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cminoko · 18 hours ago

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Wicked Hearts - Mattheo Riddle

Summary: Two hearts too toxic to survive apart. Warnings: Toxic! Mattheo, Toxic! Reader, - Slytherin! Reader Word Count: 5.7k

. . • ☆ . °.•°:. *₊° .☆. . • ☆ . °.•°:. *₊° .☆ :.

Since their very first year at Hogwarts, Y/N and Mattheo had something unspoken between them. At eleven, it was innocent—an occasional hand-hold under the table in the Great Hall, a shy brush of shoulders when walking back from class, or a stolen kiss on the cheek when no one was watching. By second year, those stolen moments grew bolder, turning into proper kisses on the lips, the kind that left them both grinning like idiots afterward.

By third year, everything started to change. They weren’t just kids fumbling with crushes anymore. Their kisses deepened, hands lingered a little longer, and touches began to wander past the safe boundaries of childhood affection. It was clear to everyone that Y/N Y/L/N and Mattheo Riddle weren’t just friends playing around; they belonged to each other, even if they never bothered putting a label on it.

Possessive didn’t even begin to describe it. People learned quickly that if you even looked too long at Y/N, Mattheo’s glare would cut through you like a curse. And if someone tried their luck with Mattheo, Y/N’s sharp tongue was just as quick to remind them he wasn’t available. By then, it was simply understood: they were off-limits.

They were each other’s firsts in every way.

First kiss.

First time sneaking out to meet under the stars.

First whispered secrets no one else would ever hear.

First snogging session tucked away in an empty classroom.

And eventually… their first time, in all the complicated, messy glory that came with it.

But of course, nothing about them was ever simple. They burned hot and bright, which meant their arguments were just as fiery. When they clashed—and they often did—it usually ended in dramatic declarations of being “done” with each other. Their “breakups” never lasted long, but in the spaces between, both of them had a bad habit of finding someone else to hook up with just to prove a point. It always ended the same way: angry glares across the common room, jealousy simmering under the surface, and a reunion that felt more inevitable than voluntary.

Because no matter how much they fought, no matter how much they tried to push each other away, Y/N and Mattheo always came back together.

It was their sixth year, and Mattheo Riddle was fuming as he watched Y/N laugh at something a Ravenclaw boy had just whispered to her. The sight made his blood boil. The idiot probably didn’t even know any better, probably didn’t know that Y/N was off-limits. Or at least, she was supposed to be.

Charms with Ravenclaw was usually predictable. Y/N always sat beside Mattheo and the rest of their group, her quills scattered messily across the shared desk, her knee bumping against his when she shifted. But today? Today she had walked right past him without a glance, sliding into the empty seat beside that Ravenclaw prat she’d met at last night’s Slytherin party.

Theo leaned closer, his voice low and amused. “Oi, stop staring at the boy like you’re about to murder him.”

Mattheo’s jaw flexed. “He’s got no idea who he’s messing with.”

Across the desk, Draco let out a sharp laugh, earning a look from Flitwick before lowering his voice. “You sound like a jealous boyfriend. Problem is, you’ve never made it official.”

Enzo, sprawled lazily in his chair, smirked as he flicked his quill. “Exactly. Can’t claim what you’ve never locked down, mate. Not that it stops you from acting like a bloody guard dog.”

Mattheo shot them both a glare, dark enough to silence most people. But Draco only smirked harder, and Enzo raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Face it,” Theo muttered, twirling his quill, “if you’re not careful, she’s going to get tired of waiting around for you to grow a spine.”

The words stung, but Mattheo couldn’t tear his eyes away from Y/N. She tilted her head at something the Ravenclaw boy said, lips curving into that smile, the one that was supposed to be his. The one she gave him in shadowed hallways, in stolen midnight moments, when her fingers curled into his hair like she couldn’t let go.

Seeing her give it to someone else felt like poison.

“Bloody hell,” Blaise muttered, leaning in with a smirk. “If looks could kill, Flitwick would need a replacement student.”

There was a sharp crack. Mattheo glanced down to see the splintered halves of his quill dripping ink across his palm. He hadn’t even realized he’d snapped it in half.

“Real subtle,” Draco drawled, smirking. “Nothing says ‘totally unbothered’ like breaking school supplies in half because she’s laughing at someone else’s joke.”

Enzo chuckled, but Theo leaned in again, his smirk fading into something closer to warning. “Don’t do something stupid, Riddle. Not here. Not now.”

But Mattheo barely heard him. The storm was already building in his chest, fire clawing up his throat the longer he watched. Stupid or not, there was no way in hell he was going to sit there while some Ravenclaw boy touched what was his.

Mattheo barely heard a word of Flitwick’s lecture. His eyes stayed locked on the back of Y/N’s head, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt. Every time the Ravenclaw leaned closer to whisper something, Mattheo’s blood boiled hotter.

Theo muttered something about not starting trouble, Draco smirked like he was watching his favorite play, and Enzo lounged like it was all entertainment. Blaise was just unbothered and continued to write down notes. He was not going to fail just because his best mate was insane. But Mattheo couldn’t let it go. Not when she looked like that, not when she was laughing at someone else like she hadn’t been pressed against him just nights ago.

When the bell rang, Y/N gathered her things slowly, deliberately ignoring the weight of his stare. She stood, thanked the Ravenclaw for something he said, and swept out of the room with her books clutched to her chest.

Mattheo was on his feet instantly.

“Here we go,” Draco muttered, smirking as he slung his bag over his shoulder.

Blaise caught Mattheo’s sleeve as he passed. “Don’t make a scene, Riddle.”

Mattheo shook him off. “Too late for that.” With that, he darted out of the classroom.

“Y/N!”

The sound of his voice carried down the corridor, sharp enough to make a few Ravenclaws glance over before quickly looking away. Y/N didn’t slow. Her robes swished against the stone floor, each step quick and deliberate.

"Y/N Y/L/N!" Mattheo yelled again.

She spun on her heel so suddenly he almost collided with her. Her eyes blazed, her grip white-knuckled around her Charms book. “What, Mattheo? You’ve been burning holes into the back of my head all class. Spit it out.”

His jaw flexed. “What the hell were you doing sitting with him?”

A group of third-years came around the corner, slowed for half a second, then whispered to each other and turned back the way they came. Everyone in Hogwarts knew when Mattheo Riddle and Y/N Y/L/N started; you didn’t stick around to watch.

She laughed, sharp and cruel, her voice echoing in the hallway. “Oh, I’m sorry—did that hurt your feelings? Funny. Because I don’t remember you caring about where I sit when you’ve got your tongue shoved down Daphne Greengrass’s throat.”

His face darkened. He stepped closer, invading her space. “That was nothing.”

“Nothing?” Her words were venomous, loud enough that a pair of Ravenclaws passing by picked up their pace, practically sprinting away. “You sure as hell didn’t look like it was nothing when she was dragging you into her dorm room at the party last night.”

Mattheo smirked, though his eyes stayed cold. “Jealous, are we?”

She shoved his chest, hard enough to make him stumble back half a step. Her Charms book slipped from her grip, slamming to the floor with a crack that echoed. A Hufflepuff, a few feet down the corridor, dropped his gaze and hurried off.

“You don’t get to play jealous,” she spat, “when you’re the one screwing half of Slytherin every time we argue.”

He caught her wrist before she could pull it back, yanking her close. The tension snapped like a curse through the air. His voice was low, dangerous. “Maybe I wouldn’t need to if you didn’t run off and giggle with the first idiot who looks at you.”

Her lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t make it so bloody easy to replace you.”

The words landed, and she saw it—the flicker of real hurt in his eyes before it hardened again.

“You don’t mean that,” he ground out, his grip tightening on her wrist.

“I do,” she lied, chin tilted high. A couple of younger Slytherins peeked around the corner, caught sight of them, and bolted like the hallway was cursed.

For a moment, the only sound was their uneven breaths. The corridor was empty now, cleared like a battlefield everyone else knew better than to cross.

Then Mattheo’s lips twisted into something dark. “Careful, princess. You keep pushing me, and one day I might not come back.”

Her laugh was sharp and cruel. “Promise?”

They stared at each other in the empty corridor, poison and fire sparking between them, and the castle itself seemed to hold its breath. Because by now, everyone knew: when Mattheo Riddle and Y/N Y/L/N went head-to-head, you either got out of the way or risked getting burned.

The fire roared higher than usual, throwing shadows across the emerald-and-black stone walls. Mattheo sat slouched in an armchair, a cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers, smoke curling into the low ceiling. Enzo was sprawled on the rug in front of the fire, flipping through a deck of enchanted playing cards. Draco leaned back on the sofa with a book he clearly wasn’t reading, while Blaise and Theo passed a bottle back and forth, trading quiet remarks.

The peace broke when the Common Room door creaked open.

Every head turned.

Daphne Greengrass stumbled in, clutching her arm, her face pale and twisted with pain. There was a cut running along her cheekbone, fresh and angry. A hush fell over the room as she moved into the firelight, her breathing uneven.

She collapsed into the nearest chair, her breathing ragged. “She—she attacked me.” Her voice cracked, thick with tears.

Enzo whistled low, smirking, flicking a card into the fire. “Let me guess. Y/N.”

Daphne’s silence was confirmation. She glanced toward Mattheo, desperate, but he didn’t even look at her.

Theo leaned back, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Not surprised,” he muttered, tone flat. “You knew what you were doing last night. Don’t act surprised she snapped.”

“I didn’t—” Daphne’s voice cracked as she tried again. “I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

Draco’s laugh cut through her words like glass. Sharp, cold, merciless. He didn't bother looking up from his book. “Don’t bother. Everyone saw you dragging him upstairs at the party. You knew exactly what it looked like. And you knew exactly who was going to hear about it.”

Daphne’s eyes filled again, hot tears streaking her cheeks. “She’s insane! I didn't deserve this! She nearly hexed my arm off!”

Blaise chuckled darkly, tipping the bottle back before passing it to Theo. “Deserves got nothing to do with it, love. You went after what wasn’t yours. That’s suicide in this house.”

The boys’ indifference made Daphne’s crying echo louder in the room. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking—but no one moved to comfort her. Not one.

Because everyone already knew: Y/N and Mattheo didn’t need titles or labels. They were a storm that belonged only to each other, and anyone caught in the middle got struck down.

The door to the Common Room slammed again.

Astoria Greengrass stormed in, her sharp eyes immediately finding her sister crumpled in the chair. “What happened?” she demanded, rushing forward.

“She—Y/N—” Daphne hiccupped through sobs.

Astoria’s head whipped toward the boys, fury flashing across her face. “Are you all really just sitting here while that girl loses her mind on my sister?”

The air in the room shifted.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Careful how you talk about her.”

Astoria scoffed. “Oh, come off it. You all baby her like she’s untouchable. She’s nothing but a jealous little bitch who can’t stand when Mattheo looks at anyone else—”

Draco snapped his book shut, his voice cutting sharp through the room. “Watch your mouth, Greengrass.”

Enzo leaned forward on his elbows, eyes glinting. “Yeah, you don’t get to come in here and slag off Y/N. Not in this house.”

Astoria faltered, caught off guard. “She attacked my sister—”

“And your sister went after what wasn’t hers,” Blaise interrupted smoothly, his smirk never fading. “Everyone in this school knows how it works. Don’t act brand new.”

Astoria’s jaw tightened, but before she could fire back, Mattheo finally moved. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, eyes dark and dangerous as he fixed Astoria with a stare that made her falter.

“You think you can insult her in front of me?” His voice was low, steady, the kind of calm that chilled. “Say what you want about us—but she’s still one of ours. And we don’t let anyone touch her. Not even you.”

The room went silent. The fire popped, the only sound.

Astoria’s glare faltered, but she straightened her shoulders. “One day, Riddle, she’s going to burn everything down around you.”

Mattheo smirked, dragging on his cigarette before exhaling a lazy stream of smoke. “Good. I like the fire.”

The boys chuckled, the tension broken, and Astoria could only drag her crying sister upstairs, muttering under her breath.

By breakfast the next morning, the story was everywhere.

Daphne Greengrass sat at the Slytherin table with her blonde hair pulled forward to hide the cut across her cheek, her head bowed low. Astoria hovered protectively beside her, whispering furiously, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done.

Everywhere Y/N went, heads turned. Conversations dipped into whispers, eyes flicking from her to Mattheo and back again.

“They say she hexed Daphne before she even drew her wand.”

“Cornered her outside the dungeons, yeah?”

“Didn’t stand a chance. Not against her.”

No one even needed to say Y/N’s name. They all knew.

And no one was surprised.

After all, this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Not by a long shot.

Fourth year, some Hufflepuff had written Y/N a note, sweet and harmless. He showed up the next day with a black eye and never spoke to her again. In the fifth year, a Ravenclaw girl made the mistake of flirting with Mattheo during study group. Y/N had smiled sweetly at her all evening—and by morning, the girl’s hair had turned Slytherin green for an entire month, no counter-curse strong enough to fix it.

Now Daphne.

It was practically a pattern. Anyone who stepped too close—anyone who thought they could come between Y/N and Mattheo—always paid for it. And everyone else had learned to keep their distance.

At the Slytherin table, the boys sat like nothing had happened. Enzo was shuffling toast and eggs onto his plate, Draco was muttering about homework, Blaise sipped his pumpkin juice with lazy amusement, and Theo leaned back in his seat, smirking at the whispered conversations swirling around them.

Mattheo? He looked unbothered. Smoked like usual. Ate like usual. But every so often, his eyes slid toward Y/N at the far end of the table, where she sat calmly buttering her toast, as if she hadn’t been the reason Daphne looked half-dead this morning.

Y/N sat with Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode. She was laughing, loud enough for it to carry across the hall, leaning close to Pansy as if they were sharing some delicious secret. Millicent snorted into her pumpkin juice, nearly spilling it, and Y/N grinned widely, her eyes bright with mischief.

She didn’t look guilty. She didn’t look worried. She looked like someone who had just won.

Draco glanced over at the scene from where he sat with Mattheo, Blaise, Theo, and Enzo. His lips quirked into a smirk. “Well, at least she’s consistent. Girl’s got a record longer than Filch’s detention list.”

Theo chuckled, leaning back. “She’s fearless, I’ll give her that. The way she’s laughing in front of everyone? That’s basically a warning label.”

Enzo flicked his toast with his knife. “It’s not a warning. It’s a death certificate. Anyone stupid enough to go near Riddle signs their own.”

Mattheo didn’t answer. He just smirked, dark and dangerous, eyes fixed on Y/N as if she were the only person in the hall.

The Great Hall emptied in a rush of chatter and clattering shoes. Y/N lingered, laughing with Pansy and Millicent as if nothing in the world could touch her. Her smile was sharp, her head tipped back, her voice loud enough that everyone nearby heard. She wanted them to.

Mattheo saw it all from across the hall, every sound of her laugh scraping under his skin.

The moment she stood, he was there.

His hand closed around her arm, firm, unyielding, dragging her out of the hall before Pansy could even finish her sentence. The heavy oak doors thudded shut behind them, sealing them into the quiet, shadowed corridor.

“Enjoying yourself, are you?” Mattheo’s voice was low, dangerous, simmering.

Y/N jerked her arm free, eyes flashing. “Immensely.”

His mouth twisted into something bitter. “You really think humiliating her in front of everyone makes you look clever?”

Her laugh was sharp, cruel. “No, but it makes me look untouchable. Which, in case you forgot, I am.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You didn’t have to hex her half to death.”

“Oh, please.” She stepped into his space, chin tilted defiantly. “You weren’t exactly pushing her off you when she was dragging you upstairs at the party. Maybe next time I’ll aim higher than her arm.”

The words hit their mark. His nostrils flared, his eyes darkening as he stepped forward, backing her against the cold stone wall.

“I told you it was nothing,” he growled, hand slamming against the wall beside her head. “You’re the only one who makes me lose my fucking mind like this.”

“Congratulations,” she snapped back, her lips curling into a taunting smile. “You’ve got a funny way of proving it—by screwing the nearest girl whenever we fight.”

His breath came out sharp, harsh. “Maybe I wouldn’t if you didn’t flirt with every pathetic idiot who looks your way.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?” she scoffed, shoving at his chest, though he didn’t budge. “Tell me, Mattheo, do you even remember their names? Or do they all just blur together while you’re imagining it’s me?”

That cut deep. His eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening like he wanted to snap. But he leaned closer instead, so close his lips nearly brushed hers, his voice a low rasp.

“Don’t flatter yourself. If I wanted you, I’d have you—and you know it.”

Her heart thudded painfully, but she forced a laugh, cruel and brittle. “If you wanted me, Riddle, you wouldn’t have to chase me after every girl you touch. Pathetic, really.”

For a moment, neither breathed. Students passing at the far end slowed, saw the two of them pressed close against the wall, and immediately veered off down another corridor. No one wanted to be caught in the blast radius.

Mattheo’s gaze swept over her face, lingering on her lips. His voice came out raw. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“Good,” she hissed, tilting her chin higher, eyes glittering with fire. “At least then I’ll know you were mine to ruin.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, charged with fury and want. His chest heaved. Her hands itched to shove him again, to claw at him, to pull him closer—she couldn’t decide which.

For a moment, they stared at each other, venom and want twisting together in the charged silence. His gaze dropped to her lips, hers to the vein in his throat that pulsed with restrained fury. The tension was unbearable.

Then she smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of her mouth that made his stomach knot.

“Anyway,” she said lightly, stepping out from under his arm, smoothing her sleeve as though he hadn’t just tried to tear into her, “I don’t have time for this.”

His head snapped toward her. “The fuck do you mean you don’t have time?”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder with a look designed to kill him. “I’ve got a date.”

The world went silent.

Mattheo blinked once, slowly, like the words hadn’t processed. Then his face twisted, rage bleeding hot and fast across his features. “A what?”

“A date,” she repeated, savoring every syllable. “With someone who actually knows how to treat me.”

He barked out a harsh laugh, though his eyes were anything but amused. “Bullshit.”

She arched a brow. “Believe what you want. I’m done wasting my time on someone who can’t decide if he wants me or everyone else.”

He grabbed her wrist again, yanking her back to face him. “You’re not going anywhere with anyone.”

She ripped free, her voice a whip crack. “Watch me.”

The air between them burned, poisonous and magnetic. His hands trembled at his sides, torn between wanting to shake her and kiss her. She stood tall, lips curved in that smug, infuriating smile that told him she knew exactly how deep she’d cut.

Mattheo leaned forward, his voice raw, his eyes locked on hers like she was the only person in the castle. “If you walk into that date, Y/N, I swear I’ll—”

She cut him off with a soft laugh that twisted the knife. “You’ll what, Mattheo? Hex him? Break his nose? You don’t scare me. Not anymore.”

Her words rang between them, heavy and dangerous. And though his chest heaved with fury, though he wanted to destroy whoever she was meeting, the worst part was knowing she did scare him—because no one else had the power to break him apart like she did.

She left him standing there in the corridor, fists clenched, chest burning, while her laugh lingered like smoke in the air.

The village was alive with the weekend rush—students flooding Honeydukes with bags of sweets, older kids cramming into the Three Broomsticks with mugs of frothing butterbeer, younger ones darting between shop windows with wide eyes. Snow clung to rooftops, lanterns glowed against the pale afternoon sky, and the air smelled of cinnamon and frost.

Y/N leaned casually against the stone wall outside Zonko’s, her scarf pulled snug, a steaming butterbeer in her hand. She wasn’t waiting for anyone. There was no date. But that didn’t matter. The entire stunt had been for one purpose: to see if Mattheo Riddle would lose his mind enough to track her down.

And there he was.

Mattheo Riddle.

She spotted him instantly, storming down the cobblestone street like a brewing storm, his long black coat snapping in the wind, jaw tight enough to shatter. His eyes scanned the crowd with the wild sharpness of someone on the hunt.

Trailing him, like shadows dragged in his wake, came the boys. Draco’s mouth was curled into an amused smirk, Blaise’s eyes gleamed with lazy mischief, Theo looked thoroughly unimpressed, and Enzo sauntered along, hands in his pockets, clearly entertained.

Before Mattheo could even open his mouth, Y/N pushed off the wall and smiled sweetly at the group behind him.

“Draco,” she greeted sweetly, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. She kissed his cheek, lingering just long enough for Mattheo to see. Draco stiffened for a moment, then smirked knowingly.

Y/N slid a pointed glance at Mattheo over her shoulder as if to say, Watch closely. “Oh, don’t be greedy,” she teased as she pulled away, turning to Theo. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, too, grinning when he arched a brow.

“Merlin’s beard,” Theo chuckled, shooting Mattheo a knowing look. “She’s really trying to get herself killed today.”

Next was Blaise, who leaned down willingly, eyes glinting. Y/N kissed his cheek as well, deliberately slow, her eyes flicking toward Mattheo. “Careful, love,” Blaise murmured so only she could hear. “Your boy looks like he’s about to snap.”

Finally, she turned to Enzo, who held out his arms with a grin like he’d been waiting for his turn. She kissed him too, drawing out the gesture with a sly smile. “About time someone showed me some affection.”

“Enzo,” Mattheo growled, his voice low and lethal.

Enzo held up his hands, grinning ear to ear. “Don’t blame me, mate. She’s the one handing them out.”

Y/N stepped back, her butterbeer in hand, beaming as if nothing was wrong. “Well, it’s lovely to see all of you here. I was just enjoying my afternoon.” Her tone was light, taunting, her eyes never leaving Mattheo’s face.

Theo smirked, leaning lazily against a lamppost. “Afternoon, she says. More like performance. You should’ve seen him, Darling —Riddle’s been tearing through Hogsmeade like a mad dog. Nearly hexed a second-year outside Honeydukes because he got in his way.”

Draco chuckled. “Honestly, it’s impressive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so rattled. All you had to do was whisper the word ‘date’ and he went feral.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a sly smile, her gaze sliding deliberately to Mattheo. “And here he is. Exactly where I wanted him.”

Mattheo stepped forward, closing the distance until the boys subtly shifted back, giving space. His voice was rough, guttural. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Y/N asked sweetly, sipping her drink.

“The boy you’re meeting.” His tone was lethal. “Where the fuck is he?”

She tilted her head, her expression a perfect mask of innocence. “Late, I suppose.”

Mattheo’s jaw ticked, his knuckles flexing at his sides. He looked like he wanted to punch something—preferably someone.

“Merlin,” Blaise muttered under his breath, grinning. “She’s enjoying this.”

“She always enjoys it,” Draco murmured back, smirking.

Mattheo leaned in, his voice dropping so low it was practically a growl. “You think this is funny? Making me hunt you down, humiliating me in front of everyone?”

Y/N’s smile sharpened, wicked and triumphant. “Humiliating you? No, Mattheo. I’m just proving a point. You’ll come running every time. And you did.”

The words landed like a curse.

For a moment, the entire group went silent, the snow-dusted street filled only with the distant chatter of students who gave the group an unnaturally wide berth. Everyone knew better than to get too close when Mattheo and Y/N locked horns.

“You’re insane,” Mattheo muttered, his voice raw.

Y/N smirked, tossing her empty butterbeer cup into the snow at his feet. “Takes one to know one.”

Draco laughed softly, shaking his head. “Face it, mate—she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

Mattheo whipped his head toward Draco, eyes burning, but Draco only raised his brows, smirk widening. Blaise chuckled, Theo gave Y/N a long look that screamed you’re playing a dangerous game, and Enzo? He just grinned, thoroughly entertained.

Mattheo turned back to Y/N, stepping closer, his chest nearly brushing hers. His voice dropped to a dangerous rasp. “You keep pushing me, princess, and one day—”

She cut him off with a soft laugh, leaning up until her lips brushed his ear. “One day, you’ll finally admit I own you.”

Then she brushed past him, her shoulder slamming into his chest as she melted into the stream of students, her laugh trailing behind her like smoke.

Mattheo stood frozen in the snow, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles bled white. His chest heaved, fury twisting into something darker, something he couldn’t shake.

And Draco’s smirk said it all. “She’s already won, mate. And the worst part? You love it.”

The dungeon halls were silent, cloaked in the kind of stillness that pressed on your lungs. Behind the carved oak door of her private dorm, Y/N sat at her vanity, brushing through her curls. She was dressed in emerald silk pajamas, the kind that caught the candlelight and gleamed against her skin. Her hair spilled loose around her shoulders, her expression calm, collected—the picture of control.

The knock shattered it.

Hard. Unrelenting.

She frowned, setting down her brush. No one knocked on her door. Not this late.

She rose and pulled it open.

Mattheo Riddle.

His shirt was wrinkled, sleeves shoved to his elbows, his curls a disheveled mess from dragging his hands through them. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his eyes burning like stormclouds shot through with lightning.

“Mattheo—” she started, but he shouldered past her, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” His voice was ragged, scraping at the edges, low enough to make her stomach knot.

She folded her arms, leaning against the bedpost. “Last I checked, I don’t control you.”

He whipped around, glaring. “The fuck you don’t.” He stalked closer, shadows from the candle carving his jaw sharp. “Every time you so much as smile at someone else, I lose my mind. Every time you disappear just to make me hunt you down, I’m ready to burn this place to the ground.”

She laughed, brittle and sharp. “Oh, but it’s fine when it’s you, isn’t it? Daphne at the party, the countless other girls before her—”

His lip curled, bitter. “Don’t act like you’re innocent. You’ve had your flings, too. I’ve seen you sneaking off with that Gryffindor last year, whispering with some Hufflepuff in the courtyard—don’t you dare act like I’m the only guilty one here.”

Y/N stiffened, her smirk faltering. “Those meant nothing.”

“Neither did they!” he snapped, his voice cracking under the weight of it. His chest heaved as he dragged his hands through his hair. “None of it meant anything because it wasn’t you.”

Her heart hammered, but she forced her chin higher. “Then maybe we’re just as bad as each other. Maybe we like hurting each other too much.”

Mattheo’s gaze softened just for a second, but then he stepped forward until she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. “Maybe we do. But you’re the only one I come back to. Every. Single. Time.”

She tried to steady her voice, but it trembled. “So what do you want, Mattheo? To keep playing this stupid game until one of us finally breaks?”

“Yes,” he rasped. “No. Fuck—” He groaned, pacing once, then snapping back to her. “I don’t want to play anymore. I don’t want to fight about who kissed who, or who laughed too loud, or who’s winning. I don’t care. I just want you. Only you.”

Her breath hitched, but she shook her head. “No. You’ll wake up tomorrow and find someone else. You’ll run back to the next girl dumb enough to believe you.”

That did it. Something inside him cracked.

Mattheo dropped.

On his knees.

The sight stole the breath from her lungs. Mattheo Riddle, proud, cruel, untouchable—on the cold stone floor of her dorm, his hands clutching at her thighs, his head tilted up like a man begging for air.

“I’ve never begged for anyone,” he said hoarsely, his voice raw. “Not once in my life. But I’m begging for you. I don’t want Daphne, I don’t want anyone else you’ve seen me with—I don’t even give a fuck about the boys you’ve touched. They weren’t me. They weren’t us.”

Her lips parted, her hand trembling at her side. “Mattheo…”

He pressed her hand to his cheek, his eyes burning. “Say yes. Say you’re mine. Say you’ll stop torturing me with this back-and-forth, and I’ll stop everything. I’ll give it all up—the fights, the jealousy, the girls. Just—don’t say no. Don’t walk away from me.”

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, though she blinked them away before he could see. She had wanted this—wanted it so badly it hurt. And yet the part of her that had learned to shield herself whispered don’t believe him.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered. “You’re just desperate because I pushed too far. Tomorrow you’ll—”

“I fucking mean it.” His voice broke, desperation clawing through every word. “I’m on my knees in your dorm at one in the morning, begging like a pathetic idiot because I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else. Because I love you in ways that scare me. Because you’re mine, Y/N. You’ve always been mine.”

The silence stretched, heavy and breathless. Her hand trembled against his face, her heart thundering like it might break through her ribs.

“You’re pathetic,” she whispered finally, though her voice cracked under the weight of it.

His mouth twisted into a broken laugh. “Only for you.” He tilted his head, pressing his lips to her palm, his voice rough. “Say yes, princess. Say it before I lose my fucking mind.”

She hated him. She loved him. She hated that she loved him.

And then she snapped.

She yanked him up by his shirt, crashing her mouth onto his with a force that stole the breath from them both. His hands were on her instantly—gripping her hips, dragging her flush against him, holding her like he’d die if she pulled away.

The kiss was brutal, messy, all teeth and fire and years of toxic yearning finally detonating. She shoved him back against the wall, biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, and he groaned, laughing into her mouth like the lunatic he was.

“You’re mine,” he growled against her lips.

She pulled back just enough to smirk, her eyes blazing. “Then prove it.”

He kissed her again, harder, lifting her like she weighed nothing, her legs wrapping around his waist as the candlelight flickered violently in the room.

For the first time, there was no game.

No pretending.

No in-between.

Just Y/N and Mattheo—

toxic, terrifying, unstoppable—

burning each other alive and loving every second of it.

REMINDER: If you want to be on the taglist feel free to comment or message me :) and if I missed you pls lmk

@cminoko @ayyeitssarahh @404rogers @n00dl3zzz

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cminoko · 5 days ago

Text

wicked influence

Poly!Ghostface x fem!reader

a/n: I’ve wanted to write for Scream for forever and have never gotten around to it. Well, it’s slasher season baby! I finally have my reason. (When I tell you that this movie was my sexual awakening as a child, I mean it. That’s not necessarily good, but it’s true. )

Summary: Visiting a Halloween carnival with your two best friends doesn’t seem that bad until you reach the haunted house. You’ve never been able to explain your fear of demons to anyone before, you have no idea where it comes from. But you do know, going into a hell themed house with teenagers screaming shitty Latin at you is one of your worst nightmares. You think everything’s okay until, suddenly, your nights are filled with visits from a strange shadowy entity and you don’t recognize the look in Stu’s eyes anymore. (Part of my Halloween Palooza)

“Hey! Demons are a perfectly rational thing to be afraid of.”

Billy scoffs and rolls his eyes, nudging you further toward the haunted house. “Alright, alright, would you calm down and just move it.” You stare into the gaping jaw of the devil that serves as the entrance to the house. You know this is all just a way for people to make a quick buck.

There’s not going to be anything in there except teenage actors and shitty SFX makeup. But that doesn’t make the looming doorway any less menacing. It doesn’t make your heart stop racing or your breathing any easier.

Billy frowns as some people shove past you all, tired of waiting for you to move inside. They cut the line and you can’t help but be grateful. Your nails dig into your palms until you feel the warmth of blood and have to swallow down bile.

Stu and Billy both lean towards you, varying looks of confusion on their faces. “Holy shit,” a grin breaks out on Stu’s face and he smiles widely at you. “You’re terrified, aren’t you?” He pokes you like you might be a statue, unmoving and solemn.

You stumble back and are effectively broken out of your terrified stupor. You swat at Stu’s wandering hands and glare at him. “Shut the fuck up,” you snap. But in your anxious state, it all comes out as one jumbled mess.

Billy lets out a disappointed sigh and gives you a funny look. “Alright, let’s just go. You’re not going in and it’s stupid to just stand out here all night.” Stu opens his mouth to argue but Billy shoots him a sharp look. You hate how sensitive they think you are. You can handle one stupid fucking haunted house. You’re not completely useless.

Still, you practically gulp as the Devil’s eyes bore into yours. You feel like your soul is being sucked out through your feet, leaving you startlingly cold. “I,” you clear your throat, waiting until it feels strong enough to speak. “I can do this,” you grit out, sounding like you’re trying to convince yourself more than them.

Stuf lets out a brief chuckle and Billy throws his elbow into his gut. Stu doubles over dramatically and you can’t help but laugh a little. Billy gives you a raised brow and you nod your head. “I just need a little nudge,” you mutter, glancing back at the house.

Stu grins and creeps behind you. “I got you babes,” he tells you in a ridiculous voice. You barely have a second to process what’s happening before he’s lifting you up and practically tossing you inside. Immediately, there’s a fake chainsaw in your face and a screaming Bubba Sawyer. You stumble back with a gasp, falling into Stu’s open arms.

“How’s that for a nudge?” Billy mutters as he brushes past you. You grab onto the back of his shirt and follow behind him. He glances over his shoulder at you with a knowing smirk and continues forward. None of the scares get him, but they get you.

The actors catch onto that. They also catch onto how fake and dramatic Stu is. Half of them target you for a good scream and the other half avoid you because of how obnoxious he’s being. You can already tell how bored BIlly is. There’s not enough gore in here for him.

He needs more blood splatter and fresh corpses, while you’re pleasantly surprised by the contents of the house. You’d really been dreading the demonic themes, but it seems like that’s not a huge factor. So far it’s just a few overzealous teens and some spiders on a string.

Sure, it’s still scaring the bejeezus out of you. But there’s a difference between a quick scream and a deeply rooted phobia.

You don’t know when this supernatural fear of yours began. Maybe your parents let you traumatize yourself with the crucifix scene in The Exorcist too young. But you know it’s been with you nearly your entire life.

You think you’re safe, that you can just relax and let yourself have fun, then you reach the final door. The lights are flickering so hard you think you might have a seizure, but you can see enough to know what’s before you. A red, rotted door, with three upside-down nines barely hanging onto it.

“Oh god,” you whisper and you think the boys can’t hear you. But then you feel Stu’s hands suddenly clamping around your neck and you leap into Billy with a shrill scream. Billy flinches away from the noise, turning to glare at you.

Stu doubles over, laughing his ass off at your expense and grinning wildly at you. “Jesus, we’re not even in there yet. What is wrong with you?” He says it like a joke but you can hear the truth of it lingering. It stings, the slight cruelty in his tone.

There’s nothing wrong with being afraid of something. Fear is healthy. The absence of fear is idiocy. You shove past Billy and turn to Stu with a mean glare. “I’m going to go in here and when I get out, I’m fucking leaving you.”

You shove the door open and take a step inside. You put on a brave face for about five seconds before you turn to see if they’ll follow you. You see just a glimpse of them before the door creaks closed. Billy is leaning against the wall, watching you with a half-amused expression. But Stu looks odd.

That doesn’t even seem like the right word. His face is completely devoid of any emotion. He looks expressionless and you’ve never seen Stu like that before. Whether it’s for good reason or not, he’s always making a face. Right now, you don’t even recognize him. Were it not for the outfit he was wearing you would think someone else had snuck up behind Billy.

The door is closed before you can call out to him and you find yourself plunged in complete darkness. There’s no noise for a long few moments. You can’t tell which way is the door and which is the exit.

At first, you worry you went in the wrong direction and entered an empty part of the house. A sudden cackle breaks through the air, and you leap forward, stumbling into the wall. You can already feel your heart beginning to race. Even though you can hear the static of a speaker and you know, deep down, that it's fake, you’re frozen in fear.

There’s a brief flash of light, just enough for you to see torn wallpaper and upside-down crosses. And something standing in the corner. “All alone?” A voice rasps and you whimper, pressing yourself up against the wall. You can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed, it’s too dark to know. You hope they’re closed. Whatever’s about to happen is going to traumatize you, you just know it.

A door creaks behind you just as the lights begin flickering on and off. Through brief flashes of illumination, you see something running towards you. They’re screaming Latin at you, water hits your face and you begin screaming uncontrollably. Footsteps pound towards you, egging on the racing beat of your heart.

A jarring grip lands on your shoulder and you swing out wildly. Your fist connects with something hard and you hiss in pain. There’s a brief pause where the only thing you can hear is your panting.

“Ow!” Someone snaps, an irritated raspy voice. The lights flick on and you squint against the sudden glare, blinking rapidly to try and lessen the burn on your eyes.

Billy and Stu stand on either side of you, astonished looks on both of their faces. A teenage boy in a shitty priest costume and red face paint stands before you. He’s rubbing his eye and cussing at you. “You fucking punched me!”

“You ran at me!” You yell back immediately, glaring at the little asshole. “I don’t think you’re supposed to touch me.”

He glares at you through one eye and points to Stu and Billy. “I didn’t!” He shouts and you flinch back, grimacing. “Your fucking friend did.” You clench your eyes shut, taking in a deep breath. Both you and Billy turn slowly towards Stu. His face is as red as the kid’s as he struggles to contain his laughter.

“Unbelievable!” You snap at him, slapping his shoulder roughly. He jolts, narrowing his eyes down at you.

“Hey!” He protests, “I was joking around. You’re the one that punched him.” He points the blame to you and you can’t argue. You did, technically, punch him. But it’s Stu’s fault. If he hadn’t snuck up on you, you would have just kept on screaming. You never would have touched the kid.

In awkward silence, you walk the boy out of the haunted house and buy him a cold drink to press against his steadily swelling eye. You can see purple shining through the fading paint and grimace. He throws himself down on a wooden picnic table and sighs forlornly.

“Thanks a lot, lady,” he mutters bitterly. Stu’s lips twitch as he watches the kid tug at his costume. You glare up at him and shove him away. He stumbles behind the table shooting you a sharp glare. You’re taken aback by the look.

It’s not like you’ve never gotten a little pushy with him before. His love language was manhandling. But the look on his face is unrecognizable. You’d thought you’d imagined it earlier, how off he had seemed. But it’s not fake now. You’re looking it clearly in the eye and you can’t deny the truth of it.

“I’m gonna sue,” the kid grumbles and you’re snapped out of your stare-off. You try and shake off the chilling feeling of unfamiliarity but it’s nearly impossible. You’re still wound up from the haunted house, you’re sure you’re just imagining things.

Billy shoves his shoulder and the kid falls back onto the table. “You’re not suing.”

He puffs his chest up and glares at Billy, “I could.”

Billy places his hand on the table, leaning in on the kid’s space until he’s flinching back. You avert your eyes, uncomfortable with the sudden display of dominance. Yet, you don’t stop him from bullying the kid out of a lawsuit. “You won’t,” Billy tells him, a clear threat.

The kid gives a shaky nod of his head, but Billy still doesn’t let up. There’s a slight curl of malice to his lips, you glance over to Stu for support. His attention is rapt upon Billy, something like hunger in his eyes. You feel like you’re watching two lions corner a gazelle, you can practically see the boy’s hands trembling from fear.

“Alright,” you clear your throat and tug Billy back by the shirt. He resists you at first and you know he only backs off because he wants to. It’s not for you. You look at the boy and give him a weak smile, “I really am sorry,” you can hear Stu laughing behind him and roll your eyes. The kid takes the drink off his eye and glares at you.

“Yeah, whatever lady. Why don’t you take a valium or something and chill the hell out?” He gets off the bench and brushes past you, shaking his head. You glance down at your fist and hiss at the pain shooting along your fingers. The skin of your knuckles is split and aching from hitting him.

Billy huffs out a laugh and takes your hand in his. “Really got him, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to,” you argue petulantly.

Stu finally collects himself and rejoins you both, throwing his gangly body on the wooden picnic table. “Why don’t you tell his face that?” He practically snorts, looking down at your hand and then laughing all over again. It’s really not that funny. Even Billy looks confused by his boisterous nature.

He’s a dick, but this is a lot. You and Billy exchange a confused glance before looking back at Stu. But he’s silent now, already staring back at you both. Again, chills go up and down your arms at the empty look in his eyes. His lips are smiling, but his eyes are devoid of anything.

“Maybe we should just go home.” You suggest, trying to keep the suspicion out of your tone. “Carnival’s a bust,” Billy exchanges one last look with you before nodding.

“We still doing movies at Stu’s?” You desperately want to say no. Right now, all you want is to get as far away from him as possible. Earlier, with them and the kid, that’s normal. They’ve always had a bit of a mean streak when it comes to people weaker than them.

The way his eyes are boring into you right now is anything but normal. You’ve never felt quite so uncomfortable near him, but you can’t ignore the feeling. Every primal instinct of survival is screaming at you to run, but you can’t. You can’t say no. All you do is nod, tongue glued to the roof of your mouth. Stu’s eyes brighten slightly at your words, but it’s still nothing compared to how it should be.

You get ahead of Billy, not wanting to walk next to Stu. All you need is a good night’s sleep and you’ll be over this whole thing. Still, you can’t shake the feeling of too many eyes lingering on you as you make the trek to the car. The wet straw beneath your feet swallows the sounds of your steps and you try not to be discomforted by the quiet. It’s a carnival, where did all the people go?

The black-and-white static of the TV is the only thing to illuminate the room. It shines upon your face, makes it so you can only see in that square of light. You assume Billy is on the ground, passed out. And Stu is probably curled up in the overstuffed armchair.

Yet, you can’t look. As much as you try to crane your neck, try and find some comfort in their presence, you can’t move. Your body is pinned down by a weight you can’t see, only feel. This isn’t sleep paralysis. It’s like being held down by someone stronger and bigger than you.

You have no control over your body. You have no control over anything. Your breathing kicks up, coming in short panicked bursts. Your eyes roll around wildly, trying to find something, anything, to focus on.

You find yourself depressingly devoid of any distractions. Until a shadow creeps along the ceiling. At first, you think it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you. Like when you stare at one spot in the dark for too long and start to see impossible shapes.

But this is different. No matter how many times you blink or look away, it keeps moving. You whimper as it crawls over you. It dangles from the ceiling. You see nothing, only feel its eyes on you. There is no clear shape lurking within it, just malevolent malice.

It drops down behind the arm of the couch and you open your mouth to scream, hoping to wake one of the boys. Nothing comes out but a strangled gasp of air. You struggle for noise but the more you try, the harder you find it to bring air in.

Your eyes swim as you go lightheaded. You almost miss the tendrils creeping over the fabric of the couch. You almost don’t see it covering your feet. You wish you had missed it. You wish you just closed your eyes and never opened them again. But it’s like something is keeping those pried open too.

You can’t feel your legs. That’s the weight. It’s not someone holding you down. Your body is completely limp. It’s as though your bones were replaced with metal, you’re sinking so far into the cushions they’re rising around you. Even your fingers are too heavy to twitch.

You begin to feel it in your head, a sudden sinking feeling as it tips further and further back. Soon, you can only watch the shadow through your peripheral. Cold terror washes over you and fills your veins with something ill.

It covers your legs like a veil, slithering on them. Your thighs shoot apart and the blanket goes flying across the room. You can only let out a choked whimper as it dives between your parted limbs.

You shoot up with a gasp, sunlight peers through Stu’s living room windows, filling the room with much-needed warmth. You glance down, fisting the blanket and tugging it up to your chest in relief. Your heart is still racing and there’s sweat caked along your neck. But you can move your body freely again. It must have just been an awful nightmare.

You glance to the side and nearly scream. Stu lounges in the armchair, Billy’s still asleep on the ground. Stu stares right at you, empty eyes, wide smile. “Good dream?” he inquires, but the tone of his voice tells you he already knows the answer.

You swallow, fighting the sandpaper feeling of your throat and shaking your head. “No,” you croak, afraid to speak much louder than a whisper.

His smile widens and you feel your head feeling heavy again. “I love a good nightmare,” he admits, like it’s an awful secret. He leans back in the chair and turns towards the TV, mindlessly flicking through the channels.

With his gaze off you, you glance down and pull the waistband of your shorts down. You swallow down your tears and bile. Your underwear, like you feared, is gone. You glance towards Stu and narrow your eyes at the back of his head. You have an idea who took them.

Your parents are out of town for the week. Normally that means Billy and Stu infesting your home like pests. They’re being oddly evasive when you call, though. Not that you’re complaining. You haven’t been interested in being around Stu since the carnival.

He makes you feel unsafe. As much of a dick as he could be, never, have you ever feared him before. But you do now. You’re terrified of him. Even thinking about him makes you want to get up and check your closets for unwanted intruders.

However, as much as his absence is a relief, it brings with it its own problems. Nothing with Stu can ever be easy, can it?

You keep having the same nightmare. Except each night it gets closer and closer. You feel more of it than you ever want to. They’re turning into uncomfortably sexual dreams. You wake up wet and without any underwear. You can’t blame Stu for that when he’s not even in your house, though. Which leaves you fucking petrified when you wake up.

Because you know, deep down, you know someone wasn’t in your house. Something was, though. A heavy presence lingers over you during the day and makes you terrified to walk around the open spaces of your home. You’d lock yourself in your room all week if you could, but even that doesn’t feel safe.

The door slams behind you and you jolt forward with a scream. You stare at your backdoor with a horrified expression, glaring at it like it might start talking and reveal its secrets. Your house is old, there’s nothing odd about doors occasionally closing on your own.

Except, that hadn’t been open. You’ve kept it firmly locked all week, terrified of a possible home invasion. You need to stop watching scary movies on your own.

You pull your knees into your chest, staring at your door until you’re satisfied it’s not going to slam shut again. Slowly, you turn back towards your TV and keep watching the only good sitcom you could find at this time of night.

The second you let yourself get comfortable, however, you hear your bedroom door upstairs slam shut, followed quickly by rushing footsteps. Your eyes widen in terror and you mute your TV, glaring up at the ceiling and hoping you just imagined it.

Footsteps behind you, running across the linoleum. You whip around, nearly shrieking when you spot something black darting into your pantry closet. You scramble for the phone beside you. You slam 911 into the keypad and press it against your ear, keeping your eyes riveted on the pantry closet.

There’s a steady beep on the other end. The line’s dead. Someone cut your phone line. That’s okay. You can work with that. You can beat something real, but you’ve got no hope against something otherworldly.

You stand slowly, unmuting the TV so the laugh track will cover your movements better. You creep towards your linen closet, reaching for the bat your dad keeps in there for this very reason. He’s got different weapons placed all over the house and you blame him for some of your paranoia. But right now, you’re eternally grateful for the protection it’s providing you.

You slip into the kitchen, sliding quietly across the tiles on your socks. You position yourself behind the pantry door, your hand shaking as you reach for the handle. Just as you rip it open, the lights go out.

You scream wildly, waving the bat around with as much force as you can, hoping to just hit something solid. Glass crashes against the floor and you feel the bat connecting with something. The lights flip back on and your mother’s vase is shattered along the ground. There’s no sign of the intruder and you think you might throw up when you hear more footsteps upstairs, two sets this time.

But then someone darts through the living room, another flash of black before they’re gone. Three? How are you supposed to handle three?

Something titters behind you, bordering on a giggle, and you whip around, bat waving through the air recklessly. No one was there, no sign anyone was. And there’s no possible way for you to have missed them running past you. There’s nowhere to go or hide.

You think of the shadow you’ve seen in the closet and the lights flicker like they’re agreeing with you. The thing that’s been haunting your nightmares, it’s in the house with you. The lights flicker again and your stomach drops to the floor. Your heart is in your throat as you hear your voice chanted from upstairs.

It’s like staring at the Devil’s eyes at the circus again. You feel like there’s something being taken from you. You feel cold, empty, like you’re missing something you need. Something’s toying with you. Making you it’s twisted little plaything.

You can feel the tears clawing their way up your throat. The call of your voice gets louder and louder until it feels like it's being screamed straight into your ears. You want to run, want to fight, want to do anything but stand here and you can’t.

You can’t move. It’s just like your dreams. Your bones are metal and you are stuck. There’s a rough shove to your back, though you don’t feel physical hands on you. And then someone’s moving you, your legs are puppeteered as you’re directed up the stairs.

You stub your toes on every step, crawling up them like a child learning to use them for the first time. Every time you slow down or try and stop, you’re dragged forward again. Your bedroom door creaks open and warmth carves its way down your cheeks.

You stumble inside, the bat thudding to the floor as your hand goes limp around the handle. You want to call out to the entity, but your jaw is wired shut. You stand in the middle of your room, sobbing and terrified and completely alone.

Your closet door slowly creaks open and you brace yourself for the worst. Billy comes flying out, shouting nonsense at you as you scream until your throat feels bloody. Stu follows behind him, ripping off his stupid mask and giving you a wide-eyed look.

You crumple to the floor, covering your head and crying as you come down from the fear that you are being haunted. Stu kneels before you, hands gentle as they take your arms away from your head.

He looks like Stu now. He looks like the boy you grew up with. His eyes are full of worry as he pushes wet strands of hair off your cheeks. “Hey, hey, alright,” he tugs you into his chest and you throw your arms around him wildly. You cling tightly to him, taking in heaving breaths and trying to find some comfort from his touch.

“You fucking dicks,” you sob into his sweater. “I thought I was going to die.”

Billy scoffs as he stares awkwardly behind him. “Yeah,” he mutters bluntly, “I can tell.” He watches you cry for a little while longer before he gets irritated. “Hey, this was supposed to be fun. Would you lighten up?”

You suck in a deep breath, astonishment at what he just said temporarily stopping the tears of terror. You rip yourself away from Stu, ignoring the way his hands linger. “Excuse me?” You demand, glaring up at Billy.

He shrugs, “It was just a prank, chill out.”

You scoff, taking in a sharp breath and nodding your head. “Right, no, you’re right. It’s not like my friends used my biggest fucking fear against me!” You shout, shoving him backward. He stumbles into the corner of your desk and you glare at him and Stu.

“You’re horrible fucking friends, you know that.” You storm out of your room and pause at the top of the stairs. They linger in your doorway. Stu looks like a kicked dog and Billy looks like he’s about to blow the hell up.

“I don’t even know how you guys pulled all that shit off, but fuck you.” You give them both an astonished glare before shaking your head and going back down the stairs. “I hate you,” you scream, your voice shrill and full of uncontrollable rage.

Billy almost follows after you, probably to give you a shit apology and then let everything smooth over naturally. But he stops, foot hovering over the top of the stairs. He glances back at Stu and frowns, “What the hell did you do?” Stu gives him a confused look and Billy glares. “She wasn’t supposed to be terrified for her life, fuckwad. What the hell did you do to her?”

Stu shrugs and gives him a too-wide grin and for the first time, Billy finds himself disturbed by his friend. “Magician’s secret man, cannot, will not tell.” He zips his mouth shut and tosses the key, winking at Billy. Billy gives him a disgusted scoff and follows after you. They can hear you ranting in the kitchen, slamming your drawers shut, and shouting vile insults at them.

Stu watches Billy go down the stairs, his smile slowly fading from his face. Something dark passes over Stu’s face, something wicked, something unnatural. Perhaps it was all just a trick.

Or maybe that kid’s Latin wasn’t so fake after all.

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