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prythiansprincess · 7 months ago

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CHAPTER ONE

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🤍 pairing: theodore nott x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: sunroof by nicky youre.

🤍 author’s note: wake up babe summer theo just dropped.

Step 1 of Pansy Parkinson’s Perfect Plan of Plotting

Meet Cute — : A cute, charming, or amusing first encounter between romantic partners.

Every good story starts with a meet cute. Unfortunately for Theo and Y/N, their first encounter happened when they were still both in their mother’s wombs, but I won’t let that deter me. What better way to start off the summer holiday than getting rescued from a remote airport by your knight-in-shining armor with a fresh haircut and a recently acquired driver’s license? Side note: research the credibility of the Ufficio Motorizzazione Civile because whoever granted Theodore Nott a valid license is clearly bloody mental. Regardless, those two will be riding off into the Italian sunset in a brand new baby blue convertible and it’s all thanks to me.

First Year, Hogwarts Express

On the other side of the frosted glass window, the English countryside passed by in a dizzying blur as the rain painted the landscape in a dreary haze. The train left a trail of smoke and steam behind as it journeyed along, bringing you closer and closer to Hogwarts. You shifted in your seat, nearly sliding off the red leather cushion as you trained your eyes on the horizon.

By evening, you would arrive in the Scottish Highlands to begin your education at Hogwarts. When you got on the platform at King’s Cross, you thought that the worst of your anxiety would subside, but it only grew within you like a cresting wave. Being away from home for the first time in eleven years was intimidating enough, but now you had the sorting ceremony to fret over.

Your parents were convinced that you would be sorted into Slytherin as they had when they both attended Hogwarts. Up until now, you were fairly confident in this as well, but the minute you boarded the train, doubt started to rear its ugly head.

You had to be sorted into Slytherin. Not only because you’ve had the green and silver posters hanging in your room since birth, but also because you couldn’t imagine being in any other house.

Just then, the cabin door slid open and startled you out of your thoughts. Theo plopped down next to you and stretched his legs on your lap.

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “There’s two benches in this cabin, Teddy.”

Your best friend grinned, his messy brown hair falling over those moody watercolor eyes. “Yeah, but they’re not as comfy as you.”

His cheeks were rosy from running around the train, but yours were even more flushed in comparison. Theo always had that effect on you. “I found the others, by the way. They’re in Malfoy’s cabin eating their way through a mountain of sweets. Did you want to join them?”

You shook your head, looking out the window. “Maybe later.”

Theo swung his legs over the bench and faced you. “You’re nervous.”

It wasn’t a question. Theo knew you well enough to read your silence.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not to anyone but me,” he said reassuringly. “You haven’t stopped twisting your ring since we left London.”

You looked down at your right hand and surely enough, you caught yourself twisting the emerald ring on your middle finger. It was a nervous habit that you weren't even aware of until Theo pointed it out a few years ago.

That was the thing about your friendship. You spent so much time together that sometimes it felt like Theo was an extension of you. His mother used to say that the two of you were destined to be best friends, given the fact that she and your mum were closer to sisters than friends after forming a lifelong friendship during their time at school.

It was one of the main reasons why the sorting ceremony worried you so much. For your entire life, you had gotten used to doing everything with Theo. The two of you had been inseparable since birth. A part of you had always wondered if you and Teddy would be friends if it weren’t for your mothers.

“What if I don’t get sorted into Slytherin?” you asked in a small voice.

Theo leaned back and tugged at the end of your scarf. “Of course you’ll get sorted into Slytherin.” He smiled, curling his finger around the cashmere material. “Did you know that when we were born, our mums put us in matching green and silver booties? I didn’t endure all that humiliation just for you to back out now.”

“I’m serious, Teddy.” You shoved your hands into your pockets and stared at your shoes. “What if we get sorted into different houses? What if you meet your housemates and decide that you’d rather be friends with them than me?

Theo’s expression softened. “Hey,” he said, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’re my best friend, Y/N. A stupid sorting hat won’t change that. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” He paused, grinning. “Unless you end up in Gryffindor.”

You smacked his arm, trying and failing to fight the smile tugging at your lips. “That’s not funny, Teddy!”

He chuckled. “I’m just winding you up, fragolina.”

For an eleven year old, you suppose that calling a freckled redhead little strawberry was peak comedy. At least Theo seemed to think so.

“Speaking of which, are you sure you’re not a long lost Weasley? Then you’d really need to worry about Godric snatching you up.”

“You are an absolute menace, Theodore Nott.”

Theo grinned. “But would an absolute menace remember to buy you candy?”

He reached into his pocket and held his palm out to you. In his hand sat a familiar purple and gold box that held the best treat in the wizarding world.

“A chocolate frog,” you said with delight. “My favorite.”

“Got it from the trolley. I figured you could use a little cheering up. Though I might’ve accidentally sat on it.”

You giggled, holding up the slightly dented box. “Thanks for the chocolate blob, Teddy.”

Theo grinned. “Any time, Y/N.

Day One, Vallara Floo Station

The phone rang and rang and rang.

You looked around helplessly at the floo station, praying to whatever gods that were listening that Pansy would pick up. Much to your dismay, you were sent straight to voicemail. Again.

“Pansy Parkinson, you better be laid out on a yacht with hot Italian witches dangling grapes into your mouth because that’s the only acceptable reason for not picking up your bloody phone. I swear to Salazar, I think I just told a man that I’d love to pet his chicken. Theo’s never going to let me hear the end of this—”

At that moment, you became convinced that the heat of the Italian countryside had melted your brain because you could’ve sworn that you recognized the familiar laughter echoing from behind you.

“I’m offended, bella. All those years of friendship and yet you’ve never offered to pet my chicken.”

You nearly dropped your phone when you whirled around and came face to face with your best friend. The Italian sunshine had been good to Theo. He looked tanner than when you last saw him, bringing out the moles and freckles that painted his olive skin like constellations. Those piercing blue eyes crinkled when he smiled and the sight of it nearly swept you off your feet.

As if reading your mind, Theo enveloped you into a bone-crushing hug. The scent of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke enveloped you like a comforting hug. The hem of your gingham sundress billowed as Theo twirled you in the air. You laughed in delight, not caring one bit that the two of you were making a scene in the middle of the floo station. You hadn’t seen your best friend in two months, which was nearly an eternity for you and Theo.

After graduation, Theo had headed down to the Italian countryside to spend the summer with his nonna. Usually, you would’ve joined him, but you were busy visiting family in New York. As fun as the States were, you missed home and you missed Theo — the two of which were synonymous in your mind.

“I missed you, fragolina,” Theo murmured into your hair. You grinned, squeezing him to convey your agreement.

“Missed you too, Teddy,” you said softly. Theo set you down, giving you the chance to fully examine him. He was wearing a white linen button down and cotton shorts, his usual attire to combat the summer heat. Handsome, but in an effortless sort of way.

You cocked your head, running your fingers over his chesnut waves, which were now tinged with gold, courtesy of his constant exposure to the sun. “You cut your hair.”

Theo nodded, running a hand through his cropped cut with a self-conscious expression. “I like it,” you said decidedly. “It looks good on you.”

Satisfaction coursed through you as Theo blushed, his cheeks tinged with pink. It reminded you of the very first time he ever wore his natural waves around you. It was sometime during second year when you both got drenched from the rain at the Black Lake. You ran your hands through his hair, smiling as you told him that you quite preferred his hair that way. Since then, Theo stopped gelling his hair.

“Big changes this summer,” Theo declared with a wink. Without hesitation, he gathered your suitcases and hauled them along like they weighed nothing. To him, they probably didn’t. You could’ve used his strength when you were struggling to lug your bags through customs. “Speaking of, I finally got my license.”

Your jaw dropped. Ever since your dad took the two of you out on a joyride in his beloved vintage Mercedes — Mercy, for short — Theo had become obsessed with learning how to drive. You had no interest in it, but your best friend was absolutely adamant. When he put his mind to something, Theo was quite unstoppable. He even managed to convince your dad to give him lessons. Not on his precious Mercy of course, but on the family car.

“I have no idea why you would want to ride around on a steel trap when there’s a perfectly good tube system at home,” you chided, swatting at your best friend’s arm as he rolled his eyes at your repeated lecture. “But I am proud of you, regardless.”

“Good, cause I’m about to take you on the joy ride of your life.”

You halted as Theo bounced past the entrance, walking right up to a very expensive looking vintage sports car. The baby blue top down sparkled in the sunlight and its chrome interior shined so spotlessly that you could see your reflection staring back at you. Theo gingerly arranged your suitcases in the backseat, careful not to disturb the delicate white leather seats.

“You did not,” you gaped in disbelief.

Theo only grinned. “I did, too.”

He rounded the hood and reached over to pull the door open. You turned back, hesitation written all over your face as you surveyed the car. Despite its vintage style, you knew that it would probably be fast. Too fast for your liking.

“No offense, but are you sure they didn’t make a mistake during your driving test? Maybe they meant to give the license to someone else.”

You were proud of Theo. Truly, you were. But you had been witness to one too many driving lessons where he accidentally ran over the curb or nearly flipped the car from how fast he turned. Needless to say, it didn’t exactly inspire confidence.

Your best friend huffed in indignation. “I’ll have you know, I’m an excellent driver. Even my examiner said so.”

“She should probably get her vision checked, then,” you murmured under your breath.

“I heard that,” Theo stated with narrowed eyes. He ushered you along, herding you into the front seat. “Your lack of confidence in me is quite frankly appalling, fragolina.”

“It’s not that I’m not confident in you,” you explained as you buckled in. “I’m just not confident that you won’t abuse the poor, defenseless curbs of your homeland.”

“I promise you, I’ve gotten much better since my last lesson. Now sit back, relax, and feel the beautiful breeze of Italia against your skin.”

You did no such thing. You spent the first few minutes white-knuckling the seat cushions. Theo, on the other hand, whistled a happy little tune as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. To his credit, his driving seemed to have improved since the last time you witnessed him get behind the wheel. Enough for you to gradually release the chokehold you had on your seat.

“So, where’s our gracious host? Too busy sipping on limoncellos with pretty stregas to pick up her best friend from the station?”

Theo’s mouth quirked. “Close. She’s trying to keep Malfoy and Riddle from tearing up the villa. They had a little disagreement about the room assignments. Draco wanted the room facing the east side of the house, for an optimal view of the sunrise.” You snorted at Theo’s overexaggerated snooty impression of your blonde friend. “Of course as soon as he expressed this, Mattheo suddenly wanted it for the same reasons. Never mind that the twat rarely wakes up before noon.”

“Another lover’s quarrel,” you said rather sarcastically. “What’s new? Hopefully they kiss and make up before we get back.”

“They’re going to have to,” Theo stated as he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m not spending my summer holiday listening to those two twats fighting. I did enough of that at school.”

“How strange is it that we’ve graduated? I swear, it feels just like yesterday when we first got onto the Hogwarts Express. Now you’re driving me around the Italian coast and you haven’t hit a single curb. I wonder what other miraculous things the future has in store.”

Theo snorted. “It’s me and you against the world, bella.”

“The way it’s always been and the way it’ll always be.”

The road curved around a hill, providing you with a breathtaking view of the sunny skies and clear blue water glittering below. Despite your teasing, Theo was doing a great job of maneuvering through the narrow path. He was driving slow and steady, giving you enough confidence to lean against the door and peer at the wonders of Vallara.

Villas with colorful pastel roofs painted the hillside with pops of pinks, greens, and blues, broken up by patches of yellow from the lemon trees swaying in the breeze. The air smelled like sea salt and citrus, mixed in with other delicious smells wafting from the countless restaurants lining the market square. One of them in particular, La Dolce Vita, instantly caught your eye.

“Should we say hi to nonna?”

“She’s busy prepping for dinner back at the house. As soon as nonna heard that you were coming, she insisted on making everything herself.”

“She didn’t have to do that,” you said, smiling fondly in the direction of the restaurant. You adored Theo’s grandmother. She was a strong, loud, and vibrant woman that you’ve admired since you were a little girl. Not to mention, her cooking was to die for. “Although I would kill for her cannolis.”

“There’s a fresh batch waiting for you in the fridge.”

Your mouth watered at the thought. “I’m surprised she’s letting us use the villa. I thought we were banned after Mattheo set off those fireworks in fourth year. I’ve never seen nonna that mad.”

Theo chuckled at the reminder. Thanks to the fire fiasco, the villa had become off limits. Every visit after was to the townhouse in Rome, where she could keep a closer eye on all of you. As beautiful as the city was, you missed the countryside. Life was more peaceful out here — slow and sweet. You were determined to savor every moment before the reality of adult life hit you full force.

“Pansy can be quite persuasive,” Theo replied. “Plus, she promised to wring Mattheo’s neck herself if he tries to stir up any trouble.”

“It’s not a matter of if,” you corrected as Theo pulled up to the private road that led to his family’s villa. “It’s a matter of when.”

Your best friend hummed in approval as the car slowed to a stop. Theo parked his convertible on the driveway and killed the engine as you admired his ancestral home. The quaint country house sat proudly at the top of the hillside, its regal structure looming over the village below. The terracotta roof sloped over the towers jutting out on each side of the massive structure, the seafoam green walls wrapping around the side porch, the rounded arched windows, and the romantic balcony overlooking the blooming garden at the back of the villa. It was just as charming as you remembered.

“Home sweet home,” you murmured in awe.

The wonder of this place never grew old. Theo’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, hauling your luggage over his shoulder and leading you inside. The sunbaked walls greeted you like an old friend, the sea breeze filling the entire place with the scent of salt and citrus from the large open windows. The furniture was mismatched, but in an endearing way that somehow felt like it all belonged together.

You walked between the arched columns leading into the living room, which were bracketed with wooden banisters that overlooked the entire first floor. The further you ventured, the louder the noises echoed.

The sunny kitchen seemed to be the center of activity. You peered inside, smiling instantly when you saw the familiar figure hunched over the stove. Nonna whistled as she stirred the pot, the incredible smell of her cooking hitting you with a wave of nostalgia. Her happy tune was interrupted by the bouncing boy beside her and she tutted at Mattheo as he peered over her shoulder.

“Dio mio, did I not tell you to wait in the living room?” Nonna asked with an exasperated sigh. “You’re making me dizzy with all your bouncing.”

Mattheo smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, nonna. Everything just smells so good. Are you sure you don't need me to taste test?”

“You’ll eat when the food is ready,” she huffed in response. Mattheo pouted in disappointment, his gaze darting to the fridge hungrily. “Don’t even think about touching my cannolis. I made those for Y/N especially.”

“If you’re nice, I might share.”

Nonna grinned as you walked into the kitchen with Theo trailing behind you. She pulled you into a hug, kissing both of your cheeks as you laughed. “Thank God you’re here. This one has been driving me up the wall all afternoon.” Mattheo let out an indignant huff, but nonna ignored him. “Sit, piccolina. I’m sure you’ve had quite a journey. Theo here tells me you visited the States?”

The way nonna crinkled her nose made you giggle. Like every other sensible European, she wasn’t the biggest fan of anything American. “Yes, I stayed with my cousin in New York for a few weeks. It was a fun time, but I am glad to be back home. I’m afraid their cooking isn’t up to par with yours, nonna.”

“This is why you’re my favorite,” she chides, pinching your cheeks. “You’re just in luck then. Dinner will be served soon. If you can stomach it after my grandson’s driving.”

Theo heaved in disapproval, which only made you grin. “It was actually quite a nice drive. The view was stunning and Teddy here managed to get me here in one piece.”

“I’m glad. Theodore has been talking my ear off about it the whole summer. Nonna, I can’t wait until Y/N gets here. I miss her. Do you think she misses me? I hope she likes my car. Don’t you think she’d look quite pretty in her sundress, sitting in the passenger seat?”

Mattheo snickered as Theo cleared his throat. “Alright, that’s enough. We’ll let you get back to your cooking so I can show Y/N to her room, nonna.”

Without another word, Theo wrestled you out of his grandmother’s clutches. Nonna winked at you behind his back, making you giggle. She wasn’t subtle at all about the fact that she wanted you and Theo to be together. Nonna had been hinting at it since you were thirteen.

You trailed after Theo, noting the blush on his cheeks as he climbed the stairs. “Did I live up to it, then?”

Theo scrunched his brows, pausing at the top step to allow you to catch up. His long legs always gave him a rather unfair advantage. “Live up to what?”

“Did I look pretty sitting in your passenger seat in my sundress?”

“Don’t know,” Theo quipped. “You were too busy gripping the seats for dear life to allow me to make a clear judgment.” You rolled your eyes fondly, which made him chuckle. “I’m kidding. Of course you looked pretty. You always look pretty, Y/N.”

Now it was your turn to blush. You bit back a smile as Theo ventured down the hallway.

“I’m still here you know,” you startled at Mattheo’s presence. You nearly forgot that he was following closely behind. “I swear to Merlin, the world could be falling to shit and you two would still be too busy making googly eyes at each other to notice.”

You rolled your eyes at your curly headed friend. “I’m guessing Dray got the room you wanted based on your grumpy behavior.” Mattheo swatted at your hand when you tried to pinch his cheek. “Don’t worry, Matty. There’s always room in the wine cellar.”

He stuck his tongue out in response, followed by a smirk that you knew meant nothing but trouble. “Oh, I snagged the Rose room.”

“That’s my favorite room and you know it!”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. There’s always room in the wine cellar.” You narrowed your eyes before lunging at him. Mattheo laughed maniacally, dodging your grip as he weaved through the second floor. “Guess you and Notty boy are just going to have to double up.”

The little traitor ran straight into your room — his room now apparently — and slammed the door shut. “What does that mean?” you asked Theo.

He shrugged. “Probably nothing good, knowing the twat.”

His suspicions proved to be true when you ran into Draco and Pansy. They both greeted you with hugs, though Draco seemed a little put off.

“Good, you’re finally here!” Pansy exclaimed, brushing her bangs off of her forehead.

“With no help from you, by the way. You said you were meeting me at the floo station.”

“I had to take care of a situation. Theo here jumped at the chance to show off his little baby blue convertible and offered to pick you up instead.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s been buzzing since yesterday. I swear, he doesn’t even try to hide his favoritism.”

“Well, Y/N doesn’t strong arm her way into staying at my family’s villa. Not to mention conspiring with my nonna for god knows what else,” Theo added bitterly.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “So dramatic, Theodore.” She pushed the door open to the main suite, revealing the enormous room.

The interior was bright and airy. A fresh coat of pastel pink covered the walls, but the ceiling remained a creamy shade of white with the exposed wooden beams giving the room a cozy and rustic feel. A four-poster bed faced the balcony doors, which provided a view of the gardens below. The salty summer breeze rustled the linen curtains, carrying the pleasing scent of honeysuckle and lavender.

Theo set down your luggage by the tufted velvet sofa. You ventured out through the balcony doors, leaning over the parapet to peer at the pops of pinks, blues, and purples dotting the property. By the poolside, Enzo and Blaise reclined on cushioned chaise lounges, sipping on spritzers and soaking in the sunset. You waved at your friends down below and they returned the gesture, raising their glasses with blissful smiles.

When you turned back around, you found Pansy fiddling with a flower arrangement. She placed it on the table closest to the balcony, smiling to herself when she finally got the bouquet to look the way she wanted. The stunning view, the luxurious vintage furniture, and the intricate fireplace all felt very romantic. After all, nonna did deem this the honeymoon suite, which made you all the more suspicious of why Pansy was suddenly bunking you up with Theo.

Before you could question the witch, she turned on her heel and crossed the suite. “I’ll give you two a moment to catch up, but don’t take too long. Dinner will be served in an hour.” Pansy lingered by the door, a dangerous glint sparkling in her eyes as she winked at the two of you. “Enjoy the honeymoon suite.”

If that wasn’t confirmation that Pansy Parkinson was up to something, then you didn’t know what was. You glared at the dark haired witch, but she seemed oblivious as she skipped off. Probably on her way to meddle in someone else’s business.

“Well, this was unexpected.”

“Tell me about it. Now I have to keep my things tidy or else I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“A messy room reflects a messy—”

“Mind,” Theo finished for you as his lips curved into a smile. “I’m well aware, bella. You’ve been saying it since we were ten.”

“Yet it hasn’t quite sunk in.”

“You’re just grumpy from international travel. I know what’ll make you feel better though,” Theo announced with a sunny smile as he trotted over to the bathroom. You stared longingly at the amenities, which housed a rain shower head, a tiled bench, and a heart shaped tub. “Hop on in.”

“Theodore Nott, is this your way of telling me I stink?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny,” your best friend said with a cheeky little smile. He plugged his nose and waved his hand in front of his face. You smacked him on the arm, which only made him grin even wider. “Will it help if I hopped in with you?”

A fierce blush crept up to the tips of your ears. “Pervert.”

“What? We used to take baths together all the time!”

“Yeah, when we were three.”

Theo shrugged. “Semantics. I promise not to steal your rubber ducky this time.”

You groaned in frustration, smacking him once more. “Not a chance in hell.”

“Are you sure? I’m a very efficient shower buddy. Just ask Mattheo.”

All the filthy thoughts filtering through your mind only served to make you flush even more. At this rate, your face probably matched your hair. “Get out, Theodore.”

Theo chuckled as you pushed him out the door. It was a feat in itself given the fact that he towered a good foot over you, but you managed to shove him through the threshold. Your best friend chuckled before placing a kiss on your forehead.

“Have a good shower, fragolina,” A devious grin tugged at his lips as he paused. “Try not to think of me while you’re in there.”

You rolled your eyes, but the words had already planted a very dangerous seed in your mind. As you stepped into the shower, you were ashamed to say that you failed Theo’s challenge.

This bloody honeymoon suite would be the death of you.

A wave of nostalgia hit you full force as you made your way down the stairs. In the dining room, your friends sat around the large mahogany table chatting and drinking. You exchanged a cheek kiss with Blaise and ruffled Enzo’s hair before making your way over to your usual spot. Theo grinned up at you and patted the seat next to him.

“How was your shower?”

“Fine,” you answered robotically. “Great. Uneventful.”

Theo didn’t miss the way your eye twitched. The twat actually smirked. “I don’t know about that, bella. You sound a little tense. Should’ve taken me up on the offer. I would’ve been more than happy to throw in a complimentary massage. If you asked real nicely.”

You flushed, crossing your arms. “I’d sooner invite Mattheo to shower with me than ask you for a massage.”

Mattheo’s curly head perked up from across the table. “Oh?” Much to Theo’s annoyance, his best friend wiggled his brows and winked at you. “Finally tired of Notty boi, huh? You want a dose of Riddle, babe?”

Before you could deign to respond, Nonna swatted the back of Mattheo’s head. He protested, but she showed no signs of remorse as she took a seat at the head of the table.

“Do not ruin my appetite, Mattheo.” Nonna scolded. “Now be a dear and pass the lasagna. I didn’t slave away in the kitchen for hours just to listen to your lecherous comments.”

At Mattheo’s defeated expression, you and Theo tried and failed in keeping in your laughter. Riddle glared at the two of you, but resigned himself to following Nonna’s orders. As your friends piled pasta onto their plates, a bittersweet feeling rushed through you.

The people seated at this table had been an integral part of your life for as long as you could remember. Pansy, Blaise, Enzo, Draco, Mattheo, and Theo had always been just a couple of steps away, but now that you had all graduated, the seven of you would be scattered in different places. It made your heart ache just thinking about it.

“We still have the whole summer,” Theo whispered softly. He nudged his knee against yours under the table. The familiarity of the gesture brought you comfort. It never ceased to amaze you just how well Theo knew you.

“And the rest of your lives if I have anything to say about it,” said nonna as she filled your glass with red wine. “Smettila di fare il codardo, nipote.”

Theo groaned. You understood enough Italian to know that nonna was pushing her agenda again. “Not this again, nonna.”

“I will not stop until you get it through your thick skull, Theodore.”

As nonna launched into a full on lecture in her native language, you grinned in amusement at your best friend. Theo sulked like a child, but his expression brightened as you knocked your knee against his.

After dinner, you spent the rest of the night camped out on the terrace. The view was stunning as the sun set over the horizon, tinging the villa in technicolor. Your friends gathered around the fire pit, sipping sangria and playing games. As usual, the boys found themselves a few galleons lighter after you swindled them during wizard poker. One would think that they’d learn their lesson by now, but your friends were still determined on risking their fortune against you.

All except Theo.

Knowing that his own mother passed down her skills of deception to you, Theo knew better than to challenge you. Instead, he sat back and watched the boys lose with a smile on his face. When you claimed your winnings, he beckoned you under the blanket and handed you another glass of wine. Though you could’ve easily blamed the sudden warmth on the charmed knit throw or the fine vintage, you had a feeling that the heat had more to do with your proximity to Theo.

The scent of citrus and tobacco overwhelmed your senses as your best friend draped an arm over your shoulder. “Gonna share your prize with me, bella?”

“Seeing as you did nothing to help me, I’m inclined to say no.”

“Of course I helped. I pulled a vintage from the cellar so these idiots would keep playing even though they don’t stand a chance against you.”

You chuckled. “Wine or not, they would’ve lost to me either way.”

“Fine,” Theo said with a dramatic sigh. He pulled you to his side and kissed your temple “Keep your prize. I’ve already won anyways.”

“You’re awfully sentimental tonight, aren’t you, Teddy?”

“What can I say?” Theo mused, his blue eyes piercing into you. “This place brings it out of me. This country, this villa, it’s full of possibilities. Anything can happen here.”

The heat of his gaze seared your skin, but you didn’t look away. A charge of electricity crackled in the air as if in confirmation of your best friend’s statement.

Anything can happen here.

#the need for summer theo is reaching dangerous levels #theo nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n #theo nott imagine #theo nott fic #theo nott smut #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #slytherin boys

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rottenherbs · 2 months ago

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Something Batty // F.W x hufflepuff! Reader

Summary: You had gotten to your wits end over the winter break. No more homework to get ahead on, no more hobbies that filled your satisfaction. It was you and the empty castle. Could you attempt to write down and locate all the hidden passageways and paintings on the walls? The castle was big, but your desire for an adventure was bigger.

Word Count: 3.4k

Authors note: reader is Hufflepuff! Honestly you could 1000% fake any of the other houses but since they are a quidditch player it wouldn’t make much sense for them not to be familiar with Fred if they were gryffindor. ((Love u)) thank you for reading.

[masterlist]

Much Love, Saige

—————

It was hard to describe the beauty of Hogwarts to those who hadn't seen it before. A castle, right. Large and ornate, right. Dark accademia, of course. People talk about how large Hogwarts in a way that they talk about the weather. Just boring conversation to fill the air. We all know how large it is, but you can't really fathom the amount of moving paintings on the wall, the amount of locked doors, the amount of hidden passageways, until you count them.

You honestly couldn’t think of a better way to spend your time. It was winter break, the new year had come and gone and you had still a few weeks until classes would start once more. You missed your friends, most of them off with their families or on trips to places much warmer than the Scottish Highlands. The mountains had a distinct way of making you feel even more trapped in by snow than during the summer months.

You were absolutely, ultimately, and utterly bored.

Laying face up on your bed, you spread your legs starfish style, looking up at the four poster in dread. Another day - nothing to do.

“Get out of bed for dear god.” You moaned to yourself. Your dormitory was empty, all of your roommates off with their families and friends. You had actually begged to stay at Hogwarts over the winter break, wanting to do it at least once over your term here, but it was more dreadful than you imagined.

“Maybe if I stare at the ceiling for long enough I could catch the atoms moving.” You mumbled, your inner thoughts falling out of your lips. It’s not like anyone was around, you might as well talk to yourself.

Taking a few more minutes to lay in silence, you flopped your head to the side trying to read the clock on the wall.

7:45am

Flopping your head back, you bit your lip in frustration.

”Come on.’ You encouraged yourself, slouching yourself up and over the edge of the bed. Taking your first few steps, you looked around trying to find the comfy sweat set you had gotten for quidditch practice. Tucked neatly in your dresser, you pulled out the matching set, relieved that at least over the break you were not expected in your uniforms.

Feeling accomplished purely by changing your clothing, you grabbed your field guide notebook and shoved it in your pant pocket, making your way through the common room.

A few students had made their way out of the bedrooms, mostly the academic students with their nose in their books. Most of the students who had stayed over the break would be asleep past lunch time, catching up on as much rest as they could before the school year starts again.

Like most days, you didn’t recognize most of the students, giving small smiles to those who met your eyes as you kept on towards the entrance.

The sun had just created the mountains, cascading a warm glow across the wooden pillars wrapped thoroughly with vines and plants. Part of you was grateful that you got so much vitamin d and oxygen from purely the hufflepuff common room.

Exiting into the hallway, your senses were overtaken by the kitchens just around the corner. The smell of bacon and warm maple syrup made your stomach rumble immediately. You fought yourself to just enter the kitchens now, knowing the house elf’s would feed you in a heartbeat, but you turned and made your way up the stairs to eat in the great hall as they intended.

Climbing the stairs, you passed a few paintings, still fast asleep in their little worlds, the sounds of their snores only faintly audible to your ears. Stopping in your tracks you decided here was as good a place as any to begin counting.

Pulling out your notebook, you flipped to the newest page making columns for the paintings, where they were, and if they were nice or not. You thought it might be valuable to you to know who would be willing to talk to you later in case you begin to lose your marbles over the next few weeks.

To your right was a smaller wooden frame image of a young woman, her clothes slightly tattered but still full of color. Her head rested on her hands held up by a beautiful throne that she sat on. Her crown tipped slightly with her head but not enough to warrant it to fall. Writing on your notepad; Queen (?), Hufflepuff hallway, n/a

You made a mental note to see if she was awake later to find out if she was nice or not, but knew if you woke her up now your findings may be skewed. Walking to the next panting you did the same.

Lord Barquete, Hufflepuff hallway, n/a

Making your way down the hallway, your notebook filled up nicely, the information slowly growing in your head more and more now that you had given the paintings more than a glance. You were amazed at the many different painting styles and the way they revealed more about the people and characters inside. Magic was interesting, but art was fascinating.

After a half hour of writing, you made your way to the great hall, now thoroughly starving. Slapping the notebook closed, you shoved it back in your pants pocket ready to devour whatever was made for breakfast.

“Quite the notes you were taking back there.” A voice loomed behind you. Jumping out of your skin, you turned around quickly, now face to face — well not exactly face to face — with one of the gryffindor beaters, you honestly had no clue which one.

“Sorry didn’t mean to give you that much of a fright.” He laughed, his hands up near his chest in defense. His smile was infectious, relieving your nerves immediately. You smiled and regained your balance.

“Fred.” He outstretched his hand, taking yours mid air. “I wasn't like.. stalking you i just saw you on the way here. I don't think anyone’s given the paintings that much attention, unwilling filch cleans them.” He smiled, his hand still shaking yours. You chuckled at his continuous action, the feeling now warm and slightly foolish.

“Y/n — Yeah, uh I decided to write down and attempt to count all of the patinings.” You shrugged your shoulders, your hand slipping from his fingertips back to your sides. Your eyes glance quickly from his eyes to his hands, hoping he didn’t notice.

”All of them?” He scoffed.”You might be seriously batty.”

“All of them.” You repeated, nodding your head. “I don't think I could conceptualize how absolutely bored I am.” You chuckle, turning slightly to walk towards an empty seat at a table. Fred followed, his interest in your little adventure growing further.

“What, you don't have quidditch practice every day?” He motions towards your outfit, his eyebrow raised.

“Do you have quidditch practice everyday?” You ask, your eyes widening at his question. Sitting down at the wooden table, two plates appeared in front of both of you.

“Uh yeah unfortunately. They asked if we could stay back this break. Especially since my brother had just started this year he really could use the help.” He chuffed, his hands working in tandem with his words, grabbing several sausages and links to pile onto his plate.

“Ah, it seems like fun though. Got the whole family on the team now eh?” You tipped, your eyes looking at the banquet in front of you, not knowing where to start. You grabbed the pitcher of orange juice and began to pour.

“I’m not sure, it can sorta feel like i can't escape my family.” He mumbled, his voice slightly lower as he spoke. The words hit you like bullets, relating deeply to his sentiment.

“I know how you feel. I wanted to stay over break to kinda — escape from it all.” You said, settling the juice down and rethinking what you said. “That sounds dramatic. I’m just burnt out, I suppose , from my family.” You shrugged, the words only touching the surface of your home challenges.

Fred nodded his head, his fork now poking at the food on his plate.

”I get it. It’s not bad to want to get away sometimes.” He shrugged, wanting to know more but not wanting to pry too early. He was at least happy to have breakfast with someone not in his bloodline.

Both of you ate in silence for a minute, enjoying the food and morning light through the great hall. After Fred finished half of his plate, he cleared his throat.

“So.” He smiled, his attention fixated on his plate. His fork twitched slightly in his hand.

“So.” You repeated, a smile growing on your face. You weren't sure what he was about, but something in you was festering about his every move.

“Do you think i could tag along today?” He turned, his eyebrows furrowed as if to intimate you.

”Not ten minutes ago you called me batty!” You quipped, dropping your fork on top of your plate.

“Oh right. Well okay.” He laughed, his finger now taping his chin in thought. “I’d be alright being a little batty today.” He looked into the distance, pondering the notion. You lightly hit his shoulder, his face breaking out into a large smile.

“Okay seriously. Ill respect your craft.” He laughed, flinching away from your hands. “Or whatever you call this little thing” his hands waved around you, the action making your hands raise again in defense, his laughter louder as you pretend to hit him once more.

You both laughed, turning back to your meals, attempting to catch your breath.

“Yes you may join me.” You mumbled, taking a large bite of bacon. “But!” You pointed the strip of bacon at him, mock threateningly. “We have got to finish the list eh? No funny business.”

“Oh please. Funny business is my middle name.” He poshed, his hand resting softly against his chest. You rolled your eyes, finishing the last of the bacon before clearing your plate.

“I suppose anything is better than being alone.” You added, watching him finish off his breakfast. He held up his napkin, flicking it out from its folden position on the table, sloppily wiping his face. You shook your head in disbelief, turning and standing up. Fred followed, his hands dusting off the crumbs from his jumper, his eyes excited as he waited for you to make the first move.

“Where first.” He asked plainly, his hands now tucked neatly into his jean pockets. His stature was much taller than you, his height accentuated by his long legs, mostly hidden beneath school robes.

Clearing your throat, you realized how long you had been standing in silence, looking over his frame. You turned towards the entrance, hoping to hide your red cheeks.

“Uh, this way - “ you began walking ahead, your face scrunched slightly from embarrassment, trying your best to regain composure once you both exited the great hall. Fred followed behind silently, only the sounds of his sneakers hitting the floor in tandem with you alerting you that he was still there.

Once you walked out of the open doors, Fred met your side, his eyes up and around the hall at the many paintings. Turning down at you, he motioned towards the small notebook in your hands.

“So what is it that you're writing?” He asked politely, his jaunting banter from before now neutralized as he leaned in to listen.

“Oh! Uh so, Here ill write who’s in the painting, then where they are located, and if they are nice or not.” You pointed at each section, flipping through the pages that you had written this morning.

“Nice or not is a good touch. It’s foul to talk to a painting that just insults you for saying good morning.” He scoffs, a tinge of truth coming from his concern.

“Tell me about it. I passed Gifford Abbot once and he asked if I had any food, I told him now, and he then proceeded to tell the portrait next to him how much of a waste the new Hufflepuff students were.” You laughed, both of you approaching a new painting.

“That’s insane.” Fred stifled. “I love going to the kitchens. Surprised you haven't caught me sneaking in over near your common room before.” He nudged, your eyes bouncing between his face and the painting in front of you. You couldn't help but feel distracted by his personality, the thought of catching him at night making your stomach churn, or was it butterflies…..

“You seem like the type to get into trouble.” You stated, your pencil working on the notebook in your hands, trying to not take the chance and look at the boy. You couldn't tell if he was teasing, just being playful, or something else.

“Yeah that's an accurate statement.” He leaned over, looking at what you were writing. ”Time to find out if they're nice or not — HELLO Sir….” He moved over, attempting to read the placard by the painting's frame, the sound of his voice boomed the painting awake. “Sir Goerge Von Rheticus.” His voice faltered off as he read, the painting sitting himself up in his chair, his eyes staring daggers into Fred's head.

“What is it that you need, boy.” Sir Rheticus spat, his eyes visibly sleepy, blinking slowly.

“Well. Me and my partner here were just doing a study on the paintings you see.” He nudged you, urging you to finish off where he started.

“Yes um… Me and my partner —“ you coughed, flipping though your notebook anxiously, feeling quite put on the spot - “Were wondering about the paintings in the castle. Could you tell us a little about yourself?” You asked, your fingers holding the pencil tightly above the page, waiting for his response.

“Hmmm.” He sat back, his body a little more relaxed as you spoke. You could feel a change in demeanor when he addressed you, feeling a sense of appreciation for who he was, rather than being awoken so rudely.

“Well.. My name is George, but do call me Sir Rheticus, I am a mathematician and astronomer. My true surname was Von Lauchen, but my father was brutally executed and my remaining family was exiled. I had chosen Rheticus from the Roman province of Rhaetia.” Rheticus spoke, his words flowing out as if scripted to recite if someone asked who he was.

Your pencil scribbled viciously at his answer, hoping to catch what you could as he spoke. Fred's body standing still next to yours, looking between your notebook and the painting occasionally, fighting off a fit of laughter as you wrote.

After Rheticus finished, he sat with his hands folded in his lap, waiting patiently for you to cease writing. You looked up after a minute, visibly satisfied with his answer.

”Thank you. Ahem Sir Rheticus. We shall see you around.” You flipped the notebook closed, bowing slighlty at the painting awkwardly and tugging Fred along the hallway, the whole interaction very strange.

“Are we doing that every time or - “ he asked, your hand still around his wrist as you pulled him further away from the painting. You waited till you felt comfortable that you weren’t in earshot anymore.

“Dear god, no.” You sighed, opening your book again. “Okay… Nice?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. Fred nodded, watching you write in the notebook. He found your actions cute. This whole idea of writing down the paintings was silly but he had to admit that he has never seen anyone do it before, and you seemed like an original character yourself.

Turning down to the right you looked around, many paintings at your disposal.

“Okay you pick the next one.” You gestured vaguely, the numerous paintings surrounding you both. He gestured his head towards a woman down on the right near the end of the hallway. Luckily for you both, she was already away, her hands twiddling with some yarn in front of her. Fred grabbed your wrist, pulling you quickly towards the painting, his fingertips holding your skin sending hot fire through your body.

Arriving at the portrait, Freds fingers lingered on your skin, his body noticeably closer to yours as you stood. You pulled your notebook out, moving your hands from your sides, grazing his body as you moved.

“Ahem excuse me.” You spoke quietly, the woman’s hair cascading in front of her face. IT was red and curly, it falling past her elbows and moving as she worked. She looked up from her hands, her pale skin much more noticeable now next to her warm hair.

“Mmm?” She hummed, her attention only on you, not looking at Fred. She didn’t seem bothered by your interruption, but her gaze felt to push you to your point of distracting her.

“I was just doing a study on the paintings and wanted to know a little about yourself.” You motioned towards your notebook — “if you had the time i mean,” You added, your voice faltering the more you spoke.

“Well darling, I'm the Goddess of Fertility.” She spoke plainly, her head tilting lightly. “But i can see you two are doing just fine. I can tell.” She smiled, her eyes now bouncing between you and Fred. Both of your cheeks flamed red

“oh no i-“

”We aren’t”

“I mean we have not-”

”Not that I wouldn’t-

“But we wouldn't-“

Both of you stumbling over your words, the thought of the painting hinting at your fertility was one thing, but together was another. You both fought over your words, looking at each other every once in a while but feeling immense amounts of embarrassment when your eyes met.

“I can see things the mortal eye cannot! Do you take me as a liar?” She boasted, your calamity to her prophecy seemed to have stuck a nerve, her hands now ceasing to move in her lap, her body forthright at ridged.

“No ma’am, we just-“ You started.

”We're not together-“ Fred finished.

”Perhaps not at this moment.” She spoke matter of factly, her hair shaking with her head as she looked at you both. The silence that filled the hallway after that sent chills down your spine.

“Thank you for your time.” Fred said abruptly, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the doors and walking through them quickly. Your face was red as beets from the conversation, too preoccupied at the interaction to feel the sensation of his hand enveloping yours.

You both were hit with a freezing cold breeze as you walked outside, the feeling immediately alleviating the warmth on your skin. You took one look at Fred, both bursting out in laughter.

“That was mad!” He chuffed, his hands on his knees, heaving in the air.

”Fertility?” You shouted, “I’m practically still a child!”

“These paintings.” He shook his head, his body now upright, his shoulders relaxed. He laughed still lightly at you, not able to beat the thought of her implications. Was she out of her mind? Was there really something here to be built? His mind wracked as he watched you overcome your laughter, standing back up. The wind pushed your hair back, your ears and nose now visibly red from the cold breeze.

“Alright lets go back in, you're shivering.” He motioned towards the door, his hand on the small of your back urging you forward. You nodded and sniffled as you got inside, the snow following you both as the door shut.

“So.” He cleared his throat.

”So.” You smiled, looking up at him again.

“Do we dare try another portrait?” He asked, his eyebrows raised, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Only if you're feeling batty .”

383 notes · View notes

suugarbabe · 3 days ago

Text

Origin Stories

(part 6)

summary: matty is struggling to understand his feelings, especially the ones he's feeling towards you; the rumor mill about the heir is slytherin is growing, and somehow you get confronted with it root of it

warnings: inferences to child abuse, emotional abuse, shit mother bellatrix; angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, foreshadowing if you know the lore

an: thank you to my love, my hub, my editor mans who makes sure your reading experience is always smooth, @musingsofahufflepuff <3

It was strange, really. How easily so many others took to the same opinion of your friends. Theo labeled shy and brooding; when in reality he was hilariously witty. Mattheo labeled as scary, dangerous, the heir of Slytherin; when truly he was the shy one. People often viewed Enzo as loud, seemingly always knowing about other people’s business; that one might actually be correct.

But what really had you laughing to yourself was how stubborn people were to keep their ideals. For example, anyone who held those previously mentioned thoughts about your boys surely would have to drop them after seeing what they accomplished for your birthday.

You’d thought them slightly mad when suggesting eating lunch in the courtyard in the beginning of March. But Mattheo had insisted. It’s your birthday after all. Would you deny letting us celebrate our favorite badger? And who were you to deny him?

Thankfully, despite the chill of the Scotland highlands, the lot of you were warm while sitting on the quilt laid out for you. “You’ve really mastered the warming charm, huh, Teddy?” Theo glared at Enzo’s use of his nickname, pointing a finger, “Do not say to me that name, Lorenzo.” You smiled at the interaction, Theo actually answering Enzo’s question, “Mamá used to do one for me lot of the time. So much I just learned it from watching.”

You and your friends spend the entire lunch out outside. Theo’s warming charm making it feel close to a summer’s day. The three of them had collectively gone in on a gift for you this year, a grin so wide spreading your face that you felt the skin pull on your cheeks.

Inside the gift bag Enzo had plopped in your lap was a new pair of golden colored crochet hooks, little black flecks spread throughout the coloring. “You can use them magically or the muggle way!” Enzo sat on his hunches, hands spread on his knees as he was practically bouncing with excitement.

“They were Matt’s idea,” Theo nudged his friend with his elbow. Mattheos cheeks dusted pink as he scratched the back of his neck, “But we all got them together. Do, erm, do you like them?”

You nodded, “Love them.” The three boys in front of you exchanged joyful smiles, essentially patting each other on the back for a job well done. “Well I’m glad you like them…Mocha’s gonna need a vest.”

The air in the great hall was thick. All of the students in your year crowded around the long stage set for a dueling exhibition much like what happened in the fall. “Someone take Malfoy’s wand, don’t want a repeat of the last time, yeah?” Enzo threw his head back, laughing at his own joke as he bumped his shoulder into yours. You shook your head, shoving him away with a smile. Draco gave Enzo the finger and a scowl; Enzo pretended to catch the gesture in the air and stuffed it in his robe pocket.

But the joke didn’t die there, Theo clapping his hand on Draco’s back, causing him to stumble forward slightly, “Yes, let me save us all from Slytherin embarrassment today.” Theo playfully pretended to pat down Draco’s robes before the blonde forcefully shoved him away, “Fucking Salazar, Nott. Get off me.” Mattheo watched in slight amusement as his cousin put distance between himself and Matty’s inner circle.

To help avoid any plans of revenge or mayhem, the professors assisting with the dueling club paired everyone up. You were thankful to be paired with Enzo, but you seemed to be the only lucky one as Mattheo was paired with Hermione Granger while Theo got stuck with Neville Longbottom. You hoped Hermione went easy on Mattheo, her easily being the top of your class; while simultaneously hoping that Theo went a little easy on Longbottom, as he was very likely at the bottom.

“Don’t worry, Enz, I’ll go easy on you,” You teased, wand ready and waiting for the go ahead from the professors. Enzo scoffed, “Oh please, little badger. Gimme your worst…I’m begging on my knees, truly.” With the signal to begin fired in the air, you wasted no time throwing a stinging jinx Enzo’s way. He was quicker than you expected, blocking the charm with a raised brow. “Been reading ahead, have you?” Enzo was smirking almost proudly and for some reason your cheeks grew warm. “Maybe a little, but I can’t tell you how far. I do plan on beating you,” you threw one, two, three more jinxes Enzo’s way, him blocking each one.

“Quick thing, aren’t you,” Enzo threw a spell your way, you blocking it quickly. Then he did something you’d not read up on yet; throwing two spells at once. The first one you were able to block easily, but the second hit you square in the ribs. Instantly you fell to your knees in a fit of giggles, grabbing your stomach and bracing yourself on the ground, “H-how…did you…do that,” your sentence was broken between laughs, Enzo kindly walking over to help you off the ground. “Dad taught me last summer. Said it would be useful in a few years for some reason, but it definitely came in handy today.”

Mattheo turned at the sound of your laughter, seeing you doubled over on the ground and smiling at Enzo. He could feel a rage beginning to build inside him, a deep heat in the pit of his stomach that felt like it was spreading through his veins the more you smiled at someone that was not him. In the next moment Matty was blown 5 meters backward, falling hard on his back and the air feeling sucked from his lungs.

He could feel his anger growing inside of him. His skin getting hotter, his vision getting black around the edges. Then he heard Enzo say your name, and you were laughing again, and so was he. And Matty just wanted it to stop, wanting everything to be quiet, wanted Enzo to shut his mouth and not say your name like that.He moved next without thinking. Standing quickly and firing off the spell with a wrath he hadn’t ever felt before, “Oscausi!”

The incantation left his lips and a sense of dread began to cover him. He looked over at Hermione, the one he was actually dueling, the one who caught the tail end of his outburst. Her mouth was now missing. Mattheo knew it wasn’t completely gone, just that he had sealed it shut; but that didn’t stop the young witch from panicking. “Bloody hell, Granger, I’m sorry…I didn’t-” Mattheo rushed towards her, but she backed up in the same steps.

Hermione then backed into another student, tripping herself in the process. “Oh my gods, look what Riddle did to Granger!” It just took one student to shout out before everyone started crowding. Mattheo didn’t dare look around, but he could feel them staring. “Take that as a warning mudbloods!” Draco’s obnoxious voice rang over the crowd, “the Heir of Slytherin will get rid of you all!”

There were gasps all over the crowd of students, murmuring about how someone needed to stop him, just grab Mattheo and turn him in to Dumbledore right now. Mattheo started to get that same feeling in his gut that he gets when he hears his mother’s heels click down the manor halls. He had to get out of there.

So that’s what he did, turning and pushing through his classmates and starting to run. Where he was running he wasn’t quite sure but he knew he had to get out of there, had to get away. Maybe to some place no one would find him, or maybe some place only one person would find him.

“I am not seeing him in any space, he is nowhere!” Theo threw his hands up in frustration before leaning back against the corridor wall. You, Theo and Enzo had been looking for Mattheo for the better part of an hour after dueling club, but were continuously coming up short. “Salazar’s sake, where would he go that we haven’t already looked,” Enzo scratched the back of his head and looked down the corridor, “I didn’t even know Matt was this good at hiding.”

Then it hit you. You knew where he was. “I think I know where he might be,” you looked between the two boys in front of you, “but I have to go alone.” Enzo shook his head, “Nuh-uh, we’re coming with you. Just show us where to go.” You looked from Enzo to Theo, eyes pleading. Theo placed a hand on Enzo’s shoulder, “Come, compagno, let them go. We’ll meet them in the star tower.” Enzo grumbled, “Astronomy tower.” But still, he turned and followed his friend.

Once they were out of sight, you turned and headed towards the kitchens. He had only ever done it once, back in first year, but you had a feeling that your instinct was right. Rushing down the spiral staircase you nearly tripped on the roots of the stone tree as you worked your way past the large barrels.

Sometime between last winter and now Mattheo seemed to have worked out how to silent his cries because you weren’t sure you were going to find him at first. But, as you made it past the last blocking barrel you saw him, as far in as his body would let him. Crouched against the wall with his head buried in his knees and arms wrapped around his legs. If you didn’t see his shoulders shaking one’d have assumed he was sleeping.

“Matty?” your voice was a quiet whisper, treating him like a scared puppy you didn’t want to spook. “Go away,” his muffled voice was shaky, much like the rest of him. You sat on the ground next to him, not saying a word. Instead you leaned your head over slightly, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping a hand around his bicep. “It’ll be okay, Matty.”

You saw him give a slight nod of his head in your peripheral before he leaned his head slightly to the side so he was touching you back in some way. Then the two of you sat in silence until he was ready to meet up with the others.

And everything did really seem to be okay. At least for a little while. There were quite a few weeks where it appeared like everything had settled. Students seemed to be a little calmer, talks of shutting the school down were mere whispers and rumors again. Your little group was even back to their normal teasing and mischief.

The latter bit was actually why you were heading back from the library alone. The three boys you usually surround yourself with managing to get themselves in detention for slipping puking pasties to the first years who sat in the front desks in Snape’s last lesson of the day. Theo had tried to claim ignorance, stating something about him ‘not being able to properly read the english description on the wrappers’, but the other two culprits read guilty as they couldn’t contain their laughter and remarks at the stench of Snape’s robes.

You didn’t really mind though, because it made everything feel right as it should. You were reading over your newly finished assignment when someone apparently wanted to get your attention, shoving your shoulder and gritting your name through their teeth. “Did you help him, hmm? Did you plot some sort of revenge against our friend for no bloody reason? Are you in on it?” An angry, red headed boy you knew to be Ron Weasley was shoving his finger into the joint of your shoulder with each pressing question.

You smacked his hand away from your body, “What are you on about, you prat?” Ron scoffed, golden boy Potter standing right behind him. “Don’t go and play dumb now, we know you and Riddle are probably in cahoots for some reason. Where is he now, huh? Usually bloody glued to your side like a lost puppy. Probably a ploy to seem innocent!”

Without thinking clearly you whipped out your wand, “Don’t talk about him like that. You don’t know the first thing about Mattheo!” At this, Potter shoved his friend aside to hold a black leather book in your face. “Do you know what this is?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, arms crossing with annoyance. “I don’t know, Potter..a diary? Gonna serenade me into boredom with some of your entries?”

Harry shook the diary in front of your face again, “Read the name.” You huffed a breath through your nose and glanced once more at the book in front of you. In clean golden letters was a name across the diary: Tom Riddle. It felt like your heart sank into your gut, an overwhelming feeling of heat and dread started to encompass you. It had to be a coincidence, right? There’s no way that Matty knew about anything going on. In fact, you knew he knew nothing. You knew your Matty.

You stood taller, arms crossed in a tighter hold, “Listen, I don’t know what revelation you want me to come to here, but shoving things in my face and acting like an arse isn’t helping you.” The sass in your demeanor seemed to only enrage Weasley further, him stepping in front of Harry again to maybe try and intimidate you. Or at least show you how mad he truly was. “You’re choosing to be blind at this point. Harry and I are going to find the proof we need to show everyone that Mattheo’s the heir of Slytherin that’s been trying to kill other students.”

His accusations had you seeing fire, “You seriously are looney, huh, Weasley. Like you said earlier, Mattheo is practically glued to my hip. I know you were some sort of ‘hero’ last year for whatever reason, but I don’t know why you’re taking that as a challenge to make yourself the center of attention every year. Honestly…it’s a little pathetic.”

Ron’s face was redder than his hair at this point, nearly spitting on you with his next outburst, “You know he got Hermione!” You took a cautious step back, confusion clearly written on your face, “What the hell are you talking about, he apologized for the stuff during dueling club weeks ago.” Ron pointed an accusatory finger at you, “Hermione’s been petrified, Pomfrey said she could’ve been killed if she wasn’t so brilliant. The dueling incident was clearly a warning; everyone said so anyway.”

Your face dropped, body untensing as you realized the boys before you were just hurting. Just two young kids trying to find a solution to something terrifying happening to someone they cared about. You knew that feeling all too well. “Listen, Ron, Harry. I’m sorry about Hermione…but Matty didn’t do this. If he were trying to get rid of muggleborns..don’t you think he would’ve done me in by now?”

Harry shook his head, still not convinced, “But..the diary, the name.” You shrugged it off, “I’ll admit it’s a weird coincidence..” Ron snorted, “Coincidence? You’re joking. It’s the same bloody name!” But you just shook your head, “It’s not him and quite frankly…nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise.” You turned to leave, only to be stopped by Harry grabbing your arm, “Just..be careful.” A simple nod was your reply before hoisting your school bag higher on your shoulder and going to find your friends.

You had decided to not tell Matty about the accusations Harry and Ron confronted you about a few weeks earlier. When he had found out that Hermione had been petrified, Matty truly seemed distraught. He was close to spiraling down again, but thankfully both Enzo and Theo were becoming more in tune with Mattheo’s warning signs and took him down to the quidditch pitch to clear his head.

Final exams hit you all a few weeks after that; studying then taking up most of your time. After you all completed the last one it was decided there was a need for celebration; and you knew just the idea.

The four of you spread comfortably on the blanket pallets that Matty showed the boys to make on their dorm room floor. As previously, you set up the projector, using your wand to hand the sheet on the wall. ‘Do not look directly into that light’ was Mattheo’s only warning. You did your best to describe picture films to Theo and Enzo while you set up, the concept continuously confusing to the both of them. “You’ve known unicorns are actually real your entire life but you’ve never heard of a picture film before?” you shook your head in disbelief, wondering how wizard-kind survived so long with their ignorance of muggle inventions.

When the film started playing, Enzo started laughing, “Ohhh, I get it now. So it’s like the Daily Prophet but with sound.” Your head turned slowly, staring blankly at the boy, “How in the hell are you passing all of your classes right now.” Enzo shrugged with a boyish grin before settling deeper into his pillows. As expected, Theo and Enzo enjoyed the experience just as much as Mattheo, making you promise to show them more once you all returned to school the following year.

A few days later, you were all sitting at your house tables for the feast. And just as the year before, Mattheo hated that you had to be on the complete opposite side of the room. He watched as the last post delivery of the year started, different colored owls swooping and dipping throughout the Great Hall dropping off last minute reminder letters for students with loving families. Which is what made it particularly shocking that a single black envelope fell directly in front of him.

With a tentative hand he turned it over, seeing the same scratchy scrawl that belonged to his mother as the previous letter right before Christmas. Theo and Enzo watched on in silence, knowing far better than to ask questions at this moment. Mattheo jabbed a finger in the small opening and ripped the top of the envelope open. The letter inside was short and to the point, similarly to how his mother liked to deal with most things. And also akin to most things that come from his mother, each word caused the pit in Mattheo’s stomach to deepen.

Your presence is no longer needed at my manor until your father returns. Tiberius Nott has graciously agreed to house you until you are called for. Don’t even fathom being an embarrassment, you know what that will get you.

Instinctively Mattheo’s hand reached for his face, his fingertips tracing the two scars on his right side. He read the letter over once more before discarding it on the table. No signature from his mother. But of course it wasn’t even needed. He knew who it was from, and she knew that he would; why waste the ink?

Theo picked up the letter from the table, holding it between himself and Enzo for the two of them to read. Theo perked up, “Ah, perfetto! We are summer friends, fratello! We will have so much fun, I will make sure!” Mattheo hummed, putting on his best attempt at a smile, “Thanks, mate. Looking forward to it.” Theo clapped Matty on the back, a broad smile on his face before returning to a conversation with Enzo.

Everyone’s attention in the hall was then directed to the main doors, as they opened to reveal every person that was petrified over the school year now happy and healthy and walking towards their house tables. Mattheo watched as Hermione ran towards her two best friends, hugging them each fiercely. He was happy that she was okay, though he would never admit that to anyone else. He was even happier that it seemed like no one was blaming him anymore for what had happened to all the students. Mattheo then looked across the hall to the Hufflepuff table, eyes desperately searching.

Once he found you, he couldn’t help the burning in his cheeks to find that you were already looking at him. With the cheeriest smile, you waved, before giving a brief point to the golden trio and giving a thumbs up. It was like you were giving your own indication of relief to him, letting him know that it was a good thing if he felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders.

The simplest action made him nearly forget about the letter with the cold empty words of his mother. He smiled back, a true and genuine smile that you always seemed to get out of him, and he waved, a shy two fingered thing. Mattheo desperately hoped that the summer away from you wasn’t going to be nearly as bad as the ones before, especially since this time he would also get to be away from his relatives, but get to be with someone he considered to be a brother.

#you all are getting a summer chapter next #so i hope you'll be into that #enzo berkshire #theo nott #slytherin boys #theodore nott #mattheo riddle #matty riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x gn!reader #x reader #x reader insert #origin stories series

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velvetchrry · 9 months ago

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━━━━ THISTLE AND BARLEY

pairing: johnny “soap” mactavish x f!reader

2.7k. during a solo trip to the scottish highlands, you find yourself transported back in time.

The chill of the evening air prickles along your skin. The spring breeze envelopes you, circling her prey. You are a rabbit, and she is a fox. She waits, patiently, until you are unsuspecting, and then sinks her sharp teeth into your soft skin.

It seems like you are the only one to really feel the chill — but you are an outsider. An outlander. A stranger. There are a few other foreigners here like you, but mostly it’s the residents of Inverness.

You get some relief when passing by one of the many bonfires littered through this valley. The entire night sky was alight — but not with stars. No, those are almost impossible to see compared to last night. There are enough fires lit in the valley to cause light pollution to seep through to the night sky.

Everyone here is clothed in a flowy, bohemian white gown. A beautiful crown of flowers rests atop your heads. Beltane. The official start to summer.

You didn’t know you would be here tonight until the last minute. The hostess of your bed and breakfast was the one who mentioned it to you this morning. It’s your last night in the Highlands so you figured, why not? Your solo travel adventures are about to come to an end. What’s one more night with no sleep?

A lit cave sparks your interest. It’s small, basically just an opening that goes 8 feet or so, but it’s lit up with candles everywhere. They're arranged in some sort of pattern, but you can’t make out exactly what it’s supposed to be. The air in here is even colder somehow — settling in your bones. You cover your upper body with your arms as best you can, unable to stop yourself from entering this ethereal place.

When you get closer to the wall, you see it has something painted on it. The paint is hard to see, even with the candle light. The same pattern is marked on the cave wall that the candles make on the floor. It’s old, flaking. You let out a breath and you watch as it rises in front of you.

The wall is shifting. Shimmering. It looks celestial. Like the night sky. You rub your eyes. It must be the heat from all the candles.

You turn around to leave but are startled by the sight of a woman at the entrance. You recognize her — it’s the owner of your bed and breakfast. A greeting almost escapes your lips but when you catch the look on her face you can’t seem to speak. Mouth hanging open, you just stare at her. She glides to you effortlessly, lithe for her age. Her fingertips are black as they reach out to you. It happens in slow motion. At least, that’s how it feels. She slowly reaches out to touch you and you stumble back, almost into the wall, just out of range.

“Yer where yer meant to be lass. Remember that. You have to remember. This was destined for ya.”

You shake your head to try and get a grasp on what she’s saying to you. Your tongue is suddenly heavy in your mouth. “Wh.. what?”

“Goodbye, lass.”

Before you can open your mouth to speak, she pushes against your shoulder with a firm hand. You stumble, and brace for impact into the cave wall.

Falling. You’re falling. It’s black.

There is no cave wall.

“D’ya think she’s a witch?”

It's morning, that much you can tell. Birdsong flits down to your ears and the sun is bright against your closed eyes. The grass caresses your body.

“Dinnae think so. Not sure what to make of ‘er.”

You try to remember what happened last. How you got here. Where you are. You brain is fuzzy, feeling like you’re suffering from a hangover. Wait — that’s not right, you didn’t drink last night.

“Let’s just leave her.”

Beltane. The celebration. That’s where you were. In the valley near Inverness. You were wandering. There were fires. Dancing.

“No. We’ll bring her to the castle.”

The cave. Oh god, the lady from your bed and breakfast. She followed you, she pushed you. She said something to you. What did she say to you?

“Yer off yer fuckin’ head, boy. What’ll yer Da say?”

You have to get out of here. You are supposed to be out of here. Your flight out of Inverness leaves this morning. How did this happen?

“I cannae just leave her here.”

Sunlight floods your eyes when they shoot open. A groan escapes you, and you cover your head with your forearm. You struggle to fully sit up, headache assaulting all of your senses.

“Aye, lassie? Ye hearin’ me?”

You rub your eyes and look up to who’s speaking to you. It’s a man in his late 20s. He’s wearing a kilt and it isn’t until you look around that you notice almost all of them are. You saw a few men in Inverness wearing kilts but, not quite like this. They look like an authentic historical recreation.

He’s… handsome. The one talking to you. Pools of blue eyes stare into yours, a hand reaching out to you. You gingerly take it, and he helps you stand. “Ye got a name, hen?”

Still in a bit of a daze, you give him your name and take a second to get your bearings. The cave you remember from last night is just behind you — but there are no candles, or paint on the walls. There’s no evidence anyone was in this valley last night. Where are the pits and scorch marks from the bonfires? What about the string lights that were strung along the tree trunks? Even the grass doesn't look like it’s been trampled on by a hundred or so pairs of feet.

“I’m Johnny of Clan MacTavish. May I ask, what’re ye doin’ out here hen?”

You swallow thickly. “I.. erm.. it’s Beltane. The party?”

“A druid.” The tallest one says. He’s one of the ones not in a kilt and has a deep British accent.

“Ah,” Johnny’s face lights up in understanding. “And yer out here alone?”

“I… uh…” you stutter. You’re not sure what’s happening. They really don't know about the party? Most of them look like and sound locals. “I guess… I am?”

“Where ya from?” one of them asks. He’s got a stout build and a thick set of facial hair.

“Well, I’m an American… I’m just… just traveling…”

You pause when you notice their interests peak.

“Which colony ye fae?” someone asks.

Your eyebrows scrunch together. “Colony?”

“She’s a British spy!” another shouts. You flinch.

“Ah, she’s no bloody spy. Look at her,” the tall one from earlier says. “Aye, we never had any spies like her before,” the stout one agrees, coming up to Johnny’s side.

Johnny hums. “I cannae leave you out here to fend on your own, spy or no. Can we take ye somewhere?”

You pause for a moment before speaking. “Inverness?”

Johnny nods and his men grumble, but go back to their horses. He motions for you to follow. You watch as he struggles to get up, wincing in pain and almost falling. The tall one comes up behind you and grabs you by the hips — lifting you ontop of Johnny’s horse and causing you to yelp. “Up ya go.”

Your body goes rigid as Johnny reaches around you to grab the reins. “Ain’t gonna hurt ye, hen,” he murmurs. He kicks the horse into gear and you’re off, still wondering what’s happening to you.

Maybe someone is filming a movie nearby.

You don’t have much of anything to hold onto, so you keep your legs clenched, body stiffened. Johnny notices this, wrapping his big arm around your waist for support. The group keeps a brisk pace, chatting with one another about things you’re unfamiliar with.

Panic starts to seep in when you see the River Ness, which bysects the city. “Where are we? Where’s the city? It should be visible by now.”

“Yer looking straight at it.”

Your breathing picks up rapidly and you try to focus on not hyperventilating. This was not the Inverness you had been in just yesterday.

“No…,” your voice is a soft whisper. “No, no, no… this can’t be right.”

The horse comes to a stop as Johnny tugs on the reins. “What is it, lass?”

The men start to grumble around you as the rest of the group comes to a stop. “Where’s the city? The buildings? Where’s the airport? This is… this isn’t right.”

“I dinnae ken what yer talking about hen but… that’s Inverness up ahead,” Johnny says softly to you.

“I… I don’t…” you stutter.

“Aye, what's goin’ on? Why are we stoppin’?” someone shouts out.

Johnny shoots him a look and walks his horse a little ways up to give you two a bit more privacy. Tears start to well in your eyes, and your nose has that familiar prickle like it’s gonna start running. You’re afraid to ask, but you have to know. “What year is it?”

If Johnny is confused why you’re asking, he doesn't show it. He speaks in a matter of fact tone when he says, “1724.”

No… how could this happen? You can just jump back in time 300 years… this is impossible. This can’t be real… this can’t be. But you saw — you saw right where Inverness is supposed to be. You recognized the landmarks. And it’s just… not right.

“Do ye still want to go to Inverness, hen?”

What are you going to do? There’s no aiport, hell — the America you’d go back to wouldn’t be the same. And what, do you hop on a boat for months and go back to a different world?

“I… I…” You suck in a shaky breath. “I don’t have anywhere to go,” you finally admit.

“I’ll take ye to the Castle,” Johnny states confidently. “Give ya a chance to figure out where yer going.”

A single tear slips down your cheek. Johnny calls out to the group that you’re headed to the Castle and you tune out the cries of them asking why the hell you were going with instead dumping you in Inverness.

The Scottish countryside passes by in a teary-eyed blur. It’s like you blinked and suddenly night is falling, the sun almost completely dipped below the horizon. Your stomach aches with hunger. You’re in an unfamiliar area, surrounded on all sides by trees. Johnny slows his horse, and the rest of his party follows suit. The tall one from earlier glides off his horse with ease and walks over to pick you up off of Johnny’s horse. You watch in a daze as he also gives Johnny a hand, as he struggles to get off his horse.

You look up at him after he is back on the ground. His white shirt seeps red near his bicep. You're not sure how you didn't notice it before. It’s got a brownish tinge to it now.

“You’re hurt.”

He waves you off. “Ach, jus’ a scratch, bonnie.”

He doesn’t stop you, just observes as you walk over to his side. You gently pry back the sticky fabric of his shirt. There’s a decent sized gash through his arm, red and angry. It looks like the start of an infection; like it might need stitches.

“It's not just a scratch if you need help on and off your horse. Did you clean this after it happened?”

“Clean it?” he tilts his head slightly as he asks.

“Like, rinse it? With water, at least?”

He shakes his head no.

You bite your lip as you contemplate. “Does… er… does anyone have any alcohol?”

Some of the guys burst into laughter. One hands you a flask. “Dinnae think you’d be one to get pished, lassie!” he exclaims.

You ignore him and get to work, ripping the bottom of your flimsy white dress. It tears easily under your fingers. You push it into Johnny’s hands and he holds onto the fabric unquestioningly while you uncork the flask with your teeth and again peel back his shirt.

“This is gonna sting a little,” you admit quietly.

He winces and grunts as you pour the alcohol down his arm, the men breaking out into cries of protest at the loss of booze. You place the cork back in the bottle and drop it on the ground. The man who gave you the flask quickly swipes it away from you before you can waste anymore.

Johnny places the ripped fabric of your dress in your outstretched hands. You tie it tightly around his arm, and while he grimaces, he doesn’t complain. You give him a gentle pat on the shoulder when you’re done.

“You’re probably gonna need stitches, but that should hold you over for a bit. Hopefully it’s not infected, or you're gonna need something stronger than alcohol.”

A voice from directly behind you makes you jump out of your skin. “Told ya she was a druid,” the tall one says.

“Aye,” Johnny agrees. “We could use someone with yer skills at the Castle. Our druid can’t…. well she ain’t as nimble as she used ta be.”

You aren’t sure what to say to that so you watch silently as the boys set up camp for the evening. “We’ll reach home come morning,” Johnny tells you at one point. The sun is gone now, the temperature dropping rapidly. The Beltane gown provides no heat and you scoot as close to the fire as you can without singeing off your eyebrows. You ditched your flower crown long ago.

The tall one hands you some food and you eat quietly while the rest of them chat around you. The stout one from earlier and the tall one sit next to each other and observe you, talking lowly to themselves. You try your best to ignore them.

Johnny walks over and sits next to you. “You should get some sleep, hen.” He’s close enough to you that his kilt brushes against your leg.

You swallow thickly and gnaw on your lip. You nod your head in agreement but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to sleep tonight. The reality is, these men are strangers in a strange time — even if one of them has been showing you kindness.

Johnny moves even closer to you and you can’t help but tense up. He's maneuvering his kilt around, tugging on the end of it.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my plaid loose. Cannae let ye sleep in just that shift. You’ll freeze.”

You cross your arms, trying to keep in more warmth. “I’ll be fine.”

He covers your shoulders and instantly you feel warmer. A scent of musk and pine surrounds you, earthy and male. He opens his arm to you, waiting for you to lean against him.

“I meant what I said bonnie, I won’t hurt ye. I’m just keeping warm. Yer teeth chattering is making my bones rattle in my head.”

You can’t help the small chuckle that you produce hearing him tease you a little bit. It serves to make you feel even more comfortable around him. You nod and move in further under the plaid, while he wraps his good arm around you and rubs up and down your arm.

“Yer frozen solid,” he murmurs. “Why ye out here in just a shift anyway?”

“It was… uh… apart of the festival.”

He hums in response, still rubbing you arm up and down, up and down. You find a comfortable silence, leaning against him and listening to the conversations around you. Johnny adds his two cents every so often but mostly just sits beside you quietly.

You can feel your eyelids start to get droopy, your head nodding off every so often, but you fight it. You fight the urge to fall asleep. It’s so much harder now that you're warm. So hard when you’re feeling a small bit of comfort from the touch you're receiving.

You don’t even realize your head is on Johnny’s shoulder right away. You start to sit up, but he grips you a little more firmly to his side.

“Sleep, lassie. Yer safe with me.”

#call of duty #cod x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johnny mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish x you #john mactavish x you #soap x you #soap x y/n #my work #thistle and barley

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thebreakfastgenie · 9 months ago

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West Wing Characters' Favorite Billy Joel Songs

Not the song that matches their vibe, what their favorite song would be in-universe.

Sam: Just the Way You Are

Josh: You May Be Right

Leo: Uptown Girl

Toby: New York State of Mind

CJ: Tell Her About It

Jed: Summer, Highland Falls

Abbey: Only the Good Die Young

Donna: My Life

Will: Piano Man

#summer highland falls might have been jed's vibe one too i can't remember and i can't find the post #but it's the most catholic one (not counting otgdy)#the west wing

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sgt-tombstone · 4 months ago

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I’m Not Ready To Go

Mature || Ghost x Soap

cw: angst, MCD, vomiting, graphic description of a corpse, blood and gore, hurt no comfort

————

It’s warm here,

Come on in,

But that’s a long way to dive,

When you don’t know how to swim

- Hazlett, I’m Not Ready To Go

————

When John MacTavish was eight years old, his family went on vacation. Gun to his head, he couldn’t say where exactly, but he remembered being warm, a stark contrast to the chilled air of the Scottish Highlands that seemed to sink into his very bones. There was a pool, somewhere near where they were staying, and John had been fixated by it. It was brilliant blue, unnaturally so, and the surface shimmered in the summer sun, blinding, yet so alluring. His fascination hadn’t gone unnoticed, and his mother had led him to the water’s edge, clad in his brand new swim trunks, to dip a toe into the unknown. She slipped into the pool, the glittering sun reflecting off of the water, wreathing her in ethereal light, and motioned for him to jump in after her. But John balked. He’d never been swimming before, had never been in water deeper than his bathtub, and the thought of leaping so readily into uncharted waters had his entire body freezing up, fear lacing his veins like a paralytic.

“I dinnae ken how to swim,” he whimpered.

“It’s okay, John,” his mother had said, low and assured. “I know it’s scary, but I’m right here. I’ll hold your hand; I won’t let you fall.”

Trusting her was as easy as breathing. With one hand tight in her grip, he stepped off of the edge and into oblivion.

————

The gunshot didn’t hurt, all things considered. No more than his aching legs or straining lungs, anyway. Pressure against his temple, a concussive force that was over in a flash; the impact of his shoulder against the concrete hurt more than the bullet lodged in his brain, nestled in a bed of shattered bone. Vaguely, he could feel a rush, like water over his skull, hot and slick as his brain matter pooled on the ground beneath him.

And then he got up.

It was perhaps the hardest thing he’d ever done, but something in his chest, or maybe his soul, knew that there was no other option. He had to get up, so he did. He managed to roll over, get his arms underneath him, and push himself to his knees. The change in elevation made the gaping hole in his head gush, spilling scorching blood over his ear and down his neck, soaking into his shirt and tac vest, and nausea roiled in his stomach at the sensation. The world was blurry and vague, as if submerged; everything around him was muffled and slanting. He was lightheaded, which made sense, considering half of his head was currently on the ground. He swayed slightly, trying to catch his balance with the new weight distribution but it felt like he was keeling over, a ship caught in a gale, a drunkard stumbling out of a pub. His arms swung out, desperate to find some semblance of equilibrium, but he couldn’t quite manage it with half of his head suddenly feeling much lighter than before.

His stomach made a valiant attempt to keep its contents in place at the resulting swoop of vertigo, but it lost the fight as soon as he caught a glimpse of the pool of red, bright against the off-white floor. He twisted to the side, palms braced against the cold concrete to compensate for the abrupt movement, and narrowly avoided vomiting on his own body.

His own, dead, body.

Vaguely, as stomach acid burned the back of his throat, his stomach convulsing painfully, his eyes watering from the force, he wondered how it was possible. Wondered how he could be here and there at the same time, living and dead, conscious and a corpse. Normally, he didn’t make a habit of questioning miracles, leaving skepticism to Price and Ghost, but this didn’t feel like a miracle.

A train swept by, deafening in the tunnel, and the wind buffeted his body, both of them. Through the din, he heard a voice.

“John.”

She was beautiful, all soft skin and warm eyes, blinding yet alluring. Beautiful in the way that men would walk through fire and flame for, if only she led the way. Beautiful in the way that men would kill and die for, if only for the prize of her gentle smile. Beautiful in the way that had John listing towards her, towards her outstretched hand, trust as easy as breathing, but then… he balked. He looked back.

The bomb, disarmed.

Gaz and Price, standing off to the side. Gaz’s face was pressed against Price’s tac vest, his fists curled in the back of his captain’s shirt as he sobbed, held up only by the support of Price’s arms wrapped around his body.

Ghost, kneeling next to his dead body. His head was bowed, his gloved fingers tight on his knees, as if the tension held in his bones was the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

“It’s okay, John,” she said, so softly that he shouldn’t have been able to hear her, but her voice rang clear anyway. He glanced back, breath caught in his throat.

“Who are ye?” He asked, but he knew who she was. He knew her as innately as he knew his own mother, the sound of her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin, the moment his life began. Death stood before him, and he knew that this was the moment his life ended.

All at once, a maelstrom of emotion surged through him. Rage, grief, fear. They ignited in his blood like a wildfire, scorching him from the inside out. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair.

“I’m no’ ready to go,” he snarled, face twisted in fury, but the anger melted like snow in the face of her impassivity. He’d learned a lot from Ghost over the years, but he’d never gained the ability to intimidate Death herself, especially when she was looking at him with such gentle kindness.

“I know it’s scary,” she said, and something in him broke. Tears streamed down his cheeks before he even felt the sting in his eyes and he couldn’t catch his breath, his mouth caught open on a sob that lodged in his throat. He wrapped his arms around himself, as tightly as he could given his bulky gear, but it didn’t help. He couldn’t escape this nightmare. There was no comfort to be found here.

“I’m no’ done here,” he ground out, quiet between his lips but it echoed impossibly through the tunnel as if he had howled it, carrying all of the emotion he’d held back. He turned back to the dismal sight; to his lifeless body sprawled on the floor, heat leeching out with his blood; to his team, seemingly stuck in place, undoubtedly waiting for the medical team to arrive with the body bag. “I’m no’ even thirty,” he whispered, voice thick. “I’m supposed to have more time.”

“I’m afraid not, John,” she said. The words should’ve hurt, should’ve made him bear his teeth and fight, but he couldn’t summon the defensiveness. Desolation took its place, like a gaping hole in his chest, a twin to the one in his head. “This is all the time you get.”

“No.” He shook his head. He couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. “There’s so much I didnae get to see, I cannae leave yet. Don’t make me leave.”

“You can’t stay, John.”

Her words sank through him like a stone in a still pond. He knew she was right, could feel the truth in his bones, like an ache that wouldn’t leave, a chill that he couldn’t shiver out.

“I gave everything!” He yelled, pressing his hands to his eye sockets, hard, but the outburst ebbed just as quickly as it had the first time, leaving only empty, numb resignation and a hollow sense of defeat. “I gave everything, and this is what I get?”

“I’m sorry, John,” she said earnestly after a long moment, so earnestly that he couldn’t doubt her. It only made it worse. He shuffled forward until his knees his his own side, until he was face to face with Ghost, or would have been, had Ghost been able to tear his eyes from the cold corpse between them. John lifted his trembling hands, just shy of cupping the mask-shrouded lines of Ghost’s cheeks. For a moment, a split second, Ghost glanced up, as if he could sense John’s proximity, the chill of his fingers only centimeters from his face, and their eyes met. The moment seemed to stretch and warp, a second caught in an endless expanse as he stared into the depths of Ghost’s, bourbon brown eyes for the last time. And then Ghost dropped his head again, and the second shattered.

“I cannae leave him,” he said, directing the words over his shoulder even as he kept his eyes on the slope of Ghost’s mask, the way his balaclava rippled where his hair was flattened underneath it, the careful stitching that kept the whole ensemble together. “Don’t make me leave him, not like this. I cannae- I never got to tell him…”

He knew he was dangerously close to begging, knew how hopeless it was, but he had to try.

“Simon,” he breathed, then again, louder, the sudden resurgence of his anguish lending a warbling strength to his words. “Simon, I’m so sorry, love, I didnae mean to, I promise, please, love, please look at me again-“

“He can’t hear you, John,” she murmured.

“Tell me he’ll be okay,” he snarled at the interruption, whipping his head to the side, just far enough to throw the words behind him. A bad idea, if the swoop of his still-unbalanced head was any indication, but he didn’t care. There was nothing more important than this. The urgency was glass under his skin, paralyzing.

“John, I can’t-“

“Lie to me if you have to,” he snapped, “but tell me he’ll be okay. He’ll die in his sleep when he’s eighty, quick and painless. Tell me he makes it out. Tell me he disnae die here.”

He could hear another train coming, rushing down the tracks, rumbling through his knees. The medics would be here soon, no doubt, and then it would be chaos. Team members or not, the rest of the 141 would be swept to the side, told to return to base for debrief and several rounds of psychological evaluations. He could see the slow preparation to move in the shift of Price’s arms around Gaz, getting ready to let go, letting him find his footing again before stepping back. He could see it in the flexing of Ghost’s hands against his knees, fingertips digging into the flesh of his thighs, burying everything until they got back to base, just like he always did. Only, this time, he wouldn’t be there to see it. He wouldn’t be there to bump his shoulder against Simon’s, a comforting weight at his side.

“I love you, Johnny,” Simon whispered, so low that John thought he’d imagined it. Agony laced his voice, dripping with grief and guilt. He ripped off his mask, quick and desperate, and John was gifted the unique torment of watching, helpless, as Simon’s lips curled in a silent keen, his tears running in wavering rivulets down his scarred cheeks. He brought the cloth part of his mask up to his face to wipe away the tears. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry, Johnny.”

He stretched his hand out and his fingers were twitching, his arm trembling, every sniper instinct utterly broken, but the touch he used to close John’s unseeing eyes was as gentle as a wave, softer than water, extinguishing the dull, lifeless blue.

“Goodbye, love,” he breathed, and then he stood up, pulling his mask back over his head, shutting out the rest of the world, containing everything that was Simon Riley behind the skull plate, locked tight. He turned, stooping to pick up his gun, and stalked out of the tunnel, not waiting for Price or Gaz to catch up.

John stared after him, rendered—for once in his life, or maybe only in death—speechless. The train hurtled through the tunnel, but he barely noticed it. He felt scraped hollow, nothing more than a husk, eyes caught on the retreating back of the love of his life. He’d never be able to say it back.

“He makes it out,” Death said softly as the sound of the train faded in the distance. He’d forgotten she was there, but he didn’t startle. She was a calming presence at his back, a warmth that he couldn’t explain, didn’t even try. He didn’t know if she was lying and he didn’t dare ask. It was a comforting fantasy, if nothing else. He swallowed roughly, ran a hand through his mohawk, and stood up. It was easier this time, somehow, or maybe he’d gotten used to the dead weight. He turned, his back to his own corpse for the first time, and felt the yawning expanse of the unknown in front of him, a nebulous, unseen aura that shimmered like sun on water, wreathing Death in ethereal light. Her expression was soft and sympathetic, but he didn’t feel the sharp sting of pity he’d expected. It made his next words a little easier to bear.

“I dinnae… I dinnae ken how to swim.”

“I’m right here, John,” she said, low and assured. “I’ll hold your hand; I won’t let you fall.”

Trusting her was as easy as breathing. He placed his hand in hers, tight in her grip, and together, they stepped off of the edge and into oblivion.

————

Feel free to drop a kudos or comment on AO3!

#call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #angst #major character death #mcd #tombstone's epitaphs #tombstone's ficlets #hehe sorry 😅

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morelikeravenbore · 5 months ago

Text

Lessons in Upholstery

Sebastian Sallow x f!oc (Aurélie Collins).

Content warnings: NSFW/mature rating. Sebastian Sallow is needy. Puppy!Sebastian?? No explicit language but very sexually suggestive, mentions of nudity and sexual acts. Reader discretion is advised. Post-Hogwarts 18+ grown up Sebaura.

Word count: 1.6k

Preview: There was a unique ache that existed when she was out of reach — one that started as a small hole in his chest before spreading rapidly until his entire being felt hollow, an ache that demanded they share a too-small bed so they had to sleep tangled together, or eat at a too-small kitchen table so she had to take most of her meals sitting in his lap.

🦋 Read on wattpad | ao3

Upholstered in pale blue velvet, with matching embroidered silk pillows and ornately carved legs of polished mahogany, the tiny two-seater loveseat was clearly not designed for everyday use — yet every night, Sebastian found himself crammed between the armrests with a very satisfied redhead slotted awkwardly between his long legs.

When Aurélie had found the sofa in a Muggle brocante in Toulouse, Sebastian had known immediately that there was no point in trying to talk her out of buying it. They didn't own a home to keep it in, and unless they bought a bloody chateau (which was highly improbable given that Sebastian was only a trainee Healer), it wasn't likely to suit any future home they ever lived in. But none of that mattered, because as soon as that little squeal of delight had left her lips, he knew they'd be leaving the antique market as proud owners of the most ridiculously ostentatious piece of furniture he'd ever laid eyes on.

Happily, he hadn't regretted that decision since. Even when his legs went numb with pins and needles and his back got a permanent crick in it, so long as she was tucked into him, her back pressed to his chest and her soft hair ticking the underside of his chin, Sebastian would never buy another sofa for as long as they lived. — Because there was no other way he ever wanted to sit unless it was with the small, warm weight of her in his lap.

A weight that was presently — and unbearably — absent as Aurélie busied herself in the tiny kitchen across the single-roomed cottage, humming under her breath as she chopped vegetables for their dinner. Sebastian watched her over the top of his book, his attention drawn, as it always was whenever she was near (or not near enough), away from the dry medical journal he was studying to the silky fall of her hair down her back, the soft shuffle of her bare feet over the kitchen rug, and the sheer summer dress that clung to her thighs, her waist: she'd regained some of the weight she'd lost after the horrors of their seventh year, and her hair had grown several inches over the summer, lightened to the colour of golden strawberries by the French sun.

Leaving the Highlands had done wonders for her health, but Sebastian liked to think that love had done that to her. His love.

Tossing his book aside, he dropped his head back on the arm rest and let out a long, almighty groan.

There was a unique ache that existed when she was out of reach — one that started as a small hole in his chest before spreading rapidly until his entire being felt hollow, an ache that demanded they share a too-small bed so they had to sleep tangled together, or eat at a too-small kitchen table so she had to take most of her meals sitting in his lap.

Of course, he was self aware enough to know that his acute need for physical affection bordered on being a little… obsessive, and that owning too-small furniture was just a blatant way of enabling his insatiable desire to touch her — but he also knew how quickly love could be snatched away, and so he endeavoured to keep it close at all times: to see it in her eyes and hear it in her laugh, to taste it in her mouth and feel it shiver across her skin, to pour it into her until even her breath was saturated with it —

His love.

His.

Aurélie cast him an amused glance over her shoulder. ‘Hungry?’ she called, a teasing lilt in her delicious voice.

‘Staaarving,’ he whined, reaching his arms out for her.

Expecting her to argue about the virtues of patience, he was surprised when she immediately skipped across the room and climbed onto his lap, wrapping her arms and legs around him so tightly he struggled to breathe — just the way he liked it. Likely she'd heard the thinly veiled desperation in his voice, but in the short time they'd lived together, he'd come to learn that the empty awful ache of separation was a shared feeling.

‘Mm, that's better,’ he hummed, wrapping his arms around her waist. The little sofa groaned under their combined weight, threatening to fall to pieces if they kept this up, but Sebastian felt the hollow pit in his chest recede back to a manageable speck, placated for the time being until she inevitably up and left again.

He wasted no time. Dipping his head, he kissed slowly along her jawline and down her throat, breathing her summer scent deep into his lungs: sugar and cream and strawberries.

‘You were gone for ages,’ he murmured into the crook of her neck. Her pulse quickened beneath his lips, and he smiled.

‘Fifteen minutes,’ she snorted, threading her fingers through his hair. ‘It took fifteen minutes before you started whining.’

‘I don't whine.’

‘Yes you do. — And whimper. You're like a puppy,’ she added, shifting in his lap in a way that made his breath catch and his fingers dig into her hips.

Instinctively, he slid his hands beneath her dress to palm the curve of her spine, dragging the pads of his fingers across her skin so that his touch might stay imbued there long after his hands were gone. She shivered in return, pressing herself flush against him until all the aching space between them was suffocated between their bodies.

It never took long for them to unravel together; no matter how innocent their intentions were upon settling onto the sofa every night, how tired they proclaimed to be or how much study Sebastian had to get through, it was only a matter of time before he was tugging the silky slip of her dress over her hips, too busy moaning into her mouth to bother pulling it all the way over her head.

Tonight was no exception.

‘Puppies are cute,’ he said stupidly, letting his lips trail a wanton path of desire along her collarbone. ‘S'you think m'cute…’

‘I think you're out of control…’

Sebastian snickered against her skin, but she was right: his hips were already canting against her, each thrust punctuated by an undignified squeak from the sofa until the tiny cottage was filled with a creaky symphony of little thrusts and heavy breaths.

Blind to anything but the taste of her skin, he hadn't noticed the ridiculous little noises he was making until, with some difficulty, she pried his lips away from her neck. Suffering terribly, he made another stupid noise, squeaking like some kind of injured bird, but she soothed the pout off his face with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, and he fell silent.

‘You know,’ she said, tilting his flushed face to look at her, ‘I think you could benefit from a little obedience training, no?’

Sebastian swallowed — loudly.

‘Training?’ he echoed, eagerly wetting his lips. ‘What kind of training?’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Sebastian's propensity for learning, combined with his impulsivity and mildly-obsessive tendencies, meant he was usually the one who took the lead in matters of the mind — after all, he'd taught himself all number of forbidden spells when he was only fifteen, defied every “Do not enter” and locked door he'd ever encountered, and read so many books he was practically a walking encyclopaedia. But when it came to this, he found himself all-too happy to be led.

Smiling like she didn't hold his very life in her hands, Aurélie tilted his head back by his chin as she pondered his question, exposing his throat to her thoughtful gaze. Goosebumps erupted across his skin, and he shivered like he was cold.

‘Depends,’ she whispered, leaning down to plant a warm, lingering kiss to the underside of his chin — a whimper slipped out; he didn't try to stifle it.

‘On?’ he croaked.

‘On what sort of reinforcement you need. — Positive,’ she mouthed, pressing down with her hips again, ‘or negative,’ she nipped his skin with her teeth.

‘Ah — fuck.’ Sebastian's body reacted well before his mind caught up. Holding her firmly by the waist, he bucked his hips up once, twice, three times, using the momentum to create friction where they both needed it most; because despite how in control she wanted to appear, she whimpered just as loudly as he did when he rutted against her. Beneath them, the sofa gave a loud, precarious-sounding screech, but Sebastian was beyond caring about the state of his furniture — he'd level the fucking house if it meant having her closer.

‘Sebas—,’ she yelped, but he cut her off with a kiss that left no room for speech, or breath, or thought beyond how fucking badly he needed her.

They moved against each other then, lost in a mess of limbs and lips and hands and tongues, and the volume of his moaning was rivalled only by that of the sofa's antique joints begging for mercy, which they dutifully ignored until —

Crack —

A splintering crunch and a hard lurch backwards cut their frantic canoodling short, and suddenly Sebastian found himself on the floor with a broken sofa back beneath him and a very unimpressed — albeit delightfully naked — redhead on top.

Not content to let a bit of back pain interrupt them, he grinned up at her hopefully, unabashedly flashing the best, most pathetically pleading puppy eyes he could muster — but she only frowned at him through her curtains of auburn hair, pinned his arms above his head and whispered, ‘Negative reinforcement it is, then.’

With the sofa officially out of action, the only thing begging for mercy for the rest of the night was him.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fandom #aurelie collins #morelikeravenbore writes #hogwarts legacy oc #sebaura #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut

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