making both pause their conversation and focus back on their housewarden who'd turned to face them with a harsh glare to make them silent as they returned back to walking

The two stayed quiet following along behind their housewarden one focused on the redhead while the other was focused on his phone tapping his thumb against his screen to distract himself.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 【Hexes & Hushes — MASTERLIST】

Tag List @mochiclouds

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

His Soft Spot - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: I’m so tempted to make a load of these scenarios because I find this trope so cute 😭 and I was definitely not inspired by that photo I reblogged…

The moment Mattheo Riddle stepped into the Great Hall, the entire atmosphere shifted. Conversations hushed, eyes flickered away, and the once lively room felt as though it had lost all its warmth.

It wasn’t uncommon for Mattheo to be in a foul mood, but today, it was different. Today, he radiated pure fury.

His dark curls were even messier than usual, his sharp jaw locked tight, and his eyes—those usually mischievous brown eyes—were stormy and dangerous.

“Don’t even look at him,” Theo muttered under his breath, nudging Enzo as they both sat at the Slytherin table.

Enzo let out a low whistle. “What’s got him like this?”

“Dunno, but I’d rather not be on the receiving end of it.”

Sure enough, Mattheo strode past a few third years who were unfortunate enough to be in his path and they practically flew backwards as he barged past them. Even the Gryffindors who would normally offer an unsolicited snarky comment chose to keep their heads down.

The only one who seemed entirely unbothered by his wrath was you—for good reason.

As soon as Mattheo spotted you at the Slytherin table, his expression shifted so suddenly it was almost comical. The storm in his eyes calmed, his shoulders relaxed, and his lips curled into a soft, barely-there smile.

“Hey, love,” he murmured as he slid onto the bench beside you, his arm immediately wrapping around your waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

You turned to face him, brows raised. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

Mattheo sighed dramatically, burying his face in your neck. “I might. Haven’t decided yet.”

Despite his words, his tone when speaking to you was so sweet, so warm, that it was almost laughable compared to how he’d just been glaring daggers at half the school.

Theo, who had been watching the entire exchange with amusement, turned to Enzo. “You see that?”

Enzo smirked. “Oh, I see it all right. Blatant favoritism!”

Theo grinned. “It’s absolutely ridiculous. He looks like he’s about to kill us all, and then the second he sees Y/N? Boom. Puppy.”

“I’m literally right here,” Mattheo muttered, pulling away from you just enough to glare at his friends. “And I will not hesitate to throw you both into the black lake.”

“Oh, we know,” Theo said, leaning back smugly. “But only if Y/N isn’t looking, yeah?”

Mattheo scowled. “Shut up.”

You giggled, reaching out to cup his cheek, drawing his attention back to you. “What’s got you so mad, anyway?”

He melted into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he exhaled heavily. “Idiot Ravenclaws in Dueling Club,” he grumbled. “One of them kept running their mouth, thinking they could beat me. Almost hexed the bastard into next week, but Snape showed up before I could.”

You hummed in response, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “So you’re mad because you didn’t get to hex someone?”

“Pretty much.”

Theo snorted. “Psychopath.”

“Dead man,” Mattheo shot back without even looking at him.

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Alright, alright. No hexing your friends at breakfast.”

Mattheo groaned, resting his forehead against yours. “You always take their side.”

“I do not,” you argued, laughing softly. “I just think you need to relax.”

“I am relaxed,” he said, voice softer than before. He nudged his nose against yours, and for a second, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Just you and him, wrapped up in this little moment of warmth.

Enzo made a gagging noise. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Mattheo’s hand shot out to grab a piece of toast from Enzo’s plate and chucked it at his head. “Then leave.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Don’t let them bother you.”

His lips barely curved into a smirk. “They don’t. They’re just annoying.”

“You love us,” Theo chimed in.

“No, I tolerate you.”

Enzo grinned. “Right, but you love her.”

Mattheo didn’t even hesitate. “Obviously.”

The table went silent for a second.

Theo’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell, did he just—?”

“He did,” Enzo confirmed, looking equally stunned. “He admitted it. Just like that.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, looking at you like he couldn’t believe he had to deal with this level of stupidity. “Of course I love her.” He glanced at the other two. “What, did you think I was throwing myself at her feet just for fun?”

Theo blinked. “I mean… yeah, kind of.”

Mattheo groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. “You absolute idiots.”

You just laughed, feeling warmth spread through your chest at how easily he had said it. You knew Mattheo loved you—he showed it in every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every time he softened his voice just for you—but hearing him say it so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world? That was something else entirely.

He may have been terrifying to everyone else, but when it came to you, he was nothing but soft.

And honestly? You loved that.

Even if your friends never let you live it down.

[iris-qt]

𝚜𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗

ᴘᴛ. ɪɪ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴅɪꜱᴀꜱᴛᴇʀ

ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

❆ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴄ ʀɪᴠᴀʟꜱ | 3.6ᴋ

❆ ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱɴᴏᴡᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʀᴏᴏᴍꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀᴄᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʙʀᴏᴏᴍꜱᴛɪᴄᴋꜱ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴꜱ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ ᴏɴᴇ…?

Fate was indeed quite cruel for you and Theodore Nott

Fate? Or just an incredibly annoying best friend named Mattheo Riddle?

The Slytherin common room was unusually quiet that evening, the typical crackle of fire and hushed whispers replaced by a tense stillness as the storm howled outside. The wind battered the windows, sending flakes of snow spiraling in every direction. Inside, though, the four friends had finally returned from their little excursion to the Three Broomsticks, all of them dripping wet and looking far too pleased with themselves.

Mattheo Riddle collapsed into an armchair by the fire, his usual smirk more of a self-satisfied grin. “Well, well, well. That was absolutely perfect.”

Draco Malfoy, having shed his wet cloak and settled by the fire, shot him a glare. “Perfect? Are you out of your mind? We were spying on them. They’ll kill us when they find out.”

Pansy Parkinson kicked her booths off and flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. “They’re practically made for each other.”

“Yeah, a match made in sarcasm and tension,” Blaise Zabini chimed in, lowering himself onto the armrest beside her. “But I have to admit, y/n’s got Nott wrapped around her finger.”

Mattheo chuckled, leaning back and crossing his arms. “See? I told you. It was destiny. The universe wanted this.”

“Destiny?” Draco scoffed. “This was a disaster waiting to happen. Those two will never get along. They’re like oil and water.”

“You’re forgetting one important detail,” Pansy said, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “They’re both annoyingly competitive. They’ll keep each other on their toes.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Draco muttered, eyeing Mattheo. “You do realize we’ve practically pushed them into a blizzard together, right? They’re going to be stuck in that pub for the rest of the night. There’s only so much avoiding each other they can do.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the window where the storm raged outside. “It’s really coming down out there. I bet they’re already stuck in that pub for a while.”

“Good,” Mattheo said smugly. “That’s exactly what they need. The whole ‘forced proximity’ thing works wonders, trust me.”

“Uh-huh,” Draco said skeptically, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “And when they start throwing punches instead of witty remarks? What then?”

“You don’t think they’ll, you know, talk about their feelings, do you?” Mattheo asked, smirking.

“Talk about their feelings?” Blaise scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “Theodore Nott and y/n y/l/n? The only feelings they’ll share are how much they loathe each other.”

Pansy raised her cup of tea, a wicked grin on her face. “To Theo and y/n. May they finally see what we’ve known all along: they’re perfect for each other.”

“Here, here!” Mattheo toasted, holding up his own mug. “No way they’re escaping this. Not unless they manage to hex each other into oblivion first.”

Blaise chuckled. “I’d pay good money to see that.”

They all fell into a comfortable silence, the fire crackling as they relaxed in the warmth of the common room, the storm howling just beyond the walls of the castle. Outside, Theo and y/n remained trapped in the Three Broomsticks.

The winds rattled the window panes of the cozy little pub.

As if getting stuck with the bane of his existence for a few hours wasn’t torturous enough, kind Madam Rosmerta, who Theodore was beginning to suspect was secretly evil, decided to share some unfortunate news regarding available rooms…

Madam Rosmerta gave them a sympathetic smile, her hands clasped tightly around a steaming mug. “I’m afraid there’s only one room left upstairs, dears. The others were taken by travelers when the storm started picking up.”

Your head snapped toward Theo, your jaw already tightening. “One room?” you repeated, voice sharp.

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “Of course, it’s one room. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Rosmerta glanced between them, clearly trying to gauge if a fight was about to break out. “It’s got a big bed and a cozy fire. You’ll be warm, at least.”

“Great,” You said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Warmth will really help when I’ve been murdered by morning.”

Theo crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t flatter yourself. If anyone’s at risk here, it’s me.”

Rosmerta sighed, her patience wearing thin. “Look, I’m offering it as a courtesy. If you’d rather sit out here all night with the cold drafts and creaky chairs, be my guest.”

You shot Theo a glare. “Fine. But if you snore, I’m hexing you into next week.”

Theo smirked, grabbing his trench coat from the chair. “And if you start ranting about Potions essays at midnight, I’m jumping out the window.”

With a heavy sigh, you followed him toward the stairs, muttering under your breath about “the worst night ever.”

Rosmerta chuckled to herself, shaking her head. “Young love,” she murmured, returning to the bar.

...

The door creaked open, revealing a small but warm room. A crackling fireplace cast flickering light across the wooden walls, the flames throwing shadows onto a quilt-covered bed nestled against the far corner. A single armchair, worn but inviting, sat by the hearth, and a rug that looked as though it had been knitted decades ago lay sprawled on the floor. 

Theo stepped in first, his sharp gaze flicking around the room. It was simple and unremarkable, yet the warmth from the fireplace immediately softened the icy tension that clung to his shoulders. He tugged off his gloves, tossing them onto the chair before brushing the snow from his sleeves.

“Cozy,” he muttered, though the word carried a hint of sarcasm. He glanced over his shoulder at you, lingering in the doorway, expression hovering somewhere between annoyance and reluctant acceptance.

“Cozy,” you echoed flatly, eyes landing on the single bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Classic.

You huffed, stepping further inside and dropping your bag onto the floor with a thud. “I’ll take the chair,” you declared, pointing toward the armchair by the fire.

Theo snorted, shaking his head. “Good luck sleeping in that thing. You’ll be begging for the bed by midnight.”

“And you’ll be sleeping on the floor by morning if you keep talking,” you shot back, unbuttoning your coat with stiff, jerky movements.

Theo didn’t respond, instead shrugging off his trench coat and hanging it neatly on the back of the chair. He busied himself with the fire for a moment, adding another log and stirring the embers. The room grew even warmer, the heat seeping into his cold hands.

When he turned back, you had pulled off your scarf, revealing flushed cheeks and a few stray snowflakes still clinging to your hair. He watched as you brushed them away absently, the gesture oddly... endearing.

He frowned, shaking off the thought. “You should take the bed,” he said abruptly, the words surprising even himself.

You blinked, turning to him with suspicion. “What?”

“The bed,” he repeated, his tone more clipped this time. “You’ll be unbearable tomorrow if you don’t get any sleep.”

Your eyebrows lifted, and for a moment, he thought you were going to argue. But then you sighed, the fight draining out. “Fine. But don’t complain when you’re stiff and miserable in the morning.”

Theo smirked faintly, grabbing the blanket from the armchair. “I’ve survived worse than a night on the floor, y/l/n. Don’t flatter yourself.”

As he spread the blanket out by the fire, he caught himself glancing at you again. Your expression had softened slightly, your usual sharp edges dulled by the firelight. You didn’t look quite as insufferable now, standing there with your arms crossed and brow furrowed in thought.

…

The wind howled outside as Theo paced the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Meanwhile, you were glaring daggers at the small, frosted window in the corner, where an icy draft was sneaking through a crooked frame.

“Are you going to do something about that?” you asked, rubbing your arms.

Theo shot you an incredulous look. “Do I look like a handyman to you?”

“Well, you’re the one with the pureblood superiority complex,” you quipped. “Surely fixing a window is beneath my ‘mudblood’ capabilities.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, but then he smirked. “Fine. Stand back. Watch and learn.”

You crossed your arms and leaned against the wall as Theo strode toward the window with unbelievable confidence for someone who had never fixed a thing in his life. He fiddled with the latch, muttering under his breath.

“Step one,” he announced grandly, “assess the problem.”

“You’re narrating this?” you deadpanned.

“Step two,” Theo continued, ignoring you, “apply logical reasoning and brute force.” He yanked on the window frame.

It didn’t budge.

“You’re going to break it,” you warned, suppressing a grin.

“I’m improving it,” Theo shot back. He gave the window another tug, and the whole frame groaned ominously.

With a loud crack, a chunk of ice dislodged from the outside and tumbled onto Theo’s foot.

You burst out laughing, doubling over as Theo hopped on one leg, muttering curses.

“Step three,” you said between gasps for air, “check if the window is laughing at you because I’m pretty sure it is.”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever,” Theo said, shooting you a glare as he hobbled back to the chair.

“Well, obviously I wouldn’t use brute force,” you said smugly, grabbing a blanket from the bed. “Here. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Theo watched with exaggerated skepticism as you climbed onto the chair, draping the blanket over the frame and tucking it into the edges. “Voilà!” you declared triumphantly, stepping back. “No more draft.”

The blanket immediately sagged and slid to the floor, letting the icy wind back in.

Theo barked a laugh, clapping slowly. “Brilliant. Truly groundbreaking work, y/l/n.”

“Oh, shut up!” you snapped, grabbing the blanket and tossing it at him.

Still laughing, Theo caught it and stood. “Move. You’re terrible at this.”

He stepped closer to the window, brushing past you. This time, instead of pulling or yanking, he gently adjusted the frame and tucked the blanket into the top corners, muttering charms under his breath to secure it in place.

When he finished, the draft was gone, and the room suddenly felt warmer.

“There,” he said smugly, turning to face you. “Step four: call in the expert.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Fine. You win this round, Nott.”

“I always do,” he replied, his voice quieter now, almost teasing.

For a moment, the bickering subsided, and they stood there by the now secured window. The firelight flickered across their faces, and you glanced up at him, noticing for the first time how soft his smirk could look when it wasn’t accompanied by an insult.

“Thanks,” you said, surprising both of them.

Theo shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into something dangerously close to a smile. “Don’t mention it. Or actually, do. Preferably to everyone we know.”

And just like that, the moment passed, but the warmth lingered.

The wind howled outside, but the warmth of the fire in the room kept things cozy…except for one thing: the floor. Theo sat cross-legged by the hearth, his arms wrapped around himself as he gave the ground an occasional glare.

“This is a crime against my back,” he muttered under his breath, trying to get comfortable but only managing to shift in place every few seconds.

You glanced over at him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re still complaining about the floor?”

“It’s not the floor, it’s the principle of the floor,” Theo said with a dramatic sigh. “The suffering of it.” He adjusted his position for the fifteenth time, finally giving up and lying flat on his back.

“Poor Theo. The floor is too hard for your delicate aristocratic back,” you teased, pulling out a bag of crisps from your bag.

Theo shot you a look but didn’t respond, instead reaching for the nearby blanket. His stomach, however, had other ideas, gurgling loudly enough to make you look over with a raised, slightly concerned eyebrow.

“Hungry, are we?”

“I’m fine,” Theo said defensively, as if his stomach hadn’t just betrayed him.

You held up the packet of crisps. “Well, I have snacks.” You shook the bag temptingly.

“Ugh, crisps?” Theo wrinkled his nose, but his stomach grumbled again, this time louder.

You smirked, leaning forward. “What’s the matter, Nott? Too simple for you?”

He glared at her, but his stomach won that round. “Fine. Give me one.”

You tossed him a chip, and Theo inspected it like it was a cursed artifact. He took a small bite, making an exaggerated face. “It’s like chewing on nothing.”

“Is that so?” you asked, unimpressed. “Maybe you’re just not sophisticated enough for the finer things in life.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another chip. “Finer things? It’s a bag of plain crisps, not an heirloom from my great-grandfather’s collection.”

“Well, sorry for not carrying around caviar in my school bag,” you replied dryly, reclining back onto the bed.

Theo ignored you, popping another chip in his mouth. “You know, I expected something better,” he muttered. “This is barely edible.”

You snorted. “You’re so picky. Can’t believe I’m wasting my high-class snacks on you.”

Theo rolled his eyes, grabbing another crisp. “High-class? It’s a bag of crisps, not some exclusive delicacy.”

“Just eat the damn crisps, Nott,” you laughed, tossing him another.

Theo sighed dramatically. “Fine. It’s not like I have a choice.” He slowly chewed the next chip, making an exaggerated show of tasting it.

“Is it really that bad?” you asked, barely hiding your smile.

“Look, I’m just saying… if I were to critique the flavor,” Theo began, licking his lips as if in thought, “I’d say it’s… offensive. Lacking a certain je ne sais quoi.”

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly fell off the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s potato chips, not fine wine.”

Theo gave you an insufferable smile. “Exactly why I can’t trust you with snack recommendations.”

You picked up another bag from your bag, this one chocolate-covered pretzels. “You want to try these, too, Mr. Refined?”

Theo cautiously took one, studying it like it might explode. He bit into it, then paused, his eyes widening a fraction. “Okay, this is actually… tolerable.”

“Tolerable?” you grinned. “Are you really that hard to please, or are you just trying to be difficult?”

Theo shifted again on the floor, finally conceding defeat to the uncomfortable surface. “The floor is awful,” he muttered, as if the snacks were the only thing keeping him sane at this point.

You give him a slightly sympathetic look.

The two of them sat in companionable silence for a moment, Theo stuffing pretzels into his mouth like he was trying to make up for lost time. You finally cracked a smile, glancing over at him.

“You know, for a picky snob, you’re not terrible,” you said, the teasing tone light.

Theo swallowed his pretzel, his expression serious as he looked at you. “You’re not the worst company either, y/l/n.”

It was the closest thing to a compliment he’d given you, and though it was seemingly wrapped in sarcasm, you couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take it.”

…

The fire crackled softly in the corner, casting long shadows across the room. Theo had long since stopped pretending the floor wasn’t absolute torture to sit on. His posture was slumped, his legs stretched awkwardly in front of him as he tried to find some position that didn’t make his back ache.

You, who had long since claimed the bed and made yourself comfortable, glanced over at him. He was practically squirming, his face a mix of annoyance and defeat, and you couldn’t help but stifle a smile.

“You okay there?” you asked, your voice light but with just a hint of genuine concern.

Theo shot you a look. “Oh, I’m fantastic. Just living my best life on this luxurious floor.”

You raised an eyebrow, sitting up in bed. “You don’t look very fantastic to me.”

“Thanks for the observation,” he muttered, glancing at the bed and then back at the floor. I’m just fine,” he added with a dismissive wave.

You studied him for a moment. Despite his usual bravado, there was something about the way he was holding himself, like he couldn’t quite escape the discomfort. His jaw was tight, and his hand kept fidgeting with the edge of his shirt.

A thought crossed your mind, and for once, maybe showing some kindness to Nott wouldn’t hurt. You swung your legs off the bed and stood up, walking over to where Theo was sitting with an exaggerated sigh.

“Get up,” you said, holding out a hand.

Theo stared at it like it was some sort of foreign object. “What?”

“I’m not going to let you suffer on the floor like that. It’s ridiculous.”

Theo opened his mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it. After a moment of hesitation, he reluctantly took your hand and let you pull him to his feet. He winced slightly as he stood, stretching his stiff legs.

Theo hesitated but eventually sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he adjusted the position of his legs. He wasn’t quite comfortable yet, but the soft mattress was a welcome change from the floor.

“I still don’t know why you’re being nice to me,” Theo mumbled, not looking at you.

“Because I’m not entirely evil,” you teased with a little laugh, sitting back down beside him.

There was a pause as Theo’s watercolor eyes flicked to you, then away. He glanced at the small couch across the room that was far less comfortable than the bed but was still an option. He wasn’t entirely ready to admit that he liked the idea of staying near you for a while…

Finally, he sighed, and, almost begrudgingly, moved further onto the bed, pulling his legs up to sit cross-legged beside you.

You watched him, noting the way his usual air of self-assurance was slightly dropped. It was strange to see him like this…vulnerable, not in control. and for some reason, it made him more… approachable.

“See? This is better,” you said with a teasing grin, glancing over at him.

Theo, still half-pretending to be indifferent, couldn’t quite hide the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah, well… I guess it’s not the worst thing in the world.”

The tension between them softened even further. For a long moment, neither of them said anything, just listening to the crackling fire and the sound of their own breathing. Theo, surprisingly, was the first to break the silence.

“Thanks,” he murmured, almost under his breath.

You blinked, glancing at him with mild surprise. “For what?”

“For… not leaving me to sleep on the floor like some kind of peasant,” Theo said, his voice light but sincere.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Theo shrugged, but his smile was genuine now. “I try.”

For a moment, they just sat there, quietly, but the air between them had changed. The teasing, the banter, the barbs…they were still there, but there was something softer now, something that wasn’t just about annoyance or putting each other down.

Theo’s thoughts drifted for a moment, and he realized, in a way that made his chest tighten a little, that this wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. In fact, this moment, this strange and unexpected peace with you, was… nice.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d like to stick around a little longer.

The Morning After

The room was bathed in soft morning light, the snow outside blanketing the world in a peaceful silence. 

Theo woke slowly, his eyelids heavy, the quiet of the room wrapping around him like a comfort he didn’t expect. The fire had long since gone out, but the warmth from the bed kept the cold at bay. He shifted, and that’s when he realized.

 His arm was around you. 

Your head rested against his chest, your hair slightly tousled, hand curled loosely over his side. The weight of you, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, was surprisingly soothing.

Theo didn’t want to move. Ever. He stayed still. He could feel your warmth seeping into him, and it made something in his chest tighten in the most unexpected way. He wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, he felt… content.

You stirred in your sleep, nuzzling closer without realizing, your fingers twitching against his chest. Your soft breath brushed against his neck, and Theo’s heart did a funny little jump. He smiled quietly to himself, the kind of smile that didn’t feel like a defense or a mask but just a simple, genuine reaction.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let his fingers gently brush against your hair, the motion instinctive, as if he’d done it a thousand times. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a promise of something soft, something unexpected.

You sighed in your sleep, face relaxing further against him, and for a moment, Theo thought he had died and gone to heaven. His arm tightened ever so slightly around your waist, as if he were holding on to something precious. something he didn’t want to let go of.

He let out a soft breath, closing his eyes again, the quiet peace wrapping around him like a warm blanket. Maybe he wasn’t as good at pretending as he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he’d found something worth holding on to.

pt. 3 here <3

Taglist: @lazycrazyme, @lovrsm, @minhlajenni, @rafeluvrr,

(ty for the comments and support!!)

[starkeysmoon]

KNOTS AND KISSES

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: after a long day at hogwarts, mattheo surprises you by offering to untangle your hair, revealing a softer side you didn’t expect.

content: fluff, mutual pinning, no established relationship, suggestive language, kissing.

words: 1,853

the castle had settled into a hushed stillness, the kind that only came when most students had retreated to their dorms.

you sat on your bed, freshly showered but too tired to deal with the mess of damp, tangled hair sticking to your shoulders.

the soft glow of enchanted fairy lights shimmered across your room, casting gentle shadows on the walls.

just as exhaustion began pulling at your limbs, a soft knock broke the silence, and before you could respond, the door creaked open.

“you’re going to get hexed one day for not locking your door,” mattheo muttered as he stepped inside, his smirk already firmly in place.

his dark eyes flicked over you, taking in your pajama-clad form and the damp strands clinging to your face.

“though i suppose if i’m the one sneaking in, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

you arched a brow at him, too tired to fight the grin tugging at your lips. “is this your way of saying you missed me, riddle, or are you just bored?”

he shut the door behind him with a soft click, the smirk deepening as he crossed the room. “can’t it be both?”

you rolled your eyes as a laugh escaped from your lips, flopping back against your pillows. “what are you even doing here? do you plan to charm my hairbrush to attack me?”

he pushed off the doorframe and strolled over to you, his gaze lingering on the damp strands clinging to your face. “doesn’t look like i’d need to. your hair’s already doing half the job.”

“wow. insightful as ever, mattheo,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

he chuckled, low and warm, as he perched himself on the edge of your bed. “bad day?” he asked, his voice laced with concern, but you could already hear the teasing in it.

you turned your head toward the door, only to find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed, a grin spreading across his face.

“i’m fine,” you groaned, rubbing your eyes.

“just… too tired to deal with this,” you said, motioning vaguely at your tangled hair.

mattheo raised an eyebrow. “too tired? or too lazy?”

you gave him a playful glare. “i prefer ‘tired.’”

he walked over to the bed, his smirk still in place, but his eyes softened when they landed on you. “i think i can help with that,” he said, as if he'd already made up his mind.

“help? how?” you raised an eyebrow, suspicious of what he meant.

“well, you don’t have to untangle your hair if you’re that tired,” he said, his voice practically dripping with mischief. “i’ll do it for you.”

“you?” you blinked, unable to hide your amusement. “you’re going to untangle my hair?”

“don’t sound so surprised,” he drawled, though his smirk betrayed his amusement. “i’m full of hidden talents.”

you couldn't help but laugh at the idea.

“like what? bothering me until i lose my mind?”

“that’s one of my favorites,” he admitted, moving to sit down on the bed next to you, patting his lap, gesturing impatiently.

“now, are you going to sit down, or are we going to spend all night arguing?”

you narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t stop a small smile from playing at the corner of your lips. “this better not be some trap to mess with me.”

“i’m offended,” he teased, his voice light and playful.

“just sit, and let me work my magic.” he patted his lap again, the mischievous glint in his eyes growing stronger.

sighing dramatically, you rolled your eyes, but there was no resisting him. you climbed onto his lap, positioning yourself so you were sitting comfortably with your back against his chest.

hesitating for only a moment, you shifted to sit on the bed, your back pressed against his chest as you settled into his lap. his hands immediately found your hair, the warmth of his palms startling against your cool, damp skin.

“you’ve done this before?” you asked, more out of curiosity than doubt.

“maybe,” he said, his tone deliberately cryptic as his fingers worked through the knots with surprising gentleness.

“what does maybe mean?” you pressed, craning your neck to glance at him.

“it means don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” he said, smirking down at you.

you huffed, but the way his fingers combed through your hair was oddly soothing, and you felt yourself relax against him.

“you’re quiet,” he noted after a moment, his tone light. “you’re not plotting my demise, are you?”

“not yet,” you murmured, closing your eyes. “this is suspiciously nice, though.”

he chuckled, low and warm, the vibration of it against your back sending a strange flutter through your chest. “what can i say? i’m full of surprises.”

the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, the sound of his voice mingling with the soft crackle of the candlelight as you chatted.

you teased him about his hair-braiding skills, or lack thereof, and he retaliated by pretending to tug too hard, only to gently smooth his fingers through the strands again.

at one point, he paused, his hands lingering in your hair. “you know,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly, “this isn’t so bad.”

“what isn’t?” you asked, turning your head slightly to glance at him.

“this,” he said, gesturing vaguely between you both. “not... being alone all the time.”

his admission caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. but then you reached up, your fingers brushing against his, and you smiled.

“i trust you,” you said softly, feeling the weight of his words in the space between you.

his gaze softened, his fingers pausing in your hair before he continued gently untangling it.

“you do?” his voice was low, surprised in a way that made your chest tighten.

you nodded, feeling the quiet shift between you both. “yeah. even if you are a pain in the arse sometimes.”

he snorted softly, but there was a warmth in his smile. “you know, you’re lucky you’re cute when you’re being stubborn.”

his fingers carefully tugged at a particularly tough knot, and you winced.

“sorry,” he murmured, his voice softening. “i won’t hurt you.”

you laughed. “you’re lucky i like you. otherwise, i might just hex you for putting me in this position.”

“oh, please,” he scoffed, but there was no malice in his voice.

“as if you could live without me.” he tugged on your hair again, this time with much more care.

“hmm, true,” you admitted, letting your eyes close for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his body and the soothing rhythm of his fingers. “you’re pretty hard to get rid of.”

“you’re welcome,” he said with mock humility, and you could feel the grin on his face against the back of your head. “this is just me being a good…friend.”

“good friend, huh?” you teased, your voice light and playful. “who knew you had it in you.”

“you’re the only one who gets to see this side of me, you know,” he muttered, voice surprisingly soft as he continued working through your hair, his hands gentle now. “so enjoy it while it lasts.”

you felt a warmth settle in your chest at his words, and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you tried to play it off.

“you really are soft underneath all that sarcasm,” you teased, your voice warm with affection.

“and you’re not fooling anyone with that fake tough-girl act,” he shot back with a grin, though it was obvious he was enjoying the moment just as much as you were.

his fingers worked through another knot before he reached for a strand near the back of your head, tugging it with an exaggerated grunt.

“how did this even happen? seriously, it’s like you’ve been wrestling with a hippogriff.”

“i do have a very busy life, you know,” you quipped, reaching up to lightly smack his arm. “you’re lucky i’m letting you do this. don’t mess it up.”

“mess it up?” he echoed, his voice dripping with confidence. “i told you i’m a professional.”

you snorted. “right.”

you felt his chest rumble with laughter, the sound so close to your ear that it sent a shiver down your spine.

he was so close to you, and in this simple, sweet moment, everything felt just a little bit more perfect.

“well, i think i’m done,” he said after a moment, gently setting your hair down, and you could feel the soft caress of his hands against your skin.

you turned in his lap to face him, feeling your heart race as you met his eyes.

“you actually did a good job,” you said, a teasing smile curling at the corner of your lips. “i’m impressed.”

“thank you,” he said, grinning back at you. “i told you. i’m good at everything.”

“everything, huh?” you leaned closer, your breath mixing with his as you smiled. “prove it.”

before he could respond, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a kiss that was anything but soft.

he tasted of warmth, familiarity, and affection. he didn’t pull away, his arms tightening around you in response.

and for that moment, with his fingers still tangled in your hair and his lips against yours, the world outside your little bubble of comfort didn’t matter.

it was just the two of you, tangled together in the way only you could understand.

mattheo riddle masterlist | navigation

[bryan-writes]

Green smoke and golden smiles— barty crouch jr x reader

Summary: you find yourself at a Gryffindor party, celebrating with Lily and the marauders on a win against Slytherin. Barty decides to crash it, prank the Gryffindors and steal you away to get to know you.

Hufflepuff reader, fluff, Barty calls reader darling and my lady, super cute!

Credit to @strangergraphics-archive for the lovely dividers :)

The Gryffindor common room was alive in a way that only followed a narrow victory against Slytherin. Laughter and voices bounced off the stone walls, and red and gold streamers, charmed to burst into mini-fireworks, spiraled across the ceiling in dizzying loops. Near the bar, which boasted an impressive line-up of Butterbeer, Firewhiskey, and an alarming amount of snacks, Lily Evans was chatting animatedly with you, the token Hufflepuff in the crowd. Your easygoing friendship with Lily had opened doors you’d never anticipated, including one straight into the rowdy, reckless world of the Gryffindors.

You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced around, feeling a familiar, comfortable warmth. James was being his usual self, arm slung around Lily’s shoulders as he tried and failed to impress her with exaggerated retellings of his quidditch heroics. Sirius was close by, grinning and tossing popcorn into Peter’s mouth like it was some kind of game, while Remus sat on the sofa next to you, watching them with a faintly amused smile, occasionally chuckling at your comments and sipping a warm mug of Butterbeer. You were surrounded by friends, wrapped in warmth and cheer, and yet there was something gnawing at the edge of your mind— a sense that tonight wasn’t going to stay peaceful for long.

In the back of your head, you could practically hear the gears of fate turning. After all, a win this close against Slytherin? They wouldn’t let a game this hard fought go without consequence.

And that’s when it happened. The Gryffindor portrait door burst open, the fat lady yelling obscenities as Barty Crouch Jr. strolled in, looking like he had every right to be there. With his classic lopsided grin, he paused at the threshold, one brow arched as he scanned the room with a gaze sharp enough to unsettle even the most stalwart lion. Trailing behind him were a small group of his Slytherin friends, each wearing expressions that ranged from smug to wary as they took in the Gryffindor revelry.

A hush fell over the crowd for a heartbeat. Then, true to Gryffindor form, James leaned toward Sirius with a snort, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Since when does Crouch drop by without hexing someone first?”

Sirius grinned, nudging him back. “Just give it a minute.”

Barty, meanwhile, held up his hands, that smirk never leaving his face. “Evening, Gryffindors!” He announced, voice effortlessly cutting through the chatter. “Thought I’d drop by to congratulate you lot on your narrow— and I mean narrow— victory today.”

A few students raised their Butterbeers, chuckling, though Lily rolled her eyes, muttering, “Oh, this should be good…”

He walked right up to her, bowing with an exaggerated flourish. “Lily Evans! Captain of this unruly pride of lions.” His grin widened and his eyes flitted around the group. “A spectacular game, truly. It’s Gryffindors like you who make these matches worth every bit of trouble”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not all you’re here for,” Lily said, unimpressed but unable to hide her faint smile. Barty’s charm had an annoying way of creeping up on even the most suspicious of people.

You were trying not to laugh when he caught sight of you, and his expression shifted from playful to intrigued, his eyes narrowing just a bit as they took you in. Then, in one smooth motion, he turned from Lily and closed the space between you with a look of casual interest, leaning in just close enough to spark a thrill of excitement in your stomach.

“And who might you be, tucked away here among all these lions?” He asked, eyes gleaming.

“Y/N,” you replied, fighting to keep your tone neutral. “I’m here with Lily.”

”Y/N,” he repeated slowly, as if savoring it. “The one and only Hufflepuff in a den of Gryffindors. Fascinating. Tell me, darling, how does one of your gentle disposition find themselves here, surrounded by all this… ferocity?”

”Just lucky, I suppose,” you quipped, surprised at how easily the words came.

He let out a low chuckle, glancing at the marauders with an amused smirk before looking back at you. “You’re certainly braver than I’d have guessed,” he murmured, a spark of something playful in his eyes. “Though, I’d advise staying close. If I know Gryffindors, there’s bound to be some… retaliation.”

You raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Retaliation? For what?”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper that sent a chill down your spine. “Oh, nothing too sinister. Just a little fog to set the mood.”

Before you could question him further, a loud pop echoed through the common room, and in an instant the space was filled with thick, swirling green mist, tinted in unmistakeable colors. There were shrieks and laughter as green fireworks began going off, Gryffindors stumbling blindly, coughing and waving their hands in front of their faces. Even the maraduers were caught off guard, fumbling around in the chaos, yelling and laughing as they tried to locate each other.

In the confusion, you felt a hand slip around yours, warm and steady. You didn’t need to see his face to know it was Barty. With a grin you couldn’t see but could practically feel, he pulled you through the haze and out into the hallway, leaving the chaos behind you.

Once outside, he turned to you, grinning as he gave a mock bow. “My lady, saved from the treacherous fog by none other than yours truly.”

You laughed, catching your breath, swatting at the green powder bound to stain your sweater. “Saved? You started that!”

”Perhaps,” he said, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself, “But you can’t deny I got you out in one piece, can you?”

”I suppose I can’t,” you admitted, unable to stop smiling. “Though, I have to admit, that was… well-executed.”

”I’m a man of many talents, what can I say?” He shrugged, as if leading a stealth operation into the Gryffindor common room was just another day for him. Then, his tone softened, though the mischievous light never left his eyes. “But tell me, Y/N… what are you doing here?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to scrutinize him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to chat me up, Crouch.”

”Trying?” He raised an eyebrow, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me. Here I thought I was doing a splendid job.”

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up at his confidence. “Maybe you are, just a little.”

”Only a little?” He asked, feigning disappointment. But he was smiling, that lopsided grin that could probably melt ice if it tried. “Well, that’s a start.”

He took a step closer, eyes flickering over you with a hint of genuine curiosity. “It’s not every day I meet someone who can handle a little chaos with such grace. Most would’ve hexed me by now.”

”Maybe I have a soft spot for chaos,” you teased, feeling bolder than usual.

“Oh, dangerous,” he murmured, eyes lighting up. “And here I thought Hufflepuff were all sweetness and sunshine.”

”Well, maybe we are,” you replied, unable to hold back a smile. “But we’re also more than people think.”

At that, he let out a laugh, warm and rich. “I’ll have to remember that.” Then, offering his arm with a wink, he leaned closer. “So, what do you say, darling? Feel like risking another adventure tonight?”

You glanced back toward the common room, where the Gryffindors were slowly recovering from the smoke bomb. The thought of slipping away into a night of spontaneity with Barty felt like a much better way to spend the rest of your evening.

Grinning, you looped your arm through his. “Alright, Crouch. Show me what you’ve got.”

With that, he led you down the hallway, the two of you walking in step as the night stretched out before you, filled with possibility, laughter, and just the right amount of trouble.

[tomarryaltacc]

Tom's beauty is the one thing Harry can actually successfully ignore.

After travelling back in time Harry struggles to act normal around Tom, often lashing out and throwing hexes whenever he can.

It was easy enough to hate him - with all of Harry's old memories being about how Tom made his life Hell and tried to kill him multiple times.

It wasn't until they were the last in the common room that Tom had struck back for once. He had Harry with his back against the floor in an instant. Stradling his hips so he couldn't move.

"What exactly is your problem with me?" He'd asked in a hushed and angry voice.

It was only then with Tom's wand to his neck and his face so close to his, that Harry had realised the beauty Tom held.

And God was he beautiful.

[riddleswhcre]

────۶ৎ the red thread of fate

the red thread of fate was meant to be an unbreakable bond. tom riddle refuses to believe in such foolish magic—until it ties him to you.

warnings: smut, oral(m receiving), face fucking, slapping.

ᐟᐟ ⟢ a/n: happy valentine’s, my loves. i just had to make tom suffer a little <3 enjoy. and as always, let me know what you think!

au more

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

there was never a moment of peace between you and tom riddle. from the very first day at hogwarts, the rivalry was cemented in stone—sharp words exchanged in potions class, relentless competition in transfiguration, and an unspoken war to prove who was superior. he was brilliant, untouchable, impossibly composed. but so were you.

“riddle,” you sneered, dropping your books onto the desk beside him.

he barely looked up. “what a pleasure it is to suffer your presence yet again.”

“shame you won’t feel that pleasure when i surpass you on slughorn’s next exam.”

his quill stilled, and for a second—just a second—you saw something flicker behind his eyes. amusement? irritation? whatever it was, it was gone as soon as it appeared. “bold of you to assume i wouldn’t obliterate you in the rankings yet again.”

“bold of you to assume i wouldn’t hex you before that happens.”

the dynamic was always the same—verbal sparring that bordered on dangerous, tension thick enough to be cut with a knife. neither of you backed down, neither willing to surrender the title of the best.

but tonight, none of that should have mattered. because tonight, the slytherin common room was hosting its infamous valentine’s event, and tom riddle had no interest in foolish displays of romance.

—

“i cannot believe you’re actually here.”

abraxas malfoy’s voice was laced with disbelief as he lounged beside tom, watching students gather around the dimly lit room, the enchanted candles flickering with a strange, almost anticipatory glow.

“i’m observing,” tom replied smoothly, arms crossed.

“observing what? desperate fools convincing themselves that some ancient magic will tell them who they’re meant to be with?”

“something like that.”

“if this thing actually works, you’re bound to get matched with someone unbearable.” abraxas smirked. “imagine if it’s rosier. or worse, slughorn himself.”

tom shot him a pointed look, unimpressed. “you’re insufferable.”

but before abraxas could reply, the room dimmed further. a hush fell over the crowd as the enchanted candles flared, filling the air with a soft, golden glow.

red threads of fate began to appear, weaving through the room like delicate strands of silk.

soft gasps. nervous laughter. whispers of awe.

tom remained motionless, indifferent—until he felt it.

a warmth curling around his pinky.

his breath stalled.

slowly, cautiously, he lifted his hand.

and there it was.

a thin red thread, wrapped tight around his finger, extending across the room.

leading straight to you.

your eyes met his, wide with the same realisation.

tom exhaled, something dark curling in his chest.

this could not be happening.

and yet, it was.

—

later, in the library, you toyed with the red thread between you, letting it wind between your fingers. “still ignoring me, riddle?” you mused, voice barely above a whisper.

tom didn’t look up from his book, but you saw the muscle in his jaw tighten. “you mistake silence for tolerance.”

you tugged on the thread lightly, watching as his fingers twitched. his breath hitched, just slightly, before he set his book down and met your gaze, dark eyes unreadable.

“do that again,” he murmured.

your smirk widened. you twisted the thread between your fingers, pulling it taut, and something flickered in tom’s gaze—something dangerous.

in a blink, he had you against the bookshelf, the wood pressing into your spine. his fingers wrapped around your throat, not tight, just enough to hold you in place. his lips ghosted over your ear.

“you think this is amusing?”

“i think you like it.”

a dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “on your knees.”

you hesitated, reveling in the way his grip tightened slightly, in the silent command that burned in his gaze.

“try again,” he said, and before you could react, his palm met your cheek in a sharp, stinging slap. not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was in control.

your breath hitched, and tom smirked. “there’s a good girl.”

he undid his trousers with slow, deliberate ease, just enough to free himself. his cock was flushed, leaking with precum, the sight of you kneeling before him only fueling his arrogance.

“open wider,” he murmured, voice thick with command.

you did.

he slid himself past your lips, the weight of him heavy on your tongue. he groaned softly, leaning back, one hand braced above your head against the bookshelf, the other tangled in your hair, guiding your movements.

“just like that,” he muttered, voice tight, his head tipping back. “merlin, you look so much prettier like this.”

you hollowed your cheeks, teasing, taking him deeper, revelling in the way his fingers tightened against the wood, his control slipping, just a little.

and then—he took over.

his grip in your hair turned punishing, his hips snapping forward as he fucked into your mouth, ruthless and demanding. the sounds were obscene, his breath ragged as he forced you to take his cock deeper, pressing himself to the back of your throat. your hands gripped his thighs, nails digging into his skin as he used you, face-fucking you without mercy.

“good girl,” he groaned, voice strained. “just like that—fucking perfect.”

he didn’t stop until he was close, until his breath stuttered, until he pulled out at the last second, spilling over your face in hot, thick streams. you gasped for breath, satisfaction curling in your stomach at the way he looked down at you—disheveled, utterly wrecked.

he wiped a thumb over your cheek, collecting his mess before smearing it against your lips. “filthy,” he murmured. “but you like that, don’t you?”

your smirk was slow, smug. “admit it, riddle. you do too.”

his jaw clenched. “this changes nothing,” he muttered, though his pinky twitched with the thread still binding you together.

“sure, riddle,” you teased, licking your lips. “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

but you both knew the truth.

this changed everything.

tom lingered for a moment, his breath still uneven, his eyes burning into yours as if trying to convince himself otherwise. his lips parted, but whatever sharp remark he had planned died before it reached his tongue.

the thread between you pulsed, a silent taunt, a reminder that no matter how much he fought it, he was already ensnared.

you watched as his fingers twitched again, the smallest movement, betraying him. he clenched his jaw, straightened his robes, and stepped back—but not before you caught the hesitation in his gaze.

“we’re not finished,” he muttered.

a smug smile played on your lips. “we never are.”

and with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, but the red thread between you only pulled tighter.

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝

thank you for reading. reblogs & feedback appreciated.

tags ❥ @s0rc3r3r @cypherpt5fttaehyung @kqliie

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

I think of mc being very protective of her friends being a orphan and all. someone says the gaunts are all dark wizards? they are in the hospital wing for two weeks under strange circumstances. someone starts a nasty rumor about why Anne really left hogwarts? The worst tripping hex gets everyone who repeats the rumor. someone insults sebastian, you better pray that mc didn't hear about it she's coming for you

The Things We Do for Family | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

oh I loooooved this concept!!!! THANK YOU FOR THE ASK, ANON. I really hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing it!! :')

Words: ~5,200

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor, Protective MC

There are things that Hogwarts students simply know—unchallenged truths, whispered warnings passed down from year to year.

The Forbidden Forest is dangerous. Peeves is a menace. The best snacks at Honeydukes sell out by Saturday afternoon. Don’t trust the staircases to take you where you actually want to go. Never accept Garreth Weasley’s offer to ‘test something out’.

And, under no circumstances, should anyone fuck with your friends.

It isn’t official, of course. There’s no school decree, no printed rule in the Hogwarts handbook, it's not carved into the walls. It’s just… understood.

It’s not like you’re some fearsome monster or anything.

You’re a model student, by all accounts. Brilliant. Sharp. Precise. A skilled duelist, a quick thinker, someone who turns in their assignments on time, answers when called on, and doesn’t cause disruptions in class.

You don’t start fights. You don’t pick pointless arguments. You don’t openly break the rules—not in ways that can be proven.

You play the part well.

Because that’s what you had to do.

You grew up alone. No parents. No siblings. No one to step in when things got hard, no one to defend you when the world was cruel. When you were small, scared, and helpless.

So you learned.

You learned that no one was coming to save you. You learned that fairness was a lie, that justice only existed when you carved it out with your own hands. You learned that people could be awful for no reason other than that they could get away with it.

But now? Now, you have a family. Not by blood, but by choice.

And when someone speaks against them? Bad things happen.

The Ominis Incident

It started, as most things did, with a careless remark.

A fifth-year Ravenclaw—smart but not particularly bright—thought it would be amusing to make a joke at Ominis Gaunt’s expense. A cruel one. Something about how the Gaunts were all inbred lunatics, how it was only a matter of time before Ominis ended up just like the rest of his family.

The words reached your ears in the library, drifting from a table not far from where you sat.

"You know I hear they torture Muggles for fun—it’s practically a family tradition. Gaunts don’t have hobbies, just a long history of inbreeding and Crucio."

Laughter followed, a few snickers from their table, hushed but not nearly enough. Not nearly enough to keep you from hearing.

Your quill stilled mid-word, ink pooling in place. Across from you, Ominis sat straight-backed, his expression unreadable, but you saw the way his fingers tightened around the book he was holding, knuckles whitening from the force of it.

He wouldn’t say anything.

Ominis had spent years perfecting the art of indifference. Of carefully controlled expressions, of blank politeness that masked far too much. He never reacted to comments like these.

But just because he wouldn’t didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

You exhaled slowly, carefully. Then, without a sound, you closed your book and stood.

Not a word. Not a glare in their direction. Just a smooth, effortless departure, as if you had suddenly decided the library was boring and somewhere else required your attention.

The Ravenclaws barely noticed.

But they would. They absolutely would. Because Potions class was a very dangerous place. Especially for people who talked too much.

The next day, you walked to Potions without a care in the world.

Sebastian and Ominis flanked you, deep in conversation about some essay Sharp had assigned, with Sebastian whining dramatically about how unfairly long it was, while Ominis countered that perhaps he should have started it earlier than the night before it was due.

You weren’t really listening, because you already knew what was coming.

And sure enough—just as you reached the dungeon corridor—

BOOM.

The floor trembled slightly beneath your feet. A deep, echoing explosion, the unmistakable sound of a cauldron detonating mid-brew, followed almost immediately by the frantic shouting of students.

Gasps. Choking coughs. Someone let out a screech of absolute horror.

Sebastian and Ominis startled.

Sebastian’s head snapped up, eyes wide as he looked toward the dungeon doors. “What the hell—”

Ominis twitched beside you, tilting his head, as if straining to listen.

You? Didn’t even blink. You just kept walking, calmly, like nothing was amiss, like you hadn’t been expecting it for the last twenty-four hours.

Sebastian noticed. His gaze sharpened, flicking to you with a knowing squint. “That was—”

He hesitated. Then narrowed his eyes further.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “I know that face.”

You raised a brow. “What face?”

“That’s your I-did-something-but-you’ll-never-prove-it face.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian scoffed and Ominis rolled his eyes, deadpan. “Uh-huh.”

Then the dungeon doors burst open.

A thick cloud of green smoke billowed out, sending students stumbling and coughing into the corridor. And in the center of it all, a group of very, very green Ravenclaws.

They clawed at their own skin, staring down at their hands in absolute horror. Their faces were the exact shade of an overripe toadstool, splotchy and uneven, and every time they opened their mouths, their tongues flopped out two inches too long.

Hysteria ensued.

Students gasped, some shrieked, others tried not to laugh. Professor Sharp stormed out after them, looking beyond exhausted, already massaging his temples.

“I told you,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “not to add the peppermint extract.”

“WE DIDN’T!” One Ravenclaw wailed, voice garbled from their too-long tongue. “I—I don’t know what happened! We did everything right!”

Sharp did not look convinced.

Sebastian looked at you, long and slow, a glint of admiration dawning in his eyes.

“Did you—”

“I did nothing.” You walked past him, as if the entire debacle were none of your concern. “I was with you all day, wasn’t I?”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. “Yeah, but—”

“No proof, no crime.” You gave him a cheerful smile before stepping into the classroom.

Sebastian grinned. “Oh, I love you.”

It was offhanded, thoughtless, a casual jest, but it sent a sharp, pleasant warmth down your spine.

You didn’t react, though. Just smirked, settling into your seat. Because the message had been sent.

And Ominis Gaunt would never hear a word against his name again.

The Anne Incident

Rumors at Hogwarts were a force of nature.

They swirled through the halls, slipping between whispered conversations and behind cupped hands, growing more twisted with each retelling.

Some were harmless—who was dating who, which professor had it out for which student, the occasional Did you hear Peeves stole all the ink from the Ravenclaws again? But some? Some were cruel.

And this one... this one was about Anne Sallow.

It started at breakfast, when you overheard a group of Slytherin sixth-years in the Great Hall. You weren’t eavesdropping—not intentionally—but you had a habit of noticing things, of hearing too much when you weren’t meant to.

"Did you hear about Sallow’s sister?"

"Yeah, I heard she went mad."

"Lost it completely. The curse must’ve rotted her brain."

"That’s why she left, isn’t it?"

"Yeah, I heard she tried to hex someone in her sleep—"

Your fork warped in your grasp. A slow, controlled bend beneath your fingers, the metal bending in your grip.

Across from you, Sebastian had gone still.

He didn’t turn. Didn’t react. Didn’t give them the satisfaction.

But you saw the way his jaw clenched. The way his hand curled into a fist against the table. The way his entire body had gone taut, locked in place by sheer force of will.

He wouldn’t do anything.

Not because he didn’t want to. Not because he wasn’t capable of it—because he was.

Sebastian Sallow could be ruthless. You knew that better than anyone. You’d seen it firsthand, the sharp edges of his temper, the way his rage burned hot and all-consuming, leaving nothing but wreckage in its wake. You’d seen what happened when he felt cornered, when he thought he was out of options.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore. Because you and Ominis had dragged him back from the brink. Because you had looked him in the eye, years ago, when the dust had settled and the worst of it was over, and told him:

"You still have a future. Don’t throw it away."

Against all odds, he had listened. And now, this was his last year at Hogwarts and he was going to be an Auror. He was going to start over. Prove that he wasn’t just some reckless, violent delinquent one step away from Azkaban.

So no—he wouldn’t react. He wouldn’t take the bait. Wouldn't defend Anne, no matter how badly he wanted to. Wouldn’t let himself be dragged down into the same pit he’d barely crawled out of.

Sebastian was playing the long game.

But you? You weren’t.

Your revenge on Anne's behalf started small. Almost imperceptible.

The first Slytherin—the one who had started the conversation in the first place—was walking to class when it happened.

A single misstep.

His foot caught on something—thin air, perhaps—and he staggered forward, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to right himself. It didn’t work. His books went flying, parchment scattered across the stone corridor, and a bottle of ink tumbled from his bag, shattering upon impact and staining his robes in an ugly, irreversible mess of black.

A small accident. An unfortunate case of bad luck.

No one thought anything of it—until the second one fell.

In the exact same spot.

And then the third. And the fourth.

By the time lunch rolled around, all four of them had tripped at least half a dozen times each.

It wasn’t just limited to the corridor, either. They stumbled on staircases, barely catching themselves before they could go tumbling down. They walked straight into walls as if the castle itself had turned against them. One even managed to trip over absolutely nothing in the middle of the Great Hall and landed face-first into his own soup.

The snickers started soon after. The sideways glances. The poorly hidden laughter from classmates who found their sudden clumsiness far too entertaining.

It wasn’t enough to be suspicious.

Not yet.

Not until the moving staircase.

The ringleader of the group had spent too much time lingering in the courtyard after lunch, chatting up a group of girls who barely tolerated his presence. He realized too late that he was running behind and bolted toward Charms, racing up the moving staircases with zero grace and even less caution.

And then his foot caught.

There was nothing there. No loose stone or shift in the staircase, nothing at all to explain why he suddenly lost his footing.

But he did.

He stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly, fingers grasping at empty air as the momentum carried him too far—

And he plummeted.

Three flights.

A blur of robes and limbs, a crash of bone against stone, and then a sickening thud as he landed in a groaning, crumpled heap at the bottom.

A hush fell over the corridor.

Then—

Shrieking.

His friends rushed down to him, voices panicked, eyes wide with horrified realization as they took in his bruised, trembling form.

A girl ran to fetch Madam Blainey.

By the time she arrived, he was whimpering, clutching his arm like it might’ve snapped.

Hospital Wing. Immediate bed rest.

No one could explain what happened. No professor could find a cause. Some students claimed the stairs had shifted unexpectedly. Others swore that they saw nothing—no trick step, no loose stones, just an unseen force pulling him down.

It didn’t matter.

The moment he was carried off, you finally allowed yourself to smile.

Not a smirk. Not a grin. Just the smallest, most satisfied twitch of your lips.

Sebastian caught it. Because of course he did. He had been standing beside you the whole time. Silent. Still. Watching from the moment that asshole Slytherin stumbled earlier that morning to the moment he was carted off for medical attention.

And now? Now, he just exhaled, long and slow, shaking his head as his mouth curved into something unreadable.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low.

You hummed, tilting your head in faux curiosity. “Am I?”

Sebastian turned fully then, facing you. His gaze searched your face, for guilt perhaps. For remorse. For something that might suggest you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

But there was nothing.

No trace of hesitation. No flicker of shame.

You were calm, collected, an completely unapologetic. Because nobody talked about Anne Sallow like that without consequence.

Sebastian blinked. Then, to your absolute delight, he grinned. Wide. Slow. A sharp, wicked thing.

“Yeah. You're very dangerous” he said, almost in awe.

Your stomach twisted. You ignored it. Instead, you just shrugged, voice as casual as ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Sebastian’s grin deepened.

The Poppy Incident

Poppy Sweeting was one of the best people you knew.

Kind-hearted, patient, and too good for the world, really. She spent more time in the company of magical creatures than she did with most people, and honestly? You couldn't blame her.

Because people could be cruel.

You first heard it one afternoon in the courtyard. A group of girls whispering amongst themselves, giggling behind their hands. You hadn’t been paying much attention—until you heard her name.

"Honestly, she’s weird."

"I know, right? It’s like she’d rather date a bloody Hippogriff than an actual person."

"Wouldn’t be surprised if she actually has."

Laughter, sharp and mocking. Like Poppy Sweeting was a joke. Like she was less than because she chose kindness over cruelty, creatures over people who didn’t deserve her time in the first place.

You turned your head and watched as one girl—a Hufflepuff, ironically—rolled her eyes, shaking her head in exaggerated exasperation.

"Beast-lover," she muttered, nose wrinkled like the word itself was distasteful. "It's unnatural, really. No wonder she doesn't have any friends outside of her precious Mooncalves."

Something cold and sharp settled in your chest.

You had no doubt Poppy had heard it. She was standing just a few paces away near the fountain, hands clenched tight at her sides.

She didn’t react. Didn’t turn. Didn’t say anything. She just exhaled, slow and quiet, like she was forcing herself to let it go.

You wouldn’t.

The next morning, that very same Hufflepuff woke up covered in fur.

Not all over, just her face.

A thick, fluffy coat of golden-brown fuzz, soft as a Puffskein, sprouting in wild patches across her forehead, cheeks, and chin.

According to Poppy, the screams started immediately, and the entire girls dormitory had woken up to it.

The girl, who turned out to be a fifth-year, had flown into a hysterical panic, shrieking as she bolted for a mirror, hands frantically scrubbing at her face like she could rub the fur away.

She couldn’t.

It was a very specific hex. One that lasted exactly one week.

Professor Ronen was baffled.

Madam Blainey was thoroughly fascinated.

And Professor Howin, bless her, had cooed over her like she was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. You had a front row seat to the entire thing during Beasts class.

“This is truly fascinating,” she’d said, holding the girl’s chin and turning her face slightly toward the light. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen transfiguration manifest quite like this! And so soft—feels just like a Kneazle’s coat, doesn’t it?”

The best part? It wasn’t harmful. It wasn’t painful. Just… humiliating.

You considered it a job well done.

When Howin had dismissed you for lunch, Poppy pulled you aside. She didn't say anything at first. Just stared.

You blinked at her, tilting your head. “Everything alright?”

Poppy squinted. Narrowed her eyes slightly. Huffed.

"You did that, didn’t you?"

You blinked again.

Because Poppy—sweet, gentle, pacifist Poppy—did not accuse people of things. Which meant she was completely certain.

You just smiled, giving her your most innocent expression. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Poppy just sighed, shaking her head. But then—just for a moment—she smiled.

Small. Subtle. Grateful.

Like she knew exactly what you’d done. Like she knew there was no use arguing, no point in telling you not to go to such lengths for her.

And then, without a word, she reached out and squeezed your hand.

The Natsai Incident

You had never liked Callum Thorne.

Seventh-year. Gryffindor. Arrogant. Loud-mouthed. The kind of person who had never been told no in his life and walked through Hogwarts like the world owed him something.

You’d tolerated him for years, mostly because you hadn’t needed to interact with him much. But this? This was different.

You were starting the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Hecat had yet to arrive, leaving the class unsupervised and giving Thorne the perfect opportunity to make a scene.

Natty was speaking with Poppy near the front of the room, voice calm as she explained something about the Ministry’s policies on magical creatures in Africa compared to Britain. She wasn’t being loud, wasn’t even arguing, just explaining.

That’s when Thorne scoffed.

“Merlin’s sake, Onai, give it a rest,” he sneered from the back of the room, tossing his quill onto his desk with an exaggerated huff. “Do you ever get tired of standing on that bloody soapbox of yours?”

The room went still.

Natty turned, slow and deliberate, her expression unreadable, regarding him with that same poised, unshaken calm that made her such a force to be reckoned with.

“I was simply having a discussion,” she said smoothly. “No one is forcing you to listen, Thorne.”

“Right,” he drawled. “Except you never shut up about it. Always talking about ‘justice’ and ‘change’ like you think you’re going to fix the whole bloody world.” He smirked. “News flash, Onai—no one cares.”

A few of his friends chuckled.

Your fingernails dug into your palm.

Natty didn’t react—not outwardly, anyway. She just exhaled, slow and measured, and turned back to Poppy like his words had been nothing more than an inconvenience.

You? You were already plotting his downfall, and luckily, Callum Thorne was a creature of habit.

He always stayed out after curfew to flirt with whatever unfortunate girl he had chosen that week, and he always went up to the Astronomy Tower afterwards with his friends to play cards and drink whatever contraband alcohol they’d smuggled into the castle.

Which made him the perfect target.

That night, as the seventh-year tidied up the cards, stretching and yawning, likely already thinking about his warm bed waiting for him—

His legs froze in place. Not a Full Body-Bind. No, this was different.

A soft, subtle hex. A slow, creeping sensation, his feet adhering to the stone beneath him, then his calves, then his thighs.

By the time he realized something was wrong, it was too late.

He tried to step forward—failed. Tried to yank himself free—failed.

And then—with agonizing slowness—his entire body began to lift off the ground. No warning. No control.

He drifted upward, weightless, helpless, arms flailing as the stone ceiling came closer and closer—

And then, with a soft thump, he was stuck. Face-down, body pressed flat against the Astronomy Tower ceiling.

His screaming started immediately.

Loud. Panicked. A complete meltdown.

His friends, who had started their walk down the tower came bolting back up the stairs at the sound of his shouting.

“What the—?” one of them started, eyes wide as they gawked at the ceiling.

“Thorne?” another asked, dumbfounded.

You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back laughter as you hid beneath your disillusionment charm.

“GET ME DOWN!” Thorne bellowed, arms and legs flailing uselessly against the stone. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?”

His friends stared, uselessly waving their wands, muttering counterspells that only resulted in Thorne spinning in slow circles, howling in distress.

When they realized they were utterly helpless, panic completely set in.

“What do we do?” one of them asked, looking between the others with wild eyes. “Should we get a professor?”

Thorne snarled. “NO! DO NOT—”

But it was too late. Because at that very moment, the Astronomy Tower door swung open once again, and a very tired, very unimpressed Professor Shah stepped inside.

There was a long, painful beat of silence.

Shah took in the scene.

The stack of contraband firewhiskey bottles on the table. The panicked seventh-years, wands still drawn, looking entirely too guilty. And Callum Thorne, still face-down, circling against the ceiling, hissing every curse word known to wizardkind.

She sighed, long and slow, as if she had simply had enough of this entire generation of students. Then, with an effortless flick of her wand, she cast a single spell.

And gravity returned. All at once. Thorne plummeted like a sack of bricks.

The landing was spectacular. A glorious, sprawling heap, limbs tangled, robes askew, one shoe missing entirely. His friends didn’t even try to catch him.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then—

“Hospital Wing,” Shah said simply, rubbing her temples. “Now.”

Thorne was half-carried, half-dragged down the tower steps, groaning the entire way.

And you?

You slept soundly that night.

By morning, half the school had heard the story.

"Did you hear about Thorne? Got stuck to the Astronomy Tower ceiling last night."

"He was crying by the time they got him down."

"Serves him right—bloke’s a complete asshole."

And you? You sat perfectly composed at breakfast, casually stirring your tea, listening as his friends panicked about who could have done it.

Sebastian, of course, knew.

He sat beside you, arms folded, lips pressed together, shaking with the effort not to laugh.

Finally, he exhaled, tilting his head toward you.

“You are actually unhinged,” he murmured, utterly delighted.

You simply sipped your tea. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Across the hall, Natty smiled.

Soft. Knowing.

The Sebastian Incident

You had been careful.

For years, you had woven your revenge into the shadows, never once leaving a trace of your involvement in the strange misfortunes that befell those who dared to insult your friends. You were precise, patient, undetectable.

But everyone has a breaking point. And yours? Yours was Sebastian Sallow.

It happened in the Great Hall when Scorpius Malfoy decided to idiotically open his big fucking mouth.

You hadn’t been paying attention to him at first. Why would you? People like Malfoy had never mattered to you. He was just another spoiled pureblood, another self-important waste of a surname who thought his words carried weight simply because he could afford to say them.

But then his voice cut through the din, and he said Sebastian’s name.

"No family name worth a damn, no money, no influence. Honestly, I don’t even know why the professors still put up with Sallow. And he’s an orphan, isn’t he?"

One of his friends nodded, grinning like this was some kind of joke. Like Sebastian Sallow’s entire life was nothing more than a punchline.

Malfoy snorted. "So he's got dead parents, a dead uncle, and a crippled sister who’ll probably never set foot in the wizarding world again. Wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up rotting in the same gutter he came from."

The words landed like a curse.

Sebastian had been mid-conversation with you, fork in hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he teased you about something inconsequential—some throwaway joke that would have normally earned him an eye roll and a shove.

But now? Now, he wasn’t moving. Not speaking. Not breathing. Just silent.

Rigid.

Like the weight of those words had turned him into stone.

And something inside you snapped.

It was almost funny, in retrospect, how much effort you had spent perfecting the art of subtlety.

Every step you had taken over the years had been measured, every spell carefully woven into the fabric of coincidence, every act of vengeance so meticulously placed that no one had ever been able to definitively trace it back to you. You had built a flawless reputation, balancing on the razor’s edge between brilliance and menace, justice and mystery.

But now? Now, as you rose from your seat, you weren’t careful at all.

You didn’t move like a shadow, didn’t cloak yourself in misdirection or the comfort of silence. No. This time, you wanted them to see you.

And the moment you stood, the Great Hall stilled.

Students stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped moving altogether. The clatter of plates and goblets faded into a thick, suffocating silence, as if even the walls of Hogwarts itself were holding their breath.

Your voice came out low. Cold.

"Say that one more time, Malfoy."

Scorpius turned lazily, like he hadn’t a care in the world. Like he hadn’t just spat on Sebastian’s entire existence for no other reason than because he could.

And he smirked. Merlin, he smirked. Like you were some insignificant thing, an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

“Oh?” he drawled, tilting his head. “Touched a nerve, have I? Which part got to you, I wonder? The fact that Sallow’s got no family? Or the part where I pointed out that he’s got no future either?”

You took a step forward. You could hear Ominis hissing at you to stop, to think about what you were doing before you got yourself deep into shit, gut you couldn't. Not when it came to your friends.

Not when it came to Sebastian.

Especially when he still hadn't moved. Hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t so much as breathed.

Your hand tightened around your wand, the weight of it comforting, grounding, an extension of the fury curling in your chest.

"You should tread carefully, Scorpius," you murmured, your voice smooth, edged with something lethal. "I know you think you're clever—that you can say whatever you like without consequence, just because you were born into the right family."

Your head tilted slightly, gaze sharp, cutting straight through him.

"But you should know something about me by now."

Malfoy’s smirk faltered just slightly. And then, before he could open his mouth again—

You flicked your wand.

Hard. Fast.

Malfoy's goblet exploded.

A concussive blast of magic sent shards flying, the remnants of his beverage splattering across his pristine uniform like spilled blood. A jagged edge of glass sliced across his hand, thin but deep, and he flinched, eyes snapping down to it with genuine shock.

"If you're going to run your mouth about my friends," you said coolly, watching him clutch his bleeding hand, "then you should be prepared to suffer for it."

Your next spell came before he could react. Before anyone could stop you.

A sharp twist of your wrist, and his mouth was gone.

Not silenced. Not muffled. Just… gone. Smooth, unbroken skin where lips should be, like his voice had simply been erased from existence.

The realization hit him immediately.

His hands shot to his face, clawing at his skin, a muffled scream—horrified, panicked—rising in his throat. He lurched backward, knocking into one of his friends, fingers digging at face like he could carve his lips back into place.

But you weren’t done. Not yet.

You needed something that would etch itself into the bones of this castle, into the minds of every single person watching in stunned silence. Something that told the whole goddamn school that if they so much as breathed wrong about Sebastian again, you would ruin them.

A simple hex would be too merciful. A standard jinx—something temporary, something easily countered—wouldn’t send the right message.

No, you needed something else. Something only you could undo.

Your wand rose, fingers tightening around the handle.

A familiar thrumming sensation curled through your bones, crackling at your fingertips, humming beneath your skin like a storm about to break. Ancient magic—the power that had followed you since the day you first stepped foot in Hogwarts, the magic that had made you different. You had never used it publicly. Never allowed yourself to tap into it in a room full of hundreds of witnesses.

Until now.

Malfoy’s body lurched.

Not by his own will, but by yours, by the ancient, crackling force curling through your veins.

The entire room gasped as he was wrenched upward, his robes twisting violently around him as though an invisible hand had grabbed him by the throat and hauled him into the sky.

He thrashed, or tried to, but the moment he moved, the spell struck.

A jolt of electricity tore through his body.

Not enough to kill. Not enough to cause permanent harm, but enough to make him scream. Or at least, he would have screamed—if he still had a mouth.

Instead, a choked, garbled sound tore from his throat, half agony, half suffocated panic, his limbs seizing as the current snapped down his spine, through his arms and legs.

And you let them watch, let the entire Great Hall bear witness as he hung there, suspended like some grotesque marionette.

And the moment he tried to move again, tried to scratch at where his mouth should be or flail his limbs, another arc of lightning danced across his body, snapping against his skin like a promise that any attempt to fight this would only make it worse.

And he knew. They all knew. He wasn’t getting down until you allowed it. But your arm didn’t waver, you held your wand high, like an executioner delivering final judgment.

Because this? This was a declaration. A statement. A message carved into the very bones of Hogwarts itself.

You do not speak against Sebastian Sallow.

You wondered if he realized that you would have done this a thousand times over. That you would have burned the entire goddamn world for him if he asked.

But before you could do anything more—before you could decide how far you were willing to take this—

A thunderous voice shattered the moment.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!"

The spell snapped. Malfoy dropped. His body crashed onto the table below, sending plates and goblets scattering, silverware clattering to the stone floor. He lay there, twitching, gasping, pathetically small as the last of the magic flickered out of his limbs.

And then—

"You."

Phineas Nigellus Black’s voice was pure ice.

You turned to face him—not a shred of regret, not a flicker of guilt in your expression.

But the Headmaster was raging. His hands were clenched at his sides, his teeth bared in fury.

The entire room was still. Waiting. Holding its breath.

"My office." His voice was low, lethal, like the words themselves were a curse. "Now."

A sharp inhale from someone at the Ravenclaw table. A hushed whisper from a terrified first-year.

No detention. No points docked. Just a direct order from the highest authority in the school.

But it was worth it, because now they knew. Every single person in this room knew.

And as you turned on your heel, heart still pounding with the remnants of power buzzing in your veins—

You caught Sebastian’s eyes one last time.

Still watching, still frozen in place, yet looking at you like you were the most devastating, impossible, extraordinary thing he had ever seen.

And then? The slightest smirk. The most faint, devastatingly admiring grin.

Like he had never, ever wanted anyone more.

[brights-place]

HEXES & HUSHES⟡ ݁₊ . Extras. 02

HELLO!! Sorry but I'm currently doubling down and checking on the next hexes and hushes chapter making sure if I got it right cause im second guessing myself anyways ART FOR HEXES AND HUSHES?!

Hexes and hushes prologue offical art no way!!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 / 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 【Hexes & Hushes — MASTERLIST】

[jacquitries]

When Gods Fall | T.R.

In a world where Tom Riddle is a god, there’s one thing he can’t conquer—you. When you’re hurt, his obsession comes to light, and you discover that even gods can fall.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You were a moth to a wildfire. A consuming, unrelenting force that demanded worship. Tom Riddle spoke, and the world leaned in. The rich timbre of his voice wove through the air like a spell of its own, and you were no different from the rest. Enamored. Entranced. But unlike them, you were aware.

Liking a god was folly.

So you stood at his side, not in deference, but in presence. You were skilled, an exceptional witch, and that was why he kept you close. That was why you belonged to his carefully curated circle, where he collected power like a dragon hoards gold. He favored strength, intelligence, potential. And you—you never fawned, never preened under his attention, never sought it. That, perhaps, was what frustrated him most.

Your mind was sharp, your wit cutting. You could match him in conversation, challenge him in ways no one else dared. He did not simply tolerate your presence—he sought it. And yet, for all his influence, for all the people who clamored for his favor, he found himself waiting for yours.

And he noticed when you were absent.

"She doesn’t treat you the way the others do."

The words came from Abraxas Malfoy, lounging lazily in his chair, twirling his wand between his fingers. The Slytherin common room buzzed around them, low murmurs of students engaged in hushed conversation, but Tom's circle had their own space, their own rules. Tom did not respond immediately, merely tilting his head as he regarded your usual empty seat.

Avery smirked. "You could command her attention if you wanted. Just a word, and she’d be on her knees like the rest."

Tom’s jaw ticked. "No, she wouldn’t."

A knowing chuckle rippled through his group. Even among his most devoted followers, it was obvious. He had everything, commanded everyone, but you remained just out of reach. You did not seek his approval, did not hang on his every word like the others.

And tonight, you weren’t here.

His fingers tapped against the armrest. "Where is she?"

A brief silence. Then, Rosier shrugged. "Off practicing, probably. She wasn’t at the meeting."

Tom said nothing. But he was already standing.

The night air was crisp, the scent of parchment still lingering on your robes as you left the library. A Gryffindor victory meant drunken revelry, songs slurred through corridors, bodies stumbling in celebration. You paid it little mind, until they found you.

Six of them. Their breath reeked of firewhiskey, their eyes glinted with something far more dangerous than intoxication.

"Look what we have here," one of them sneered, stepping too close. "A little Slytherin all alone."

You lifted your wand before he could blink. "Step away."

They laughed.

Then they lunged.

Your magic was fire, raw and untamed, searing through the night. A hex sent one crashing into the stone wall, another clutching his bleeding nose, a third convulsing from a well-placed curse. But there were too many. Hands clawed at you, nails raking, fists striking. You barely registered the pain through the adrenaline, the desperation to get free.

And then you did. You ran, battered and bruised, their slurred shouts chasing after you.

The common room was dim, the emerald glow of the lamps casting long shadows. And there he was.

Tom Riddle, seated by the fire, elegance carved into his every movement, looked up.

His expression stilled. His gaze sharpened, flicking over your torn robes, the smudges of blood, the trembling of your fingers. And then—

His eyes darkened, his jaw clenched. Rage curled through him like a brewing storm, restrained only by sheer force of will. His voice, when it came, was a whisper laced with steel.

"Tell me who hurt you."

You exhaled, unsteady, weary. "Please. Let me deal with it in the morning. The night has already taken too much from me."

Something flickered in his gaze. A pause. A realization. He took in your small frame, the exhaustion etched into your very being, and the fury simmering beneath his skin cooled.

He relented.

Wordlessly, he stood, reaching for your wrist. He led you through the corridors, the silence between you thick with unspoken words. He brought you to the prefects' bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He knelt before you.

You watched, breath caught in your throat, as he carefully examined your injuries, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. A whispered spell cleaned the blood, a salve smoothed over the bruises. His fingers lingered, tracing the tender marks left by their hands.

It was surreal. This god among men tending to you with the reverence of something fragile.

You swallowed. "I didn't know you had this side to you. That you cared like this."

His lips curled, not in amusement, but something else. "Just for you."

A confession, raw and unguarded. Your breath hitched.

Silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, softer, hesitant, he asked, "May I stay with you tonight? To ensure nothing else happens?"

Your pulse thrummed. You nodded.

You expected tension, discomfort, but the warmth of him beside you melted away the remnants of terror. In the quiet of the night, you whispered what had happened, your voice steady, but the weight of it unmistakable. He listened, unmoving, his hands curled into fists.

A tempest lay beneath his skin, but he remained still—for you.

Sleep claimed you.

And when you woke, he was gone.

The day stretched, a hollow ache settling in your chest. He was nowhere. You carried on, pretending the absence didn’t gnaw at you. You contemplated telling the professors, seeking justice, but the thought of doing it without him at your side felt unbearable.

The great hall was abuzz with chatter when he finally appeared, striding in as if nothing had changed. He approached, took the seat beside you, his voice smooth and unbothered. "How are you?"

You frowned. "Like a song cut short, if I’m honest. You disappeared."

A flicker of something crossed his face—an apology, rare and unexpected. "I had things to do."

Before you could ask, the headmaster rose, clearing his throat. The hall quieted.

"It is with great sorrow that I inform you of a tragedy. Earlier today, six Gryffindor students were found in the Forbidden Forest. Mauled."

Gasps. Cries. The weight of the announcement settled like a leaden fog.

You turned to him. And you knew.

He sat unmoving, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes burned with satisfaction. There was no remorse. No regret. Only a dark, quiet promise.

Your fingers found his beneath the table. You squeezed. He glanced at you, unreadable.

After dinner, you took his hand fully, leading him away, away from prying eyes and whispered speculations.

"I am yours."

His grip tightened, his breath ragged and uneven, as though holding onto his control by a thread. His voice broke free, raw and desperate, more a plea than an order. "Are you willing to bet your life on it? To say it again, knowing that once you do, you’ll never be able to leave my side?"

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear, your breath a soft whisper against his skin. "I will say it a thousand times more. I am yours."

That was all it took.

With a feral growl that reverberated deep in his chest, Tom’s restraint shattered. His lips crashed into yours with a hunger so fierce, so consuming, it felt as though he were trying to take more than just your mouth. His hands were frantic, tangled in your hair, dragging you closer, as if he could meld you into him, erase any distance between you.

You could taste the desperation in him, the raw need that clawed at him beneath the mask of his control. It was a kiss that bordered on violent, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his body pressing against yours like he wanted to consume you whole, devour you completely.

For a moment, the world faded away. There was nothing but him. his frantic touch, his heated breath, the way his hands gripped you like he would never let go.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. His voice was strained, guttural, barely a whisper. "I will keep you—body, soul, everything you are. No one will touch you. No one will have you but me. Forever."

And in that moment, something deep and ancient stirred within him, and you realized—even gods can fall.

[slytherin-princess-x]

Bound by decree: love is a dangerous game

Mattheo x reader

Summary: An arranged marriage but they’re enemies

A/n: it’s a long one today guys

The parchment felt like a death sentence in my trembling hands—crisp, official, and utterly final. I stared at the ornate script, the words swimming before my eyes: *"By decree of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the Ministry of Magic, a binding betrothal is hereby established between…"* My stomach churned. I already knew the name; it had been the hushed whisper in the corridors, the grim topic of conversation amongst the Slytherins. *"...Miss Y/N L/N and Mr. Mattheo Gaunt Riddle."*

Year Seven was supposed to be exciting. The final exams, Quidditch tryouts, maybe even a stolen kiss or two behind the greenhouses. Instead, it was starting with shackles. Arranged marriages were archaic—relics of a bygone era—but here we were, being dragged back into it for the sake of pureblood lineage. As if my family's ancient bloodline wasn't pristine enough.

The cause of my imminent doom was leaning against the wall across the Slytherin common room, a picture of indolent indifference. Mattheo Riddle. Dark hair perpetually mussed, eyes like chips of obsidian, and a smirk that promised nothing but trouble. He exuded an aura of dangerous charisma that made most students scurry out of his path. But me? I was now legally bound to him. The irony tasted bitter on my tongue.

"Well, well," Mattheo drawled, pushing off the wall and strolling toward me. His voice was a smooth, velvety threat. "Looks like we're stuck with each other, L/N."

I crumpled the parchment in my fist. "Stuck is an understatement, Riddle. This is a bloody nightmare."

He chuckled, a low, humorless sound that grated on my nerves. "Don't pretend you're not flattered. Who wouldn't want to be betrothed to me?"

"Oh, I can think of a few," I snapped, my eyes blazing. "Anyone with a functioning brain and a desire to, you know, choose who they spend their life with."

His smirk widened, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Such spirit. I'm almost… impressed."

The "almost" hung in the air, thick with sarcasm. That was our dynamic in a nutshell—a constant sparring match, a battle of wills fueled by mutual disdain. He reveled in my frustration, while I seethed under his arrogant gaze.

The engagement was a public spectacle. Announcements at breakfast, pointed glances in the corridors, and the ever-present whisper of our names linked together. It was suffocating. And the worst part? Mattheo seemed to enjoy it. He’d drape an arm possessively around my shoulders during meals, his touch sending shivers of disgust down my spine. He’d answer questions about our "future" with infuriatingly vague pronouncements, leaving me to grit my teeth and plaster on a fake smile.

My attempts at a normal Year Seven were thwarted at every turn. Gryffindor boys who’d dared to flirt with me suddenly found themselves on the receiving end of Mattheo’s icy glare and a few well-placed hexes. Even my closest friends grew hesitant, the air around me now tainted by Mattheo’s presence.

"He's like a bloody Dementor," my friend Clara muttered one afternoon, as we watched Mattheo lean against a tree, his gaze fixed on me. "Sucking all the joy out of the air."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Tell me about it. I can't even look at another boy without him glaring holes into their skull."

The enforced proximity did offer a twisted kind of insight, though. I saw glimpses of Mattheo away from the public eye. The way his brow furrowed in concentration during Potions, the almost imperceptible twitch of his lip when he read a particularly clever passage in a Transfiguration textbook. These moments were fleeting, quickly masked by his usual sardonic demeanor, but they were there.

One evening, stuck in the library together to “study”—a thinly veiled excuse for our parents to see us interacting amicably—I found myself staring at him. He was engrossed in a heavy tome, his features softened in the lamplight. For the first time, I saw past the arrogance and the threats, and caught a glimpse of… something else. A weariness, perhaps? Or maybe just boredom.

He looked up, catching my gaze. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by a neutral expression that was almost unsettling in its unfamiliarity.

"Problem, L/N?"

I quickly averted my eyes, a blush creeping up my neck. "No. No problem."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken tension. It was different from our usual animosity, charged with something… more.

As the year progressed, our interactions, while still laced with sarcasm and barbed comments, began to shift. We argued about house points with a shared competitiveness. We found an odd sort of camaraderie in our mutual disdain for certain professors. During a particularly grueling detention scrubbing cauldrons, Mattheo surprised me by sharing a mumbled joke that actually made me laugh.

The Yule Ball arrived like a looming deadline. I had dreaded the thought of being seen on Mattheo’s arm. But as he stood before me in his dress robes, a certain unfamiliar nervousness in his eyes, something shifted within me. He was undeniably handsome, and for the first time, the thought didn’t fill me with immediate revulsion.

Our dance was stiff and awkward at first, but as the music softened and we found a rhythm, a strange sort of understanding passed between us. His hand on my back was firm, his gaze surprisingly steady.

"You look… tolerable," he muttered, his voice barely audible above the music.

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips. "And you're not entirely unbearable yourself, Riddle."

It was a minuscule crack in the wall of our mutual animosity, but it was there.

The turning point, perhaps inevitably, came during a late-night study session in the deserted astronomy tower. We were arguing, as usual, about some obscure Charms theory. Our voices echoed in the stillness, the tension crackling between us.

"You're being deliberately obtuse," I accused, frustration bubbling over.

"And you're being willfully ignorant," Mattheo retorted, his eyes flashing.

We were close—too close. Our anger was a palpable force. And then, something shifted. The anger seemed to dissipate, replaced by a different kind of intensity. His gaze lingered on my lips, and for the first time, I didn’t want to look away.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against my cheek. His touch was surprisingly gentle. "You know," he said, his voice low and husky, "you're not what I expected."

My heart hammered in my chest. "And what did you expect?" I whispered, my breath catching in my throat.

His gaze searched mine, a flicker of something vulnerable in his dark eyes. "A simpering pureblood princess, eager to please."

"And what did you get?" I challenged, my voice barely a breath.

A slow smile spread across his face, a genuine smile that reached his eyes and banished the usual shadows. "Someone who challenges me. Someone who isn’t afraid."

And then he kissed me.

It wasn’t a gentle, tentative kiss. It was fierce, possessive, filled with a pent-up energy that mirrored the animosity that had simmered between us for months. And surprisingly, I kissed him back, my own frustrations and grudges melting away in the heat of the moment.

The world didn’t magically transform. We were still betrothed, still bound by an archaic agreement. But as we stood there, breathless and slightly shaken, in the silence of the astronomy tower, something had undeniably changed. The hatred hadn’t vanished entirely, but a new emotion had taken root—a complicated tangle of resentment and reluctant attraction.

The arranged marriage was still a cage, but now, maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be quite so lonely. The year still stretched before us, filled with uncertainty and the weight of our forced union. But for the first time since that dreaded parchment arrived, I felt a flicker of something akin to hope. Perhaps, against all odds, this nightmare could turn into something else entirely. The enemies were still there, but maybe, beneath the surface, lovers were beginning to bloom.

Taglist: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy

[diejager]

I have a fucking insane idea based on a DnD thing I saw once lmao. So basically, if someone went through an immense amount of trauma, it could sort of manifest into another being used for self defense. This being was literally only limited by their imagination. It could be a damn house cat or a fucking dragon. It was basically an extension of their body that was a result of a dangerous or traumatic situation. It could help with other tasks as well, but its main purpose is defense. I need to see the men react to this, I’m begging

Monster au. Plz

~🧋

Cw: trauma, inaccurate magic, tell me if I missed any.

They were familiar with all kind of magic. Be it Old Magics and Magiks, enchantments, hexes, curses, dark arts, and everything known to the world, yours was…. peculiar. Quite peculiar for a person without any ties to a magical lineage or prior knowledge of powers. You were just a normal human - as normal as you could be with all your fearlessness towards monsters and hybrids alike - with a few unique perks and qualities, but a human no less. You weren’t any different from your parents, your extended family or any friends. A mortal with soft flesh, resilient and persevering, wild imaginations and genial abilities to adapt and conquer, and yet, were so, so fragile. 

They hadn’t expected it, with Farah - the only witch they personally knew - tied to Alex by the hip and always on the move, their repertoire of magical knowledge was lacking. So, there was a mass of confusion between them, one that made understanding your strange ability difficult, but not impossible. They had Laswell’s help to sift through all existing records, some confidential, hidden under red tapes and confidentiality regulations, and others public, open to any curious eyes and prying noses. 

The black Maine Coon that seemed to follow you, her lumbering figure and elegantly, curled fur that stood out among patches of grey and military green and browns of the base brought many questions, but all shrugged away at the mere sight of those piercing green eyes, vibrant lime that seemed to glow in darkness. She could light up the room with a single glance. It was as odd as it was menacing, and she was fiercely protective of you, shadowing your steps, curling her tail around your leg, laying on your lap when you sat and glaring at anyone who tried to approach you. 

A spirit animal someone had commented, a guardian in the shape of a cat another had hushed. She was all speculations and would stay that way until someone found out more about your Maine Coon, or if someone grew a pair and actually asked you rather than treating it like a secret mission conducted behind your back. A mystery to resolve, a like game they thought it be amusing to play until you found them out or someone gave up after grueling weeks of hitting a brocade —a dead end. 

It was fun and all, at least while it lasted. They felt like they were so close to figuring it out by themselves - pride and ego, you’d cackle. You’d have a field day laughing at them for them, then praise them for holding out so long - and Soap went out and begged for an answer. 

“I was wondering when one of you would crack,” you smiled, running your fingers through her fur, brushing away knots and tangles, “Took you longer than I expected.”

You had known of their investigation, but never spoke up. It riled them up, a thrill at finally being given the knowledge they’re hungered for, an adrenaline that pumped from their hearts to know the answer. And you stalled, teasing them with the pretty curl of your lips, taking all the time you needed to have them squirm in their seats and hang at every word that fell from your mouth.

“She’s a… trauma response, of some kind. I don’t really know how or why, but she just appeared one day while I was recovering. I was confused,” you laughed, nuzzling her scruff when she sat up to lick your chin, “Really confused. But I did some tests, experiments out of sheer boredom and discovered she came from my mind- or a product of it.”

“Your mind..?”

“You know humans have vivid imaginations, as physically unfortunate we are, our minds are a… strange thing, and she came right out of it.”

“So she could be… anything?”

You threw your head back, pulling her up in your arms as if she was the lightest kitten ever, your smile so wide it was infectiously making them smile.

“Anything that my mind can conjure up.”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @angelcakes-22 @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mul-pi @danielle143 @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @luvecarson @petwifed @randominstake @heartelysia @jggykhug09090 @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @call-me-nyxx @sans-chara @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @thigh-o-saur @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce @sobbingnshtting

[marlsswrites]

June 25th <3

Horoscope - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1400

“Where are you two off to?” Barty spoke as he ran up behind Regulus and Pandora in the tall, stone walls of Hogwarts.

“Divination.” Pandora replies distractedly, much more interested in braiding a small piece of blonde hair in front of her forehead, causing her to go slightly cross eyed.

“We have charms don’t we?” Barty looked around the halls, confused, before looking at Regulus for an answer.

Regulus ran a hand through his hair and looked towards Barty. “Me and Dora got moved up, we’re in seventh year Divination.”

“Oh! Okay.” Barty replied, instantly zoning out of the conversation when he saw a rather grumpy looking Evan walking past. “Nerds.” He snorted and tan towards Evan. “Evie!”

“Are we sure they aren’t dating?” Regulus huffed out with a smirk. “I called Evan ‘Evie’ once as a joke and he fucking hexed me.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Pandora matched his smirk with a grin. “Enough of them, let’s go embarrass some dumb seventh years with my seer privileges.” She winked.

Regulus rolled his eyes and brushed a loose curl away from his face. “Are we actually nerds, though?”

“You are, I’m just good at divination and shit at everything else.” She tapped her head to prove a point as they walked into the classroom, surprisingly, being some of the last ones there.

Regulus felt multiple pairs of eyes attach to him as he walked into the room, trying to avoid eye contact, he quickly stepped past the teacher to get to a table in the back.

“Not so fast!” The professor spoke as she stepped in front of a rather embarrassed looking Regulus, and an excited looking Pandora. “Everyone, these are some of our new sixth year students, the smartest of their year!”

He quite literally wanted to smash his head into a wall. “Thank you.” He muttered as he sat down at an empty table, Pandora next to him as she tied her platinum blonde hair in a bun with a multicoloured scrunchie, Regulus is pretty sure she sewed that one herself.

A few moments later, just as the professor started to speak, a flustered James Potter ran into the classroom. He apologised swiftly to the scowling professor and made a beeline for Regulus’ table as soon as he spotted him.

“Hi Reggie.” He whispered, Regulus would correct him like he does most people, but he quite likes it to be honest, especially when it’s James whispering in his ear.

“Potter.” How he managed to get that out with a smooth voice was a mystery.

“What did I miss?” James asked in a hushed tone.

Pandora turns to them, eyeing them suspiciously before shrugging and leaning over, propping her head on her hand. “Professor Wells told us that her horoscope predicts that Regulus has a secret.” She spoke in a hushed, overdramatic voice.

“Old nutter.” The Slytherin boy muttered.

“Do you now Reggie?” James asked with a dramatic gasp.

“Shut up and listen.” Regulus hissed.

Regulus saw a suspicious grin start to appear on the Potter boys lips as he spoke. “Ma-“ He stomped on James’ foot, receiving a yelp as James decided to finally pay attention to the class.

His brother and Lupin weren’t even at class today, not sure why, the Lupin kid seems to always be in the hospital wing for one thing or another and Regulus knew for a fact the he and Sirius were attached at the hip. Regulus wasn’t sure about Pettigrew, probably doesn’t take the class.

-

“What is that?” Regulus held the cup close to his face, trying to decipher what shapes the tea leaves made up. He held it to the side, hoping Pandora could tell.

Pandora hummed, a puzzled look appearing on her face. She grabbed her book, flicking through until she could find the recognisable shapes.

“That one…” She pointed at the first shape in the cup. “It’s a stag I think?” She flicked the page and looked at the next shape. “This book is not helpful at all!” She groaned and slammed the book on the table.

Now, James peered over his shoulder to take a look at the cup. “It is a stag!” He beamed and looked at Regulus, who rolled his eyes, yet again, and looked back at the cup. “That one there looks like a heart.” The brunette pointed his finger to the cup.

And he was right, anyone could tell that it was a love heart. But would Regulus admit that? No way.

“No it doesn’t.” He scoffed.

“Yes it does.” Pandora and James chimed in at the same time.

Regulus pointed at James, ignoring it when the Gryffindor licked his lips and grinned that stupid, gorgeous smile of his. “This- this is none of your business.” He turned to point at Pandora. “And no it does not.

“Yes is does!” She sang, in a slightly too loud voice, causing multiple people in the classroom to turn and look at them

“No it-“ He sighed. “I’m not winning this am I?”

Pandora’s grin widened. “Nope.”

-

Regulus left the class before Pandora as she spoke with the Professor about crystals, he didn’t even pretend to understand that nonsense, it’s a mystery how he ended up in higher Divination.

He turned to corner into an empty looking hallway, their class had finished early so not many students crowded the halls yet, which was nice.

Sitting down in a small alcove, he folded in on himself, tucking his legs to his chest and letting his head fall back onto the wall with a soft thud.

He heard footsteps nearby, but he passed it off as a student or teacher passing by. His gaze was glued on the roof, he traced the patterns in the stone with his eyes.

Only moments later, he felt a hand ruffle his hair, a hand he would recognise the feel of from anywhere.

“James.” He sighed with a laugh, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a smile.

Watching carefully, he saw James sit on the other side of the alcove. The older boy lifted Regulus’ legs up ever so softly, go place them on top of his own.

Regulus felt a soft flutter in his stomach as those honey brown eyes locked with his stormy grey ones. James’ tan, golden skin shone in the sunlight. It was perfect the way the sun hit him, just like a spotlight, like he deserved to be in.

But no, Regulus didn’t want to share James’ beauty with the rest of the world, that was his. His to keep, to touch, to cherish, to love.

“There’s no one here right?” James said in a low voice as he leant over to Regulus, their noses practically touching.

“No, but Pandora is very suspicious, you couldn’t be worse at hiding this.”

“It’s not my fault, I need you.” James sulked.

Shaking his head fondly, Regulus leant in to connect their lips, probably too eagerly, but he couldn’t care any less right now when James was smiling again his lips.

“Regulussss.” He sang in a sweet voice, pulling away but only slightly. “A heart and a stag? I’m flattered.” He spoke as he brushed a loose dark hair away from Regulus’ flushed face.

“Those things are fake.” He grumbled under his breath.

“Are they now?” He fake pouted, Regulus hoped it was fake anyway, he hated upsetting James. “So you don’t love me.”

Regulus looked James in the eye, his big wide doe eyes shone with pure adoration and love.

“Fuck off.” He said through a smile, there was no hiding the amount of feelings he had for this boy, he was just wonderful, so loving, so kind, so gorgeous. Regulus was sure James was crafted just for him, so they could love each other so much it hurt.

“You love me.” The Gryffindor teased.

“Sadly I do love you, what was I thinking?”

“That I’m super hot and a good kisser?” James asked with an eyebrow wiggle.

Regulus nodded slowly and pulled James in again, the kiss was deeper, slightly rougher, yet still it was perfect. More than perfect.

James traced Regulus’ bottom lip with his tongue, sending shivers down his spine and having his heartbeat speed up shockingly fast. No matter how many times James does that, Regulus thinks his reaction will always be the same.

“Yeah, that’s it.” Regulus mumbled against his boyfriend’s lips.

[zhxngii]

he gets jealous quite often, quite easily actually. something as small as someone looking at you a certain way, that only he claims he can, would tick him off. he doesn't hide his feelings while he's fucking you roughly. his hips aren't showing any signs of stopping now, his hand comes up to your neck giving it a light squeeze, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he hears your cries.

he loved it when you were so vocal, it was adorable... Even if he knew you were his, he couldn't help but still let you know who you belong to. he leans down, bringing his lips toward your ear. In a hushed tone, he whispers, "You're mine".

VOX, HEX, CHILDE, Kaeya, Kaveh, Alhaitham, Scaramouche

[miniwrites1]

The Target On Your Back - Theodore Nott

Words | 600 Warnings | Fighting, Theo being a raging dick Pairings | Theo Nott x Reader | Neville Longbottom & Reader (Platonic)

“What did you just say?” You hear as you round the corner, an audible crack ringing above the hushed mumbles of other students surrounding what you assumed was a fight unfolding. You couldn’t see anything as you approached the back of the circle that had formed. You craned your neck to see a glimpse of what was going on, another cracking sound, followed by yelling.

“What’s going on?” You spoke, slightly panicked to the Ravenclaw girl who was stood in front of you.

“Nott and Longbottom. Nott’s winning.” She spoke nonchalantly, as if she didn’t care that another student, your friend, was getting beaten.

You felt an unfamiliar feeling surge inside you. Anger. You barged your way through the surrounding students, bursting through the front line and finally witnessing the scene that had unfolded. Nott had Neville pinned up against the wall with one hand in the middle of his chest, his other laying punches into his face and stomach.

Something snapped inside you.

You couldn’t help yourself, charging into Nott’s side at full force and throwing him off balance, causing him to lose his footing and fall to the floor. You pulled your wand out and aimed it at him.

“You ok Nev?” You asked the shaken boy, keeping your eyes fixed on Nott, who was beginning to get back up.

“Yeah, I-I’m ok.” Neville mumbled, wiping his bloody nose with the sleeve of his cloak.

You watched at Nott got back to his feet, glaring at you. He took a step towards you.

“Take one more step and I’ll hex you into next year.” You stood your ground, defending your friend with unwavering confidence and anger coursing through your body. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Neville stared at you in disbelief, as did many other students that had been watching the fight. You were known for being the quiet, kind Hufflepuff who sat in the back of the class and often carried round a bag of sweets from Honeydukes, handing them out to anyone who looked upset.

This was a side of you no one had seen before, it was a side of you reserved for those who hurt the people you cared for.

Your eyes narrowed, your wand still trained on Nott, searching for any sign of movement towards you. His glare was piercing, ice cold. If looks could kill.

He stepped away from you, turning and shoving his way through the crowd, sending students falling into one another as he left. You let out a sigh of relief as you watched him leave, only turning to Neville after he was out of your sight.

“Let’s get you to the hospital wing.” You spoke softly, wrapping Neville’s arm over your shoulder and helping him through the corridors.

As you arrived at the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey rushed over to take Neville to a bed, firing questions at you. There was an unspoken rule between the students, if you fought each other and were injured, say nothing. Your explanation to Madame Pomfrey was that you’d just found Neville like this and had no idea what had happened. You knew she didn’t believe you, but she had no proof that anything you said wasn’t true.

She shooed you from the wing shortly after Neville was placed into a bed, stating that he needed to rest and would be back to class in a couple of days. You nodded, remaining silent, afraid that anything you would say may give away too much information. You really didn’t want a target on your back, even though you now had one from defending your friend.

[vigilante24ish]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1376

Chapter 22:

After Agatha confessed to you, things seemed to be better. With less worry and jealousy in your heart, you found sleep coming for you faster than you anticipated.

Agatha has chosen to rest a little further away from the rest of the coven, and you had followed suit, her warm body spooning you from behind was the lullaby you needed to close your eyes and relax.

Time passed oddly for everyone, no sign of sun or anything to indicate how long the group had been asleep.

The first to wake up had been Agatha, whose dreams were haunted by bitter memories of her past; this time, about Nicholas.

Having almost lost Teen and then having Rio telling her the boy was not hers... it unlocked some dark moments from her past, and unfortunately, not even your presence could truly help.

Thus, she found herself the only one awake; her hand gently brushing your hair as you had subconsciously leaned more on her folded lap and presence.

Agatha observed you as you slept, a small warm smile forming on her pink lips as she observed you; looking so peaceful and trusting her so much... not to mention yearning for her touch, even while asleep.

When she was away, when she was faking a new identity in Wanda's hex; she often felt how empty the bed was. Often, she would lay there, extending a hand and wondering how you were; and if you would take her back when she would come to your doorstep once again.

She had been thinking about you, she was not going to lie but she could not just bluntly confess it. That was not her.

A part of her always fighting to protect her by hiding her weakness by preventing her from confessing how she felt and maybe that was okay because you understood her.

Agatha sensed when someone approached, not surprised to find Rio coming your way. She had not slept like everyone else but had sat down close by, especially after you had fallen asleep.

Ironically, it was her unique danger that had made you snuggle closer to Agatha; a subconscious needed to be closer to her.

Now was it because you were seeking protection or to simply protect Agatha, no one truly knew.

"Funny. I remember you giving me the same smile," Rio commented, her tone a mixture of mockery and maybe even slight jealousy.

Agatha looked up at her. "She came first, and you know it. I had made it clear to you back then, "

Rio scoffed faintly. "And yet you still don't want the three of us as one." She folded her hands in front of her chest. "That's fine by me. Keep your little moon girlie. "

As the Green Witch started to walk away, Agatha dared to move and actually stand up. She carefully walked around your sleeping form and trailed after her former lover.

"I will, but first I want some answers," she said in a hushed tone, making Rio halt. "How do you know her?"

Agatha faced Rio's back for a few seconds before the Witch graced her by turning to face her. They locked eyes as they stood in front of one another, merely a single step separating them.

Rio tilted her head faintly to her side, her thin dark locks following the movement of her head as she did so while she played with the curved knife in her hands.

"I found her," she started, observing how Agatha hung from her every word. "After she took care of those witch hunters. Kept my eye on her, talked... you know the drill. You and I met under similar circumstances. "

"My case was different," Agatha argued. "And you didn't exactly make it clear who you were either."

Rio shrugged and glanced at your sleeping form above Agatha's shoulder. "I wasn't with her, either. She found it out on her own, but I will give her credits for her determination in doing so. "

Agatha frowned. "How did she find out?"

Before Rio could answer, he shouts of Lilia reaches them. It disturbed the silence existing in the forest and was enough to even wake you up.

You took a moment to process where you were, and when you did, you noticed Agatha and Rio standing not so far away; clearly discussing something private.

Before you could ask what had taken place, the distant sound of a howllong wolf reached you, and you swore you also heard a raven as it flew above you.

"The Salem Seven," you exclaimed, standing up so fast that you almost tripped.

You looked at Agatha, whose eyes were wide with fear. She didn't have to say anything as she gabbed her discarded purple coat and rushed towards the coven, you close behind her.

Rio just casually followed, unbothered by the presence of the cursed seven witches that wanted Agatha dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you approached the coven, you heard Lilia explaining to the rest of the witches what she saw and who was after them.

"Scary black dresses?" Teen asked, recalling the creepy figures he saw in Agatha's House before he rushed to find them in the basement.

"When Agatha killed her original coven..." Lilia started.

Once again, Jen had to comment. "By stealing their power." She added, making you wonder what Agatha did to her to have such hatred and anger against her.

"Because her own mother tried to have her executed." Rio suddenly added, having managed to reach the coven around the same time you and Agatha did.

Even though she was further behind.

You didn't stay nor bothered to question, somehow having an explanation already.

After all, it was Rio you were thinking about.

"Are you really defending a noted serial killer, you creepy lurker?" Jen asked, taking a few steps closer to Jen.

Something seemed to snap within you. You were not sure if it was Jen negative attitude, her tone, or the unnecessary name calling, but you found yourself standing between her and Rio.

"Back off, Jen. Direct your attitude elsewhere for this is not the point" you barked, one hand extended to keep Rio further behind you while your other had a single digit pointed at the Potions Witch.

She pulled her head faintly, surprised by your outburst and sudden change of character for the new Witch. After all, just a few hours ago, you had been glaring nonstop at her, and now you were opening defending her.

Jen opened her mouth, feeling insulterd and ready to serve you some attitude as well when Teen interfered; once again, stopping things from escalating too far.

"Come on, someone finish the story." He said, glancing at the rest of the coven.

Lilia took her gaze from you and focused on the boy. "When Agatha murdered her sister witches, she spared their young children."

"Yeah, and then they became a feral, hive-minded coven bent on revenge." You argued, showing where you stood on the topic.

"Whoa, ah!" Agatha exclaimed as she finally managed to wear her coat, all this time comically fighting to put the second sleeve on. "The moral of the story, kids, is always finish what you started. Also, mercy is overrated. All right, everybody, pack up your shit! Let's go!"

You started to fix your tie that you had loosened before you slept and buttoned up your black vest while everyone gathered and wore their stuff.

Before you were even fully ready, you had to run and follow Agatha; only to hear the same wolf howl from the path up ahead.

By instinct alone, you chose to run the opposite way, but the sound of a raven made you realize you were practically trapped.

"What about a hexenbesen?" Teen suddenly suggested, earning negative answers from everyone but you.

"Guys, I think we -" before you could voice your opinion and perhaps persuade them to change their mind; the Salem Seven did it for you.

An inhumane screech reached you, like claws against a board or wood. Your hair stood on end in response, and you all had this innate feeling of pray caught in the line of sight of a predator.

"No, brooms are great," Agatha exclaimed, and you hummed in agreement.

Chapter 23