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#hp au fanfics
wreckofawriter · 7 months
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Only If You Catch Me
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pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader
summary: fred had always been frustrated by your endeavors with other men, especially other men that always looked quite a bit like him. after a disastrous mistake during quidditch practice you find yourself wondering how you had never seen fred Weasley in the light you saw him in now
word count: 4.4k
warnings: jealousy, language (maybe?), only proof read once so sorry for any mistakes!
a/n: this is my first big piece in ages, I hope you guys enjoy and im so sorry for my prolonged absence i fell off on writing for a while and im just now getting back to it
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Some things were just facts, plain and simple; the sky is blue, two and two is four and you had a type.
“Another ginger I see.” Alicia murmured as you sat down across from her, pints of butter beer clinking together. Your eyes were locked with a pretty freckled boy by the bar. 
You huffed even though she was quite right, this must have been the third redhead that you set sights on this year. “Well William got boring and,” You paused wrinkling your nose, “-pushy” 
The Three Broomsticks was packed, the sounds of chatter and warmth guarding you from the icy cold of the blizzard that had swept through Hogsmeade. You and Alicia had joined the dozens of students seeking cover in the popular pub and quickly snagged a small table near a large fireplace where you now looked out on the sea of flushed faces and smiles. 
“With your type it's a wonder your last name isn’t Weasley.” Your friend chuckled and you laughed. 
“If I could have gotten my hands on Charlie, it would be.” You replied, your silly crush on the older Weasley brother lasting from your first year to what you were sure would be your last. 
Alicia giggled, taking a large swig from her pint, licking the foam off her top lip. “Why not one of the twins then?”
“What twins?” A voice asked from behind you.
“She couldn’t be talking about us now could she, Georgie?” Fred jested.
“No no,” The other replied, “I mean what could Spinnet possibly want from us?”
Alicia rolled her eyes with great effort, “Trust me when I say I want nothing to do with you. As for my friend here, I don't know if I can say the same.” she said with a smug grin and you sent her a furious look.
Fred smirked, leaning over the back of your chair, his large palms ghosting your shoulders, “Is that true? Do you need something from us?” He leaned in even further, his nose brushing your hair, “from me?”
You began to look a bit red as he pulled away, “Please Weasley,” you managed to scoff “since when do I need things from you? In fact, I believe you still have my Charms notes.”
Fred had come to stand in front of you now, George joining his side, “It's just that your notes are so much better for writing Flitwick’s essay. ” He argued. 
“You don’t even take notes.” You said, exasperated. 
“Exactly” The twins replied in unison. 
Alicia snickered beside you.
Chairs appeared and Fred and George sat. The table seemed half the size it was before as Fred's elbow knocked against yours.
“Made yourselves at home have you?” You spoke, wincing.
Fred just grinned and leaned purposefully closer, thighs now brushing.
You slid towards Alicia who was turning a laugh into a cough and set your eyes back on the boy with freckles. 
“You headed to the Slytherin match next weekend?” Alicia asked absently.
“Of course.” George replied, “I’ve bet Lee a galleon that Malfoy catches a bludger with his nose.” he chuckled,  “He reckons it’ll be his gut.” 
You all smiled at the idea, no one hated Malfoy more than those on the Gryffindor quidditch team. 
“We also have business to do.” Fred said, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously.
“You don't have any more of those nosebleed nougats do you?” You asked, eyes still across the room, “I’ve got to get out of Binns’ class tomorrow.” 
Alicia's eyebrows shot up, you hardly missed History of Magic, or as you liked to call it, nap hour. “Why's that?”. 
“No reason.” You mumbled, intently staring into your butterbeer. 
Fred’s eyes darted between the two of you. 
“Of course we’ve got some.” grinned George, oblivious, “2 sickles a pei-.”
“Or for free if you tell us what you're up to.” Fred interrupted, catching a strange look from his brother. 
“I'm not up to anything!” You gasped with a bit too much enthusiasm. 
Alicias eyes had narrowed to slits and Fred had never looked more unconvinced. 
Your face began to grow hot and you found yourself wishing you had more grace in the act of lying.
“Oh come off it,” George said, “If she wants to snog Murphy instead of hearing about the seventh generation of goblin rebellions, who are we to judge?” 
You were glowing pink now, sending a vicious look at George who had taken to sipping his drink innocently. 
Fred looked appalled, his face contorted like he had just caught a whiff of something horrible, “Murphy!” 
“Keep your voice down.” You hissed angrily, glazing across the room again to be sure he hadn’t heard, “I'm trying to keep it quiet.” 
Fred was fuming, “Who wouldn’t, swapping spit with a git like that.” 
You scoffed, pulling out a small coin purse, “Can I just have some nougat?”
“Nope.” Fred responded, voice suddenly ferocious, “We’re out.”
You were beginning to grow frustrated, “George just said you had some.”
Fred glared at you, “We’re out.” he repeated his nose high in the air.
You turned to George looking for help but he threw you an I’m-not-getting-into-this look and you were forced to round back on Fred. 
You glared at each other for a moment before Fred caved, "Fine we’ve got some,” He huffed, “Three Galleons.” 
Your mouth dropped, “George said 2 sickles!”
He crossed his arms, “They’re in high demand.”
You stood, chair flying back into the wall with a loud crack, “You’re a complete prick.” you said sharply snatching your bag and sweeping past Fred and over to meet Finn Murphy  who was now standing to leave the pub. 
“Well I think you handled that well.” Alicia said, grinning at Fred who looked as though he had been slapped. 
George, who looked all too happy with himself for instigating such an interesting conversation, helped himself to the remains of your butterbeer as you and Murphy bowed out into the flurry of white followed closely by Fred’s glare.
“Looks as though she's gonna snog every redhead at school before you.” Alicia snicked. 
“Yeah,” George snorted, “You might want to keep an eye on Ginny.”
Alicia giggled even harder, pressing a hand to her lips in an attempt to keep her drink in her mouth. 
Fred could hardly hear them, too busy envisioning your latest with large boils all over his face or perhaps vomiting indefinitely. 
Alicia managed to contain herself and shot Fred a sympathetic glance, “I've been trying you know, I keep bringing you up but she seems far more interested in Charlie.” 
“Charlie!” He guffawed, “But he's been gone for ages!”
“Well he seemed to have made quite the impression.” Alicia chuckled. 
“He was captain when she was appointed to the team.” George pointed out. 
“Yeah when she was TWELVE” Fred gasped. 
Alicia couldn’t help it, she had started laughing again, “Relax,” She spoke between breaths, “It’s just a silly school girl crush.” 
Fred looked unconvinced and began to tap his heel incessantly against the floor.
“Take it as a complement!” She continued, “Charlie looks quite a bit like you, I mean you are related after all.” 
Fred was not taking it as pleasantly as she suggested and began to rap his foot on the ground even faster, “We’ve got to do something.” 
“We?” George snorted, “This is all you mate. I’m not the one in love with her.” 
Freds ears grew pink, “I’m not in love with her!” he sputtered. 
“Whatever you say.” Alicia spoke rolling her eyes.
The truth was that if Fred wasn't in love with you, he was so close he may as well have been. At the very least he had been pining after you for years and he had never been particularly quiet about it. In fact he was the opposite of quiet about it. His flirtatious remarks and dazzling complements were quite consistent. Unfortunately so was his coursing jealousy as you paraded around with boy after boy who was not him.  Every year he swore would be the year. The year where you finally realized it was him you needed and all would be right in Fred's world. But time and time again he failed as you walked out the door with a different redhead. He was growing nervous, his seventh year was upon him and this may be his last chance before you were all carted off in different directions never to see each other again. The frustration of it all was turning him bitter.
That night Fred lay awake on his four-poster, staring at the ceiling venomously. What was it? He wondered, What was it that he didn't have that every other ginger you knew seemed to possess? Why was it never him pulling you into broom closets and meeting you after classes? What was he doing wrong? His thoughts spun until he drifted into an uneasy slumber. 
By the time he arrived at the quidditch pitch for practice the next morning, the rest of the team was already changing into their robes as Angilina scribbled vigorously on the chalkboard in front of them, already changed and ready. 
“Fred!” She shouted watching him try to sneak his way into the bustle of the team unnoticed, “What took so long? I was beginning to think I would have to send George back up to wake you.” 
He shrugged, “Sorry Cap, I didn’t get much sleep last night if you know what I mean.” he winked at her and she looked sorely unamused. 
You on the other hand perked up at the insinuation, finally looking at the twin who, in protest of his behavior the day before, you had been ignoring. 
“She gets what I mean,” He smirked nodding towards you, “Up late with Murphy boy last night?” He asked viciously. 
You flushed as the changing room filled with chuckles. 
“Murphy?” Angelina asked, turning to you, “Isn’t he a bit,” She paused, “dim?” 
You scowled at Fred silently before snatching your broom from the rack and marching so quickly out onto the pitch that you hadn’t even noticed you had hit Harry in the temple with its handle. 
As Potter groaned in pain and fixed his askew glasses Fred looked over to Alicia who was shaking her head slightly. As the rest of the team slowly followed you out onto the field she and George made their way towards him. 
“You’re an idiot.” Alicia groaned, “No wonder she won’t go out with you.”  
George chuckled.
Fred glared at the pair, “It’s not my fault she insists on only snogging boys who are 'a bit dim.'" he spoke, mocking Angelina.
“I know that this may be hard to wrap your head around,” Alicia spoke sharply, “But maybe she went out with Murphy because he was, ya know, nice to her.” She then shouldered past the twins leaving Fred gapping at his brother desperately. 
The day was crisp, the heavy licks of winter drawn in by a bitter wind. But the sky was clear and the sun was out, much to everyone’s appreciation. 
Fred mounted his broom still angry, feeling foolish for upsetting you yet again as you stood with your back to him defiantly. 
The whistle blew and the balls were released as the team kicked off, snow flying in all directions as you did so. 
Fred's head was not in practice as it should have been but instead on you, watching you speed towards the goal posts with the quaffle already under your arm. You scored easily on Ron with a feign left.
Fred was so absorbed in you that he had completely forgotten about the bludgers, one of which was hurtling at him with frightening speed. With little time to react he swung his bat wildly and pitched the bludger in the opposite direction, which with a sickening feeling he realized was right at you. 
He tried to shout but you must not have heard him over the howling of wind in your ears. Because when the bludger struck you heavily between the shoulder blades you were completely unprepared. Your vision danced as the air was knocked from your lungs. You were flung from your broom with a shriek and began to plummet.
Fred streamed after you, urging his broom towards the ground with a frightening speed. His Cleansweep shuttered under the immense pressure he suddenly held it in and never before had Fred wished so badly for Potters Firebolt. 
He managed to get beneath you mere feet from the ground. The force at which you hit him knocked you both into the snow with a heavy thud, and there was a sickening sound as his broom snapped in two. 
Neither of you moved for a moment, the snow settling around you and beginning to melt through your robes. 
“Are you alright?” Fred asked and was struck with panic when you did not respond. He sat up quickly pulling you with him, your legs tangled together in the snow. He called your name desperately, hands holding your face as you lay limp in his arms. 
Angelina landed beside the pair followed closely by George and Alicia both of whom were wearing nervous expressions. 
“Y/n!” Fred shouted again, tears stinging his eyes, fear gripping his throat like a vice. He was moments away from shaking you when your eyes slowly peeled open. 
“Fred?” You mumbled, confused. 
The boy let out a barking laugh of relief and then dove into a hug, almost knocking you back to the ground. 
Bewildered, you returned his embrace and realized quite suddenly how much larger than you Fred really was. You practically disappeared into his chest, his broad shoulders shielding you from the wind that whipped across the pitch. You felt frighteningly warm listening to his heart beat quickly beneath his robes. Your cheeks were hot as he pulled away from you and began to search for any look of pain or damage on your face. 
“Are you alright love?” He asked again and was washed with relief when you nodded. 
As you fully realized what was going on around you, you gasped, pulling the handle of Fred's broom out of the snow.
“Your broom!” You looked horrified, “Fred, your broom broke!” 
Fred on the other hand brushed it off helping you to your feet and beginning to pat the snow off your robes, “It’s alright, I’m sure it's fixable.” he shrugged, “Listen, I am so s-”
But before Fred could finish his apology George burst between the two of you, “I am so sorry!” He spoke hurriedly, “The bludger caught me off guard. I swear I wasn’t aiming for you.” 
You chuckled, giving George a pat on the shoulder, “I sure hope not, but 's not me you should be apologizing to anyway.” You said, “It's Fred’s broom that broke.”  
George did not issue his brother any regrets and instead sent him a wink, whipping his wand out of robes and shouting “Repairo!”
The broom snapped back together and Angelina, who was desperate to get back in the air, looked to you, “You alright then?” 
You nodded with a grin and turned back to Fred who was testing the strength of his brother's repair. 
“Thank you so much Fred,” You gushed, looking up at him through your lashes. 
The boy's heart skipped a beat, stomach lurching, “It was no problem really.” He breathed and miraculously found you in his arms for the second time as you lunged towards him.
“Thank you.” You murmured into his robes before disconnecting and swiftly boarding your broom again. 
Fred watched you leave struck for a moment. Alicia shot him a thumbs up and a grin before he was able to clumsily climb onto his own broom and follow you back up into the air. 
By dinner the story of your fall had been told and retold so many times that you were now said to have plummeted upwards of a hundred meters before Fred had heroically scooped you onto his own broom, saving what was sure to be your life. 
In the great hall you kept getting asked if you were okay as down the table Fred got clapped on the shoulder and congratulated for his great save. He seemed to be enjoying the new story a fair bit more than you were. 
Finn had come over to ask about you halfway through dinner but you found suddenly that he was no less than boring and he returned to the Hufflepuff table after a few short minutes with a look of disappointment on his face. 
Fred watched this with such delight he was sure he was glowing. George -who he had been applauding as the best wingman one could ask for all day- poked him hard in the side and pointed down the table to where you sat. Fred turned to catch your eyes already on him. He winked exuberantly and you turned away with a scoff, but your cheeks had taken a rather deep shade of red. 
He grinned so wide at George he thought his lips might split, “I mean this is some real progress!” He cheered, “Did you see that? She was staring at me!” 
Down the hall you turned to Alicia, cheeks still pink, “Have you ever noticed how tall Fred is?” You asked so suddenly she choked on her pumpkin juice. 
You stared at her curiously as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve smiling, “Oh yeah very tall.”
You hummed looking back down the table at the elder twin who was now laughing wildly at something Lee had said, “I guess I never really thought about it before.” 
Angilina shot Alicia a glance as you were distracted and the two of them broke out into giggles. 
“What?” You demanded though you were still smiling. 
“Oh nothing.” Angilina grinned and you huffed turning back to your dinner. 
You found yourself wishing Fred had chosen to sit a bit closer to you as you watched a group of girls across from him break out into giggles at something he said, “There's no way he's that funny.” You muttered knowing he in fact was. 
  Yet you couldn’t find yourself being all that jealous as he kept glancing up at you, as if checking to make sure you were still watching him and much to his delight you always were. His shoulders, you noticed from where you sat picking at plum pudding, were quite wide, his arms toned. It was no wonder that he had engulfed you completely out on the pitch. 
How had I never noticed this before? You found yourself wondering. How had he managed to escape your list of potential suitors when he was so obviously perfect for you?
The thought struck you rather abruptly and while you would have liked to have sat with it for a minute, Alicia was standing and you knew it was time to head back to the common room. 
As students began to flood from the hall you fiddled with the sleeves of your robes, thoughts full of brown eyes and freckles . 
As if summoned, Fred appeared at your side grinning widely, “Hello.”
“Hey Fred,” replied Alicia. 
“Have you guys heard the news?” He asked, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You tried hard not to blush and instead shook your head, staring at the floor. “Apparently, you owe me your life.” He was beaming down at you now and you found it hard to look away. 
“Oh yeah?” You smirked, “And I heard it was actually you who hit me with that bludger.” 
His smile disappeared only momentarily and you were happy to see it recover so quickly. 
“Ah well, I figured Angelina wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.” He shrugged, “Though I swear if I had a choice I would have knocked her off her broom instead.” 
And for the first time that evening jealousy took you strongly, “Oh yeah? I suppose she would have been a bit more fun to catch then?” 
Fred looked startled by your bristly reaction, “Nah,” He responded, “That would have been Georgie’s job.” 
You were satisfied with this answer and felt yourself leaning against him as you began up towards the tower.
George was delighted to see you still tucked beneath his brother's arm when you reached the common room. He called you over to where he sat and you placed yourself in a large squishy armchair as Fred perched himself beside you on an ottoman. 
You spent your evening rather uneventfully, finishing an essay for Snape as the Gryffindors slowly filtered off to bed in pairs. When George rose to take himself to the dormitory you expected Fred to follow but instead he stayed rooted by your feet where he now sat cross legged on the carpet looking over what looked like an extensive order form. 
Hours later you yawned, stretching when you finally finished your work. It was now well past midnight and only a few fifth years remained, cramming for a quiz in transfiguration the next day. You turned to look at Fred who had long since sprawled himself across the couch before the fire and found him snoring softly. 
A jolt of infatuation made your stomach flip. His messy hair glowed shockingly bright in the fire light, his pink lips slightly agape. You gathered your things slowly, sure not to wake him before you stood beside him.
You knew you should wake him, you were the reason he had not retreated to bed after all. But he looked so peaceful like this, so soft. Instead you found yourself slowly counting the freckles that sprawled across his cheeks, leaning close to brush a strand of his bright red hair out of his face. He woke immediately at your touch, large brown eyes locking with your own.
You felt your cheeks go hot, “You should go up to bed.” You mumbled beginning to pull away. 
He snatched your wrist with such haste it took you by surprise, “Do that again.” he spoke.
You furrowed your brow, “What?” 
“With my hair,” It was his turn to blush now, “Touch my hair again.” 
It felt as though the air was sucked from your lungs yet you found yourself obeying, fingers coming to comb through the soft waves that spread across his forehead. 
He hummed, leaning into your touch slowly, gaze still locked with yours. The two of you stayed there for a moment, you kneeling beside him fingers in his hair, his hand still loosely wrapped around your wrist. 
“I’m sorry.” He murmured and you looked at him confused. 
“For what?” 
“Hitting you with a bludger.” he responded remorsefully. 
You laughed softly, your head thrown back, “It's okay Fred.” you grinned. You were close now, so close Fred could feel the tickle of your breath on his cheek, “I forgive you. You made up for it after all.” 
He smirked in spite of himself, “I suppose I did, saving your life and all.” 
You were giggling again and Fred was sure he was in some beautiful dream where all he could ever hear or see was your joy. 
“I wouldn’t push your luck if I were you.” You grinned, “I may just chuck the quaffle at your head when you're not looking.” 
“Only if you catch me when I fall.” Fred whispered, leaning closer still. 
You let him, your lips connecting slowly. You were pleased to find he was a fantastic kisser, his lips soft and plush, eager to please. His free hand cupped your cheek as he pulled you closer still until you were practically on top of him.
One of the alarm clocks the fifth years had been attempting to turn to roosters burst to life and you pulled away abruptly remembering bitterly that you and him were not the only ones in the room. Fred chased after your lips with his own desperate for even a moment more with your mouth.
“You should get to bed.” You repeated standing now, knees a bit shaky. 
Fred was disappointed by your departure but grinned wildly nonetheless as you gathered your books into your arms and turned back to him. 
“I’ll see you tomorrow Fred.” You yawned and began up the stairs to your dormitory determined not to let him see the childish glee that had spread across your face. 
“Wait!” He called after you, lurching from the couch and stopping at the bottom of the steps. 
You turned back to him taking in the wonderful sight of him staring lovingly up at you. He looked delightfully disheveled, his hair a mess and his lips swollen from your touch. You took two steps down now only one above where he stood on the hardwood floor.
You looked down at him expectantly as his eyes bore into your own. 
He lifted himself onto his toes and grabbed your shoulders forcinging you forward where you connected for a second time. 
This time his breath was hot and heavy on your lips, his earnest intensifying to a level that you could only describe as hunger. Your feet dangled momentarily in the air as he lifted you fervently into his embrace. You were suddenly engulfed in Fred again, he was all you could smell sweet and cinnamon, all you could hear were his pants in your ear, all you could feel was him, his arms around your middle, his thigh pressed between your legs and his lips and tongue working so well together that it was you who chased after him this time, whining in protest when he pulled back.
You stared at him, out of breath and stunned to silence. 
Fred looked as though he had just won something very expensive the way he was grinning with triumph, his eyes dark with lust. 
 “Sweet dreams love.” He murmured leaning down to give you one final kiss, his lips moving sickeningly slow against your own, wet and warm. He hovered inches form your lips for a moment, as if debating diving back in, before he backed away tucking his hands casually into his robes.
“You should go to bed, love.” He smirked, “We’ve got an early practice tomorrow and I do believe you made me a promise about knocking me off my broom.” 
You bit your lip to keep from breaking into girlish giggles. Your heart was still pounding as though you had just run a long race. 
“Only if you swear to catch me though.” He added with a wink.
“I’ll always catch you Freddie.” you assured him before turning and hurrying back up the stairs, grinning so wide your cheeks had begun to ache.
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houseofceline · 3 months
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My Pretty Girl - T.N.
Foreign Touches and Breakfast in Bed
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Pairing: Ravenclaw and sort of ditzy but talented Reader x Slytherin notorious playboy Theodore Nott
Warnings: Asshole Theo?
Summary: You wish you never woke up.
Author's Note: Hey guys! It's been a while, sorry for the wait but here it is!
< 6
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“How much did you even drink last night?” Cho cringed holding your hair back as another round of vomit spewed out of you and into the toilet. You could feel your head pounding as you sat on the bathroom floor trying to calm yourself down. Waking up to a hangover and your period may be the worst combination known to man, or really women. Thankfully there were no classes today. 
“Too much,” you breathed in and out, making sure there was nothing else coming up. 
“Come on, we need to go to breakfast, you need to eat something.” Cho tried helping you up as you gripped onto the sink for support. 
You were not ready to go out in public like this. Bed hair, snippets of last night makeup look in the form of smothered mascara on your cheek, and a million knives stabbing your uterus. Definitely not a pretty sight. Plus, you did not want to see any of the boys after last night incase of something embarrassing you might’ve done while out of it. 
“I don’t wanna go,” you groaned as you flopped on your bed and curled up into a fetal position. 
“You have to eat something Y/n,” Cho spoke softly as she ran her fingers through your hair, trying to flatten it. 
“I’ll eat later.” You grumbled closing your eyes, menstruation already tiring you out. 
“I’ll be back,” Cho said as she left the room, but you were too tired to say anything as you slipped away to dreamland.
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A foreign touch on his chest causes Theo to stir awake in confusion. 
What the hell.
He blinked a few times, allowing his vision to clear up.
Seeing the fake blonde from last night he groaned. 
“Why are you still here?” He mumbled, swatting her hand away from him as he scooted further away from her. 
“What do you mean baby? We don’t have classes today silly,” Hannah replied as she sat up, still nude from late night activities. 
“Right, so the last thing I want on a free day is to see your face. Get out.” Theo mumbled hoping she’d leave so he could sleep so more.
“Theo baby, don’t be so mean,” she spoke, reaching out for him again causing Theo to sit up in a huff. 
“You know the deal, you were supposed to be out before I even woke up,” he ignored the nasty feeling of her calling him cringey pet names. 
“Theo we don’t have to be like this.”
“My name is Theodore,” he stated as he got up and got dressed. 
He sighed as he picked up her clothing items off the floor and threw them at her. 
“I’m leaving since you won’t. But I advise you to wake up before Malfoy does, you know he doesn’t like you.” Theo said as he walked out, ignoring the gasps of surprise when her bra landed in her face. 
What an annoying girl. 
He walked to the Great Hall, deciding that he might as well grab breakfast since he was awake. 
“Did you fuckers seriously eat all the sausages?” Theo scoffed as he took a seat in front of Mattheo. 
“What the fuck did you want me to eat? Those nasty ass muffins?” Blaise replied as he passed a goblet of orange juice to him. 
“HEY! They’re not nasty,” Lorenzo spoke up with crumbs falling out of his mouth. 
“Buddy you’re getting it all over me,” Mattheo shoved the boy next to him with a scoff before glancing over at Theo. 
“Fun night huh?” Mattheo raised a glass towards the bruise-like mark on Theo’s neck. 
“Fuck are you serious?” Theo groaned as he rubbed the side of his neck. 
“I knew I’d regret it, she’s been so possessive lately,” Theo rolled his eyes as he continued eating breakfast. 
“Well I mean you’re always going back to her, maybe she thinks something will happen between the two of you,” Mattheo responded while Theo laughed in response. 
“She’s a Hufflepuff, you know only Slytherin girls are worth dating.” 
Mattheo frowned as Lorenzo looked up from his breakfast.
The whole table fell silent as Lorenzo finished chewing his muffin, “Y/n’s a Ravenclaw. I don’t think she lacks anything compared to Slytherin girls.” 
“Yeah in fact I think she looked better than any Slytherin girl last night,” Mattheo mumbled, causing Theo to look up in surprise. 
“She was there?” He gaped, suddenly feeling like he was going to throw up. 
Lorenzo rolled his eyes knowing that Theo had no right to even care if she was there or not. Mattheo and him had begun to care for the girl as if she was their baby sister and at first they were rooting for Theo, but now they weren’t so sure anymore. They had thought that she could be the one to make Theo better. After all it was him who had shown interest first, it was him who had begun to change because of her. She was the first girl Theo had ever described without using compliments that didn’t mean anything. Never spoke about how hot her body was instead ranted to the two boys about how angelic her face looked while she studied and how she smelled like flowers and vanilla. Not only cared about what was on the outside but on the inside as well, bragging to the boys about how talented she was and how cool her nail designs were. That is the same boy who had his eyes set on someone else last night, and the thought of it even made Lorenzo want to either cry or punch him. 
“Yeah but don’t worry, she didn’t need your company,” Lorenzo scoffed as he continued to eat his breakfast again. 
Lorenzo isn’t the type of person to show any resentment or hold any grudges, so Theo definitely knew he might’ve messed up. 
But before Theo could say anything, a familiar face approached up behind Mattheo and Lorenzo. 
Following Theo’s gaze the two boys turned around and greeted the girl. 
“Chang! What’s up?” Lorenzo greeted happily, a complete 180 switch in tone. 
“Hey boys, I’m grabbing breakfast for Y/n since she doesn’t feel well and I thought seeing your faces would cheer her up,” Cho explained as she showed them her plate of chocolate chip muffins. 
Theo furrowed his eyebrows, “Is she okay? Is she sick?” 
Cho rolled her eyes at the boy who caused her best friend to come back to the dorms sobbing her eyes out. She didn’t even know Theo that well but as she watched Y/n clutch her heart as she cried in her arms, she felt as if the boy had broken her heart as well. 
“She's fine as if it’s any of your concern,” Cho brushed Theo’s questions away as she avoided any eye contact with him. 
Lorenzo and Mattheo didn’t bother coming to his defense but instead got up and grabbed some juice and fruit before following Cho. 
Theo looked down at his plate and suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore. Blaise sighed before patting his mate’s back in comfort while Theo pushed his food around. 
Maybe he deserved that. 
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chocochannie · 9 months
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Lorenzo Berkshire headcanons
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Such a sweetheart, most people are wondering why he's friends with his group, but he loves them more than anything
Doesn't have very good grades but will always help with your assignments when you ask him
Knows all the gossip in hogwarts
Clumsy
Bit of a flirt
Loves parties
Pranks everyone, adores the weasley twins
Dances every chance he gets
One time, he took Theodore dancing in the rain cause he saw he was in a bad mood, surprisingly it cheered him up a lot
Sings in the shower
Absolutely loves giving gifts, most of them are handmade
Sneaks out at night to the kitchens
Lightly hits Draco on the head when he gets too cocky
Youngest in the group
Favourite season is summer
Likes having matching bracelets with someone
Very clingy sometimes
Passes notes in class with Mattheo and Pansy
Always there when you need him
Plays quidditch
Spends a lot of time making his hair in the morning
Friends with Hermione
You'll most likely find him near Black Lake
Romantic
Never fails to make his friends smile
Dog person
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Masterlist
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moonstruckme · 5 days
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hiii I'm just here resubmitting my request<3 so maybe r was in a fire (a small or large one, u decide), james was called and when he finds out it was her he gets sooo worried and she goes to the hospital or something? thank u!!
Thanks for requesting my love!
cw: fire, paramedics/ambulance, symptoms of smoke inhalation
firefighter!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words
James starts to stand you up when the ambulance turns onto your block. 
“Jamie, don’t bother them.” You feel a cough building in your chest, but you repress it. “I’m f—fine.” It escapes on the last syllable, and you can barely look at your boyfriend as he raises his eyebrows at you, incredulous.
“Humor me,” he says simply. 
You let him pull you up this time, and he presses a kiss into your hair even though you smell like pollution. James has stripped out of his bulky jacket, but the heavy pants still hang from suspenders wrapped around his black t-shirt. The fabric swishes against your leg as you make your way over to the ambulance. 
“We need oxygen,” he says without prelude, though not unkindly, nodding at the paramedic that gets out first in greeting. 
As if to punctuate this, your throat pinches warningly, and you let out a couple of meager coughs. James’ arm contracts around your waist. 
The paramedic seems to trust his authority, nodding for her partner to get something ready in the back while she walks over to you. 
“Look here please,” she says. 
You obey, flinching slightly when she points a pen light in your eyes. James’ hand migrates up to your shoulder, rubbing lightly. 
“Any dizziness?” 
“No,” you say, coughing a bit. 
She clicks her light off. “Nausea or vomiting?” 
“No.” 
“Headache?” 
“No.” 
James cuts a look your way. “Sweetheart,” he says softly. 
“I did have a headache,” you amend, “but it went away.” 
“Chest pain?” 
“A little,” you admit. 
“Shortness of breath?” 
“I don’t…” You look to James, then feel stupid. It’s not like he knows. “I don’t think so?” 
“Coughing?” 
“Yes,” James says emphatically. 
The paramedic gives him a funny look, then asks you, “Yeah?” 
“Yeah,” you confirm. A little cough works its way out of your lungs as if to prove it. 
James looks a bit chastised. He rubs your back, touch both firm and comforting. 
She gives you both a smile. “Come sit back here, please.” 
You follow her into the back of the ambulance, perching awkwardly on the gurney in the middle.
“It seems like you have relatively mild symptoms of smoke inhalation,” she tells you. Her partner passes her a mask, and she holds it over your face for a few seconds before letting you do it yourself. Her fingers press to your wrist. “Your eyes are irritated, but it’s a good sign that your headache went away already. There’s probably not much more we can do other than give you oxygen. Your other symptoms should ease on their own.” 
You nod your understanding, relieved even if you’d been the one saying you didn’t need any help. With James, it’s typically best if only one of you shows your worry at a time. And he’s plenty worried enough for both of you right now. 
You glance over at him, standing outside with his arms crossed. It’s doing crazy things to his biceps, and you think that usually he’d grin if he caught you checking him out like this but now he looks like he might start tapping his foot impatiently. You feel guilty for getting him in such a tizzy. 
The paramedic finishes with your pulse and follows your gaze. “That your boyfriend?” she asks. 
Your breath fogs the mask. “Mhm.” 
“He seems fairly rattled,” she notes. “I supposed it’s probably not typical to get called to a fire at your girlfriend’s place, though.”
“Yeah,” you sigh. 
You’d already been sitting out on the lawn when James’ crew had arrived, the fire already put out and your front door left open. Smoke rolled out of it in one thick, relentless wave. You still have no idea how a fire that couldn’t have been burning more than fifteen minutes had created so much. You suppose James could tell you if you asked him later. 
The others had run inside, but James had gone straight to you. His chief wanted to confirm with you that there was no one else in the home (there wasn’t) and that you’d gotten out quickly (you didn’t have a great answer for that one). Like pulling teeth, it came out that you’d fallen asleep with dinner in the oven, and it was only by coincidence that someone had called your phone and the ringing woke you up. You’d turned off the oven and dumped cupfuls of water on your flaming dinner until it went out, but the smoke had spread throughout your home and your neighbor had already called emergency services. 
This led to you having to admit you hadn’t replaced the batteries in your smoke detector, which had led to a fervent lecture from your boyfriend that you doubt you’ve heard the end of. It was only the arrival of the ambulance that had distracted him. 
The paramedic sitting next to you jerks her chin toward James. That’s all it takes to get his attention, since he’s watching you like you’re going to float away if he doesn’t keep a close eye on things. 
“You can come up here,” she tells him. 
James clambers up quickly, giving her a terse smile at half his usual wattage as she moves to let him take her place next to you. 
“Hey, angel.” He takes the mask from you, holding it to your face himself. His other hand slides down the inside of your forearm and interlocks its fingers with yours. “Is she okay?” he asks the paramedic you’d spoken to. 
“Her symptoms are minor,” she assures him. “I wanna keep her on oxygen for ten minutes or so before checking her levels, but she’ll be fine.” 
James nods in thanks, but his sigh ghosts over the shell of your ear when he leans his brow against the side of your head. The paramedics conveniently find other things to do, and you’re grateful for it. 
“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly. 
“I think you should stay at my place tonight,” he says, matching your tone, “if that’s alright with you.” 
“Yeah,” you laugh a little. It provokes your lungs, and a cough follows. 
James winces. Kisses your cheek softly. 
“Yeah,” you try again. “That sounds good, thank you.” 
“The next time you set foot in your place, I’m going with you and installing new smoke detectors.” 
Now you wince. “Fair enough.” 
“And I don’t think you should ever cook or nap again.” 
“That seems a bit far.” 
“I dunno, I think I’m being reasonable.” He kisses your cheek again, lingering this time. “I’d prefer to wrap you in some sort of fireproofed bubble wrap, but I think this is a compromise we can both live with, no?” 
You smile, and you can’t tell if your chest hurts because of your smokey lungs or the raw quality to James’ teasing, but it helps when he smiles back. 
“What if,” you say, “you cook, and I nap. Would that satisfy you?” 
He mulls this over for a second. “For now,” he decides. “I think I’d still like to work on fire-proofing some bubble wrap in the meantime, though.”
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bellaxisworld · 28 days
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i want to write regulus as a WEIRD (nerdy) (adorable) kid. toothy and silly and spitting science facts all over the place and bringing worms he found to show sirius. so excited over everything and he wants to share it with everyone!! young regulus who fidgets and talks with his hands and paces and jumps when he's excited. regulus with an ugly laugh that's so endearing. i'm endeared to every bit of him.
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hollowdeath · 2 months
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some boyfriend!harry james potter headcanons that make me giggle n kick my feet to think about <3
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loves to buy you flowers. like, he knows the florist personally at this point because he's constantly working on new bouquets for you. he knows all about trimming the stems, cutting the leaves, fertilizing the water, he's really passionate about you having beautiful, fresh flowers around you all the time. "pretty girls deserve pretty flowers" <333
you guys heard about the orange peel theory right? well harry doesn't just peel your orange for you, he also pulls it apart, plates it, makes it look beautiful, and gets you a drink to go with it. he does not fuck around when it comes to doing favors for you, he will do whatever it takes to make even the smallest parts of life easier for you
on that note, he knows your preferences for everything. your favorite drinks and how you like them, your favorite meals from your favorite places, your favorite brands or stores, even down to how you like your clothes organized. anytime he learns how you like something a particular way he takes note, not because he has to, but because he loves learning about all your little details that make you so special to him
doesn't hesitate to buy something if it makes him think of you. if he knows you really like one animal, he'll buy random things with that animal on it just because they remind him of you. if something comes in your favorite color it's his first choice. he buys sweatshirts/sweaters in the hopes you like them enough to wear them yourself. he just loves having these little parts of you in his life to remind him how lucky he is to have you around :'(
gets a little jealous and flustered if you have a celebrity crush or start gushing over a character from the book you're currently reading. he knows it's not serious and doesn't let it get to him too much, but he can't help that he's protective over you, even if it's against a completely fictional character. still, he finds it incredibly cute when you blush talking about/seeing them <3
always feels so relaxed when he's with you that he actually gets sleepy. anytime you're cuddling or even just snuggled up on the couch together he starts drifting in and out of sleep, his body melting into yours. he can't help it, you just make him feel so safe and comfortable...most of the time you tease him for it, but sometimes he looks too cute sleeping on your shoulder for you to wake him...zzz...
absolutely loves to do all the cheesy boyfriend stuff for you: hold your bags, open doors for you, give you his jacket, pay for every date, he's just so proud to be with you and he wants you to know it. he's so excited anytime he gets to introduce you as his girlfriend, and takes any chance he can to bring you up in conversation. he just loves you so much he can't keep it to himself !!!
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kitgeometri · 2 months
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Snape raises harry in hogwarts AU
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lovebotmo · 3 months
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like the movies
by: @lovebotmo
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In her seventh year, Y/n has yet to be in a relationship, a fact her friends are all too eager to call attention to. More than anything, Y/n desperately wants to be won over, to have a love like those in the Muggle movies she adores. She wants someone to work for her attention and show that they care. What happens when a secret admirer enters her life, promising to do just that? Will her fanciful notions of a perfect love bar her from accepting the newly discovered affections of a certain roguish Slytherin?
pairing: theodore nott x reader
rating: fluff
status: ongoing
author's note: hi!! if you don't know me, my name is mo! i write from time to time (read: year to year) and i've recently been obsessed with theodore nott and he's made me want to write for the first time in a while so...here we are! i hope you enjoy :) this post will function as my masterlist for this series, so stay tuned!
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chapter list:
chapter one - falling behind
chapter two - moly blossoms
chapter three - caramel creams
chapter four - the feathered visitor
chapter five - late library nights
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coldemergency · 4 months
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Voldemort: You give the absolutely worst advice
Harry: It didn't work?
Voldemort: No Harry, showing up at Hogwarts with a cake that says "I'm sorry for killing all those people" did not help
Harry: Weird. Dumbledore loves cake...
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pearlstiare · 1 year
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Real footage of Tom Riddle on Hogsmeade after his date with Y/N - NEW FLASH *he got a kiss*
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dreamcubed · 6 months
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lover | mattheo riddle x reader
song; lover [taylor swift] pairing; duke!mattheo riddle x fem!baronet's daughter!reader genre; marriage of convenience, s2l, fluff, angst, hurt comfort word count; 9,1k timeline; bridgerton au (again lol) warnings; abusive parents (verbal, neglect, psychological), implied anxiety, panic attacks, near death experience (illness) summary; born into a loveless family, you had been denied the opportunity to marry for many years. that was, until, a duke noticed your situation and gave your parents an offer that they simply couldn't refuse - but would it be a love match?
suggested by @fictionisjustbetter ! (sorry this took so long)
icl mattheo is just so perfect for period aus
masterlist
"all's well that ends well to end up with you."
———————————————
Sir Vincent Malton was a baronet and nothing more. Of course, while being a low title, it was still a part of the aristocracy, which was much better than the alternative. He took his role very seriously, as his father before him had, and his father before him.
So, when the first Lady Malton of his passed during childbirth having sired not an heir, but a daughter, he had arranged for a new wife to marry ready for his first day of it being considered acceptable to be out of mourning. The second Lady Malton of his was more successful in the heir department: during her first pregnancy, she sired twins, both a boy and a girl. And then after two more girls (of separate pregnancies), she had another boy. Sir Vincent Malton then finally felt safe in the security of his baronetcy lineage.
But he never spoke to any of his six children. He left them up to the second Lady Malton, including his firstborn, who was not her blood. Where other ladies would have accepted their stepchildren as their own, Lady Daria Malton did not. As far she was concerned, Y/N was not her child and thus not her problem. But Sir Vincent was a traditional man who saw the children as the mother's business, so she kept up appearances to continue her life of comfort.
Sir Vincent didn't even bother with the marriage mart, instructing his wife to simply inform him when a suitor (with a title) proposed to any one of his daughters. And Lady Malton had - with her own eldest daughter, Samantha, when a baron asked for her hand. He was twice her age, but Lady Malton (like her husband) cared about title more than anything. Samantha was quickly married off to her new life as a baroness.
One thing Sir Vincent didn't know was that Lady Malton had never officially debuted Y/N. She brought her along to more casual soirées that other non-debutantes attended to keep up appearances, but as far as the one-and-twenty-year-old's actual debut - well, it was significantly overdue. The thing was, Y/N had received callers after such events before, but callers were received by the baronetess and not the baronet, and she quickly sent them away. Thus, the actual stage of proposal was never reached, so Lady Malton was by all technicalities following her husband's instruction.
Y/N knew that it was unfair, that her stepmother's abuse was unjust. She didn't see why she couldn't just allow someone to propose and get her out of the home: Lady Malton clearly didn't like her, so why not be rid of her?
But, she supposed, someone like Lady Malton must quite enjoy having a scapegoat around to target their frustrations at.
***
"Last year was a tremendous success by all means," Lady Malton spoke as her lady's maid attended to her corset, "To have Samantha married off in her first year as a debutante was a splendid result."
Y/N subtly rolled her eyes: Samantha was eighteen and her husband almost forty, it really shouldn't have been a permitted pairing. But, her husband was a baron, and title was all Lord & Lady Malton cared for. They couldn't choose to be fussy as the lowest titleholders of the aristocracy.
"Thus, Y/N, I do not wish you to cause any interference," she explained further, glaring at you through her reflection in the mirror, "I am bringing you along to Lady Bridgerton's birthday soirée out of necessity, as she always includes young ladies of whom have not made their debut."
You knew that: you had attended Lady Bridgerton's birthday event the year prior for the same reason.
"Rumour has it the Duke of Covenshire has returned from his travels to the Americas and will be attending tonight," she proceeded, "And it would simply be marvellous if Grace could secure him as a match in her first year as a debutante."
You glanced over at Grace, sat at the dresser as her lady's maid applied her makeup. She was putting on a remarkably brave face, but you could tell that she was nervous: she was too young to debut. After Samantha's success, Lady Malton had felt confident enough to debut Grace at only seven-and-ten. It wasn't entirely uncommon, but typically Mamas waited until their daughters were at least one year older.
Meanwhile you were one-and-twenty and still yet to have your debut. At this rate you would be a spinster before you had even entered the marriage mart.
You looked to your other side at Tia, your youngest sister at fourteen, who was more than thrilled to be allowed to attend that night. You never saw your brothers, really: Vincent (creatively named after your father) was away at Cambridge, and Henry, the youngest of the lot, was away at Eton.
"Right, is the carriage ready?" Lady Malton snapped at one of the servants, who quickly nodded.
And then with a curt bob of her head, the baronetess proceeded over to the door - a silent instruction for her daughters to follow - and they all headed to the front of Malton House, the London lodgings of the family.
***
"Lady Bridgerton! How good to see you," Lady Malton beamed at the dowager viscountess, "Such a lovely soirée."
"Why thank you, Lady Malton," the kind woman replied, "Pleased to see all your daughters could make it."
"Oh, is Samantha here already?"
"I believe Lady Halterton is over there," Lady Bridgerton vaguely pointed in a direction, "But how are all the Miss Maltons?"
"Grace is excited to make a match this year," the poor girl was pushed forward, "With any luck, she shall follow in her sister's footsteps."
"And what of the oldest Miss Malton?"
You looked up and gave Lady Bridgerton a hesitant smile.
"You know how Y/N is - still doesn't want to debut," Lady Malton sighed, "At this rate she shall be a spinster before even trying for marriage. But, we love her and support her decisions."
You scoffed internally, wanting nothing more than to blaspheme at your stepmother in that moment.
The conversation with Lady Bridgerton wrapped up and the focus then became the considering of various potential suitors. It was the first social event that you had the privilege of attending since the year prior, so you fully planned to savour the moments you were free from the house.
And then the room hushed into whispers as the door opened, it being remarkably noticeable how all the ambitious eyes of the Mamas zoned in on one particular man gracing the room with his presence.
"That's him- that's the duke!" Lady Malton whispered, mainly to Grace, but anyone close by could have heard her.
"Gosh, he's handsome," Tia mumbled to your left, "Shame I'm too young."
You kept your eyes glued on to the pale man with curly brown hair gelled somewhat neatly. His eyes were narrowed like that of a cat's, and his very presence commanded authority - yet he was polite to every hopeful Mama who approached him. Dismissive, but polite.
"Ah, Lady Bridgerton," he spoke, near enough to you for you to hear his gruff monotone voice as he bent over to kiss the dowager viscountess's hand, "Thank you for the invitation, and happy birthday."
"It is an honour you attended, your grace."
The man nodded, chatting to her for a few moments longer as the noise and bustle returned to the room, so you couldn't hear the rest of it.
"Now is our chance," your stepmother said as the duke's conversation wrapped up. She quickly sped towards him. "Your grace!"
The duke paused, and half-turned so he was fully facing your brood.
"Lady Malton, Baronetess of Catury," she curtsied, "And this is my daughter, Grace," she gestured towards the girl.
When his eyes flicked to Tia, she hurried to introduce her, but when his eyes flicked to you, she remained silent.
"And you are?" he inquired.
Your eyes widened: you were rarely spoken to, "Y/N- Miss Y/N Malton," you corrected.
"Don't pay her any mind, your grace," your stepmother quickly said, pinching you in the side as subtly as she could which made you flinch - as it always did. You didn't notice the way the duke's beady eyes followed the interaction. "She isn't a debutante."
"She looks old enough to be." He was clearly referencing the fact you obviously had a few years on Grace.
"It is her own choice."
You couldn't help the scowl that itched at your eyebrows, and the duke couldn't help but notice it.
"Would you care for a dance with Grace?"
The duke's eyes flicked over your sister again, "I have no intentions of dancing this evening- if you excuse me."
And with that, he departed, just to be ambushed by yet another Mama.
Your stepmother turned and glared at you, "You ruined Grace's chances."
"I didn't do anything," you said simply.
"You spoke. You know you're not supposed to."
"He asked me a question."
"I respond to the questions about you."
"Mama," Grace interrupted, shooting you a sympathetic look, "Is that the Earl of Kilmartin over there?"
Lady Malton's head snapped in that direction, "So it is! He has returned from India."
You couldn't be more grateful to Grace for the distraction.
***
"Saunders," the duke, Mattheo, called from his work study in Riddle Manor, his London residence. It was merely a couple hours after he had returned from Lady Bridgerton's soirée.
The secretary hurried into the office, "Yes, your grace?"
"What do you know of the Malton family?"
Saunders paused, "Sir Vincent Malton?"
Mattheo nodded.
"He is married to Dame Daria Malton and has six children. He attended Eton and Cambridge, studying history."
"And of his children?"
"Two sons and four daughters, I believe."
"And what of Miss Y/N Malton?"
The secretary immediately recognised the name, "She is the oldest, your grace. She is one-and-twenty and well-known for not having debuted yet."
Mattheo frowned, leaning back in his chair, "Is there a way in which she is different from her siblings?"
"I-" the secretary thought for a moment, "I believe she has a different mother than her younger siblings, if that's what you mean."
"Lady Malton is not her mother?"
"Well, yes and no. The current Lady Malton is not her mother, but the Lady Malton before her was. She passed in childbirth, I believe."
Mattheo hummed, "I see."
"Is that all, your grace?"
"Prepare the carriage to journey to Malton House tomorrow morning, Saunders, and locate my mother's engagement ring."
Saunders' eyes widened, but he quickly nodded, "Of course, your grace."
Nothing made Mattheo angrier than cruel parents.
***
Lady Malton and Grace were up bright and early the next day, as all debutantes and their Mamas were after a social event. They were to dress in some of their nicer but not so fancy attire ready to sit in the upstairs drawing room in await for any callers they may receive in the downstairs drawing room. You, however, stayed tucked nicely into bed until a more reasonable hour, since your stepmother certainly wouldn't want to catch sight of you until lunchtime - if then.
Still, you rose from your slumber at around eleven o'clock and called for your lady's maid, getting dressed in a simple baby blue piece that you had purchased a few years ago. You rarely got new dresses under Lady Malton's reign.
"I'll take my breakfast in here, please, Melinda," you smiled.
***
The Duke of Covenshire had been up at an exceptionally early hour, having taken a ride on his favourite stallion at sunrise, to then return to his city house and retreat to his office for a few hours accompanied by some breakfast.
He was still there at eleven o'clock.
"Your grace," Saunders began after having knocked on the door, "The carriage is ready for you."
"And the ring?" the duke inquired.
"Here," the secretary presented it, "It was still safely in the dowager duchess's bed chamber."
Mattheo had seen no point in keeping it anywhere else since that room had remained unoccupied for quite some time now.
"Excellent," he murmured, "Now, let us make haste."
***
It wasn't a long journey to Malton House, so really it was no time at all by the time that the Covenshire carriage pulled up to the smaller but still grand home. There were two or three other carriages parked outside, likely belonging to other potential suitors.
Mattheo wasn't worried: he was a duke, after all, and the Maltons were merely baronets. They would jump at the opportunity to marry a daughter off to be a duchess.
After knocking on the door, he was greeted by a short balding man with a seemingly permanently curved eyebrow.
"Here for Miss Malton?" he asked.
"Yes," Mattheo replied, although he had a feeling they weren't referring to the same one.
"Name?"
"Mattheo Riddle, Duke of Covenshire."
The butler's eyes widened, "Right this way, your grace."
Mattheo was led through the hallway into the downstairs drawing room, where Lady Malton and Grace were perched on an orange settee. On the other side of Grace sat an older gentleman, meanwhile on the settee sat across from them were two others. One of them was roughly the same age as the first, whereas the other was much younger - closer to Grace's age.
"Your grace," Lady Malton instantly said, shooting up to curtsy.
"Lady Malton," Mattheo nodded, "May I speak with Sir Vincent?"
"Yes, yes, of course," the baronetess said with widened eyes, "I'll go fetch him at once."
Typically she would have sent a servant to complete such a task, but clearly the shock had consumed her to the point she sprung into action. Once she had departed the room, Mattheo turned his eyes to Grace and the other three gentlemen who were all staring at him curiously.
"Who are you gentlemen?" he asked.
"Edward Cann, Viscount of Sancourt," one of the older gentlemen introduced.
"Gareth Warner," the other older one spoke.
Mattheo couldn't help but question the audacity of an older man to pursue the hand of such a young woman when he didn't even possess a title. Still, his eyes turned to the youngest man.
"Sir Charles Robinson, Baronet of Rackney."
"And how old are you?" his eyes were still on Charles.
"Twenty, your grace."
Mattheo hummed, that was more appropriate for Grace. Unusual for a man to seek a wife at such an age, but not unheard of.
"Lord Cann and Mr Warner," he began, and they perked up at his address, "May I ask what the devil men of your age are doing pursuing such a young woman?"
They were clearly taken aback by his blunt honesty, as were the servants littered around the room.
"I certainly will have to rethink my family's business with your estates in light of such news."
And with apologies to Grace and Mattheo, the two older gentlemen quickly vanished from the room, moments before the Lord & Lady of the house made an appearance.
"Your grace," Sir Vincent spoke, holding out his hand, which Mattheo shook, "To what do I owe the honour?"
"May we proceed to a more private location?"
"Of course, right this way."
"Your presence won't be required any longer, Sir Charles," Lady Malton said, clearly confused at the absence of the two other gentlemen.
Mattheo interrupted, "Oh, I'm sure it will, Lady Malton. I wouldn't dismiss the young gentleman."
Before she could ask what he meant, he was being led out the drawing room and to the baronet's office.
"I believe you know what I am here for," Mattheo stated simply, after declining the offer of brandy.
"I shouldn't want to get my hopes up, your grace."
"I would like your daughter's hand in marriage."
Sir Vincent nodded, "Of course, I shall dower her fairly-"
"Unnecessary. I have no use for a dowry, no matter the size."
"Oh- okay," the baronet paused, "Which daughter is this?"
Mattheo almost frowned: was Sir Vincent not aware of his daughter's status in society? Perhaps he left such matters up to his wife.
"Miss Y/N Malton."
"You're the first suitor that we have received for her."
The duke's breath hitched.
"This is such a relief - of course, we will arrange the wedding right away."
"I would like to marry her quickly," Mattheo said, "We will need to procure a special license."
Sir Vincent nodded, "Whatever you wish, your grace. It is an honour to be your father-in-law."
Mattheo turned to leave after saying his thanks, but paused and faced the baronet again, "You should definitely consider Sir Charles Robinson to marry Miss Grace Malton, he is a fine young man."
The baronet was clearly confused at such a statement, but absently nodded nonetheless.
***
You had been shocked when your father called you down to the drawing room: you couldn't remember the last time that he had requested your presence. Not that he requested your sisters' presences either, you were pretty sure your brother Vincent was the only of his children he spoke to.
"Excellent news for our family," he began, with Lady Malton looking thrilled at what she expected him to say, "Excellent news indeed."
You almost rolled your eyes, expecting that you had simply been called down to receive the announcement of Grace's engagement.
"The Duke of Covenshire has proposed."
Lady Malton stood up, "This is fabulous news! Well done, Grace."
"No," Sir Vincent silenced his wife, "Well done, Y/N."
Your head snapped up.
What?
"Whatever do you mean, Father?"
"His grace has asked for your hand in marriage," you had never seen your father so happy, "And naturally I accepted."
Lady Malton stood in absolute horror.
"I was beginning to become worried about your lack of proposals," he continued, unaware of his wife's reaction, "But clearly God was holding out in await for this massive surprise."
"But- what about Grace?" Lady Malton finally spluttered out.
"I am in the process of discussing that matter with Sir Charles Robinson, the duke recommended him himself."
You noticed the way Grace smiled to herself at that and looked abashedly to the ground. Clearly she was happy with such an arrangement - had the duke known that and so used his influence to help her?
"His grace wishes to be married quickly."
And thus, at the end of the week, you were married.
***
You had no idea what a honeymoon night was supposed to entail. Typically, a Mama would give a bride-to-be 'the talk' the night before her wedding, but Lady Malton would never do such a motherly thing for you. Thus, you were left completely clueless.
Plus, apart from the exchange of your vows, you had hardly spoken to the duke before, so you really didn't know where the evening was going to take you as you stepped out of the carriage outside Riddle Manor. You were both to spend the night in his London home before beginning the three day journey to his countryside residence the next day. It was a typical agenda for newly weds.
You were introduced to the various staff, including your new lady's maids - you now had two of them, as opposed to one - before you were both led through to the dining room. Your eyes fell on the long dining table, with the two distanced ends laid and nothing more.
You grimaced.
"Is salmon not to your tastes?" your husband asked you.
"Tis a very formal set up," you explained simply, but said nothing more as you assumed one of the seats.
"I mostly take dinner in my work study, so this will be a rare occurrence."
You ate the entire meal in silence, and then it was time to be shown your bed chambers.
"This is the duchess' chamber," he gestured to the door, "You may redecorate it however you so wish."
You hummed.
"My chamber is next door - we have an adjoining door, of course."
You said nothing.
"Are you going to enter?"
"But what of our consummation?" you asked.
Mattheo paused - he hadn't expected you to be so blunt.
"Lady Malton did not give me a talk like she was supposed to," you explained, somewhat shyly, "I do not know what is meant to happen, but I know that something must."
"Right," he said slowly, "We will consummate."
***
You lay awake in bed next to the duke the next morning, unable to get the memories of the night prior out of your head. Never would you have guessed that that was how babies were made, something that felt so heavenly, so good. But, you were also confused, many women muttered about it in fear, as if their consummation was unenjoyable.
Perhaps it differed with each man. Regardless, with Mattheo, it was completely and entirely soul-consuming, and you wished to experience it a countless number of times over.
A knock sounded on the door, "Your graces, breakfast is ready."
Mattheo was still sound asleep, "We'll take it in here," you replied.
You weren't used to having power in a household.
Also, how did the servant know you weren't in the duchess' bed chamber?
Mattheo woke up once the servants had wheeled in the breakfast selection, and once you were both loosely dressed, you began eating. It was then that he began speaking.
"Now is as good a time as any to set out the details of this marriage," he said, making you look up from your eggs, "I married you because I can't stand when parents mistreat their children."
Your heart warmed at that: he had noticed how Lady Malton treated you?
"I do not intend for love, but obviously at some point there will need to be an heir," he said, "You may have conceived last night, but it is unlikely. In the probable case that you haven't, we can wait a couple years to produce one should you so wish."
You thought over what he was saying - perhaps part of you had hoped that he had fallen in love with you at first sight, but you knew that was childish. This was a marriage of convenience.
"I only have one condition when it comes to children," you said slowly.
"Which is?"
"That you are an involved father," you said, "Like the Bridgertons are known for being."
Memories flashed through Mattheo's mind of his childhood: his father's coldness and distance all throughout the years until he returned from Cambridge a grown man. Only then did the late duke want anything to do with his son.
"I shall be involved," he said.
***
You couldn't look Mattheo in the eyes, you soon realised. He scared you, not in the way that Lady Malton had, but in a way you didn't quite understand. He made you nervous, made you unable to speak more than a few words at a time. Not that you did speak much: the entire journey to Covenshire Hall had been very much one of silence. The only sound to accompany you was the wheels and hooves against the cobbled roads.
The nights were spent in inns, in separate bed chambers.
Covenshire Hall was enormous: far bigger than the Catury estate that you had spent half your childhood on. It made sense, obviously, you were no longer a mere baronet's daughter, but a duchess.
"Your graces," the butler greeted you as you stepped out the carriage, "Welcome."
"Dantle," Mattheo replied, "Gather all the servants in the entrance hall."
"Right away, your grace."
The man disappeared inside, and you soon had entered through the same doors that he had, to be greeted by the largest entry room that you had ever seen. Symmetrical stairs curved around the walls either side of you, carpeted in plush blue velvet. The walls were decorated in a branch-design, but the once deep maroon colour had faded over time: it was evident to you that there hadn't been a lady of the house in quite a few years.
And then, quite quickly, the room filled with lines of house staff - more than you had ever seen for one household before. You were introduced to them all, including the primary housekeeper, Ms Godley. She was an older woman, with mostly grey hair that still held evidence of her brunette days, and a lightly wrinkled face that seemed more to do with the permanent pursing of her lips rather than age. Her eyebrows were ghastly thin, much like the rest of her, which could only be described as bony. She wore a pleated black dress down to her ankles, suggesting that she was in mourning.
You smiled politely at her, but she did not return it.
"I will leave you in her capable hands," your husband said to you, "She will provide a tour of the grounds."
"Where are you going?" you couldn't help but ask.
"My office."
You watched as he left, before turning back to Ms Godley.
"Where shall we begin?" you asked, attempting to be friendly.
***
You didn't like Ms Godley - not one bit. She reminded you of your stepmother, except this time you didn't even have younger siblings to provide a distraction. It was quite evident that she wasn't particularly fond of you either, although you had no idea what you could have done.
"This is the nursery," the woman said tightly, "It has been empty for some years now."
Gazing around the room of faded yellows and purples, you were cast back to when you were in your nursery, though you always got the short end of the stick when it came to beds. Nonetheless, it had been a relatively pleasant time for you, back when your sisters were too young to notice that Lady Malton treated you differently, so you would all play together as children do.
You didn't want any of your children to feel left out.
"Your grace," Ms Godley said curtly, "We don't have all day."
You sighed, exiting the room.
***
Loneliness was a familiar emotion to you, so a week of solitude in Covenshire Hall wasn't all that much of a change from your old life, other than the fact you now had servants waiting on your hand and foot. Although, you were growing quite bored: at least with the Maltons, you were always distracted by gauging your stepmother's mood.
You decided that you needed a distraction, and since the prestigious house was in desperate need of a fresh lick of paint, you landed on redecorating.
"You called for me, your grace?" Ms Godley stood before you in the duchess' office that you had taken to using regularly.
"Yes," you stood up, walking around your desk, "I have a matter to discuss with you."
It took everything in you to act courageous in front of a woman so similar to Lady Malton.
"I wish to redecorate the house," you said simply.
By some miracle, Ms Godley's lips pursed even more.
"Starting with the entrance hall - since that is the first room guests see, then-"
"No."
You paused - was she allowed to say that to you? "No?"
"No. This estate is not a part of your lineage, you have no right to tamper with it."
The amount of bravery that it had taken for you to have this conversation with her, just for her to pull a line that sounded so eerily similar to Lady Malton's.
"I am the lady of the house," you said, but it was obvious you weren't speaking as surely of yourself as moments prior.
"The dowager duchess was never permitted to redecorate either," she said, "And I imagine that the late duke would especially not want somebody as measly as a baronet's daughter interfering with his heritage."
You stood in shock for a few moments, eventually managing to splutter out, "You are excused."
Once she was gone, you finally gave in to the panic consuming you, feeling your breath beginning to dramatically labour and push against your corset. You felt trapped, suffocated, like you had your entire childhood, and you didn't like it. You had to escape.
So, you did.
You weren't running away by any means: you just needed fresh air, and the woods on the Covenshire grounds seemed perfect to hide away for a while. Just a couple days ago, you had taken a walk through them. Of course, that was on one of the paths that navigated between the trees, this time you simply started running straight ahead once you breached the tree line.
But you could only go so far when you had to hitch up your thick heavy skirts to make progress, so it wasn't long before you collapsed against a tree, your lungs pounding against your rib cage which were in turn pounding against your corset.
It was then that floods poured out of your eyes and down your cheeks, leaving a sticky, puffy trail behind.
You should have known better.
Just because you were a duchess didn't mean you suddenly had control over your own life.
You failed to notice the looming grey clouds gathering above, up until the sky thundered, and the familiar trickle of heavy rain commenced.
***
Mattheo was sat in his office, going over estate finances, when a knock sounded on the door.
"Your grace?"
He hated being interrupted during work, but still said a grumbled, "Come in."
"I am so sorry to disturb you, your grace," Dantle said, bowing his head, "But the duchess appears to be missing."
Mattheo's head shot up, "Missing, you say?"
"Ms Godley was the last one to speak to her, approximately two hours ago."
"Where has she gone?" the duke was now standing up.
Dantle appeared uncomfortable, "I do not know, your grace. Apparently she ran down into the woods."
"Ran?" Mattheo felt his blood boil, "Have you gone out to look for her?"
"No, your grace, the storm-"
"The storm?" he saw red, "The bloody storm?" He then let out a sound somewhat adjacent to a growl before pushing past Dantle out his office.
He was going to find his wife.
***
You probably had pneumonia or something at this rate, you thought to yourself. Your body was completely freezing and soaked, and your lack of cloak was becoming apparent as a massive problem in terms of your well-being. You should have gone back inside the second the rain started, but that was when you were still in the depths of your upset. It wasn't until you were too cold to move did you calm down a bit more.
To be honest, you were about ready to accept your fate.
"Y/N!" a faint cry came from nearby, and as much as you wanted to call out and alert them of your location, your voice was weak.
By some miracle, the man - your husband - managed to locate you.
"Y/N, oh, God," he blasphemed, "Are you okay? What are you doing out here?"
You couldn't even reply.
Mattheo scooped you up into his arms and began making haste back towards the mansion that you shared.
"Stay with me," he murmured at irregular intervals, right up until you felt the warmth of a fireplace hit you on the cheeks. You were in your bed chamber, you realised, upon noticing the faded floral pink wall decor.
Your skin was so numb you hardly felt your husband begin to peel off all items of your clothing, including your undergarments. Typically, you would have felt embarrassed, but you were completely spent.
As he picked you up again and carried you through to the bathroom, where a bath had been prepared, you couldn't help but curl into him.
"I ordered it be run before I went to find you," he said softly - the softest you had ever heard him speak.
The warmth of the water felt heavenly.
"What happened, darling?"
You shivered, this time not because of the cold, but because of the nickname.
"Godley," you forced out between your blue lips.
"Ms Godley? What did she do?" he asked as he began to wet your hair.
"I wan- wanted to redecorate the house," your teeth were chattering, "She said I couldn't change anything."
Mattheo said nothing.
"It's- it's the way she said it," you clarified, not wanting him to think you were a brat who had simply been told 'no', "She was so mean."
"How did she say it?" you didn't miss the edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.
"She said it would upset the- the late duke - and that- that he especially wouldn't want a measly baronet's daughter to-" you choked on re-emerging sobs, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, my love," you felt him press a kiss to your forehead, "I will handle this."
***
After you had warmed up in the bath and been wrapped up in thick clothing, Mattheo gently escorted you to one of the larger drawing rooms, where, to your horror, every single staff member of the house was gathered. Including Ms Godley.
"It has come to my attention that the duchess is not receiving the respect she deserves in this household," your husband sent an icy glare in the housekeeper's direction, "As the lady of the house, it is her right to decorate our rooms however she so pleases."
Ms Godley's lips pursed.
"The redecoration that her grace desires will commence immediately," Mattheo gave a forced smile, "Follow her every instruction. Any questions?"
"What of the late duke?" Ms Godley asked.
"What of a man of whom is dead?"
"Surely you should respect his wishes."
"How I choose to treat my father's wishes is none of your concern, Ms Godley. You are overstepping."
The old woman opened her mouth to say something, but decidedly shut it before saying, "My apologies, your grace."
"Apologise to my wife as well."
"My apologies," Ms Godley gave a stiff curtsy.
You had been glancing nervously between your husband and the housekeeper throughout the entire exchange, feeling overwhelmingly put on the spot. It was the second after Ms Godley apologised to you that your chest tightened and you erupted in a coughing fit.
"Darling?" Mattheo asked worriedly as you fell forward.
"Can't- breathe-" you choked out.
You felt a hand press to your forehead.
"She's overheating," the duke said loudly, "Help me get her to bed. And call the doctor."
Murmurs of, "Right away, your grace," came in reply.
"You're going to be okay," Mattheo said softly to you as he picked you up for the millionth time that day, "You must be."
***
The doctors concluded that you were pneumonic, which had been what everyone suspected but were too scared to say in front of you. But, you weren't an idiot, and understood what your symptoms meant.
There was a good chance that you would die.
It was dark outside: it often was when you came to from your fever dream episodes, for a few minutes of painful consciousness. You lurched up in bed, quickly producing horrific gurgling coughs and splutters, unable to stop yourself from groaning in pain in between. Tears pricked at your eyes as you placed a hand on your chest, your blurred vision just about making out the duke running in from the door between your bed chambers.
Mattheo grabbed the cloth from your bedside table and dipped it into the pot of water placed for this occasion, hurrying to press it to your burning forehead. You let out a brief sigh of relief, before you began coughing again.
He rubbed your back, "You can get through this."
You weren't sure if you could, in fact, you felt deathly, as it were. But, your husband's words gave you a sense of strength and hope, and it was all you could do but nod after the coughing subsided.
"If- if I make it," you murmured, falling back on to the pillows. Your voice was low and cracked. "Please- may we go to London?"
"Whatever for?"
"I..." you trailed off, "I would like to make friends."
And before Mattheo could question you further, you drifted back into unconsciousness and shallow breathing.
***
It was three days later, on a chilly but sunny morning, when you awoke naturally instead of being forced awake by coughs. Your breathing felt stronger, and you weren't overheating, which was the best feeling you had felt in forever.
You heard voices outside your door.
"Is she doing any better, your grace?" who you assumed to be the doctor asked.
"We were about to check," your husband's familiar voice replied.
The door opened, and you blinked a few times to clear your vision as the two men approached you.
"Mattheo," you said softly, your words still sore to speak.
"You're awake," he said simply, pressing his hand to your forehead. The physical contact comforted you.
"How do you feel?" the doctor asked.
"Better."
He raised his eyebrows, "In what way?"
"Every way."
He performed a more thorough examination, and concluded that while you likely still had a couple more days of illness, you had pushed through the worst of it and were well on your way to recovery. You were relieved to hear that, but even more relieved to finally be able to take a bath and and cleanse yourself.
"You wanted to return to London," Mattheo said simply at dinner that night, as he was taking it in your room with you.
"I said that?" you asked. You knew that it was what you wished to do, you just couldn't recall mentioning it to your husband.
He hummed, "While you were feverish."
He had been taking care of you?
"Well, yes- I wish to finally have a social circle."
"You mentioned that also."
You said nothing.
"Once you are fully returned to health, we shall make the journey," he said simply.
You couldn't help but beam, "Really?"
"Really."
"Thank you- thank you so much."
He shook his head, as if to say 'don't thank me'.
"I'm so glad you're my husband."
Mattheo chuckled, "I'll take care of you no matter what, darling."
***
Two weeks later, and the doctor had determined that you were back to being healthy and thus your convalescence was able to come to an end. It was then arranged for you and Mattheo to return to London for the remainder of the season but three days later, once you would have passed an appropriate honeymoon duration. While you were terribly excited to be able to properly socialise, you were also nervous. For one, your stepmother would be there, and for two, you weren't that experienced with the correct customs for socialising. The only comforting factor was that your husband would be there with you: a man who you held a lot of adoration for, and felt an immense amount of comfort from.
After the pneumonia episode, he hadn't distanced himself quite so much. Granted, you still hadn't engaged in your wedding night type of intimacy again yet, but you ate meals together, and frequently found yourself wandering over to his bed chamber in the night. The first time you had done it, it had been most nerve-wracking.
It had been a few days since you had snapped out of the fever dream episode, and were feeling much more energetic. Unfortunately, you had also been dealing with bouts of insomnia, which you suspected had something to do with your fear of falling asleep and re-entering the fever dream. Like usual, you found yourself up at the early hours of the morning, only the exhaustion was catching up to you and you could feel your chest tighten as hysteric panic began to set in.
Before you completely freaked out, you forced yourself up and over to the adjoining door, aiming to seek comfort from Mattheo even if the prospect of doing so petrified you. He stirred the second that you entered the room, at least it appeared like he did from what you could make out in the shadows. "Y/N?" he murmured.
You let out a sob.
"Come here," he said without hesitation and you gladly obliged, finding that you could finally drift into a slumber once in his arms.
And, thus, you went to him whenever you couldn't sleep.
But, now, you were in the carriage back to London, with your hands folded neatly in your lap and your husband sat across from you. You weren't sure why, but there was an awkward silence present.
***
Mattheo was conflicted.
He didn't know why he cared so deeply for you, why he was so willing to aid you whenever you were in need.
A strangled, screaming part of himself deep inside knew exactly why he felt how he did, but the part of him that he listened to feigned ignorance and told him it was simply expected of him to take care of his wife.
But the thing that confused him the most was the fact he felt the urge to tell you about his childhood, about his father, and about the lack of family and love he had endured. Why would he want to tell you such personal information that didn't even matter any longer, since the cause of it was dead?
Why did you make him feel this way?
"Mattheo?" he looked up at you sat opposite him. Your voice sounded small and timid.
"Yes?"
"Are you mad at me?"
He could have sworn he actually felt the searing pain of his heart breaking at that moment. He wasn't sure he was capable of being mad at you. "Of course not, why ever would you think that?"
You gave a gentle shrug, "You're quieter than normal."
"I'm often quiet." It was true: he was often regarded as a grumpy and brooding individual.
"Yes," you said tightly, "But not like this."
It stunned him how easily you could read him, but, then again, maybe he had never been close enough to anyone for them to know him. Maybe his emotions were obvious to anyone who cared enough to try and figure them out.
"Do you not wish to return to London?"
Mattheo paused for a moment. He hadn't put any thought into whether or not he wanted to go back to the capital, but initially it seemed like an obvious answer since he had always despised the season. Overbearing Mamas and their brood of debutante daughters were his idea of hell, but now he felt different. He realised that he did in fact want to go to London, not just because he was now married and off the Mamas' radar, but because you wanted to go. Mattheo was faced with the overwhelming realisation that he simply wanted to do whatever you wanted to do.
"Oh, dear, you don't, do you? We can turn around," you said quickly, making him snap out of his thoughts.
"No," he rushed to say, "We shall go to London."
"But you don't want to go."
"I do."
"But-"
"We are going, and that's final."
You opened your mouth to say something more, but decided against it, and turned your gaze to out the window.
The rest of the journey was silent.
***
"We need to discuss the rules for our time here," Mattheo said once you had settled into Riddle Manor for some dinner.
"We do?"
He hummed, "I will not be attending every social event we are invited to."
"But- people will think our marriage is rocky if you're not with me. The ton will talk, they always do."
"I said not every social event," he reminded, "I will attend some."
"You have to attend the first one," you said, "That one is the most important."
Mattheo agreed, "Of course, but from then on, it will be events here and there. You are welcome to attend alone."
You deflated a bit, but nodded your head, "Maybe we can host a ball at some point."
His eyebrows raised. Riddle Manor hadn't been the location of a ball in almost thirty years - there had been no lady of the house to host it.
"Perhaps," he replied pensively.
***
The next social event, to Mattheo's great horror, was the infamous Smythe-Smith musicale. Otherwise known as a torturous cacophony of four tone-deaf girls of whom were trusted with instruments that should have undoubtably never been allowed within five feet of them. You had heard what the quartet were like, having never attended yourself, and - honestly - you were rather excited to finally be a part of an inside joke of the ton that you had been left out of. Your husband was not nearly so enthusiastic, having attended exactly twice before, but not for a good many years.
Unfortunately, as selfish a woman as Lady Malton was, she was more than willing to sacrifice her hearing in order to secure impressive marriages for all of her (biological) daughters. So, you weren't surprised to enter the Smythe-Smith ballroom and see her stood with Grace closely by her side.
"Introducing, the Duke and Duchess of Covenshire," the man stood by the door announced, making your half-sister and stepmother quickly turn their attentions in your direction.
You squeezed Mattheo's arm tightly, to which he patted your hand and nodded when your family members approached.
"Your grace," Lady Malton gave a gentle curtsy - to Mattheo, not you, "How fares your marriage?"
It was a question that bordered on the edge of improper for polite society. "Most excellent," the duke replied coolly, making you smile to yourself.
Lady Malton gave the politest smile her sour face could muster.
"What brings you here?" Mattheo asked, trying to gauge why Lady Malton would put herself through the Smythe-Smith musicale with no daughters on the marriage mart.
"Marriage prospects, of course."
"Is Miss Grace Malton not engaged to Sir Charles?" he asked.
"Well- uh- yes."
The duke raised an eyebrow at the woman, and you must say that you were thoroughly enjoying this interaction.
"They shall be married at the end of the week," she said reluctantly, "But until the vows are complete, things can change."
That was when you realised: Lady Malton was praying on securing a last-minute proposal from someone of a higher status than Sir Charles. If it meant marrying into more wealth and more powerful connections, surely your father would agree to it.
"You should come to the wedding," Grace blurted out, "We thought you would still be in the country, so we didn't send an invitation."
You knew the real reason that you hadn't received an invitation was because Lady Malton would have taken control of all the wedding arrangements, and you were most certainly not on her invite list. But, she couldn't revoke the invitation to the duke's face and in a public setting, so she forced herself to smile and agree.
"That would be lovely," you beamed, purposefully showing as much enthusiasm as possible, simply to upset your stepmother, "Now, if you excuse us, I wish to secure front row seats."
Multiple people around you stared at you like you were insane - they just wouldn't understand your motivations.
"Trust me, front row seats are never the ones that need to be fought for here," Mattheo whispered to you as you both moved over to the rows of chairs set up.
You shrugged, "You're sitting with me whether you like it or not."
"Ah, Lady Danbury," he spoke as you came face to face with the renowned old woman sat in the very central front seat.
"Your grace," she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Come to enjoy the musicale?" your husband asked, the sarcastic undertone impossible to miss - at least to you.
"But, of course," Lady Danbury smiled, "I attend every year."
You desperately wanted to enter the conversation, but you didn't know how.
"You're the eldest Miss Malton, aren't you?" she said towards you, making you freeze on the spot.
"Uh, yes - Lady Riddle now, actually."
She hummed, waving her cane around despite being sat, "Yes, Duchess of Covenshire. Quite grand, no?"
You awkwardly smiled.
The dowager countess turned her attentions back to Mattheo, "I must admit, I didn't think you would marry for quite some time, your grace."
"Nor did I," he simply replied, which for some reason, slightly hurt you. You had inconvenienced his life: you were a burden to him as a result of him being a good person.
"I fear that love does tend to have the effect of uprooting our lives," Lady Danbury said wistfully, a gentler emotion than you had ever witnessed on her from afar at the few social gatherings you had been allowed at.
Love.
"I only wish I had been so lucky as to have had it been with my husband."
You looked up in surprise. To be honest, you knew very little of the dowager countess' life: she had been a widow for as long as you had been alive, so it was hard to imagine her having a husband. All you knew was that she was widowed very young, and chose to never remarry. Part of you had assumed that it was because of how much she loved her husband, like the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton. It was clear now that you were wrong, but you knew better than to pry.
"Alas, let us enjoy this musicale," she said with a glint in her eye, "It is meant to be a joyous occasion, after all."
You knew she said it sarcastically, but, for you, this was indeed a joyous occasion. You were more than thrilled to finally be a part of London society - the ton.
Sparing a glass in Mattheo's direction, you were surprised to see that he was already looking at you.
***
The duke did not attend another social event with you for the rest of the week, but almost every night you were out. It was strange, not needing to be chaperoned as a married woman, but you quite enjoyed it.
The first two events alone you spent as a wallflower - albeit a married one - which weren't so enjoyable. But, once people realised that the Duchess of Covenshire was present at the social events, you began attracting a lot of attention from fellow ladies who aspired to be friends with someone of such a powerful status. Soon, you were mingling with the ton as if you had always done so, although your social skills were still inept. Thankfully, most were willing to overlook this due to you being a duchess.
Then, your sister's wedding came around, and it meant that you would have your second outing with your husband accompanying you. That made you more excited than you were willing to admit.
"Blue is most becoming on you," Mattheo spoke from behind you, making you jump. You hadn't heard him enter your bed chamber.
"Thank you," you replied, "I had it tailored on Tuesday."
"How much?"
You blanched - it had been quite expensive. You had felt guilty at the time, but found it difficult to say no to the Madam who had been dressing you.
"Darling, you are free to spend my money, I am simply curious," he reassured you, "My wife deserves only the best, after all."
Butterflies swarmed in your stomach. Was it normal - for you to feel this way towards your husband when it was merely a marriage of convenience? You were snapped out of your thoughts when he moved closer to you and began kissing along your neck.
"Mattheo," you murmured.
He hummed, "Shame you're already dressed," and then he reluctantly pulled back, "But, we must depart now anyway."
That was the first hint you had received that he wanted to repeat the intimacies of your consummation. And it made your skin feel hot and prickly.
***
Your half-sister was a gorgeous bride: her elegant dress matching her eye colour and making her glistening smile seem bright. It was obvious that she was elated to be with Sir Charles, the incredibly young baronet who hung off her every word. One could only describe it as a love match.
"Thank you," you said to Mattheo, who was stood next to you as you applauded the newly weds.
"For what?"
"For recommending Sir Charles - and for marrying me."
He chuckled, "There is no need to thank me, darling. I can hardly complain about having a breath-taking wife, can I?"
Yet again, butterflies, and the overwhelming sense of desire.
Soon, it was time for the first dance of the newly married couple, celebrated back at Sir Charles' London residence. After they danced the first number alone, more couples joined the dance floor for a waltz. You couldn't help but look up at your husband hopefully.
He sighed fondly and held out his hand, "My lady?"
"My lord," you murmured, taking his hand and allowing him to lead you on to the dance floor.
As you moved into position, you found yourself avoiding looking at Mattheo's face, as for some reason it scared you. Maybe it was the proximity, or the emotions you had been consistently feeling for the last few days. Regardless, you felt timid.
"Darling?" your stomach flipped, and you were forced to meet his eyes.
"Yes?"
"I prefer it when you look at me," Mattheo muttered before he could stop the words from tumbling out. Momentarily, he froze, unable to ignore the way his heart burned in his chest.
"Okay," you said breathlessly, now not being able to tear your eyes away from him.
"You're so perfect."
A lump formed in your throat, "No one's perfect."
"Perfect for me," he said so quietly you almost didn't hear, just as the dance came to an end.
You stood in silence for a few moments, unable to process his words.
Eventually, you spoke, "Mattheo, I- I..."
The look in his eyes beckoned you on.
"Heaven knows I know nothing of love nor what it's like to be loved, but- but I think I love you."
His expression was unreadable, and you felt as if you had said the wrong thing, right up until, "I think I love you too."
God, why were tears pricking in your eyes?
No one had ever said that to you before.
And then you shoved yourself into his arms, desperately seeking warmth and affection as if it were your life line. The other people at the wedding and propriety be damned.
Mattheo moved his head to whisper in your ear.
"All's well that ends well to end up with you."
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masterlist
written; 09/08/2023 —> 04/10/2023 published;05/10/2023 edited; —/—/——
501 notes · View notes
wreckofawriter · 5 months
Text
Lucky Charm
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pairing: james potter x reader
summary (request by @delusionalcancer): hello! I was wondering if you could do a James Potter fiction where he has a very important quidditch match and begs you to go but you can’t so he is really sad but midway through he sees you in the crowd and gets super happy? Sorry if requests are closed!
word count: 5k
warnings: weed, language, a tiny bit of angst, james calls you doll, no y/n (i think)
a/n: been really liking writing about quidditch recently lol. This is based on book!james who is a chaser not a seeker. its a bit cheesy but i think its cute
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The common room was never quiet after Gryffindor had a quidditch match. Even when you lost -a rare occasion- there would be a crowd of bitter fans, grumbling about an unfair call or an unlucky miss, late into the night. Usually quidditch brought life and excitement to Gryffindor, no matter the outcome. But today as students in red and gold shuffled up the marble staircases and through the portrait hole they were silent, even in large groups there was no more than a hushed nervous whisper among them. The usual complaints that followed a loss had been discarded and forgotten. 
It bothered you. It was uncanny and made you shift uncomfortably in your chair by the fireplace. A glance around told you that you weren't the only one feeling that way, an uneasy air had filled the room. 
The match had been a brutal one, even now the heavy drops pounded against the windows of the tower, the winds shifting and fighting, unable to decide which way to blow. The air was just cold enough to turn what should have been rain to sleet, sharp and cold. Many had been surprised that the match had even taken place, expecting it to be canceled due to such terrible conditions. But the heads of houses refused to back away from a challenge, and the Gryffindor team hardly seemed to mind. 
“Quidditch is played in any weather and every weather.” James had insisted, the morning before the match, “They won’t cancel a match for anything and I don't expect them to.” 
You had stared up at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall anxiously watching as chunks of hail were blown sideways uneasily, “I don’t think I even wanna go watch.” 
James' face dropped as soon as you said this, “What? No!” he exclaimed, “You have to come watch. You're my lucky charm!” 
And of course when he said that with his lips pulled into his signature boyish pout you couldn’t deny him anything. 
Gryffindor was the favorite to win this year's cup, as they were every year since James joined the house team. It wasn’t all him of course but he had something no one else seemed to possess; raw and unbridled talent. People often joked that he was born to ride a broom, but it was hardly a joke. James’ broom wasn’t something he rode, it was a part of him. It seemed to a spectator that he could hop onto it and tell it what to do with nothing but his mind. He was graceful and precise so casually it seemed as if he were hardly trying at all. Today's game against Slytherin had been a shoe in, an expected win.
Which is why the loss had come with such a heavy silence. You couldn’t deny that Slytherin thought ahead, they too had been expecting the rain and had been a bit smarter about it, casting a series of enchantments and charms onto their players, paying extra attention to their seeker. So while your team fumbled through heavy storm clouds bogged down by drenched robes, the Slytherins had a relatively easy time navigating the skies. With this advantage they had taken the opportunity to humiliate the Gryffindor team as much as possible. 
Their chasers played dirty, purposefully slamming into the Gryffidors and then claiming they simply had not seen them. Their beaters were ruthless as well, using their bats for hitting more than just bludgers, one of them had hit your new third year seeker, Aada Laine, straight between the eyes with their wooden bat, breaking her glasses in two and bloodying her nose.
James, who was so used to winning and doing it easily, took this bitter start to the match poorly. His anger had risen quickly leading to a number of unnecessary fowls that the Slytherin team took with great enthusiasm and by the time Regulus had caught the snitch right from under a near blinded Aada, Slytherin was already up 120 to 40. Perhaps it was just the shame of a horrible game but as James landed he had been angrier than you had ever seen him. His usually unruly hair plastered down across his skull from the rain, one of the lenses of his glasses was cracked and he was gripping his broom so tightly you had been surprised it had not snapped in two. 
His obnoxious parade that usually occurred after a match had not taken place, in fact he had not even glanced at where you, Sirius, and Remus stood waiting for him on the edge of the pitch. Instead he marched across the mucky grass straight towards the seeker.
She was sobbing uncontrollably despite the fact that her nose and glasses had both been fixed by Madame Hooch. A few other teammates stood around the young girl attempting to offer comfort. But when James reached her he did no such thing, in fact he snatched the broom from her hand and yelled so loudly that even over the whipping of the wind and the jeers of Slytherin you had heard him kick her off the team. The rest of the Gryffidors had made to protest angry shouts and bitter words thrown at James but he had simply marched across the field and into the changing room leaving Aada wailing even louder than before.
No one had seen James since, and as you sat quietly in the common room with the other students it began to seem like you were all waiting for him. Waiting for him to show up, all smiles and jokes, and everything would go back to normal. But as hours ticked by and he never showed it became clear this was not going to be the case. 
By dinner time the common room had almost completely cleared out. The die-hard fans retreated to bed while the rest of the house trooped miserably to the Great Hall preparing for the taunts and jeers from the Slytherin table across the hall. 
It was almost dark by the time Remus climbed through the portrait hole looking annoyed, but he grinned when he saw you. 
“No dinner?” You asked him and he shook his head sitting beside you. 
“Been out looking for James.” 
Your eyes widened, “You still haven't found him?” 
“No we did.” He assured you quickly, “He's just acting like a prick so I decided I wanted to come in and dry off.” 
“Makes sense,” you sighed, “he looked furious out there.” 
“Tell me about it.” Remus groaned slumping back, his wet robes soaking onto the couch as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table, “He’s sulking like a child out at the boat house.” 
“Oh, he’s very mature.” You chidded and you both grinned lightly. 
There was a moment of quiet and the fireplace snapped, a portrait yawning. 
“I don't suppose you could go get him?” Remus asked, looking up at you hopefully. 
You sighed expecting this, “What makes you think I could bring him to reason?” 
“You know how he is,” Remus said and he was right. You knew exactly how James was, earnest and genuine and proud. You thought about it for a minute, Remus eyeing you hopefully. Reluctantly you gave in. “Well I best go get him.” 
You mumbled complaints under your breath on your way down towards the lake, the enticing smell and warmth of the great hall taunting you as you passed. 
The trail to the boat house was muddied and steep. By the time you reached the bottom you were shivering and damp, glad for the cover it provided from the wind and rain. James was seated at the edge of one of the docks staring out across the lake. 
You sat next to him and he turned, “Oh.” he said, “I thought you were Sirius.”
You grimace, “Does my hair look that bad?” 
James' usual laugh didn’t follow and instead he cracked a small forced grin. 
You’re both quiet for a moment, the sound of the rain pounding onto the roof and splashing onto the water. 
“Congrats on the game by the way.” You say.
“What?” James looked at you bitterly, “That's not funny.”
You grin, “Yeah but you were, I’d stand out in that shit weather to watch you knock Connaham off his broom again.” 
James paused, “He scored because of that.” 
“Eh, whatever,” you shrug, “Totally worth it.” 
You were expecting a laugh but instead James just shook his head, “You don’t understand.” 
“Well then explain it to me.” You said, rolling your eyes playfully at him. 
“We’ve got absolutely no chance at the cup anymore.” He says fiercely. 
You shrug again, “Since when I thought we were favorites? You just lost one game.”
By the way James looks at you you can tell he's getting frustrated but you don't back off keeping his gaze lock with yours. 
“Ravenclaw hasn’t lost at all, and there's no way we're beating them by 230 points. We’d have to be 80 points up and catch the snitch.” 
“That doesn't mean impossible.” You point out and he glares. 
“You don't understand quidditch.”
“Says who?” you say and he shoots you a look, “Okay so what if I don't understand quidditch, I do understand that you're bloody good at it.” 
Your praise raises a genuine smile out of him for the first time that night. 
“Didn’t know you thought so highly of me.” He said, wiggling his brows. 
“Don't let it go to your head.” 
There's another pause in conversation and you take the opportunity to pull a small joint from the pocket of your robes.
James grins, “Ah so this is the reason you're out in the cold.”
“What? No! I'm here purely to comfort you.” You giggle, lighting it with the flick of your wand. 
He watches you out of the corner of his eye, the way your face lights up from the soft orange glow of burning hash. Your eyes sparkle and your lips pucker as you exhale. He finds it hard to look away but does so quickly when you turn to look at him. 
“Want some?” 
He nods and takes the joint from you grinning, “Thanks doll.” 
You flush at the pet name, something he called you a bit too often. 
The two of you pass it back and forth a couple times silently, watching the cold rain splatter onto the surface of the lake. 
“You should really apologize to Aada though.” You mumble the slight buzz of your high making your voice sound floaty. 
James doesn't say anything for a moment before he folds his arms stubbornly, “I was serious about that. She played like shit.” 
You furrow your brow, “You all did James, that's not fair.” 
Heat rises to his cheeks as shame bubbles in his stomach, “I don’t care if it's not fair. That snitch was four centimeters from her nose when Black caught it. She cost us the game.” 
“Her broken nose.” You fight back, “And it's a team sport, she screwed up yeah, but so did you.” 
Embarrassment flooded James' head in an angry red, “If it weren't for me it would have been a bloody blowout!” He snaps and you're taken aback, “I scored every damn point we had and youre saying I screwed up?” 
You look at him bitterly, “Yeah I am. You let yourself get all pissed off before the game was even up and your team fell apart. You're the captain, take some responsibility.” you scoff. 
James is now glowering, the softness of being high turned sharp and awkward, “You don’t even know what youre talking about.” 
“I may know nothing about quidditch James but I do know that making a little girl cry over a game is a prick move.” You spit. 
“It's not just a game!” He shouted at you so loud you flinched back. 
Your eyes are narrowed as you stand, “That's exactly what it is James, a game. And you let yourself get all worked up over it like a child.” 
He tenses as you speak, he feels as if someone had punched him in the gut when you look at him like that. But his pride takes over in a swoop and anger rises as he stands too, “What are you even doing down here?” He demands, “To smoke fucking weed and ‘comfort me’? You're not my bloody girlfriend!” 
You stop dropping your shoulders, he was right of course, you weren't his girlfriend. As much as everyone always seemed to assume you were, as much as you flirted and touched, sneaking off together into the night beneath his cloak. The two of you had always toed the line of intimacy but you had yet to cross it, something you lay awake thinking about most nights. 
“You're right.” You state firmly, “I don’t know what I’m doing down here.”  And you turn, throwing the roach onto the ground and stomping it out. You're back out into the night grateful, as the weather hides your tears. 
James doesn't follow though he bites his tongue harshly when you leave, wanting to call out, apologize and beg you to stay with him. But he doesn't, just watching you go with balled fists before he yells and swings at the stone wall.
The next morning is awkward when James makes it down to the great hall for breakfast, his hair messier than usual and dark circles under his eyes, the knuckles on his right hand scabbed.
The two of you sit on opposite sides of Sirius who carried the conversation on his back with great effort. 
“Godric, what is up with you two?” He asks finally, “You’re walking around like fuckin’ corpses.” 
“Nothing.” you shrug not meeting his eyes, “Just tired.” 
Sirius eyes you both, and then glances at Remus who is mentally praying for him to shut up. “Sure…”
You excuse yourself to head to Arithmancy and Sirius turns to James immediately, “So you guys finally shagged huh?” 
James sputters and Remus scoffs in disbelief. 
“That's not while you’re all awkward?” He gaped, “What the hell else could it be?” 
James grimaced, “We just… had an argument. “ 
“Don’t tell me it was over Quidditch.” Sirius says and James looks away, “Christ you're an idiot.” 
James just nods in agreement, letting his head rest in his arms. All of the anger he felt towards you had been replaced by regret over his sleepless night and now all he wanted was for you to smile at him, but you wouldn’t even meet his eyes. 
“Well, apologize.” Remus says, beginning to pack up his things, “Seems you have a lot of apologizing to do after yesterday.” 
James stares gloomily at where you had been sitting, “Yeah I know.” 
It's not till lunch when he finally gets you alone, cornering you on your way out of Herbology and back up to the castle. The grounds are wet from yesterday's weather and your shoes are covered in mud. 
“I’m sorry.” Is the first thing that comes out of his mouth, “I didn’t mean to yell at you last night, I was just upset and tired and I… I shouldn’t have done that. I'm really sorry doll.” 
You eye him skeptically, looking for a hint of anything but pure sincerity, but find none. His eyes are glued to you like he's begging you to forgive him and as usual you just can't say no. 
“All’s forgiven James.” You say simply, “Though you're lucky I didn't push you into the lake.” 
Neither of you mention the real reason you stormed back to the castle last night, what he had said about what you were, or more what you weren’t. The topic seemed too heavy for the bright sun that seeps through cracks in the clouds. 
He grins and throws an arm around you, “See this is why you're the best.” 
You raise a brow, “Why ‘cuz I put up with all your bullshit?” 
“No, because you forgive me for all my bullshit.” 
“That's because I know you're an idiot who only means about half of what he says.” You snicker and it feels as if the world has gone back to spinning when he leans into you.
“I'd give myself at least a good three quarters.” He smirks. 
“Of course you would.” 
Remus looks pleased to see you hooked under James’ arm when you enter the common room, “See you two have kissed and made up.” 
You flush.
“I think we're missing half that equation.” James said slyly, leaning in to peck your cheek, “There, all better.” 
“Get off me James,” You huff, heart pounding as you half-heartedly push him away to take a seat on the couch and you know everything is back to normal when he sits beside you and throws his arm back over your shoulder with a pout. 
And things stay normal, well as normal as they usually are. 
The weather begins to warm and the trees begin to sprout new growth, green and pink flowering across the forest whenever you look out the window. A sense of excitement has gathered in the students, even as exams approach the sun gleaming through dusty windows in the castle make everyone feel giddy. 
James has been practicing non-stop now as the final match against Ravenclaw approaches. He's out late, keeping the team out till dark to run drill after drill, play after play. He's even taken to giving private lessons to the new seeker, “Can’t have them falling apart when I leave, doll,'' He explained when you asked, “Plus I need her to be prepared for the match, we’re gonna win that cup again I swear.” 
It was nice to see he was nothing but optimism again, his natural state. But it all crashed to the ground when the date for the match was set. 
Your eyes go wide when he tells you, “The 16th?” 
“Yeah, so you better start making your ‘Go Potter’ banner now.” He says cheekily.
“James..” You pause and feel guilt bubble in your chest, “I have my apparition test on the 16th. It was set ages ago.” 
His face falls, “I thought we all took the test back in January!”
You shake your head, “Wasn’t 17 yet, my mum had to pull some strings so I didn't have to wait till summer.”
“So you can't come?” He’s devastated, his heart sinking into his stomach, he doesn't just want you there, he needs you there; to glance down at in the crowd after he scores, to wink at as he sweeps past, “But youre my lucky charm.” His voice is so soft it hurts.
 “I know James, I’m so sorry, I had no idea.” You look down at your hands unable to handle the disappointment that was written on his face. 
He doesn't say anything, just staring down at the food on his plate. Suddenly his appetite was gone, he didn’t know what to think, how to think. What was even the point of quidditch if you couldn’t be impressed by his amazing dives and dodges?, “Will you at least be there before the match?” he asks.
You shake your head, “I’m leaving Friday after classes. My mum is gonna bring me back on Sunday.” 
And he wanted to cry, it was childish and dramatic but it felt like you were abandoning him before his big moment, his big match, one that he had been working so incredibly hard to win, “Oh.” is all he can muster out and you're both left looking at your laps. 
You apologize again, and try not to let the heaviness in your chest drag you through the floor. You weren’t sure if there was anything worse than disappointing him, you preferred him fiery and fuming.
When James reached the Quidditch pitch for practice that day he seemed to have lost all of his energy, his feet dragging. He kept getting asked if he was okay and he kept saying yes even though it felt like someone had smashed him to bits and put him back together with nothing but scotch tape. 
He played terribly, his usual charisma lost leaving his passes stale. He felt anger rising with every mistake he made, how could he let this happen? How could he let you have so much impact on him? How could one person missing from a stand of hundreds make him not even want to play? It was infuriating how obsessed he had become with you. Sirius and Remus had warned him this would happen, that his little crush would grow into a bulging monster, and they had been right. He simply couldn’t help it, you were stunning. And funny and brilliant and every other positive adjective he could possibly come up with, he would list what he liked about you for years if you asked. It was this reason he just couldn’t bring himself to confess, the only thing worse than having to keep you at arm's length was losing you altogether. And despite his friend's assurance that his feelings were returned he just couldn’t risk it, he couldn’t risk being wrong and not even being able to call you his friend anymore. Because, once again, he needed you. 
So he played it up, with the petnames and the touches, he took what he could trying to make it obvious, to convince you to make the move he so desperately wanted to. But you hadn't, you had just blushed and giggled, turning his heart to mush. 
And now he was sitting in an empty locker room, tears spilling down his cheeks because you couldn’t be at the most important game he had ever played, would ever play. He wiped them away desperately but they just kept coming, making his face feel hot and his head throb. 
The ache didn’t go away over time like he thought it would but grew, weighing him down like a ball and chain. Everyone noticed, his friends, his teammates and worst of all you. 
You kept apologizing, like it was your fault that his match had been scheduled on the one weekend you would be out of the castle. He could tell you felt terrible about it and it only made him feel worse that he wasn’t just bringing down his own performance but your own. If you didn’t pass your exam he was sure it would be his fault for making his own devastation at your departure so obvious. 
The sixteenth approached with building anticipation, the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors that usually got on quite well had begun to shout obscenities at each other at dinner. Team members were taunted constantly in corridors on the way to classes, a duel had even broken out between two beaters, landing them both in the hospital wing for a short spell. But of course ever the strategist, the Ravenclaws had saved their best ammo for last. 
It was Friday night before the match and you had already left giving James a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek ‘for luck’ that had actually improved his mood quite a bit. As if sensing this the Ravenclaw captain had materialized before him on his way back from dinner with a sick grin on his face. 
“Heard not even your girlfriend wants to watch you lose tomorrow Potter.”
James flushed red, “Piss off, Robinson.” 
He just laughed, “I mean after your horrid performance last match I bet you asked her to leave huh?” 
James tried to swallow his fury but he was not doing very well, his fists bunching at his sides. 
“Maybe when I win she’ll realize you're all talk and finally go on that date with me.” he taunts. 
James knows this is very untrue, you had confessed to him many times that you found Robinson nothing short of annoying, claiming he had an even bigger head than himself, but he still felt jealousy rising in his gut. Would you think less of him if he lost again? Would you laugh about it behind his back? Would you give some other guy a kiss on the cheek and wish him luck instead? He wasn’t sure he could bear even the thought. 
He strode past Robinson with a seething glance, “You're gonna be bloody crying by the time the match is over tomorrow.” He hissed and then marched up the stairs to a restless night of dreams involving you kissing some faceless guy in blue quidditch robes. 
James felt sick the next morning, his head was throbbing behind his eyes and no matter how much bacon he tried to force into his mouth he just didn’t feel like eating. It wasn’t until Aada came up to him literally shaking from nerves that he realized he was just gonna have to pretend to be okay. 
He gave his usual pep talk in the locker room, but his eyes were cold and hard instead of the usual glowing excitement that he alluded. The team was tense when they marched out onto the field, the sun was out and the sky was clear. A cold morning breeze swept across the grass as he shook hands with a smirking Robinson and he shivered. 
The whistle blew and it began. 
“Potter with the quaffle!” The commentator began, “Nice dodge there, oh that looked like it hurt! It’s Ravenclaw with it now.” 
James growled rubbing his side where the bludger had hit him and racing after the girl who had snatched his fumble. 
The game pushed on and James was surprised to find that while he was playing mediocre at best, the rest of the team seemed to be making up for it on the tenfold. Aada, who had been instructed to do nothing but annoy the Ravenclaw seeker until Gryffindor was eighty points up was doing a magnificent job, the extra time he had put into training  her showing obviously in her skillful maneuvering and dives. The beaters had yet to miss a hit and twice James had been able to score with only the keeper as an obstacle. 
Despite the fact that they had gone in at a significant disadvantage the Gryffindors were shockingly loud, James didn’t glance much at the crowd, afraid it would make him realize who wasn’t there more than who was, but he could hear them even over the whooshing of wind in his ears. 
They were almost an hour into the game when the snitch was first spotted, but only 50 points up, Aada was unable to go for it and instead took the opportunity to run straight into the Ravenclaw keeper, nearly knocking him off his broom. She played it off beautifully, tears and all, and it cost them only one penalty shot which their keeper saved. James could have hugged them both. 
When the quaffle was tossed after, Robinson had snatched it from James’ grasp and sped towards the hoops. A bludger caught him in the side and the quaffle spiraled from his grip down towards the Gryffindor crowd, James raced after it, his feet sweeping inches from the heads of his classmates when he caught it with a roll. It was then that something caught his eye. 
A flag so large it was being held by four people was spread and waving mere inches from his face, the words, “Go Potter!” sprawled on it in red and gold ink that had been enchanted to send off sparks that crackled and snapped with golden light. 
He looked down and saw you staring up at him, a red hat pulled over your head as you cranned up at him, waving your arms as wildly as you could possibly manage. You were grinning so wide he could see each of your teeth, your cheeks pink and eyes glinting as you cheered up at him. 
When you locked eyes he felt his heart rise from his stomach and pound away in his chest. He wanted to drop into the stands that very moment, take you into his arms and kiss you stupid. But instead he sent you a wink and sped off towards the goals feeling like someone had just gifted him a pair of wings. 
“Potter with the quaffle, bludger coming his way. A beautiful dodge!” The commentator yelled, “And he's looped Robinson as well, look at him go!” 
James had never felt so confident in his life, and he scored with ease again and again, coming to do a victory lap round your flag each time he did. 
“And Potter scores again!” shouted the loudspeakers, “He has been simply unstoppable! Gryffindor leads 160 to 80!” 
The cheers were deafening around you and James once again hoovered above you momentarily, blowing you a kiss that caused your cheeks to light on fire. He was actually doing it, he was winning the match he had told you was impossible and pride swelled in your stomach. It wasn't ten minutes later when Aada caught the snitch and it was official, you had won, both the game and the cup. 
The team hurdled to the ground and swarmed their seeker, but James had started in a run the opposite way, towards the crowd that was now rushing out onto the pitch. 
He shoved past the first few to reach him and beelined for where you were jogging at him, arms spread. 
You collided with such force that if he hadn’t lifted you into the air you were sure you would have toppled over onto the ground. His arms wrapped around your waist spinning you around with a shout, “You came!” 
You nodded, smiling so hard it hurt, you looked down at him, his cheeks flushed, brown eyes glistening in the sunlight and you knew at that moment that it was meant to be. You took both hands and cupped his face pulling it into yours and kissing him feverishly. 
There was a loud chorus of cheers and whoops around you but neither of you heard, too lost in the taste of one another. When you broke away he was grinning even wider, “You passed then?” 
You had forgotten all about your test that morning, but he hadn’t, of course he hadn’t. 
“Yeah, I disappeared as soon as they handed me my license.” You giggled, heart hammering in your chest, “Mum’s gonna kill me for missing dinner.” 
“You’re a bloody treasure doll.” He laughed, and then he drew you into another kiss squeezing you tight around the middle as your hands ran through his hair. “My lucky charm.” 
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houseofceline · 4 months
Text
My Pretty Girl - T.N.
Steal My Girl
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Pairing: Ravenclaw and sort of ditzy but talented Reader x Slytherin notorious playboy Theodore Nott
Warnings: None (yet ;))
Summary: Theo's friends get to meet you for the first time.
&lt; 2
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Perfect. 
You clapped your hands in satisfaction after taking a little study break to organize all your fabrics by color. The plan was originally to go to the dining hall to grab a quick snack, but your messy little studio set up in your dorm easily distracted you on the way out and made you change your plans. 
Your fingers flipped through the pages of your design sketchbook. A small smile formed on your face as you traced your sketches. 
Fashion. 
The only thing that you felt competent in. You didn’t have to try to make things look good. It was the only thing that came natural to you. You could plan an entire outfit for any occasion faster than you could even list the ingredients in a simple potion. You weren’t going to become a doctor like both of your parents, but you thought it’d be better to do something you’re good at rather than forcing yourself to study materials that you’ll never be able to understand. No matter how many times they tried to persuade, or threaten, you to change career paths, you never strayed far from your dreams. The dreams that kept you happy when you were scolded for wanting to stay home and draw instead of going with your father to work.
At least you will never have the chance to mess up a surgery. That would be worse than the invention of jeggings. 
The door swung open and your roommate walked in. You furrow your eyebrows upon her presence, wondering why she would be back so early from her date with Cedric. 
“How’d your date go?” You closed your design book and walked towards your bed before flopping onto it. 
So comfy. 
Cho sighed before rolling her eyes, “stupid last minute quidditch practice.” 
You giggled as your stomach growled. Maybe you should’ve gotten a snack before you decided to clean. 
“Dining hall?” Cho offered her arm out. 
You jumped up from your bed and happily skipped over to her and took her arm. 
“I’m famished,” You exclaimed in desperate need of having anything in your stomach after the oatmeal bowl for breakfast. 
“Me too, Cedric had promised me pastries from a bakery in Hogsmeade before I got canceled on,” Cho grumbled as the two of you walked in a pair towards the hall. 
Pastries. Croissants. Ugh you missed home. France has the best pastries. Now you were craving a chocolate croissant. Not that croissants are the only pastry in France. 
“Next ti- ow,” you rubbed your head after the harsh impact, stumbling a bit. 
“Watch where you’re going next time mate,” another boy came up and landed a harsh slap on his back. 
“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” The boy in front of you questioned frantically while trying to hide the fact that he was searching your head for any bruises. Theo might kill him if he made a bruise on his “pretty girl”. 
“I‘m okay,” you waved your hands in front of your face, kind of nervous that people were starting to look.
“Hello y/n,” The other boy came up and offered his hand out. 
You were confused on how he knew your name despite the fact that you didn’t know his, but still shook his hand. 
The boy chuckled at your confused looking expression. He could understand why Theo had called you pretty instead of his usual “she’s hot”s that the group would receive when talking about girls. 
“I’m Mattheo, Riddle,” he winked, “Nott’s friend. And this is Lorenzo.” 
You made an ‘ohh’ face in recognition but you remained surprised at the fact that you were even linked to him. 
Cho nudged your side. You looked over to her and was met with a raised eyebrow. You were as equally as confused as her. You and Theodore had only interacted once and it was during that one potions class, the day Cho had to skip due to sickness. You had no idea why his friends knew about you or were even talking to you.
But nonetheless you offered a warm smile towards the two boys, “nice to meet you.”  
“Nice to finally meet you too,” Lorenzo returned the gesture. You liked him, he seemed nice. 
Cho cleared her throat while clutching her stomach. You had forgotten what the two of you had even come to the hall for. 
“Well, enjoy your meal!” You waved them goodbye as Cho dragged you to the Ravenclaw filled tables and out of their sights. 
“Who are you losers bothering,” Theo scowled and smacked the two boys on the back. 
“We were just getting acquainted with our best mate’s girlfriend,” Mattheo teased as Theo raised his arm pretending to hit him, making Mattheo duck. 
“Girlfriend? Please, you and I both know I don’t do none of that,” Theo rolled his eyes and the trio walked over to their table. 
“Lucky her, you’re not exactly boyfriend material yourself,” Enzo replied as they took their seats grabbing their lunches before quidditch practice. The first game between Slytherin and Gryffindor was coming up, they needed all the fuel they could get before Malfoy made them run what felt like 100 laps during practice. 
“What are you talking about? I'm the epitome of it,” Theo replied confidently as he took a bite of his sandwich. Sandwich was a bit dry, Italians do it better.
“Right, someone bring Hannah over for questioning,” Mattheo laughed as Theo glared at him.
“We never dated, I don’t owe her anything.” 
____________________
“IT’S SO COLD!” You let out a high pitched scream as a huge gust of wind blew right into your face. You had a sweater that you knitted yourself on, paired with a skirt and black tights along with a designer scarf you had searched the whole country for. It was late October, but you hadn’t expected the weather to drop this low. Maybe you should’ve worn your winter coat or opted for a bigger scarf. Or maybe you shouldn’t have come at all. That was the original plan until Cho had managed to convince you to attend. You didn’t really understand quidditch. The whole game seemed complicated to you, plus the whole flying really high and the possibilities of students getting hurt didn’t sit well with your stomach. But you came regardless and it seemed to make Cho very happy. 
“I KNOW BUT WE HAVE SUCH GOOD SEATS!” Cho screamed over the loud clapping and cheering that signaled that the game was about to start. Loud screaming, another thing you weren’t a huge fan of. 
“HERE!” Cho screamed as she took her earmuffs off and placed them on your head. 
“YOU MIGHT NEED THEM MORE THAN I DO!” She yelled before turning her attention back to the game. 
One by one players in either red or green began to fly out. Everyone you were cheering as if it was a competition to see which side would be the loudest. 
“GO HARRY! YEAH!” You heard Cedric shout from the other side of Cho. 
You didn’t know any Gryffindors that well but since you were in a crowd of people all supporting that team, you didn’t want to stand out so you decided to clap along. 
You recognized a few Slytherin players, the faces of the two boys who you had bumped into a few days earlier were spotted flying on broomsticks. You secretly clapped for them as well. 
The mixture of red and green made your heart happy. Christmas. Your favorite holiday. Only two months to go! You couldn’t wait until you get to start putting together presents and drink peppermint mochas with your friends. It was all so exciting! 
Focus on the game! 
You scolded yourself. You look up and frown as you see players begin to grow aggressive. You frowned as a Gryffindor player tried to throw one of those flying balls at Lorenzo. 
You knew it was part of the game but the fact that someone had almost harmed the nice boy made you want to reach for your wand. 
“Yay go Enzo!” You cheered and clapped as you watched him dodge them with ease. A few Gryffindors side eyed you and gave you nasty stares but it was hard to pay them any mind with the distracting colors of ketchup and mustard wrapped around their necks. 
Theo wanted to thank Berkshire, he really did. He wanted to thank him for providing him the strength to throw bludgers at Gryffindors. What was he doing stealing your attention like that? Last time he checked Berkshire was busy trying to ask out a Slytherin a year younger than them. He needs to leave you alone, you were his friend first. Maybe he should throw a bludger and knock Berkshire off his broom. 
Would that be a Slytherin or Gryffindor point?
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chocochannie · 9 months
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Blaise Zabini headcanons
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He loves baking
Really smart but doesn't show it
Has a good skin care routine, literally better than Pansy's
Mamas boy
Kinda quiet, but when you get to know him he'll never shut up
Likes reading by the fireplace
Loves Draco more than himself, they're inseparable
Owls his mum often, he tells her about all the little things that happened
He's friends with Luna and Neville, and every time he hears someone speaking bad about them, he's ready to fight
That man is extremely humble
He's really fascinated by muggle sports
He's an amazing listener and advice giver, you can come to him every time you feel down
Fluent in Italian
Treats Pansy like his little sister
He's a gentleman, his mum taught him how to treat girls right
Neat handwriting
Loves potions and dada
Enjoys watching old muggle movies
Girls are all over him but he hates it
Always on time
Loves giving and receiving flowers
He's literally addicted to coffee, can't start a day without a cup of coffee
Has the prettiest eyes you've ever seen
Dad of the group
Drags Theodore out of bed almost everyday, just to make sure he eats breakfast
Gives really good hugs
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Masterlist
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moonstruckme · 4 months
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I would loooove Sirius taking care of reader after a GNO like he’s so supportive of girls night and then reader calls him to pick her up or she gets dropped off at his flat/house and she’s just all snuggly and lovey and Siri is just all 🤭😚 “you’re cute when you’re needy”
Thanks for requesting!
cw: drunkenness
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words
“Sirius!” You tear out of Lily’s grasp as soon as the door is open, pitching forward. Sirius scrambles to catch you, his arms compensating for your jelly legs when your face lands just north of his navel. 
“Hi,” he says, surprised but not at all displeased. You’re not typically a very tactile creature. You and Sirius have hugged a handful of times, but only when you were feeling in need of comfort or especially overwhelmed by affection. Or, apparently, squiffed. He tries to pick you up to your full height, but you lock your arms around his waist and don’t let go. He looks at Lily. “Is she alright?” 
Lily nods, giggling as Mary mumbles something nonsensical (at least to Sirius) into the skin of her shoulder. “Yeah, she’s okay. I think she’s having a great time, actually.” She grins at the way you’re smiling contentedly into the fabric of Sirius’ shirt. “Could you have her call us in the morning? I’m very curious to see what all she remembers from tonight.”
Sirius raises his eyebrows. “What should she remember?”
“Well, I fucking hope she hasn’t forgotten the part with the bouncer,” Marlene guffaws. “She promised she’d bring him cupcakes, and I think he’s expecting to collect.” 
“Just have her call us,” Lily says, dragging the other two girls away. “Thanks, Sirius!”
“I want to be allowed in on the debrief!” he calls after them before shutting the door, careful not to let it hit your ankles. 
He looks down at you, still vaguely smiley but otherwise seeming like you might be dozing. Your eyes are closed, one of your cheeks is squished up against his abdomen, and you’ve got your hands bunched in the fabric of Sirius’ shirt at the small of his back. He pets the back of your head, thinking of what to do with you. 
“Doing alright, sweet thing?” he asks softly. 
You pick your head up, setting your chin against him so that your face is tilted upward at an awkward angle. You look at Sirius, and the sun rises in his chest. Just like always. “Hello,” you say. 
Sirius smiles. “Hello, lovely. Did you have fun?” 
“Mhm.” You seem to realize that the position you’ve chosen is less than comfortable, slipping down his legs and puddling at his feet. One of his calves still firmly in your grasp. He can feel the cold of your hands through his pajama pants. “Still having fun.” A tiny giggle bubbles out of you, amused with yourself. “The fun never ends.” 
“Not with you,” Sirius agrees, deciding to sit on the floor with you. You make it look like the place to be. “Say, doll, Lily’s got me curious. What happened with the bouncer?” 
“The bouncer…oh!” Your eyes light up. “He wouldn’t let us into the club, but I got us in.” 
“Yeah?” He laughs as you take one of his hands and bring it into your lap as if this is something you do every day, playing with his rings. “How’d you manage that?” 
You look at him gravely. “I did what I had to do.” 
He blinks, then reminds himself that Marlene had said something about cookies. “And what did you have to do?” 
“Nine rounds of rock-paper-scissors.” 
Sirius guffaws at the solemnity in your expression, leaning forward to peck you on the cheek when you seem a tad wounded by his levity. “Well, I suppose sacrifices had to be made,” he tells you. “You got your way in the end, hm?” 
“I did,” you agree, looking rather pleased with yourself. “Though I did have to promise him baked goods as payment. Bribery, you know.” You lean forward until your forehead lands on his chest, his hand still in yours, and sigh heavily. Sirius brings a hand to your back, rubbing between your shoulder blades. 
“Feeling alright, doll?” 
“Yeah,” you sigh again, and then you’re shuffling into his lap, setting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m just really happy you’re here.” 
“Well,” he jokes, “it is my flat, so.” 
“I love you so much.” You sound vaguely teary, and Sirius’ heart contracts painfully. 
“I love you too, baby,” he says back, letting the sappiness you both usually tend to shy away from seep into his tone. 
“And I love when you call me that.” Your grip tightens around his ribcage. He presses his palm in between your shoulder blades like he can steady you. “You’re so nice to me, Siri.” 
Sirius hums noncommittally, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “If I were really that nice,” he says, “I would have been a better boyfriend and gotten some water in you as soon as you got here. C’mon, sweetness.” He hoists you with him as he stands. “Let’s go have a drink.” 
He changes his mind when you seem unwilling to walk by yourself, taking you to bed instead so he can bring you water there. He finds your favorite pajamas and helps you change into them, telling you to close your eyes when he uses the emergency makeup wipes you’ve left at his place to fast-track your skincare routine. You laugh and play-fight him as he manhandles you beneath the covers, but he’s only reminded of your true strength when he goes to get your water and you latch onto his arm in protest. 
“Don’t leave,” you beg, looking partly like you’re having fun with this game and partly like you might be genuinely upset if he does. “I don’t need water.” 
“Course you do,” he says, working a hand behind your ear so he’s holding your face. You lean into the touch fondly. “All flowers need water.” 
To his disappointment, you don’t seem to recognize the compliment, pouting at him. “M’not like other flowers,” you argue. “I need you tons more than I need water, Siri.” 
He smiles, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “You’re awfully cute when you need me, you know that?” 
You beam in response. 
Sirius debates whether he’s going to tell you tomorrow how lovey-dovey you’ve been tonight. On the one hand, it’d be the highlight of his week to watch how flustered you get, but on the other you might very well break up with him out of embarrassment. He’ll have to decide later. 
“You’ve still got me,” he reassures you. “I just need you to have some water, too, baby.” He wields his new knowledge of how that particular endearment affects you to his advantage, and it works; you go all soft around the edges. Sirius pushes his advantage. “I won’t be gone more than thirty seconds, promise.”
You seem to deliberate for a few moments before capitulating, giving him your most severe look. It’s adorable. “I’m going to time you,” you threaten. 
“Sounds good.” He gives your cheek a little peck and starts for the kitchen, your voice mounting behind him as you count upwards. 
He’s back quickly with a tall glass of water and a couple of pain relievers, and you glare at him. “That was more than thirty seconds.” 
“Sorry, doll.” He doesn’t mention that you’d skipped the twenties. “Guess I’m not as fast as I thought.” 
You make it very clear he’s not yet forgiven, but you still seem to want to hug him. Sirius is delighted, palming the back of your head when you bury it in his shoulder. “Missed you,” you mumble, and he thinks he finally detects some sleepiness in your voice. 
“Baby, I was gone for less than a minute.” 
You nod as if in agreement. “It was horrible,” you grumble softly, breath warming his skin through his shirt. “Never do that again.” 
“Alright.” Sirius lets his palm coast down the line of your spine, back up again. “Alright, I won’t.”
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shynverlight · 2 months
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'-This world is nearing it's end.'
This artwork is a magic war au, where ordinary people discover that magic exists. The war between wizards and muggles reaches the point of no return, the number of wizards is getting smaller with each day. So they decide to use an ancient ritual in order to go back and rewrite the future.
(please smb write some ff like this I'm starved. Why did I tag tomarry? Cuz in my head this scenario leads to such outcome)
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