Omg hi!!!🧚🏻♀️
I just wanted to pop by and tell you how much I LOVE your writing and content, makes me kick my feet reading about Benny and Bunny😫🙂↔️I was just wondering if mayhaps you’d write something in which Bunny gets mad at Benny for something and gives him the cold shoulder hehe. You mentioned in your most recent installment of them how she’s done that when pissed at him and I just thought it’d be so interesting to see an upset Bunny and groveling Benny😏perhaps involving the topic of jealousy or miscommunication. Have a good day/evening and feel free to ignore my yapping!!!🙈🐇
Thank you so much for your kind words! 🥹You're so sweet!!! I could never ignore your yapping, friend! Sorry this took so long to post but I wanted to get it right since this request is so stinking cute! I was going to break this up into two parts because I got a little carried away but I figured you guys probably don't mind the longer posts ;) Please let me know your thoughts on this as I love reading your comments! Hope you enjoy! 🫶
Benny x Bunny Masterlist 🐰
Word Count- 3.4k+
Love, Lids, and Lessons (Benny Cross X Shy!Reader)
Listen, Benny fucked up on a near daily basis. He’s by no means perfect and there was a lot that you overlook because you loved him and he’s still the best man you’d ever met. However, there were times where Benny pissed you off so bad that you simply couldn't excuse him. This happened to be one of those times.
You were standing beside him at the pool table during what happened to be a pretty intense moment of a game that Benny happened to be losing pretty badly. It was the third time you’d approached him, asking to leave. It wasn’t even that late but you had wanted to go because you planned to get up early the next morning to meet your girlfriends for a breakfast date. He’d told you that the two of you could leave soon, after he finished his beer. And then he told you after he finished his game. Then that game became the next game. And the current game which he happened to be losing and maybe it was that his temper with the razzing he was receiving from the members who watched the game but he just didn’t want to have to tell you one more time that you would both be leaving soon. You tugged on his sleeve again and he just said it, without a filter, without thinking.
“Bunny, you’re being naggy.”
That was it. Just four words that would cause him more trouble than he even realized. He didn’t mean it in a rude way; He was just trying to tell you what you were doing was annoying to him. He said way worse than that to the boys and they never reacted the way you did.
Your mouth dropped open in shock, driven speechless by his words. He made a shrugging motion to you that said What? But the low whistled that emitted from Cal on the other side of the pool table did nothing to deescalate the embarrassment he could see bubbling in your face. You snapped your mouth shut, brows pinching together as you glanced at the others who heard. Not many, just Cal, Johnny, Betty and a few others. It was enough. When your gaze found him again there was an undeniable dark cloud in your eyes and he wanted to apologize. But you turned and walked away before he could say anything else.
“Oh, Benny. . .” Johnny muttered with a grimace but Benny was too caught up in the taunting of the other members around the table to hear him. So he let you storm off, figuring you’d have cooled down by the time his game was over. And shortly after, his game ended (He lost, though he didn’t really find himself caring about that, not with the image of your hurt expression looping in his mind) and he said goodbye to the boys and went to find you. Only . . . you were gone.
He found Gail who told him you had left with Kathy. He clenched his jaw and nodded. You rarely ever left with someone else, you liked to ride home with Benny. He thought maybe you were just tired and Kathy was probably leaving at the same time but a little voice in the back of his head told him it was more to it than that. He tried to ignore the way the ride home was quiet without you on the back. And when he walked through the door, you were not in the entryway where you normally stood waiting for him. No, you weren’t even in the kitchen where he’d sometimes find you during a midnight craving. Something uncomfortable gripped at his heart and he stood in the kitchen for a long time, trying to come to terms with the fact that you probably left.
Trudging up the stairs to your bedroom, his heart skipped a beat when he saw your form laying in the bed, back facing him. He resisted the urge to go to you, sensing the way your shoulders stiffened that you were still awake. He undressed slowly, taking the time to decide what he wanted to say to you. But even as he pulled back the covers and crawled in next to you, no words ever formed in his mouth. Instead, he tried a different tactic. He pressed himself up against your body, sliding his hand over your waist, traveling it up to your breast as he leaned in to kiss your cheek.
You brushed his hand away. “I’m not in the mood, Benny.”
His hand moved down to your hips instead to take it in another direction but you gripped his wrist and moved it back to his side. “I’m serious. I’m tired”
Okay, you were upset about what he’d said. He sighed and rolled onto his back, moving back to his side of the bed. He waited a few more seconds to see if you’d follow him like you normally did, but you remained steadfast in your spot so he reached over to the bedside lamp and switched it off, the room filling with darkness. He laid in that darkness for a long time, contemplating what to say, what to do.
When Benny woke the next morning and his hand drifted over to you, he found your side of the bed empty. He frowned, glancing at the clock. It was still early and you almost never woke up before he did. And if you did, you just wanted to snuggle with him in bed. With an odd feeling in the pit of his gut, he got up and dressed, seeking you out. He found you in the kitchen, wearing an apron with little flowers embroidered on the fabric. You stood at the island, frosting cupcakes that he didn’t know you planned on taking with you.
“Mornin’,” he said as he approached, making his way over to make a cup of coffee. You only hummed in response. He turned back around to face you, leaning against the opposite countertop, feeling as though the space between you was as wide as an ocean. He watched you for a moment as you set down the cupcake you were working on, the delicate desert now freshly adorned with baby pink frosting. You reached forward to start on the next one and that’s when he spoke again. “You need help with that?”
“No,” you replied, avoiding eye-contact. A heavy silence filled the kitchen as he sipped meekly at his coffee and you finished frosting the cupcakes. It’d be better to just rip off the band-aid, he decided. He wasn’t going to go his whole day pretending he didn’t know that you were giving him your traditional cold-shoulder response. So he said, “You still mad about last night?”
Your eyes flashed up to his for just a moment. “What do you think, Benny?”
“About what I said? C’mon . . .” He didn’t even mean it in a rude way! Sometimes you were so sensitive and he truly didn’t understand you. Johnny had told him once that women were a completely different creature than them. And as Benny watched you furiously frost your cupcakes, he really felt the impact of that statement. “I didn’t mean it. You know that. I was a little drunk and–”
“Oh you were drunk?” Your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Well, in that case, I’ll just let you get away with whatever you want when you’re drunk. Won’t let anything affect me at all!”
Hmm. He didn’t think that’s what you were gonna say to that. Benny hated it when you verbally put him in a corner like this, didn’t let him get away with his half-assed apologies that never actually use the phrase ‘I’m sorry.’ It always made him get defensive, made his temper flare and he’d end up doing more damage than good nearly every time.
“You were naggin’ and you know it. I don’t know if it was because you wanted to go home or if you were jealous that someone else had my attention for a moment and you didn’t–”
“Jealous?” The word echoed off the cupboards. “Are you kidding me?”
“Bunny–” he groaned but you cut him off.
“Don’t Bunny me right now,” you griped, eyes narrowing as you began placing the cupcakes in the portable carrier he had surprised you with for your birthday a few months ago. “Jealous? You honestly think I was jealous? Or are you just sayin’ that because you want to get a rise out of me?”
“Well, I’m just tryin to say–” he stopped short as he caught your sharp gaze. “I just. . . Don’t you think you’re overreacting about this?”
Your mouth formed a thin line, jaw clenching. You stared at him for a few agonizingly long moments before you shook your head, muttering, “You–”
Benny was dying to know what you were about to say but only observed as you removed your apron, folded it neatly and placed it back in the drawer before you grabbed your portable tray and left the kitchen. Like a moth to flame, he followed you as you went to the door, pausing only to slide your feet into the kitten heels you had lined up at the baseboard. Without saying another word, you opened the door and left. But he trailed after you, standing on the porch, he wordlessly watched as you descended the stairs and walked down the stone pathway to the white picket fencing you had always talked about and opened the little gate.
“Damn thing,” you grumbled under your breath as you fought with the broken hinge of the gate to close it properly behind you, the sound squeaking obnoxiously.
“When are you comin’ back?” he hollered after you, trying not to sound as desperate as he felt.
“Later.” Was your vague answer before you got into your car and left Benny still standing on the porch, front door ajar and eyes narrowed.
******
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Benny stood to his full height and took a step back to take in the shiny new hinge on the gate he just installed. He tried opening and closing it a few times, admiring the way it worked soundlessly. Good as new, he thought. Fixing physical things like door hinges and motorcycle parts, those were easy. Benny was good with his hands, he could tinker around and fix just about anything he set his mind to. But fixing emotional things. . . those were not so easy for Benny. Apologies were rare and he’s never one to throw them out like confetti as you so often did. You apologized too much and he’s told you that you shouldn’t apologize for half the things you do.
He’d had a lot of time to think about what happened and his mood certainly shifted more than once during his front gate project. At first, mild annoyance because what he said to you was hardly an insult. Then, it might have been due to the sun beating down on him while he worked, but genuine anger replaced the annoyance because you were so damn sensitive and there were times he felt he had to walk on eggshells around you. But the anger quickly fizzled out when he thought about how your sensitivity was what made you special. It was what helped you be so empathetic, so caring toward everyone you came across. And by the time he’d finished fixing the gate, the only feeling that smothered him was a painfully present regret. Regret for what he had said, but also for what he hadn’t. An apology was something you deserved, but he didn’t give it to you, not in an appropriate way.
So when you came home, hours later, he watched from the living room window as your car pulled in front of the house. You exited the car, and he almost held his breath as you opened the gate, taking a moment to open and close it a few times. You definitely noticed he’d fixed it. Good, but that didn’t mean he was in the clear yet.
You came inside and it was clear that you were still upset by the way you moved. He could see your shoulder stiffen when you noticed him there, could see the pouty lip of yours pull into a slight frown. You hardly spoke to each other the rest of the day. You didn’t mention the gate and he didn’t bring it up.
******
The next morning Benny was up before you, as usual. At least that was back to normal. He went downstairs and started a pot of coffee as he got ready for work. He grabbed his lunchbox, preparing to make himself a lunch for work when he stopped short, noticing that there was already a lunch packed in there, complete with one of your pink-frosted cupcakes. His heart squeezed at the realization that you still packed him a lunch, something you did every workday for him, even though you were upset with him. You . . . the sweet creature that he still didn’t completely understand. And he needed to do something.
Fortunately Benny had another trick up his sleeve, and playing dirty didn’t matter to him when it came to getting your attention again.
******
You didn’t sleep well last night, laying awake all night with a heartsick frown, wishing nothing more than for the man who lay just within an arm's reach from you to actually comfort you – in a way that you wanted to be comforted. And tears threatened to spill when you realized, even just for a moment, you wished he could be someone who was a bit more empathetic, a bit more compatible to you. This wasn’t the worst thing he’s said and you’ve had your fights over much worse, but in all your time together, this was the first time you’d ever had that thought. Maybe it was because this was the first time you had both ignored it, both choosing to go to bed angry and upset rather than to work through it. The storm in your heart still surged on, albeit a bit more due to sadness rather than anger, as you slipped on your babydoll pink robe over your nightgown. You tried not to think about Benny at all as you put your hair up in rollers and applied your makeup for the day. You couldn’t hide in the bedroom all day unfortunately, so you traipsed downstairs, bare feet padding softly against each step until you entered the kitchen where you found Benny sitting at one of the island chairs, the daily paper spread out on the countertop before him.
He looked up when he heard you. “Mornin’.”
“Morning,” you parroted as you went to the pantry to grab out your ingredients to start breakfast. You started your tea, grabbing the jar of honey off the shelf and a flower mug. You turned your back to Benny and started to twist the lid off the honey jar . . . only it was really stuck on there. Readjusting your hands, you gave it another go, but still it didn’t budge. Setting your jaw in place, you glanced over your shoulder at your husband who was still looking down at his newspaper. Normally, you would immediately hand something over to Benny to open for you, but you were still mad at him which meant you’ll have to go without honey in your tea.
So instead you started making your bagel for breakfast, a go-to breakfast meal for workday mornings. Popping the bagel in the toaster, you took the homemade strawberry jam out of the fridge and frowned when you realized that lid was also screwed on extra tight too. You turned to face your partner, reluctantly asking, “Can you open this?”
He looked up at you, eyes glancing down at the jam jar and he held out his hand. “I’ll open it for you if you talk to me.”
In no mood to play his games, you rolled your eyes. “Forget it. I can do it myself.”
You turned back around, feeling his gaze burning into you as you grabbed a dish rag and placed it over the lid to get a better grip. You twisted hard, tongue darting out between your teeth as you concentrated on opening it. It seemed as though a mutant with superhuman strength had sealed this lid last – which was strange considering you were the only person in the house who ever used it. You peaked back at Benny who watched you blatantly so you stuck your chin out defiantly as you put the jar back down on the countertop. Fine, you’d just put peanut butter on your bagel instead. You scooped up the peanut butter jar, this time facing him as you twisted the lid and you nearly screamed in frustration when you felt how tightly this lid was as well.
Wordlessly, he held out his hand across the countertop, waiting patiently as you crossed your arms, mentally debating if you could go without any of these items on your bagel.
Ding! You both glanced over as your perfectly-browned bagel popped up from the toaster. You sighed through your nose, biting your bottom lip as defeat settled in. You grabbed the jam, honey and peanut butter jars and slid them on the countertop before him.
“Okay, fine,” you admittedly softly and watched as he made it look so effortless as he opened the lid with a satisfying pop. You muttered a quick thanks and reached for the jar but he leaned backwards, holding the jar just out of your reach.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he spoke, eyes earnestly searching your face. “What I said at the bar – about you askin’ to go home. You weren’t being naggy, I should have listened to you the first time. That was my own fault. I was just getting so caught up in that stupid game and it wasn’t even important. Not like you are. And what I said embarrassed you and that was wrong.” He rose from his seat, moving around the counter to stand before you as he said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
Your eyes widened slightly at his apology. Only a handful of times have you heard those words leave his mouth and you knew he never said them if he wasn’t completely meaningful. You nodded but then remembered his use of vocabulary last night. “And what you said about me bein’ jealous?”
His shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “I’m not apologizin’ for that because you really do confuse me sometimes, Bunny. I thought maybe you were jealous and when you stop communication’ with me, I feel even more lost than usual.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” you accepted as you crossed your arms. “But I don’t want to talk to you when I’m upset. Maybe I want you to do the talking for once.”
He furrowed his brow in thought as he looked over at the toaster. “Well, why don’t we make a promise to each other that we can go to bed angry if we want, but come morning, we talk about it over breakfast. No more putting it off for multiple days. We have to deal with it so that we can move past it.”
You considered that for a moment. “Yeah, that sounds alright.”
He took your hands in his own and dipped forward to place a soft kiss to your cheek. When he began to pull back, your hand flew up to gently encase the side of his face, holding him there as you met him halfway and kissed his lips in a physical show to prove you had accepted his apology. And if that wasn’t good enough, you whispered against his lips, “I forgive you.”
His arms circled around your waist pulling you into his lean frame in a tight hug that seemed to melt away all the stress that built between you two.
“How did you know that I would use the honey today?” you asked with a tilt of your head, figuring he must be the reason for the right lids.
“I didn’t. I tightened all the jars.”
“Benny!” you laughed, playfully slapping his bicep.
He lowered his hands behind your hips, lifting you quickly onto the kitchen countertop, grinning at the squeal you let out at the sudden shift.
“Let me make it up to you, Bunny? Please?” he begged, voice teasing but you could see the sincerity, the desperation in his ocean blue eyes.
“I’m gonna be late for work,” you giggled as he buried his face into the spot between your jaw and collarbone, that sweet spot he knew got you weak in the knees every time he placed his mouth there. “I need to leave in a few minutes.”
“You might wanna call in sick then,” he murmured against your skin as he kissed up your neck, “‘Cuz I got plans for you that’s gonna last longer than a few minutes.”
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August
[ Mattheo riddle x reader] [part2]
Summary: all y/n wanted is to love and to be loved to see the beauty of the world and to be happy even if that’s mean she will have to hide away , until that summer the summer she talked to mattheo riddle.
Words: 8.5k
Warnings: fluff, Angst , Angst , and a lot of angst, strong language , light smut, toxic, abused father.
August, finally. Summer, at last. The book snapped shut with a quiet _click_, and I slipped it into my bag. A glance at the darkening sky confirmed my decision. Time to go.
The beach was deserted now, save for the distant sound of laughter from a party I hadn’t been invited to. No hard feelings, no bad blood. It wasn’t that they disliked me—they simply didn’t see me.
I was an outsider to that world, a solitary figure on the periphery. No invitations had been extended, no longing glances cast my way. It was as though I existed in a silent film, a mere extra in the grand spectacle of life.
The sky, a masterpiece of blue, held me captive. In that moment, I was adrift, a solitary vessel on a boundless ocean. There was no turmoil, no drama, just the gentle sway of existence.
As I drove away from the beach, a flash of movement caught my eye. I slowed the car, looking out the window. There, on a bench under the pale glow of a streetlamp, was a figure slumped over. A bottle dangled precariously from one hand, and his face was streaked with what looked like red liquid. My heart skipped a beat as I recognized him—Mattheo Riddle, the infamous troublemaker.
I pulled over and got out of the car, the gravel crunching under my feet as I approached him. He was asleep, his dark hair falling over his eyes, his usually sharp features softened by unconsciousness.
I carefully took the bottle from his hand, the alcohol’s pungent smell mixing with the salt air. He stirred, and in an instant, his hand shot out, catching mine.
He sat up abruptly, blinking rapidly, clearly disoriented. “What the—” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep and alcohol. “Betty? Bethany? Is that you?”
"No," I replied, my tone firm yet gentle. "It's Y/n."
He sat up abruptly, blinking against the night. The world seemed to tilt for him, and I extended a steady hand. His fingers, calloused and strong, closed around mine. A wave of dizziness washed over him, his eyes glazing over.
"Y/n Y/L/n," he mumbled, as if testing the syllables on his tongue. "Y/N Y/L/N... I know who you are."
"You do?" I asked, a bit surprised.
"Oh, I know," he said, attempting to stand. He wobbled, and I reached out to steady him.
"You want me to help you get back home?"
He attempted to stand, wobbling on his feet, and I instinctively reached out to steady him.
"Easy there," I murmured, helping him to his feet.
"Thank you, love,"
"It's Y/N," I corrected.
"But 'love' fits you quite fine," he replied, a flirtatious glint in his eyes.
I rolled my eyes. "Let me drive you home."
"Yeah, that'd be nice."He nodded, still leaning on me for support.
"Are you staying with Enzo at the Berkshire house?" I asked.
"Yeah," he mumbled, his head lolling slightly.
With some effort, I guided him to the car and helped him into the passenger seat. As I started the engine, he looked over at me, his expression softening.
"You’re so kind, love," he mumbled. "Why are you so kind to me?"
"Because you need help," I replied simply. "Just doing the right thing,"
He laughed softly, a drunken, endearing sound. "You’re too good for this world, Y/N." he mumbled, "Always thought you were pretty."
"Thank you, Mattheo," I replied, trying to keep my focus on the road.
"I’ve noticed you before, you know. Always so quiet, so calm. I like that," he continued, his voice softening.
"That's sweet of you to say."
He leaned back in the seat, his eyes closing again. "Yeah, love. Sweet."
I pulled up to the Berkshire house and helped him out of the car. "Let’s get you inside."
As we walked to the door, he leaned heavily on me, his steps unsteady. "You’re my angel, love," he whispered.
"It's Y/N, and you’re drunk" I reminded him gently. "And you have a girlfriend,"
"Oh, not anymore," he slurred, his expression turning somber.
I looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
"It’s over. She doesn’t want me anymore," he mumbled, swaying slightly.
We reached the front door, and I knocked, but no one answered. Enzo must still be at the party.
"Do you have a key?" I asked.
"Yeah, somewhere," he replied, patting his pockets aimlessly.
"I need more than ‘somewhere,’ Mattheo. Can you please tell me where your key is?"
After a moment of fumbling, he pulled it out and handed it to me with a smile. I opened the door and helped him inside, guiding him to the couch. He collapsed onto it with a groan.
"No one's here," I said, glancing around.
"Are you trying to get me all alone, Y/N?"
"What? No, I just wanted someone to be here so you won’t do anything stupid," I retorted, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.
But he was already drifting off, too drunk to do much of anything. I walked to the kitchen to get a water bottle. It felt wrong to walk around someone else's house like this, but then I spotted a bottle of aspirin on the table. Maybe these boys get drunk a lot; why else would it be there?
I returned to the living room, placing the water and aspirin on the table. I noticed Mattheo struggling to get his jacket off, one arm stuck in the sleeve. Gently, I helped him remove it and set it aside.
"Thanks, Betty," he murmured in his sleep, making my heart sink.
I blinked, fighting the urge to correct him, "You're welcome, Riddle," I whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear it. He thought I was someone else. I was his Betty I doubted he even knew who I really was all that time.
As I get back to the car I noticed the bottle of red wine on the seat and couldn't help but smile.
The next day, the familiar sound of my parents arguing filled the house, so I grabbed my keys and headed to the beach for some peace.
When I got there, I saw him again. He was sitting on the sand, his hair damp, and his shirt clinging to his wet body. He must have just come out of the ocean. I tried to turn away, but it was too late—he had already noticed me.
"Going to ignore me?" he asked, walking towards me.
"No, of course not," I lied.
He smiled, "Liar." Then he looked at me seriously. "Thank you for last night. I'm sorry if I said anything that offended you. I don't remember much, but I appreciate what you did."
I was surprised he remembered at all and I wondered if he recalled calling me Betty too. "It's okay, you didn't. You just had a bad day, I guess."
He nodded. “I can leave if you want.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said, sitting down on the sand and pulling out my book.
“Little Women,” he remarked, eyeing the cover.
I nodded. He asked, “Who's your favorite character?”
Suddenly nervous, I struggled to form a coherent sentence. “Uh, Amy,” I finally managed.
“Oh, wow. Amy?” He raised an eyebrow.
I rolled my eyes.
“What was that for?” he asked, smiling.
“You’re just going to bully her, probably.”
“No, I would never do such a thing.”
I nodded, turning my gaze to the blue water. “It’s just... she’s not—”
“She’s not what?” I interrupted, defensive. “Amy is passionate and driven. She knows what she wants and goes after it. She’s not afraid to dream big.”
Mattheo was looking at me, truly listening. I blinked and looked away.
He grinned, teasing, “You’re quite the defender.”
I felt his eyes on me, making it impossible to focus on my book. I looked up and met his gaze. “You’re staring,” I said.
“I’m staring,” he replied, unashamed.
I laughed and closed the book. “What do you want?”
“I want to listen to you.”
“Listen to me?”
“Yeah, just like when you were defending Amy with your life a minute ago.”
“I don’t have anything interesting to talk about.”
He sat closer, leaning on his arm. “Then tell me something about yourself, something that no one knows.”
I laughed nervously. “No one knows anything about me, Mattheo.”
“Mysterious, are we?”
“More invisible, are we.”
His expression softened. “You are not invisible. Not to me, not anymore.”
I looked away. “Fine. I can’t swim.”
“You what?”
“I can’t swim. Tried too many times but failed.”
He looked shocked. “I can teach you.”
“Oh no, thanks."
“Come on, that’s the least I can do after last night.”
“No, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do that.”
He nodded, sensing there was more to it. “You’re not getting away from it, but we’ll drop it for now. Tell me, what can I do for you?”
“Nothing. You don’t have to.”
“But I want to.”
Blushing, I tried to say something, anything to distract from his gaze. “You can get me ice cream.”
He laughed. “That’s it? Just ice cream?”
I smiled. “Yes.”
“Fine, you get this.” He stood up and offered me his hand. Nervously, I took it, and he helped me up.
As we walked, a comfortable silence settled between us. I broke it, almost without thinking. “Wanna play something?”
I wasn’t sure why I asked, maybe to feel what it’s like to have a conversation, to play with a friend. Wait—a friend? No, we’re not friends.
He interrupted my thoughts. “Yes, of course. What is it?”
“I spy with my little eye...” I said, feeling a bit silly. He laughed, and I knew why. It was childish, very childish. But this was new to me. I hadn’t experienced much of this in my childhood.
“Fine with me. Wanna start?” he asked, grinning.
I nodded. “I spy with my little eye, something... blue.”
He looked around, squinting playfully. “The ocean?”
“Too easy. Your turn,” I said, smiling.
“I spy with my little eye, something... red,” he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
I scanned the surroundings. “That towel over there?”
“Nope,” he replied, smirking.
“Give me a hint?”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “It’s closer than you think.”
I frowned, looking around us. Then I realized—my swimsuit strap, peeking out from under my shirt. “Oh. My swimsuit?”
“Got it,” he said, his grin widening.
We continued like this, the game bridging the gaps between our words. He was better at it than I expected.
“I spy with my little eye, something... brown,” I said, feeling more relaxed.
“My hair,” he guessed quickly, ruffling it for emphasis.
“Right again.”
“I spy with my little eye, something... beautiful,” he said, looking directly at me.
I blushed. “Mattheo...”
“What? You’re wearing it. That necklace,” he said, pointing to the small pendant I always wore.
“So, what’s your favorite flavor?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation back to safer grounds.
“Mint chocolate chip. Yours?”
“Strawberry.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Sweet and classic. Fits you.”
I rolled my eyes playfully.
“Just being honest.”
We arrived at the ice cream booth, still caught up in our game. “Two cones, please,” he ordered, handing me one.
“Thank you,” I said, taking a bite.
“Anytime, love,” he replied, winking.
I felt his eyes on me again, the way they made me feel seen. It was unsettling and exhilarating at the same time.
Then we continued our game.
"I spy with my little eye, something... on your face," he said, a teasing smile playing on his lips.
I frowned, confused. "What? Where?"
He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto mine. "Right here," he said softly, pointing to the corner of my mouth. "You’ve got a bit of ice cream."
I tried to wipe it away, but missed. “Did I get it?”
“Here, let me help.” He reached out, wiping the spot with his finger, brushing my lips. My breath hitched at the contact.
Just then, a cat darted out from the bushes, startling me. Instinctively, I grabbed Mattheo. My ice cream went flying, splattering all over his shirt.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I started to panic, my apologies tumbling out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t see the cat—”
“Trying to get me naked already, Y/N? If you wanted me to take my shirt off, you should have just asked, love.”
But my mind was elsewhere, trapped in a darker place. I kept apologizing, my breathing becoming erratic. Memories of my father’s anger flashed in my mind, and I couldn’t see Mattheo standing there.
“Y/N, it’s okay. It’s just a shirt,” he said, trying to calm me. But I couldn’t stop, the panic rising within me.
“Hey, hey, Y/N, look at me, baby,” he said, more urgently. I didn’t respond until he cupped my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It’s just a shirt. It’s okay.”
I nodded, still trembling. He wiped away the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“There’s nothing to apologize for, love,” he said, shaking his head.
“You’re not mad?”
“Of course I’m not mad,” he assured me. “If anything, you’ve given me an excuse to show off.” He grinned, his flirtatious tone returning. “I bet you’re wondering how someone can look this good, even with ice cream all over them.”
I laughed softly, feeling the tension ease a bit. “Maybe a little.”
“See? Just a shirt and a bit of ice cream. No big deal,” he said, his hands still gently holding my face. “Now, let’s get you another ice cream.”
For the next weeks, we were inseparable. Mattheo and I met at the beach every day, talking, playing, and even reading a book together. His relentless flirting always left my cheeks as red as blood and made breathing a challenging task.
Today, as I parked the car and got out, I saw him playing football with a little boy.
"Who is that?" I asked, curious.
He looked up at me and smiled. "Found him here. He’s adorable—might just adopt him."
I laughed. "You can’t just adopt a kid you found on the beach, Mattheo."
I knelt down to the boy's level. "Hi."
"Hi," he responded, smiling.
"Where are your parents?" I asked.
"Over there," he said, pointing to a small family who waved at us once they noticed we were looking at them.
I looked up at Mattheo. He smiled. "What? You look adorable when you’re confused. I’d never miss a chance to see that expression on your face."
I sat on the back of my car, watching them. He continued to play with the boy for a little while until his family called him to leave. I waved goodbye to the little boy and then turned my attention to Mattheo.
"I never knew you were that good with kids," I said as he walked over to me, placing his hands on either side of me.
"Yeah?" he asked, and I nodded.
"Let me wonder why," he said, smiling. "Maybe because my father who probably wants to end the world died and left me fatherless?"
My eyes widened. "No, no, Mattheo, I didn’t mean that."
He chuckled. "I’m just teasing you, my love."
I blinked, noticing the subtle difference—"my love," not just "love."
"Go ahead, ask it," he said.
"Ask what?" I replied, feigning ignorance.
"I can see you thinking. You probably want to ask something but are afraid to," he said.
I shook my head, but he insisted. "It’s okay, you can ask me anything, and I will answer it."
I smiled, about to speak, but he cut me off. "With one condition."
"What? What is it?" I asked, curious and a bit apprehensive.
"Come with me," he said, glancing at the ocean. "You don’t have to swim or learn, just a little in. I’ll be there and will help you and answer all your questions too."
I felt a wave of nervousness and fear, but he noticed, touching my cheeks gently. "Hey, hey, look at me, love. Forget about it, okay? If you’re not—"
"No, no, I want to," I cut him off, nodding. "Are you sure?" he whispered, and I smiled, saying, "Never had I ever before."
I got off the car, and despite not wearing a bikini, I shyly took off my shirt, revealing my one-piece swimsuit. He smiled, taking off his shirt as well, and grabbed my hands. His touch was reassuring, and as we walked towards the ocean, I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety.
He led me into the water, just a step ahead of me, watching carefully as I looked down, watching my feet touch the water.
"Up, eyes on me, my love," he said softly. I did as he asked, meeting his gaze. He smiled at me and said, "Now, ask your questions."
I knew what he was doing—distracting me from my fear. I smiled nervously. "Okay, it’s personal and-," I began, but he cut me off.
"It’s over," he said, my eyes widening that he already knew what I was going to ask. "Come on, love, I was waiting for you to ask it. You didn’t think I knew? Yeah, me and Bethany—it’s over since that night."
I nodded, feeling a bit relieved. He took his turn. "Tell me, why are you afraid of it?" he asked gently, his fingers tracing circles on my hands.
"My father—my father, he threw me into the ocean once. I thought I was going to die, but then he pulled me out at the last moment," I said, my voice trembling. He stopped walking, squeezing my hands gently.
"Why would he do that? How could he do that?" he asked, his eyes darkening with concern.
"He’s very religious. He doesn’t tolerate... mistakes. I was ten. It was a birthday party for a daughter of one of my mother’s friends. We the kids were playing—a silly game. Seven minutes in heaven. Nothing happened, we just stayed in the closet. But my father didn’t believe me, or maybe he did and was just angry that I agreed to such a ‘shameless game’ as he called it. My mother bore the brunt of his anger after that," I explained.
He listened intently, his face a mix of anger and empathy. I was too afraid to look at him directly, but then I realized the water was up to my chest. I panicked, and he immediately wrapped his arms around my waist.
"I got you," he said, and I clung to him.
"Did your parents divorce?" he asked softly.
"Oh, worse," I said bitterly. "They stayed together for the kid—me. Can’t you see how happy I am now, thanks to them?" I laughed, but he didn't. Instead, he tightened his hold on me.
"You asked too many questions. You cheated," i said, he smiled tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear while still holding me.
"I don’t follow rules, my love," he said, and I smiled. "But you’re right. Ask away."
"Will you—will you still talk to me when we go back to school?" I asked, finally looking him in the eyes. There was nothing under my feet now; I was deep in the ocean. But it wasn't that which made me nervous—it was his answer.
"Why would you think I wouldn’t?" he asked, smiling and touching my hair, then my cheeks.
"I don’t know. I just thought..." I struggled to express my fear.
"You thought wrong, my love," he said, and despite being in the water, I clung to him even more. "Of course I will," he whispered in my ear. I nodded, resting my head on his shoulder, afraid to look at him, afraid to see a look of uncertainty in his beautiful eyes, or worse, something more—a desire I had long craved but thought was a fantasy, a dream people like me couldn’t have.
"Now, my turn. Why do you always hide?" he asked, and I looked at him, confused.
"Hide?"
"Yes, hide from everyone. You’re one of the smartest witches in our year. You have too—"
"I don’t want that," I interrupted.
"Don’t want what?"
"It’s just—I—" I tried to explain. "I don’t want to be noticed. I thought I did, but I don’t. It’s... ugh, Merlin, this is hard to explain. I just want to be happy."
"Happy?" he asked, his tone gentle.
"Yes, happy. Just happy and loved. I want love. I want to see the beauty in everything, but people always ruin that, don’t they? I want peace and happiness and love—a lot of love. And just because I don’t want to be a fighter or always know what to say, always fighting for things, always proving and proving—I’m so tired of always having to prove that I deserve to live, to be part of this world. I don’t want power or everything. I just want a little something, a little love. And I’m not weak, but I can’t explain that without sounding like a weak person, a scared girl. I’m not. I’m stronger than they all think," I yelled the last part.
"I know," he said gently, his hands in my hair.
"I was just trying to survive," I said, and he nodded.
I looked into his eyes and regretted it. The sun made them even more beautiful, and the thoughts I had would make my father get a priest to cleanse my soul. Sadly, I realized how close we were, his hands on my skin, our faces too close.
I didn’t realize I was looking at his lips until I looked up and saw his smirk.
My heart racing as his smile softened into something more tender, more intimate. The sun glinted off the water, casting a golden light over his face. His hand was warm against my skin, the other still wrapped securely around my waist.
"Don’t let go," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I don’t want to die."
His smile widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "I would never," he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring.
He reached out, his right hand cupping my chin, gently guiding my face until I was forced to meet his gaze. His other arm remained securely around my waist, holding me close. “Don’t look away from me now,” he said, his voice a soft command that sent shivers down my spine.
I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t, that I didn’t want to look away, but the feelings swirling inside me terrified me. I inched even closer to him, our bodies nearly flush against each other. I could feel his breath on my face, warm and intoxicating, and without thinking—or maybe because I didn’t want to think—I leaned in and kissed his cheek.
The moment my lips touched his skin, I felt a jolt of surprise, as if I had crossed a line I didn’t even know existed. He looked just as surprised, his eyes widening slightly.
“Was this a sin?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of curiosity and guilt.
He smiled, his lips curving into a playful grin. “I don’t think so.”
I closed my eyes, feeling his breath tickle my lips as he leaned in closer. Without hesitation, I kissed his other cheek, the warmth of his skin searing against my lips.
I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze once more, and then, almost without thinking, I placed another kiss on his jaw. He let out a soft, appreciative hum that sent a thrill through me.
“Definitely not a sin,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire.
I couldn’t help but smile at his words. He tilted his head, brushing his lips over mine, teasing, tasting, but not quite kissing me fully.
And then he kissed me.
His lips met mine with a hunger that took my breath away, his arms tightening around me, pulling me even closer. His kiss was searing, demanding, as if he was pouring all of his unspoken desires, all of his pent-up emotions, into this one moment.
I melted into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders, desperate to keep him close. His fingers tangled in my hair, tugging gently as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a dance that left me dizzy, craving more.
"You taste like strawberries,” he whispered against my lips.
“And you taste like trouble,” I replied, my breath hitching as his mouth moved to my neck, placing slow, deliberate kisses.
“Good trouble?” he asked, his tongue tracing a path up to my ear.
“The best kind,” I breathed, my fingers tangling in his hair, then his lips were on mine again.
His hand moved from my waist to my lower back, pulling me flush against him, the force of his kiss making my head spin. I melted into him, my hands gripping his shoulders as I kissed him back just as fiercely, my body responding to him in a way that felt both foreign and completely natural.
He broke the kiss for a brief moment, his lips hovering just above mine as he whispered, “You feel this too, don’t you?”
His words sent heat pooling low in my belly, and I gasped as he nipped at my bottom lip, his hands sliding down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the hard length of him pressed against me, a tangible reminder of just how much he wanted this, wanted me.
I nodded, too breathless to speak, my eyes half-closed as I leaned in to kiss him again. He didn’t hesitate, capturing my lips in another heated kiss, his hands roaming up my back, holding me so close that I could feel every beat of his heart.
His lips moved to my neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, and I gasped, the sound swallowed by the crashing waves. He pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and filled with a desire that mirrored my own.
“Say my name,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear as he nipped at the lobe. “Say it, love.”
“Mattheo,” I gasped, my voice barely recognizable as my own, filled with a longing I could no longer deny.
He kissed me again, his lips crashing against mine with a fervor that made my knees weak. His hands gripped my hips tighter, pulling me closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past my lips to tangle with mine in a dance of want and need.
I was lost in him, in the sensation of his body pressed against mine, his lips claiming me in a way that felt both dangerous and exhilarating. I knew there would be no going back from this, that whatever we were doing, whatever was happening between us, it was irreversible.
A distant sound broke through the haze of our moment. I froze, my ears straining to identify it. Voices—young, excited, and getting closer. I turned my head, my eyes scanning the shoreline, and spotted a group of boys arriving at the beach, their laughter carried on the wind.
“We should probably get out,” I whispered, my heart still racing from our kiss but now tinged with the awareness of being seen.
He nodded, pressing one last, lingering kiss to my lips before we reluctantly pulled apart. The water felt cooler as we waded back to shore, the spell of our private world slowly dissipating with each step.
Once we were out of the water, I sat on the towel, feeling the rough fabric beneath me as I tried to steady my breath. He reached for another towel and draped it over my shoulders, his touch still warm, comforting.
He stood there for a moment, his eyes lingering on me before he sat down. I looked at him, taking in the way the sunlight caught in his hair, the way his skin glistened with droplets of water. He was beautiful, devilishly beautiful, with the kind of allure that made it hard to look away. My eyes traced the lines of his back, the muscles shifting under his skin, and I found myself wishing I could write my name on it, claim him in some small, secret way.
He turned to sit down beside me, his movement breaking the spell of my thoughts. I smiled at him, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, still flushed from both the water and what had just transpired between us.
Without thinking, I leaned my head on his shoulder, seeking the comfort of his presence. He didn’t hesitate, his arm wrapping around me as he held my hand in his. His fingers traced gentle circles on the back of my hand, the touch sending soothing waves through my body, calming the lingering adrenaline.
He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead, his lips soft against my skin. I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into the moment, feeling safe and cherished in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time.
It had been a week since that day on the beach, and I had never felt so alive, so completely consumed by happiness. Every thought, every breath, seemed to revolve around him. The world felt brighter, more vibrant, as if everything had been infused with color. I was caught in a whirlwind of emotions, and I didn’t want it to stop.
I was lying on my bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thoughts of him, when my mother knocked softly on the door. She poked her head in, smiling.
“You’re coming, right?” she asked, her eyes warm with expectation.
I knew what she meant. I was supposed to go with her to visit her best friend, a plan that had been made long before all of this. But the thought of missing a call from Mattheo, of not seeing him today, was unbearable. I felt like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t see him, if I didn’t feel his arms around me, even for just a moment.
I sat up, giving her an apologetic smile. “No, Mom, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can. Maybe I’ll just take a nap,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t press the issue.
She looked at me for a moment, then leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Alright, sweetheart. Get some rest,” she said softly, before leaving the room.
I watched the door close behind her and sighed, sinking back onto my bed. Only half an hour had passed when my phone buzzed, and I scrambled to grab it. His name lit up the screen, and my heart skipped a beat.
“Hey, do you want to go out?” Mattheo’s voice was smooth, teasing, and I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face.
“Of course,” I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice.
For the past week, we had spent almost every day together, usually at the beach. It was our place, where the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of us. But today, I felt a need for something different, something more.
“Can I come to your house instead?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “I can’t risk my father seeing your car… and then we can go wherever you want.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line before he answered. “Sure, wait for me at the front door.”
I didn’t question it, didn’t think much of it until I reached his house and texted him that I had arrived. As I waited, I heard voices inside—Enzo’s voice, unmistakable, and loud enough to carry through the walls. I couldn’t make out all of what he was saying, but one sentence rang out clearly: “This is a mistake, brother. This poor girl doesn’t deserve that.”
I frowned, my heart tightening with unease. But before I could process what I’d heard, Mattheo appeared, slipping into the passenger seat of my car. He leaned over, kissing me, his smile bright but somehow not reaching his eyes.
“Is everything okay?” I asked, searching his face.
“Of course, my love,” he said, brushing off my concern.
I hesitated, wanting to believe him, wanting to chase away the shadow that had settled in my chest. “Can we go to the new mall? I heard—”
He cut me off with a smile that felt forced. “I don’t like it. Too crowded. How about the beach?”
I tried to return his smile, but it didn’t come as easily as before. “We always go to the beach,” I said, watching him carefully. His eyes were distant, like his mind was somewhere else entirely.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I asked, my voice softening.
He blinked, as if pulling himself back to the present. “Oh, nothing,” he said, his smile returning, though it still didn’t reach his eyes.
“The beach sounds good,”I said something hoping that it will make him smile as well.
he nodded, even though I knew something was off. I didn’t push it, not yet. Instead, I drove us to the beach, the familiar route doing little to ease the tension between us.
Once we arrived, the wind was soft against my skin, and the waves lapped at the shore, but the usual magic of the place felt dimmed by whatever was weighing on him. We walked in silence for a bit, the sand cool beneath our feet, until I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped, turning to face him, reaching out to touch his arm.
“Mattheo,” I said, my voice a mix of concern and affection. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”
He looked down at me, his eyes searching mine as if trying to decide whether to let me in or keep me at a distance. But before he could answer, I rose onto my toes, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that was meant to chase away the darkness I saw in him.
His arms came around me, pulling me closer, and for a moment, everything else faded away. His kiss was slow, intense, as if he was trying to pour all of his unspoken thoughts into that one gesture. I felt the tension in his body, the way he held onto me like I was his anchor, keeping him from drifting into whatever storm was brewing inside him.
When we finally pulled apart, I rested my forehead against his, my breath coming in soft gasps. “I care about you,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”
He looked at me, his gaze softer now, though still shadowed by something I couldn’t quite name.
As I looked up, I heard a sound—a bottle hitting the ground. Both Mattheo and I turned to see Inez, a fellow Hogwarts student, standing a few feet away. She seemed startled, her eyes wide with confusion and shock as she stared at us. I wasn't close to her, but I knew she was Betty's best friend. Mattheo's reaction caught my attention; he looked tense, a mix of anger, confusion, and nervousness flashing across his face. They exchanged a look, something unspoken passing between them, before she hurried away without a word.
"Was this Inez?" I asked, breaking the silence. Mattheo nodded, still staring at the spot where she had been standing.
After that, it felt like he was with me physically, but his mind was somewhere else. The rest of the day passed in a haze, and the following day he didn’t call or text. He wasn’t at the beach, our usual spot. Worry gnawed at me, and I sent him a message.
"Hey, are you okay?" I texted, hoping for a quick response. But it went on delivered, a silent mockery of my concern.
The next day came and went, and still, there was nothing. I tried again.
"Is everything alright? Did something happen?" I sent, my anxiety growing with each unanswered message.
Another day passed, and desperation seeped into my words.
"Did I do something wrong?" I typed, my fingers trembling slightly. "Please, just let me know."
By the end of the week, my heart felt heavy with worry and fear. I sat on my bed, tears stinging my eyes as I typed out another message.
"I miss you, Mattheo. I'm afraid... Please talk to me."
As I pressed send, a sob escaped my lips, and I felt the hot tears roll down my cheeks. The silence was deafening, crushing me with its weight. I started to type again, my breath coming in shaky gasps.
"Are you ghosting me?" I wrote, my vision blurring with tears. The thought of being abandoned, of him leaving without a word, tore at my heart.
Then, it happened. I watched in horror as all my messages changed to "Seen." He had read them—every single one. But there was no response, no explanation. Just the cold, stark confirmation that he was ignoring me.
I couldn’t breathe. My chest tightened, and my vision swam. Panic surged through me, and I clutched at my throat, gasping for air. The room spun, and I felt like I was drowning in a sea of despair. My body shook as I tried to steady my breathing, but the panic was overwhelming.
Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the raw, suffocating fear that gripped me. I curled into myself, feeling utterly alone and broken. The world felt like it was collapsing around me, the silence between Mattheo and me a chasm that threatened to swallow me whole.
Something had changed. I could feel it in the air, a shift that made my skin prickle with unease. It wasn't just paranoia; there was a new intensity in the way people looked at me. Their eyes followed me, but not in a nice way. They whispered, heads bent together, glancing at me with something close to disgust. I had no idea why.
I hadn’t left the house since that day, too wrapped up in my own misery to face the world. But today, my father had insisted I go out, needing me to pick up something for my mother. Reluctantly, I agreed, knowing I couldn’t hide forever.
As I walked, a group of girls passed by, one of them, no more than fourteen, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, "A slut." My eyes widened in shock, and I turned to confront her, but she was already walking away. Why would she call me that?
Stunned, I got into my car, my hands shaking slightly. I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, judged. Instead of heading home, I found myself driving towards the beach, seeking the familiar comfort of the waves and sand.
When I arrived, I parked the car and stepped out, the salty air filling my lungs. I knew he wouldn’t be here, but still, I felt a pull towards our place. As I walked, I noticed groups of people scattered along the shore. And then, it started again—the whispers, the sideways glances, the expressions of disdain.
“What are you doing here, Y/N? Searching for someone else's man to steal?” Martha Grey, one of my classmates, called out, sarcasm dripping from her voice. She clung to her boyfriend’s arm protectively, her eyes narrowed at me.
“What?” I asked, bewildered. The accusation hit me like a slap, leaving me reeling.
“Would you fuck single boys, Y/N, or just the taken ones?” a boy sneered, stepping so close that I almost stumbled back.
“She’s shameless,” another girl muttered, loud enough for me to hear.
“Homewrecker,” someone else hissed.
“A whore with no shame.”
“Slut.”
“Ugly bitch.”
“You really have the nerve to show your face after what you did?”
“Cheap.”
“Who does she think she is? I mean, look at her and look at Betty. Did Mattheo lose his mind?”
“Trash.”
“Did you think you could just get away with it?”
“Desperate for attention, aren’t you?”
“I guess she’ll do anything for a bit of male attention.”
“Pathetic.”
“She’s just a desperate little thing.”
“Doesn’t she have any self-respect?”
“She’ll never be as good as Betty.”
“I heard she practically threw herself at him.”
“Mattheo probably just felt sorry for her.”
“She’s disgusting.”
I stood there, frozen, as the insults kept coming, each one slicing through me like a blade. My ears rang with their harsh words, my vision blurring with unshed tears. I wanted to scream, to run, to hide. But my legs felt like they were glued to the ground, and all I could do was stand there and take it.
Why were they saying these things? What had I done to deserve this? The pain in my chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. I felt like I was being suffocated, drowning in their hatred and contempt. All I wanted was to disappear, to escape the nightmare that my life had suddenly become.
"Can't believe she had the nerve to come here."
"She probably thinks she's some sort of seductress."
"More like a desperate wannabe."
"Does she really think she stands a chance against Betty?"
"Mattheo's way out of her league, it's embarrassing."
"Honestly, it's pathetic."
"She should just disappear, no one wants her around."
My heart sank with each word, each cruel remark cutting deeper than the last. The weight of their scorn was suffocating, and I felt tears pricking at my eyes. I had no idea what they were talking about or why they were so angry with me. The confusion and hurt were overwhelming, and I could feel a panic attack rising in my chest, the world spinning around me.
Someone's voice broke through the barrage of insults. “I’m glad Betty forgave him and didn’t let this ugly slut destroy what they have.”
With that, I walked away, the words still echoing in my ears. Their taunts didn't stop even as I put my hands over my ears, trying to block them out. They always said I was too sensitive, too weak. I was used to those words, but this wasn't something I felt like I could handle. Their attention, their eyes on me, their words—those words.
I walked faster to my car, closing the doors and windows before bursting into tears. How I managed to drive, almost crashing several times, I didn’t know. My body felt cold, shaking, and numb as I finally reached his house. The way to the door felt like forever.
With a shaking hand, I knocked weakly, hoping someone would hear it. The door opened, and even through my tears, I could see it was Enzo.
“Y/N, oh Merlin,” he said, trying to comfort me, but I flinched.
“It’s okay,” he said gently, stepping aside to let me in.
I walked in and saw Mattheo sitting on the couch. His eyes widened as he stood up quickly.
“You said you broke up,” I said, my voice trembling. No, he said it was over, nothing about a breakup, I corrected myself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“We were on a break,” he said, his expression a mix of guilt and confusion.
“You said you broke up with her,” I repeated, more to myself than him.
“We were on a break,” he said again.
“That’s not the same thing,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Not the same thing,” I repeated.
“You lied to me, you ghosted me, and you... you went and—and—” I didn't even know how to finish the sentence.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice softer.
I felt like passing out, but I blinked the tears away and asked, “You didn’t?”
“No, Y/N, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he said. Was it me? Did I really throw myself at him? No, no, no, I didn’t— You kissed him first, my mind said. But on the cheek, I argued back. Keep telling yourself that, it sneered. No, he did.
I was losing my mind.
“Chase two girls, lose the one, right?” I said, tears falling heavily. “And it wasn’t even me. I’m not the one It wasn’t even my story.”
“Y/N,” he tried, but I cut him off.
“Please don’t say my name. Please don’t try to explain anything,” I said, feeling like I was about to collapse if not for Enzo’s hands supporting me.
“You did that. I had no idea it was you, but no one is pointing their fingers at you. No one is calling you the things they are calling me. No one is saying it was your fault or calling you an ugly bitch. No one is calling you a homewrecker, so don’t—don’t explain anything,” I said, and they were looking at me. I wanted to scream at him, they were looking at me now because of you.
Mattheo stepped closer, but Enzo shook his head at him.
“Everything is back to its place now. August is already over,” I said. Yes, everything is back to its place except for me. Nothing is the same, nothing will ever be the same.
I pulled away from Enzo and walked to the door, stepping out of the house.
“Y/N, wait,” Enzo called, but I ignored him and walked to my car.
“Let me drive you home, please. You can’t go like that,” he said, and I shook my head.
“Y/N, please,” he pleaded, but I kept shaking my head.
I got into my car, closing the doors. He looked at me with sympathy, and I felt bad for shutting him out like that. But I should feel bad for myself, for what his brother did to me, for what he knew was happening but didn’t tell me.
I saw him get into his car. My hands were shaking, my vision blurred as I started to drive. Enzo’s car followed behind, making sure I made it home.
I got out of the car once I reached my house, not even looking back, not having the energy.
I stepped into my house, the quiet enveloping me like a shroud. I walked to my room, but stopped short when I saw my parents standing inside. They turned to look at me, and my father’s eyes were filled with a cold anger.
"What is this?" he demanded, holding the red wine bottle in his hand.
The sight of it brought more tears to my eyes. If that night hadn’t happened, if I hadn’t found Mattheo, if I hadn’t helped him...
"What is it?" my father repeated, his voice rising. "Shame, shame on you."
"Give it back to me," I said, trying to take the bottle from his hands. My mother, knowing better, tried to step between us, but he pushed her away.
"I said, give it back!" I yelled, and then I felt it—pain, sharp and hot, as his hand struck my cheek. He hit me again.
I screamed and lunged at him, trying to wrest the bottle from his grip. He struggled, but didn’t fall.
"Give it back, give it back, give it back to me!" I cried, hitting his chest, my nails scratching at his hands, anything I could reach. He grabbed my hair, and something inside me snapped.
Enough—enough. I’ve had enough.
I started hitting him in the chest, my nails digging into his skin. He was shocked, and I didn’t stop.
"Get out! Get out! We hate you! We don’t want you! Get out!" I screamed.
My nails raked his hands again, trying to get the bottle.
"Don’t you dare put your hands on me or Mother again! I will use my wand. I will cast a spell on you to torture you. I don’t care! I don’t care about the consequences! Get out!" I screamed, and finally, he released his grip. The bottle fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.
He stumbled out of the room, then out of the house. I fell to my knees, touching the broken shards, crying hard.
My mother knelt down, trying to pull me away. "No, no," I said.
"It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll clean it up," she said, but I panicked.
"You can’t. You can’t, please, no," I said, my fingers bleeding as I touched the pieces.
"It wasn’t mine," I said, though I knew I wasn’t just talking about the bottle.
"It wasn’t mine, Mother. It wasn’t mine," I repeated, crying even harder. "It wasn’t mine to lose. It wasn’t mine to lose."
She finally managed to pull my bleeding hands away and hugged me tightly. I cried into her arms, sobbing for Mattheo, for myself, for everything that had gone wrong.
The rest of the summer passed in a blur of anguish and solitude. I found myself on the Hogwarts Express, not knowing how I was going to face the coming year. It didn't stop—the whispers, the sidelong glances, the barely concealed disdain. They had finally notified me that there was no coming back from this. Their eyes found me, and they whispered, not caring whether their words were good or bad. I was sure they were bad.
The journey to Hogwarts felt faster than ever, though I knew it wasn't. It was just that I dreaded every moment, and that dread made time fly. When the train finally stopped, I got out, trying to stay out of sight as much as possible.
As we reached the castle, I saw her—Betty. She stood there, as pretty as always. Unlike the others, her eyes held sympathy, and I hated that. I wanted Betty to give me a reason to hate her, but she couldn't. She was like an angel on earth, everything I wasn’t and could never be.
I walked inside, ignoring everything around me. I didn’t care which house the first years were going to be sorted into, even though I had always loved that part. Not this time. This time, I just wanted to hide.
Then I saw him—Mattheo. Our eyes met for a brief second before he looked away, walking past me as if I didn’t exist. Maybe I didn’t anymore, at least not for him. I didn’t have to look back to see where he was going; I already knew. So, I just walked to my dorm, feeling more invisible than ever.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
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