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tilliebilly · 2 months ago

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SO CUTEEE AGHHH!!!

tom riddle the man you are

For You, Only

You find it on an ordinary Tuesday.

A flower — but not one from any Hogwarts greenhouse you recognize. Its petals shimmer faintly under the torchlight, an impossible color somewhere between pearl and starlight, perched neatly atop your Charms textbook like it had simply grown there.

You glance around the common room.

No one looks your way. No snickering pranksters. No dreamy admirers writing sonnets in the corner.

Just…stillness. Homework. Whispered conversations. The crackle of the fire.

You touch the stem carefully. The bloom doesn't wilt under your fingers. If anything, it leans toward you.

There’s no note. No explanation. Just the flower: strange and perfect and left for you.

You glance around again, slower this time. Watching.

The prefect flips a page in his book. A few younger students argue over wizard chess.

No one watching. No one smiling. No one suspicious.

You tuck the flower carefully into your satchel, pretending you aren’t blushing like a fool.

You tell yourself it’s probably some Herbology project gone wrong. A mistake. A coincidence.

But later that night, as you fall asleep with the flower resting in a jar by your bedside, you can’t shake the feeling that someone had meant for you to find it. Someone who was watching.

And somewhere, deep inside Hogwarts’ winding halls, someone is.

And he is smiling.

...

The flower doesn’t wilt.

Days later, it sits proudly on your bedside table still glowing faintly, still leaning ever so slightly toward you whenever you look its way. You've poked it with your wand, whispered spells at it, even tried to press it between the pages of your Charms textbook, but it refuses to die, or even droop.

By Friday, you’ve convinced yourself it must be magical. And whoever gave it to you… well, they knew what they were doing.

You tell yourself you aren’t waiting for something else. You tell yourself you aren’t looking around every corner. (You are. You absolutely are.)

So when you find the book, you nearly trip over your own shoes.

It’s sitting right on your usual library chair: old, leather-bound, the title too faded to read. A piece of parchment sticks out from the top like a crude bookmark.

You glance around wildly. Madam Pince is hunched over the circulation desk, scribbling furiously. A few students mutter in the back, heads together over a shared essay. No one’s looking at you. No one seems to care.

Heart hammering, you slip into the chair and pull the parchment free.

It’s not a love note. It’s not even a full sentence.

Just two words, written in an elegant, slanted hand:

"For you."

You stare at it. Then the book.

Slowly, you crack the cover open. It smells like old paper and wild places, filled with poetry, the kind that sinks into your ribs and stays there.

You clamp a hand over your mouth to stifle a ridiculous little squeal. Someone left this. Someone knew.

You immediately whip around in your seat, heart racing. Your eyes catch on Eddie Clearwater from Herbology leaning against a shelf across the library. He’s not looking at you. He’s arguing with someone over a potions chart. But still. He is sort of nice. Sort of...awkward.

You eye him suspiciously. Maybe it’s Eddie.

He did let you borrow his notes once. And he wears shoes that squeak. You did hear squeaking earlier.

You huff a laugh into your sleeve, cheeks burning. It’s definitely Eddie.

You don’t see the real culprit, the boy lingering in the deep shadows between the Divination and Dark Arts sections, arms folded, an unreadable expression on his sharp, beautiful face.

Tom Riddle watches you tuck the book into your bag. He watches you smile to yourself.

And though he feels a sharp, unfamiliar twist of irritation at your spectacularly wrong guess, a part of him, dark and greedy and pleased, already wonders:

What will I leave her next?

...

You make a point to smile at Eddie Clearwater in the corridor the next morning.

It’s not even a romantic smile. More of a polite, thank-you-for-the-poetry-book smile. But Eddie looks so bewildered that he crashes straight into a suit of armor, sending a clattering echo through the hall.

You wince. Maybe not Eddie, then.

Still, you’re sure the gift-leaver is someone sweet and bashful. Someone harmless. Someone ordinary. That certainty lasts exactly twenty-four hours. Because the next night, tucked neatly into your bag between your Arithmancy notes, you find it:

A pendant. No — not just a pendant.

It hums faintly in your hand, cool and heavy, the chain finer than spider silk. In the low candlelight, the stone at its center gleams dark red, almost alive. You don’t need a textbook to know it’s enchanted, powerful, old.

Tied to the chain is a tiny scrap of parchment, the same slanted hand as before:

"To keep you safe."

Your stomach flips.

This isn’t something a clumsy boy from Herbology would have access to. This isn’t even something a professor would hand over casually. You glance around the common room, heart rattling against your ribs. No one’s paying you any attention except, for the briefest second, a pair of dark eyes across the room.

Tom Riddle sits by the fireplace, alone as usual, a book balanced on one knee. His expression, as he flips a page, is unreadable. You tear your gaze away, feeling suddenly foolish.

Tom Riddle doesn’t notice girls. Everyone knows that.

(But you also can’t help remembering how the pendant's stone glinted ... the exact color of his eyes when they catch the firelight.)

You clutch the pendant tighter, heart hammering. The pieces aren’t fitting together, not yet.

But you have a sinking feeling they will. Soon.

...

You hatch the plan over pumpkin juice and poor life choices.

It’s simple. Elegant. Foolproof, really. You’ll pick a spot, somewhere quiet but public enough to not seem suspicious. You’ll leave your books unattended, just so, like bait in a snare. Then you’ll wait, hidden, to catch whoever it is, and you can put this ridiculous mystery to rest.

Easy.

So you choose the far alcove in the library, the one with the broken sconce and the creaky chair. You pile your books just messily enough to seem believable. You arrange yourself behind a nearby shelf, heart thudding like a war drum.

And then... you wait.

Five minutes.

Ten.

You fiddle with the hem of your robes, nerves sparking. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe you should—

A faint sound breaks the silence. Soft footsteps, so quiet you barely catch them.

You press yourself against the bookshelf, breath held tight in your chest. Someone rounds the corner. Not Eddie. Not some shy sixth-year with ink-stained hands.

Tom Riddle.

Tall. Composed. Unreachable, like some terrible and beautiful thing from another world.

He moves toward your abandoned books without hesitation, as if this was always the plan. You peek, just barely, between the shelves.

He glances once over his shoulder (you almost faint on the spot), then slips something between the pages of your topmost book. Something small. Another note?

Your heart skitters. You’re so distracted you almost don’t notice—

For the briefest second, after leaving the gift, he pauses. Looks at the flower, still alive, tucked carefully in your bag. Looks toward where you’re hiding.

His lips curve in the slightest, most devastating smirk.

He knows.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle a tiny, horrified squeak. And then, like a dream dissipating, he’s gone. You stumble out from behind the shelves, heart a frantic, tangled mess. The flower glows softly. The poetry book hums faintly in your bag. And tucked between your Charms notes, on fresh parchment, another line of that beautiful, slanted handwriting:

"You're cleverer than the rest. I hoped you would be."

You press the note against your chest, dizzy. This isn’t some bumbling, blushing schoolboy. This is Tom Riddle.

And he's been watching you.

...

A/N: what a man

...

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tilliebilly · 2 months ago

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SOOO CUTEEE AHHHH

charmed, i'm sure

(feat. accidental truth serum, public chaos, and one very flustered reader)

It starts during double Potions.

Snape’s droning on about the stability of truth serums, and Mattheo Riddle (gorgeous, brooding, completely full of himself) is stirring his cauldron with that signature air of boredom and menace.

You’re seated next to him. Unfortunately.

Well, technically it was alphabetical. But you’re starting to think fate just has a sense of humor.

Snape snaps his fingers. “Taste test. Two drops each.”

It's obvious he thinks no one made the potion right.

You arch a brow. “Taste the potion? Isn’t that, like, illegal?”

Mattheo shrugs. “Probably. But I’m dying to know what secrets you’re hiding.”

You roll your eyes and raise your vial. “Bottoms up, Riddle.”

And then.

He drinks. You pretend to drink.

You blink. He blinks.

And then... chaos.

“Your eyes,” he says dreamily, “should be illegal in academic settings. I can’t focus. I think I failed last week’s quiz because of them.”

You look over at him in horror. “What?”

“Oh no,” he says cheerfully. “I think it’s working.”

Snape narrows his eyes. “Mr. Riddle, is there a problem?”

Mattheo turns to him, absolutely beaming. “No, Professor. Unless you count the fact that I’m catastrophically in love with the girl next to me and have been writing her name over and over in the margins of my Arithmancy textbook for three months.”

There is a beat of silence.

You drop your quill.

Snape sighs. “Hospital wing. Now.”

“But I feel fine,” Mattheo says. “Better than fine. Actually, I feel free. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to tell her that her laugh makes me feel like I’m choking on happiness?”

You slap a hand over his mouth.

“Sorry, Professor,” you mutter, dragging him out of the classroom as fast as your legs can carry you. “He’s clearly unwell. Tragic. Don’t wait up.”

In the hallway, Mattheo’s grinning like a madman.

“Wait,” he says, eyes wide. “Did I tell them about the dreams yet?”

You freeze. “WHAT dreams?”

He looks slightly panicked. “Oh no.”

You push open the hospital wing door and hiss, “Mattheo Riddle, if you say one more thing that makes me want to throw myself out a window—”

“I think you’re smarter than me,” he blurts. “It’s not fair. You’re so clever. I watch you solve things and it’s like... like watching lightning happen in real time. And you don’t even brag about it. It’s disgusting. I’m obsessed with you.”

You gape at him.

Madam Pomfrey appears with a raised brow.

“Veritaserum, I assume?”

You nod numbly. “Yes. And please. Make it stop before he proposes.”

Mattheo places a hand on his chest, gasping. “Do you want me to?! Because I will. I have the ring picked out.”

A/N: missed this trainwreck | mattheo masterlist |

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tilliebilly · 2 months ago

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tilliebilly · 2 months ago

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Are we getting more of theo whom has a staring problem

The Boy Who Folded First

-> Part Ⅰ - The Boy Who Stares

You’re halfway through outlining your Arithmancy essay, peacefully nestled into your usual spot in the library (the cozy alcove by the window that smells faintly of dust and lavender polish) when you hear the faintest sound of someone… hesitating.

It’s the sound of feet shuffling. A bag being adjusted. A breath being held.

You glance up, expecting Madam Pince or maybe a first-year in crisis.

Instead, you get Theodore Nott, frozen like a deer caught mid-scheme, holding a stack of books and trying very hard not to look like he’s here for you.

He is.

You blink. He nods. It’s weirdly formal, like you’re about to conduct business negotiations.

Then, very carefully, he slides into the chair across from you. He places his books on the table with reverent precision. Doesn’t say a word.

You go back to your essay. Or try to.

It’s been twenty seconds. He has not opened a single book. He has, however, started watching you with the expression of someone seeing a rainbow for the first time.

You glance up.

He quickly looks away. Opens the wrong end of a book. Realizes it. Flips it. Doesn’t read it.

You pretend to focus, but your quill slips. “Theo.”

His eyes flick up, startled. “Yes?”

“You’re not even pretending to study.”

He freezes. Then, slowly he flips a page in the upside-down book and says, “I am.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Your book is in Latin.”

“It’s a universal language,” he replies, far too quickly.

You try not to smile. “Are you here to read or stare?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he rests his chin on his hand, looks at you, and says, very softly, but with complete sincerity

“Both.”

Cue the butterflies. Stupid, ridiculous, flapping butterflies.

Your face warms before you can stop it. “That’s not very productive.”

He leans in slightly, his voice just a whisper above the quiet: “It is for me.”

Silence. Except for your heartbeat, which is now doing some kind of interpretive dance in your ribcage.

You look away, biting the inside of your cheek. “You’re very weird, Theodore Nott.”

He gives you the softest, smallest smile, one that tugs at just one corner of his mouth like it’s shy about being there.

“I know,” he says, eyes never leaving yours. “You make me that way.”

You drop your quill.

And for once, he doesn’t panic. He just picks it up, sets it gently in front of you, and goes back to flipping pages in his very, very upside-down Latin book.

And you, utterly doomed, go back to pretending you’re not falling for the boy who stares.

…

You don’t expect to find anything strange in your Arithmancy notes the next day.

You really don’t.

You sit down in the library like always, armed with a steaming cup of tea and the vague hope that numbers will one day make sense.

You flip open your notebook.

And there it is.

A folded piece of parchment tucked right between your notes on logarithmic spell sequencing and wand length correlations. Neat. Crisp. Very much not yours.

You pause. Pick it up. Look around suspiciously, like the paper might explode or insult your handwriting. No one seems to notice.

Your name is written on the front in tight, slanted script. Theodore’s script. Oh dear.

You unfold it carefully.

And you gasp.

Because it’s not a note. It’s a letter. A dramatic, charming, deeply earnest letter, written with the kind of emotional intensity that could only come from someone who once stared at you in class for thirteen entire minutes and forgot how to blink.

To the girl who doesn’t know she’s being watched, I should clarify: not in a terrifying way. Hopefully. Just… in a “you exist like sunlight through old stained glass and it’s very distracting” way. You sit there, every day, with your quiet focus and your ridiculous pens and your little crease between your eyebrows when you're thinking too hard. I’ve watched the way you annotate like you're solving a mystery. I’ve watched the way you smile to yourself when you get something right. I’ve watched the way you make silence feel like a conversation. And I’m utterly, irrevocably— (Ridiculously, foolishly, sincerely) —smitten. You make it very hard to concentrate. You make it very easy to feel seventeen and doomed and soft all at once. I’ve rewritten this five times. Probably because I’m terrified. You’re very smart. I’m mostly composed of sarcasm and dramatic eye contact. But if you’ll have me, even just for a walk by the lake, or a shared study table, or something unspeakably wild like holding hands, I’d very much like that. —Theo (P.S. I know you saw me walk into a door. I’m trying to block that memory out. Please let me have this.)

You stare at the letter for a full minute, brain short-circuiting, heart doing small backflips.

And just as you’re about to burst into tiny flustered sparkles, you hear the soft scrape of a chair.

You look up.

Theodore Nott is standing there.

He looks like he wants to flee the country.

“Hi,” he says, voice unusually hoarse. “So. You found it.”

You hold up the letter with both hands like it’s Exhibit A in a very dramatic trial. “You left me a love confession in my Arithmancy notebook.”

His ears go red. “You weren’t supposed to find it until after exams. I was buying time to work on…bravery.”

You raise an eyebrow, suppressing a giddy smile. “You rewrote it five times.”

“I panicked,” he says solemnly. “And I was out of parchment.”

You try to hold back your smile, but it breaks through anyway, soft, real.

“I’d very much like that walk by the lake,” you say.

Theodore’s eyes go wide. Then soft. Then stunned.

“You would?”

You nod. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

You grin. “You have to stop pretending your upside-down French book is useful.”

He groans. “I knew you noticed.”

And just like that, the boy who stares officially becomes the boy who blushes, babbles, and very gently takes your hand like it might be the most important thing he’s ever held.

Spoiler: it is.

A/N: manifesting this, big thank you to everyone for all the love :)

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tilliebilly · 2 months ago

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girlhood is also eating whenever you’re bored

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tilliebilly · 2 months ago

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The Boy Who Stares

Theodore Nott is staring at you again.

You don’t know why. You're not even doing anything particularly interesting. Just sitting in the third row of Ancient Runes, dutifully highlighting a passage about something very old and very cursed, as one does at 9 a.m. on a Wednesday.

But there it is. That intense, brooding stare from two seats to the left. Again.

You risk a glance. Yep. Still happening. His quill is poised mid-air like he forgot how to write. His mouth is slightly parted.

You blink. He blinks. You look away. He doesn’t.

Okay.

Maybe you have ink on your face. Or a troll horn growing out of your forehead. Or maybe he’s plotting your murder, slowly deciding which corridor would be least suspicious to lure you down. Totally fine.

You swipe your thumb across your cheek, just in case. Nope. No ink. Still cute, still confused, still alive. Probably.

Why is he looking at me like that? you think to yourself, nose back in your book.

What you don’t know is this:

Theodore Nott: stoic, unflappable, academically terrifying, hasn’t heard a word Professor Babbling has said in thirteen minutes and twenty-two seconds because he’s been trying to figure out how you manage to tuck your quill behind your ear without it falling out.

That, and how you’re the only person in class who managed to finish the Ancient Runes translation without using a single cross-reference guide. And how you chew on your bottom lip when you’re focused, and how your handwriting slants slightly to the left, and how—

You glance up again, catching him mid-gaze.

He immediately jerks his head away so fast it’s a miracle his neck doesn’t snap in half.

You squint. He suddenly finds his parchment very interesting. His ears, traitorous things, go a bit pink.

You blink again.

Nope. Still a murder plot. Definitely.

...

Class ends with the soft clack of textbooks shutting and chairs scraping across the floor. You take your time gathering your things, mostly because your bookmark has disappeared into a void of loose parchment.

Okay. That’s a problem for later.

Theodore Nott is still sitting there. Not moving. Not packing up.

You glance his way again. He pretends to yawn, which would be normal if it weren’t so obviously staged. Like, hand-to-chest, slow-motion, opera-singer yawn. No one yawns like that. You watch in real time as his brain short-circuits trying to look casual.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and head toward the door. And then:

“Wait.”

You stop. Turn. Blink.

Theodore Nott is standing. This feels promising.

“You, um—” he begins, voice low and uncertain. “You left your—uh…” He looks over at your desk. There is nothing there. Not even a scrap of parchment.

He stares at the empty space like it might help him. It does not.

“I left my…?” you say slowly, eyebrows lifted.

He panics. “Presence.”

Your brain takes a full three seconds to process that.

“My what?”

“Your—you left your—pencil sharpener,” he blurts. “Quill sharpener. Yes. That.”

You do not own a quill sharpener. Is that even a thing?

“Oh,” you say, smiling like you’re talking to a slightly confused, very pretty ghost. “Do you…have it?”

“No.”

Silence.

Then he blinks, visibly resets, and tries again. “Sorry. I meant—Hi. I’m Theodore. I mean, you know that. Obviously. We’ve had class together for like six years, I just—well.” He gestures vaguely toward your general existence. “Hi.”

You blink again. You’re doing a lot of blinking lately. “Hi…?”

“I like the way you annotate,” he says.

You stare.

“What?”

“I mean, not in a weird way. Just in a—your notes. Your margins. The way you organize them. It’s very…” He swallows. “…structured. Efficient. There’s a system. You color-code.”

You keep staring.

His voice lowers slightly, like he’s confessing to a crime. “I think about them sometimes.”

This might be the most unhinged flirtation you’ve ever witnessed.

“…Thanks?” you manage, because what else does one say when a gorgeous Slytherin boy admits to daydreaming about your annotated footnotes?

“Anyway,” he says, suddenly flustered again. “I’m going to leave now. With my dignity. Or…what’s left of it.”

He turns, walks directly into the doorframe, mutters “brilliant” under his breath, and disappears.

You stand there blinking at the empty doorway.

And then you laugh. Like, properly laugh.

You’re still laughing when you find your missing bookmark sticking out of Theodore’s textbook.

A/N: missed writing for theo

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tilliebilly · 3 months ago

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𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙤 𝙆𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙖 𝘿𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣

summary: Don't take raw meat, unless you want people to ask questions.

characters: mattheo riddle. theo nott. enzo berkshire. draco malfoy. blaise zabini. hufflepuff! reader

warnings: none, other than hufflepuff! reader buying from the wizard black market.

word count: 1.3k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Something was definitely going on with you.

Mattheo had noticed it first. The way you had been acting… odd lately. You were sneaking around more than usual, disappearing at random times, whispering hurried excuses when he asked where you were going.

But the strangest thing?

The raw meat.

At first, he thought he was imagining it. But then he saw it with his own eyes-you, stuffing a bundle of what was definitely raw chicken into your bag at dinner.

And the other day? He caught you swiping a few sausages off Theo’s plate and tucking them into your robes when you thought no one was looking.

The hell was that about?

And it wasn’t just him noticing anymore.

“Alright,” Blaise drawled, lounging on the Slytherin common room couch. “I’m saying it now-your girlfriend is hiding something.”

Theo nodded in agreement. “She’s been acting shady as hell.”

“She literally took my steak at dinner last night,” Draco grumbled. “Just snatched it up and said she’d ‘make good use of it.’ What does that even mean?”

Mattheo ran a hand through his curls, sighing. “I know, alright? I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

“Well,” Enzo smirked. “Why don’t we just ask her?”

So they did.

You barely had time to get through the Hufflepuff common room entrance before Mattheo and the Slytherin boys cornered you.

“Alright, sunshine,” Mattheo drawled, arms crossed. “Talk.”

You blinked up at them, trying to look innocent. “Talk about what?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb,” Theo said, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve been sneaking around, stealing food, whispering weird excuses-”

“And hoarding raw meat,” Draco added. “Like some kind of deranged goblin.”

Your eyes widened. “I-what?! I have not-”

“Oh, you absolutely have,” Mattheo cut in, stepping closer. “So what’s going on, angel?”

You hesitated, glancing between them, before sighing dramatically. “You guys can’t be mad.”

“Oh, that is not a good start,” Enzo muttered.

“I mean it!” you insisted. “Promise me you won’t get mad!”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes. “We’ll see.”

With a sigh, you grabbed Mattheo’s hand. “Fine. But you have to swear not to freak out.”

The boys exchanged glances but nodded.

And then you led them upstairs.

Sneaking the Slytherin boys into the Hufflepuff dorms was a feat, but you managed. And once inside your room, you turned to them and whispered, “Okay, um… don’t scream.”

That was not reassuring.

But before they could ask questions, you tiptoed over to your wardrobe and slowly opened the doors.

And inside, curled up in a nest of blankets, was a baby dragon.

The boys stared.

The tiny creature was adorable-scales shimmering between gold and green, tiny wings tucked against its sides, its snout buried into a pillow. But as soon as it smelled the food in your bag, it lifted its head, blinked sleepy eyes, and let out a tiny, high-pitched chirp.

“…What the fuck,” Draco breathed.

Mattheo ran a hand down his face. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

Theo looked thrilled. “IS THAT A DRAGON?!”

Blaise, was speechless.

You gave them all a sheepish smile. “Uh… surprise?”

Mattheo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sunshine. You’ve been raising a dragon in your dorm?”

You nodded. “His name is Snaggle!”

Draco choked. “You named it Snaggle?”

“Well, yeah,” you huffed. “Look at his little baby snaggle teeth!”

Mattheo groaned. “That’s what you’ve been sneaking raw meat for?”

You nodded, kneeling to scratch under Snaggle’s chin. The dragon made a happy little chirp, flapping his wings.

Theo was still in awe. “This is so cool.”

“This is insane,” Draco corrected.

Enzo finally spoke. “Okay, hold on-how the hell did you even get him?”

You winced. “Um… so, funny story… I may have… found him?”

“Found him?” Mattheo echoed.

You nodded. “There was this really sketchy-looking guy outside Hogsmeade, and he was selling dragon eggs, which is obviously illegal, but I couldn’t just let them be sold to, like, terrible people, so I bought one, and then it hatched, and now he imprinted on me, and I couldn’t just abandon him, and now he lives here.”

The boys just stared.

“You bought a dragon egg off a black market dealer?” Blaise said flatly.

“…Yes?”

Mattheo exhaled very slowly. “Sunshine.”

You gave him your best innocent smile. “Are you mad?”

He stared at you, looked at the dragon, then back at you.

Then he sighed. “Mad? No. Amazed at your sheer ability to get yourself into the most insane situations? Yes.”

Theo clapped his hands together. “Alright, well. No going back now. Guess we all have a pet dragon.”

Blaise snorted. “Oh yeah, because that won’t get us expelled.”

Mattheo shook his head, pulling you into his arms. “You are too much, angel.”

You giggled, leaning into his chest. “But you still love me?”

He sighed dramatically. “Yeah. I still love you.”

Snaggle let out a happy little chirp, and Theo immediately flopped down beside him. “This is the best thing ever.”

Draco groaned. “We’re all going to die.”

But, as Mattheo kissed the top of your head and watched you happily cuddle your forbidden pet dragon, he knew one thing for sure.

Life with you was never boring.

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tilliebilly · 3 months ago

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CURIOSITY GLASSES KILLED PETER.⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ㅤ●ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ P. PARKER

SUMMARY ৎ୭ peter always leaves his glasses lying around, and today, curiosity gets the best of you. slipping them on seems harmless—until he walks in, stops dead in his tracks, and suddenly, you're the cutest distraction he’s ever seen

WARNINGS ಇ. fluff overload, peter being utterly whipped, excessive compliments, and one (1) very flustered boyfriend. proceed with caution A/N ಇ. first peter fic omg?? was kinda gonna make a longer fic on the more angsty side but then i was like nah that’s too much effort so drabble it is. and honestly i love it so much ughhh enjoy!! ‹𝟹 also pls tell me it it's terrible

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ᡣ𐭩 words.ᐟ 403

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ౨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

The apartment is quiet, save for the hum of the city outside and the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Peter had left a little while ago, probably off to grab coffee or run an errand, leaving you curled up on his couch with one of his old textbooks in your lap.

Your gaze drifts toward the small table beside his desk, where his glasses sit, slightly askew, as if he had taken them off in a hurry. A small smile tugs at your lips. You’ve seen him push them up the bridge of his nose a thousand times, seen the way he squints when he forgets them, how they somehow make him look both like the smartest and the cutest person in the room.

Curiosity wins. You reach over and pick them up, slipping them onto your face.

Everything is…a little off. The lenses make the room blur at the edges, and you blink rapidly, adjusting. A quiet giggle escapes you. “Wow, how does he even see in these?” you murmur, tilting your head at your reflection in the window.

The door creaks open.

“Babe, I—” Peter stops mid-sentence.

You turn toward him, wide-eyed, and his breath catches in his throat.

He blinks once. Twice. His mouth opens, then closes again as if he’s buffering.

“Pete?” you say, confused by his sudden speechlessness.

“Oh my God,” he mutters under his breath, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Why—why do you look so cute right now? What is happening?”

You snort. “What?”

“No, seriously.” He steps closer, eyes locked on you like you’re a puzzle he’s desperate to solve. “That’s illegal. You can’t just—just put on my glasses and look like that.”

You grin, tilting your head. “Like what?”

“Like the most adorable human to ever exist?” He groans dramatically, dropping onto the couch beside you and burying his face in your shoulder. “This isn’t fair. I wasn’t prepared for this.”

You laugh, tugging the glasses off. “So what you’re saying is I should wear them all the time?”

Peter lifts his head, eyes soft but full of mischief. “Babe, if you do that, I’m never gonna be able to focus on anything else ever again.”

You smirk, slipping them back on. “Guess you’ll just have to suffer, Parker.”

And judging by the way he grins before pulling you into a kiss, you’re pretty sure he doesn’t mind one bit.

©iamgonnagetyouback౨ৎ please refrain from copying, translating, or reposting any of my work

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tilliebilly · 3 months ago

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tilliebilly · 3 months ago

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tilliebilly · 3 months ago

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thank you cutie!! I did my besttt🩷🩷🩷

Tipsy

Pairing: Hufflepuff! Reader x Mattheo Riddle

Synopsis: You find Mattheo passed outoutside of his common room after curfew.

CW: fluff, drunk Mattheo, mentions of partying, mentions of hooking up, alcohol, female reader.

Author's note: This is my first ever post, so please be kind!! But also, feedback is appreciated, just don't be mean please hahah!!

I startle awake, ignoring the ache of my cheek from pressing it against my potions book as I hastily look at the thin, golden watch on my arm. 10:07. I had to put away the borrowed books and return to my dorm before Mr Filch and Mrs Norris realised I was in the library after curfew. Merlin, this is what I get for studying after I only slept for two hours the night before. In my defense, my two drunk roommates kept me up all night.

After considering just going back to sleep and getting detention in the morning, I drowsily stack all the books together and leave them in the return bin. I’m pretty sure that I accidentally left my favourite quill in one of the books, but having to go through all of them again honestly sounds more tiresome than running laps around the school, so I figure I could probably borrow one from Hannah - she always has spares!

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On the way back to my dorm, the sound of loud music slightly wakes me up, and I remember the big party that the Slytherin house is hosting. Lorenzo had invited me, but he has also been very clear about what actually happens at those parties in the past and just the thought makes me shiver.

My heart drops when I notice a figure sitting down outside of their common room, and figuring it has to be Mr Filch, I attempt to do some type of ninja-spy-jump to avoid him seeing me. It was probably never that good of a plan in the first place, but the fact that I don’t stick the landing doesn’t make it any better. I slip on my way down, falling onto my back. I attempt to suppress groaning from the pain to not wake him up, but it seems like the fall was loud enough because he quickly stirs awake.

To my relief, the boy staring back at me definitely isn’t Mr Filch. Like, definitely isn’t. I’m not even sure how I managed to believe that.

“Mm… [name]?” The boy stirs, eyes squinted as he looks at me. I push myself onto my feet, caressing my sore back. My face heats up immediately as I realise who I’ve just embarrassed myself in front of, and I’m sure he can see how red I am even in the dark. I'm surprised he recognised me so quickly, but I suppose that isn't that odd considering how long we've known each other.

“Sorry, Mattheo… gosh, I didn’t mean to wake up!” I attempt to read his expression, but it’s hard to see anything with the shadows cast over him. Not many people know this, but his dad is actually he-who-must-not-be-named. Which I only know since my father is his most loyal follower. “I’m really sorry, I uh… I thought you were Mr Filch.” I explain, waving my hands around erratically as I step closer to him. If Mattheo got upset with me (and he gets upset quite easily) I could get in huge trouble with my family, so I pray to Merlin he’s too drunk to care.

He sighs but shakes his head. “S’alright… but you seriously thought I was Mr Filch? Do we look alike or what?” He chuckles now, making me let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I furrow my eyebrows, realising he was sleeping... right outside his common room? Outside of his own party? “What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, sliding against the wall to sit down next to him. He reeks of alcohol, but considering my roommates, it’s nothing I’m not used to.

He groans, rubbing his hand over his forehead. “Enz kicked me out… and’m not feeling too good.”

“He kicked you out? Isn’t it your party?” He clutches his stomach, and it looks like he’s about to throw up, but he inhales sharply and relaxes again. “Do you need some water? I have a bottle in my bag, wait.” I mumble, scrambling through my leather bag. Oh look, there’s my quill! I pull out a light pink tumbler, gently pushing it into his arms. He looks at it, then at me, before smirking.

“Is this just an excuse to get us to kiss?” He slurs his words slightly, but it’s still clear what he says. ”Not that I have anything against it.” My cheeks immediately go red from the way he tilts his head and nudges at my shoulder with a grin.

“Alright, you’re really drunk.” I chuckle, looking away from him. “Try to drink; it’ll get you to sober up.” He nods, opening it with a *click* and bringing it towards his lips. He gulps, and some water spills out and runs down his sharp jaw, down to his neck. After drinking what looks like the whole bottle, he places it between his legs and wipes his swollen lips with the back of his hand.

“Thanks,” He mumbles, and this time it looks like he’s blushing. He’s clearly still intoxicated, though, so it isn’t odd. “I uh… I beat up some guy. I don’t even remember why. I think he looked at me weird? Anyway, Enzo didn’t want me to scare away the ladies so he told me I could go sober up out here.” He explains, leaning his head back towards the wall. My eyes are still focused on the water droplet hanging onto his jawline that he didn’t manage to wipe away.

“Oh,” I reply, finally looking away from him. It wasn’t unusual for Mattheo to get irritated and it definitely wasn’t unusual for him to get in fights, but beating someone up because they looked at you weird is a bit too much. I mean, of course, you shouldn’t beat anyone up, but you get my point! “Well, when are you going to be let back in? Do you know it’s past curfew?”

He looks down at me with a mocking grin, raising his eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Well, why are you out so late then, miss goody two-shoes?”

“I fell asleep in the library,” I shrug. “Are you going to have to sleep here the whole night?” I ask carefully, my heart aching a bit from how in pain he looks.

He nods. “I think his plan was for me to get caught by Mr Filch. He’s evil, man.”

“Don’t say that, Lo’s my friend! I’m sure he just… was worried about you.” Mattheo looks at me with disbelief before shaking his head.

“Maybe,” He mumbles, pulling a hand through his tousled hair. “But I sure could use a bucket right now.” He slurs, once again clutching his stomach.

I hate myself for what I’m about to ask. All I really wanted was just to go to sleep. But I couldn’t just leave him here, right? I mean, I’ve never been drunk myself, but I’m sure having Mr Filch shout at you while having a hangover isn’t nice. “Do you uhm… do you… want to come back to my dorm?” I suggest, giving him a small smile. Plus, I guess, some part of me wouldn't mind hanging out with him again. And with 'some part', I really mean my whole heart. I really miss spending time with him.

He laughs slightly, looking at me with droopy eyes. “Are you flirting with me, miss goody two-shoes?”

This time, I can tell he notices my blushing because his eyes fixate on my cheeks with a smile. “What? No! No, no. That wasn’t what I meant, I promise! I just… you know, I was trying to be..” I trail off, fiddling with my nails. “…nice,” I look up at him, and he looks back at me, nodding slowly. He leans towards me slightly, and I notice a bruise on his right eyebrow. I also notice how his eyes dart down to my lips as he licks his. He leans in a bit more, and I back away with wide eyes. “You know, if you needed to sober up is all I meant. And I have a bucket!” I smile as he snaps back into reality.

“Oh, right. Well, could you carry me there? M’so tired.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, of course, easy peasy!” I laugh, standing up to give him a hand.

He takes it, pulling himself up. His weight makes me stumble away. “I could probably carry you. You’re so much smaller than me.” He smiles sleazily, and I cringe at his suggestion. I'm sure he's just thinking aloud, though. Plus, he isn't even really that tall.

“Maybe. Let’s just get going, okay?”

He nods, and I can’t help but laugh at how he stumbles forward, eyes focused on his feet. It looks like he’s balancing on a tightrope!

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I open my dorm door gently, knowing it usually creaks. I’m not afraid of waking up my roommates, both of them are at the party we just left, but I am afraid of Hannah hearing. She’s been having trouble sleeping lately, and her dorm is right next to ours. We aren’t really known for sneaking people into our dorms, especially Slytherin people, and she would probably give me detention just for 'tarnishing the Hufflepuff reputation. '

“Right, come on in,” I whisper, holding the door open for him. He steps in carefully, immediately sitting down on my roommate, Charlotte’s bed. “You can lie down over here, come on,” I help pull him up and guide him over to my bed. “Do you want me to get a bucket? I don’t want you throwing up on the carpet.” He nods with a groan. I quickly pick up my steel bin, pulling off the plastic bag and giving it to him.

“[Name],” He sighs, looking at me with disbelief. “This has holes in it, it would… leak.” He pushes the mesh bin back into my arms, and I put it back, grabbing the actual bucket lying under Rachel’s bed. She used it to water her biggest plants, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.

“Right, I’m so sorry! Here you go.” I sit down on the bed next to him. He immediately brings it up to his face, vomiting into it as I rub circles on his back. Rachel always says it helps her. He places it down, careful to not knock it over.

“Are you okay? Do you want some macarons?” I ask, but it’s more of a rhetorical question because before he can answer, I stand up to grab the box of macarons I had intended to give to the first years. But I could always bake more! I place the box in his lap with a tired smile. “Eating makes the alcohol go away quicker, I think.”

“Merlin, my head hurts.” He groans, opening the box.

“Yeah, well that’s what you get for drinking.” I shrug, and he rolls his eyes with a grin as he picks up one of the macarons. I look at him patiently as he chews. Smiling with anticipation for what he was going to say about them. The best thing about baking was hearing people's opinions. As long as it was praise, of course. I would cry if anyone told me my baking was bad.

He furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“Did you like them?” I beam, shaking my leg.

He laughs, placing a hand on my leg to stop it from shaking. I go red from his touch, but he only grins wider at the sight. “I really liked them.” He hums, moving his hand from my leg to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

I swear to Merlin, I could die right now. He seriously looks like an angel. His messed up, curly hair is suddenly lying perfectly, and the blueish light creeping out from the top of my window is cast on him like a halo. His slightly teary eyes from the alcohol make it look like they’re shining, and I doubt anyone has ever been this handsome. His hand lingers on my cheek before he pulls away. “Thanks.” I mumble with a small smile.

“Where are your roommates anyway?” His words are being more coherent, and he’s almost not slurring at all anymore.

“They’re at the party. I doubt they’ll be back until tomorrow, they’re both terrified of Mrs Norris,” I laugh, thinking back at the time Charlotte had screamed when she saw a Maine Coon strolling around the halls when I was helping her sneak out. Turns out it was just a Ravenclaw’s lost cat. “So you can rest if you’d like. I’m sure Charlotte wouldn’t mind if I borrowed her bed.” I yawn as he quickly grabs for the bucket again to spew into. It’s hard to find someone attractive when they’re puking their guts out every other minute, but oddly enough, I do.

He places it down again before glancing at me. I wonder for a moment if he's waiting for me to stand up so that he could lie down with how intent his gaze is. But then he smiles, his gaze still unwavered. "You look really pretty."

"I do?" I ask carefully. He moves closer until our legs touch. He leans down until he can make eye contact without looking down. On second thought, maybe he is quite tall.

"Mhm." His eyes dart down to my lips again, but this time, my eyes do the same. He grabs at my waist, pulling me towards him even more, and I let him.

It feels like my heart is going to jump out of my chest. Like, seriously, is it supposed to beat this fast? "Thank you." I breathe, and we're silent for a moment, only leaving space for my thumping heart, which I'm sure he's close enough to hear, too.

He then swallows, biting his lip. "I want to kiss you." His voice his hoarse as his hand cups my cheek. I didn't hear him correctly; I couldn't have.

"Sorry?"

He pulls me in by my face as an answer, gently pressing his lips to mine. The hand on my waist slides to my back, pushing me even closer to him. He smiles into the kiss when I grab onto his shoulders, pushing myself farther up. He tastes like alcohol mixed with the sweetness of my macaron, and with the way he nibbles on my top lip, it feels like he wants to eat me, too. He pulls away, and it takes a moment before he opens his eyes. But the way he looks at me after, it makes me feel like the kiss traveled all the way from my lips to my stomach and sprouted into butterflies. The hand on my cheek moves down to my waist, and he pushes me towards him until I'm sitting in his lap.

I flinch when he releases his hold on me, instead using his hands to pull his shirt over his head. I quickly shift away from him to stand up. He furrows his eyebrows, but I just move away from him even more when he reaches out his arms towards me. "I... need to put on pyjamas." I manage to muster before scurrying into the loo.

I actually just kissed Mattheo Riddle. And I liked it. And I think he wanted to hook up with me. Goodness, this is a lot. Not in a million years could I have anticipated that my first kiss was going to be with Voldemort's son- or, he-who-must-not-be-named, I'm sorry, I'm nervous. I mean, of course, I've thought about it and dreamt about it a few times, but it was more of a fantasy than anything else. He did want to hook up, right? He didn't just take off his shirt because he got hot? Oh no, maybe he did. And if so, I was totally super weird for no reason.

I exhale, slipping into silk pyjamas before remembering how tired I am. All I have to do is go to bed. I don't even have to say anything to him! Or maybe that's ignoring him. Should I be mad that he assumed I wanted to sleep with him? But again, what if he didn't assume that? Our dorm does get pretty warm. And then I'd be mad for nothing. No, this is something newly-slept me will have to deal with.

I'm relieved when I exit the bathroom to find him sleeping. His shirt is still off, but he's lying on his stomach. I fall onto Charlotte's bed, not even having time to dwell before I fall asleep.

The next morning, Mattheo is gone, and in his place is a passed-out Charlotte who still has her makeup on.

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"I'm serious, Rachel. McGonagall has already removed two house points for your endeavours in the past. How many more is it going to take for you to realise this isn't okay?" Hannah whines, and I do my best to suppress my laughter at Rachel's attempt at feigning innocence.

Rachel groans, crossing her arms like a toddler. "What? This is totally unfair. I swear I didn't go to that party last night! Please, don't give me detention!"

"I'm really sorry! But I have to! If you and Charlotte keep doing this, everyone's going to think Hufflepuff's party a lot, and then McGonagall will take away all of our points, and we'll never win the house cup!"

Rachel rolls her eyes but gives in. "Fine. I'm sorry, Hannah," She mutters. Hannah nods and walks away. "I can't believe this. Like, I'm sorry for trying to have some fun! Is that against the rules?" She whispers to me.

"I don't know. I mean, I don't think you deserve detention, but you don't ever think you might do it too much?" I ask, as gently as possible. Rachel has one of the shortest tempers ever, but honestly, I am a bit worried for her. It's probably been a week since I last saw her in bed in time, and she's always so tired in school.

For some reason, she doesn't argue- instead, her eyes go wide, and it looks like she's nodding to something. I furrow my eyebrows, turning around. To my surprise, it's Mattheo. He's rubbing his neck with one hand, and the other is tucked behind his back. His cheeks are red, and his tie isn't tied properly, but what I notice most is how he seems to be looking everywhere but me.

"Am I interrupting something?" He asks quietly.

I turn around to Rachel, who's shaking her head profusely. "Uh, no. What's wrong?"

"Right then, could I... talk to you?" I nod slowly, and he grabs my arm and pulls me away from Rachel. He swallows harshly before bringing forward the arm he had tucked behind his back. He's holding my pink tumbler! I must've left it outside his common room yesterday. "I found this. It's yours, right?"

I smile brightly, taking it from him. Our fingers touch when I do, and the redness on his cheeks grows. "Yeah! Thank you, gosh, I didn't realise I had left it." I beam, placing it on the bench behind me. He has something else to say, though. And it's one hundred percent about the kiss. I hadn't told my friends yet, but it's the only thing that's been circling through my mind the whole day. How gently he had held me, how he looked in the moonlight. It honestly felt surreal, like it was all just a dream. But then I remember how awkwardly I had run away from him when he took off his shirt, and I'm reminded of how real it was.

"Look, about yesterday. I'm really sorry I... It was so stupid of me." He groans, rubbing his face with his hand. I nod, but it feels like my heart has stopped beating. Of course, he thinks it was a mistake. He was drunk, and we haven't talked to each other in like a year. It was a mistake. But then, why did it feel so right?

"It's fine." Is all I respond with. Of course, I wanted to say more. I wanted to say that I want to kiss him again and that it wasn't stupid at all and that I've had a crush on him since we were kids. Ever since the dance we shared during the pureblood ball a few years ago, where we laughed all evening. And most especially ever since that time he comforted me, crying, after my father told me what the death eaters really did.

He nods, and it looks like he's about to walk away, but he turns around again and finally looks me in the eyes. "No, it's not fine. I was a total jerk to you. I just... I'm not used to girls being that nice to me unless they want to sleep with me. I mean, I know that you don't sleep around. I was just really drunk, and I really liked kissing you, so, you know. Or, ugh, I sound like a dick." He runs a hand through his hair.

I smile. "You liked kissing me?" I raise my eyebrows teasingly, trying to get him to lighten up.

"Well, yeah. I've wanted to..." He cuts himself off and clears his throat before continuing. "Look, I don't want you to think that I think of you as just another girl to hook up with. Because I really don't. I mean, yeah, I was drunk yesterday, but... I've always thought that you are... really beautiful," He mumbles, looking down at his feet. "Even when we were kids I..." He swallows. "I really like you. But I wasn't supposed to kiss you yesterday it... It wasn't supposed to have happened like that..."

I can't believe what he just said. A part of me is telling myself that I'm making this up or that I'm misunderstanding him completely. I feel like my legs are crumbling underneath me, just from how he's looking at me. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it's running towards him, and I don't blame it. I step closer to him, just because it feels right. "How was it supposed to have happened?"

He thinks for a moment. "Up on the astronomy tower. The same time of day, but I wasn't supposed to be drunk. Or in a field during sunset. Or, honestly, anything but what actually happened." He laughs slightly.

Not only does he think I'm beautiful, but he's also thought about kissing me before? I would pinch myself but it seems like my hands are stuck in place, and the only way they can move is towards him. They land on his chest, and I push myself up on my tiptoes. "How about this, then?" I whisper before pressing my lips onto his. He freezes for a moment, but then he grabs the back of my head and presses me into him even more.

He pulls away for a moment, looking at me. "Yeah, this is better." He mumbles, kissing me again.

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tilliebilly · 3 months ago

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Love on Lockdown

Blaise Zabini x reader

Summary: You’ve been locked in with Blaise Zabini one too many times for this to all be accidental

word count: 3k

You had never had an issue with Blaise Zabini. Sure you had never been best friends or the like as he had always been one of the more reserved and quiet ones of the group, but you still enjoyed his company. One might even say you admired the boy’s subtle charm, tact, and top marks in your year. The handsome face didn’t hurt either. All that to say is there were definitely worse people to be locked in the bloody potions ingredient closet with.

“Damn it. The potion will go bad and we’ll have to restart the whole thing if it sits too long,” Blaise grunts, shoving at the door as it scrapes stubbornly against the floor.

The two of you had been taking advantage of the extra credit assignment offered in your potions class, staying late to brew a simple calming draught. All would have been well if not for a certain poltergeist with a penchant for causing mayhem.

It had started with Peeves serenading the both of you with an almost 30 minute long rendition of Hoggy Warty Hogwarts. In opera. When it was clear you both still had most of your sanity in tact, the poltergeist switched tactics to swiping your ingredients when you weren't looking. But this, this really took the cake.

Really you probably should have seen it coming. It was right up Peeves' alley to pull a stunt like this, yet, like fools, you and Blaise had stupidly walked into the ingredient storeroom together in search of another crocodile heart as Peeves had sent the last one flying out the window. As soon as you were inside, the door was swung shut with a loud clang and a gleeful shriek from the meddlesome poltergeist.

“That stupid little- Peeves let us out!" You shout, banging on the door.

It's no use however as you here the poltergeist's laughter fade away.

"I should've let Draco and Matt hex that bloody ghost when they had the chance” you huff in annoyance.

Turning, you light your wand as you browse the shelves. “Aha!” Reaching up, you pluck a wrinkly, rock looking item off the shelf. “One crocodile heart.”

“Wonderful. Lot of good it’ll do us while we’re in here, and our potion is out there.” Blaise mutters, pointing his wand at the door’s lock again.

You ignore him, going instead to examine the door yourself.

“It’s not locked, just jammed shut,” Blaise says, leaning back.

“How cross do you think they’ll be if we just blast the thing off its hinges?” You ask, examining the rusted metal.

“You’re joking. You’ve been spending far too much time with Matt and Draco. That’s a horrible i-“

“Diffindo”

With two clean flicks of your wand, the door is off its hinges and on the ground with a loud thud. The both of you look at the door, then at each other.

“Well, at least we won’t have to start the potion over,” you say finally, stepping over the fallen door and making your way over to the potion station where your project is still a glistening shade of blue.

“Bloody hell,” you hear Blaise mumble as he joins you.

You almost miss the sly smile he tries to suppress.

“Do try not to get yourself all locked up,” Mattheo shouts after you with a cackle as you make your way toward the old shack that housed the Hogwarts quidditch supplies.

“Oh remind me why I volunteered to help you again?” You shout back, flipping the boy off. Rancid bastard.

Ever since you and Blaise had, against both of your better judgement, told your friends what had happened that day in the potions classroom that landed you both a week’s detention, they hadn’t let you forget it. Propping the door open with an old broom, you begin digging through the old junk. You didn’t even know why they found it so amusing. Realistically the whole situation had only lasted a few minutes at most, hardly note worthy in your opinion. On top of that, it had been several weeks since the incident. Initially you had thought it would blow over rather quickly, but here Mattheo was, still poking fun at it.

The only silver lining of the whole situation was that you and Blaise had actually begun seeing each other outside of group settings in order to escape the near constant teasing. It was strange. You couldn’t remember another time they were this caught up on a bit.

“Need help?”

Feeling a light tap on the shoulder and with the sudden noise, you let out a yelp, backing into the rack behind you. A box of quaffles goes flying, dislodging the broom holding the door in place, and slamming the door shut.

“Sorry,” Blaise says awkwardly, glancing around the cramped shed guiltily.

“Oh it’s fine. Just spooked me a bit is all. Didn’t hear you come in,” you reply as you continue your search through the jumbled supplies.

“I’d be surprised if we actually find any more beater’s bats in here. Mattheo has been running through the things lately. Has to be the third one broken this month,” Blaise comments as he begins to help rummage about.

“Maybe he should start taking notes from your book then. You haven’t busted through a single bat yet this season, but somehow Mattheo is single handedly running Quality Quidditch Suppiles out of supplies,” you reply in exasperation.

Blaise lets out a small laugh. He’d been doing that a lot more lately; and every time, you could feel your heart start pounding in your chest.

“That’s what I’ve been telling him, but you know how he is. Doesn’t listen to shit. Oh look!”

Before you have the chance to turn to see what he’s on about his chest presses against you as he reaches up and over you. Out of the corner of your eyes you can see his toned, muscular arms around you and you try not to stare.

“Probably the last set in this dump,” Blaise says, pulling a box of the very top shelf.

You take a gulp, composing yourself.

“Oh perfect. Let’s get out of here,” you reply, turning to open the shed door.

It doesn’t budge. You try again, harder this time. Nothing.

“Oh for Salazar’s sake,” Blaise mutters, dropping the box on the floor as he too tries shoving the door open.

“They are so never going to let us live this down,” you groan as you both pound on the door.

After a minute you both slump to the floor, staring up a the blasted wooden rectangle. You look at the door, then at Blaise, and slowly begin to reach for your wand.

“I could always just-“

“Absolutely not. One week of detention with Snape was enough for me, thanks,” Blaise interrupts, snatching your wand from your hand.

“Oh, I was only joking. Mostly. I’ll be careful this time,” you protest, leaning over to snatch your wand back. “Come on, give it back.”

Blaise just leans away further, another laugh escaping him as he holds your wand further out of reach.

“Blaise, please,” you laugh, leaning into him further.

It only takes a moment for your eyes to meet his, and for his eyes to flicker down to your lips before you realize just how close the two of you are. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he lets out an awkward cough, pulling away slightly.

“Sorry.” Blaise clears his throat, handing your wand back. “Anyway, we’ve been gone a bit, the others’ll come looking for us. No point blasting the door down.”

“Right,” you agree, suddenly finding the ground to be rather fascinating.

Shockingly, it doesn't take the rest of the day for your friends to come and rescue you, but you don't particularly care for the look on Mattheo's face when the door to the shed is finally pried open.

"Not one word Riddle."

“Do you hear that?” You ask, stopping in your tracks as you try to pinpoint where the sound was coming from.

“What, the cat screaming bloody murder?” Blaise asks seeming rather uninterested.

The two of you were on your way down to the library to study for the upcoming charms exam. And also to escape the chaos that seemed to follow Mattheo and Draco wherever they went.

“Yes, but listen. That’s Pansy’s cat. Darn thing probably got itself stuck in one of the passage ways again,” you sigh, making your way over to the wall of paintings that the meows of distress seemed to be coming from.

“That sounds like Pansy’s problem if you ask me,” Blaise says, but he still follows you over.

“You see a cat sneak through here?” You ask a painting of a rather disgruntled looking knight.

“Yeah. Blasted thing ‘as been screaming behind ‘ere for ages,” he replies.

“We’ll get him, open up.”

“Wouldn’t if I were you, but suit yourselves,” the knight says matter of factly before swinging open to reveal a narrow passage way and Pansy’s cat scratching manically at the walls.

You gesture for Blaise to follow you as you step over the threshold, coaxing the cat towards you. It only takes a bit of convincing before the grey tabby is securely in your arms. As you go to leave however, you find that your feet are strangely locked in place.

“What the-“

Next to you, Blaise tries taking a step towards the exit as well, only to find that he too was locked in place.

“For the love of fucking Salazar, you’ve got to be joking,” he says finally after a bit of struggle.

“What do you think it is? Epoximise?” You ask, straining to try and see if you could see anything sticking you in place.

“Likely. Would be nice right about now to be studying for that charms exam so we knew how to undo it.”

You’re about to cut your losses and begin screaming for help when the portrait door swings open once more revealing one Mattheo Riddle. His smug grin falls when he sees the two of you glaring back at him. You were going to murder him.

“Oh shit.”

“What in Salazar’s name did you do Riddle?” You ask between gritted teeth.

“Okay hear me out, let it go on record now, this wasn’t intended for you two,” the boy says sheepishly. “Blaise’ll thank me later though,” he says under his breath, quietly enough that you don’t quite catch it.

Blaise does however, and you see his hand tighten around his wand.

“Cut to it Riddle,” he snaps.

“Sorry, sorry! I might have been playing a little prank on Pansy. And Malfoy. They started it though! It wasn’t my fault!”

“Mattheo-“

“Alright! I was messing around with that sticking charm from class, did a little meddling, made it so I could set it up like a little, ah, what’s it called? A mouse trap! But with the cat instead of cheese. Obviously.”

“Just tell us how to get out! Salazar Matt, we didn’t ask for your whole evil plan,” you exclaim in exasperation.

“Oh! Real simple, just need a kiss!” Matt replies, looking rather pleased with himself.

“Really Matt? A kiss?”

“It wasn’t meant for you two! It was for Pansy and Draco!”

“Oh my god, you’re not even creative. Mistletoe. You just made magical mistletoe,” you say in frustration.

“What?”

“Nothing! It’s a muggle thing.”

Before you can lose your nerve, you reach up quickly, grabbing Blaise’s tie and pulling him down. Your lips are only touching for a few seconds before you let the boy go and, with your newly freed feet, rush out of the passage way.

“Immobulus,” you mutter as you stomp past Mattheo who freezes in place.

As soon as you’re out, Pansy’s cat leaps from your arms, scurrying off.

“We really just going to leave him there?” Blaise asks, following you out.

“That sounds like Mattheo’s problem if you ask me,” you reply, hoping Blaise hadn’t noticed quite how flushed your face still was.

He just lets out another low laugh as the two of you continue on your way to the library, both trying to ignore the way your fingers kept brushing as you walked.

"That's a muggle game. I thought you lot were supposed to despise everything to do with muggles. Wait, actually, where did you all even learn what seven minutes in heaven is?" you ask in confusion, watching with bewilderment as your friends situate themselves in a rather crude looking circle.

Your eyes can’t help but find Blaise who looks completely unbothered by all this, despite his usual aversion to these little games that Pansy so loved to drag everyone into. You weren’t quite sure what was going on between the two of you, and you weren’t entirely sure if you desperately wanted to be locked in the closet again with the boy, or if you wanted to run the hell away.

Pansy places an empty bottle of fire whisky in the middle and beckons you to take a seat next to her.

"Does it really matter where we learned it from? Come sit," she says, brushing off your concern.

And that's how you had ended up here. Pressed up against the wall, in the dark, with your arms wrapped around Blaise's neck, his hand covering your mouth as he pressed kisses down your throat.

One moment you were both protesting as your friends all shoved you into yet another closet, confiscating your wands, and locking the door. And the next, Blaise was whispering in your ear as his hands made their way to your waist and you melted into him.

It was definitely not what you had expected to happen. You had no idea where the sudden burst of confidence from Blaise had come from, but you weren’t about to complain.

"If we're going to be stuck here, we might as well make the most of it, no?" he had murmured, tilting your head up with one hand, forcing your eyes to meet before slowly, carefully pressing his lips to yours.

You didn't pull away and that seemed to be all the encouragement Blaise needed as he pressed your bodies together. You could feel your heart trying to beat out of your chest as his lips moved against yours, warm and soft, mind turning to a muddy haze.

You barely register the gasp that escapes your lips as Blaise begins to trail kisses down your neck, and don't even bother to fight back as his hand presses against your mouth with a low laugh before he continues back up, finally meeting your lips again.

It all comes to a shattering stop though when the banging starts.

"Hey! Knock knock love birds! Time to open up!"

And just like that, you're momentarily blinded as light rushes back into closet and you hope to Salazar that you're some semblance of put together.

It had been a long fucking week and all you wanted to do was collapse onto your bed and cuddle your damn boyfriend. Was that too much to ask?

"Go, go, go, go, go," you hiss, racing into your dorm room, Blaise hot on your heels.

As soon as you're both in the room, you slam the door shut and turn the lock with a hasty "Colloportus".

"Think they saw us?" Blaise asks, pulling you onto the bed and into his arms.

"I don't care. I just want like, ten minutes without hearing Draco and Mattheo and Theo and Enzo fighting like wild grindylows," you groan, burying your face in the boy's chest.

The boys had begun trying to drag you into their latest scheme and you simply wanted nothing to do with it. You weren’t even entirely sure what the whole plot of their scheme was as you had been actively ignoring most of what they were saying at dinner. All you knew was no matter how many times you or Blaise told them that locking Draco and Pansy in a closet together on purpose was actually a horrible idea, they wouldn't listen.

"At least you're not the one who shares a dormitory with them," Blaise remarks with a laugh. “They were going on about how I’m ‘an expert’ at not knowing how to properly function a door earlier.”

"Yoohoo! We know you two are in there!" Matt's voice calls from the other side of the door.

"And here we see Blaise and y/n in their natural habitat. A locked room." Theo quips as the other boys fall into a mix of laughter and other jabs.

"Maybe if we pretend we died, they'll get bored and go away," you mutter, hoping the obnoxious train wreck outside your door couldn't hear.

"Perhaps we didn't properly appreciate all the time we spent all locked up. Only way to get some peace and quiet in this castle," Blaise agrees as the knocking on your door continues.

"Alohomora!"

The door slams open revealing a very smug looking Draco surrounded by his accomplices.

"Oh good, we were worried you might being doing something nasty," Enzo says, inviting himself and the other boys in.

Oh perfect, the circus had arrived with its clowns.

"As we were saying before you two so rudely escaped, we were thinking, since my whole cat trap didn't exactly go as planned, do you two have any ideas on how we can get Pansy locked up with Draco? Since it worked out so well for you?" Matt asks.

You glare at the intruders.

"Get. Out."

"Fine, fine, just asking! Thought you might want to help a ferret out," Matt says, raising his hands in surrender as he now has you and Draco both glaring daggers at him.

"Out."

"We're going, we're going," he replies as he and the other boys slowly begin filing out.

"And lock the door behind you!" Blaise calls out as the door finally slams shut. "Salazar those buggers don't know when to shove off."

"I don't even want to think about them," you reply rolling your eyes before pressing your lips to his.

You really needed to start looking into a better locking charm.

Anotha year, anotha Hogmarch challenge from @thatdammchickennugget

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tilliebilly · 3 months ago

Text

was listening to lover n the lyrics ‘you’ll save all your dirtiest jokes for me’ n it’s soooo percy n his sweet girl coded!!!!!

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

“do you know what else is hard?”

you groan. “stopppp! stop stop stop! you’re such a child!”

you hand collided with percy’s head harshly. he winces, though despite the pain laughs at your antics.

“a child?”

“yes, a child! I can never have a normal conversation with you without one of your crude comments!”

“sorry, I’m sorry, sweet girl.” percy pecks your lips to soothe the anger within you. “I’m listenin’ now, continue.”

“well it was very difficult… it took me only twenty minutes though. do ya wanna see it after? I colored coded it all so it’s cute!”

“sure, I’ll take a look later.” he rubs his hands up the skin of your waist tauntingly. you ignore it. at the same time, he begins to kiss your neck.

“remind me then.” you place your hand gently on the back of his head.

“mhm. ya smell different, sweet girl— new perfume?”

“no, body wash. I switched from the strawberry to vanilla. they were out of strawberry.”

“I thought I was your body wash.”

you sigh. “percy…”

“sweet girl…” you feel his smile against your skin.

you don’t respond to this. because you know that he knows that you’re response will not be kind.

“anyways…” you suck in a deep breath. “I’m making cinnamon rolls later. I found a new icing recipe and I’m excited to use it.”

“can I taste test?”

“sure.”

“though if I can add a suggestion— they’d taste great if you used your icing instead.”

you ponder that statement for a moment. the cabin is completely silent minus percy’s pecks. and soon your gasp breaks through.

“perseus jackson, you are such a fucking weirdo!”

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