Mattheo and Theodore were flying across the pitch, the final minutes of the match ticking away. The score was already tipping heavily in their favor, the win practically written in the air.

Mattheo laughed, cocky and carefree. “We’re always the best.”

Theodore smirked, cool and sure. “No one can beat us.”

Their brooms dipped low as they circled the pitch, waving and winking at the roaring crowd. They were a blur of power and confidence, racking up points like it was nothing. And then, the game was over.

Victory.

They landed, triumphant, jumping off their brooms. Muscles flexed, chests heaving, adrenaline still pumping. But then—just as they were soaking it all in—a sharp whistle sliced through the cheers.

Their heads turned.

And there you were.

Leaning back in the stands, that familiar smirk tugging at your lips. That infuriating, teasing glint in your eye.

Mattheo narrowed his eyes. “Trouble’s here. What does she want now?”

Theodore didn’t look away from you, jaw tight. “Whatever it is… it’s gonna drive us insane.”

You were always pushing their buttons. Always testing them, like it was your favorite game. And the worst part? You were good at it.

Today was no different.

You stood slowly, deliberately, every movement calculated. Then you winked.

Mattheo’s brows shot up. “Wait—what the hell?”

Theodore’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Did she really…?”

You grinned as you unzipped your jacket in one slow motion, revealing the crop top underneath. Their eyes locked onto it instantly.

Mrs. RiddIe-N0tt.

Bold. Daring. Wicked.

Their jaws dropped. No trace of smugness left—only stunned silence and something new behind their eyes. Something hot. Uncontrolled.

Mattheo stepped forward, his voice a low growl. “She’s asking for problems.”

Theodore exhaled sharply, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “And she’s gonna get it.”

You just laughed and turned, walking away.

Behind you, their footsteps echoed in sync, hunting.

The game was over.

But the real match had just begun.