#breaking rules

[P.S. Yes, I know this is not what professional sportsmanship looks like. But humour me. Please.]

Okay, so hear me out.

We all know Kim is half Korean and half Thai. We all know Kenta is half Japanese and half Thai. Which brings me to: The Asian Olympic Throwdown. My very scientific hypothesis.

Kim, 25, is one of the stars of the Korean National Taekwondo Team. Headstrong, competitive, and brutally honest. He loathes foul play, and if you try dirty tactics around him, expect to be folded in half like laundry.

Kenta, 22, is Thailand’s second-youngest Judo representative—bubbling with raw potential and a fire so intense he’s casually tossed Taiwan, Japan, and China over his shoulder in a single match like he's flipping pancakes. But then he hits a twist—literally—when he goes up against Korea’s Park Soojun. The reigning Korean champion, determined to make his retirement tomorrow’s headline, nearly chokes the life out of Kenta with an illegal hold that wrapped around his neck and chest like a steel trap.

The ref doesn’t call it. But everyone sees it.

They see Kenta’s face turning as blue as his judogi. They see his hand go limp after his eighth desperate tap on the tatami. By the time Park Soojun stands up, arms raised to be declared winner, Pete—Kenta’s senior—is already grabbing the man by his eri and tossing him halfway to Seoul.

Cue the chaos.

It’s Korea versus Thailand, with deeply personal flair.

Both teams rally, fists flying and pride bleeding, until it escalates to the point where backup from other national teams starts rushing in to help. Because why not. Who doesn’t want a front-row seat at the intersection of Olympic glory and male ego?

The arena becomes a kennel of raging dogs and shattered diplomacy.

And Kim—Kim, of all people—ends up in the eye of the storm.

No one knows how it happens, or when it starts, but suddenly Way from the Jujutsu team gets a surprise kick to the ribs, and before Kim can blink, he’s being tackled. His throat is locked between Kenta’s thighs, and not in a way anyone would describe as platonic.

He should feel suffocated. He should feel like the darkness is closing in. He should be seeing the light.

But instead—his lungs won’t stop being greedy for the scent of an Omega around him. His heart won’t stop slamming against his ribs, begging to be let loose so it can latch onto the leg pressing against his chest. And his mouth—damn it, why won’t his mouth stop aching to bite and claim?

mattheo riddle x f!gryffindor reader

SUMMARY: You hate Mattheo Riddle with your whole chest. He’s arrogant, smug, reckless, and everything a Gryffindor Prefect shouldn’t have to babysit. But when you’re assigned to watch over him during his “academic probation,” you learn the one rule you can’t follow is staying away.

WARNINGS: Enemies-to-lovers tension, angst, fluff, smut 18+, profanity, Gryffindor!POC reader, reader with curly hair, toxic banter, violence, comfort, protective Mattheo, possessive tendencies, all characters 18+

Life had a cruel way of making jokes at your expense, and this one might’ve been the worst.

When Professor McGonagall paired you—you, a Gryffindor Prefect who followed rules to the letter—with Mattheo Riddle—Hogwarts’ most notorious rule-breaker, fighter, and general menace—you nearly quit your badge on the spot.

But probation meant he needed a “watchdog.” And somehow, McGonagall had picked you.

“You’re joking,” you’d muttered, tie hanging loose, arms crossed as Mattheo smirked from his chair, sprawled out like a king. “Afraid not, Miss (L/N),” McGonagall said crisply. “Mr. Riddle requires…structure.” “Structure?” you’d scoffed. “He requires an exorcism.”

He winked at you then, dark curls messy, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Looking forward to it, sweetheart.”

Two weeks in, you hated him more than you thought possible.

Mattheo made everything difficult. Curfew checks? He snuck out of the common room just to make you chase him. Homework patrols? He turned in blank parchments, only to charm them into filthy doodles when you weren’t looking. He lived to test your patience, leaning close just to whisper:

“You’re fun when you’re mad, you know that?”

But what made it worse wasn’t his smirk or his arrogance—it was the way he looked at you. Like he saw straight through every wall you’d ever built. And you hated the way your body reacted when his shoulder brushed yours, or when he leaned in just an inch too close.

It all came to a head in the library.

You sat across from him, quill scratching furiously as you filled in your Transfiguration essay. Mattheo wasn’t writing—he was staring. Fingers tapping the desk, curls falling into his eyes.

“Stop,” you muttered, eyes on your parchment.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

His grin grew slow, wolfish. “Like what?”

“Like you want to—” You cut yourself off, cheeks heating.

Mattheo tilted his head, smirk never faltering. “Like I want to what, princess?”

That was it. You slammed your quill down, heart hammering, and stood to leave. But he grabbed your wrist, tugging you back down.

“Don’t run from me,” he said softly, suddenly serious, eyes burning into yours. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

You scoffed, though your chest ached. “Afraid? No. Annoyed? Every second.”

His hand lingered, thumb brushing your pulse before he finally let go. But you felt it long after you left the library, all the way to bed, where you dreamt of his mouth instead of hating him.

The night it all snapped, it was raining.

Mattheo had gotten into yet another fight—this time with a Ravenclaw who’d insulted you. You found him outside the common room, lip split, knuckles bloody, grinning despite it all.

“For fuck’s sake, Riddle,” you hissed, dragging him into the Prefect’s bathroom. He leaned against the sink, watching you grab bandages and salve.

“Why’d you do it?” you asked, dabbing at his lip. He flinched but didn’t move away.

“He called you a bitch,” Mattheo said simply.

“And? You nearly broke his nose!”

He smirked, eyes dark. “Worth it.”

Your hand froze. The air thickened, thunder rattling the windows. His smirk faded as his gaze dropped to your lips.

“Say it,” he whispered.

Your throat tightened. “Say what?”

“That you want me as bad as I want you.”

And then his mouth was on yours—rough, desperate, tasting like blood and rain. Your back hit the cold tile, his hands in your hair, and every ounce of hatred melted into heat.

You shoved him back only once, panting. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”

His grin returned, wicked and breathless. “Sure, princess. Keep telling yourself that.”

The first time you fucked him, it was reckless and messy, up against the Prefect’s desk you swore you’d never let him touch. His hands gripped your thighs, your tie wrapped around his wrist as he fucked into you, whispering filth in your ear.

“You like being bad with me, don’t you?”

You hated how much you did.

But it wasn’t just sex.

It was late-night patrols where he walked beside you in silence, his hand brushing yours. It was finding him asleep in the common room with his head on your book. It was the way his voice softened when he said your name, or how he looked at you like you were something sacred.

And it terrified you.

Because falling for Mattheo Riddle broke every rule you lived by.

The night you admitted it, you were both in the Astronomy Tower. He’d snuck out—again—and you’d chased him—again. Rain slicked the stone as you cornered him, out of breath.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered.

His smirk faltered. “Do what?”

“Pretend I don’t care.”

The silence stretched. Then Mattheo closed the gap, his forehead against yours, voice trembling.

“Then don’t.”

And when he kissed you, slow and reverent this time, you knew there was no going back.

One rule, you thought bitterly. Don’t fall for him.

And you’d broken it spectacularly.

END

So guys... this is kind of my first story and I am terribly sorry if there are any spelling mistakes. I'm unexperienced and english isn't my first language. So I'm very nervous.

Anyways- I wanted to ask for feedback. What can I do better? What are things I better leave out next time?

And...if anyone has ideas or requests feel free to tell me. I'd like to make this kind of based on readers requests so it's more personal. Yk what I mean? Oh and also I will try and post at least once a week.

Ain't no law breaking

as long as you have enough money.

Ain't no morals

as long as you're rich enough.

Ain't no jail time.

Ain't no accountability,

unless you're poor enough.

Ain't no insider trading,

less you're on the inside

Ain't no tax fraud

if you're rich enough.

Only if you got enough green

and lost your soul long ago.

Ain't enough food

unless you're rich enough.

Ain't enough gas

unless you're in the top percent.

Ain't no rest for the wicked

but with no accountability,

they seem to rest just fine

to me.

Written by AprilFool 🐸

Denialist

Feat

You reject the world as it is and impose your own twisted logic upon it. Cold is just another form of fire, radiant light is merely another shade of darkness—by sheer conviction, you reshape reality to fit your beliefs, warping spells, creatures, and even damage itself.

What truth would you refuse to accept?