harknessgf

[harknessgf]

HOW MANY THINGS. mattheo riddle.

mattheo riddle x fem!reader.

summary ; mattheo was never the type to stay where he wasn’t wanted; that is, until he met you… inspired by the song how many things by sabrina carpenter. words ; 5.7k warnings ; modern au (cellphones are used), angst, swearing, drinking, vague sexual innuendos

navigation. masterlist.

Mattheo had never been a pushover; no, he was rather a force to be reckoned with — a hard-ass, for lack of a better word. Born with razor sharp thorns pricking up from under his skin, leaving him bloodied red as roses and torn up before he ever even needed to fight, and barbed wire forced into his throat as he grew older in a world that proved itself impossibly difficult to conquer, he didn’t put up with bullshit.

He didn’t take disrespect or let people get close enough to see even the faintest scab marks of an old wound, and if anyone crossed him, he would make sure they’d live to regret it, erase them from his world like they were nothing more than chalk on pavement — quick, cold, and final.

Maybe he should’ve kept it that way with you too.

He finds himself unable to recall the exact moment that you’d managed to cut through the vines of poison ivy that had snaked their way around his heart, but he does recall the moments that may have led up to it, the ones that brought you closer and closer to his softened center without even trying.

A brush of shoulders every morning when you walked through corridors, secret smiles exchanged like swapping keys to locked rooms, long-lasting conversations that moved from crowded classrooms to the cozy confines of your homes, allowing you to make your own little corner in his heart. 

You never had to beg for space in his world. You carved yourself into him like you belonged there. Not forcefully. No, it was slower than that, more deliberate. Like water through stone. You wore him down until the sharpest parts of him didn’t point at you anymore. Until his anger softened at the sight of your tired eyes. Until your name stopped sounding foreign in his mouth and started sounding like home.

Oftentimes he found himself reminiscing on the beginning of your relationship, when you were warm and inviting, your love being the kind of fire he’d learned to cup his hands around to protect from the wind, aloof to the burn that grazed his fingertips every once in a while. For he was willing to put up with any pain as long as it meant your soul was still intertwined with his, his fingers mindlessly pulling at the strings to keep you close.

But lately, it felt like the fire had been snuffed out. What was once an embery, bright red blaze had dwindled to a lone candle flickering in the dark — and Mattheo couldn’t shake the sense that he was the only one still trying to keep it alive.

At first, he tricked himself into believing it was just a fluke. You were tired, or stressed, or busy; that had to be it. That had to be the only reason why he felt like there was a fucking chasm growing between the two of you — why he felt like you pulled away every time he got close.

It had to be something small. Temporary. Fixable. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

He was certainly never one to pry, opting to bury his feelings under layers and layers of soil from which beautiful flowers would sprout to cover the truth. If he could just make everything look okay — if he kept showing up, kept kissing your forehead, kept making excuses on your behalf — then maybe things would be okay. Maybe you’d notice. Maybe you’d come back to him without him ever having to ask.

Because asking meant acknowledging, and acknowledging meant accepting the possibility that he wasn’t imagining it. That it really was slipping.

Being a bother, a burden, was his worst fucking nightmare. He lived under the fear that you would grow even colder if  he troubled you with asking. He knew what happened when people got annoyed with him. He knew what abandonment tasted like — cold and metallic, a childhood memory rotting behind his ribs — and he wasn’t ready to taste it again.

So he didn’t say anything. Not when you stopped reaching for his hand the way you used to. Not when you started spending more time on your phone. Not when you kissed him absentmindedly like it was part of a routine instead of something you wanted. He told himself it was just life getting in the way. Just stress, just timing, just hormones.

It was ridiculous; he knew that. You weren’t some ice-hearted monster that would shut him out for trying to communicate, but maybe that would’ve been easier. Because at least then, he could’ve hated you. At least then, there would be something clear to hold onto, something he could point at and say, this is why it hurts.

Instead, it’s all this fog. This slow, suffocating quiet where your love used to live, and somehow, that’s worse.

Mattheo stares at the wall across from him like it might offer answers, like it might tell him when exactly things changed. When your love became absentminded. When he became convenient. A fixture. Familiar, but no longer thrilling. Something you didn’t hate, but something you didn’t crave like oxygen either.

He hears the soft rustle of your perfume spritzing into the air in the other room and imagines the way it’ll cling to your coat, to the hollow of your throat, to someone else’s memory when they catch a whiff of it in the street. You’ll smell like something perfect and untouchable, and no one will know that the boy who notices every time you change your scent is sitting on your couch, barely holding himself together.

You hadn’t even asked him to come tonight, wherever you were going. Not even a throwaway “you can come if you want.” Not even a lie.

And maybe that’s the part that hurts most — how easily he’s been written out of your world, how you make it seem effortless. Like love was never supposed to be permanent, just something you tried on until it no longer fit.

He sinks further into the cushions, elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly between them. He hates this, hates the version of himself he becomes when you’re like this: quiet, pliant, desperately waiting to be noticed again. It’s humiliating, really. He used to take pride in being cold, in being impenetrable. But now?

Now he stays alone at your flat when you’re out and remembers how you like your tea and flinches when you forget to kiss him goodbye.

Your heels click down the hallway. He doesn’t look up until you’re at the door.

“Do I look alright?” you ask, tugging your coat sleeve down, eyes flicking toward him only briefly.

He nods, eyes trailing over you, heart already unraveling. “Yeah. You look beautiful.”

You smile, distractedly murmuring a soft, “thank you,” before reaching for the door.

“I love you,” he says quietly, like a reflex. 

“Love you too. Don’t wait up,” you mutter, adjusting your coat, pulling your phone out of your bag without sparing him more than a glance.

He nods and forces a small smile, the kind that feels like a lie made flesh.

“I won’t,” he says.

But he will, of course he will.

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mattheo stares at it like if he focuses hard enough, it might open again. Like maybe you’ll come back and say you forgot something — your wallet, your lipstick, him.

But you don’t.

He sits there for a few minutes, motionless, before finally dragging his phone out of his pocket and opening his messages. 

Mattheo: You doing anything tonight?

It takes less than a minute for a reply to come through.

Theo: Depends.

Theo: Are you trying to get drunk or are we brooding in silence again?

Mattheo exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh he can manage.

Mattheo: Bit of both.

Mattheo: Come by.

Theo: Be there in 20.

By the time he stands up, Mattheo’s limbs feel heavy. He stretches them out like he’s been sitting there for hours instead of minutes, runs a hand through his hair, and glances around the apartment — too clean and too perfect, all the edges smoothed out to fit your preferences. 

He heads toward the kitchen, opens the fridge, then closes it again. Nothing sounds appealing. He’s halfway to the couch again when he remembers — your cat.

The tiny gray menace you insisted on adopting from a shelter last winter. She hated him at first. Clawed up his pillow and pissed on his shoes. But eventually, she started curling up on his lap when you weren’t home, started head-butting his chin like she chose him. He didn’t say it aloud, but he liked that. He liked her, mostly because she never made him wonder if she wanted him there or not.

He finds her in the corner of the living room, perched on the windowsill like she’s waiting for you too.

“Yeah,” he mutters, kneeling down to scratch behind her ears. “Don’t hold your breath.”

She blinks at him slowly, then jumps down and pads toward her empty water bowl.

Mattheo goes to the kitchen to fill it, and that’s when it hits him.

The memory comes sideways, like most of them do lately. It’s nothing big. Just a night with you barefoot in the kitchen, your hair messy, laughing at something he said, one hand absentmindedly stroking the cat’s back while the other held a mug of tea. You were wearing one of his shirts — he remembers because he liked how it looked on you, the way it hung loose on your perfect frame, driving him mad with temptation and adoration.

“You’re staring,” you’d said back then, smirking without looking up, and he instantly knew your thoughts of lust and love mirrored his own.

“Can you blame me?” he’d replied, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist before his hands slid down to squeeze at your ass, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. “You’re kind of perfect like this.”

You turned, kissed him slow and sleepy, and murmured against his lips, “I love you, y’know.”

He’d believed you. With everything in him, he’d believed you.

Now, standing in the same kitchen with the same damn cat and none of that warmth, he feels the grief of it. Not for a breakup or for something that’s over, but for something that’s still here, still breathing and just not alive anymore.

He closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands against them like he can shove the memory back where it came from, but it clings. The knock at the door a few minutes later makes him flinch.

Theo.

Good. He needs the distraction. He needs something to do with his hands besides remembering you.

His best friend steps in with a bottle of firewhisky and a raised brow, already shrugging off his coat.

“You look like shit,” he says, by way of greeting.

Mattheo huffs a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so hollow. “You’re one to talk.”

They settle in the living room without ceremony. No need for pleasantries; they’ve known each other too long. The bottle is uncapped, poured, and the silence stretches comfortably between them, thick as smoke. Mattheo drinks like he’s trying to set fire to something inside of him. Maybe he is.

Theo throws his feet up on the coffee table — your coffee table — and leans back with a sigh. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Mm,” Mattheo says, noncommittal. He takes another swig, the burn catching in his throat like a warning he ignores.

Theo’s voice cuts through the silence again. “You still working on that bike?”

Mattheo nods, grateful for the shift. “Put in new pistons last week. It’s still fucked, though. Can’t get it to run clean.”

Theo grunts, swirling the amber in his glass. “Sounds like you.”

Mattheo lets the jab land and doesn’t argue. He just presses the rim of the glass to his lips and stares ahead at nothing in particular.

Truth is, he does feel like a broken engine. Still functioning, technically, but something deep in the machinery has been misfiring for a while. Maybe it’s grief. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s just the slow, dull rot of being in love with someone who’s stopped remembering to look at him like he’s hers.

But he doesn’t say any of that; he can’t.

Because saying it would give it shape. It would make it real.

Theo doesn’t push; he never has. That’s part of why Mattheo still lets him around — why he doesn’t flinch when he hears his voice, doesn’t tense when he catches his gaze. Everyone else wants pieces, explanations, a crack in the armor so they can stick their fingers in and pry it open. But Theo? He just sits there and lets him speak or not speak. Drinks the same as he always has, like it’s just another Thursday.

Mattheo leans back, glass balanced on his knee, firewhisky burning down into the pit of something he hasn’t named yet. The cushions under him dip like they’re caving in from the weight of all the words he won’t say.

Theo breaks the silence again, voice low but not soft. “You ever think we peaked in sixth year?”

Mattheo snorts. “I peaked in fourth, mate. Back when I still thought I was fucking invincible and didn’t know what it meant to be gutted sideways by things you can’t punch.”

“Mm,” Theo hums, tilting his head. “I miss when the worst thing we had to worry about was detention.”

“Now I gotta worry about whether I forgot to take the bins out and if she’s gonna come home pissed about it.”

“She usually pissed about it?”

Mattheo’s silent for a beat too long. Then, flatly: “She’s not usually anything lately.”

Theo nods, just once, like he understands, because he does, he always fucking does.

Mattheo shifts in his seat, tilting his glass in his hands like it might tell him something if he stares hard enough. “You ever feel like you’re—” he stops. Swallows, then tries again. “Like you’re… giving so much of yourself to someone that there’s not even anything left to miss when they don’t notice?”

Theo raises a brow, not surprised by the half-confession, but not pouncing on it either. “Yeah.”

Mattheo exhales. It’s not relief. It’s more like… confirmation. That this ache, this raw, bone-deep hollowness isn’t unique, isn’t special, isn’t even interesting. Just another fucking casualty of caring too hard.

“You ever say anything about it?” he asks, voice quieter now, but not weaker. Just less performative.

Theo laughs, sharp and short. “Fuck no. What good does it do? You either say it and scare them off, or say nothing and rot from the inside out.”

Mattheo lets out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Cheery, aren’t you.”

“I’m drinking with you, aren’t I?”

They clink glasses without ceremony. The sound is dull, like the whisky knows it’s not celebration but survival.

Mattheo stares down into the amber, watching it slosh against the sides like it might spill all the things he’s too much of a coward to say. And he is a coward, though no one would dare call him that to his face. Not when he’s always been the firestarter, the mouthy one, the first to throw a punch and the last to back down. But when it comes to you? He folds like a paper bag, like one sharp word might split him clean through the middle.

“I think I broke something,” he says suddenly, gaze still fixed on his drink.

Theo tilts his head. “What kind of something?”

“Dunno.” Mattheo shrugs one shoulder. “Something inside me. Feels like there’s this… noise all the time. This pressure. Like the inside of my chest is gonna collapse under it. Like if I breathe wrong I’ll fall apart.”

Theo watches him for a second, then offers, “Could be your ribs.”

Mattheo gives a weak laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re such a prick.”

“And you’re dramatic as fuck.”

“Says the bloke who wrote a sonnet after that girl dumped him in fifth year.”

“That girl had cheekbones carved by angels and smelled like cherry pie. Show some respect.”

Mattheo smiles, despite himself. Not because he’s okay or because he feels better, but because this — this banter, this brutal kind of loyalty masked as sarcasm— is the only kind of safety he’s got left.

“Thanks for coming,” he says finally, not looking at Theo.

Theo nods. “You’d do it for me.”

“Yeah. And I’d mock your heartbreak the entire time.”

“Obviously.”

They fall silent again, but it’s easier now. Less like drowning.

Mattheo leans back against the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut. He can still hear your cat pawing at the edge of the hallway, somewhere near the closed bedroom door. He knows exactly where she’ll curl up when she gets back. He knows she won’t come to him first. He knows he won’t say anything about it, about how you don’t come to him first either.

He’ll stay quiet. He’ll stay still. He’ll let it fester like a wound wrapped in silk.

Because saying something would make it real. And if it’s real, then he has to admit that this version of love — the one where he’s always last, always small, always too much and not enough all at once — is the only kind he’s ever known.

And if he loses this?

He’s not sure there’s anything left worth being. So instead, he’ll cling on as long as he can. Who knows if he’ll ever find anything better?

Time passes until he’s not sure how late it is, the hours blending together like chalk left out in the rain. Somewhere between his nth drink and Theo’s incessant babbling, the sound of the front door unlocking cuts clean through the air.

Your laugh filters in first, bright and bubbly. Something about it makes his stomach twist, because it’s not for him; it hasn’t been for a while.

Mattheo sits up straighter, suddenly too aware of how much he’s had to drink. His pulse stutters. You walk in a moment later, eyes sparkling, coat still half hanging off your arms like you rushed home in the middle of a story you couldn’t wait to tell.

“There you are,” you say, breathless. “Oh my god, baby, you’re not gonna believe this.”

His heart stumbles again at the word baby. You haven’t said it in days — maybe weeks — but now it’s casual, light, tossed out like a sweet nothing instead of a tether back to him.

You spot Theo on the couch and smile. “Oh, hey, Theo.”

Theo nods. “Hey.”

Mattheo’s mouth curls upward, slow and tentative. For a second, all he sees is you. The version of you from months ago, when you used to walk in the door with that look in your eyes and fall into him like home. You’re glowing now, lit from within by whatever you’re about to say, and fuck, he lets himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe it’s about him. That maybe you’ve remembered him again. That maybe he still matters.

You laugh, tossing your bag onto the floor, and sit beside him, cupping his jaw with both hands and pressing a kiss to his lips like it’s still the most natural thing in the world. He melts into it, eyes closing, body sighing against yours like it’s been waiting all night for this moment.

Then you pull back, grinning. “I said yes.”

He blinks. “What?”

“To Spain. The study abroad program. My friend Daphne and I — remember, I told you about her? — we’ve been talking about it forever. And today, we just looked at each other and went, ‘Why the hell not?’ So we signed up. We’re going next term.”

It takes him a second to process the words. Another to feel the floor tilt beneath him.

You’re still smiling, proud of yourself, waiting for him to join in your joy.

And he wants to. Fuck, he wants to.

But all he can hear is the shatter of something delicate breaking inside his chest.

“You… what?” he says slowly, blinking. “You signed up?”

“Yeah,” you say, eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it crazy? I wasn’t even planning to do it, but it just felt right.”

He stares at you, blinking once. Twice. The smile doesn’t come back this time.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m telling you now,” you say lightly. “It all happened so fast.”

Mattheo forces a tight breath through his nose, jaw working. “Did you even think about me?”

Your face falters slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, and his voice is rawer now, frayed at the edges like old rope, “you made this massive fucking decision — one that changes everything — and I wasn’t even in the room for it. Not even a conversation. Just… you and Daphne going ‘Why the hell not?’ like it was booking tickets to a bloody concert.”

Theo shifts slightly, rising from the couch. “Right,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go ahead and, uh, not be here for this.”

Neither of you look at him as he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him and the silence that follows is dense. It wraps around Mattheo’s ribs like iron.

You sigh, the kind that sounds like it’s been waiting to happen all day. “I didn’t think I needed to ask permission.”

“I’m not saying you needed permission,” he replies, voice quieter now, but colder. “I’m saying I thought we were a we. And I guess I was wrong.”

You frown. “Mattheo, don’t do this. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“I know it is,” he snaps, then winces and runs a hand down his face. “But I’ve been sitting here for weeks wondering if I’m even in your head anymore, and then you come home smiling like the sun to tell me you’re fucking leaving. And I wasn’t even a passing thought on the way to the decision.”

You look at him, softer now, but not in the way he needs, not with the urgency he craves, not like he’s the thing you miss when you’re gone.

“I didn’t think you’d care this much,” you say finally.

And that is what kills him.

Because he has never cared about anything more.

Mattheo swallows it down, lets it burn on the way to his stomach like the firewhisky still warm in his veins. He nods slowly, then stands up without a word and disappears down the hall

You call after him once, quietly, but he doesn’t answer. He’s already in the kitchen, filling the cat’s bowl, hands shaking slightly as he listens to the soft mewling by his feet. And it’s that — the goddamn cat — that triggers it.

Because last winter, you brought her home shivering and tiny, wrapped in a scarf you’d stolen from Mattheo’s drawer. You’d fed her with an eyedropper every three hours like she was a child. He remembers you laughing when she curled up in the crook of his elbow for the first time.

“See?” you’d whispered, like it was some profound truth. “She knows you’re safe.”

He stares at the cat now, blinking hard. She nudges against his leg like nothing’s changed.

But everything has. Everything is.

You come after him a few moments later — he hears the soft tread of your feet against the wood floor, the tentative way you stop at the doorway like you’re not sure if you’re supposed to enter.

He doesn’t look at you, just crouches down beside the cat, scratching gently behind her ears while she eats, her tiny pink tongue darting rhythmically into the bowl like she’s unaware that the air is thick enough to choke on.

“Mattheo,” you say, quiet. “Can we talk about this?”

He lets out a breath that feels like it deflates something inside him as he stands back up, deliberately keeping his eyes off yours. His voice, when it comes, is low and tight. “Sure. Let’s talk. Now that the ticket’s booked and your bags are already half-packed.”

You cross the threshold slowly, arms folded like you’re trying to shield yourself from something. “Mattheo, please.”

He wipes his hands on a dish towel, not because they need drying, but because he needs something to do before he turns around and sees your face. Because he knows the moment he looks at you, he’s going to feel it all over again. The ache, the hope, the slow realization that maybe he’s been more alone in this relationship than he ever wanted to admit.

Still, he turns. And when he sees you — eyes wide, arms crossed over your chest like you’re cold or nervous or both — it hits him like it always does. That gut-deep devotion that refuses to die, even when it’s being starved.

��You didn’t even think about me,” he says again, quieter this time. Not accusing. Just… hurt. Bone-deep hurt. “That’s what kills me.”

You shake your head, stepping closer. “That’s not fair. It’s not like I’m moving to Spain forever. It’s one semester. Five months. It’s not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” he repeats, and there’s a bitter edge to the laugh that leaves his throat. He tilts his head slightly. “You didn’t think about what it would do to me. Not once. You didn’t think about how I’d feel waking up in a bed that smells like you, in a flat that echoes without your footsteps in it. You didn’t think about how I’d spend the next four months pretending I’m fine while you’re off drinking sangria and forgetting I exist.”

“I’m not forgetting you,” you say, voice a little sharper now, defensive. “You’re being dramatic.”

He laughs again, harsher this time. “Yeah. I guess I am. Must be all the fucking firewhisky.”

You glance at the half-empty glass on the counter. “Maybe you should stop drinking.”

“Maybe you should’ve told me you were leaving before you already packed your goddamn suitcase.”

That silences you. He watches the way you flinch, just barely, and it makes him hate himself a little more, because he never wanted to be cruel to you; he just wanted to matter.

You take another step toward him, arms still folded, like you’re bracing yourself. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I am happy for you,” he says, voice breaking around the edges. “But I’m also fucking heartbroken. Do you get that? Can you even hold both of those things at once, or is it just easier to pretend I’ll be fine no matter what you do?”

He can feel the frustration building under his skin like pressure in a pipe, threatening to burst. But underneath it, worse than all of it, is the fear. The slow, creeping terror that this is just the beginning of the end. 

“You didn’t talk to me,” he continues, hands flexing at his sides. “You didn’t even ask if I’d be okay with it. You just… made the choice.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you say, voice rising a little now. “You’ve never made me feel like I couldn’t do things on my own. I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” he bites out, because of course he is. That’s the sick part. That even now, even as he’s drowning in the weight of being left behind, he still wants you to fly. “But I’m not made of fucking stone, alright? I’m not some goddamn statue you keep on your shelf to cheer you on from the sidelines. I’m your boyfriend. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to matter enough to be part of the decision.”

You look down, suddenly quiet. He swallows hard.

Silence stretches again. The cat meows softly, as if trying to bridge the void.

You stare at him. He can see the tears swimming in your eyes now, but it doesn’t undo what’s already been said.

He shakes his head and leans back against the counter, running a hand through his hair. “You used to tell me everything. Now I’m lucky if I get leftovers. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve been trying to not be that guy. The clingy, jealous boyfriend who can’t handle his girl having her own life.”

His eyes meet yours, bloodshot and bright. “But fuck, love. I didn’t think I was completely disposable.”

“Mattheo, you’re not—”

“Then why do I feel like I am?” he cuts in, and it’s louder than he meant, harsher. “You didn’t even consider what it’d mean for us. What it’d do to me. You didn’t think, ‘Oh, maybe I should talk to the person I come home to every night before I decide to vanish across a continent.’ You just decided. Like I’m some guy you’re dating, not... not me.”

You look down, and for a moment he thinks you might apologize. That maybe you’ll reach for him, finally. That maybe he’ll feel like yours again, instead of some antique you pass by daily without noticing the dust collecting.

But instead, you say, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And maybe that’s what wrecks him most. Because you didn’t mean to. You just did. Like it was easy, like hurting him was just a side effect you forgot to list on the bottle of whatever freedom you’ve been chasing lately.

“I know,” he says, voice barely holding together. “You just didn’t think about me at all. And I don’t know which is worse.”

“I just thought—” you pause, struggling to find the right spin, the safe angle. “You never say much when things are bothering you. I figured if there was something going on, you’d have said something before.”

“I don’t say things,” he repeats, letting the words echo in the space between you. “Right. And what, that means I don’t feel them?”

You flinch, ever so slightly.

Mattheo’s hands come to grip the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles going pale. He’s trying not to let it spill, but it’s close. He’s spent so long swallowing every sharp edge that his throat feels permanently bruised from it. And now, there’s blood on his tongue and no way to pretend he can’t taste it.

“I don’t say things,” he says again, quieter now. “Because every time I’ve opened my mouth to ask someone to stay, they’ve left anyway. Because I learned a long fucking time ago that needing someone is a liability. So yeah, I didn’t say anything. But don’t mistake that for not caring. Don’t twist my silence into apathy. You’re not the only one who matters here.”

He watches the way you absorb that. The way your eyes dart, the way your mouth opens, then closes again, like maybe you didn’t realize how far he’s been falling. 

The cat hops up onto the counter and purrs by his back, utterly unaware of the storm between the two of you. Mattheo reaches around and scratches her behind the ears, the movement grounding, automatic.

Mattheo’s voice is quieter now, but there’s no softness in it, just weariness. “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

You flinch. You weren’t expecting that.

His laugh is bitter. “Guess you didn’t think I’d want to.”

“Would you?” you whisper, barely audible.

He meets your eyes, and there’s something hollow in him now, some void that’s widened and finally swallowed the last of his hope. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he says. “That’s the problem.” 

He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re still everything to him. That he still waits for your messages like a schoolboy, still sleeps on his side of the bed even when you don’t come home from hours. That he notices the way you’ve stopped wearing his hoodies. That he’s counted the times you’ve kissed him in the last week and still has fingers left over. That he finds your name engraved into every mundane object he sees. 

That he’s got ways to find you any and everywhere.

The silence returns, heavy and absolute. You take a step forward, like you might close the gap between you, but Mattheo steps back.

It’s not out of anger, not meant to punish you. Just... self-preservation. What little of it he has left, anyway.

He swallows hard, voice rough. “You’re gonna do what you want anyway. I just wish, for once, you’d wanted me enough to factor me in. You used to want me. I’m not even a priority anymore.”

You’re still, eyes shining with something you don’t say.

But he’s not waiting anymore. Not tonight.

He turns from you, opens the cabinet to pull down another glass. “You want a drink?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Mattheo,” you murmur. “I love you.”

He gulps down what’s remaining in his cup, then lifts his gaze and stares at you for a long moment. Your words should be enough; for most people, they would be enough.

But love without presence, without consideration; it’s like flowers growing in a room with no light. They bloom for a while, but they always die in the end.

“I know,” he says.

And he does. You love him in the way people love things they’re used to. Love the old songs they don't play anymore, love the sweater that sits untouched in the closet. It’s love, but not the kind that stays.

Eventually, he hears your footsteps retreat. The door to the bedroom clicks shut a moment later, soft and final.

Mattheo stays in the kitchen long after that, staring at nothing, the cat curling up by his feet like a cruel reminder of what used to be.

He pours the drink, slow and steady. Not because he wants to forget.

But because remembering is killing him.

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

reminder that reblogs, feedback, and comments are very appreciated and make me smile :)

a/n: completely unintentional but a line somewhere in here also reminded me of the song scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo so there’s that too </3 this is not fully edited and i’m tired so i’m sorry if it’s kinda shitty :’)

[harknessgf]

blanket monster

synopsis. with your radiator broken, you either freeze to death or borrow a blanket from your roommate mattheo. what happens when a badly planned thievery causes you to be trapped with him under his blanket? beneath the covers, there are no rules: just heat, hunger, and a monster with your name on his tongue.

pairing. roommate! mattheo riddle x reader

content/mdni. fem!reader, roommate!au, cocky!mattheo, pervert!mattheo, sleepy!mattheo, tit play, dry/wet-humping, clit stimulation, thigh-fucking, neck kissing, a lot of tension, teasing, praise, begging, dirty talk, name-calling (good girl, baby), messy, unprotected p in v (although matty preaches safe sèx), a lot of restraint, quite soft ngl, a ton of plot

word count. 3.8k

a/n. i am still not fully back, but i managed to write this! y’all already know i have strangely specific plots. hope you enjoy it tho! feedback and reblogs are extremely appreciated

after a weak push, the door creaked open with a high-pitched hum, slowly revealing mattheo’s room. surprisingly, it was drowned in silence — his pc was shut down, his phone locked and tucked away in his nightstand, only visible thanks to the shimmering white of the charger.

his window was closed, but his curtains were wide open, allowing the beautiful shine of the moon to spill into the chamber and gloss all over its constituents.

including mattheo’s sleeping form.

he was submerged under a fluffy blanket, sprawled across the bed on his side. only his curly tuff of hair was visible, the rest of his body completely covered by the thick covers.

“mattheo.”

you whisper-yelled his name as you inched closer and closer to him, trespassing into his room without his permission yet again.

in your defense, you first gave him a warning of your arrival on his phone, but he seems to have disregarded any sort of message from you to sleep.

“mattheo.”

you tried again, this time with a sharper tone, a bit annoyed that he was not stirring awake from your first call.

he was as unwavering as a log, maintaining his initial position under the covers. his breath was stilled and controlled, only small snores leaving his probably parted lips here and there.

mattheo could have been robbed in his sleep and he would have had no idea.

“matty, c’mon.”

you were bolder now, bending at your waist above the bed and urging him to wake up in a louder voice.

the new, proximal position allowed you to see his face clearly — peaceful, no crease or wrinkle on his sleeping expression. his lips were indeed open, but thankfully no drool slipped away between them. his beautiful chocolate eyes were covered by heavy lids and sealed away by his thick lashes. his curls were partly sticking to his forehead, skin heated from the warmth of his slumber, partly spread all across his pillow in a confusing mess.

“this fool is sweating while i am freezing to death.”

that's why you came to his room — you needed to borrow another blanket as yours did little to nothing to help with the low temperature in your room. your radiator broke during the day and, despite mattheo’s generous offer to sleep in his room, you stood your ground and decided to face the cold on your own.

big mistake.

not even your thickest pajamas and a mountain of blankets did the trick.

“mattyyyyy.”

elongating the vowel at the end of his nickname, you called out to him one last time. you even put on your sweetest voice, somehow sure this time you will succeed in waking him up. and to make odds be in your favour, you even scrunched up the long sleeves of your blouse and poke at his cheek with your bare finger.

once.

…

twice.

…

trice.

…

“ugh.”

you puffed, annoyed beyond compare when mattheo did not budge. there was no point in pestering him further; you’d only get angrier at his lack of reaction.

promptly straightening your back, you turned around and took a step away from his bed.

maybe you should search for a blanket on your own.

it’s not like the room was in complete darkness, the moon shining brighter than ever through the window. plus, the only logical place for mattheo to store a spare blanket was his wardrobe.

it would be easy to find.

but you completely underestimated mattheo and his dirty pig attics.

his wardrobe was a total mess. his clothes were barely folded, thrown into any drawer — multiple drawers, even. and when you tried to pull something that looked like a blanket, all soft and fluffy, the entire mountain of clothes twitched.

“hell nah.”

you immediately abandoned the so-called blanket, shoving the material back in and rapidly closing the door. challenging the monstruous wardrobe was a bad move on your part; if that thing collapsed on you, you’d have been buried in mattheo’s mess until the end of time.

should i just take the blanket he has on him now?

a devious thought crossed your mind as you were staring at the mirror-like surface of the wardrobe, shamelessly eyeing the blanket covering mattheo.

a devious thought that sounded like a splendid idea.

it wasn’t like mattheo would wake up because of it. he would most likely sleep soundly until morning, and only then he would realize someone robbed him of his precious covers. moreover, that fucker is a walking radiator himself, generating heat and burning like a fire. you’d be more appreciative of his blanket than him.

so, after making up your mind, you drew closer to his bed again. your legs inched quicker and quicker with feather-like steps, and thanks to your long pants, catching underneath your feet, any sort of floor creaking was prevented.

all that commotion with the wardrobe did nothing to mattheo — he was still fast asleep, in the same position in which you’ve found him at the beginning of your intrusion. almost drowning in the covers, it was fortunate that the blanket seems to not be trapped under him.

assessing the position of the blanket and the strange entanglement of limbs that could be lying underneath, you decided that pulling from the very middle of the material would be the best choice. dipping your body downwards, you carefully grasp the edge of the blanket, securing a good chunk of it between your grabby fingers.

and you pulled it towards you. slow. calculated.

a cheeky smiled spread on your face when the blanket slowly began to budge from its place, gliding across mattheo without perturbing his deep slumber. you could already feel the way this very blanket will solve all your issues and give you the best sleep known to man.

you barely managed to peel the blanket halfway when movement halted abruptly. you tugged and tugged at the material, some sharper tugs, some gentle tugs, but nothing happened.

“it’s stuck?”

you whisper-yelled at the sudden realization, terribly infuriated by this stupid impediment. did the blanket catch onto one of mattheo’s pillows? or was it perhaps his leg or arm?

leaning over the bed to scout the area with your eyes, you momentarily lessen your grip on the covers. mattheo was surely too far gone into dreamland to notice your looming figure, so you could survey the area in peace and decide your next move.

yet, with your guard lowered down, a new, foreign arm joined in.

sneaking fastly around your torso and dragging you into the bed, underneath the blanket.

“fuck!” a mere curse word managed to escape from your lips before the strong pull stole your breath away. “you awake?” a half-muttered rhetorical question left your mouth immediately after, your entire body twitching and turning in mattheo’s lazy grasp, trying to escape and assess the new situation.

“shhh, too loud.”

a deep, rumbling voice broke your exasperated protests, snapping you out of your frenzy and bringing your entire attention back to the person next to you. and the proximity between you two.

he was awake. and really close.

“settle down.”

mattheo’s voice was heavy with sleep, his words half-murmured against your forehead. you could feel the warm breath fanning across your face, and if you tried hard enough you could feel his lips themselves brushing over your skin.

“no, let me–”

your little complaints began again, this time fueled by the dangerously short distance between your two bodies. to make matters worse, you were facing each other; mattheo’s face was resting a bit higher than yours, yet still too close to your liking.

you were burning with embarrassment, struggling to free yourself, while he was still as serene as ever.

“–go.”

despite his gentle expression and his half-lidded eyes, true signs of drowsiness, mattheo sharply disobeyed your commands and tightened his grasp around your waist, pulling you even closer.

“ah, wait.”

you had no time to react, your nose bumping into his hard chest in mere seconds. his warm body instantly ignited your cold one, and you subconsciously buried your face deeper, nuzzling against his skin.

 skin?

skin.

bare, hot, unmistakable skin.

you abruptly stopped, face slowly backing away from his body to confirm that he was indeed shirtless — to confirm that your poor tired mind was not playing tricks on you.

“matty?”

you whispered his name, testing whether he has already succumbed to the heaviness of sleep. if he did, there was no point in confronting him. you’d just sneak away and back into your roo–

“hm?”

but he was still awake. his hum of approval was low, barely above a whisper, but thanks to your closeness, you felt the vibrations of his vocal cords shoot through his chest.

“you’re shirtless.”

you hoped a reminder of his bare torso would make him back off, instill some distance between you two. heck, maybe even make him let you go. but mattheo only smirked at your statement, a slight peek of his marble teeth shining together with the moonlight.

contrary to your expectations, mattheo dipped his head downwards, traversing from your forehead lower and lower and lower. his lips made a short stop right above your mouth, and that’s when panic surged inside you.

what is he thinking?

your arms, which were peacefully resting alongside your body, sprung upwards and landed right onto his chest. palms flat against his hot skin, you pushed mattheo with all your might, trying to regain some distance.

but he wouldn’t move.

“mattheo, what–”

he continued his journey, trailing lower, totally ignoring your baffled state. leaving your lips empty, he settled down right against your ear. and, with a low whisper, he corrected your previous sentence.

“i’m naked.”

oh.

your hands completely stilled on his chest. no. your entire body froze up, too stunned by the revelation. only your eyes widened in shock, eyebrows jumping upwards and curving into two crescent moons.

“no. nonononono. no.”

whether he was joking or not, you did not want to stay further and find out. mattheo was your roommate, for fuck’s sake, and even the fact that you were in bed with him was bad. but if he was indeed naked??

you had to get away fast.

pushing at his chest and twisting around, you managed to turn your back to mattheo and even sneak one of your legs outside the blanket.

mattheo might be strong, but he was still sleepy — if you act fast enough, you’d surely escape from his arm.

your plan was good, and with the way your second leg was flying away from the clutches of the blanket, you were sure it will succeed.

sadly, you did not take into consideration mattheo’s second arm.

his other arm dropped across your middle, gliding across your sides like a snake and securely gripping at your body. and slowly, any sort of progress you made dissipated, your body now dragged back in its initial place.

“why run, baby?”

he chuckled against your cheek, low and wrecked with sleep, sending a pulse of heat straight to your core.

“you wanted warmth, no?” his voice was full of arrogance, and you could feel the way his lips curled against your skin in a devious grin.

with both of his arms nicely wrapped around you, mattheo pulled you into him fully. your clothed back hit his chest, all warm and fuzzy, while your lower body made contact with his solid crotch.

something sheltered itself between your asscheeks, and by its twitchiness, it was definitely not his leg.

“i will make you warm all over.”

it was a mistake to tiptoe into his room. it was a mistake to steal his blanket.

it was a mistake to underestimate a sleeping mattheo.

now you were at his mercy.

“ah, matty…”

being engulfed by his warm body did make your hotter. suddenly, your long-sleeved pajamas were too much; the material was itchy and suffocating, making you pant and whine for your clothes to be discarded.

nonetheless, the raising in temperature was not solely due to the covers and mattheo’s body heat — it was also due to your own lustful desire stirring your insides, making you boil with need.

“yeah, baby?”

mattheo knew. he could feel your body quivering against him, he could feel your ass involuntarily pushing against his cock. he could feel the way your hands clutch at his, desperately guiding them underneath the hem of your blouse.

fuck, his sweet roommate needed him.

his hands slid upwards underneath your blouse, warm calloused palms gliding across your tummy all the way to your bare chest. his fingers touched around attentively, waiting for a positive cue from you.

and when a small needy whimper left your lips, he fully cupped your tits in his hands.

“shit, so soft.”

he groaned against your neck, voice all gravel yet honeyed, half-sweet, half-sinful. his lips peppered open-mouthed kisses across your skin, wetting every exposed patch in his wake. his digits, skillful and eager, pinched and pulled at your nipples, teasing them into stiff peaks.

your cute moans of pleasure only stirred him on, and with each and every squeeze of your tits came a snappy thrust of his shaft into your meaty ass.

“you getting warmer, baby?”

each word was punctuated by a short nibble of your skin, his teeth grazing at your neck, hard enough to pleasure, yet not enough to hurt.

he didn’t need an actual response, really; he could feel your body heat — now matching his own temperature — and he could also feel arousal bubbling inside you.

“y–yes.”

your answer was weak, drowned in breathy whines, too overwhelmed by mattheo and his restless attacks. his palms continued their ministration on your boobs, fondling them to his very whim, while his cock drilled faster and faster against your pajama pants, getting them all sticky and wet with precum.

the back of your pants were not the only ones drenched. your panties were long ruined, arousal pooling into them wave after wave from the moment mattheo pulled you underneath the covers.

at the beginning, you tried to resist temptation, but right now you were fully succumbing to lust, clenching your thighs together and pushing back into your roommate.

“m–more.”

you needed more. you needed to feel his hands touch all over your body, to ignite every inch of your skin.

to make you burn raw with desire.

your plea, oh so tiny and broken, made mattheo’s hips jut upwards into your ass faster. a plethora of curses escaped his wet lips as he slowly but surely realized how you had him wrapped around your finger.

your wandering hands reached his own underneath your shirt and, with delicate moves, you now guided them downwards to the hem of your pants.

and, to seal the deal and make mattheo complete putty, you threw the prettiest blown-out eyes at him, silently asking for him to go further.

“f–fuck, baby, i can’t resist you.” his voice cracked against your skin, as even saying the words cost him restraint.

his fingers fumbled at your waist, clumsily pushing the waistband of your pajamas down to your knees. when the pads of his digits encountered your panties, they were immediately hooked and dragged lower too, joining your pants.

“oh, baby, oh, baby, oh, babyyy.”

he started chanting the pet name like a mantra the moment his eyes got a hold of your glistering pussy, all warm and sticky, and so so inviting. and he gladly took the invitation, glossing his fingers between your folds and gathering your arousal, only to stick up his hand and admire the web-like formation of precum.

“so fucking wet, d–damn.”

he breathed it like a prayer, forehead dropping against your shoulder for a moment, so aroused by the reactions of your body. but he had no time to soak into the feeling as he felt your plush, naked ass press against his own bare cock, so impatient and needy.

“mattyyy.”

your mind was foggy, clouded with the thought of immediate release. your hips shifting back into mattheo so deliciously was a clear bodily reaction, and he could see that as well.

as much as he wanted to thrust right into your sloppy hole and fuck you senseless, he couldn’t.

“c–can’t, baby. i don’t have a condom.”

it was difficult to hold back, it really was. to have his gorgeous roommate in his arms, half-naked and begging for dick — that was his ultimate fantasy. yet here he was, cock heavy and throbbing against your ass, refusing to fuck you without a condom.

“but matty–”

“safe sex is ah–… important, baby.”

fuck safe sex, you wanted to scream at him, the achiness between your legs growing stronger and stronger. but mattheo took you by surprise once again, repositioning his wandering hand back on your cunt and slowly circling his digits over your pulsing clit.

“but i will take care of you.”

the sensation was so powerful that your head was thrown back against his chest, a sharp moan elicited from your previously pouting lips. no longer pursed in dissatisfaction, your mouth hanged open, overflowing with whines and moans.

“it feels good, baby, hm?”

“yes, yes, yes, ahhh…”

your voice was high and ruined, hips rutting mindlessly against mattheo’s hand as he played with your swollen bud. his pace was sloppy and wavering, his concentration deterring because of his own needs. his cock, leaking with precum, was still chasing relief between your asscheeks.

but he too wanted more.

“got you all messy and wet…” he mumbled, ragged breath fanning on your skin. “yet i can’t even fuck you properly.”

the arm around your torso tightened, dragging you closer to his crotch. his ministration on your clit got rougher, now matching the desperate ruttings of his own hips.

he wanted so bad to move your leg to the side and just plunge in. he wanted so bad to twist you around and have you spread open across his bed, legs dangling off his shoulders as he restlessly pounds into you.

his cock continued to bully the fat of your behind, leaving a sticky shimmery trail all over it, as he keeps imagining the many ways he could have you if only he had a condom on him.

if only there was an alternative to–

there was.

“baby, let me fuck your pretty thighs.”

he rasped quickly, short of breath, proud of his genius idea. his fidgety hand immediately jumped on your thigh, fingers digging into the plush fat and making it jiggle slightly.

“they’re warm and soft… i will rub your clit, make you cum together with me.”

his other hand resumed its movement on your cunt, poking and prodding at your clit in an attempt to convince you to accept his offer.

“o–okay.”

you hiccupped, voce hazy and dripping with need. you slightly parted your thighs, inviting mattheo to insert his cock. and he wasted no time, thanking you for your cooperation and sliding between your thighs swiftly.

and when you closed them around his cock, squishing it nicely, he though his body ascended to heaven.

“my gooood girl.”

mattheo groaned low at the friction your soft skin provided, hugging his shaft tight and warm. then he moaned louder, his cock grazing past your drenched folds and your quivering hole. he almost gave up and changed the angle, pushing into your cunt, but he stilled himself and completed his thrust, his tip peeking out, red and dripping, on the other side.

“you’re amazing, fuck.”

and with that, mattheo started a stable rhythm of his hips, pulling and pushing against your thighs and using them like a cunt. he also kept his promise, rubbing your pretty little clit and giving you that well-deserved pleasure.

“mattyyy.”

his urgent and sharp thrust affected you as well. you were sobbing now, teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling from the pressure on your clit and the constant bullying of mattheo’s cock against your folds.

“i know, baby, me too.”

he only cooed at you, speeding up his thrusts between your thighs, fingers rubbing with more vigour against your clit.

but it wasn’t sufficient.

you needed more.

you needed him inside.

“matty– inside–… i need you inside.” you babbled between sobs, twisting your neck to gaze at him and enchant him a second time that night.

“r–raw, please, raw.”

his entire body shuddered at your plea, arms stiffening tightly against you. he resisted you the first time, but now? with his own release so close?

fuck.

he cursed viciously under his breath, his self-control on the verge of snapping completely.

“y–you sure? i w–won’t be able to stop.”

if you agree, he will conform. and he hoped you–

“please, matty. i need you.”

with a feral growl, mattheo shifted, guiding the fat head of his cock to your soaking entrance. and he pushed in without a second thought, the tip stretching you out deliciously, warmly welcomed by your hungry cunt.

both of you moaned — loud, primal, shameless.

he bottomed out in one long, shaking thrust, his hips drawn to yours like a magnet. your gummy walls latched onto him like a vice, sucking his cock and hardly letting it go.

“so fucking good, baby. fuckfuckfuckk.”

he pulled out only halfway before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace that had your thighs shaking. your hands were clawing at the sheets, hanging onto them for dear life.

you were close.

you were both so close.

he only had a few more thrusts in him — he could feel it building up in his gut, tightening unbearably.

“gonna fill you up, baby.”

mattheo groaned into your shoulder, hips jerking faster, harder. his fingers were also frantic against your clit, wishing to push you off the edge at the same time.

“please, want you in me.” you whimpered, arching into him, voice broken yet sweet.

his body trembled — a half-muttered call of your name managed to get out before his sturdy hands grabbed your hips, digging his fingers hard into your skin to keep you still.

you gasped together as he buried himself deep, cock splitting you open one last time before spurts of cum spilled inside you. your pussy fluttered around him like it wanted to seal in every last drop, joining his orgasm.

for a few moments, the world was just panting, sweaty skin, tangled limbs, and the slow, sticky drip of him leaking out of you.

mattheo didn’t pull out. he couldn’t.

he just wrapped himself around you tighter, peppering you with lazy kisses.

"warm enough now, baby?" he murmured against your skin, cocky even in his exhaustion.

you could only giggle weakly, shortly glancing at the blanket that started all this, half-hanging off the bed, forgotten.

"yeah, matty," you whispered, settling back into his embrace. "more than enough."

tags: @downbad4reid, @cafechichay, @lov3notts

[harknessgf]

. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

tw: fingering, cunnilingus, piv, titty sucking, slight bondage. all characters are 18+. minors and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked.

gojo satoru loves sucking your pretty tits as you ride him. swirling his tongue over your perky bud, lightly biting it to get pretty sounds out of your mouth. your delicious scent evading his nostrils as you move up and down on his thick hard cock. "you ride me so good baby~ fuck... and these pretty fuckin' tits" smooch "...i can do this all day..."

nanami kento eats your sopping wet cunt for hours before he shoves his cock deep inside you. he needs to pull out multiple orgasms out of you. he tells you it's to give you as much pleasure as you deserve, but in reality, he just enjoys the pretty sounds you make, as you whine and moan his name, while you squirt all over his face. "ken-i can't... 's too much, haah..."

"just one more, darling. i know you have it in you. you can hold on longer for me right...?"

geto suguru loves fingering your pussy every morning. his special way of greeting you everyday after a good nights sleep. pulling your panties to the side or taking if completely off, wetting his fingers with his saliva and sticking it inside of you, thrusting his fingers in an out slowly, his cock twitching in his boxers from the wet sound of your pussy and your moans, as your still laced with sleep. "you're so wet for me. and so early in the morning too. but i can it can't be helped. isn't that right sweetie...?", he captures your lips in a gentle kiss.

toji fushiguro cuffs your hands behind your back when you're acting like a brat. thrusting inside of you in a steady rythmn, denying your cries of asking him to go faster. how would you learn your lesson if he just gives in to you. "you've been such a naughty girl, princess", he smacks your ass, your pussy clenching down on his cock. "you have to take your punishment. i'll go faster when you learn to stop being a brat."

choso kamo just loves playing with your pussy, mostly through your underwear. rubbing your clit with his thick fingers, hard and slowly as you let out cute breathes and whines. he could just stick with this without having to be inside you, especially on days where your tired from your daily activities. he comes inside of your panties leaving them wet and sticky with his cum and he makes sure you fall asleep that way. "you look so cute like this, angel. you don't know what you do to me..."

sukuna ryomen who absolutely adores watching you ride him reverse cowgirl. your ass that he loves oh so much so close so he can smack and caress it. the way your pussy takes his thick cock so well. the jiggling of your ass cheeks as you take him all the way to the base like the good girl you are makes the gears in his brain malfunction. "you're taking me so well, baby-ahh- yeah, just like that" smack "fuck-don't stop . don't stop until i tell you to, pretty"

𝐂𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

[harknessgf]

slytherin boys + pansy nsfw links

(only works if you're logged into twitter!)

tom riddle;

angry sex with tom riddle

69 with tom riddle

tom throat fucking you

mattheo riddle;

jerking off mattheo

riding mattheo

public sex with mattheo

blaise zabini;

car sex with blaise

anal with blaise

riding blaise

draco malfoy;

dry humping with draco

car sex with draco

giving draco a bj

lorenzo berkshire;

you being desperate for lorenzo

mutual masturbation with lorenzo

mating press with lorenzo

theodore nott;

giving theo a bj

car sex with theo

rough sex with theo

pansy parkinson;

futa! pansy jacking off infront of you

dry humping with pansy

pansy eating your pussy

—

i didn't look at tags, i searched like things up so if there are some wild tags, thats why, i stopped looking at the tags near the end lol. same with audio, i didnt listen to the sound so if they say some wild shit, thats totally my fault😭

[harknessgf]

when reading smut and y/n says “daddy”

[harknessgf]

Above Me - M.R

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

summary: It was supposed to be simple—just sex, no strings, no expectations. Mattheo didn’t do attachments, and you weren’t looking to fix him. But the lines are starting to blur, and neither of you are willing to admit it.

word count: 4.8k

warnings: unprotected p in v, smut, slight dom!mattheo, fem! reader, dirty talk, praise, use of pet names, emotional repression, fwb type relationship.

a/n: first time writing for Mattheo, and my first post here! let me know what you think. all likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! ✯

How the arrangement started didn’t matter, only that it worked. You both had something to gain. For Mattheo, it was low maintenance and high reward. You never outstayed your welcome, and he never lingered. Just a wink, a smirk, and a muttered "Same time tomorrow?" That was the deal.

It was guaranteed satisfaction without the risk of raised expectations— and even if they did catch feelings, he'd crush them the next day when he acted like they never existed.

He'd leave them tangled in his sheets and smirking by breakfast, already moving on before their names could stick. You'd seen how he operated — quick, careless, and never around long enough to deal with a morning-after attachment. He didn't want to be fixed, he just wanted someone willing.

And who was more suited for his needs than you.

Of course, no one would suspect a thing — not that he would care if they did anyway, he was practically fluent in attracting unwanted attention. But you, well you were the perfect solution to his little problem. Ever the golden girl of his little band of misfits, all soft smiles and sharper words. You were in a league of your own, far better than he deserved, and Mattheo loved defying the odds.

You suppose Mattheo had become a friend, in the loosest sense of the word. Unfortunately for you, loyalty to Pansy outweighed your indifference to him and his equally debauched friends. And as Pansy and Draco had resumed their on-again-off-again relationship— truly a mystery to all involved— you'd found yourself in his company more often than not.

With Pansy gravitating towards her blonde disaster of a boyfriend, your meals were punctuated by tales of Mattheo's latest sexual trysts. Your evenings, usually spent solely with Pansy, were now hijacked by the overwhelming stench of testosterone and crudeness.

Eventually, you ended up at the very centre of it all—behind everyone else's backs. And really, who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth?

✯ ✯ ✯

"Psst."

It took his third, maybe fourth, attempt to catch your attention. Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze from the parchment you'd been taking notes on, only to be met with his dark eyes.

You glanced past him toward the front of the room, where Professor Binnes — as lively as ever — was drifting lazily by the chalkboard. The chalk screeching faintly against the board, its dry scratch slicing through his relentless drone.

Clearly, the ghostly professor was either unaware or unbothered that half the class had taken his lecture as an opportunity to doze off, quills abandoned mid-sentence and parchment stained with ink blots where their hands had slumped. The remaining half, which was very few, were barely pretending to care about the painfully dull history of the 1289 Warlock Convention— a truly mind-numbing subject even by Binnes’ usual standards.

Mattheo kicked back in his chair at the desk in front of you, the very picture of disinterest whilst he twisted his wand between his fingers— the cool glint of his Riddle signet ring flashing each time his hand twisted in a hypnotic rhythm.

Beside him Lorenzo looked to be fast asleep, cheek squished against the back of his hand, practically drooling onto the untouched textbook in front of him. The lack of his usual elegance had you fighting back a shaky laugh. Your eyes drifted back to Mattheo, his head tilted against the back of the chair, a lazy sort of grin tugging at his lips.

"What?" you mouthed, lifting your quill in a vaguely annoyed gesture, as if to ask why he was interrupting you in the first place. But you already knew the answer, he was bored and without Enzo to entertain him, you were next in line.

Not that you were a swot. You certainly weren’t a teacher's pet either. But unlike Mattheo, you actually planned on leaving Hogwarts with something to show for it. A goal he openly mocked anytime someone dared remind him he still had exams to sit— Dark Lord’s heir or not.

Mattheo didn't reply, not with words anyway. He just grinned, clearly amused, watching you shake your head and continue writing down names and policies Binnes’ mentioned. Just because he wasn’t working didn’t mean that you had to stop. A fact you reminded yourself of firmly when flipping the pages of your textbook with extra purpose.

And that sentiment lasted… all of thirty seconds.

Before his face reappeared in your peripherals, far closer than you’d have liked, arm braced on your desk, body turned entirely to face you. Waiting with that stupid smirk on his face.

"What do you want, Mattheo?" you sighed, keeping your voice low to not disturb Binnes dulcet groans. You leaned back slightly, meeting his eyes with an unimpressed stare. He smirked in retaliation— of course he did— that same glint in his eyes you’d come to recognise all too well.

Nothing good ever followed that look.

"Why do you think I always want something, hmm?" He asked, idly toying with the corner of your parchment.

His gaze didn’t waver, and you realised almost immediately what this was about but you wouldn’t say it. If he wanted your attention then he could ask for it himself. His lips parted, like he was about to elaborate but you beat him to it.

"Because you do always want something."

Mattheo’s jaw dropped open playfully, putting a hand to his chest in feigned offence. “Harsh. I was just trying to be friendly.”

“You don’t know how to be friendly.” You retorted, shooting him a flat look.

He grinned — wider now, all teeth and trouble. Like you’d walked right into his web. And in a sense you had, falling for his pestering and giving him the satisfaction of stealing your attention, even momentarily.

“Sure I do. I think you’ll find I’m being very friendly right now. Offering you a break. A bit of stimulating conversation. Emotional support during this soul-draining lecture.”

You glanced towards the front of the classroom, where Professor Binnes was still rambling on, utterly oblivious to his wilting audience. Most had committed to sleep now, heads tucked into folded arms. You envied them.

“You. Emotional support. Right.” You scoffed dryly, turning back to your parchment and suppressing the urge to roll your eyes.

But Mattheo didn’t retreat. If anything, he leaned in closer, close enough that you caught the faint mix of smoke and amber that clung to his robes, a scent so unmistakably him.

“You busy later?” He eventually asked, voice low enough not to attract any attention.

You kept your eyes on your notes, dipping your quill into the ink pot impassively. “I will be, if you carry on talking and ruin my notes.”

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Not very friendly of you.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, knowing he was looking to get under your skin. Instead you hummed, underlined a random sentence in your textbook and forced a blank expression that gave nothing away. The quill scratching at your parchment a welcomed distraction from the brief silence.

“Anyway,” he pressed, still frustratingly close, “Thought you might want to come by tonight. Usual time.”

At this, your gaze finally raised from your parchment, mouth agape. “Is that what this little performance is about?”

He shrugged. “Can’t a guy check on what’s his?”

Sometimes you really couldn’t believe the gall of him. His. Heat rose in your cheeks. Part of you wished to retort sharply, to remind him nothing about you was his, but the words stuck in your throat.

“Not in the middle of class.” You said quietly, a little feeble in comparison to what you wanted to say.

“See, love, that's where you're wrong.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep up the mask of indifference, but your lip twitched just slightly. You cursed yourself for it, but it was already too late. He noticed of course, he always noticed.

Mattheo leaned back at last, victory written all over his face. “I’ll take that as a yes."

Immediately you wanted to say no, to cut him dead and laugh him off. Deny him the satisfaction of being right, but as you deliberated he could already see it in your eyes.

"I'll see you later, darling,” he said resolutely, and with that he turned back around, not waiting for your response. You could practically see the smugness radiating from him as he rested his chin on folded arms and fell still. Meanwhile, you tried not to stare daggers into the back of his head, or let your gaze linger on his dark curls too long.

✯ ✯ ✯

It was past midnight when you slipped through the dungeon entrance, an old quidditch jumper thrown over your clothes to guard against the castle's evening chill. The halls were quiet, eerie almost, but that didn't calm your racing pulse as you padded through the corridors, footsteps echoing off the stone floors.

You knew the route like the back of your hand. Left at the suit of armour, down the hallway where the sconces flickered more than glowed. A familiar path to his secret little hideaway— one of many, you'd learned. Merlin forbid Mattheo Riddle ever be predictable.

Your hand pushed one of the doors on the left open, the hardly used hinges creaking as they worked, revealing an old classroom that wasn't in use much anymore, forgotten and dusty until Mattheo had stumbled upon it — or so he said anyway.

He was there already, sprawled out across a transfigured leather couch, legs stretched out like he owned the place. His tie was gone, his shirt unbuttoned just enough that his collarbone peaked out from behind the crisp white material, and his sleeves were pushed carelessly up to his elbows. He looked relaxed, carefree almost. Like he hadn't interrupted your entire evening because of something so trivial as he was bored.

"You're late." He said, not looking at you as he flicked his wand lazily toward a cluster of objects on the desk beside him. An ink pot, a feather quill, and what looked suspiciously like one of your hair ties hovered in the air, slowly orbiting each other like planets. His wand spun idly between his fingers as if there was barely a thought behind the magic.

"I wasn't aware you were timing me," you replied, shutting the door behind you with a gentle push. "You asked. I showed up. Don't push your luck."

At that he finally looked up, smirking at your deadpan expression. "You know, most people are a bit happier to see me."

You scoffed. Typical Mattheo arrogance. "Keep dreaming, Riddle."

He didn't reply. Instead, he flicked his wand and let the objects fall one by one— the ink pot thudded against the armrest, the quill floated down to the floor, and your hair tie was caught lazily between his forefinger and his thumb. He flicked it aside with a grin, watching your lips part, every inch of him smug and lethargic. Then, he patted the spot beside him on the couch like he was coaxing a dog to jump up beside him.

You stayed rooted to the spot. In half a mind to turn around and walk straight back to bed. But you didn't move an inch despite yourself.

"I don't bite," he said, lips twitching with amusement like he could see the conflict in your eyes, "...unless you ask nicely."

"I'm fine here, thanks." Your eyes rolled.

"Suit yourself then," he shrugged, leaning his head back against the armrest, eyes fluttering shut. "Rough day?"

You blinked. Since when did he care how your day was? You studied him for a moment, the sharpness of his jaw softened by the flames that danced in the small fireplace. He didn't open his eyes.

"Just... long." you admitted after a pause, voice quieter than you meant it to be. Still a little startled by his sudden interest in how you day had been.

He hummed in response, a mix of acknowledgement and a noncommittal invitation to say more. But he didn't push, just let the silence settle, surprisingly comfortable despite the tension.

After a moment, and an intense inner debate, you crossed the classroom and dropped onto the couch beside him, making sure to leave just enough room between you. He cracked one eye open and smirked slyly.

"Change of heart, love?"

"Oh, shut up." you hissed but there was no malice in your words, leaning back into the leather and letting the plush cushions absorb you. Your own eyes fluttering shut and exhaling a deep sigh.

You both sat there in the thick quiet, the flames painting restless shadows across the stone. Neither one of you spoke and you weren't sure who was more stubborn, him for not breaking the silence, or you for refusing to ask what he was thinking.

It was always like this between you. Charged, flirty, messy— but when all the noise fell away, all that remained was this gnawing stillness. The kind that burrowed into your stomach, sickening even to think about.

Eventually, he exhaled sounding both sharp and tired. “You know, you don’t have to keep showing up.”

You didn’t look at him, eyes still firmly shut. “Is that your way of uninviting me?”

You couldn't see him but you could picture the expression on his face, and when he scoffed you knew there was no real bite to it. None of the usual malice or teasing. "I'm just saying... if you're expecting anything— anything more. Then don't."

It was your turn to scoff, peeling your eyes open and turning your head slowly to face him, his eyes meeting yours instantly. "I'm not."

“Good,” he said in a flat tone. He turned his head away again, but the silence that followed didn’t feel easy this time. It pressed in from all sides, too loud, too sharp. You didn’t know what you hated more—that he meant it, or that you did too.

"Good." you reiterated with a slight nod of the head, letting the silence burn for a moment longer.

You leaned in first, perhaps it was out of spite but more likely because you were tired of talking. He met you halfway, mouth crashing against yours in that now-familiar kind of desperation. His lips were bruising, and so were yours, like it was a silent competition where both of you were trying to win something.

His hands quickly found their place, one skirting up to grasp the side of your jaw whilst the other settled at the curve of your knee, dragging your body closer to his. His tongue darted out, licking a stripe across your bottom lip, demanding entry and you opened to him without hesitation.

Mattheo hummed approvingly, sinking himself backwards till his head hit the armrest once more, pulling you down with him till you were straddling his hips. You panted softly, pulling away from his lips for just a second whilst dragging your core against his jeans hazy and slow.

Your fingers fumbled blindly with the buttons of his shirt, pulling till the fabric parted, bearing him to your hungry gaze. He let out a hiss at the feeling of your nails dragging across his abdomen slowly, teasing him.

Still, his mouth was glued to yours, tongue lapping eagerly against your own, another unspoken fight for dominance. His hips bucked impatiently against you, drawing a moan from your lips that had him smirking into the kiss.

Your hands roamed instinctively, mapping the taut lines of his chest like you'd done a dozen times before — only this time it felt different, sharper somehow. Like each brush of his skin was dragging something raw from you.

He pulled back just enough to speak, breath ghosting over your slightly swollen lips. "Still not expecting anything?" he murmured, voice rough and teasing.

You exhaled a sharp laugh, leaning forward and mouthing at the curve of his jaw, dragging your teeth across his skin, down his throat until you found that spot that drove him insane, and sunk your teeth into it. Hard. With a low groan he tilted his head back, his fingers tightening at your hips as he cursed.

"Didn't think so." he breathed with a dry laugh, groaning once more as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to the tender skin.

You would've laughed if you weren't so focused, heart beating quickly and a familiar ache building between your thighs. Your teeth nipped at his collarbones, hands sliding down to the waistband of his jeans, fingers dipping just low enough to hear the satisfying sound of his breath catching.

He bucked his hips up once more, more desperate this time, and you relished the power you had over him, watching him lose that razor-sharp composure he always wore. It might've been intimate if it was with anyone else, but Mattheo Riddle didn't do intimacy, this meant nothing.

"Insufferable," he mumbled, dragging his lips down the side of your throat teasingly. "Fucking— impossible."

"And yet," you whispered lowly, voice dangerous and sultry, "You keep letting me in."

His breath hitched. Another low groan. And there it was again— that flicker of something just beneath the surface, something dangerous. Vulnerable. Real. You felt it like a thread between your bodies, pulled taut and impossible to ignore.

But before either of you acknowledged it, his mouth was on yours again, swallowing any words that might've slipped out in the heat of the moment. It was frantic, less like kissing and more like trying to consume each other. Like he was trying to erase whatever had just threatened to bubble to the surface.

His mouth moved feverishly against yours, all tongue and teeth, until suddenly he pulled back, panting. Your breath caught, lips swollen, eyes blinking open in confusion. Staring up at him with furrowed brows.

Mattheo's gaze was heavy, dark and lustful. His hands tightened against your hips, but he didn't move, he just stared like he was trying to figure out whether to devour you now or drag it out till you were begging.

"You done showing off, princess?" he asked in a low voice, rough with arousal but edged in something cooler. More dangerous.

You blinked, tilting your head innocently. "What?"

He chuckled, slow and wicked. "Acting like you're in charge. Cute, really. But you and I both know how this ends."

You didn't get the chance to argue back. One moment you were straddling him, the next he was pushing himself upright, shifting you easily onto your back against the couch, and looming over you. All in one fluid motion.

You let out a noise as he pushed a palm against your chest. Not harsh, but just enough to remind you he could pin you against the leather if he wanted to. And Merlin, judging by the look in his eyes, he wanted to.

His head dipped down again, kissing up your throat. "Open your legs for me," he murmured against your throat, tongue dragging across your pulse point. "That's it. Atta girl."

The praise fell effortlessly from his lips as you moved beneath him, sending a shiver straight through you intensifying the ache between your thighs. He noticed, of course, and his grin widened.

"Always so good for me," he continued mockingly, sliding his hand beneath the fabric of your jumper, the tips of his fingers brushing against the bare skin of your stomach. "Always act like you don't need this, like I don't own every fucking inch of you."

Your moan cut him off as his fingers slipped a little lower, dipping under your skirt and teasing the edge of your underwear. He chuckled darkly like that sound alone confirmed everything he already knew.

"That's what I thought, princess."

He kissed you again, but slower this time. Lethargic, almost. Like he wanted to savour the control he had over you. His fingers curled under the fabric of your clothes like he had all the time in the world. Like he was the only thing that mattered.

And if the way your body was reacting to him now was anything to go by, he was.

Your world narrowed to the weight of his body pressed on top of you, the heat of his hands, the drag of his lips across your hot skin. Mattheo’s teeth scraped just below your jawline and paused there as if marking the spot for later. His hand splayed out across your stomach. Fingers moving in slow, taunting circles, not quite giving you what you wanted.

“You know what I like about you?” He spoke, words slurred into your skin as he peeled away at the layers covering you. “You’re always trying so hard to pretend you’re above this… above me.”

You let out a shaky breath and his lips curved against your collarbones, listening to your needy whimpers as his fingers stroked closer and closer to where you craved his touch most.

“But then you come crawling back every time, don’t you?” He added, his voice tinged in faux sweetness that made your stomach flip. “So fucking needy for it… even if you won’t admit it.”

His hand finally breached your underwear, skimming over the wet fabric of your panties with a maddeningly light touch. The pads of his fingers swiped across the dampness that had gathered, and he knew he had you then. Light touches that were just enough to make your hips rock against his fingers, your pupils blown wide with lust.

“Look at that,” he cooed, smirking at your trembling lips. Smugly basking in the gasp that came from somewhere deep in your throat as his fingers pressed light circles around your clit.

At the same time he leaned down and pressed his lips to your throat, kissing and nipping the skin as he went. His nose brushed against the hollow of your neck, and you knew he could feel your pulse— fast and erratic— which only made him chuckle against your skin.

“Please,” you whispered hoarsely, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut. It was maddening how easily he could get you like this. How simple it was to have you trembling and greedy for him.

A wrecked-sounding curse tore from his throat at your plea, his hand curling under your thigh and tugging it around his waist so he could settle between your legs, pressing his still-clothed, hardening cock flush against you. Then he rolled his hips, slow and deliberate, dragging a broken moan from you.

“Begging already?” He smirked, pressing his forehead to yours his chest heaving. You knew he was savouring this, enjoying how you crumbled from a few swipes of his fingers.

“Mattheo…” you moaned impatiently, meeting his darkened eyes as another string of plea’s left your lips.

That was all it took to convince him. Sitting back quickly, his hands worked at his belt to free his cock from its constraints. The sight of him before you, all needy and desperate, had you whining. Eyes fixed on the bead of pre-come already gathering at the tip as he stroked himself eagerly, hissing at the feeling.

“Merlin you look perfect like this… so wrecked for me.” He muttered, tugging your panties down your legs with little care for where they landed. You could only gasp in anticipation, watching his face as he guided his cock towards your aching cunt.

You hissed as he rocked his hips forward in one sharp motion, your walls pushing against him as he pressed forward. Groaning as he sunk deeper into you, his eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted to the stretch.

“Fuck, look at you— taking me so well.” He praised leaning down to press a messy kiss against your lips. You clenched around him, feeling the pain receding.

Mattheo groaned softly as he pulled out then thrust into your cunt once more, sending ripples of pleasure through your body and coaxing another moan to tumble from your mouth. Slowly he found his pace, hips rutting in a lazy rhythm against yours.

Sighing softly he fucked into you, his face buried into the crook of your neck, sucking bruises onto the skin you’d have to hide tomorrow. His steady pace made you see stars already, but you needed more. He made you insatiable.

“That all you got, Riddle?” You choked out when his hips stuttered for a beat, temporarily losing his rhythm. And you regretted it immediately.

“Oh,” he retorted, breath hot against your ear, “Is this not good enough for you, Princess?” He mocked, punctuating his words with a hard thrust, pleased with himself when you whined at the sudden change of pace.

His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, and then his hips snapped forward, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. His grip tightened and he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Another sharp thrust had your back arching off the couch, a strangled sound catching in your throat. He didn’t give you a moment to recover—his rhythm turned punishing, relentless, like he was trying to make a point with every motion.

“That better?” he growled, eyes flicking down to watch the way you writhed beneath him, the knot in your stomach building. “That what you wanted, sweetheart? For me to remind you who you belong to?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of begging. But your body betrayed you—hips tilting up into his, quiet gasps slipping from your lips. He chuckled low in his chest, satisfied that he was the only person who could see you like this.

“Thought so,” he breathed, releasing your wrists so his hands could trail down your sides, slow and deliberate. His large hands brushing across the curve of your hips. “All that attitude, and now look at you…” he tutted. He caught your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. His gaze burned into yours, full of heat and something hungrier underneath. All his attention focused on watching you shatter beneath him, and you did. Hard.

Eventually, the frantic rhythm slowed. Mattheo's breath was hot against your bare shoulder, his chest heaving with exertion as he dragged his lips across the side of your neck one final time and came with a near-animalistic growl.

Neither of you spoke. Panting, he collapsed on top of you, sweaty and spent. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the fire that had burnt down to embers, and the rush of blood in your ears.

You stared up at the ceiling, a hand resting in his damp curls, your chest still rising and falling in shallow waves. Mattheo hadn't moved, hadn't said a word— just lay there with his face buried against your neck like he didn't want to face the aftermath.

Your fingers twitched in his hair, and you knew you should say something. That you should shove him off and make a joke, brush it off with a biting remark that made him smirk like usual. Make it easier for yourself.

"Mattheo," you said softly, not a question or a plea. Just his name. He shifted at that, enough to pull back and glance down at you. In his fucked-out haze, his eyes were softer— less shielded. Like there was something fragile in his face, buried beneath all the sharp edges and scars.

Then his jaw clenched and he pushed himself up without ceremony, pulling out of you like his body suddenly weighed too much. He didn't look at you as he reached for his discarded shirt and pulled it on with jerky, irritated movements.

The silence was thick between you, loud and obtrusive. You sat up, wincing slightly, and began gathering your clothes. The smell of cigarette smoke filled the air and his back was to you— deliberately. You could feel it in the set of his shoulders, the stiffness of his posture, like he was holding back.

As you made your way toward the door, you glanced back once. He was leaning against the mantel now, head bowed, cigarette perched between his swollen lips, gaze fixed on the dying embers in the grate. He didn't look at you.

You knew you had to leave. The tension was suffocating, and the silence between you had stretched too thin. Your chest tightened, but you forced the words out before you could lose your nerve.

"I'm not here to fix you," you said quietly, barely loud enough over the crackle, and for a moment you didn't think he'd heard you. He didn't flinch, but something in his posture shifted— just a flicker, then it was gone.

“Didn’t ask you to,” he murmured, the words rough and worn at the edges like they cost him something to say. And somehow, that hurt worse.

The smoke curled around him like armor as you reached for the handle and walked out into the darkness, leaving the door open long enough for the silence to follow you out.

©️riddlemelater 2025.

[harknessgf]

K.˚୨୧⋆｡˚

mattheo riddle x fem!reader

word count : 1,1k

warnings : mentions of fighting, but mostly fluff.

summary : your boyfriend takes you on a dinner date that leads up to a cozy night in with him.

a/n : kinda nervous, this is my first time posting my writing on this app (and writing in second pov). so if any mistakes are made blame my inability to write this way…? also, this is a little inspired by ‘K.’ by cigarettes after sex, and a mix of my own ideas w/ minor plot. enjoy!

it wasn’t a rare occurrence that your boyfriend, who gave you the ultimate princess treatment, to take you out. him taking you on dates and spending quality time with you was basically his love language—on top of his physical touch addiction, which he likes to deny, deny, and deny.

even now, as you sit across from the dark, curly-haired boy, who is dressed in a sleek black tuxedo, with a crispy white blouse peeking underneath. his onyx eyes couldn’t peel themselves away from you throughout the wonderful dinner you’ve had together.

the conversations that came easy and switched even easier, the warmth of hearing his laughter throughout the fancy restaurant when you landed a joke had your heart soaring inside of your rib cage.

despite his hands being nowhere near you, his presence was enough to feel like he was touching you. your soul. underneath his reputation that he upheld from his father’s last name at hogwarts, and the walls he builds with everyone else, there was a precious boy.

the one he allows you to see.

as you both wait for the waitress and check to arrive, he switches the topic smoothly. “so, do you have anywhere else in mind you want to go for this date night? or are you ready to head back?” his tender eyes gradually travel over your appearance.

the makeup you had made him wait extra minutes for, your hair which was neatly done and resting around your shoulders, the silky, black dress that clung effortlessly to your figure—and had a small slit on its left side, exposing some of your thigh and leg.

you gnawed on the skin inside of your cheek, laying your options out on the table. there weren’t many shops open this late. And not only were you two dressed up—but it would be silly to go anywhere else in what you’re wearing. you two would be out of place, even if you wanted to go grab a sweet butterbeer from the three broomsticks.

you knew mattheo wouldn’t care about anyone else’s opinion, and which eyes were on the two of you if you did decide that you wanted to go to the three broomsticks. i mean he was used to being mixed into rumors that made zero sense half of the time. surely he could handle any amount of attention.

still, you settled on replying with a simple, “no…?” your tone gave away hesitation, which only caused his eyebrow to lift. “no,” you repeated, this time clearer. “it’s late and we have early classes tomorrow.”

“so?” he decided to push, keeping his mischievous eyes that had the burning candle flame in them on you.

it wasn’t news to you that trouble followed your boyfriend everywhere he went. it was attached to him no matter how far he ran. hell, he’d even go as far as chasing it himself, looking it straight into its eyes, willingly.

finding him in heated fights, and the long days of detention that followed for the consequences of his actions. sometimes he didn’t have to use his fists to land himself inside detention—he’d manage to do that by skipping and ditching periods whenever it suited him.

“so,” you dragged out the single word, attempting to get him on board with you. “i’d rather spend the rest of the night with you. in your dorm.” his brows rose slowly, and his eyes gleamed with amusement on that offer alone.

you knew you had him.

“and suddenly, that sounds like the best idea you’ve had in a very long time, sweetheart.” his tone was smooth, silky, low.

and that’s exactly what happened when you both stepped inside his dorm. with flickering candles keeping the surrounding dark at bay—the gentle flames casting shadows over his ‘artwork’ you had continued to tease him about. the sketches he spilled his thoughts, words, and his emotions into, were scattered on his walls. all telling you different stories within the parchment paper and the black chalk he used.

to the deep, glistening waters of the black lake through the two sets of windows that divided the dorm and murky waters with panels of glass. you knew you were safe. as soon as that cigarette was lit and in between his lips, and finding yourself tangled in messy sheets with him, there was nothing that could divide the two of you.

not only were you wrapped in his familiar cologne but you were wrapped in his sweet warmth. his arm had you tucked into the side of his bare torso, gently running his fingers through your hair as your head lays on his chest. your fingers always found themselves occupied on the scars etched across his olive skin, tracing them with your fingertips, mindlessly.

“i think you have a weird obsession with my scars.” his feather-light voice had your fingers pausing their soft movements on one of his scars. “i mean seriously, they’re nothing special.” he shifted a bit, stubbing out his cigarette in an ashtray on his nightstand, and blowing out the rest of the gray smoke from his lips.

nothing special.

they were all special. you knew that. problem was he didn’t. and it drove you insane.

“you might hate them,” you said softly, moving your head upward so you could meet his eyes, which only had raw love and security in them because he knew your answer remained the same. “but I don’t,” you added, and you could’ve sworn you heard his heart skip a beat from where your ear was pressed against his chest.

his eyes softened, swirling with the flames from the candles on his nightstand. “you’re impossible,” he said quietly, his fingers going from your hair to the edges of your jawline, the pads of his fingertips tracing your skin until he got to your chin. “you’re too perfect.” his eyes darted all over your face, tracing your skin with his eyes.

“no one is perfect,” you pointed out, slowly pushing yourself up from the plush sheets that tried their hardest to not let you go, moving closer to him until your lips brushed. “everyone has scars. whether they’re hidden or shown. yours just so happen to be above reach—to touch, to see, to love,” you whispered on his now slightly parted lips.

his eyes drifted from your vulnerable pair of eyes down to your pink, perfectly sculpted lips. “then show me your scars,” he whispered as he gradually met your eyes through his dark, thick, and long eyelashes, putting his puppy dog eyes on full display for you. “because i want to touch, see, and love them too.”

[harknessgf]

oh, i’ve been gone for a few days, but !!! i have a little something for you guys <3 changing up my post’s styles a bit. i’d like to focus on headcanons and small imagines from now on. (dw my series won’t disappear). i just want to try something new! 🌷

a/n: not proofread, this work is sfw. have fun reading. MASTERLIST HERE !!

✹ ꕀ 𝐉𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 : ‘ 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽? ’ ( ✦ )

( ✦ ) In a few words, to describe a relationship with Jason Todd would be a fever dream, a reverie you didn't even know you were in until those sea-green eyes hit you like waves; you find yourself wanting to lose yourself in this dream.

Despite being a man with a reputation of a rather not-so-savory kind, he unexpectedly shows the most softness and tenderness for his partner out of all the Bat-boys.

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 ⠀. ᰋ .. 🪻

JASON TODD loves quietly. He's subtle with his affections. The fact he loves you will be shown in the small details that collect over time. You don't even notice it at first. He's not used to expressing his feelings in a way that's obvious to the fleeting eye. Only someone who pays attention would see how utterly devoted your boyfriend is to you.

It's the way Jason always has a hand on the surface of your back or waist, guiding you through crowds or holding you while cooking in the kitchen. The touch serves as a safety net for you and a chain that connects the two of you. He needs you close to him. Your presence in the early morning or even in the busy streets of Gotham City has him feeling even calmer.

Jason devotes himself to learning everything about you. He silently watches you when you talk about the things you enjoy. It's a soothing sound to his ears. He makes sure to keep any important detail you mentioned tucked away in his mind.

The specific drink you like at that coffee place you've grown attached to, that book you've been reading (he's picked it up too, he wants to talk about it with you), what temperature you enjoy your tea, the route you take during your day—do you want that pretty ceramic cup he saw at the shop? He thinks you would. He's getting it for you, because when you're happy—he is too.

🗨️: Sorry, I talk too much.

J: But I want to hear you.

There are moments in your relationship when the confidence Jason tried to show you slowly crumbles around you. He doesn't realize that it's the walls he has built around himself finally disappearing when he's with you.

It's shown in the way he sleeps soundly next to you. The way your touch doesn't send spikes through his skin. The way he's more open talking with you. It comes to him naturally—talking with you all night, words slipping past his lips that he wouldn't trust anyone else with.

Acts of service is an important part of a relationship with Jason. He's up before you are. The hot cup of your favorite drink sits steaming on the counter. He's already fussing around the kitchen, trying to cook up a meal for you. (Keyword, trying. I don't have much faith in his cooking, and neither does he.) He's the first to go out for groceries. His hands are always full of the bags you carry. No matter how many times you reassure him you're okay on your own, he shakes his head. He's doing this because he wants to.

🗨️: It's okay. I can carry them.

J: No, no. It's okay. While we're at it, give me that bag you're holding in your left hand, looks heavy.

🗨️: You literally have five bags already!

He has a habit of resting his head on your shoulder or placing his chin on top of your head when he’s tired. He’ll murmur something like “Five more minutes, babe” if you try to move.

I already mentioned in a previous post that you two are not only lovers. Friends to lovers is the romance I see Jason being in. You're his best friend, and he's yours. You're the first one he looks for in a room because you're the only one who really knows him—in and out. He's Jason Todd to the rest of the world, but to you, he's your Jay. The Jay you met and slowly became friends with. The Jay you spent hours huddled away in a library with. You two discuss books non-stop in hushed whispers. Those whispers slowly turned into something even bigger, something that settled deep in your bones.

Jason adores physical touch, but only from you. He’s the kind of guy who acts grumpy about PDA but will still pull you into his lap when you least expect it. Forehead kisses, temple kisses, pulling you closer by the waist when someone walks too close to you—those are his specialties.

Dates include, you guessed it, library dates, that cozy restaurant you two found, the park during the evening, the homey feel of your shared apartment at midnight while a cheesy romance movie plays in the background, late-night walks around the busy streets while the kaleidoscopic colors of the city dance across your figures. It's all very saccharine sweet and simply soft.

The pet names I see Jason using are: a classic babe, pipsqueak (a more teasing one), a shortened version of your name, and pretty.

Jason isn’t a fan of social media, but he keeps a private account just to follow you. He never posts, never likes anything, but he’s always watching. If you post a picture of yourself, he’ll send a text: “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Might be surprising to some, but he's a big gossiper. He's talking about everyone and everything with you. It's a monthly talk you guys have. Basically, gossip buddies.

Arguments are rare with Jason. I've already mentioned that love with him is a process of boundaries and promises to take things slow. I think the two of you don't cross any lines.

Even if something happens, he cannot bear to get mad at you. You're his person, his other half. It ends with apologies, and he needs to be in your presence for the next few days (like a cat with separation anxiety, following you from room to room).

God forbid someone threatens you in any way. Which in itself is rare, because of the automatic scary boyfriend privileges you have. Though, if someone is foolish enough to try, all you need is to give Jason permission, and the person is getting into big trouble.

He likes to write little notes for you. Slipping them into your book, sticking them on the bathroom mirror, or tucking them into your pocket. They range from “Don’t forget to eat” to “You looked so pretty this morning, I almost forgot how to breathe.”

He walks you to class. Shyly, he takes your hand in his and has a small celebration in his mind that he managed to do it. Off you two go, strolling through the campus as if it's your own world.

I think Jason would playfully tease you too. He's your best friend and now boyfriend. It's a requirement now. That's where the pipsqueak pet name comes from. He enjoys your reactions, the little huffs of exasperation or the way you try (and fail) to glare at him.

If he ever catches you crying, Jason immediately goes into comfort mode. He might not always have the right words, but his arms are strong, his voice is gentle, and he’ll hold you as long as you need.

🗨️: You don’t have to stay with me. I’ll be okay.

J: I know you will. But I want to be here.

Jason is so in love with you, it’s ridiculous.

But at the end of the day, despite all the teasing, all the quiet acts of love, all the soft whispers and quiet mornings, Jason Todd is just a man who loves you with everything he has. And he always will.

♥︎ . .. ♥︎ .. 🌷 ♥︎

© dntaed | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified.

[harknessgf]

Yours

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

What starts as another night getting high with your best friend Mattheo takes a turn when his usual teasing reveals something deeper.

Warnings: substance use (weed), brief swearing, friends-to-lovers trope, mutual pining, fluff, the reader has hair (don't know, maybe it'd a trigger for sb)

The moon hung low, casting silver streaks across the castle grounds. Somewhere beyond the Forbidden Forest, a distant howl echoed, but up here, tucked away in the Astronomy Tower, everything felt quiet. Peaceful. Just the two of you.

Mattheo leaned against the stone wall, rolling a joint between his fingers with the kind of ease that suggested he’d done it a thousand times before. You watched him, amused at the concentration furrowing his brows, the corners of his lips twitching in satisfaction when he finished.

"You know," he said with a proud smile, holding it up like a prize, "we’re really too smart to be doing this."

You laughed quietly, drawing your knees to your chest as the cool night air brushed your skin. "Since when are you the voice of reason?" you teased him softly.

Mattheo gave a mock scoff, flicking his lighter open with a click. "I’m just saying we could be doing something productive right now — like studying, or saving the wizarding world, or whatever it is Potter’s lot are up to."

"Yeah, well," you exhaled, leaning back against the wall. "I’d rather be here." With you, you didn’t say, but the words hung somewhere on your tongue, warm and unspoken.

You weren't surprised by this thought. Mattheo was your one and only best friend. Despite having other friends and acquaintances, he was the one constant in your life. It didn't matter what happened — whether you had a bad day, got an 'Outstanding' on your essay, lost your quill before the exam, or felt like partying — he was always there. Through every high and low, he never wavered. And you couldn’t even begin to describe how grateful you were for it.

But somewhere along the years of friendship, you realized you weren't only thankful, you were in love.

It was silly, really. You felt attracted to him even before you knew what being attracted to someone meant. You craved his attention, too greedy to share it with anyone else. You needed his cheeky smiles and the teasing remarks that made you chuckle. You wanted to be the one he looked at with that playful yet affectionate gaze, the one that made something warm and fuzzy bloom inside you. But you were too scared to do anything about it. The thought of losing him, of making things awkward — or worse, having him pity you — was unbearable. So, if staying quiet meant keeping him by your side, you were willing to live with it.

He passed the joint your way after his first slow inhale, his face tipping back toward the starry sky as smoke curled from his lips. The first hit burned your lungs the way it always did — sharp and sweet. You let your head fall against the cold stone behind you and sighed. "Better already."

Mattheo laughed quietly, the sound low and rough. "Always does the trick, huh?"

It wasn’t the first time you’d done this together. Far from it. The two of you had a ritual — a quiet rebellion against the chaos around you. Whenever the weight of expectations or the noise of the world became too much, you’d find each other here. Safe. Free. No need to be anyone but yourselves.

"You know," he mused, nudging your knee with his. "We really should talk about how I’m a terrible influence on you."

You snorted. "You’re not that powerful, Mr. Riddle," you said, a smirk tugging at your lips.

His grin curled slow and dangerous as he took another drag. "I’m not?"

"Nope." You popped the 'p' and took the joint back from him, the tips of your fingers brushing his in the exchange. "I do what I want."

"Mmm." His eyes darkened just a little, but you told yourself it was probably the haze creeping in. "And yet, you keep ending up here with me."

"Maybe you’re just lucky," you teased.

"I’m very lucky," he agreed, his voice softer than you expected. It lingered between you, thick like the smoke hanging in the air.

Minutes passed in easy silence. The weight in your chest loosened, and the stars above blurred at their edges. It was always like this — simple and warm, the rest of the world falling away when it was just the two of you.

Mattheo’s voice broke the quiet. "If you could be anywhere else right now," he asked, his tone lazy and curious, "where would you go?" You both liked talking about hypothetical things and random stuff while smoking together. Once, you even debated what you’d do if one of you turned out to be Merlin reincarnated.

You thought for a moment, passing the joint back. Tell him the truth, or tease him? The weed was already kicking in, nudging you toward honesty. "Nowhere else."

He hummed, a satisfied sound that made warmth curl in your stomach. "Good answer."

A breeze swept through the tower, brushing strands of hair against your face. Mattheo reached over without thinking, tucking them behind your ear. The touch was brief, but your skin buzzed in its wake.

"You’re always so soft," he murmured, half to himself. Then, as if realizing what he’d said, a crooked smile stretched across his lips. "Or is that the high talking?"

"Maybe." Your heart stuttered slightly as you met his gaze, your breath catching at how intensely he was looking at you. "Maybe not."

His hand lingered on your cheek a second too long, thumb brushing against your jaw before he pulled back. "Dangerous game you’re playing," he warned, but his voice lacked any real bite.

You laughed softly, tilting your head back against the stone wall. "I thought you liked danger."

"Only when I’m the one causing it," he shot back, but there was something in his expression — something raw, unguarded — that made your stomach flip.

You could feel the high settling deeper into your bones now, softening the edges of everything. Your limbs felt light, but your chest felt heavy, too full of something you didn’t want to admit out loud.

Mattheo stretched his legs out, leaning back on his palms as he tilted his face toward the stars, looking as they shine and sparkle quietly. "Y’know," he started, almost too casually, "I used to think you’d run off with someone else one day."

You blinked, the haze in your mind briefly clearing. "What?" you asked a bit baffled.

He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Someone safer, probably." He glanced at you, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Can’t blame you, really. I’m a lot."

You gaze softened when you realized what he meant. "I like 'a lot'," you said quietly, surprising yourself as much as him.

His smirk faded, replaced by something warmer, something almost hesitant. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The word hung in the air between you, and this time, you didn’t try to tease him or dodge the topic.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the faint crackle of the joint as Mattheo took another slow drag. Then he added in a low voice, "That's why you're mine."

You raised a brow at his words, ignoring the warm flutter in your chest. You weren't ready to say something real in response. "Since when am I yours? The last time I checked, I was my own."

He chuckled, shaking his head, a slight smirk still playing on his lips. "Oh, please. You’ve been mine since the day we met, darlin'. Don’t even try to deny it."

You looked at him from the corner of your eye, brow raised at his words. "Since we met? Like, from the first year when we were eleven years old? A bit much, in my opinion," you murmured with a small chuckle, taking the joint from his fingers and inhaling slowly.

Mattheo laughed softly, leaning his head back against the stone wall. "Hey, a man knows when he finds something precious. And I found you. From day one. Maybe I was a bit younger, but my instincts were sharp even at eleven." He smirked again, watching you take another drag.

You giggled quietly at his cheeky words. "Sharp instincts at eleven? You're an arrogant fucker," you said with a grin, passing the joint back to him.

"Still. You’re mine, even if you don’t know it," he said casually, shrugging his shoulders slightly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He finished the joint, stubbing out its butt on the stone floor.

The words struck something deep inside you, something you’d been trying to ignore. Your heart pounded, but you managed to keep your voice steady. "So I’m yours, huh?"

"Always have been." He exhaled, not bothering to hide the weight behind his words. "And always will be."

You should’ve laughed. Teased him. But you didn’t. Instead, you let the warmth spread through you and leaned closer, your shoulder brushing his. "Good."

He froze, just for a second, as if he couldn't believe you accepted it so easily, before his hand slid along your jaw, tilting your face toward his. "Good," he echoed, a wicked gleam in his eye. "Guess you’re stuck with me then."

For a few moments, he just looked at you, something unreadable swirling behind his gaze. He was waiting, giving you time to turn it into a joke, to pull away, to say it was the high talking.

But you didn’t, too entranced by his eyes, his words, and the warmth of his body so close to yours. You parted your lips to say something. "Mattheo—"

He kissed you before the words fully left your mouth — soft at first, like he was savoring the taste of a truth he'd wanted for too long. But when you didn’t pull away, when your fingers tangled in his curls, urging him closer, he deepened it, pulling you against him until there was no space left between you. It tasted like weed and hopes you weren’t quite ready to give up on.

He only pulled back when you were both breathless, resting his forehead against yours, his breath warm and a little ragged against your skin. "You’re mine, aren’t you?" he murmured. "Tell me I’m not misreading this."

You smiled softly, your fingers tracing gentle patterns along his cheekbone. "You’re not."

His thumb traced slow circles along your jaw as he whispered, "Good. Because I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to. And maybe even if you do."

And in that quiet, hazy moment, with the world far away, you knew one thing for certain: wherever you were, as long as he was there, you’d never want to be anywhere else.

A quiet, breathless chuckle escaped your lips before you leaned in, stealing another kiss with a soft smile.

[harknessgf]

'TILL WE TURN TO BONE | Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Summary: An unwanted reunion with your cheating ex forces Mattheo and you, his best friend, to confront your feelings for each other. [14.7K]

Warnings: 18+, soft smut, oral (fem receiving), piv, cheating ex, rough breakup, minor violence, insecurities, slightly feral, protective mattheo but he's soft as fuck with you 🖤

A/N: i'm back with another re-write of old fics, but this one absolutely took on a life of its own and turned into this chunky beast

He was not sure what came over him.

Mattheo had, of course, always been known for a terrible lack of impulse control, for the rapid flare of his anger that followed more often than not, but it was rarely ever like this.

It rarely felt like he could tear someone to shreds with trembling, bare hands and the dull bite of blunt nails. Ripping at them until they peeled apart, ribbon by ribbon, until there was nothing left but a miserable pile of blood soaked skin and massacred entrails.

There was simply just something that made him irrationally protective over you - something that blossomed from deep within his soul to coil tight around the stuttering flesh of his heart like tendrils of ivy.

And it didn't matter how much he denied it. The many different ways he thought of to try and explain to himself, to the friends you both shared, to absolutely everyone.

We’re just friends.

It always found a way to spectacularly burst out of him, to make his head spin like a top and all those lessons his brother gave him, the extensive hours of learning how to compartmentalise and switch off and to not get emotional, be wiped from his brain like they had never even existed.

Because it was you.

And if there was anything Mattheo absolutely loathed with every wretched fibre of his being - it was when somebody hurt you.

**

It all started when they were at honeydukes.

When they were stocking up on chocolate and sweets before buying firewhiskey afterwards because it was Friday, and they’ve had this tradition they’ve refused to let go of since they were sixteen. Films and takeout - snacks and booze - everything you need at the end of a stressful as fuck week.

You were in sweats and one of Mattheo’s old jumpers - one he once couldn’t find no matter how hard he had looked until you revealed you’d stolen it. Kept it as close as you'd so desperately wished to keep him when he’d followed Tom into the wrong side of their father's war.

Something to remember him by had you lost him for good, whether to death or to darkness.

He had been all but devastated when you'd told him - when you'd ultimately ended up following him with the intention of dragging them both out because you couldn't stand the thought of your best friend, or either of them really, getting manipulated by fear and undeserved loyalty into being weapons.

Into becoming the monsters they had always wrongly believed, somewhere wretched and wounded deep down, that they already were.

It had caused a seed of something aching and unruly to take root in his chest that still bloomed to life whenever he remembered, whenever he saw you in the worn material all these years later.

Because you glowed like this.

When you were both safe and alive after almost selling your souls to ensure it, when you wore that jumper and still looked at him with so much heartbreakingly lovely affection despite the reminder of all the terrible choices he had made along the way to here.

To you being happy and utterly at ease, trying to see just how many sweets he'd let you pile onto the already looming mountain in the basket hooked over his arm before he finally told you enough was enough.

Embarrassingly they hadn't discovered that final amount yet - he was still that bad at saying no to you after so many years. That undeniably suckered in by the sparkle of your grin and your too pretty eyes to ever want to be responsible for making them dull.

But then they did anyway.

One minute you were babbling about inventing a new snack for them to try and then your eyes flickered just beyond his shoulder and it was lights out. Your voice stolen from your throat and your glow diminished like a burning star swallowed up by the wide open maw of the ocean.

His brow furrowed and he was turning before you could stop him - expression instantly morphing to something dangerous - a dark, deadly shade of calm where the only hint of the gathering storm within him was an almost missable twitch of his jaw.

Because it was your ex.

The one you wouldn’t allow Mattheo to kill, slowly, painfully, despite everything he did. The one who reduced his angel of a best friend into a mere shadow - an empty husk cleaved in two.

He remembered the weight of your grief hitting him like it was his own, the way you couldn’t sleep and couldn’t eat and your eyes seemed in a permanent state of glassy red whilst you stared numbly at the walls of your bedroom.

He had felt lost, scared to smother you yet equally terrified of making you feel abandoned if he tried to keep his distance and in the end he had simply thought fuck it.

If you had wanted to be left alone you would have told him to leave and until that happened he had resolved himself to becoming a permanent presence at your side, dropping bags of your favourite food beside you for when you had the energy to pick through them and then slipping in the bed to curl himself around you.

Hoping if he held you tightly enough he could meld those shattered pieces of your heart back together.

You had murmured one day, voice smeared with sadness and a sense of self-loathing that had made Mattheo feel like his heart had been violently slammed against the bones of his ribs, leaving the muscle aching and bruised.

“You must think I’m pathetic.”

He had frowned, carefully turning you in his arms and dropping his chin so he could look into your eyes when he asked. “Why would I think that?”

You refused to meet his gaze however, seemingly far more interested in the old, worn fabric of his t-shirt beneath your fingertips.

“Look at me, Matty.” You had huffed, annoyed. “I’m supposed to be the best of the best, a member of the team of aurors who strike fear into dark wizards and witches everywhere, but instead I’m a fucking mess over a break up - unable to function like a normal human being just because I caught the man I thought I might marry sticking his dick in his assistant.”

He’d winced at the reminder, the memory of your devastated voice, hitching with rattled sobs, when you’d called him straight after.

Drawing back to study you then, he could still see the ghost of that raw agony, the echo of it present in your downturned lips and the bone-deep weariness lurking in your eyes. But there was also more - the stirrings of white-hot rage lurking beneath your pupils that you refused to allow to break the surface.

He'd knew you were attempting to skip over the uglier stages of your healing. Preferring to feel nothing because you have this tendency of turning your anger inward and letting it fester rather than deliver it at the feet of where it belongs.

It pissed him off to see you doing it then and so he’d switched tactics and prayed it wouldn’t backfire horrifically.

“Hey, anyone would be just as upset if they were in your position.” He shrugged casually. “I mean c’mon, an assistant? The lack of originality or imagination is just insulting.”

Mattheo felt you go deathly still - a statue in the circle of his arms - and held his breath.

“That’s what you think I should be upset about? The fact he wasn’t more imaginative about who he cheated on me with?” You questioned, incredulous.

At least you hadn’t straight up punched or hexed him.

“Not just that obviously but he could of at least been less of a stereotypical dick and fucked the head of department or something.”

“Mhm, because sleeping with the boss isn’t cliche at all?”

You were finally looking at him by then, using his chest as leverage to hover yourself above him with brows pinched like you were trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

He pretended not to notice - to be deep in thought before he snapped his fingers and grinned.

“I've got it - what about the cleaner? You never hear about anyone fucking them”

“Well for starters, the cleaner is a dude.”

“Even better.”

“He’s like seventy, Matty.”

“Everybody loves a cougar - ouch!”

He jerked as you pinched his hip, arms binding tighter around your body out of reflex and causing the weak press of yours keeping you above him to buckle. His chuckle had died in his throat as you’d fallen back into him, every inch of you pressed together and your nose brushing his whilst you’d regarded him.

He had felt something expand in his chest then - a swell of warmth that had made him swallow hard. He hadn’t managed to make you angry, his attempt at getting you to work through that part of your break up had failed but the end result was undeniably better.

You were smiling.

Not a full blown grin or anything close, it was subtle - just a faint curve of your lips but it was enough to make Mattheo practically giddy, like he’d taken a shot of pure adrenaline or liquidised sunshine.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t missed your smile.

“I know what you’re trying to do.” You’d chastised him half-heartedly . “Arsehole.”

Mattheo huffed a soft laugh. “You love me anyway.”

He felt your fingertips at his jaw - a fleeting, hesitant touch that had him sucking in sharp breath as your gaze swirled warm.

"Yeah, I do."

A tension had bloomed between them in the following silence, his eyes searching yours before subconsciously dropping to your mouth. He breathed and you moved with him, sunk deep into his chest with his trembling exhale as your head dipped lower until he felt like he could taste you on his tongue.

It would have only taken the slightest movement to kiss you - a small lift of his chin to seal his lips over yours and drink you down the way he'd secretly wished to for years. But he couldn't.

It would be wrong when you were in so much pain, your judgement clouded, even if it was what you thought you wanted.

He could kiss you and you'd regret it - you'd be mortified no doubt, either blaming yourself for using him to make yourself feel better or resent him for taking advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. And he couldn't bear the thought of either.

“C’mere.” He murmured instead. The tips of his fingers trailing over the swell of your cheek before they cupped the back of your head to tuck you back into him. He wondered if you could feel his pulse where your mouth skimmed his skin, if the wild thrum against your lips gave away how easily you could affect him without truly even trying.

The air was still heavy - still swollen thick with want and longing and the confusion he could feel in the trembling drum of your fingers over his heart.

Mattheo wanted to kick himself, he hadn't wanted to be another person who made you doubt yourself and you never would if you knew just how desperately he was clenching his jaw to stop himself from spewing his fucking feelings everywhere.

To stop himself saying, "If you want me to kiss you I will - I'll kiss you until I can't fucking breathe, until my damn lungs burst - just not when you're grieving for another guy. Come to me in a month, several months - a year. I'll wait and I'll kiss you until you can't remember any other name but mine."

Instead he croaked softly into your hair. "It's not pathetic to be weak when you need to be. Take as long as you need, I've got you."

**

You healed eventually.

You suffered and you overcame it - cried yourself dry before deciding one day that enough was enough and you bloomed once more. A wildflower sprouting from the rotting corpse of your ruined relationship.

There wasn't any mention of what had nearly happened between you and Mattheo, and he was okay with it.

He'd dealt with the fact you were probably just seeking comfort - that you didn't feel the same - because at the end of the day having you in his life as his best friend and nothing more was infinitely better than living without you.

And as long as you were happy, as long as he kept getting to see that glow in your eyes and the dazzling beam of your smile then Mattheo was happy too.

But now you weren’t.

You were looking at the boy who had once upon a time taken your happiness and cruelly obliterated it and he could see you crumbling that little bit. The ghosts of that old pain and humiliation coming back to twist the loveliness of your features into something shadowed. Haunted.

He reached out to touch your hand, drawing soft lines from your wrist to the tips of your fingers before he tangled them together.

Whether it was to steady you or lead you away he wasn't sure.

He wouldn't get the chance to decide because all of a sudden that voice was splitting through the air. Your name yelled across the brightly-coloured shop in such a way that it instantly felt like a grater being thrust over Mattheo’s nerves.

You blanched. Fingers tightening around his as your eyes darted from over his shoulder again and then back to his in horror.

"Oh shit - what the fuck do I do? He's coming over."

"Break his nose?"

"I'm serious, Matt."

"Oh, well in that case then a well-aimed crucio should work wonders."

"Mattheo!"

It was the panic lacing your voice that did it - that made him lose any real humour and rationality whilst his eyes flickered between your rapidly approaching ex and the insecurity bleeding through every move you made.

You were trying to smooth over your hastily shoved up hair, picking nervously at the way your clothes hung, and it took everything in Mattheo to not slap your free hand away. To not snap at you to stop it because he couldn't understand why you didn't see how soul-wrenchingly gorgeous you were no matter how you dressed.

He glared at your ex again - close enough now that Mattheo got the perfect view of him realising just exactly who you were standing with as his expression curdled.

Good.

Let it stick in his side like a cursed blade that Mattheo was still a permanent fixture alongside you, let it scrape against bone and nick at his shrivelled excuse of a heart that he had failed spectacularly in trying to drive a wedge between the two of you - something you had never seemed to realise but Mattheo had sniffed out immediately.

He watched the way the other boy's eyes narrowed at your hand in his, something disturbingly possessive lurking in those pale, soulless depths and Mattheo could have snarled at the sight. Teeth bared like the feral beast you sometimes liked to joke he was.

Not that he gave a damn if that was how he appeared, he'd gladly appear every bit the monster if it meant that this waste of oxygen stopped believing he had any right to look at you in that way - or any kind of way ever again.

“C’mere.” He told you lowly, voice slightly rough with his anger despite how he tried to gentle it for you, and his heart dove into a maddening pace at how easily you slipped closer and into his arms regardless. The way you happily let him tug you into his chest like you craved the closeness as he always did.

You blinked up at him and all that fury, that volatile energy crackling in his veins, almost bled out of him completely when the trust in your eyes made his breath catch. His lungs sputtering at the absolute look of faith that no matter what, Mattheo wouldn't let a single damn thing hurt you whilst he stood there breathing.

But then you were murmuring his name, soft as whisper, and he swallowed hard as his eyes drifted to your lips. His hand leaving yours to brush permanently bruised knuckles along your jaw.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He sighed, desperately trying to ignore the fierce ache in his chest when your eyes widened - lashes fluttering in surprise. “I won’t stand here and let him make you doubt yourself, not again, not when he’s the one who fucked up by letting someone as incredible as you go. Let me show him what he’s missing.”

And then he pressed his mouth to yours.

It was chaste at first, innocent, a barely-there touch to test the waters in case he was crossing an irredeemable line and you decided to shove him away, disgusted.

You didn't.

You returned it almost immediately. Soft lips moving gently beneath his own, a hesitant exploration that had Mattheo kiss drunk far too easily and seeking without thought to deepen it. The gentle nudge of his tongue made you gasp into his mouth, made your fingers scrape up his chest and around the back of neck to twist into his hair and press him closer.

And oh fuck, he was burning, his whole body going up like kindling and he couldn't care less if there was nothing left of him but ash afterwards. There was a broken sort of noise that echoed in his ears and he dazedly realised it had come from him just before your tongue brushed against his and he forgot everything.

How could he remember anything when there was no room left between them, Mattheo gathering you in his arms until he had you utterly sealed to him. The heat of you searing him despite the many layers and even then there was a part of him that craved you closer, like if he could crack himself open and let you crawl inside, he would.

He’d give you everything he could as long as you kept kissing him like that, your pretty soft mouth sounds swirling in his ears as it became something more hungered.

If he wasn’t careful he’d end up lost to you completely.

Maybe he already was, because it wasn’t until he heard an obnoxious voice pipe up right next to them that he realised just how utterly consumed he’d allowed himself to become.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You tensed and he kissed you once, twice more. Sweet brushes over swollen lips that kept your attention solely on him even as his mouth finally parted from yours achingly slow. His thumb trailed a path to your mouth where he rubbed at the spit-slick shine left there and grinned golden with pride as you shuddered with hooded eyes under the new attention.

“Ahem.”

It seemed your ex was still as arrogant and impatient as ever and it only made Mattheo’s grin morph into an insufferably satisfied smirk when he watched a flood of deep-seething irritation burst behind your pupils.

He turned then before you could say anything, slinging an arm around your shoulders to tuck you tight against his side - an unnecessary display after the show you’d both put on but he was positive it was worth it when the vein in your ex’s forehead seemed dangerously close to rupturing.

“Hello, Steven” Mattheo drawled, his voice dropping to something dark and silken, head tilting as his mocking stare glided over the man before him. “Did no one ever teach you it's rude to interrupt? I was under the impression that your irritating family valued manners and kissing the arse of their betters above all else. Daddy must be so disappointed that all that money he threw at the ministry to get you a job was a total waste if you can't even remember something so simple.”

For a moment he thought Steven would back off, abandon whatever stunt he was trying to pull by approaching you when he heard the venom in Mattheo’s tone, the shade of threat lingering just beneath the feigned calm, and shifted warily.

But apparently he had either forgotten the kind of person Mattheo could be, the kind of person that you could be, or he had deluded himself into thinking nothing would happen to him in such a public space.

Because he decided to ignore the blatant hostility radiating towards him with nothing more than a dismissive scoff, a disgusted glance barely thrown at Mattheo before he focused on you.

“Hardly. Unlike Riddle here, who's still in the same position he was when he started despite his families ‘influence’, I've actually just been promoted.” He replied smugly, condescension rife in his tone as he added. “You're looking at the new head of the department of magical transportation.”

You snorted at that and Mattheo felt the corner of his lips twitch despite his irritation at your ex’s jab, his pathetic attempt at a display of power. He felt the laugh bubble in his chest and surge up his throat where he caught it and refused to let it slip free when you muttered a less than impressed ‘how riveting’.

“What about you?” Steven asked, and when he made a move as if he was about to step towards you, Mattheo's response was immediate. The shift of his body to tuck in you tighter and put more of himself in the way, making your ex stop in his tracks.

Huffing, “have you finally chosen something more suitable for a career than running around after criminals? You look better than you did when we were together, always coming home filthy and bruised.”

He felt you flinch against him like the words had knocked an old wound, like they had sharp nails that picked and dug at a scab until it was torn open and bleeding once more.

This was not the first time, Mattheo guessed, that you had taken a hit from this boy who was supposed to love you about your career, your occasionally roughed up appearance after a particularly hard day. And Mattheo was suddenly livid.

Rage had begun to spit in his belly, it snapped in his veins and scorched at the chambers of his heart that were full of every aspect of you that had ever been or would be. It made his breath still, every single part of his being tensing until it seemed like raw fury would burst him apart at the seams.

But then your hand was on his stomach like you knew, like you knew without a warm, grounding touch that the boy you were already holding so sweetly would violently crack and explode if he did not have that extra part of you connected to him.

He felt himself deflate as that hand slid slowly upwards, as it reached for that space above his heart and covered it lightly, tenderly. Fingertips tapping once, twice, a third and fourth time, in a quiet, steady rhythm for his galloping heart to follow.

And all the while you let the rest of your attention land where Steven remained, glaring at your hand on Mattheo's chest as if repulsed by the sight. Your own stare was flinty, cold and unyielding, as you chose to ignore the slight and simply responded,

“Thanks. But maybe don’t let Elvie hear you say that or has she come to her senses after finding you hanging out the back of someone else too?”

And if that quiet, lethal tone had been directed at Mattheo, he’d have seriously considered just fucking running for the hills - you were terrifying when somebody had the misfortune of pissing you off, a fact that had always made Tom proud and scared the other boys half to death- but he wasn't the one in danger this time and fuck, he could barely contain his delight.

Amusement forcing him to bury his face into your hair when an undeniably shit-eating grin bloomed across his face.

Steven, however, only tutted at you.

Annoyance briefly flashing through the haughty look on his face like he couldn't fathom how you were still not over it before he chastised. “Not this again. I told you that was just a one time thing - that I was just stressed with work and she was there. You didn’t have to make it into such a big deal.”

Mattheo stiffened, smile gone and head snapping in Steven's direction like a hound who had just scented blood. “A big deal?” He echoed, incensed, just as you straightened to your full height and your once mild expression shifted to something flat - a touch too calm.

“We were talking about a future together.” Your voice was blunt, deadpan and brittle, the laugh that followed somehow worse. “Buying a house and getting married, what kind of reaction did you expect when I found you fucking your assistant.”

“I expected you to understand that I had needs and you hadn’t been there. I was under a lot of stress and you were always too busy with ‘your boys’.”

Wait a fucking minute.

Him and the others had barely seen you at all before the break up. The day you returned and found out about the cheating you had just spent the week with them but that had been the first visit in months - Mattheo calling you half frantic because Tom’s nightmares had returned and his once apathetic brother had spiralled hard.

You had dropped everything to come running and it must have bothered the selfish, insecure, pathetic excuse of a wizard in front of you that much that he’d immediately done the worst thing he could just to spite you.

The realisation bred a whole new brand of anger, the sheer vehemence of it smashing against the walls of Mattheo’s skull, screaming through his chest to rattle the bones of his rib cage whilst he fought breathlessly to lock it down.

You, on the other hand, looked suddenly ill - stricken as your train of thought clearly followed the same path that his own had stumbled down only seconds before.

“I barely saw them.” You whispered before a snarl twisted your lovely features into something murderous. “I barely saw them because you always complained that I spent too much time with them and not enough with you. Because you accused me of being too close and having feelings for them.”

Steven pursed his lips at that, arching a cool brow as he gestured at where you were still snug beneath Mattheo’s arm - your own snaked around his waist in what he knew was an effort to ground yourself and not the incriminating evidence of romantic intimacy that your ex thought it was.

“Well it seems like I was right after all, doesn’t it?”

Oh, Mattheo was done.

He'd had suspicions that Steven hadn’t liked him, that he hadn’t approved of your friendship.

But to hear that he hadn’t liked you being friends with any of them, that he effectively did his best to keep you away from the boys who were your family whilst accusing you of potentially being the unfaithful one, made Mattheo so unbelievably delirious with rage that he almost couldn’t breathe from the force of it.

“You’re a piece of shit” He seethed, ignoring your warning murmur of his name as he dropped his arm from your shoulders and took a menacing step forward.

He watched the slight widening of Steven's eyes in panic before he attempted to cover his weakness with a pitiful scoff, uselessly trying to make himself look more intimidating when faced with Mattheo’s broad frame.

“Who do you think y-” Steven hissed but in a blur Mattheo surged forward, shoving the other boy into the shelves behind him with such force that the jars of sweets rattled and tilted, threatening to fall around them whilst he pinned him with both hands fisted in his collar.

“You’re a fucking piece of shit.” He reiterated harshly, voice rough, darkened with all the violence that had been steadily unlatching inside him. “She has always been too good for you. You knew it, we knew it, the only one who didn't realise was her and that’s why you were so fucking desperate to keep her away from us. Because you knew she would have figured it out a hell of a lot sooner with us right by her side.”

“I wanted her away from your miserable pining.” Steven spat and he froze. Shock, like a punch to the face, momentarily making him loosen his grip and your ex took quick advantage, shoving forward with what seemed to be all of his strength and knocking Mattheo a few steps back in your direction.

He laughed cruelly as he took in Mattheo’s expression awash with surprise, a spiteful gleam in his eyes.

“What? You didn’t think that I knew you were in love with her? How could I not with the way you constantly trailed after her like an adoring puppy.” He sneered and Mattheo’s stomach dropped when he heard your sharp intake of breath. “Tell me, how does it feel to have someone else's scraps? Though I guess you’re used to that now aren’t you - always second behind your brother in school and your parent's favour, so why should it be surprising that the girl you wanted didn’t want you first either.”

There was the faint ghost of a metallic tang in his mouth, an invisible crimson film on his bone-white teeth, like Mattheo knew exactly how Steven’s blood would taste and feel if he sank them down right then and ripped his fucking throat out.

The thought drowned out everything else in his head, muddling it all and clouding his vision in a veil of red until there was nothing left. Nothing but the ferociously compulsive chant of, make him bleed, make him bleed, make him bleed.

And when everything came swimming back through that familiar fog of darkness he hadn’t even realised he had lost it so violently until he was suddenly face to face with you.

Until Steven was back to being sprawled against the vivid green shelving and you were wedged between his quaking frame and Mattheo’s heaving one.

His sudden burst of wrath was still a wild, unruly thing - still tearing around inside his head, a vicious, incandescent roaring that you had stopped him from repeatedly smashing his fist into your ex’s face until his skin swelled an ugly bluish purple and split. Until the snap of bone was enough to satisfy his hunger for retribution.

But you were there and your hand was clasped around the fist Mattheo had unknowingly reeled back. The other one had smoothed out from its stern grip on his bicep to sweep up, up, up until you were cupping his jaw and brushing your thumb over his cheek.

And once you saw you had gained his attention you drew his forehead lovingly to yours, voice calm, devastatingly gentle, as you told him. “Matty don’t listen to him okay, listen to me, he’s not worth it. Everything you ever said about him was right and he’s not worth it. I refuse to let you get arrested because of a worthless piece of shit like him.”

You gripped his chin, pressing the softest kiss to his mouth without the slightest hesitation and his heart spasmed. “Let’s just go home, yeah? I don’t want to waste any more time on him. Not when I just want to be with you.”

The last part was a whisper, an intimacy for him alone, and every part of him melted with it. Like it was a balm to the raw edges of all that howling rage that you seemed to only ever be capable of providing.

“Okay.” He answered simply, hoarsely, and you beamed as he tugged the hand still wrapped around his raised fist to his mouth and planted a ridiculously sweet kiss to your knuckles before stepping back and pulling you with him.

He began to lead you away, ignoring the way other customers weren't even hiding that they'd been watching, their jars of sweets held in limp, uninterested hands as they whispered excitedly between themselves.

Instead, he turned slightly one last time to call over his shoulder to your ex. “I would say see you around, but I’d rather avada myself before that happens.”

“Fuck you, Riddle.” Steven spat back, vindictive in his humiliation. “You’re pathetic, she’s using you and you're so desperate for someone to love you that you can’t even fucking see it. She’ll chew you up and spit you back out and you’ll probably still be begging her to let you fuck her, you sad wast-”

You slammed your fist into his nose before he could finish and his insults shattered into a high pitched wail of agony that echoed through the sweetshop.

Mattheo hadn’t even seen you move - couldn’t even remember feeling you tug your hand from his, you had been that fast. A vengeful crash of lightning cased in bone and flesh, striking before anyone else had time to blink.

He watched you with his mouth agape as you shook your hand out - flexing your fingers with a look of dark, fleeting curiosity at the blood sprayed across your skin before your gaze swung back to the boy whining on the ground at your feet.

You stalked closer and he cowered - pride swelling in Mattheo’s chest at the power radiating from every inch of you.

He admired it as you dropped smoothly into a crouch, as the venom Steven prepared to weakly spit withered and died on his tongue when you lent forward and whispered something that Mattheo couldn’t hear but whatever it was, it made your ex gulp and nod frantically.

It was so stupidly attractive and he could barely regain control of his features that had glazed over in a ravenous, unrepentant want before you rose and turned back to him, the movement lazy with self-satisfaction.

“Ready to go?” You grinned.

Salazar help him, he was so fucking in love with you.

Mattheo’s face fell then.

If you had heard what your ex had said and believed him, then you knew it too.

Fuck.

**

The journey home was tense.

Did you know? Was he supposed to ask or did he wait to see if you mentioned anything?

He tried studying you out of the corner of his eye as he walked, the fading sun and the flickering of the streetlights coming to life, illuminating the lovely planes of your face but little else.

No hint of what you were feeling - if you had any feelings at all towards what you had possibly overheard.

Even watching you now he felt at a loss - like a code he’d always been able to decipher had all of a sudden switched up on him and he didn’t even know where to start cracking it again.

You moved around his kitchen easily, pulling out bowls and glasses for whatever you could scavenge together to make up for the fact you'd had to leave everything behind that you’d picked out at Honeydukes.

There was a domesticity to the way you were so comfortable in his space, like you belonged there, like it had always been your own as much as it was his and it made something golden fizz through Mattheo's veins at how right it felt.

His attention drifting whilst he revelled in the warmth of it and he didn’t realise you were talking to him until you were stepping close to wave a hand in his face.

“Earth to Matty.” You laughed and he blinked, startled, before offering a sheepish grin that soon fell in concern as he gently grabbed your wrist.

A noise of discontent rose in his throat whilst he inspected your hand. “You’re hurt, you should have told me.” He accused softly and before you could shrug it off he was letting go just to drop his hands to your waist - lifting you on to the dark, glossy countertop with a shameless grin at your surprised yelp of his name.

“Just sweeping you off your feet, princess.” He winked and you snorted before rolling your eyes - muttering jesus, you’re such an idiot as he hunted for the first-aid kit under the kitchen sink.

“Haven’t you played the knight in shining armour enough for one night.” You teased, watching him playfully when he returned to dump a small box on the counter before slotting himself between your thighs. “Seriously Matt, it’s just a few scrapes, I’ll live.”

“Not if you get an infection, now stay still.” He grumbled - pulling out wipes, antiseptic cream and a roll of bandage before picking up your hand to inspect the damage again. “You got him good.”

A small, cheeky smile graced your mouth at his praise, proud and utterly captivating. “Yeah well, serves him right for thinking he can say shit about you.”

It took everything in him to bite back a wicked grin at that, hiding his elation as he used his teeth to tear open a wipe - using the distraction of tending to your hand to ignore your gaze on him - the way his body was reacting to your proximity now that he knew what it felt like to have you pressed into him. Kissing him.

“Remind me why you aren't healing this with magic?”

“Punishment.”

“For what?” You demanded petulantly, offence flaring in your gaze before the little bright burst of pain from the wipe mellowed it back out to something slightly pathetic.

Something so endearing that Mattheo didn't know whether to laugh or to lay down a flurry of apologetic kisses just shy of the stinging cut.

Instead, he tilted his head up and shot you an amused glance as he tossed the wipe and grabbed the cream, taking greater effort than before to dab it gently over your broken skin. “You know the rules, Rocky. You fight outside of work and you have to heal up like a muggle so you think twice before doing it again.”

“Those are the rules for you.” You huffed back at him, a half hearted scowl on your face that he definitely wanted to kiss until it melted into a pretty, satisfied grin beneath his lips. Fuck, he was pathetic. “You're the one who can't go a day without punching someone, you psycho, this was a one time thing.”

“So you think it should be one rule for one and not for others - that's not very lawfully fair of you. Are you sure you should be an auror?”

Your head fell back in exasperation. “I hate you.” You muttered, but it was too fond, too drenched in affection for Mattheo to react any other way besides chuckling warmly.

“No you don't.” He smirked, voice devilish, taunting, as his eyes rose to meet yours briefly once more. “Now be a good girl and be quiet whilst I wrap this - you're being too distracting.”

Silence followed.

Just like he'd asked for because you were too busy staring down at him in surprise. The moment lasting a little too long to be ignored as you blinked, lips parted ever so slightly, and he hated the blazing heat that rushed through his entire body at the realisation he had made you flustered.

The way something ached and pulsed in his stomach as his mind flooded with all the other ways he could make you flush if something as simple as calling you good girl was enough to have that perfect brain of yours emptied. That whip-sharp tongue falling silent.

Salazar help him, how was he supposed to concentrate like this?

He bit down on a groan and attempted to force the thoughts from the head, refusing to pay attention to anything other than the texture of the bandage as he rolled it out in his hands, as he cut off the amount he needed and distractedly took your hand back into his own.

He felt like he was having trouble breathing properly, his blood refusing to cool no matter how much he willed it, your closeness to him not helping when all he could see in his mind was the way something had flashed in your eyes, quicker than even he could decipher, and how he was almost desperate to know what it was.

His heart would not stay at a normal pace and as it stuttered and beat itself violently against the cage of his ribs, he wondered if it was possible to die from something like this. From the desire and longing trapped and blistering beneath his skin, a wicked hot thing that was trying to burn him from the inside out.

Matty?” You asked quietly and it took everything in him not to jump, not to flush guiltily as he made a quiet noise of acknowledgement, a rumbled hmm in his throat before he glanced up at you curiously beneath the dark fan of his lashes when the silence stretched on and you didn’t continue.

You were chewing your lip - a hesitant look on your face - and there was barely a chance for him to swallow down the excruciating urge he felt to gently tug it free with hid thumb, to soothe away the rawness with soft touches and his mouth pressed to yours.

Barely a chance for his stomach to drop as his frazzled mind finally registered fuck, this is it, when you suddenly blurted. “Why did you kiss me?”

Because I couldn’t stand to see you breaking all over again when you’ve come so far.

Because you deserved to make your shithead ex feel as insignificant as he made you feel.

Because you needed my help and I’d give my fucking soul if it mean’t you never had to doubt yourself that way again.

He ran each reason through his mind and just as quickly discarded every one. They were too revealing - those truths that he weighed on the tip of his tongue too heavily threaded with another.

I love you.

So instead he shoved it all back, his nervous gaze dropping back to where he was looping the bandage tightly around your hand whilst he scrambled to come up with something that wouldn't make you too suspicious.

“Mistletoe.”

Nailed it.

“Mistletoe?” You echoed, the choked off noise of barely-restrained laughter colouring your tone.

So much for avoiding suspicion, but maybe he could still work with this.

“Mhm, saw it and had a moment of divine inspiration. You're welcome.”

“Matty, it's February.”

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips as he carefully tied off the bandage. “Maybe they forgot about it, not everyone has the decorations down practically a day later like you, weirdo.”

“Yeah because you make me put them up in November, Mattheo.” You shot back.

And then there was silence - a heartbeat moment where they just stared at each other, all soft, warm smiles and breathy laughter and when did you get so close, because Mattheo was sure as hell when this conversation started you weren’t right there.

Not right where he could see every individual fleck of colour in your eyes and the way your lashes fluttered as his breath fanned over your lips.

He wanted to resist but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop himself.

It was like you were staring right through him and he was helpless but to spill everything - to peel back his skin and crack apart his ribs to let you take a peek at the mess of his heart just so he could sate that unsatisfied gleam of curiosity you held.

“I hate him.” He declared with such sudden vehemence that it had your eyebrows raising and your lips parting in surprise. “I hate that he hurt you and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. I hate that he made you feel like you were worthless and I hate that he can make you doubt yourself even after all this time because you are fucking incredible and an absolute saint and lets be honest we’d all probably be dead or at least significantly more traumatised without you.”

A small chuckle slipped past your lips then, watery and thin, and the sight of your trembling smile and glistening eyes made him ache - made him yearn to wrap his arms around you and cradle you flush against his chest.

Instead he took your face into the warm cup of his hands and swept his thumbs in tender strokes over the swell of your cheeks, resisting every cell in his body that was screaming at him all the while to kiss you there and then until you were both breathless.

“Do you know what I think I hate the most?” He whispered, shuddering slightly as your fingers trailed gently up his arms to rest around his wrists. “That he had everything. Everything I ever wanted and he threw it away like it was nothing. I could kill him for that alone.”

You sucked in a breath and he forced himself to hold your searching gaze whilst his heart threatened to erupt. “Matt,” You eventually croaked, eyes troubled and brows knit into a soft frown. “I know today has been a lot, but please, don’t say anything you don’t really mean.”

"When have I ever?"

You hummed a half-hearted acknowledgement, still unsure. “Are you trying to tell me that you- that what Steven said? Was that true?”

He had to tell you.

He'd gotten this far, gotten to experience this semblance of relief blossoming in his gut because he’d coveted these feelings for so long and despite the fact he knew it was going to hurt catastrophically in the end, it also felt so fucking good to finally be honest with you.

And maybe it was wishful thinking but if he just got it out for you to tell him that you didn't feel the same then he could maybe find a way to not make things weird and move the fuck on.

“Before I answer that.” He coughed, clearing his throat, mouth suddenly dry as bone. Fuck, this was terrifying. “I need you to know that I’m not expecting anything from you. I know you don’t feel the same and it’s okay - I’m okay with it. I don’t want to lose you so if I get it out in the open, we can work past it and nothing has to change.”

“Matty.” You murmured, before one of your hands leaves his to cradle his jaw.

His eyes fluttered closed.

Now or never.

“I love you.” It punched out of him, powerful like so many of Mattheo’s emotions had always been. A blunt force, or too much, as some people had told him and he couldn't help but be petrified that after it all you might be one of them.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids, I just never realised.” He continued, rooted in place despite every fibre of his being telling him to bolt, because the words just kept coming. Jumbled and tumbling, near frantic to make you understand.

“At least not until you were with Steven and I saw all the ways I would treat you better if it was me being allowed to love you and not him. And then it hit me just how much I wanted it to be me, I was just too scared to do anything about it. I’m sorry.”

When he finally fell silent he didn't dare move or even look at you for the first moment, nor the one that followed. You had seen Mattheo in just about every state there was to see a person, but never, until right then, had he ever felt so vulnerable. Cracked open and so completely and irrevocably at someone else's mercy as his emotions bled from him to stain you both.

It was the brush of you against him that startled him back to life. The tender caress of your fingers over his cheek, nose nudging his, that gathered the little courage he had left to open his eyes again, to face the aftermath and look at you.

At the way your lips were clamped together in a trembling press, eyes shining and pained.

And for a sickeningly horrifying moment he thought that he had upset you so badly that you were about to cry, that his feelings were so wholly unwanted that he was hurting you, breaking your heart by having them and ruining everything you had been to each other before he had opened his mouth.

Numbly, he let his hands fall away from your face before taking a step back when a heavy wave of nausea rocked into him.

But then your expression changed, it morphed into something mystified - a touch incredulous.

“And you think that I don’t feel the same?” You questioned. Nose scrunching in confusion and your voice, merlin, your voice, it was so quiet, so full of disbelief that it felt impossible, despite how desperately he tried, to not fold all of his hope into it.

You didn't give him a chance to answer, not that he could have in any distinguishable capacity. Not with his heart lodged somewhere up in his throat.

“You think that I haven't loved you from the moment you came crashing into my life?” You shook your head, the words cracking on your tongue, flooded with emotion as the confession bubbled up out of you and all Mattheo could do was blink - stunned. “You think that I haven't imagined kissing you a thousand times over and not just to get back at some bloody ex?”

“For salazar’s sake, Mattheo, I practically followed you everywhere. School, the war, and now here. Did it never occur to you that I only started dating Steven because in all that time, you never seemed interested in me like that? I thought you didn't love me like I loved you, and so I tried to move on, but I never wanted all the forever stuff with him. Not at first anyway. I always wanted it with you.”

I wanted it with you.

With you.

With you.

With you.

He inhaled sharply, a small noise slipping from his throat that he couldn’t stop if he tried. Those words were spinning around inside his skull like it was a carousel, all bright flashing lights and the swell of tinkling music - drowning out every other thought until it was the only one he had left.

“I - I didn’t –” He stammered, a little bewildered, and your expression melted into something so sweet and understanding that it broke his heart to think he'd ever doubted you.

You reached for him then and he all but stumbled back to you in his desperation to meld himself against you. To bury his face in the crook of your neck and nudge his shaking hands beneath your jumper so he could curve them around your bare sides, seeking out the warmth of you to ground himself because he felt like he'd been totally unmoored.

You huffed out a soft laugh, a lovely, almost giddy thing that made it feel like there were flowers blooming in all those hollowed out spaces between his ribs, decorating the soft vines that breached through all of his organs to join them. Suffocating him in the best way with just how much he was in love with you. “Me neither, but it's okay, we both know now.”

It was almost too much, after all Mattheo had always been utterly unused to to the act of loving and being loved out in the open. No masks or repression or insecurities with needle-sharp claws dug into his brain to hold him back.

It almost felt overwhelming in its rawness, like a violent kind of vulnerability, and yet he couldn't force himself to hide the embarrassingly stupid grin that tugged at his lips at that, lashes fluttering as he sighed at the gentle pass of your hand over his curls before humming a choked, but coy, “Do we?”

“Uh huh.”

“Are you sure?” He teased softly, something sparking in his chest when he felt the way you shivered beneath his hands as he drew a line with his nose up to your jaw. “Because I don't think you actually said whatever it is we're both supposed to know.”

Your cheek rubbed against his with the mild shake of your head that followed then, breath hitching on a chuckle, a knowing little sound that told him you were on to him immediately.

Yet still, you indulged him, as you always had.

A hand clutched at his shoulder whilst the other slipped from his hair to dip beneath the collar of his hoodie, fingers toying with the clasp of his necklace as you asked, voice full of faux confusion. “Didn't I? I could have swore I did.”

“Nope.” He told you quietly, forlornly, his tone heavy with mourning though the smile he held when he slid his nose over your cheek so he could graze it against yours was anything but. “You asked if I'd thought about it which I don't think is quite the same, do you?”

Your eyes shone, lips twitching into the loveliest grin that Mattheo had ever seen. “I think you're impossible.” You whispered and he wondered if it was possible for his heart to lurch out of his chest, for it to dive through his bones and his skin and straight into yours, because it sure as hell felt like it wanted to when you added. “But not wrong, at least not about this.”

“I'm never wrong.” He rasped and when your hand found its way to his jaw, thumb trailing sweetly back and forth against his too flushed skin, he leaned into the touch like he was starving for it.

His entire body almost swaying into yours with how gone he was for the way you were looking at him, how your fingers touched his face like he was something precious as you cupped his cheeks.

“More like, eighty five percent of the time?”

“You wound me.”

“I love you.” You corrected him cheekily, gaze twinkling when his eyes widened and god, he must have looked as dazed, as utterly dumbstruck, as he felt because you laughed. A bright burst that made his heart swell and his cheeks tinge pink. “I love you, Mattheo Riddle, I always have and I'll continue to do so long after we've both turned to bone.”

And then you kissed him.

You kissed him and he drowned in it - lost to the pure radiance that glowed in his veins and the tender heat of your mouth crushed to his. The hand that threaded itself through the curls at the nape of his neck, tangling within and dragging him closer.

His touch fled from your hip and the ladder of your ribs to cradle your cheeks, gently tilting your face up to his own as he did so and it all burned so fucking sweet that if anyone was to ask Mattheo to pinpoint the exact moment he fell to ruin, he would be incapable of providing such an answer.

He could only tell them that he had.

That he was magnificently lost to you as the kiss deepened and you unravelled him with each brush of your lips against his. As you moaned, breathless and needy, into his mouth and he felt like you had brought down heaven and placed it in his arms. Pressed it into his skin until, for the first time in his life, Mattheo knew what it felt like to be so full of light it could burst from him.

He could do this forever he decided - he could die with an appeased soul despite the atrocities of his past when he had the salvation of your devotion. The fire of your hunger burning away all those ugly, dark parts of him until he shone.

You shivered when he wound an arm around you, wrenching you firmly against the solid press of his body as you clung to him and his name poured from your lips like a prayer. An offering.

A softly gasped, “Mattheo.” that dripped golden pleasure down his spine.

And he must have made a noise - some wrecked, low sounding thing in the back of his throat - because you pulled away just a fraction, eyes flickering over his face. Drinking down his hungered expression, his blown-out gaze that slipped from your own to your mouth before he dragged it slowly, heatedly, back up again.

“Do you want me?” You whispered, your hand sweeping over his side and to the bottom of his back, dipping beneath the layers of his hoodie and shirt to splay across flushed skin.

He could barely focus, his forehead falling to yours as he shivered beneath the gentle stroke of your fingers. He felt the touch like it was inside him - like they had sunk through flesh, tissue and bone to fist around his heart.

Merlin.

“Of course I do.” He rasped.

“Then show me, please.”

He sucked in a breath before surging forward to kiss you then, his lips crashing against yours like the world would spin off its axis if he didn’t have his mouth on you.

It was nothing like the kisses he had ever given before, raw desire making his head spin, making him a little clumsy, messy, but it still had your breath catching in your throat.

It had your body melting into his and your hands flying to clutch at the slopes of his shoulders as your surprise dissolved into something hungrier, the sensation of his mouth moving over yours dragging you into delirium with him.

He was gripped with a singular, overwhelming urgency to devour you entirely - the need possessing him until there was nothing else but you and the feel of your mouth under his - and it took a herculean type of strength to remove himself the centimetre it took to ask huskily against your lips. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

You sighed sweetly into him, the hand in his hair drawing him back so you could kiss him again, a little more demanding before your lips slipped to the corner of his mouth, his chin, his jaw, sliding down his throat to suck a bruise at the skin before dropping a sweet kiss over the mark that made his lungs stutter.

It had a groan tearing through Mattheo’s chest when you pressed yourself against him so he could feel the way your chest heaved - the way you were trembling for him. “I want you to make me yours, Matty.” You breathed. “Just like I always have been.”

And salazar help him, how could he ever refuse you.

So he hauled you forward off the counter and into his arms. His mouth recaptured yours and he let you part his lips, let you flick your tongue, quick and dirty, against his own and lick the needy groan from his mouth as he stumbled. Attempting to navigate you both to the sofa that he swore was suddenly a million fucking miles away whilst you laughed into the kiss.

In the end, you didn’t make it.

They bounced off a door frame and there was a curse hidden beneath more laughter before he muttered fuck it and laid you down right there in the hallway.

Your back hit the floor and immediately he was stretching himself over you - caging you in - his hips nestled into the cradle of your own in a filthy, slow grind that had you panting against his mouth. A keening noise sounding in the back of your throat that made Mattheo’s head go fuzzy.

He pulled back an inch then and stared - tried to brand this image in his brain because god, it was doing something indescribable to him.

Because it was you, gazing back at him with eyes darker than he'd ever seen them, hungry and wanting. Lips kiss-bruised and parted as you sucked in a sharp breath when he rolled his hips and caught you just right. Looking so fucking sinful that it had him swallowing down a choked moan.

Mattheo was almost embarrassed by just how close the sight drove him. There was a swell of something unforgivingly hot behind his ribs, searing in his stomach and his veins, all liquid gold and white flame, and he couldn’t resist re-capturing your mouth in a kiss that echoed just how helplessly he was affected by it all.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He whispered into it, voice lovesick and bleeding awe, painting your mouth with a sparkling grin that knocked him flat, made his heart flip behind his ribs, as he pressed each word to your lips. “More beautiful than anyone or anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Mattheo.” You breathed, a little choked, eyes shining, and he had to drop his head before he could get too entranced, before the way you were looking at him had every little thought and feeling he had surpressed for years bubbling up from his chest and out of his mouth.

Instead, he began pressing featherlight kisses along your jaw, down your throat , gently scraping his teeth along the curve as your fingers caught in the fabric at his shoulders.

He travelled reverently down your body, worshipful hands ghosting down your sides until they reached the hem of your (his) jumper and with a quick glance and a tender smile at your nod of approval, he was lifting it up and over your head, throwing it somewhere to be forgotten entirely.

Mattheo made a greedy noise of appreciation at the sight before him. As his gaze, followed by the almost sacred touch of his trembling hands, discovered the warm, silken skin of your belly, then your ribs and finally your lace covered chest.

You shook beneath him, exhaling a shuddering breath when he bent to kiss your stomach, the droop of his curls tickling softly at your flesh before you carded gentle, adoring fingers through them.

They tightened into a fist as he dragged his tongue from your belly button to the edge of your bra, tugging at the strands just a little meanly enough to make his hips lurch and his molten gaze snap to yours.

“Salazar, Mattheo, stop dragging it out and just take the damn thing off, are you trying to make me explode?” You huffed and he chuckled. A rough, throaty sound as he nudged his nose along the swell of your tit, his mouth hovering just shy of touching whilst he glanced up at you with a smug grin.

“Of course not, princess.” He teased, bleeding self-satisfaction and half-drunk on your need. “Not yet anyway.”

Then his mouth closed over your nipple and whatever witty comeback he could see brewing on your tongue cracked into a choked moan as you arched into him, your thighs tightening as he flicked and pinched at the other with deft fingers.

He swirled his tongue over the wet lace before ripping it down to taste your bare skin, teased the stiffening bud between his teeth whilst he worked the bra from your body and tossed it aside without a glance.

And when he’d drunk his fill of your soft little sighs, the shaking of your body in anticipation, he finally slipped down. Trailing hot, open mouthed kisses over your ribs - your stomach - the patch of skin above your waistband until you were tilting your hips up in a silent plea.

Like he would even consider refusing you, like he ever could.

He curled his fingers around soft fabric and drew it down, slow and careful, past your thighs and your calves until he was curving a gentle hand around your ankle to slip your sweats and your underwear off entirely.

It tore the air from his chest, having you utterly bare before him, enough so that for a moment he did nothing but press his face into the softness your leg and breathed you in, refilling his lungs with you.

You were so warm against him that he couldn't resist moving closer, kissing his way up the inside of your leg until he was between your thighs once more. Broad shoulders wedging them apart and his hands stroking over the sides.

He watched you watch him, eyes darker than he'd ever seen them, as he lowered his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to your clit.

It made you jolt, made you whimper prettily, and Mattheo's grin was downright wicked as he murmured. “Oh, you liked that didn't you?”

He did it again, a little messier, his tongue barely just grazing you before he stopped and your head thumped back against the floor. “Matty–please.”

“Ah, ah, you’ve got to look at me when you ask for something, princess.” He taunted, soft with it as his fingers swept over your hips. “C'mon, let me see those pretty eyes, yeah?”

You obliged and the shiver that overtook him was less from the late-winter chill that still clung to the bare bones of his flat and more from the fire that snapped in your gaze as you stared down at him.

It was glorious, the war between begging him for more or demanding it of him that played unguarded across your features, the adrenaline rush that came with the knowledge only he inspired such indecision.

You didn't beg for anybody and when Mattheo saw that you realised he knew that, his grin turning smug as he waited, your eyes flared.

“Just because I love you doesn't mean I won’t– oh my god.”

He chose then to bury his face between your thighs, dragging his tongue in a slow, firm stroke over your cunt until your whole body arched with it - your palm slamming to the floor beside you as you wheezed. “Fuck–Mattheo.”

His eyes snapped up to watch you, raking over your pleasure-drunk expression, the raw vulnerability of it nearly enough to make Mattheo lose his damn head before the movements of your hand caught his attention.

You were skating it over the carpet, fingers flexing, clawing, attempting to twist into the coarse fibres in an effort to ground yourself and failing as he swirled his tongue over your clit.

He reached for you without another thought, his hand leaving the unyielding grip it had on your thigh to snatch up yours, entwining both your fingers before he squeezed. Silently telling you, use me - anchor yourself to me - it’s okay, I’ve got you.

The first flick of his tongue after that made your head fall back. The second had you twisting your fingers in the silk of his curls. His lips sealing themselves over your clit before he sucked hard had you tugging at him enough that Mattheo whined into you, fingers digging into the meat of your arse to press you to him tighter, his hips rocking against the floor whilst you bucked into the searing heat of his mouth, utterly uninhibited.

The sight of it was maddening, it was divine.

He was torn between never wanting to leave the space between your legs and pulling back to fully appreciate you writhing beneath him. Letting all the praise that was crashing through his head come spilling out so he could see the way you'd go liquid, pretty eyes glazed over, as your thighs quaked.

There was sweat beading at your hairline as he made a mess of you - glistening along the column of your throat, the valley between your gorgeous tits. He watched the way your free hand left his hair to trail the softest path to one of them and squeezed, felt the way your body reacted to both sensations when he pushed two fingers inside you and curled them nice and deep.

You were feverish under him, mewling and arching as he picked up the pace and Mattheo almost lost it at the state of you, trying his hardest to not embarrass himself when every crook of his fingers had you flexing your hips into his hand, fucking yourself on him.

It made your voice turn thread-bare when you whimpered that you couldn't take much more, that you were ‘so fucking close’ and ‘please–Matty–don't stop’.

He went to flame then. To desperation and insanity and all burning, searing need to devour you whole and drink you down until he either drowned or you had nothing left to give.

“I won't baby–fuck, that's it,” Mattheo groaned, sounding equally as wrecked as you looked. “Let go for me. Let me hear how it feels– that's it, good girl.”

And just like you begged him to, he didn't stop until your entire being shook beneath him with a choked cry and you clenched unforgivingly tight around his fingers. He didn't stop when the call of his name cracked and broke as your voice gave out whilst he licked you through the violent crest of your orgasm until it's dying breaths and your body fell slack against the floor.

He didn't stop until you jerked in his hold, gasping and pleading, your fingers eventually releasing their tense grip in his hair to slip down to his chin, tilting it. Away from your glistening cunt as he was made to look up at you.

“Are you trying to kill me?” You laughed weakly, stunned gaze roving over every inch of him as you tried to catch your breath, and he wondered if he looked as undone as he felt before you. Wild haired and panting. On his stomach with his eyes dazed and face coated with you.

“I'm sorry,” he rasped, not bothering to even try and appear like he was very sorry at all, “but it's not my fault you taste better than I dreamed you would.”

Your eyes glazed a little at that, a dopey little smile playing at your mouth with it, and he laughed softly when you released his hand to pass it over your sweat-damp hair with a breathlessly murmured ‘fuck’.

He nuzzled at your thighs as satisfaction rolled through his chest, pressing gentle kisses to the still trembling skin as he soothed his hands over your legs - your belly - massaging your sides until you made a playful grab for them and brought them to your lips, eyes shining down at him at the way his lashes fluttered and his expression turned smitten before you tugged at him.

He climbed back up your body with a grin, a shining, pleased thing that he was sure probably took up nearly half of his face and you huffed a quiet laugh when he nudged his nose against yours. His mouth surrendering once more to yours in a syrup sweet kiss that burned deeper, more feverish, the longer it lasted.

“You’re adorable sometimes, you know that?” You smiled when he eventually drew back, eyes bright and twinkling with mirth whilst your fingers skimmed his jaw.

He snorted. “Sure, that’s the word you’re gonna use for someone who just made you c-” He teased, cheeks dimpling as his grin widened when you quickly covered his mouth with your fingers and jokingly warned.

“Don't ruin the moment, Mattheo.”

He laughed and kissed you insead. He couldn't stop, couldn't stop touching you, couldn't feed the ache fast enough that came with needing to do it more than he already was.

He choked as you rolled your hips into his own, as he finally allowed himself to fully acknowledge the pleasure sparking in his veins whilst it gathered intensity. Letting the thick outline of his cock slide against you until you were groaning into each other's mouths. Hands knotted in his hair and pearl-white teeth grazing the plush of his lip when you drew back to murmur.

“I want you–I've wanted you for so long, fuck, Matty, you have no idea.”

He did. He’d wanted you for just as long, if not longer.

But still, hearing it sent a shock through him - ripped a low, guttural moan straight from his lungs that was followed by a heat-soaked curse that you took from him just as readily as you had everything else he'd given so far.

He didn't even blink before asking. “Can you say that again?”

You licked your lips and grinned, breath stuttering as he continued to move against you, fingers snatching at your jaw so you couldn't take your eyes of him. “I need you inside me or I'm gonna lose my mind, it's all I've thought about for months–the way you'd feel– how you'd fuck me– oh god.”

Another desperate noise. “Fucking hell. Again. Please.”

He didn't try to stop you when you reached for his clothes, rising to sit back on his haunches so you could follow and strip him of his hoodie, his shirt. His hand curling around the back of your neck to drag you into to him, mouths connecting the instant they were both over his head in a kiss that was all tongue and teeth, a little messy, touched with desperation. Frantic.

You flattened your palms to his chest, sweeping them out and then down, exploring the expanse of flushed skin, the muscles of his chest and his stomach that twitched beneath your touch. The hunger behind every slow, drawn out trace making his heart rattle behind his ribs.

He shivered when your mouth trailed over his jaw, when he felt teasing nips marking his throat before there was an open mouthed kiss pressed over the scar on his chest.

A soft clink of metal echoed in the room as your hands drifted to his belt, your fingertips slipping over the leather whilst you pulled it free from the loops of his jeans before it fell to the floor with a quiet thud.

And then you were pushing his jeans down just far enough until he was able to hastily kick them off. His heart in his mouth as he knelt before you, utterly naked apart from the shadows that slanted over his skin.

He felt a flicker - the ghosts of that insecurity of not being enough passing over his face before he could blow it away like a cobweb- and prayed that you wouldn't notice. That you wouldn't mistake his hesitation for something else and even consider it to be directed at you.

But instead it seemed that you understood. Your hands found his jaw and you drew him into a kiss that ached. A lovely, bruising thing that had him melting into you, any insecurities fleeing so fucking far away that he could barely remember what they felt like.

You held him as tightly as you could and hummed in delight against his lips when he did the same and crushed you to his chest, the sound of it morphing into something needy as his cock throbbed, hot and smearing wetness against your belly.

“I want you, Mattheo, I don't know how else to explain it, just that I need you so badly it hurts– it's hurt from the moment I realised exactly what you mean to me and I don't think it'll ever stop no matter how much I might have you.”

Mattheo swallowed hard, throat bobbing.

You would be the death of him, he was sure of it. His hands shook, fingers grasping at your cheeks in an attempt to hide it, and there was this unfathomable feeling of love swelling inside him so brilliantly that he could barely contain it as he peppered your face with sweet, breathless kisses.

"You can have me whenever you want,” he pressed the words into your skin, the glowing warmth of your cheeks as he pushed you back, murmuring the next ones over and over until he hovered over you once more, “I’m yours.”

You went soft for him in the cage of his arms at that. Stripped down to your barest bones in the face of his raw emotion and it made his heart flutter and thump all too fast behind his ribs when your voice trembled on a sigh his name, so sweet and lovely, as his forehead dipped to meet yours.

“Hi.” He breathed, voice dropping low, his smile achingly soft.

Your lips quirked, nose slipping against his when you whispered back a tender, “hi.”

In the dimly lit space of his flat and with soft carpet at your back, you drew him closer, kissed him like you wished the two of you could fuse together and touched him as he fought to commit it all to memory. The way he felt - burning with each and every stroke of your hand, each part of him alight as you murmured beautiful affections against his mouth - at the intimacy of it all.

The image of you that he was sure not even death could take from him when it eventually came - eyes bright as jewels, lips marked with his kisses, all pretty, soft skin that gleamed under the weak stream of light the evening had yet to swallow.

You looked like something ethereal, something otherworldly and untouchable, and the privilege he felt in being the one to see you that way, to contribute to the way you were a gorgeous mess, felt like something holy.

“I love you.” He choked.

His words coming out jumbled and almost broken, followed by a hiss slipping sharply through his teeth when you finally guided him into you. A low noise caught in his throat and eyes screwed shut as he slid inside you inch by inch until his hips met yours.

He felt like he was on fire, the warmth that had been blooming in his gut morphing into something violent and unimaginable that had his body tensing as he struggled not to finish before he’d even started. Head falling against your shoulder just before he felt your lips brush against his temple, parting on a rushed exhale.

“I love you too,” you moaned, voice strangled. “Oh, god, Mattheo–”

At least, it seemed that you were in just as bad shape as he was. He’d probably say something similar if he could remember how to speak.

But his mind had splintered. Shattered apart to fragments and the only thing he could focus on was the way you were surrounding him- all slick, tight heat and the overwhelming sensation that burst through his chest of all his lost pieces suddenly slotting into place, like you were a part of his soul he wasn’t aware he was missing until you were finally joined once more.

“Shit, I'm sorry– just give me a minute.” He stuttered, voice hoarse and eyes blown wide, endlessly dark when he peered down at you. Half determined, half pleading. “I want to make it good for you, you just feel so–merlin, you feel too fucking good.”

He moved carefully only moments after that, unable to resist. An oozing honey pace that only made him moan when you kissed him, a filthy sound that would have stunned him had he not been so out of his mind.

He could only stare at you like you were pure magic taken form - no ancient bloodline or cursed objects needed for whatever it was running through your veins - as you threaded your fingers through his hair and whispered. Breath hitching. “It's okay– it's already so fucking– oh– so good, just let go. I want to feel it.”

It made his desperation threaten to win over. Head spinning as he dragged himself back out of you before surging back in, hitching your leg high up at his waist so he could do it again and again and again. Each thrust knocking you further up the floor and pulling a strangled noise from the back of your throat that he quickly stole with greedy lips moulded over your own.

It started slow, deliberate and devastating, and then turned faster. Needier and unrestrained. The sound of panting breaths and skin on skin rising in the otherwise silence. Open mouthed kisses that were forced to come to an end because all the oxygen felt like it had fled both of your lungs, punched out every time you met the frantic rolling of his hips.

Mattheo had never felt anything like it and it was dangerously close to annihilating him completely.

There were wicked bolts of something animalistic, a feral rush of desire, threatening to send him spiralling and you gasped in surprise, hands clenching tight at his arms, when he pulled out and reared back to kneel before you. Desperate hands shoving your knees against your chest before he buried himself back inside you again.

It changed the angle that he speared into you with and with the next thrust that came you were sobbing for him, seizing up like he’d plunged into the heart of your pleasure and pierced it - letting it flow out to the farthest reaches of you until you were curling into the solid press of him against you. Fingers scraping down his arms and back arching like a bow.

“Mattheo,” you whimpered and fuck, you sounded just as overwhelmed by it as he felt. Shaking in his arms as the heat wrapping around you both grew and grew. “Oh–god–”

It made him choke on his tongue, eyes rolling back at the way you were clenching around him as his thrusts became deeper, greedier. His cock harder than it had ever been whilst you made a mess of his stomach and his thighs and Mattheo couldn’t get enough.

He was so close to losing his mind, so close to devouring you entirely and begging you to ruin him because every sound you made, every sweet little uh,uh,uh that tumbled past your lips was unlocking something wild tucked deep inside him that he was helpless to rein back. That had him babbling praise, incoherent words that dripped down on you like scalding hot honey.

“So good for me– so fucking perfect– just look at you, fuck, you're beautiful.”

And then he was folding himself over you to latch his mouth to your nipple. Relishing the way you jerked as he flicked his tongue, scraping his teeth across the peak until you mewled before trailing a path of fire up to your collar bones and then higher again to the tender skin of your throat. Sucking a kiss there that had you keening and shone like a bruise when he drew back to meet your burning stare.

“Show me.” Mattheo asked roughly, more than a little desperate because you were so tight around him and he was so fucking close. Stomach quivering and flooding with golden heat. “Show me how you've touched yourself all those times you thought about this, how you made yourself come thinking about me.”

You nodded slowly as if dazed by the request, lips parted and eyes gleaming dark. But you were quick to comply. Quick to grasp his hand and drag it down to where he was fucking up into you, to the place where you were soaked and aching.

And once you were there, you pressed his fingers against you and manipulated them to draw quick, messy circles over your clit that had you throwing your head back with a loud cry of his name whilst he watched, lust drunk and in awe.

“Shit, shit shit.” Each word that bubbled its way up your throat was ragged, edging on breathless as you writhed. “Mattheo, oh my god, I’m gonna–”

He surged up before you could finish, his other hand tearing away from your leg to tangle itself in your hair so he could drag your mouth to his and kiss you as you came. Holding you fiercely in place and groaning against your lips, swallowing down your own noises whilst your cunt fluttered around him, convulsing over and over until his movements grew frantic and messy. Warmth pulsing brightly in his groin and his stomach and his too tight chest.

“That’s it, fuck–” He grunted into your mouth, lungs heaving. “Cum for me, baby– make a fucking mess of me–”

It was too much - he was bordering on delirious, wound so tight that any moment it felt like he’d explode. Burst apart like confetti.

It took every ounce of strength he had to stave off his own release so he could extend yours by letting the frantic rhythm of his snapping thrusts morph into a slow, intense grind that stole the breath from your chest and made it feel like he was melding himself to your body.

Like you were burying into each other so deep that you would never truly be able to remove the imprint of the other afterwards.

There was a flash of pain from your nails scratching down his scalp and across the broad sweep of his shoulders, teeth scoring the softness of his bottom lip whilst shudders wracked your frame and it startled him, the low, starving noise it drew from his mouth.

Knocked him flat when you drew the stinging flesh into your mouth, flicking your tongue against the marks you had left behind, and began to press your hips into his that little bit faster despite the way he could feel the muscles of your thighs trembling around his waist.

And when you cupped his cheeks, eyes burning with a wicked hunger whilst you whispered against his mouth, Mattheo was utterly lost.

“C’mon Matty, let go,” you encouraged him, voice wrecked. Desperate. “Want you to cum– want you to fill me up–make me yours–”

He fell apart for you then, crashed into bliss with his arms wound achingly tight around you and let it wrench him open as his hips stuttered and then came to an almost stop, twitching desperately and fused unyieldingly to your own. His vision going dark and your name like a prayer that he gasped into your skin over and over.

And when it all eventually calmed, the crashing of his heart beating against his ribs and your chaotic breaths, the exhaustion had him collapsing into you. Both of you tangling in a heap of slack limbs on the floor before he managed to lift himself on weak arms to the sound of your startled laugh.

The way you were looking up at him when he raised his head was making his chest ache, filling his lungs up with an adoring kind of wonder, the kind that created sunshine and sprouted wildflowers in even the darkest parts of him.

It made it impossible for him not to ask. “Can I kiss you?”

And if he thought that you would laugh at him considering everything that had just happened, that only moments ago he’d been buried inside you, then he was delighted to be proven wrong. Because you were beaming at him the second the question rushed past his lips, eyes sparkling in the near dark of the small, narrow hallway.

“Of course you can.”

So he kissed you like he’d always craved to but never dared to hope for, slipping his fingers through the messy tangle of your hair to cradle your head whilst his lips pressed sweetly and almost shy against your own.

It unfurled like it held its own magic, the type that could stop time and make him feel like he was floating, tingles rushing all through his body until he was lightheaded and needed to draw back before he lost his breath to the irresistible pull of it all.

He never wanted to leave this moment. There was a contentment settling in his bones that he’d never experienced before and you, you were glowing again.

It radiated from you and he wondered if he had been painted in its loveliness the same way, if his happiness was as blatant to you as yours had always been to him.

If the adoring way you were looking at him counted for anything then he thought that it was.

“You're incredible.” He murmured, snaking his arm to rest as a pillow under your head and curling the other around your waist. Folding you into him. You wound your own around his neck in return and smiled, fingers dragging softly through his hair and slipping down his face. A reverent touch.

“You’re pretty amazing yourself, Mattheo.”

He melted at that, pressed little butterfly kisses to your cheeks and your nose and your hair until his throat no longer ached with how tight it had become.

He wanted to say that he felt it, when his voice no longer seemed like it would crack.

That here in your arms he didn't feel like he was less and he was no longer afraid of being a disappointment to you. Not when you refused to make him feel like he had to destroy himself to match expectations created by someone else, like he fell short just by being him and not them.

He had always been enough in your eyes and he didn’t know how he had ever managed to deny loving you when it had been right in front of his face the whole time.

You made him glow.

And he would love you for it long after he had turned to bone.

[harknessgf]

PLAN GONE WRONG ꒰ t.n. ꒱

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ navigation. (9.6k+ words)

WARNINGS: insecurity, cheating!george, nipple play, instances of bullying, suffering with body image + struggles, and strong language.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: if you don’t enjoy my content, there’s no need for you to stick around. i’m not responsible for what you choose to engage with.

SUMMARY: after theodore gets into a fake relationship with a ravenclaw to make daphne jealous, he finds himself tangled in something far messier than he anticipated.

theodore nott had it all — the looks, the intelligence, the friends, the money. and when it came to girls, he never faced a challenge. it was always effortless for him. but theodore nott wasn’t seeking heartbreak. i repeat, theodore nott was not looking for heartbreak.

but heartbreak found him anyway.

friday night, just after curfew: he took a walk through the abandoned astronomy tower. he hadn’t been looking for trouble — he wasn’t the type to seek out unnecessary drama.

but as he approached the shadowed nook near the entrance, the unmistakable sound of moans and groans caught his attention.

and then, a voice he knew too well.

daphne greengrass.

something in his chest twisted. it wasn’t like they had sworn undying loyalty to each other — theodore wasn’t naïve. but there had been something there, hadn’t there? some unspoken agreement between them, a mutual understanding that despite their lack of labels, she was his in a way she hadn’t been with anyone else.

apparently, at the obvious looks of it, that was all in his head.

because as he stepped closer, he caught a glimpse of her — pressed up against the stone wall, fingers tangled in the robes of some faceless, nameless guy who sure as hell wasn’t theodore.

for a second, he couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. just stood there, frozen, as something cold and heavy settled in his stomach. before he could stop himself, he cleared his throat.

daphne was startled, her body tensing as she pulled away from her mystery lover. blue eyes going wide with something that looked like guilt — but that couldn’t be right, because daphne greengrass never felt guilty.

"theo -" she started, but he was already turning on his heel, walking away before she could spin some pathetic excuse.

how can he be so clueless? after everything he did for her, you'd think the witch would finally see things clearly and not end up with some random no-life guy.

theodore didn’t go back to the slytherin dorms right away. he ignored all the portraits muttering at him, questioning why he looked so angry. instead, he found himself storming into the common room couches, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

he was halfway to the fireplace when a familiar voice drawled from the opposite of theodore. "rough night?"

blaise zabini, the absolute perfect picture of relaxation, was sprawled across the leather couch, watching theo with an infuriating smirk. on the other side of the room, malfoy sat by the chessboard, silver eyes flicking up with mild interest.

"she cheated on him," pansy parkinson supplied from her spot near the fire, where she was busy painting her nails black. she didn’t even look up. "saw the whole thing."

of course she had — pansy thrived on drama like it was her lifeblood. she was so nosy about his business that, at times, he almost wished the blood curse upon her. though, he always knocked on wood immediately after, just in case.

theo exhaled sharply, dropping into an armchair. "who was he?" he shouldn’t care. he shouldn’t care. he doesn’t care.

"does it matter?" draco arched a bushy brow. "the point is, she played you."

theo’s veiny hands curled into fists. "i don’t care." mattheo absentmindedly tossed a stress ball — stolen from one of his many hookups — between his hands, rolling his eyes every time theodore repeated that he didn’t care.

"right," blaise said. "which is why you look like you want to murder someone."

pansy finally looked up, the sway of her bob barely skimmed her shoulders, sharp gaze scanning theo’s expression. "you want revenge."

it wasn’t a question.

theo didn’t answer, but something must have flickered in his expression, because blaise clapped his hands together, looking positively delighted. "perfect. i have a plan."

from the tone of his voice, you’d think zabini had been waiting his entire life for this moment, his handsome smile curling at the edges with satisfaction.

“blaise, i just found out the girl i’ve been speaking to has been seeing other people behind my back minutes ago. how the fuck do you already have a plan?”

draco leaned back in his chair, smirking like he had been waiting for this moment. he had. “put it this way; we never exactly trusted daphne.”

”- could say… we planned for this,” berkshire added smoothly from his spot, finally speaking up as he tossed pieces of chocolate into the air, catching them with his mouth.

theodore stared at his friends blankly, processing their audacity. it should have pissed him off. but, if he was being honest? he was intrigued.

”…hurry the fuck up.”

blaise’s own grin widened. "we find you a new - fake - girlfriend. someone completely unexpected. someone who will make daphne lose her mind."

theo scoffed. "and who the hell would agree to that?"

no one in their right mind would willingly agree to this — if someone had come up to theodore and asked him to fake date them for revenge, he would’ve given them a strange look and walked away without a second thought.

"simple," blaise said. "we pick someone who has nothing to lose."

the process of choosing someone — anyone — wasn’t as easy as they made it sound. it had to be someone who would make waves, someone no one would expect to be tangled up with theodore nott.

so, the next morning at breakfast in the great hall, the group of six hissing slytherins huddled together.

"not a slytherin," draco decided. "too obvious."

"not a gryffindor," pansy added. "they’re too… annoying."

blaise tapped his chin thoughtfully. "we need someone smart. someone who won’t get clingy but also won’t back out at the first sign of trouble."

"that leaves hufflepuff and ravenclaw," theo muttered. "- hufflepuffs are too soft," pansy cut in. "we need someone with a backbone. someone unexpected."

that’s when blaise’s gaze landed on you.

you were sitting at your usual ravenclaw table, nose buried in a book, oblivious to the chaos unfolding in the world outside your pages. dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, lips pressed into a firm line: nothing like daphne.

blaise smirked and leaned toward theo. "trust me. she’s perfect."

the group of slytherins turned, their gaze following blaise’s eyes until they landed on you. like a pack of snakes hunting a lone eagle, as if they could snare you with nothing but a hiss.

theo wasn’t convinced at all. "her?"

"think about it," lorenzo said smoothly. helping blaise’s case. "she’s not involved in house politics. she doesn’t give a damn about us. and best of all? daphne won’t see it coming."

mattheo hummed, watching you. "she’s kind of… lonely, isn’t she?"

"exactly." blaise grinned. "which makes her interesting."

theo studied you for a long moment. he’d seen you in passing before, always tucked away in corners, watching the world with those sharp, observant eyes. you weren’t the type to seek attention. you weren’t the type to need anyone.

you were stunning, of course, lost in your book, completely unaware of the six slytherins staring at you.

you weren’t daphne. but maybe that’s exactly what the plan needed.

you knew something was wrong the moment blaise zabini dropped into the seat across from you, flashing a grin that balanced precariously between charm and devilishness.

blaise zabini did not sit with you. neither did draco malfoy, who slid into the chair beside him effortlessly, nor pansy parkinson, who leaned over your table as if she were about to offer you an illegal dragon egg. lorenzo berkshire opted for the desk itself, perched on the edge, smirking down at you. mattheo riddle dragged over a random wooden chair and flipped it backward, resting his arms on the backrest as he settled in. and then there was theodore nott — standing behind them all, arms crossed, fingers ghosting over his biceps, his expression carved in boredom, like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

you sighed, snapping your book shut. "no."

blaise’s dark eyes closed and opened — blinked. "you don’t even know what we’re going to say."

"i can guess," you replied dully. "and whatever it is, the answer is no."

"hear us out -"

"i’d really rather not."

who could blame you, honestly? the six of them were bullies — bullies. cruel, ruthless, and known for doing horrible things. so when they all sat down, your first instinct was that you were their next target.

draco sighed dramatically. "we’ve been sent here against our will because theodore is apparently incapable of having a simple conversation with a girl."

over draco’s shoulder, theo shot a glare at the back of his platinum head. “nott, i can feel your ugly eyes boring into the back of my head. cut it out,” malfoy said, not bothering to turn around.

“fuck you. people actually love my eyes, especially the blue,” theo retorted.

“they’re lying. it’s the ugliest color i’ve ever seen,” pansy chimed in. theo shot her a look. “we have the same color eyes, dumbass.”

“no,” pansy replied, blinking dramatically. “yours are ugly blue, mine are pretty blue, and they’ve got a little brown in them. yours are just plain ugly blue.”

the slytherins began bickering among themselves, while you stood there, staring at them, before clearing your throat. you seriously did not have time for this.

the bickering came to an abrupt halt as all eyes turned toward you. theo turned back to his friends, rolling his eyes.

“i could have handled this myself.”

"sure you could, sweetheart," pansy sarcastically grinned. "that’s why you stood outside the library like a lost first year for ten minutes before we had to drag you in."

you raised an eyebrow. "should i be concerned?"

theo clenched his jaw and looked away, which was honestly kind of funny. he was clearly uncomfortable, but that wasn’t your problem.

"look," blaise said, leaning in conspiratorially. "daphne cheated on theo -“

“- we never dated,” theodore replied flatly, as if that somehow helped his situation. “then why the fuck are we here right now?” mattheo shot back, tilting his head up to glare at theodore.

“because we were still something, and i thought she knew that,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. blaise rolled his eyes, turning in his seat to glare at each and every one of them for cutting him off.

once the group finally shut up, he exhaled sharply and turned back to you, picking up right where he left off. “- we want revenge. and what’s the best way to make an ex lose her mind?”

"i don’t know," you said. "move on with your life?"

theodore made a noise like you had just suggested befriending a dementor. "don’t be stupid." you shot him a glare. if there was one thing a ravenclaw couldn’t stand, it was being called stupid — because that couldn’t be further from the truth. and ravenclaws know the truth — are supposed to know it.

blaise smirked at how easily you were already irritated, but then quickly reminded himself that they had to play nice if they wanted you on board with their plan. forcing a more charming smile, he said, “we want you to pretend to date theo.”

you stared at them.

then laughed. hard. "oh, that’s cute… no."

theo exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “fucking told you,” he muttered before letting out a slow breath through his nose, unfolding his crossed arms. “this is a complete disaster.”

"you’re a disaster," pansy corrected before turning back to you. "we get that this is a little out of nowhere, but think of the opportunities here. you get to hang out with us."

"that’s not the selling point you think it is."

blaise’s grin never wavered. “okay, how about this? you get to make daphne furious, and it’ll piss her off even more since theodore never made things official -“

“- if you weren’t together, then you have no right to be mad -” theodore shot you a scowl, blaise ignored you, continuing to talk. “that’s when he’ll introduce you as his girlfriend, and watching her rage will be objectively fun. plus, you get protection - no one messes with theo’s girlfriend.”

"fake girlfriend."

“so, you’d do it?”

you sighed, rubbing your temples. “definitely - fucking - not.” you could never bring yourself to do something for this group of bullies.

even sitting at the same table had you itching to get up, you had already tried slipping away, your fingers fumbling with your hair in nervous agitation. “and, besides, i’ve been talking to someone…” you continued, your voice softening. “i wouldn’t want to mess it up, especially since i’ve liked him for so long. i don’t want to ruin anything…” you trailed off,.

there was a beat of silence.

"i’m sorry, what?" parkinson screeched.

berkshire’s expression lit up with delight. “oh?” draco curled his lip, clearly irritated by the fact they had been rejected by a ravenclaw. “who?”

you crossed your arms, debating whether to answer. but then you figured, why not?

If they were going to harass you about theodore, you might as well be honest.

"george weasley."

chaos erupted.

“you’re joking.” mattheo looked like he might actually be sick. “ew…” he trailed off, and you shot him a pointed look, catching the sass in his tone.

"a weaslette?" pansy gasped, clutching her chest. "you like a weaslette?"

“weasley.”

“weaslette.”

“weasley.”

theodore spoke. "you have terrible taste."

you shrugged. "he’s funny, he’s kind, and he doesn’t barge into my library time with schemes."

blaise leaned back, shaking his head in amusement. "did not see this plot twist coming."

"you’re all being dramatic," you said. "and the answer is still no." pansy groaned. "come on. we’re offering you the role of a lifetime!"

"i don’t want the role!"

theo looked at you then, sharp, blue eyes scanning your expression like he was trying to figure you out. and then, very quietly, he said, "you really like him?"

“yeah. i do.” for a brief moment, something flickered across his face — his hope fading — and then he turned back to his friends.

"drop it."

draco blinked repeatedly. "excuse me?"

"she said no," theo muttered. "we’re done here."

pansy gaped at him. “are you seriously letting this go?” didn’t he want revenge? didn’t he want to see daphne burning with hate? "it’s a stupid plan anyway," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "find another way to piss off daphne."

you weren’t the jealous type. at least, that’s what you always told yourself. but as you stood there in the courtyard, watching george weasley lean in just a little too close to some hufflepuff girl — smiling at her in that way he smiled at you — jealousy hit you like a bludger to the gut.

it was ridiculous. just yesterday, he had his arms wrapped around your waist, kissing you — no, devouring you — and yet, here he was now, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, laughing at something she said.

the sound of it made your fingers curl into fists.

is this how nott felt when he saw daphne? did he feel that same ache? did the jealousy twist into something that hurt so fucking badly? had he been suffering like this?

nope. you weren’t doing this.

you were so, so so mad.

to think you’d been defending his sorry ass to the slytherins. fuck george. fuck him.

eagles and snakes rarely got along, but once the lion steps into the fire, the eagle and the snake have no choice but to unite and fight.

spinning on your heel, you stormed off, your pulse pounding in your ears.

before you even realized where you were headed, you found yourself marching straight into the slytherin common room — grateful that a second year girl had mumbled the house password just in time, allowing you to slip in before the portrait closed.

you walked right toward the biggest assholes in the school.

blaise, draco, mattheo, lorenzo, and pansy were sprawled across the leather couches, looking like they owned the place (they did), while theodore leaned against the fireplace, staring into the flames like some brooding poet lost in thought.

the second they saw you, blaise sat up, smirking. “to what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

you exhaled sharply. this meant lowering your guard. this meant keeping your stubbornness in check. this meant swallowing your pride.

“i’ll do it.”

pansy played dumb. “do what?”

“the fake thing.” you crossed your arms. “i’ll pretend to be theodore’s girlfriend.”

for a second, there was silence.

“oh my god,” pansy gasped, clutching her heart. “it finally happened.” she was absolutely certain you’d never agree. completely convinced that this whole ‘getting back at daphne’ scheme was now a forgotten idea they wouldn’t bother with anymore.

blaise spoke. “what happened to not wanting to mess up that little thing you’ve got going with weaslette?”

you glared at him. “shut up.”

berkshire snorted. “fantastic.” something obviously went wrong. it didn’t take a genius to figure out.

theo, on the other hand, looked at you with mild suspicion. he knew that look. how could he not? he’d had the same one when he’d caught daphne pressed up against a wall, some idiot practically sucking the life out of her. “you’re sure about this?”

no. this was stupid. this was reckless. this was exactly the kind of thing that would blow up in your face.

you squared your shoulders. “yes.”

pansy clapped her hands together. “perfect. but if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

you frowned. “what does that mean -”

“makeoverrrrr,” she announced, standing up. her robes swished with the motion, and the excited smirk that played on her pink lips made her look all the more eager.

you took a step back. “absolutely not.”

“oh, absolutely yes,” pansy countered, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward the girls’ dormitory.

the boys exchanged glances, their interest blossoming at the mention of ‘makeover.’

they leapt to their feet, scrambling to follow the two of you, barely able to contain their amusement as they trailed behind, looking far too entertained.

once everyone had emerged into pansy’s dorm, it was clear it had the chaotic charm of a girl’s haven.

clothes were strewn across the floor, some crumpled, some tossed haphazardly over the furniture. a half open wardrobe displayed a jumble of dresses, skirts, and shiny, sequined tops begging to be worn. on the vanity, papers, makeup, and empty bottles of perfume cluttered the space, and a few framed photos of her and her friends sat crookedly among a mountain of beauty products.

the walls, covered in posters of various dark haired models, all seemed to have a shade of lavender in the lighting.

theo spoke. “is this really necessary?” for the first time, you actually found yourself agreeing with what came out of his mouth.

“shut up, nott. we’re creating a goddess.”

pansy shoved you onto a vanity stool and stood behind you, eyeing your hair with barely concealed horror.

“first things first,” she said, yanking your ponytail out with a single, ruthless tug. you winced as your hair fell over your shoulders.

pansy hummed approvingly. “that’s way better.”

you scowled at her through the mirror. “you could’ve asked nicely.”

“where’s the fun in that?”

blaise, now lounging on her bed, smirked. “i’m enjoying this already.” you wanted to roll your eyes because, of course, he was.

pansy chose to ignore him, rifling through her wardrobe before shoving a pile of clothes into your arms.

“try these on.”

you eyed them. “why do i feel like these have no fabric?” the materials in your hands felt light and flimsy, and panic slowly crept in as you imagined trying them on, only to look absolutely hideous. every time you glanced at yourself in the mirror, it was the same — you hated what you saw. you found yourself angling your body, staring at your stomach, picking apart the parts you so desperately wished you could change.

what if they thought your body wasn’t good enough? what if the clothes made you look awful? you knew you shouldn’t have eaten anything for dinner last night.

“because they don’t.”

fifteen minutes later, you had gone through at least five outfit changes, each one more questionable than the last. the first was a ridiculously short dress that barely covered anything.

you stepped out of the bathroom, arms crossed over your chest. “i feel naked.” the dress was incredibly short, and the neckline was just as revealing, offering no coverage for your chest at all.

draco smirked. “that’s the point.”

theodore had been uncharacteristically quiet, barely glanced at you before muttering, “next.”

the second outfit was a tight leather skirt and a top that required more trust in fabric than you currently possessed.

blaise let out a low whistle. “now we’re talking.”

you dryly responded. “i will strangle you.” theo, again, didn’t react. just gave another, “next.”

the third outfit was… well, you weren’t sure you could even call it an outfit. it was basically a glorified bralette and a pair of shorts that might as well have been underwear.

you stepped out, glaring. “pansy. be. fucking. serious.”

pansy sulked. “fine. we’ll dial it down.”

outfit number four was surprisingly decent — tight jeans, a fitted black top, and a green coat that made you look effortlessly cool.

draco tilted his head. “that’s… not horrible.”

blaise nodded. “it says, ‘i’m hot, i know it, and i don’t need to prove it.’”

theo finally looked at you properly, eyes scanning your outfit. all he said was, “that’ll do.”

you raised an eyebrow. “that’s the best approval i’m going to get?” you had just put on a damn show for these assholes, one outfit after another, parading around in pansy’s clothes.

theo smirked. “obviously.”

pansy clapped her hands. “alright, lesson one of fake dating 101: now that you look the part, it’s time to act the part.”

you slumped in the vanity chair. “what does that even mean?” you knew what it meant but you tried to stall them.

theodore rolled his blue eyes, already seeing right through your act. “it means you need to carry yourself like you actually belong here.”

blaise leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “no more shrinking into the background. no more avoiding eye contact. and for merlin’s sake, no more walking around like a lost library ghost.”

“i do not -“

“you do,” theo interrupted, arms crossed, fingertips ghosting over his biceps.

you narrowed your eyes at him. “well, excuse me for not strutting down the corridors like i own the fucking school.”

“that’s exactly what you need to do,” pansy said, standing up. “confidence is everything. now, let’s start with posture.”

that was the thing — you didn’t have a shred of confidence in you. you’d never had it, not when it came to anything other than studying.

pansy grabbed your shoulders and yanked them back so suddenly you nearly toppled over.

“ow - pansy!”

“straighten your back,” she ordered. “head up. chin slightly tilted, but not too much - you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”

mattheo dabbed in. “think of it like this: you’re not looking at people. you’re looking past them. like they’re beneath you.”

you scoffed. “that sounds like how you look at everyone.”

“exactly,” theodore replied, cutting in for mattheo. “glad we’re on the same page.” you rolled your eyes in his direction.

pansy nudged your chin up with two fingers. “perfect. now, when you walk, you don’t rush. you glide.”

lorenzo let out an exaggerated sigh, propping his chin in his palm. “this is going to take forever.”

theo, who had been watching with an unspoken expression, spoke. “stand up.”

you hesitated but obeyed, standing in front of him as he slowly rose to his feet. “alright,” he said, eyes locked onto yours. “walk toward me.”

you furrowed your brows. “that’s it?”

“that’s it.”

you started walking.

immediately, all six slytherins groaned.

“are you serious?” malfoy scoffed. “what is that? a power walk?”

“you look like you’re late for class,” blaise added.

pansy shook her head disapprovingly. “we are fixing - whatever that was.” she stood beside you. “watch and learn.”

then, with the kind of grace only pansy parkinson could pull off, she strolled forward — shoulders back, hips swaying slightly, every step measured and deliberate.

when she reached theo, she tilted her head and smiled up at him, as if he were the most fascinating person in the world. it was so natural, so effortless, that it made you feel small.

a wave of insecurity hit you like a hurricane, and for a second, you wanted to back out of the whole thing. everyone’s eyes were on you now, waiting to see if you would follow her lead.

“see?” she said, batting her lashes. “effortless.”

you crossed your arms. “yeah, well, i don’t naturally look like a goddess.”

pansy winked. “not yet.”

for the next thirty minutes, they had you pacing back and forth across the common room. every time you thought you had it down, someone would find something to correct.

draco was the first to point out that your shoulders were too stiff, while blaise let out exaggerated sighs whenever you dared to glance at the ground. pansy swatted at your arm whenever you fidgeted, and mattheo would grow more tense each time you didn’t do exactly as they asked. meanwhile, lorenzo started chatting with another slytherin nearby, totally oblivious to the chaos unfolding in front of him.

theo, however, just watched. occasionally, he’d mutter a quiet, “again,” forcing you to restart.

by the end of it, your feet ached, and your patience was running thin.

“how is walking this difficult?” you groaned, flopping onto the couch.

theodore chimed. “because you’ve been walking wrong your whole life.”

before you could throw a pillow at him, pansy clapped her hands. “now that we’ve covered walking, let’s move on to behavior.”

blaise beamed. “my favorite.”

you narrowed your eyes. “why do i feel like i’m not going to enjoy this?”

pansy ignored you and continued. “rule number one: confidence isn’t just about how you move. it’s about how you speak, too. no more snapping immediately. no more second guessing yourself.”

here she goes again with the whole ‘confidence’ thing. you wanted to remind her that every time someone disagrees with you, your first instinct is to defend yourself. it’s why you come across as feisty, snappy, and on edge.

but instead, you just bit your tongue.

mattheo leaned back. “and if someone talks to you? you make them work for your attention.”

you frowned. “that sounds exhausting.”

theodore shrugged. “it’s called being desirable.”

“or insufferable.”

“same thing.”

pansy waved a hand. “we need to work on your interactions with theo.” your stomach twisted slightly. “what do you mean?”

she smiled. “darling, if you’re going to be his girlfriend, you need to know how to act like one.”

theo sighed. “this is unnecessary.”

“it’s necessary,” pansy insisted. “what if daphne doesn’t believe any of this because the chemistry is so bad you wouldn’t even be able to convince a first year?”

silence.

yeah, that’s what she thought.

pansy turned back to you. “alright. let’s say you and theo are walking down the corridor. you see weasley. what do you do?”

you clenched your jaw. “i’ll stick my middle finger at him and yell, ‘fuck you -“

the five slytherins groaned in unison, while lorenzo turned away from the random slytherin he’d been talking to, catching the collective sigh of disbelief.

pansy rubbed her eyes. “no. that’s later. you laugh at something theo said, touch his arm, make it look effortless.”

you glanced at theo, who looked as bored as ever. “and what exactly is he saying that’s so funny?”

theodore’s bored expression flickered for a moment before morphing into a slight smirk. “nothing. that’s the point.”

you exhaled sharply. “great.”

“practice,” pansy ordered. “theo, say something. anything.”

theo arched a dark brow at you. “you walk like a baby deer.”

you blinked. “that’s supposed to make me laugh?”

draco grumbled. you are insufferable, he decided. “it’s not about the joke. it’s about the reaction.”

you rolled your eyes but tried again. forcing out a laugh, you reached out, lightly touching theo’s arm. blaise breathed out. “that was painful.” lorenzo nodded in agreement. “i think i cringed into another dimension.”

you shot them both a glare. “you try fake laughing on command.”

pansy sough dramatically. “it’s fine. we’ll work on it.” she turned to theo. “you, mr. tall, and emotionally unavailable, need to at least pretend to be interested in her.”

theo’s lips twitched. “emotionally unavailable?”

“you know i’m right.”

he shook his head but turned back to you. his sharp eyes met yours.

“okay,” he said, voice softer now, more intentional. “let’s try again. one last time.”

you swallowed.

you never really looked into people’s eyes, not really. you barely made eye contact with anyone — it felt so awkward to you, so you’d always find yourself looking around, trying to avoid it when someone tried to hold your gaze.

but you’d never seen eyes like his.

at first glance, they were just blue — bright, captivating blue. but as you stared deeper, into their beautiful depths, you saw something else.

“green,” you muttered breathlessly before you even realized it.

it was theo’s expression that changed, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “what?” he asked, the words slipping from his rosy lips.

you remembered when pansy and draco had told him his eyes were an ugly color back in the library, during that conversation where they tried to convince you to take theodore’s offer of being his fake girlfriend to make daphne jealous.

“your eyes,” you murmured softly. “there’s a ring of green around them.” by the way his expression remained unchanged, you could tell he either hadn’t heard or simply chose to ignore it.

instead, he stepped closer, just enough that you had to tilt your head to look up at him properly. “i’m going to say something, and you’re going to react. not like you’re acting. like you mean it.”

you exhaled sharply.

so, he hadn’t heard? “fine.” you were ready to leave anyway.

theodore’s eyes gleamed. then, in the same casual voice, he said -

“your laugh is terrible, sounds like a dying hyena.”

you let out a real laugh — short and surprised — and smacked his arm lightly.

“oh, fuck you, nott.”

he smirked. “see? that was convincing.”

pretending to be theodore’s girlfriend seemed easy in theory — until the stares that had once passed over you without a second thought now fixated on the two of you. hand in hand, you sat at his table, surrounded by his friends, his touch settling effortlessly at your waist.

daphne was seething, her blonde hair falling over her shoulders as she glared from the end of the table. you could feel the heat of her gaze, the subtle flare of her nose.

george, on the other hand, didn’t look at you — not once. but that was fine. it had to be. because you weren’t finished yet. you were still unraveling, still learning, still becoming.

and the group of slytherins were determined. the training stretched on for weeks — anywhere they could catch you, they did. in the common room, the library, even the great hall. pansy would stop you mid bite to correct your posture, blaise had you repeating ‘effortless’ laughter until it started to sound like a dying cat, and draco would dramatically critique your eye contact as if you were his lead actress and he was the most unsatisfied director in history. mattheo was constantly instructing you on what to say — and more importantly, what not to say. and lorenzo made it his mission to steal your bacon from your plate whenever he got the chance.

and then there was theo.

he never gave long winded critiques like the others. he didn’t smirk and throw in unnecessary jabs like blaise (kind of) or roll his eyes like draco. instead, he watched. observed. and when he spoke, it was always something sharp, something that made you think.

like now.

“you’re too self-aware.”

you looked up from your book, grateful for the brief moment of peace. the slytherins had given you a break — pansy and draco had run off to sabotage a gryffindor’s potion, blaise had found something more entertaining (likely something with luna), and mattheo and lorenzo had disappeared to the kitchens.

you thought you had escaped to the library in peace, but clearly, you were mistaken.

theo had found you anyway. he leaned against the opposite side of the table, fingers brushing over his biceps like he always does, watching you like he was solving a puzzle, like he always does.

you raised a brow. “and that’s… bad?”

“yes.” he pulled out the chair across from you, sitting down like he had nowhere else to be. “every move you make, you’re thinking about it too much. the way you laugh, the way you walk, the way you talk to me.”

you scoffed, closing your book. “well, sorry for not being naturally gifted like daphne.”

theo shook his head. “you don’t have to be daphne. you just have to look like you know you’re wanted.”

you stared at him, a sarcastic laugh escaping your lips. “right. because that’s easy.” the truth was, you didn’t know how to look like you were wanted — no one ever had, not for anything, and certainly not for you. it was easier to avoid them, to keep your distance, than to try and be something you weren’t.

“it is,” he said simply. “if you stop caring so much.”

you huffed, leaning back in your chair. “that’s rich coming from you.” his brow arched. “and what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you act like nothing fazes you,” you said, tilting your head slightly, studying him with narrowed eyes. “like you don’t care about anything. but you do, don’t you?”

of course, he did. you could see it now, even if he hid it behind that calm, indestructible facade. why else would he go through all this trouble, dragging you into this mess, playing this game with daphne? it wasn’t just about her. it was about proving something — maybe to her, maybe to himself. he wanted her to pay, to feel the weight of her own mistakes, and that made him care.

and the worst part? it made him feel weak. vulnerable. and you could tell he hated that more than anything.

you knew it. because you were experiencing the same thing.

a flicker of something crossed his face.

gone in an instant.

“this isn’t about me.”

you rolled your eyes. “it’s exactly about you,” you said, voice dripping.

theodore leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table. “try something for me.”

“that sounds dangerous.”

he ignored you. “when you walk out of this library, don’t look at the ground. don’t think about your steps. just move like you own the place.”

you jeered. “i can’t just flip a switch and suddenly be -“

theo tilted his head, his gaze dragging over you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. it was as if he was reading something beneath the surface, something you weren’t ready to share. you shifted uneasily, feeling small, like a kid again, hyper aware of every inch of your body, the parts you hated, the parts you tried to hide.

the air felt thick, so fucking—

“you’re beautiful, you know.”

silence.

your breath caught in your throat. the words came out so smoothly, so casually, like he was stating a simple fact. like of course you were.

you searched his face for any sign of teasing, but there was none. just something unknown. something quiet.

your pulse skipped.

fuck, why did it do that.

and then, because you refused to let him see how his words rattled you, you forced a smirk. “that was terrible flirting, nott.” it was perfect, though, you thought. you wanted to tell him that, wanted to admit it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to you, believe it or not.

but you couldn’t — not when he was looking at you like that.

theodore exhaled a small laugh through his nose. “that wasn’t flirting. that was proving a point.”

of course, it wasn’t flirting — he was just testing you. why would theodore nott, easily one of the most handsome people you’d ever (and unfortunately) laid eyes on, call you beautiful?

as if someone like him, or anyone at all, would actually mean it. even the boy you once believed loved you — george — proved you wrong the moment he went behind your back.

theodore leaned back. “see? you’re thinking about it now. about yourself. the way you look. the way i see you.”

you hated that he was right. but why was he so right? why was he able to read you so easily, so effortlessly, like he knew every hidden thought before you even said it?

theodore stood, sliding his hands into his pockets. “just… try it.”

you exhaled, rolling your shoulders back. “fine. but if i trip and embarrass myself, i’m killing you.”

he smirked. “i’ll take my chances.” as he started to turn on his heels, you almost yelled, but before you could, he muttered, “if you ever need help with anything, i’m free whenever.”

with that said, he turned and walked away, leaving you sitting there — annoyed, intrigued, and just a little bit breathless.

you sat alone in the corner of the ravenclaw common room, the letter in your hands trembling slightly. the parchment felt heavier than it should, and yet you could hardly bear to look at the words printed on it. but you had to. you had to face it, even if you didn’t want to.

the letter was from your parents, and it was a disaster.

we can’t even begin to express how disappointed we are with the way you’ve been handling things at hogwarts. this is beyond the point of disappointment, actually — it’s outright failure. it’s one thing for us to hear about your so called ‘struggles,’ but it’s another thing entirely to see the results: your grades are nothing short of pathetic.

we’ve given you everything: the best tutors, the best resources, and access to opportunities most people could only dream of. yet, here you are, barely scraping by. how are you letting this happen? your teachers have reported that you’re barely passing, if even that. how many times do we have to remind you that this is your future at stake? you have no right to waste it.

your lack of effort is shameful. you used to be our pride and joy, the one who had potential. but now? we can’t even recognize the person you’ve become. you’re giving up on your own future. you’re choosing to throw it all away, and for what? you’ve shown us that all your talk about ambition and success is just - talk.

we don’t know what’s more disappointing: the fact that you can’t seem to manage the most basic of subjects or that you don’t even care. if you had any self respect, any ambition, you would have been putting in the work, not coasting by. instead, you’ve become lazy, unfocused, and frankly, unworthy of the opportunities you’ve been given.

do you realize how many people would give anything to be in your position? and yet, here you are, throwing it all away. you’re failing us. you’re failing yourself. you need to get it together, and you need to do it now.

we’re not sure how we can make it any clearer — this is unacceptable. there’s only so much we can do from here, but don’t think for a second that this will go unnoticed. get your act together. if you don’t, don’t bother coming home. we won’t be waiting for you. we expect to see better results when we hear from you next. consider this your final warning.

disappointed,

mother and father.

you were failing your classes at hogwarts. not just one or two, but most of them. potions, charms, transfiguration.

your parents were more than disappointed. they didn’t even bother to sugarcoat it this time. the harsh words cut deeper than any curse could have. - you’ve always been the clever one, the one with potential, - they wrote. - you’ve been given everything - what are you doing with it? - the pressure suffocated you.

every single one of their expectations wrapped around you like a suffocating coil. their disappointment was so real, it was all you could feel. your throat tightened, and a sting behind your eyes blurred your vision.

the tears were there, just waiting to break through. but you didn’t want to cry. you couldn’t. you weren’t allowed to.

you’re nothing but a failure. you have to keep your grades up. you have to be perfect. you weren’t allowed to disappoint them. you wouldn’t be failing if you hadn’t gotten caught up in this stupid plan.

if you weren’t so hurt by what george did, you wouldn’t have done this at all.

but the damage had been done. you’d let yourself get caught up in something that distracted you, that took you away from the one thing you were meant to focus on — your studies.

and now, every time you looked at the grades on your parchment, you saw their voices on the page. you weren’t just failing your classes — you were failing them.

when you and theodore had pretended to be a couple, you thought it would at least make george feel something, make him jealous. but he never seemed to care. the only one who had been affected was daphne — her jealousy was as obvious as the clenching of her jaw whenever you and theodore were near. and yet, that was it. it had all become nothing more than a farce.

a joke.

still, the slytherins continued their lessons: how to act, how to speak, how to dress. what to say and what not to say. they molded you into something that didn’t feel like you, and you couldn’t stop it.

the pressure was crushing, overwhelming, suffocating. every night, you stared at your homework, knowing you should be doing something — anything — but you just couldn’t bring yourself to start.

you slapped a mental ‘later’ on it, telling yourself you’d get to it soon, but soon never came.

by the time you finally mustered enough energy to focus, your eyelids were already too heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, leaving you to drift into a sleep with the work still undone.

you weren’t supposed to be a part of some stupid drama filled plan. you were supposed to be the one who passed your classes, the one who made your parents proud, who got things right for once.

instead, you were drowning in expectations that weren’t your own, and the worst part was — you didn’t know how to get out.

here you were - failing.

the sobs came before you could stop them. you crumpled the letter in your hands, pressing it to your chest as if the parchment itself could hold you together. it didn’t. the tears spilled freely now, hot and unrelenting, rushing down your cheeks as everything inside you cracked.

you were alone. you always had been. never had siblings. never had anyone to lean on. no one to share your struggles with.

hogwarts was supposed to be your escape, a place where you could make your own mark, but all it had brought was failure and loneliness.

then, like a faint whisper in the chaos of your thoughts, you remembered theodore’s words.

‘if you ever need help with anything, i’m free whenever.’

you had never really let anyone in. you didn’t know how to. you didn’t know how to trust, how to reach out to someone when everything inside of you screamed to stay closed off. but right then, in that moment, everything felt too heavy, too overwhelming.

you didn’t care anymore. you needed someone. you couldn’t be this broken by yourself.

your legs carried you before your mind could catch up, moving on their own.

you barely registered the walk from the ravenclaw common room to the slytherin common room, your mouth mumbling the password the slytherins had given you in week three.

you were there in an instant — standing outside theodore nott’s door. theodore nott’s fucking door, the door of the arrogant slytherin who tossed anyone aside without a second thought unless they showed him respect, a cruel boy.

the thought made you want to turn on your heel and leave right then and there, but your heart pounded in your chest, the frantic thumps reverberating in your ears, urging you to stay, to face whatever this was.

you hadn’t even thought about what you were going to say. how could you? you didn’t know how to explain the chaos in your mind, how to put into words the suffocating weight of expectations, the crushing loneliness.

you knocked softly, almost hesitantly.

three minutes went by before the door opened, and there he was. theodore, looking every bit the usual detached, cold version of himself. but something flickered in his eyes when he saw you.

a question. a hint of concern. without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter.

the room was empty, and you didn’t bother asking where the others were. you didn’t really care, though a part of you felt a strange relief that it was just the two of you.

when he spoke, his voice remained steady, but his eyes searched yours, as if trying to piece you together in real time. the usual sharp edge in his tone was absent — replaced by something almost… soft? “what’s wrong?”

you couldn’t say it. not with words.

instead, you let the sobs come again, louder this time. it wasn’t pretty. you didn’t care. you couldn’t control it anymore.

his hands were at your shoulders in an instant, his touch tentative but comforting. but you pushed him away, too much of a mess to be near anyone.

it’s so fucking strange — one minute, you crave someone’s presence, desperate to stop being alone, and then, when it’s actually there, you push it away.

“i don’t - don’t know how to do this, theo,” you managed to choke out between gasps. “i can’t - i’m failing. i’m not good enough. my parents -” you cut yourself off, too afraid to say the rest. too afraid to admit that you’d always been nothing more than a disappointment to them.

theodore didn’t speak for a moment, his gaze softening as he watched you crumble. he didn’t say anything at first. instead, he just watched you, as if giving you the space to fall apart.

he took both of your hands, guiding you to the edge of his bed to sit and collect yourself. when he finally spoke, his voice was soft, carrying such an uncharacteristic rawness that caught you off guard.

“you’re not the only one who feels like that,” he said softly. “i get it. the pressure… from your parents, from everyone around you. it’s… a lot.” his eyes flickered, a brief moment of vulnerability passing through you both. “you’re not alone in this, you know.”

you didn’t know why, but hearing that — hearing him say that — made something inside you crack open a little more.

he wasn’t perfect. you knew that. but maybe, just maybe, he understood.

“my father,” theodore continued, voice lower now, as if sharing a secret he’d buried for too long. “he always told me i wasn’t enough. that i’d never be good enough. that i was too much like my mother. and when i couldn’t live up to his expectations… he would shut me out. he’d… pretend i didn’t exist.” his eyes met yours, and you could see the pain in them, the hidden scars from years of being told he was worthless. “it’s not easy… feeling like you’re nothing more than a disappointment.”

you swallowed hard, your throat aching as his words wrapped around you like a quiet understanding. he wasn’t offering you pity.

“i’m not going to say it gets better, because it fucking doesn’t. but that doesn’t mean you have to be alone.” he was offering you something else — something rare.

he was offering you the truth.

he understood. he knew exactly what you were going through. you weren’t alone anymore. for the first time, you weren’t alone, and it felt so, so good.

both your eyes were still locked on each other, silent, the only sound being the slow exhale theodore let out through his nose.

“golden,” he said suddenly.

your brows furrowed, confusion spreading across your face. “what?” the words slipped out before you could fully process them.

“your eyes,” he continued, his blue eyes — with a hint of green — looking directly into yours. “there’s gold in them.”

it was the same thing you had said to him weeks ago in the common room, assuming he hadn’t heard — assuming it hadn’t mattered enough to linger in his memory.

he was so close now, so so so close that you could feel his breath mingling with yours. just one more move, and your lips would be touching.

up close, he was even more breathtaking — sharp cheekbones, a bottom lip just a bit fuller than the top, a faint flush warming his skin. and those eyes — unfairly beautiful, impossibly enchanting.

he was deep in thought — you could tell by the way his lips parted, as if he were on the verge of speaking.

a thought came to his fogged up mind: had he ever mentioned that gold had always been his favorite color?

he had inched closer, your lips barely grazing — just a breath away, but not quite touching. when he didn’t pull away, you inched closer, closing the gap between you.

your eyes fluttered shut as your parted lips met his, your bottom lip resting between both of his. his nose brushed lightly against your cheek at the angle.

his lips were slightly chapped, but god, he kissed like no one else.

the warmth of his mouth against yours sent a shiver through you, slow and soft at first, as if testing the waters. when he deepened the kiss, hands cupping your face, thumb gently brushing along your cheek — it felt like everything around you had paused, just for that moment.

he pulled away briefly, pecking the corners of your mouth before coming back once more to the center.

his hands were then on your waist, pulling you closer, his touch burning against your skin as if he, too, needed someone. someone to anchor him, someone to remind him that he wasn’t the only one suffering.

you shifted slightly, lifting your hips and swinging your legs gracefully on either side of his waist.

your movements were slow, conscious, as you straddled him at the edge of his bed, feeling the warmth of his body underneath you. the closeness was overwhelming, and for a moment, you paused, your breath mingling with his as you tried to steady yourself.

you start by grinding against him slowly, your hips moving in a circular motion that makes him groan deeply.

he can feel his arousal growing, pressing against you through the thin fabric of his pyjama pants.

his hands slide up your sides, caressing your curves before returning to your hips, encouraging your movements. your teeth sink lightly into his bottom lip as you continue torturing him with your rhythm, alternating between slow teases and quick grinds.

“fuck.” he lets out a strained whimper, his clothe hips bucking slightly beneath you. you can feel how hard he is getting, how much he wants this.

you kept moving against him, both of you still fully clothed, the friction sending shivers down your spine. one hand tangled in the back of his neck, fingers pressing into his skin, while the other gripped his shoulder for balance.

your hips rolled, chasing the intoxicating pressure, and your lips parted as quiet, breathy sounds of satisfaction spilled from your pretty mouth.

theodore effortlessly lifted you off the bed, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you across the room.

with a firm grip of your thighs, he set you down on his desk — the very one he used for homework and late night reading — now repurposed for something entirely different.

your back of your thighs met the chilled wood of his desk, a harsh difference to the warmth of his body pressed in between your thighs. his hands, firm yet obedient, traced their way beneath the fabric of your shirt, pushing it upward with slow thinking, gathering the material just above your chest.

at the sight of no bra, theodore felt his breath catch, his body reacting instinctively.

his lips followed a path of their own, trailing down the column of your throat, lingering at the sensitive dip of your collarbone. each kiss was unhurried, as if he was memorizing you — mapping out every sharp inhale, every shiver, every place his touch set you alight.

and when he finally leaned back, just enough to look at you, his breath heavy against your skin, there was something in the way his eyes roamed — the kind of gaze that made you feel utterly seen, utterly wanted.

is this what it meant to be wanted? to be desired, claimed in a way that left no room for doubt? if so, you were sure you could carry it with you — this feeling, this newfound assurance — walking with the kind of effortless confidence the slytherins held in awe.

because now you knew. now you understood what it meant to be wanted. theodore dipped his head down, his gaze never wavering, locking onto yours with a passion that made your breath hitch.

his lips parted as he took your right breast into his mouth, the heat of his tongue sending a tickling sensation down your spine.

his other hand found your left breast, fingers teasing the hardened nipple — rolling, pinching, tugging just enough to make you arch off the desk, your chest pressing further into his mouth as he hollowed his cheeks, sucking firmly, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.

one hand rested at the nape of his neck, fingers lazily threading through his hair, tugging ever so slightly as if grounding yourself in the moment. your other hand clutched the edge of the desk, knuckles paling with the pressure, desperate for something to hold onto.

a quiet whimper slipped past your lips, but he didn’t stop, didn’t ease up — not until his lips finally released you with a soft, wet pop.

without pause, he moved to the other, his mouth just as eager, just as worshipping, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you, like he was starved and you were something he’d been deprived of for far too long.

he looks up at you again, his eyes filled with lust as he switches back and forth between your breasts, his hands and mouth working in team.

he can feel you arching your back further, trying to push more of your flesh into his hands and mouth.

a soft, breathy “mm…” slipped from your parted lips, the sound delicate yet intoxicating. the slow, whiny moans sent a dizzying rush straight to theodore’s already fuzzy head, making his pulse quicken.

he wanted to hear more — needed more. so, with a flicker of curiosity and desire, he decided to try something new.

he pressed himself closer, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs as he spread your legs wider, claiming more space between them. your legs tightened instinctively around his waist, locking him in place.

with a slow touch, his palms skimmed up your torso, cupping your breasts and pushing them together, molding them beneath his fingers as he admired the way they framed against his hold.

his left hand abandoned your creamy skin, bringing his palm up to his mouth, wetting it with his warm saliva.

he releases one of your full breasts, only to push them back together, creating a valley between them. he begins to glide his moist palm slowly up and down your cleavage, creating soft, wet sounds.

he maintains eye contact, watching your reactions - the involuntary shivers, the quickening breaths.

you don’t know why, but you don’t mind the eye contact. normally, it would make you shrink away, but now, it feels like you’re drawn into the depth of his gaze, unable to look away as he toys with you.

“ohh.” breathy whimpers spill from your lips, filling the dorm as theodore quickens the motion of his saliva-slicked palm, gliding over your breast and occasionally rolling his thumb over the sensitive peak.

he watches, entranced, as your nipples grow taut and swollen from the unwavering friction, droplets of his spit clinging to your delicate skin like tiny diamonds.

theodore leans in closely, breathing cool air over your heated nipples, causing them to react with a sharp squeeze.

but then, a wave of overwhelming emotion surged within you — this wasn’t real. this couldn’t possibly be real. he liked daphne, and you liked george.

you had come here thinking it would just be talking — but how could you not want to feel theodore when he looked so godly, so fucking good?

still, that didn’t mean he had to see your body. you hadn’t known theodore as long as you’d known george, and even then, with george, it never went beyond kissing — it never felt right.

but right now? right now, you felt so heated, so dizzy with it.

your parents had just told you to focus, had just screamed through letters for you to do better.

so why were you here?

confusion gnawed at you. why did his mouth resonate with such beauty, making your heart ache with every sound? and how could he look so delicious, cheeks flushed with a delicate rose, lips slightly chapped yet so irresistibly inviting?

it all mashed down on you, suffocating, like a storm you couldn’t outrun.

the closeness, the sudden shift from everything you’d known, the vulnerability that had slipped out — it was too much.

you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think clearly.

with trembling hands, you pushed away, your heart hammering in your chest, thoughts tumbling over each other like a chaotic wave. “i’m sorry,” you breathed, the words barely escaping your lips, not sure if you were apologizing to him or to yourself. “- i can’t do this.”

it was as if a blanket had been lifted, the haze in your mind dissipating with each blink. clearness crept in, sharp and unrelenting. you swallowed hard.

before theodore could react, you yanked your shirt that had bunched up at your collarbone back down, pushed him away, spun on your heel, and walked out, the door clicking shut behind you.

theodore didn’t shout a protest, nor did he chase after you. instead, he stood there, trying to catch his own breath, his chest rising and falling in a constant rhythm.

you didn’t know where you were thinking. you didn’t know what you were doing. all you knew was that everything felt too much to handle, and you couldn’t stay there with him — not with your head in a mush.

[harknessgf]

is it possible if you do some Tom fluff/soft!smut where y/n stops touching him (like hand holding, hugging etc) because he doesn’t show any interest in it (always has a serious face & looks bored of her etc, when in reality he’s melting inside with butterflies and stuff). so he asks her why and she explains it and it leads to some smut, (only if you’re comfy if you’re not, some making out is fine). <33

Oh my god the second I got this I was like I HAVE to answer this immediately. Thanks for this awesome prompt!!! 💖 

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Tactile

Summary: Affectionate Reader stops touching Tom because he never reacts to it, and when he asks why they stopped things get very, very heated (content warning: smut). Word count: 2.3k Content warning: explicit sex.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Tom had shown you the room about a week after you’d started dating. It was on the seventh-floor of the Castle far away from the regular foot-traffic, a smooth stone wall until you walked past it with a specific need in mind – then the door would appear, carved from the rock before your very eyes to reveal a room that gave you exactly what you wanted.

For him, it was always the same room; a small library so packed with books that the shelves curved overhead to form impossible arches, warm glowing lanterns that illuminated the space inside, and a broad fireplace in front of which sat elegant black couches with reading lamps and tables laden with yet more books. He’s yet to tell you exactly what he thinks of to make the library appear, but every time you go there with him, there it is again.

“Are you alright?” he asks suddenly one evening.

The two of you are on the couches before the crackling fireplace. Tom has an elbow resting on the armrest of the couch and a book in his lap, one long leg crossed over the other, looking at you where you’re sat opposite him. You’re curled up around an assignment with your feet tucked up underneath you and your inkwell balanced somewhat precariously on the cushion beside you.

“I’m fine,” you frown, rather taken aback. “Why?”

Tom is silent as he assesses you, looking uncharacteristically hesitant. You arch a brow and lower your quill, attention fully grabbed. “Tom?”

“You’ve been acting differently,” he says smoothly.

“I have?”

“Yes,” he says succinctly, looking back down at his book. “More reserved.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say slowly.

“You used to be very… tactile,” he says delicately, his long fingers sliding under his page and turning it very nonchalantly. “I’ve noticed that you’ve stopped.”

“Stopped touching you?” you say carefully, feeling more and more surprised.

He nods.

“Well it felt weird to keep doing it since you didn’t like it,” you frown, confused at why he’d even brought it up.

Tom’s eyes snap up to yours. “What do you mean?” he asks curtly.

You raise your brows at his reaction. “Where’s the point of confusion for you?” you ask dryly.

“Why did you think I didn’t like it?” he demands.

“Are you joking?” you deadpan, half-amused. “Tom, you’d just ignore me. I’d go to hug you, or hold your hand, and you’d just look so… bored. It didn’t take a genius to realise that you weren’t interested.”

Tom stares at you. Suddenly you feel a little awkward.

“I don’t mind that you’re not an affectionate person,” you say quickly, “I really don’t. I just felt sort of strange acting like that since it obviously wasn’t what you wanted.”

His jaw goes tight and there’s something almost agitated in the way he looks back down at his book.

“Are… are you alright?” you ask hesitantly, gaze lingering on his fingers that – despite his apparently casual posture – were now gripping the cover of his book so tightly that his knuckles were going white.

“Fine,” he says in a clipped tone.

“Well I’m convinced,” you drawl.

Tom doesn’t rise to your teasing. You frown and put your assignment aside. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I am perfectly well,” he says tersely.

“Is that why you’re about to rip that book in two?” you ask ironically, arching a brow.

Tom shuts the book loudly and tosses it onto the couch beside him. “What would you have me say?” he says in agitation.

“You’re rather obviously upset, Tom,” you say frankly.

“Yes and your observations are always so accurate,” he snaps caustically.

You frown again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tom looks furious for a second and then glowers at the fireplace. Your thoughts whir. The only observation you’d made about him recently had been…

“Is this about me touching you?” you ask slowly, watching him carefully.

Tom looks at you again, tense and frenetic. He doesn’t say anything. Your stomach does a little flip, and you force your nerves down to speak again.

“…Do you want me to start doing it again?”

Tom’s lips press together, his eyes flicking between yours. After a long, silent moment, he nods.

You smother a smile and stand. Tom’s eyes follow you, looking ever so slightly alarmed at your movement – but the expression melts away as you approach him and very languidly rest your hands onto his shoulders, slowly leaning forward and straddling him on the couch. “Then why didn’t you say you liked it?” you say softly, sitting down on his lap and lifting a hand to push your fingers through his hair.

Tom’s gaze is unmoved from your face as his hands slide up your hips and come to a rest on your waist, his touch very reserved. “I thought you knew,” he says quietly.

“Not all of us are mind-readers, Tom,” you tease playfully, your fingers trailing down the elegant curve of his cheek. “Some of us have to rely on menial body language and verbal queues to understand each other.”

“My apologies,” Tom says softly as he leans closer. Your heart stutters despite yourself.

You meet his lips softly, just as warm and full as they looked, his mouth moving on yours deceptively gentle but with the dizzying promise of more to come. Sure enough, you feel his hands slide from your waist up around you as he pulls you closer to him, holding you tightly against him. Adrenaline is spreading like fire through your chest and – wondering exactly how much you can get away with – you slowly roll your hips against his. You hear him take a slightly harder breath and you pull back from the kiss to look at him.

Your stomach twists at what you see. Tom stares at you with something like hunger on his face, his eyes dark and intense. You can’t resist rocking your hips again just to see his reaction. Tom’s jaw goes tight and he leans in hard, his lips crashing into yours and moving ravenously, his hand curling into a fist of your hair and pulling you deeper into the kiss. Heat spreads through your body and grows hotter and hotter as it goes on and on, your fingers carding into the waves of his dark hair as you kiss him back as hard as you can, as you spiral from control and you’re barely able to think anymore.

Tom is pushing your robes off of your shoulders and you distractedly shrug them off as you lean into the kiss, your heart racing as his fingers slip under the bottom of your jumper and pull it up. You’re forced to break the kiss to let him lift it over your shoulders but he captures your lips the second it’s out of the way, his long fingers already on the buttons of your blouse. You can’t stop touching him, your hands in his hair, against his jaw, down his neck, and then he’s sliding his hands against your skin and your blouse falls to the ground behind you. Tom pulls you forward hard to bring your body flush against his chest, his tongue tracing your top lip and making you feel like you’re falling.

You can feel him hard against your core.

Body aflame with desire, your hands drop to his belt between your legs but Tom catches your wrists in one hand.

“Wait,” he says silkily, smirking.

Something aches in you so hard your vision reels for a second and you stare at him, unable to look away. He slowly lets go of your hands and his fingers are brushing against your thigh, slipping up and under your skirt. Your eyes close and your head falls onto his shoulder as his fingers trace the outside of your underwear, his touch burning and unbearably light. Tom gently presses his lips to your neck and shivers spread across your skin.

“God, Tom,” you breathe as his lips trail down your neck and his fingers stroke you teasingly.

Tom just breathes a laugh and the next second your underwear are gone, Vanished effortlessly. You only barely contain a moan as his fingers slide with ease and aching heat washes across your skin. “You want this so much, don’t you?” he murmurs against your neck.

But you can’t reply, blind at the pleasure of his touch. His fingers are slow and relentless, easing back and forth like he’s beckoning you further into desire, listening to you moan in his ear. His other hand curls around the back of your neck as he presses his lips up under your jaw, his teeth brushing your skin and making you gasp. “Does it feel good?” he murmurs, his soft words making tingles erupt down your neck.

“Yes,” you breathe, arms tightening around his neck

The pressure of his fingers increasing slightly and your breath hitches. “Are you going to lose control for me?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” you barely manage to say again.

Tom’s other hand cups your face and guides your face around to look at him, his lips hovering right against yours as his fingers stroke burning heat into you, agonisingly gentle, torturously persistent. “You’re going to come for me,” he whispers, “and I want to watch.”

You feel it bloom in you core as if by his command, and Tom’s lips curl into a smirk.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, pulling your forehead against his. “Just like that.”

“Tom,” you gasp as it starts to overcome you.

“Give me what I want,” he says softly, right against your mouth.

It hits you hard and you can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t even think as your heart races, as heat consumes you. Your head is spinning when it finally passes, your breathing ragged when you can bear to crack your eyes open.

Tom is right there, eyes black with desire as they roam your face with hungry scrutiny.

This time when your hands go to his belt, he doesn’t stop you, his hands dropping to your hips again. It only takes a second to pull the buckle apart and unbutton his trousers, and Tom’s hands immediately pull your hips forward, jerking you up onto your knees.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and lean down to his lips, kissing him deeply as Tom’s fingers tighten on your hips and slowly, firmly guide you down on top of him, your knees spreading out on the couch on either side of him as his tongue coaxes your lips apart. Your stomach twists at the feeling of him against you, as he slides into you easily without stopping, guiding your hips down more and more until you’re flush against him again and in one smooth movement his whole length is inside of you.

You cheeks are hot and your heart is going a thousand beats a minute as his hands grip you hard, as he rocks your hips against him, his tongue against yours making you dizzy all over again. He rocks you again, and again, hitting something inside of you that makes you break the kiss to gasp at the electric feeling spreading through you.

Tom stills at once, a crease appearing between his brows.

“Don’t stop, Tom,” you moan at once, leaning your forehead on his again and grinding your hips against him hard.

His eyes flicker and his hands tighten painfully on your hips as he resumes, making you grind against him over and over again until you can’t help the moans he’s drawing from you.

“You feel good,” he murmurs up against your lips, his voice turned low and husky.

“So do you,” you say breathlessly, rocking hard along with his hands and twisting your hips in the smallest circle.

Tom’s eyes fall shut and his head cants forward an inch as he breathes hard. Entranced, you chase the reaction at once, repeating the motion again, and again. Tom’s hands slowly loosen on your hips as you take over, grinding against him with desire aflame on your skin and in your core alike.

“Will you give me what I want?” you whisper, desire turning you reckless.

Tom looks up at you like he’s in pain, his hands resting gently on your waist as he watches you grind against him.

“Will you lose control for me, Tom?” you say quietly, leaning into his lips.

Tom’s hand is behind you neck in a flash, brows furrowing as he pulls you down against his lips aggressively, his grip painfully tight as you feel heat erupt inside of you, as you kiss him back and listen to his hard breathing.

He pulls away after a long, heated moment and cups your face in his hand, staring at you.

Slowly, you lift a hand and gently brush his hair off his forehead, watching his eyes flicker slightly at the touch.

“Can I ask you something?” you say quietly.

He nods silently, his gaze fixed on you.

“What do you think of? When you summon this room?”

Tom’s brows raise like the question surprises him. “That’s what you want to know?” he asks dryly, his lips curving into a smirk.

You nod, letting your fingers trail absently down his face.

Tom pauses for a moment, the smirk fading away as your hands rest against his jaw and your thumbs brush his cheeks softly. “I think about having a place where I can be myself,” he says quietly.

A warmth of a very different kind spreads through your chest, and you’re certain that he can feel your smile against his lips when you lean in and kiss him.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

To request sequels/being tagged in follow-ups, leave a reply in the notes! 💖

[harknessgf]

MOONLIGHT

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🤍 pairing: theodore nott x reader.

🤍 song inspiration: moonlight by kali uchis.

🤍 author's note: high! theo is the best kind of theo. gif credit to @dramaticals

A thick cloud of smoke permeated the air, making the room as hazy as your drug addled mind. Theo shifted in your lap and silently held the joint up to your lips. You smiled down at your best friend, his watercolour eyes as red-rimmed as your own yet still full of that familiar sharp intensity as he watched you with curious intent. Wrapping your lips around the blunt, you shied away from his gaze and inhaled generously. 

As the smoke filled your lungs, you felt your body relax. With an exhale, the terrible day you endured was gone in a breath. You rested against the headboard and let your eyes shut close. Theo traced circles on your skin, happily humming away while you scratched his head. Smoking always made the two of you more touchy and giggly, blurring the lines even more than they already were. 

Not that you were complaining.

A late night smoke session was exactly what you needed. Usually, the two of you would be indulging in Neville’s newest strain up in the Astronomy Tower, but thanks to the storm raging outside, you and Theo were confined to his dorm instead. 

In all honesty, you didn’t mind. Especially since Theo had a generous stash of snacks to pilfer through. 

“This new shit is strong,” Theo remarked, coughing a bit as he waved away the smoke. Above you, rain drops pelted the skylight in a soothing rhythm. “How does Longbottom even come up with this stuff?” 

“Because,” you drawled, every syllable slow and syrupy. “Neville actually pays attention in Herbology instead of skipping class and getting into fights.” 

“That’s the pot calling the kettle black, bella,” Theo pouted as he poked his nose against your stomach. “Didn’t you get detention for taking a swing at Cho this morning?” 

“She called me a slag,” you recalled with a frown. While you had no problem with Cho, she seemed to have a problem with you. All thanks to a certain Hufflepuff. Theo tensed underneath you, his anger simmering beneath the surface. “As if it’s my fault her boyfriend can’t stop staring at my arse.” 

“You should’ve told me. I would’ve taken care of it.”

You sighed deeply. “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you, Teddy. You tend to be a little overdramatic.” 

“Me?” Theo asked incredulously as he placed the joint on its holder. “Overdramatic? That’s absolutely absurd.” 

“I know you hated Cedric. When we were dating, he told me you threatened to beat his face in if he ever broke my heart.” Your best friend began to protest, but you held your hand up. You didn't fault him for being overprotective. After all, you've been friends with Theo long enough to know that this is just how he showed that he cared. “I'm not mad. I just didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.” 

“That stupid prat poured gasoline on the fire and lit the goddamn match the day he made you cry.” Theo ranted, his eyes glazing over with fury. “I should've made good on my promise to beat his fucking face in. He’s lucky you stopped me before I sent him to the infirmary.”

"It's not worth it, Teddy."

Your best friend shook his head. "It's always worth it when it comes to you."

“You shouldn’t get into trouble just because I have terrible taste in men.” Time and time again, Theo warned you about the guys you chose to date, but you were too stubborn to listen. You laughed humorlessly. “I really know how to pick them, don’t I?”

“Hey,” Theo whispered softly, tracing soothing circles on your back. “It’s not your fault your ex-boyfriend’s a prick. He’s an idiot for fumbling you.” 

You smiled as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Thanks, Teddy.” He hummed and squeezed your hip. “It’s not like I’m that broken up about it. I’ve just come to accept the fact that my love life is a complete shit show.” 

“That bad, huh?” 

“Don’t get me wrong, Cedric had his moments, but even when things were good, it always felt like something was missing. We just weren’t compatible,” you paused as you considered your words. “Cedric and I weren’t a good match. Mentally, emotionally, and physically.” 

Theo cocked his head curiously. “What do you mean?” 

Given your longstanding friendship and history, there were virtually no secrets between you and Theo, but there were aspects of your past relationship with Cedric that you weren’t as forthcoming about. Your best friend wasn’t exactly your ex-boyfriend’s biggest fan, so you skimped out on on the details to keep the peace. That was long gone now.

“Our sex life was kind of…bland.” 

Piercing blue eyes zeroed in on you. “What do you mean by bland?” Theo pushed himself upright, his face mere inches away from yours. “Was it just missionary and a polite handshake afterwards? Honestly, Diggory seems like the type.” 

You snorted in response. Theo wasn’t that far off the mark. “Basically, yeah. I just don’t think we were sexually compatible. Plus, he never wanted to go down on me.” 

Theo looked absolutely appalled. “What?” 

“Well, we tried and it didn’t really work. It’s not his fault, though. Oral just doesn’t do it for me. I’ve never…” you flushed as you rushed past the embarrassment of admitting such intimate details to your best friend. “I’ve never finished that way. I think it’s just a me problem.” 

“Let me get this straight,” Theo said matter-of-factly. “Cedric ate you out once, couldn’t make you cum, and then made you think it was somehow your fault?” 

“Cedric wasn’t a dick about it or anything,” you said rather lamely. “He just never tried again, so I figured that was that.” 

“That’s a fucking shame.” 

You shrugged. The past was in the past. It wasn’t like you could change things now. “It’s alright. Like I said, maybe it’s just not for me.” 

Theo stared at you. “You’re just saying that because he didn’t do his job properly.” 

You rolled your eyes in response, playfully smacking his arm. “And you’re suddenly an expert on the matter, Teddy?”

“I sure am,” Theo exclaimed proudly. “Cedric’s a coward for backing out after the first try. I mean, sure, it took me ages to get the hang of it, but now eating pussy is my favorite thing in the world.” 

Heat flooded your cheeks. Part of it was shock and the other — well, you didn’t want to think of what that other part might mean. Talking about sex wasn’t anything new for the two of you, but it was always in a teasing way. It was never quite this personal. 

“Oh,” you said after a moment. Theo watched as you shifted, trying to alleviate the building pressure between your legs. “I didn’t realize…” 

“That I love eating pussy?” Theo asked with a smirk. You knew he was doing it on purpose. He never missed out on the chance to tease you. “I’m really fucking good at it too.” 

You didn’t doubt it. While you tried not to feed into the rumors of your best friend’s bedroom habits, you knew that he was much more experienced than you were. Judging by the longing stares that followed in his wake, Theo wasn't the type to leave his lover unsatisfied.

After a moment, Theo spoke. “I can show you,” he rasped, that thick Italian accent of his bleeding through the words like it did every time he smoked. “If you’d like.” 

You blinked in surprise, practically gaping at your best friend. “You want to eat me out?” 

Theo nodded, his eyes dipping to your mouth as you anxiously chewed on your bottom lip. “More than anything in the fucking world.” 

The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. “Let me show you how it’s done, bella,” Theo whispered as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Though the action was innocent, his words were far from. “I’d get on my knees and beg for a taste of you. I promise not to stop until you’re a crying, whining mess for me.” 

Desire bloomed in your core, filling your stomach with butterflies. Fuck, why was that the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to you? What were you supposed to do? Refuse? That wasn’t even a possibility at the moment. After all, you were just a weak, weak woman. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” Theo asked softly. 

“Yeah,” you answered confidently. “I trust you, Teddy.” 

Theo smiled and leaned forward to place a kiss on your temple. “Good girl,” he murmured. “Now lay back, I’ll make you feel so good, bella.” 

A nod was all that you could muster as you settled amongst the pillows, watching with rapt attention as Theo crawled between your legs. He kept his gaze on you as he kissed your neck, his lips soft and warm against your skin. You leaned into his touch as he licked along your collarbone, his big hands slipping underneath your bra. Theo unclasped it quickly, nosing at the straps before kissing down the valley of your breasts.

Those dead eyes came to life as he flicked his tongue over your nipples, sucking on them until they stiffened. You shuddered in response and Theo savored the tiny whimper that slipped past your lips. After showing your breasts ample attention, he continued mouthing at your torso, nipping and biting on the way down. Every sensation was heightened by the weed, your body buzzing even at the simplest touch. 

Theo parted your legs and maintained eye contact as he toyed with the tops of your knee socks. He smirked and kissed the spot right above them. “We’ll keep these on, yeah? I like when you wear these.” 

You held your breath when he bunched up your skirt, leaving filthy, open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your thighs. His breath felt cool on your core yet your entire body ignited into flames as Theo kissed you through your lace panties. 

You gasped in surprise, bucking your hips against his mouth. “Oh, fuck…” 

Theo hummed against you. “Does that feel good, principessa? I haven’t even started yet.” 

With a cocky smirk, Theo slid off your panties and groaned. You were embarrassingly wet, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he relished it. Theo teased two fingers along your folds, spreading your arousal and watching as your slick soaked him. 

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” His eyes were nearly black, swallowed by lust as they flickered up to your face. “I bet you’re sweet too.” 

Theo popped his fingers into his mouth, pretty eyes rolling back as he sucked them clean. “Gods, you’re so fucking delicious. Better than I imagined.” 

You whimpered, pressing your thighs together to tamper the need. Theo shook his head before prying your legs apart and diving in. When he dragged his tongue through your folds, you writhed underneath him, eager for more. The first lick had both of you moaning. He hummed in appreciation as he hooked your legs behind his shoulders. 

He chuckled darkly, before biting softly at the flesh of your thigh. “You like that, huh, bella?” 

You panted, frowning down at him. “Stop being a tease, Teddy.” 

“As you wish.” 

His dark head disappeared between your legs, silky brown waves slipping through your fingers as you held on for dear life. Theo wasted no time in showing off his skills, poking and prodding with his tongue. You tugged at his hair as he sucked on your clit, lightly grazing his teeth against the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Theo popped up to take a hit off the joint before passing it over to you. His slender fingers held them up to your lips before slinking down to continue eating you out. As you held the smoke in your lungs, you inhaled deeply, letting the drug that was Theodore Nott singe your veins. 

Nothing in this world could've prepared you for this moment. Theo wasn't exaggerating his skills. If anything, he underplayed just how good he was. Theo switched strategies often, starting off slow and sweet before swirling and sucking, fucking you with his tongue like he’d never get another chance to taste you again. Once in a while, he’d come up for air, smiling as you offered the joint to him. 

Mostly, Theo was focused on feasting. He made out with your pussy shamelessly, making it as sloppy and messy as he possibly could. The higher you got, the more sensitive everything felt. When Theo found a particularly sensitive spot, you arched your back and nearly scorched his sheets with the joint. 

Theo only chuckled before taking it from your hands and putting it out. “You’re on fire, bella. But I’d prefer if my sheets weren’t.” 

You smiled shyly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” 

He flashed a boyish grin back. “The only thing I’m sorry about is that we didn’t do this sooner.” 

“Me too, Teddy.”

He smiled softly at you. “Sei la donna più bella che abbia mai visto.” 

Before you got the chance to ask what he said, Theo pulled you by the ankles and picked up where he left off. He made good on his promise, driving you to the brink until you were writhing and whining. Tears streaked down your cheeks as you gasped, moaning his name in the night like a prayer. It only encouraged Theo to show off even more, using a combination of his mouth and fingers. His middle and pointer finger slid inside of you easily, squelching while he worked you tirelessly. 

There wasn’t a single coherent thought in your mind as you lost yourself to pleasure. When Theo introduced a third finger and flicked his tongue on your clit, a rush of heat flooded your body. 

“Oh gods, Theo. Please. I’m so close. Fuck — ” 

“C’mon, cara mia. Cum for me.” 

Theo watched as your orgasm rocked you from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. He lapped you up like a man starved, not wasting a single drop. You tried to fight the overstimulation by squirming away from his mouth, but Theo merely held your hips down. 

“I’m not done,” Theo warned with a growl. “Stay still, principessa. You wanted me to eat your pussy? Then be brave enough to fucking take it.” 

When he brought you to your second orgasm, you were gasping for air. You roughly tugged at Theo’s hair, eliciting a filthy moan from him. Despite this, Theo was still decidedly not done. As the third orgasm approached, you screamed before squirting and soaking right through the sheets. 

With wide eyes, Theo stared up at you. “Have you ever done that before?”

You flushed, embarrassment heating your cheeks as you shook your head. “No — I — I didn’t even know I could do that.”

Your best friend smiled, brushing your hair back gently as though he hadn’t just made you see Merlin. “Did it feel good?”

“Yes,” you admitted. “Was it okay? I mean, was that too much? Oh god, I’m sorry.”

“No,” Theo said in a stern voice as he tipped your chin up. “Don’t ever apologize. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I like knowing that I’m the only man that’s ever made you squirt.”

“You’re not mad?” You sniffled, lower lip trembling. “I ruined your sheets.”

“Fuck the sheets." He caressed your cheek, gazing deeply into your eyes. "It's still me. Your Teddy. There's nothing that you could do that would make me mad. You're perfect, Y/N."

Theo kissed you softly, his lips pressed firmly against yours to emphasize the words. He was your Teddy. He always would be.

"You're really good at that, by the way."

Your best friend smirked, the cocky grin tugging at his lips. "Oh yeah? I couldn't tell by the way you kept screaming my name."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm not going to compliment you if you're going to be so cocky about it."

He cocked a brow before kissing the sweet spot beneath your ear. "What are you going to do about it, principessa?"

"No fair. You play dirty, Theo."

Your best friend smiled, taking in your flushed cheeks and kiss bitten lips. In one swift move, Theo pinned you underneath him. "I'll show you just how dirty I can get, bella."

He wrapped a hand around your throat possessively and pulled you in for a kiss. You moaned into his mouth, dizzy with desire. Theo slid his tongue against yours and claimed you with a groan. 

"This — this is what it should feel like. This is what Cedric failed to do. That stupid prick should’ve worshipped the ground you walked on, but he didn’t. He missed his chance. It’s my turn now.”

Wrapping your legs around his waist, Theo squeezed your ass as he grinded his erection against your core. Even through his sweatpants, you could feel how big he was. You bucked your hips in response, rubbing against him for more friction. 

“Oh fuck, don’t do that,” Theo panted breathlessly. “I won’t be able to stop.” 

“Who said I wanted you to stop, Theo?” 

Theo cursed up a storm, a mixture of Italian and English that sounded equally hot. “I want you so fucking bad. You’re all I ever want, Y/N.” 

You smiled up at him, placing a sweet kiss on his lips. “Then have me, Teddy.” 

It was like a flip switched inside of him. Theo crashed his lips against yours, frantically tugging your skirt off as you pushed his sweatpants down. They were barely halfway off before he was lining up at your entrance. 

Theo pressed his forehead against yours. “Deep breaths, baby.” 

Though you were sufficiently warmed up, you knew it was still going to be a stretch. His tip was barely in and you were already gasping for breath.

“Theo, fuck. Oh my god.” You clawed at his back as he inched inside. “You’re so big. I can’t — “ 

“You can, principessa. I know you can. We’ll make it fit, yeah?” Theo stroked your cheek, giving you time to adjust. “So fucking tight. I can feel you stretching to take all of me. Just a little more,” he slid in further, watching your expression intently to ensure that he wasn’t hurting you. “That’s it. Good girl.” 

When Theo finally filled you to the hilt, he pressed down on your stomach, marveling at the tight fit. You whimpered in response, clenching around his cock and making him groan. 

“Can I move, principessa?” 

Tears filled your eyes, but you wiped them away and nodded bravely. “Yes.” 

To his credit, Theo went sweet and slow as you adjusted to his size. He seemed attuned to what you liked and what you didn’t like even without having to utter a word. You weren’t surprised. Theo had always known you better than you knew yourself.

It took some time, but eventually the pain subsided to give way to pleasure. You kissed Theo as he thrusted into you, feeling every delicious inch of him sliding in and out of your pussy. He was going slow for your benefit, but your impatience craved more. It turns out that when it came to Theo, you were an all or nothing kind of woman. 

“Theo, please,” you pleaded through tears. “Please, I need more. I need all of you.” 

A feral expression crossed Theo’s handsome features before he hiked your ankles over his shoulders and drove in harder. His thrusts were deep and punishing, setting your teeth on edge as he fucked you into the mattress. Theo pinned your arms above your head, watching himself slam into you again and again. 

“I love watching your pretty cunt take all of me,” he murmured, intertwining your fingers together. “You’re a fucking goddess, baby. Dea mia, I’ll worship at your altar.”

“It’s never — I’ve never felt like this with anyone else,” you admitted.

Theo softened, his tender gaze drinking you in. “It’s never felt like this with anyone else for me either, bella.” 

You pulled him down for a deep kiss, the intimacy of the act surpassing lust and physical attraction. A spark awakened within you, like finally accepting an inevitable truth. 

The thread snapped and you allowed it to wash over you like a wave, the orgasm even more intensified than the first three. Theo followed soon after, panting into your neck as he emptied himself inside of you. He whispered your name, collapsing beside you when he finished. 

The two of you lay side by side, stunned into silence. You felt breathless and boneless, not quite believing that you just had the most mind blowing sex with your best friend. 

Theo glanced over at you. You glanced back at him. The two of you burst into a fit of giggles, breaking the tension. 

“Well, fuck.” 

He rolled over on his side, tracing your lips with his thumb. “Is that good or bad, tesoro?”

“Good. Definitely good.”

Theo smiled and kissed you softly. 

“I meant what I said,“ you breathed as he pulled you to his side. “I’ve never felt like that with anyone else.” 

“I know, bella.” Theo hummed in agreement, snaking an arm possessively around your waist. “You were made for me. Just like I was made for you.” 

“You knew it would feel like that?” 

He grinned. “I had an inkling.” 

“What did I tell you about teasing me?” 

“I’m not,” he said earnestly. “I knew it would be you since the moment we met.” 

The realization from earlier reared its head as you snuggled against him. “We’ve never been just friends, have we?” 

Theo shook his head. “Not for a single second, dea mia.”

[harknessgf]

Crybaby

Soft!Mattheo Riddle x Hufflepuff!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Some mild swears, nothing spicy... for now.

Summary: Every time Mattheo sees you cry and falls in love with you for it.

A/N: This is my first fic EVER! I was too excited to get it proof read by my bestie so all mistakes are my own. Check the tags at the end for a funny surprise.

Word Count: 7,300+ (Sorry, I went crazy)

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Mattheo had never been one of those who could be influenced by tears. With who his father was he learned very quickly as a child that tears equated to weakness, and weakness was never allowed. 

Even at times where previous flings had sobbed after being tossed aside or cried for cuddles after sex, it didn’t move him. After all, he’d always made it clear that he wasn’t a romantic. He’d have his fun and move on, he never gave any indication that it would be more meaningful than that. Because of this he’d been called a “cold hearted bastard” more times than he could count. 

Which is why the first time he saw you cry he swore something was wrong with him. Seeing your puffy, red cheeks, your quivering, plump bottom limp and wide, watery eyes he felt like someone sent a stinging hex right to his gut. Your eyes were trained right on a laughing Enzo. 

Now it wasn’t completely uncommon for Enzo to make a girl cry. After all, he too would flirt his way into one of their classmates beds from time to time. Though Enzo prided himself on having a kind, prince-like persona publicly, so he kept all of his trysts and crying ex-lovers deeply hidden from public view. So it was unusual for Enzo to be seen with a crying girl in public, right in the middle of the hallway near the potions classroom. 

The closer Mattheo got the clearer he could see that you had not actually cried yet. Your eyes were full of unshed tears, and by the look of your puffed up cheeks and bitten bottom lip you were clearly attempting not to cry. Oddly to him, this didn’t lessen the weird sensation in his stomach. It only made him slightly angry at his friend for a reason he couldn’t even name. 

Your eyes flickered to him for a brief moment before settling back on a smiling Enzo. 

“Fine,” you said in a defeated tone, “You win. You can borrow my notes for Transfiguration. But this is the last time Enzo!”

Enzo’s smile widened as he picked you up in an embrace and spun you around. Immediately your face brightened and your giggles echoed in the empty hallway.

“That’s my favorite Hufflepuff!” Enzo teased, ruffling your hair, “Next time just agree before you lose another bet and turn into a little crybaby.” 

Your giggles turned into a playful pout, “Hey! You cheated! You have longer legs than I do! And the staircase moved on my way down! You’d cry too if you ran as much as I did and still lost.” 

Enzo let out a chuckle and shook his head, “Well maybe don’t propose a race next time. It was your idea after all. I play quidditch love, there isn’t a world in which you win against me.”  

“Whatever, I’ll win the next bet, you’ll see!” 

You stuck your tongue out at Enzo and turned around, walking away from Enzo much more cheerfully than Mattheo expected for a girl whose eyes were bursting with tears when he walked into this hallway. 

“In your dreams love!” Enzo called after you, earning a swift middle finger from behind your back. Mattheo stopped behind Enzo, pure confusion over witnessing the entire interaction between you two. The assumption that you were one of Enzo’s fangirls or jilted ex-lovers was clearly off the table, but he still couldn’t make sense of the welled up tears in your eyes.

“Girl trouble Enz?” Mattheo hummed, curiosity thoroughly peaked by you and the strange feelings you brought on. 

Enzo, now aware that Mattheo had witnessed the entire exchange smirked, “Nah, nothing like that. She’s just fun to tease, is all.” And with that Enzo ducked into the Potions classroom, leaving Mattheo not entirely satisfied with the answer. Nonetheless, he brushed off his gut feelings and whatever thoughts swirled in his head. He likely wouldn’t have an opportunity to interact with you again, he and his friends never kept one girl around too long, even if she was entertaining. 

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he followed after Enzo to their table in class. 

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When Mattheo entered the Slytherin common room after smoking in the Astronomy Tower he was not prepared to find you on the couch with Enzo, this time actually crying. Though you were also laughing hysterically because Enzo happened to be tickling your feet. 

“How dare you! How dare you say I’m not your favorite Slytherin!” Enzo chided, gleeful smile on his face as he tickled the sock covered soles of your feet. He slowed to a stop, holding your ankles in his lap to keep you from escaping. 

“I didn’t say you weren’t!” You giggled, voice breathless because of your laughter, “I said I don’t know the other Slytherins so I can’t pick a favorite!” 

Enzo smirked, “Not good enough!”, and with that he resumed tickling your feet. Your laughter and squeals bouncing around the common room. 

Mattheo couldn’t help but stare, he and the guys never brought girls to the dorms, and certainly never sat together in the common room. Your yellow skirt and robe were a beacon in the dark and cold that was the Slytherin common room, Salazar Slytherin himself would have a conniption if he saw a giggling Hufflepuff on the couch. And yet, there you were with Enzo, both laughing as if this was not peculiar at all. 

“Say it! Say I’m your favorite!” Enzo demanded, his fingers still torturing the pads of your feet. 

“Okay!” You laughed, “Enzo is my favorite Slytherin!” You were attempting to wiggle your ankles free from Enzo’s grasp and escape the tickling torture but Enzo kept an iron grip, not satisfied with your answer. 

“And?” 

“And I’ll always share my notes with him!” You squealed, completely out of breath from all the laughter. Enzo, seemingly satisfied with your answer finally released your feet, which you immediately tucked under your lap, still wheezing from laughter. 

“Enzo,” you huffed, “You’re a spoiled brat, you know that?” 

“You love it, crybaby.” Enzo winked. His head turned and noticed Mattheo staring at them, still trying to make sense of the scene before him. “Mattheo! Come here, meet my little Hufflepuff!” 

Mattheo strode over and sat on the chair opposite to them, eyes flickering between the two of them. The addition of his presence made you seem more shy now, as if you were embarrassed to be caught with Enzo like this, you refused to make eye contact with him and your cheeks were a little blushed. 

“Y/N this is Mattheo, Mattheo this is Y/N. She’s my transfiguration partner and the cutest girl in Hogwarts.” 

Your blush seemed to bloom even redder from the compliment. But your eyes shyly made contact with him and a soft smile graced your face. 

“Hi, ignore Enzo, he’s just trying to get into my good graces after tickle torturing me and making me tutor him for two hours.” 

Mattheo muttered a low ‘hello’ and quietly trudged to his room, door slamming with much more force than he intended. His heart was pounding and he felt surge of envy towards Enzo. 

Enzo was right, you were cute, and even though your face was streaked with laughter induced tears and wild hair from wiggling on the couch, Mattheo thought you looked adorable. He’d never thought that tears could be cute before, but there you were with a soft smile and bubbling laughter. These thoughts and feelings were all new to him, it made him feel suffocated and embarrassed, but he was Mattheo Riddle for Salazar’s Sake! Mattheo Riddle doesn’t run from anything, let alone cute girls. Yet he knew he couldn’t just sit there under your pretty gaze and risk making a fool of himself. Enzo would never let him live it down.

Outside in the common room he could hear you ask Enzo if you said something wrong. Now he felt like an asshole, of course you were too sweet to think he was the problem. Mattheo closed his eyes and flopped onto his bed. He could hear Enzo comfort you, saying ‘Mattheo’s just an ass’ and offering to walk you back to your dorm. 

For whatever reason, hearing that made him sort of agitated. He wanted to walk you to your dorm, and he’d be his usual charming self and make you laugh and blush, then you’d direct your smile at him and maybe that’d make him feel better. Maybe he’d even kiss you, and that thought warmed him in a different way. Mattheo groaned, just thinking of kissing you burned his mind with other ideas, less innocent things with you, where your sweet, shy smile turned into something sultry and pleading, he could feel his dick harden and more thoughts bloomed, each one more tantalizing than the last. 

Mattheo’s door opened and Enzo walked in with Theo following behind. Theo just looked at him, nodding casually before turning to his side of the room, but Enzo’s eyes were dancing with mischief, a Cheshire grin already etched into his face. 

“Very smooth, Matty-boy.” Enzo teased. 

Mattheo fixed him with a glare, he hated when anyone called him Matty. “Don’t call me that, and I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Enzo’s smile widened, eyes alight, “Oh no? You don’t want to talk about how cute, little Y/N said one sentence to you and you ran off?” 

Theo’s head shot up at that, looking between his two dorm mates with mild interest. Theo always had an uncanny way of reading Mattheo, which right now really irked him since Enzo was stirring the pot. 

“I didn’t run off, I’m tired.” Mattheo grumbled, “Why did you even bring her here? We don’t bring flings here.” He had a feeling there was no such relationship between you and Enzo, but he couldn’t help but try and fish for more information.

“You brought a girl here?” Theo asked incredulously, his interest now fully invested.

Enzo rolled his eyes, “She’s not a fling, we’re friends. We were doing homework together after we got kicked out of the library.” 

“Didn’t seem like homework when you were tickling her.” Mattheo grumbled, the memory flashing in his mind with a new wave of annoyance. 

“You were tickling a girl here?” Theo echoed. 

“Jealous?” Enzo directed at Mattheo before he turned to Theo, “Theo, she’s a Hufflepuff and so much fun to mess with. It’s not like that.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I flirted with her?” Theo drawled. Mattheo’s head snapped to Theo, he could feel acid in his throat thinking of Theo flirting with you. Theo’s eyes were already on him, eyebrow quirked, his expression knowing. Mattheo glared back at him and turned away, he knew he shouldn’t care what Theo or Enzo did with you, but he did, and that pissed him off more.

Enzo laughed wholeheartedly, “Sure, but if you’re not serious she’ll sniff out your bullshit. When I first met her I flirted with her for her notes and she stepped on my foot so hard I had to go to Madam Pomfrey!” 

Theo chuckled, “Alright, so she’s off limits then.”  

“You’re fucking right she is. I actually do want to be friends with her, I don’t need you assholes scarring her for life with your flirting. It’s already going to be an uphill battle with how hellish Draco and Pansy can be.”

“So we’ll be seeing more of her?” Theo questioned, and for once Mattheo was glad for Theo’s inquisitive nature, the same question burning in his mind. He wanted to see more of Y/N, his mind flickering back to those not so innocent thoughts. 

“Yeah, probably.” And with that, the conversation seemed to be over, Mattheo’s lack of talking not going unnoticed by his two friends. They shared a look, coming to the exact same seemingly impossible conclusion: Mattheo had a crush. 

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Enzo’s casual affirmation was an understatement, as the next day he invited his Hufflepuff to sit with them in the Great Hall at breakfast. She was smiling up at Enzo when he brought her over, then turning her smile to all of them at the table. She shot Mattheo a shy smile and wave before settling between Enzo and Blaise. 

Pansy and Draco both offering indifferent greetings before turning to each other and continuing their conversation. Theo, Blaise and you began an intense discussion about potions, Enzo offering a comment here and there while he ate breakfast. Mattheo could only look around at his friends in confusion, his group not known to be friendly with people outside of Slytherin, or even with others in Slytherin for that matter. Draco and Pansy being the worst of two but they barely even acknowledged you and continued what they were doing. Blaise and Theo were known to be standoffish and yet here they were joking with you about potions. 

“They know her, dumbass.” 

Mattheo’s eyes shot to Enzo across from him, his face looking smug. Everyone else was so wrapped up in their conversations they didn’t hear what Enzo had whispered. 

“What?” Mattheo asked.

“You look confused,” Enzo clarified, stopping to take a bite of his Apple, “They all know her, she’s been in all of our classes since second year.”

Mattheo nodded in understanding, eyes flickering back to the sweet Hufflepuff, who had now drawn Pansy and Draco into the conversation, the five of them debating whether or not Professor Snape used shampoo. Her face was glowing with happiness, every time she laughed he could see the flutter of her full lashes. His mind echoed the strange desire to count each lash. 

He liked her laughing. The two times he’d seen her teary he thought she’d been cute, the frustration tears from chasing Enzo and the tears from laughing too hard, it was easy to find her adorable, but seeing her carefree and laughing filled his chest with yearning, he wanted her light to shine on him, even just for a moment. Yes, he much preferred her like this, hopefully he wouldn’t have to see her cry for a long while. 

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Mattheo didn’t know how many different ways someone could cry until he met you. 

Now fully adopted into his friend group he’s seen you cry over something with each of his friends and it confused him. He always assumed crying meant a person felt sad, that there were no other reasons to cry. The first time he saw tears in your eyes he added exhaustion as an acceptable reason to cry. Then he added laughter after the common room tickle incident. He figured that’d be it.

Until he found you and Pansy swaddled in blankets in her room listening to a muggle artist named Olivia Rodrigo and eating ice cream. He’d only stopped by to return a book he borrowed from Pansy the week before, he knocked and the door cracked open and he saw your tear streaked face and Pansy huddled on the floor, her face was turned away from him but he heard her sniffles. 

He fumbled out an explanation about the book and you accepted it from him with a small smile. After the door had closed he heard the music blast to full volume. 

He’d never thought Pansy would ever cry, she’d always felt like such expressions were beneath her. He was also very much confused on why you were crying, which made him worried something had happened to both of you. It wasn’t until later that Theo and Enzo told him that Pansy and Luna had broken up and you had decided some girl time was much needed to “feel your feelings” and listen to sad songs.

He’d never considered sympathy crying, but there you were with Pansy, sharing her pain. He admired you for it, your kindness knowing no limits.

The next day Pansy threatened to cut off his dick if he ever told anyone he’d seen her cry, though he was honest and said he actually hadn’t seen anything, and she seemed comforted by that fact. After Pansy seemed to be lighter almost, and she became as protective of you as Enzo, which became clear after Adrian Pucey cornered you in the hallway to harass you for a date. Enzo broke his nose and Pansy sent a hex that had Adrian vomiting hair clumps for a week. Mattheo would deny it but he also paid Adrian a visit after the hex had worn off and threatened a whole lot worse than a broken nose and a gross hex if Adrian so much as breathed in your direction.

The lust Mattheo felt for you still burned but there was something else, something new to him. Something that made him want to comfort you and protect you, to have you look for him for safety. Now, he didn’t just want your body, he wanted your undivided attention. 

Mattheo tried to brush off these thoughts. He was no romantic, you were too sweet and nice to get wrapped up in something with him. As soon as it ended, you’d be crushed and Pansy and Enzo would likely make him suffer for hurting you. He told himself he just felt this way because you were friends, and friends is what you’d have to stay to be safe from him. 

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Quidditch hardly interested you, Mattheo found out. Occasionally you volunteered with Madam Pomfrey and you’d seen enough quidditch injures to give you too much anxiety to watch the game. So whenever he and the boys played you’d skip up to them with boxes of baked goods to wish them luck and left on your merry way to watch the infirmary so Madam Pomfrey could supervise the game.

Surprisingly, Draco had been won over through his stomach. His indifference morphed into a kind of bland acknowledgement until he’d gotten the first good luck treats of the season, then he became outright friendly towards you. But when he’d caught the snitch the first time that year you’d made the whole team a whole fleet of chocolate lava cakes and candied fruit. Draco had sworn all of it was for him but after that he had taken on a kind of pseudo-brother relationship with you.

Conversely, you and Blaise bonded over your distinguished and varied adoration of books, often times swapping between yourselves. Blaise alleged that you were the only one he could read around because you weren’t “a distracting idiot” like Enzo and Draco or “an eternal gossip” like Pansy, but Mattheo could see that Blaise just had a soft spot for you like everyone in the group. Every time they went to Hogsmeade together you and Blaise would peel off to Flourish and Blotts, always coming back with more books. Of course, Blaise being chivalrous meant you never carried your own books despite your protests. The more time they spent in Hogsmeade the longer your books would get passed around to be carried until they always landed in Mattheo’s hands. Though he didn’t mind because you would smile sweetly at him when they returned to Hogwarts and thanked him for carrying your books. 

Yes, Draco and Blaise had become like brothers to you. So when Madam Pomfrey rushed them to the infirmary both bruised with multiple broken bones Mattheo had seen all the color drain from your face.

None of the team was allowed to be in the infirmary so the last thing he could see was your crushed expression and tears welling up in your eyes. Theo, Pansy, Enzo and him had paced outside the hallway until Madam Pomfrey had shooed them away to go rest, telling them they could visit in the morning. 

Mattheo had hardly slept the entire night. His two friends unconscious and battered and your crestfallen face had haunted him. As soon as he could reasonably leave the dorm he rushed to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips upon seeing him, knowing he had not rested but allowed him to visit anyway, despite it still being too early. 

Draco and Blaise laid in their beds, looking much better than when they’d arrived. Whatever Madam Pomfrey had given them was slowly repairing the bones and easing the bruising on their bodies, their sleeping faces looked peaceful so it was clear they weren’t in pain. In between the two of their beds was you, huddled into yourself on a chair. 

Hearing Mattheo approach had made you lift your head from the floor. Your eyes were puffy from exhaustion, your usual bright smile gone and replaced by a mournful frown. You were wearing the same clothes from yesterday so he knew you’d stayed by their side all night and likely not slept. 

He stood in front of you, not sure what to say and as he looked at you he saw fresh tears gather in your eyes and your lip was trembling. Before he could say anything you’d lept from the chair and wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly as silent sobs wracked your body. 

Mattheo had never been hugged like this. He was fairly certain he’d never been hugged ever. But here you were, clinging to him and crying into his chest. His heart ached feeling your tears soak into his shirt, you couldn’t keep your sobs silent anymore, now fully weeping on him. He wrapped his arms around you and rested his head on top of yours. 

He just held you as you bawled. Though this situation was less than ideal it felt good that he could be here for you, comforting you. Your body was enveloped in his and he was reminded how small you were, so fragile but so strong at the same time. He wondered how long you’d held yourself together before he got here. That thought made him embrace you tighter, at least he could be here for you now. He told himself he’d keep holding you until you were ready to let go.

Your sobs had turned into little whimpers and sniffles, but you didn’t let go of him. Your head stirred underneath him and he looked down at you, seeing you staring up at him. Your wide eyes glassy and cheeks red, dried tear tracks on your face. The word beautiful flashed through his mind, somehow no matter what you did you always managed to look perfect to him. 

“T-thanks Matty,” you voice quivered, “Er, I mean Mattheo.” Your cheeks were already red from crying, though Mattheo desperately wanted to believe they got a little bit pinker.

“You can call me Matty.” His voice was somewhat hoarse and raspy from fatigue. Her lips quirked up slightly and then she sighed and closed her eyes. 

She slowly unwrapped her arms from him and dropped them to her side, looking back at Draco and Blaise. His body felt empty and cold after you let go, he felt the urge to pull you back but stifled it, as exhaustion was currently winning over his body.

Mattheo looked around and saw a spare blanket and two pillows. He quickly grabbed them, dropping them on the floor between the two beds with his friends. He sat on the floor, with one pillow behind his head against the wall. He pat the spot next to him and down you came, sitting next to him with the other pillow behind your head. He spread the blanket over the two of you and your head came to rest against his shoulder. His eyes closed and then sleep claimed the both of you.

He woke up to a flick on his forehead. He was still propped up against the wall with you ully leaned against his body, still dozing. Draco stood in front of him, the obvious perpetrator of the flick against his head, he was changed out of the hospital clothing but had various bandages and wraps on his body. Blaise was next to him leaning against the hospital bed he’d been spent the night in in, displaying a similar number of bandages. Both of them wearing smirks on their faces aimed at Mattheo and the Hufflepuff curled against him.

“Cozy?” Draco teased. 

Mattheo rolled his eyes with a smile, clearly his friends were alright if they were feeling up to making fun of him. 

“She stayed here all night for you dopes and we were tired,” Mattheo grunted, “Clearly you’re both feeling better though.” 

His friend’s teasing smirks fell and they looked guiltily at the sleeping girl. 

“Y’know she’s going to fuss over us when she wakes up.” Blaise admitted, Draco nodded with a sigh.

“She’ll probably cry.” Draco sighed. Not one of the three boys were looking forward to seeing their friend cry.

“I’ve gotta start carrying around some tissues for her,” Mattheo blurted. Blaise and Draco laughed at that, nodding in agreement and joking the whole group should start carrying some.  

The boys’ laughter stirred the Hufflepuff and she blinked her tired eyes open. At seeing Blaise and Draco awake and standing in front of her she shot right up, discarding the blanket on the floor.

“Blaise! Draco! Oh thank Merlin! How are you feeling? Are you supposed to be standing up? Do you need water? I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey to clean your bandages!” You rattled off, mind clearly spinning off with things to help the two injured Quidditch players. Luckily Blaise grabbed your hand, pulling you from your thoughts.

“We’re fine. Madam Pomfrey is letting us go today. We’re coming back everyday for the next week for the medicine and check ups.” Blaise seemed to sooth you with this, you nodded absentmindedly. Without your brain taking over you really looked at Draco and Blaise and, just as the boys predicted, you started shedding tears. You grabbed both boys and pulled them towards you, both giving you a half hug as you cried. Through your sobs you started babbling your relief about how they were both okay and making them promise to never have to come here half comatose they way they did. 

In the span of a couple of hours your waterworks had turned from fear to relief and Mattheo was glad to see his friends being fussed over by someone so sweet and caring. Your tears were short lived, as Blaise and Draco did their best to make you smile. Your sniffling turned to giggles when Draco’s stomach made a loud gurgle and he moaned about being starving, in typical dramatic Malfoy fashion. 

You had stepped away to thank Madam Pomfrey for allowing you to stay and taking care of your friends. Though the older woman swore it was her job to care for all students and softly chided you for sleeping on the floor even she seemed to fall victim to your charm, hurrying you out the infirmary and promising to see you next time you volunteered. 

“Mr. Riddle, a word please.” Madam Pomfrey said before he could follow you, Draco and Blaise out the door. He nodded to his friends that he’d catch up with them, trying not to think too hard about your worried look.

“I do try not to meddle in my student’s affairs,” Madam Pomfrey started, “But my dear apprentice has been here since midday yesterday and hasn’t eaten anything or slept, aside from your two hour nap on the floor,” the older woman gave a quick glare, “so if you’d please make sure your girlfriend eats and goes straight to bed, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Mattheo nodded dumbstruck, a satisfied Madam Pomfrey led him out the door. 

Girlfriend. Madam Pomfrey thought you and Mattheo were dating. Mattheo once found dating any one repulsive, but he thought about your sweet smiles and angelic laughter and suddenly the idea of dating was inviting, so long as he was dating you. And that was terrifying thought, Mattheo didn’t think himself boyfriend material, but the idea of seeing you date anyone else, or Merlin forbid one of his friends, made him nauseous. He conceded that maybe these feelings would fade after some time, after all, you didn’t give him any indication that you wanted to be more.

Taking Madam Pomfrey’s words seriously he met up with you, Blaise and Draco. After all four of you were fed he suggested they all get rest, Draco and Blaise didn’t argue, their exhaustion kicking in from their injuries, but you pouted, not wanting to go back to your own dorm alone. Mattheo wasn’t immune to your puppy dog eyes so he offered his own bed so you could be with everyone. Draco and Blaise shared a knowing look, but you beamed up at him and happily trotted along with them to their dorms. 

Enzo and Theo were still sleeping, likely to be out until afternoon so as quietly as they could Blaise and Draco went to their own beds, passing out shortly after pulling their blankets around their bodies. 

You shed your large yellow knit sweater and yawned, smiling sleepily at Mattheo. He smiled and tilted his head to his bed, offering it to the kindly Hufflepuff. After removing her shoes she slipped under the covers, he could tell she was struggling to stay awake. 

“Are you coming to bed too?”

Her question made his neck feel hot, she looked at his innocently, eyes fluttering. If he got in that bed with her, he knew he’d never let go of whatever feelings were developing for her. He slowly shook his head, ready to lie to her and say he wasn’t tired, that he was going to go shower or study or literally anything other than get into his bed with her.

“Please Matty?” You pouted. Merlin, he was a goner. He sighed softly and slipped under the covers with you, trying to keep a respectful distance. This whole situation had his body burning and mind in overdrive. You smiled happily and let out a small giggle, wishing him goodnight and then allowing sleep to take you.

Truthfully, he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep. His mind and body kicked into chaos at the proximity of the beautiful Hufflepuff. But he was actually tired, and your soft snores helped him relax and he was able to fall asleep as well. 

That sleep was short-lived, as he only slept for about two hours. When he woke up you were completely tucked into his body, still snoring, with his arms wrapped around you. Luckily, everyone else was still completely knocked out. Against his urges he detached himself from your cuddling, thanking whatever higher power that no one witnessed the intimate moment, and slipped into the bathroom for a cold shower to cool his fevered skin. 

The next day, he went to Hogsmeade and picked up a single green handkerchief with a snake and his initials embroidered into the fabric. He’d never tell anyone but he always kept it in his pocket, just in case.

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Mattheo knew Theo didn’t care for his birthday, after his mother had passed his father became cruel and he never had another birthday. When Enzo had mentioned it in passing at dinner, Theo had told you himself he didn’t celebrate it. 

Mattheo, now attuned to your expressions, saw a glimmer of sadness flickering behind your eyes, followed by a flash of determination. You hadn’t said much after that, but he saw the gears in your head turning. 

A week later on Theo’s birthday Enzo had dashed into the common room, asking all of them to follow him to the Room of Requirement. The whole walk there was tense, Mattheo could tell by Theo’s expression that if it was a big party he was going to be pissed. You were mysteriously missing most of the week, or dashing away quickly so he assumed you had planned something, with Enzo’s help of course.

When they pushed into the room there was no party. Instead there were soft string lights hanging from the ceiling, a fire going in an intricate stone fireplace and a swirling emerald green carpet guiding them further into the room. Just a few steps further and there you were, covered in flour and wearing an apron with splashes of food stains. In front of you was a table with only seven seats set, a cacophony of steaming food on top.

Mattheo and his friends had their mouths agape, trying to take in the extravagance around them. They knew you loved to cook, having been on the receiving end of endless, delicious desserts. But never before had you cooked an actual feast for them. He looked to Theo, who was not looking at the lights or the fireplace or even the food, his deep gaze on you. 

Mattheo saw a nervous smile take hold of your face and watched your hands tug on each other, clearly nervous about Theo’s reaction.

“Um… I made it,” you pushed out, “I remembered you said once you missed your Mom’s cooking so I made a bunch of Italian dishes. Y-your Mom probably made them better but I did my best. I even made Mostaccioli! I remember you said it was your favorite…” Your nervousness getting the better of you. No one said anything, all looking at Theo for his reaction. 

Theo strode up to you, his face not showing anything, and he pulled you into a hug. Theo, who hated unnecessary touching, was hugging you. Mattheo even swore he heard Theo mumble “I love it.”

When your arms came around Theo’s broad back Mattheo got a glimpse of your face. Your eyes were closed, tears leaking out of the corners and a soft, peaceful smile on your face. 

Mattheo didn’t know what to call these types of tears. It felt bigger than the other ones he’d seen. These tears felt sweet and sad at the same time, like you and Theo had a secret understanding. Looking at you and Theo embrace felt like a private, raw moment, but he couldn’t look away. He decided to deem these: bittersweet tears. 

Theo let you go and you chuckled and wiped the sides of your eyes. You beamed at everyone and invited them to sit down and eat. 

And as Mattheo sat down next to you, with a messy apron, covered in flour and a cheery grin on your face, Mattheo couldn’t help but think you more radiant than he’s ever seen you. 

And even though Theo refused to share the Mostaccioli with any of them, it was easily the best meal of Mattheo’s life, love and attention baked into everything you made. His friends more carefree and happy than he’d ever seen them, laughing and joking. 

When you left to get the cake you made that was cooling by the room’s kitchen area Theo leaned over to him and whispered, “If you don’t make a move soon, I’m going to marry that girl.” Mattheo froze like a deer in headlights, but Theo just grinned at him and sipped his champagne. 

Mattheo tried to ignore Theo’s words but they sat heavy in his mind. Ever since he started carrying around a handkerchief for you, he barely even noticed other girls. He can’t even remember the last time he accepted a girl’s invite to her dorm. He only ever thought about you, and instead of fear and uncertainty now he only felt warmth and longing when he imagined you and him together. It surprised him how much he wanted all of it. He wanted to kiss you, to hold you, to have you laugh at his jokes, to smile at him, to worship you in any and every way you’d let him. The realization that he was completely smitten with you pierced through his whole body. Theo was right, you had to be his.

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Finding you alone was damn near impossible, Mattheo found out. If it wasn’t his own friends it was literally everyone else in the entire castle. Apparently your light touched everyone at Hogwarts, as every time he tried to get a moment to ask you on a date someone would appear and ruined the moment. 

At first he didn’t mind. When the Weasley twins approached you with a new invention, something they called the Zinger Wing Giggle Ball you had been too excited to test it for them. Even Mattheo would admit a ball that flies around making teasing, sarcastic remarks and giggling was funny. Even more so when it scared the daylights out of Mrs. Norris and chased her all through the halls calling her “a dirty flobberworm with legs and a tail”. You, of course, had felt bad for Filch and his tattle-cat but even so, you couldn’t help but laugh along too.

Then there were the professors, Mattheo didn’t realize how much volunteering you did for everyone. Professor Sprout requesting your assistance with the odd plant in the greenhouse or Hagrid wanting you to come witness whatever mysterious beast he’d found that week and log their abilities. Even Snape, who never seemed to like any of his students, would approach you for helping him stock his precious ingredients closet. How you made time for anyone was beyond Mattheo, but he was determined still.

His friends seemed to be the worst of all, they seemed almost determined to not let him have a moment alone with you. No matter where he was with you at least one of them would appear. When he’d finally gotten tired of it he gathered them all and told them he was trying to ask you on a date, a real ’not Mattheo being a fuckboi’ date, by Pansy’s words, not his. Of course with who his friends were and how fiercely protective they were over you, they grilled him for over an hour about his intentions. When they were finally satisfied galleons passed around into Theo and Enzo’s hands. Those fuckers had placed bets amongst themselves on whether or not Mattheo would ever figure out his feelings and ask you out. If Mattheo wasn’t so annoyed he’d be a little touched that his two best friends had faith in him. 

And now, here he was. There were no classes today, and almost everyone in the castle was at Hogsmeade. He knew you were somewhere, his friends confirming you weren’t coming that day and had chosen to stay behind. He’d looked for you everywhere, he had even bribed a younger year Hufflepuff with chocolate frogs to check if you were in your room. It felt like another day of failure for him. It was two hours before everyone would come back, he knew that it would be impossible to get you alone after that. He dragged his feet up to the astronomy tower, hoping to take a quick smoke to clear his head. 

But he heard a familiar sniffle from the stairs. As quietly as he could he peaked out from the staircase and there he spotted your familiar tuft of hair and bright yellow knit sweater. He approached you, nerves bursting in his body until he felt his stomach drop. You were crying.

“What happened?” Mattheo questioned. His voice made you jump and when you looked at him, he saw your familiar puffy, red cheeks and watery wide eyes. 

“Hi Matty,” you said softly, “Its nothing. Just something stupid.” You sniffled, trying to wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater. He pulled out his handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to you. You looked at him gratefully and accepted it, wiping your face with the soft, expensive fabric.

“You’d never cry for something stupid.” He corrected. He could remember every instance he’d seen you cry, nothing had ever been stupid about them. He sat next to you on the floor. You sighed, twisting your fingers nervously.

“Someone called me a Slytherin whore.” 

Mattheo could have gotten whiplash with how fast his head snapped to you. Mattheo tried not to let his fury show. He really tried, knowing that his anger could potentially scare you. 

“Who?”

“…Does it matter?”

“Who?”

“It’s not worth it.”

“Who?”

He didn’t mean to take a tone with you, but he was trying to figure out what asshole he was going to beat the shit out of. Then he’d let his friends have their turn.

“Adrian Pucey.”

That son of a bitch. That idiot couldn’t learn the first time. Screw the quidditch team, they’d find another chaser. When Mattheo was finished with him Pucey wouldn’t be able to go near a broom for at least six months. 

“Is that what people think of me?” 

Mattheo was so focused on his rage he didn’t even see you deflating at his side. As he looked at you he realized you weren’t just hurt by Pucey’s words, you believed them.

“No, no one believes that. No one with a brain anyway.” Mattheo assured you. He would cast his anger aside for now, you needed him more.

“I just-“ you groaned, holding your face in your hands, “I know I can be… clingy and a crybaby and maybe I do spend too much time with you guys, but I feel like you guys are my best friends and I like being around you guys and I feel like you guys like me around or maybe you just tolerate me but I feel like that shouldn’t make me a whore and I-“ Mattheo had let you babble long enough. He held your face in his hands and turned your head so you could look at him head on. 

“Listen to me,” He demanded, “You are not a whore. Nothing you do or say could make you that. Understand?”

You nodded in his hands. 

“We do like you being around because we like you. You aren’t clingy or a crybaby. Do you cry? Yes. Is it a perfectly normal reaction? Yes. You’ve made all of our lives better. Pansy has someone she actually likes to do girl stuff with. Draco knows someone outside of our fucked up group and his Mom cares about him. Theo had one of the best fucking birthdays of his life since his Mom died. All because of you! Don’t let some asshole that I’m going to punch in the teeth make you feel like you’re anything less than a ray of sunshine of every single life you touch.”

Mattheo hadn’t realized your hands were cupping his own. You were smiling at him, eyes watery, he wiped a stray tear off your cheek. Your glassy orbs flashed with vulnerability.

“What about you, Matty? Have I made your life better?”

“Better doesn’t even begin to describe what you’ve done to my life.”

More tears were flowing from your eyes but before Mattheo could wipe them away with his hands you threw yourself into his arms, toppling him over and kissed him. 

Any thoughts in Mattheo’s head flew out the window as soon as your lips touched his. Your delicate fingers holding his face lovingly and your soft lips pressed against his own. He brought his hands up to your waist, lightly caressing the skin there that was exposed by your shirt and sweater riding up. The a flurry of peace flooded Mattheo’s body, it was as if his entire being was releasing a sigh of relief, a single thought echoed throughout his body: finally.

Unfortunately, youpulled away, your cheeks flushed. Mattheo was laying on the floor underneath you so you ended up right in his lap, which, looking from his point of view, was so fucking tempting. 

“I’m going to marry the fuck out of you.”

Mattheo meant it but blurting it out had not been his intention, his brain still reeling from the kiss. Nonetheless, you giggled, airy and light like a tinkling bell.

“How about a date first, Matty?” You teased. 

“It’s a start.” Mattheo sat up, pulling your legs tighter around his waist so he could pull you even closer to him. Your fingers started to entangle in his hair and he looked up at you, pure adoration in your eyes, “Do I get to call you mine now?”

“I’ve been yours Matty.”

He hummed happily, pulling your face down to kiss you again. 

[harknessgf]

Damian x reader but reader is a very awkward but kind person. they are awkward around people, hell this is their first relationship, and generally doesn’t receive good attention from others because of it. but he loves them despite it. i hope this makes sense

Graceless

Damian Wayne x Reader

wc: 2.2 K summary: Being in a Gala his father threw with your dear boyfriend. Also, sneaking out from it. warnings: literally so much fluff I threw up, no y/n used a/n: ThANKYOUSOMUCH FOR THE REQUEST OMG, literally such a cute idea, I hope I could write it as cute as you described it. Enjoy! (Divider)

»You're stiff. No need to be nervous, beloved.« Damian tells you quietly, hand on your back as he stays by your sidesince the beginning of this event. He had been trying to console you and let loose the entire time, having been nothing but patient with you. Sighing out, you look at him and attempt to relax your shoulders. You are not used to such Galas, being especially awkward now with so many people around. There is no reason why you said yes to this. Really, you've been dreading going here with him, but you also didn't want to mess up or make him upset by declining his request.

He looks to you as well, expression soft and understanding. You have no idea how you scored such a jackpot. But truth is, he thinks the same about you. Damian would be lying if he said he didn't find your slight awkwardness and shyness adorble. In fact, he cherishes it.

»We can go, get some fresh air, if you'd like.« You perk up at his suggestion, trying not to make it obvious that you would do anything to disappear for a moment.

»Sure.«

The crisp evening air winds past you, making your hair fly into various directions and you move your hands to unruffle your hair. This action only makes Damian's heart flutter even more, watching your every move while he stands beside you on the spacious balcony.

»What are you looking at?« He blinks out of his stare and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly.

»Just enjoying the view.« Now it's your turn to look away, being mostly flustered by his attempt to flirt with you. »Thanks.« You manage to mumble out, earning a soft chuckle from him. It makes you a little confused for a moment before you realise that it may have sounded slightly out of place. How else are you supposed to react to flirting? What was there even to say in general?

»Oh, you are so cute...« In the next moment, you are pulled into his arms, a hug if you will. There are rare moments for Damian to let loose and be affection, but with you it comes naturally. He can't help but always want to squeeze you tightly in his arms every time you are being more adorble than he thought you can be. You return the hug and melt into it shortly after, loving how dreamy the mix of his cologne smells like, wanting to drown in it.

Soon, the chatter from the Gala becomes louder for a moment, followed up with a click of a door before it becomes more quiet again. »Gremlin, B wants to see you. He doesn't want you sneaking out again.« You recognise the voice to be one of his brother's, glancing behind your shoulder to see Tim. You are getting better at their names.

Damian groans and reluctantly lets go from around you, leaving you alone on the balcony for now as he goes to his father to discuss something. Not that he cares, really.

As your alone, you settle on leaning your hands against the cold railing and looking out to the cityscape. It always amazes you at how big and shiny Gotham looks like from the Wayne Manor, the river that goes around the city makes it look even more stunning. The cool wind goes past you once again, this time not as aggressive as before. It helps you cool down from the social gathering, finally having some alone time, even when you would prefer it with Damian.

You focus on the calm stream of the river, not noticing more people pile onto the balcony. Soon enough, you feel someone tap your shoulder which makes you turn around. Dick? It is Dick, right? Damian didn't trick you?

»There you are! Enjoying the evening? I hope we didn't scare you off or anything.« He chuckles lightly, hoping to get to know his youngest brother's girlfriend more without him interrupting every other sentence. You only saw his brother's one time when they invited you to a dinner, and Damian didn't let anyone talk to you for more than fifteen seconds. Not that he was jealous, he was just really annoyed with how teasing and stupid they are, which only makes you more shy around them.

»No, not at all. It's nice.« You respond back in an attempt to come off as relaxed and totally not awkward around him, hating the fact that it's most likely not working. But Dick is polite enough not to mention it.

»I see. You know, Damian can get really grumpy at times.« He starts and leans against the railing beside you, a rather amused smile on his face.

»How do you keep up with that?«

You never expected this question and you have no idea how to respond to this at all. Or is he messing with you? He definitely is with how light he is talking about it.

»Um... well, he is not as grumpy all the time.« You smile back in response as best as possible, making the man beside you laugh a little. It's a mystery for the whole family on how he got a sweet girlfriend like you. You don't seem to talk too much around them, getting out of your shell only sometimes when they directly talk to you. And even then, you still seem more reserved.

»Hm, I have that different in mind. Maybe he is- « He can't finish his sentence as he gets punched behind his back, making him gasp for air and turn around confused.

»Who- «

»Father wasn't even looking for me, what are you doing here?« Damian steps away from Dick and goes to your side, placing his hand around your back like before.

His brother quickly recovers and purses his lips, trying to come up with a quick excuse.

»I was just talking to her! I wasn't even trying to interrogate her or something...« Damian rolls his eyes, wordlessly dragging you back inside the Gala to escape the antics of his brother.

As you're walking away, you glance behind your shoulder and give the other an apologetic smile, hoping you didn't upset his brother. He luckily doesn't seem as upset and just gives you a thumbs up in response, flashing you a shiny smile in return.

»I apologise, they can tend to be a pain in the ass. He didn't try to ask you something stupid, right?« He tilts his head at you lightly, still walking through the Gala and out the hallway to escape this place all together.

»No! No, just...« You answer back, trying to explain to him briefly what your small conversation was about, »uh... he talked about the weather. And stuff.«

He doesn't buy it at all and just gives you an unimpressed look, waiting for you to spill the truth. »Okay, he did ask me about your grumpiness. And how I keep up with you.« You sigh out, biting your inner cheek as you watch his reaction. He is rather amused and shakes his head, tugging you along outside with him.

»Don't mind him... he is stupid.« He mumbles back, reassuring you while wrapping his arm around your waist fully. You both exit the building and make your way to your usual hang out spot near the river, liking the way the moon reflects against the water. The sky is clear, giving you an even more pleasing view. You both walk to a nearby bench and sit down, getting a brief chill down your spine at the cool wood. Damian, ever the oberserver, shrugs his jacket off and drapes it over you shoulder before pulling you close again and relaxing with you.

The close proximity and comfort makes your cheeks flare up, being glad it's dark enough so he doesn't see it. Either way, your subtle reaction of sighing out made it clear you enjoy this.

The comfortable silence is something you both adore, being able to be relaxed and calm with just the other's presence. You don't need to say something to the other or do anything, happily being leaned against his side like that. You don't need to worry about being weird for fidgeting with your hands in your lap. There is nothing you need to worry about or be afraid with him, being the only person you trust with yourself. At first, it didn't seem like he liked you at all before you started dating. But it turns out that he was just trying to mask his feelings in front of you. He noticed you in his class every day and just couldn't help but feel drawn to you. It was scary, but soon learned how to approach you and quickly realised you were probably more cute than he thought you are. All that pining came to an end once you both started to date, but it surely didn't stop entirely.

You sometimes forget that you can be affectionate with him because in your mind, it's still hard to believe that you two are an actual couple. Like now, you finally realise it again and want to do something together with him. Not just sit around and stare at the lake.

»Can we walk around?« He looks at you, not really having expected this suggestion. But who is he to say no to you? He'd be a fool to deny you anything.

»You mean take a walk? Of course we can.«

With his jacket around your shoulders, you both walks side-by-side by the lake and don't talk much again. Neither fo you mind, once more. Damian takes a few steps away from you, making you stop and stand while watching him approach something a bit further away. You uncertain of what to do but decide on standing on your spot and wait for him to come back. He rips something out from the ground apparently, being lightly amused from the sight. Eventually, he returns to you with a small smile, basically skipping up to you again.

He hands you a smaller boquet of white, wild flowers, making you smile even more at how sweet his gesture is. There is no reason for him to pick up some flowers for you, but he still did.

You take the boquet from him happily, unsure of what to say but really grateful for the few flowers he gave you just now.

»You like them?« Without thinking too much, you nod quickly and hug him tightly.

»Yes... thanks. It's sweet.« Was that enough to express your gratitude? You really hope so, but you also feel a rush of affection wash over you as you both hug.

»Not as sweet as you.« He murmurs back and nuzzles his nose against your hair, making you feel even more flustered than before.

»Why do you always say something like this?« Damian smiles against your hair and squeezes your wasit softly in his arms, speaking into the top of your head.

»You don't like it? I can stop.« Of course, that makes you react even more. You quickly shake your head and lean off him to look into his eyes. The subtle shine of the moon makes your blush more apparent for him.

»No! I-I mean, just... you're making this more difficult.« You manage to mumble out before averting your gaze towards the water, huffing out defeated. His expression softens and he gently puts his hand over your cheek, carefully making you look back to him.

»Or maybe you are just need to learn how to deal with flirting.« He teases lightly, stroking his thumb over your cheekbone in a gentle manner.

This just made you blush more, pouting at him. He can't help but find this even more adorble, feeliing a little bad for teasing you. »Sorry... didn't mean to sound rude.«

You don't want him to feel bad on the other hand and shake your head, leading you to lean you head more into his hand. »No, I... probably need to learn how to deal with it. You're right.«

You both smile at this and silence falls above you, just studying each other's eyes in the moonlight, getting lost in the proximity of the warm hug.

Finally, his thumb brushes over you lower lip, hand still cupping your soft cheek. His eyes rake over your face, getting stuck on your lips and you feel your heart speed up at the realisation. Leaning in slowly, your free hand supports you on his chest, other arm still around his neck with the small boquet of flowers in it.

After hesitating just for a moment, you press your lips against his own and he could swear he feels a firework errupt in his chest and entire body. He kisses you back without a second thought, pulling you flush against him with his hand by your waist. You're unsure who breaks the kiss first, but you are left a flushed mess in his arms. And he finds it cute all over again. Your slight awkwardness never made him feel annoyed or anthing like that. He's not like most people, he is more patient and sweet with you. Damian doesn't hate that you need a little more time for affection, he doesn't feel worried over you uncertain moves. He is more than happy to guide you through it and show you how to love yourself and express your feelings more freely.

»You are... gripping me a bit too hard.« you break the silence first, a rather sheepish expression on your face as you wait for him to stop gripping your waist so much. He snaps out of his stare and replaces his hand onto your back.

»Sorry... got carried away.« He scoffs lightly, being the one being sheepish now.

a/n: I never felt myself cringe so hard before while writing, but I also tried to make it as believeable and cutesy as possible. Hope you enjoyed it though!

←MASTERLIST

[harknessgf]

DINNER AND DIATRIBES

double feature: part a - part b

-> not only is mattheo too late to ask you out to the yule ball, you're going with harry potter of all people. now, his best friend is going to the ball with his nemesis and he has some feelings about it.

-> mattheo riddle x bsf! reader; part a; sfw; wc: 13k; cw: suggestive, mentions of violence; tags: friends to lovers, yule ball setup; again I wasn't able to tag everyone, sorry :(

( masterlist )

There were many who would call Mattheo Riddle crazy. A bloodthirsty maniac, who couldn’t be bothered to feel attachment, or fear, or any normal human emotion for that matter. A psychopath who would snap on a whim and held an iron grip on the school when he wanted to.

But you had never been able to see him the way other people did, never could relate the picture the whispers and rumors painted to the man who was currently breathing down your neck. His nose ran down your skin and you could feel his boredom on your fingertips as he leaned his forehead against the back of your neck. His knee rocked unsteadily under you, making the thigh you had slung over his bounce up and down almost indiscernibly in return.

“Have you heard that Susan Bones is going with one of our house?” asked Pansy through the chatter surrounding you, widening her eyes dramatically. “Susan Bones. And a Slytherin. Merlin, I didn’t think I’d see the day, they must have the same freaky kinks or something to make that match work.”

Blaise’s laughter echoed off the stone walls of the dungeons. The Slytherin common room was painted in its usual emerald glow. It flickered across the tapestry showing scenes of a medieval wedding tonight. Only after spending more time with Pansy and the boys in your fifth year, and after weeks of hanging around with them in their common room, had you noticed that the tapestry kept changing its motif and scenery. Low chatter and conversation filled the space as groups of students were huddled around couches or desks, studying or talking, some of them reading by themselves. It wasn’t as busy as your common room, nor was it as loud, and you quite enjoyed the calmer atmosphere.

You sat comfortably on Mattheo’s lap, his arm draped lazily around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the fabric of your uniform skirt. It wasn’t unusual- your friendship with you-know-who’s son was quite affectionate, filled with easy touches and stolen warmth, a silent understanding of physical proximity neither of you ever questioned. But tonight, something felt different. His grip was a little tighter, his body a little tenser beneath yours, his usual sharp, sarcastic remarks replaced with a brooding silence as the others discussed the upcoming Yule Ball.

“I think I’d say yes to Diggory, if he asked,” Pansy mused, twirling a strand of dark hair between her fingers and quirking an evil little smirk at Blaise’s frown. “He’s got that whole golden-boy thing going on.”

Mattheo scoffed under his breath and you felt the brush of puffed-out air tingling the skin of your neck, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. “Golden-boy thing is just another way of saying boring.” His tone was clipped, disinterested, but you could still feel the way his legs bounced slightly beneath you, a tell-tale sign of his agitation. He’d been in a foul mood all day, propelling anyone near him or passing him in the corridors into a constant state of nervousness and vigilance.

As you thought back, you guessed his bad mood must have started back when Professor McGonnagall had announced the ball, halfway into december, and you felt your lips twitch at the thought that Mattheo Riddle might shy away from a dance. You shifted slightly in his lap, turning to look at him with a raised brow. “What’s got your robes in a twist?” you teased brazenly, delivering a playful nudge to his shoulder.

But instead of smirking back at you like he usually would, he simply huffed, gaze flickering away. “I just don’t see why any of you care so much,” he muttered. “It’s just a bloody dance.”

“And you call me a spoilsport,” huffed Theo next to the two of you, balancing a book in his lap. His eyes met yours and his lips curled into a mocking smile as they flickered back to Mattheo. Theo and you were probably his best friends- as well as the only ones who would ever tell him off for something. For good reason. Because the two of you were also, with high probability, the only ones Mattheo would never seriously hurt.

“Shut it, Nott,” mumbled Mattheo warningly and Theo shrugged, turning a page in his book.

Your body was still turned to Mattheo when Draco’s drawling voice spoke up. He was lounging in the best seat by the fire with an air of superiority. “I don’t know about you all,” he said uppishly, “But I already have a date for the Ball.”

“Really?” Pansy asked in surprise and shot up from where she was leaning against Blaise. Her eyes glinted at the prospect of being the first one to receive the newest gossip. Half the reason she was so excited for the Yule Ball had to be watching all the drama unfold. Having a front-row seat and sipping her red wine when the screaming matches and tearful breakups would start.

“Who are you going with?” asked Enzo, interested, from his place at the far end of the couch. He himself had already gotten three invitations to the Ball that day, all from very flustered looking, younger girls, and had to decline all of them with an apologetic smile, later complaining about it to his friends. And of course, you had all diligently listened to his woes before smacking him over the head with a pillow for being such a damn loverboy. And watching him shuffle his curls back into place.

“Daphne,” revealed Draco in a superior tone, watching his nails in feigned disinterest.

But Pansy sucked a loud breath in through her lips and gripped Blaises thigh so hard he let out a low noise of complaint. She ignored him, a predatory smile on his face. “Did you ask her or did she ask you?”

“Does that matter?” scoffed Draco lazily, but there was a very faint tint of pink on his pale cheeks. His displeased frown flickered over Pansy, Enzo, Blaise and you as you all started laughing. Mumbling something indiscernible, he pretended to be interested in the tapestry above, making Pansy bend forward with giggles.

“What about you, Pans?” you asked when she had calmed down and slumped back into Blaise, your eyes wandering back and forth between them. “Do you already know who you’re going with?”

With a secretive smile, Pansy shrugged but splayed a thigh over Blaise’s leg. Her manicured nails traced a line up his knee as she winked at you. “Who knows?” Her eyes flickered between you and the disgruntled looking Mattheo currently resting his chin on your shoulder and glaring into the emerald fire. “What about you?”

At the question, Mattheo’s hold on your waist stiffened. His fingers, that had been drawing lazy circles on your hip, suddenly stilled, pressing just a fraction harder into the fabric of your skirt. On your shoulder, you felt his jaw tense, a muscle ticking as he shifted slightly beneath you, his leg bouncing once more before he forced it to stop. Though he kept his gaze trained on the fire, his grip on you didn’t falter.

Normally, he held you like this when he had to somehow ground himself, threatening to lose himself in a whirlwind of anger and stress, moments before either jumping another student or being dragged off by you or Theo. But there was no one here that might have attracted his hate, and your brows scrunched up in a frown he couldn’t see. Anyone else might’ve missed the way his fingers flexed or how his breath grew just slightly uneven, but you felt it- every small, quiet reaction that betrayed his indifference.

Something about this Ball seemed to agitate him, and you placed a warm hand on his thigh to draw careful circles on it, in the hopes of appeasing whatever it was that fueled his bitter temperament.

“No plans,” you answered, as casually as possible. In truth, you had been hoping for Mattheo to ask you ever since the announcement. You had had a giant crush on him for months now, one that you sometimes thought he reciprocated, when his touch would grow a little to intimate, his face inch a little too close, his dark promises a little too sincere to be considered platonic. This was the downside to your rather touchy friendship, the fact that there was no clear line to cross, that you could never be sure.

Holding onto hope, you’d declined Harry’s invitation a few days before, still dreaming that he could feel the same about you, as Pansy constantly assured you. But if he didn’t ask you today… Glancing back at him carefully, you only caught half his face in your field of vision, but it showed no emotion. It was still hardened with the earlier tension, not a muscle twitching, not even a small look back at you.

Enzo leaned forwards slightly, propping his arms up on his knees and giving you a sly grin. “I heard Pucey’s thinking about asking you,” he insinuated, brows wiggling suggestively.

Before you could answer, Mattheo’s voices sounded against your neck, his chin still propped up on your shoulder. “Pucey can go fuck himself.” It was a low, dangerous sound and the group fell silent for a few seconds.

Something like excitement curled into your stomach, until you realized with a pang of disappointment that Mattheo’s disapproval of Pucey reached far deeper than some Ball. He was always raving and raging about him when he returned from his Quidditch practices, and made you card your hands through his curls until he considered himself appeased. Naturally, he wouldn’t want one of his best friends going out with his least favorite housemate. Naturally. Platonically. Disappointingly.

Pansy was the first one to speak again, the grin had found its way back onto her face as she turned to you once more. “So, that’s the verdict then, love? No secret admirers to swipe you away to the night of your life?”

She jiggled her brows suggestively, biting down on her bottom lip in a not so subtle way that made you chuckle and shake your head at her. Raising your hands in mock surrender, you leaned back into Mattheo whose chest seemed to be rising and falling a bit faster as he glared at Pansy. “No secret admirers that I know of.”

A low scoff sounded behind you, as Mattheo seemed much more eager to join the conversation than during the last half hour. “They wouldn’t be very secret if they knew what was good for them.”

Merlin, sometimes you wished he would talk more like your friend and less like… well, whatever this was. But his brows were furrowed so beautifully you could barely think about the implications of his words, or the way Pansy shrunk back instinctively at the look he was giving her, fingers curling around your thigh. Otherwise, you’d surely have scolded him for scowling at her like that.

Blaise hummed, rubbing circles on Pansy’s back and giving you a sly look. “You should go with someone … unexpected,” he suggested, mocking a thoughtful tone and expression, “Shake things up, y’know? Maybe you could release Enzo from his misery. Gryffindor Miss perfect with a Slytherin pureblood, story writes itself, doesn’t it?” You could hear his voice was meant to provoke, just who you weren’t sure. Because you merely laughed at the clearly unserious idea.

But over the amused look you shared with Pansy, you missed the way Enzo widened panicked eyes at Blaise as if he’d just thrown him under the bus, as well as the way Mattheo pulled you depper into his lap. You followed the urge subconsciously and leaned your head against his, still grinning. “Someone shocking, you say?” you picked up his statement, careful not to be too obvious, “Like who? Apart from poor Enzo, I mean.”

“Not fucking Pucey, that’s for sure,” said Mattheo under his breath and you bit down on your tongue, swallowing your disappointment. Pansy threw you a knowing look that you pretended not to see. You were being absolutely ridiculous.

A long, dramatically exasperated sigh came from the armchair near the fire were Draco was still sprawled out, toying with a loose strand of the leather cushions. “You could always go with Mattheo,” he suggested what you hadn’t had the guts to- quite ironic though it was; and ran his eyes over your intertwined figures. “Since you two can’t seem to spend five minutes apart anyway.”

In an attempt to overplay your flusteredness that he had brought it up, just said it out loud, while you were seated in Mattheo’s lap no less and one of his hands dipped under your shirt to bury itself in the meat of your tummy, you chuckled and scratched the back of your neck. Craning your head around, you smiled humorously at your friend. “What, and boost his ego even more?”

For the first time in a while, an actual grin finally played around his lips again as he kneaded the flesh of your belly, throwing you a challenging look. “You love my ego.”

Because one couldn’t simply lie to Mattheo without him knowing, you turned away with a laugh instead of answering his question. Joining in, Pansy watched the outline of Mattheo’s fingers against your shirt and smirked. Her glance back up at him was a silent promise not to let the topic go so easily, and he rolled his eyes at her behind your back.

“You do have standards, right?” asked Blaise lazily, passing around a bar of dark chocolate and shuffling around on the sofa to put his head in Pansy’s lap, who raised her brow but didn’t throw him off. Instead, she returned her attention to you.

“You should definitely go with someone who can actually dance,” she said, smirking.

You nudged Mattheo in the side, not catching the look in his eyes as they snapped up to your bright face. “So, not Mattheo then?”

Suddenly, his body seemed on alert again, no longer leaning against the cushions as his lips seemed to hover somewhere near your ear. If it was any indication, his breath fanned your earlobe and you had to suppress a shiver as his voice sounded low, next to your ear. “You don’t even know what I can do, sweetheart.”

Ah. Sweetheart. Damn the way your insides were curling with the way the nickname rolled off his tongue so smoothly. Mattheo had tried out many of those before settling on sweetheart, for some reason. You had loved every single one, from doll to darling to princess, but for some reason, Mattheo had decided that sweetheart was around to stay. So, now you were his sweetheart. In any sense but the literal one.

“Well,” said Enzo, carefully examining Mattheo, as if gauging if he was in a mood to be reasoned with. Not that he had to worry, Enzo was probably the fastest runner out of your friend group, always the least likely to get in trouble for a brawl or altercation because he was the first who disappeared from the scene of the crime, even before the teachers showed up, keeping him his prefect’s badge. “I heard something through the grapevine the other day-”

You believed to know what was coming now and your eyes widened as you shook your head at him. But Pansy leaned forwards eagerly, ignoring Blaise’s protests. “Go on!”

“Ah,” said Enzo, clearly deriving some sort of pleasure from having everyone hang onto his every word. “You see, some little birdie told me you had been asked out by Potter.”

Closing your eyes, you let the round of jeers and whistles that swept the others wash over you and buried your face in your hands, burning with embarrassment. When you looked up again, you met the eyes of five attentive listeners, eager to hear your side of the story. Even Theo had marked his page with an index finger and raised a brow at you expectantly. Only Mattheo was eerily still beneath you, his fingers having halted all movement.

“How do you get all this information?” you asked Enzo incredulously, rubbing the back of your neck again and trying to deflect from the fact he had just dropped- knowing nothing would fulfill your friends’ curiosity but your explanation.

“I have my sources,” said Enzo secretively and tapped his fingers against each other, watching you over them. “And it seems like they’re reliable.”

“You’re not- you know- going with him?” asked Pansy in an almost disgusted voice and you frowned at her. “I declined. But even if I didn’t, what would be wrong with that? He’s my friend after all.”

Your friends fell silent, probably swallowing down a round of insult they would gladly chat about once you were gone. Thinking of which, your eyes snapped to the clock above the fireplace and you jolted a bit when you saw the time. Before Pansy could open her mouth to ask you another question, you interrupted her. “Alright, this has been fun, but I’m leaving before this conversation gets worse- or before Filch starts patrolling the corridors.”

As you shifted to get up from his lap, Mattheo’s arm around your waist tightened instinctively, his fingers pressing into your side just enough to make you hesitate. You pushed against his chest lightly, but he didn’t budge, his grip lazy yet firm- like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. Or, perhaps, punishing you, for being asked out by Harry.

“Mattheo,” you murmured, half amused, half embarrassed because all your friends were watching with teasing eyes and matching grins.

But he only smirked, his dark eyes flickering up to yours with a glint of something unreadable. “What?” he drawled, feigning innocence even as his hold on you lingered, burning against your skin. It took another small shove- this time with a bit more force behind it- for him to finally release you, his hands dragging down your sides as you slipped free, leaving behind a warmth that made your skin tingle even long after you stood.

“Yeah,” said Theo slowly, tapping his fingers against the back of his book as his eyes lingered on Mattheo, who was now looking at you in a way that made it quite difficult for you to move your feet in the right direction- and steadily at that. “You better go before Mattheo combusts.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes at Theo, though his gaze was still firmly locked on you. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to ruin the fun.”

With a light-hearted giggle, you pushed past the sofas and armchairs and waved them goodbye, earning a round of “Good night”s and “Have fun with the lions” in return. As your figure disappeared in the common room entrance, Mattheo's eyes lingered on the wall sealing itself again, as if you were still standing there.

“Well, that was painful,” commented Theo, leaning back against the cushions and glancing over at his best mate. “Watching you struggling not to show how much you care who she goes with.”

“I don’t,” the other lied, knowing it was in vain when he saw the devilish smirk spread on Pansy’s face. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care,” she emphasized the last words sarcastically, “you sure grabbed her like she was yours.”

You were. Feeling annoyed at the lot of them and knowing he would be subjected to a great deal of teasing until Theo’s desire for a smoke reached the level of his, Mattheo leaned back against the couch and rolled his eyes, trying not to focus his mind on the memory of you flush against him- right where he liked you best. “She was already sitting there. What, you wanted me to throw her off?,” he snarled back, glaring at one of the portraits to avoid Pansy’s raised brows. When it came to affairs of romance, she was surprisingly sharp. No wonder she seemed to know how much he fucking adored you.

Next to him, Theo coughed a false, ironic cough and Mattheo knew he couldn’t expect any support from that side either. “Mate, your hand was on her hip like you were staking a claim,” Theo drawled, giving him a smug look that Mattheo returned, unimpressed. “You want me to put my hand on your hip instead?”

“Dios mio, no,” replied Theo under his breath, reopening his book but still actively listening to the conversation unfolding.

Again, it was Pansy who broke the silence with a daring grin, crooking her head at Mattheo. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re mad she hasn’t asked you to the ball yet.”

Mattheo deadpanned, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, yeah, Pans. I’m devastated.”

“You know,” Enzo piqued up now, smiling casually in the knowledge that he was on the winning side in this. “If you asked her nicely, maybe she’d go out with you.”

Leaning forwards, Mattheo gave him a sardonic smile, sneering, “Oh right.” His tone was mocking, exaggerated. “‘Please, love of my life, light of my existence, will you attend the stupidest event of the year with me?'” He did his best to sound nonchalant, as if the mere idea of asking you out on a date was absurd and not the subject of his more innocent daydreams.

But irony could only do so much to conceal how much he really meant the words, how they opened the door to a path to his deepest, darkest desires that he would rather not open right now. No, he preferred to visit those darker corridors of his sacreligious existence when he was alone, in his dorm, shame and excitement curling in his chest as he imagined you how he could never have you. Where nobody could see just how much you meant to him.

Draco let out a scoff from his place by the fire and everyone turned towards him instead. “Imagine if she said yes to Potter,” he said, expression morphing into one of disgust. “Imagine them slow dancing.” Mattheo, who knew exactly what purpose hid behind those carefully chosen words, couldn’t help but tightening his jaw at the idea, the image. If he hadn’t hated Potter enough already, the idea itself would have done it.

“Imagine me hexing you into next week,” he growled at Malfoym who fell silent immediately, but earned himself an appraising nod from Pansy.

“What if she actually did go with Potter though?” Blaise pried further, smirking up at him from where his head rested in Pansy’s lap.

Mattheo felt his patience undeniably tested, fingers flexing against his tense legs as one of them started to bounce restlessly. Merlin, how he could have smashed Blaise’s stupid, grinning face into this stupid, grinning portrait to make them both stop mocking him. But that would prove all of them right, and maybe he didn’t even want to admit to himself how much the image bothered him, how much it made him want to storm up to Gryffindor tower to eliminate the threat himself. “Then Hogwarts would need a new chosen one,” he gruffed out, voice low as his fingers itched for a cigarette.

The topic of you and your friendship had been one of great interest these past few months, ever since it had become normal for you to rest on each other's lap, run your fingers through each other's hair or sleep over in each other’s dorm. It had raised more than a few eyebrows, but Mattheo had always smirked them away, relishing in showing you off. This loose but ever-present claim he had on you, that made him feel perfectly entitled to stare down any boy you crossed when walking through the halls with him, it had been enough for him.

Up until now, it seemed. When they had gotten brazen enough to think that they could dare ask out his girl. Only that you weren’t, he had to remind himself. No matter how often he touched you, it wouldn’t make you his, properly, until he worked up the courage to ask you. But there was just one problem: himself. And the danger he put you in by making you something more than a friend.

“What makes you think I even want to go out with her?” he asked roughly, brows scrunched up in a bitter frown and aching for something to soothe his nerves. You would have been ideal, but alas, you were gone and he needed another, a lesser fix. When he glanced up, he was met with four pairs of raised brows, as his friends all stared at him incredulously.

“Mate,” said Enzo in a voice that suggested he was trying to reason with him. “You just had her in your lap. You glare at any guy who even looks at her. You beat up Zacharias Smith when he stood her up so bad he had to spend the holiday in St. Mungos, and the only reason you weren’t charged with something was because you literally threatened to kill him if he spoke to someone about it.”

Mattheo glowered at the ground, conflicting emotions clawing at his chest, desperate for release. He felt it again. The whirlwind of his own self, all-consuming, unstoppable, but by the your touch, the sound of your voice. When he felt like he was hovering with one foot over the abyss, threatening to be swept up by the confusing storm raging against the confines of his body, you were the only one able to reach him, reach out to him, calm his whirling thoughts, his flaring temper.

No wonder Enzo always ran for you whenever it looked like he was about to start a fight. He knew how utterly disarmed he was when you looked at him with those pretty wide eyes of yours. How your worry extinguished any and all rage inside him, making something else entirely pulse in his chest.

“Can’t I be a good friend?” he asked, sarcastically. But he knew the charade wasn’t fooling anyone anymore. Hell, it was not even fooling himself.

Pansy’s voice sounded surprisingly genuine, the teasing, though still present, taking a backseat to a hesitant reaching out. “Well, I think she would like you better as her boyfriend.”

Not wanting to even acknowledge the sincerity of the words, allow himself to think of the real possibility, get his damn hopes up only to get them squashed down again, he sniggered mockingly at her, a contemptuous smile dancing around his lips. Detached. “Well, I think she would have given some sort of indicator or signal if she felt that way.”

A stunned silence followed as all of them, even Theo, seemed completely taken aback. Pansy and Blaise shared an is he actually being serious right now sort of look and Enzo blinked, perplexedly, at his friend. All of them, completely stupefied with the blatant ignorance of the both of you. They had taken you to be oblivious because of some vague romantic insecurity, but Mattheo could usually be trusted to be quite observant, especially when it came down to you. His friends tended to tease him for being so much of a guard dog, having developed some kind of sixth sense for boys looking at you with greedy eyes and how he would press a quick goodbye kiss to your temple before excusing himself to go and sort them out.

But here he was, being so utterly oblivious to the way you clearly reciprocated his affections- how you would barely manage to conceal your blushing, how your eyes would linger on him, how you would stare at him lovingly when lost in thought, how he would always be your very first priority, how you would drop everything you were doing to come help him, even if it was about something some would consider utterly meaningless.

But alas, his ignorance seemed to match yours, and they had to sit and watch, growing ever more frustrated with the way you pined and yearned for each other without ever getting a fucking move on.

Theo was the first to break the silence, brow raised at Mattheo who still stubbornly glared at te ground. “So, what’s the plan? Keep glaring at every guy who looks at her until she magically realizes you’re in love with her?”

He had dropped the magic word. the l-word, that would never make it past Mattheo’s lips and could barely enter his thoughts, as if it was a trigger. Any time he heard it, he cringed involuntarily. But he was too tired of this day and this damn converssation to correct him. “Worked out so far,” he shrugged.

Theo rolled his eyes at him, and from the way his fingers twitched agitatedly against the bookcase, Mattheo knew he was just as eager for a smoke as him, meaning he would provide him with a way out of this fucking therapy session in under five minutes. The guy was just as addicted to nicotine as he was. “And how would you feel about it if someone asks her out tomorrow who she wouldn't be so quick to decline. How would you feel about it when she turns up to the ball with someone other than you?”

Nothing, was what he meant to say. But the words didn’t make it past his lips. They were chocked by the image of you, hanging onto another guy’s arm, laughing for another guy, dancing with another guy. Something dangerous coiled in his stomach, like a snake, ready to attack but with no one to sink its teeth into but himself.

“Fucking hell,” he cursed darkly, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were plain white, close to cracking, or so it seemed to him.

Theo nodded appreciatively, rising from his seat as Mattheo followed, running a calloused and shaky hand over his face. “You know what to do then.”

When you pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady, you were greeted with a warmth both the Slytherin common room and the halls of Hogwarts had been missing. Loud chattering and laughter filled the room, the figures of many Gryffindor students in the golden hue of the cackling fireplaces. Where Slytherin’s common room was undeniably more stylish and sophisticated, your common room was just cozy.

You spotted your friends sitting by the fire, having snatched the best sofa for themselves. Hermoine seemed to be working on an essay, Ginny’s nose was buried in her book, and over the rim of the worn out cushions, you spotted the heads of Harry and Ron, setting on the carpeted floor between sofa and fireplace. Walking over to them, you let your bag down with a thud that made some of them turn their heads and smile in greeting, though you could see the light frowns on some of their faces.

They were equally as unpleased about your friendship with their Slytherin peers as they were about your Gryffindor housemates. Really, it was only natural, seeing as the two groups had a history of picking petty fights with each other and landing the others in the hospital wing. At least some of them held their frustration with the others back for the quidditch pitch, but the same couldn’t be said for all of them.

But your friends’ disapproival of your Slytherin friendgroup was nothing compared to their objection to your attachment to Mattheo Riddle, son of Lord Voldemort himslef and Harry’s personal nemesis since first grade. Not only were they among the students whispering about his reputation and dark legacy behind his back, Harry (and Ron) had also been on the receiving end of Mattheo's fists before- and hit back.

As you sat down between Hermoine and Ginny on the couch, you saw that Harry and Ron were sitting on the carpet, facing each other, a board of wizard chess in between them. The game seemed to have been going on for a while already, as a larger pile of defeated white figures and a smaller one of black figures lay by the side of the board. Harry seemed to be losing, as anyone would, against Ron. Watching Ron make a clever move against him, you lamented that you would love to see him play with Theo- it would certainly be a battle for the ages.

Ron looked up from the game when you got comfortable in the squishy cushions of the worn-out sofa and his eyes ran over you for a second, as if checking for injuries. “How was the snakepit?” he asked, and though it was humorous, his voice held an underlying tension.

“Anyone bite you?” asked Ginny from behind the shitty romance book she was currently hate-reading, a teasing tone evident in her voice. Out of all of them, Ginny was probably the most chill about your ties to the Slytherins, as she herself didn’t give much of a shit about house rivalries. “Anyone you’d want to bite you?” she added, making you huff out a small laugh under your breath.

“I am unharmed, thank you,” you said, a bit curtly at the condescending tone of Ron’s question. Just as it was with your Slytherin friends, you’d always defend your ties to the other group when they talked shit about each other- in the full knowledge that it would never change anything, and they would just keep hating each other.

When Mattheo had suggested you shouldn't waste your breath trying to stand up for your friends when their hostility ran too deep to ever be dismantled, you had asked if he’d say that about you defending him in front of your friends too. Thinking back to his taken-aback expression, you had to suppress a smile. Mattheo had never again tried to convince you not to stick up for your friends, but when you'd slept over at his dorm a few nights later, he’d asked you if you had been serious about defending him to your friends. He hadn’t looked at you, but you had heard the vulnerability in every gruff grumble of his tone.

Hermoine’s matter of fact voice drew your attention back to the situation at hand. “Did he finally ask you?” she inquired, scratching a loudly purring crokshanks behind the ear.

You knew what she was talking about, of course, and averted your eyes. Concealing your disappointment, you pretended to be interested in Harry's and Ron's game, where Ron now checkmated Harry, making him groan loudly. “No,” you answered in your best impression of indifference.

Harry, who had not been paying attention to the conversation due to his humiliating defeat, finally admitted his loss and turned his attention to the couch. “y/n?” he addressed you, chiming in, and you raised your brows at him inquiringly. Wringing his hands, he seemed a little embarrassed. “So… remember when I asked you about being my date for the Yule Ball?”

“Vividly,” you answered, nodding.

In fact, you did. In this very same common room, at about one in the morning, he’d called back to you when you’d made your way back up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. Due to procrastinating your homework of the last week, you had been staying up to complete several essays, with only him as your company. Being the Quidditch team captain and assigned the duties coming along with the position, he’d been behind his course work as well until the last embers of the fire had burned down. In the total darkness, he’d asked you to come with him to the yule ball- as a friend, of course. But you had declined the offer, still foolishly hoping that Mattheo might put his money where his mouth was and ask you out instead.

Harry rubbed his neck, sounding just as embarrassed as that night. “Yeah, well, I still kind of don’t really have a date yet ...”

General laughter took over the group at his red-faced confession. Next to you, Ginny giggled, shifting her concentration back onto her book, as Hermoine shook her head with a little smile. “Absolutely pathetic, mate,” commented Ron, collecting the chess figures and board to store them back in one of the shelves beside the fireplace.

“Hey,” said Harry indignantly, raising his brows at him, “you had to get asked by Hermoine because you didn’t have the balls to ask her herself!” More laughter followed his words and you clutched your sides, glancing over at Hermoine who was chuckling to herself as her eyes skimmed the parchment for any errors she might have missed. “He does have a point," she smiled.

Ron groaned at her, as if she had just delivered a brutal stab to his back, and let himself fall back onto the carpet as the laughter subsided. When he was done grinning at Ron’s humiliation, Harry turned back to you in a business-like manner. “Alright, I’ll be asking you one last time before i accept my fate as the sad, date-less guy for the night.”

His words reminded you that you, too, were among the last people to not have a date for the night, probably in the entire school. Pretty much all of your friends already had partners, and really, it wasn’t only true that you were Harry’s last resort, he was also yours, since Mattheo didn’t seem remotely interested in the idea of taking you out for the ball.

“And that would be different from the usual how?” Ginny asked with raised brows, still not looking up from her book.

“You’re not helping, Ginny,” Harry deadpanned at her before turning back to you, a pleading look in his eyes. “Look. You don’t have a date. I don’t have a date. And, speaking for myself here, if I don’t find one, McGonnagall might force me to take Mrs. Norris out of pity.”

The thought made you break out into a fit of giggles, picturing Harry dancing with the caretaker’s grumpy cat. Ron, who seemed to feel a similar way, grinned. “Now that’s a mental image I didn’t need.”

“Mrs. Norris in a tiny gown…,” said Ginny dreamily, turning a page in her book and making Harry roll his eyes at his friends’ antics.

Feigneing support, you patted his shoulder and offered empathetic, constructive advice. “Why not take Filch himself while you’re at it? I’m sure he’s a great dancer.”

Harry rubbed at his temples and shook his head at the round of laughter that followed your words. “Okay, so, moving on-,” he turned his gaze back to you, serious once more. “You are my best option.”

“Flattering, Harry,” you joked, “And they say chivalry is dead.” Smiling, you averted your eyes to think properly and instead focused them upon crookshanks who was striding towards you on the couch. You started to pet him, earning a mechanical sort of purr from the old cat, as you contemplated the situation.

“Listen,” said Harry, dragging himself on the carpet in your direction. “It’s a good pitch. We’ll go as friends, no pressure, no drama, no expectations- just two people avoiding being total losers together.”

Crookshanks began purring with more enthusiasm as you scratched him behind the ears, hesitating. “I mean… I guess?” It wasn’t like he didn’t have a point. Turning up alone would be less than favorable, especially since all your friends had dates for the night, except Harry. Honestly, you’d probably spend most of the night with him anyway, due to that fact. Might as well make it official.

The scratching of Hermpoine’s quill next to you had stopped as she looked at you over the rim of her parchment. “You guess?” she asked, eyes narrowed. You shrugged, instead of relaying the lengthy explanation for your hesitation. In spite of what Pansy constantly tried to convince you off, you were quite sure by now that Mattheo wasn’t going to ask you- which was fine. Really. It was absolutely fine with you. Except for the part where it wasn’t at all.

Maybe it was because Pansy had gotten your hopes up about this. Any time you had expressed your doubts about your friendship with Mattheo to her, she’d roll her eyes at you and tell you all sorts of things: how he’d been responsible for McLaggen’s unlucky incident that sent him to St Mungos after he had stood you up, how he would look at you with, as she put it, ‘a disgustingly lovesick stare’, how he would always find ways to bring you up in conversation when you weren’t around, his mind floating back to you regardless of the context, either stating or guessing what your opinion might be on the matter.

‘Honestly,’ she’d say, ‘That boy is so in love with you it’s embarrassing to sit next to. Like, truly appalling. And even worse to sit by while he always cops out of asking you out officially.’

But either way, whether what she was saying was true or a misguided guess, or a kind lie, you were quite sure he wouldn’t be making a move before Christmas. Did you really want to turn up without a date and watch him spend the night with some other girl dangling from his arm? He had enough of them at his disposal, in spite of his parentage or reputation. And, really, if he was doing these things in spite of your blatant signaling, in spite of being so weirdly territorial over you, you might as well go out with a guy that would tickle his nerves. See how he felt about that. As his arch-nemesis, Harry would certainly be ideal in that regard.

“You wanted Riddle to ask you, didn't you?” Hermoine’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, her gaze knowing as it rested on you.

You felt caught and sat up a little straighter. “...no.” Curse your denial to come out so hesitantly. But really, she was right. There had been nothing you had been more excited for than the possibility of going out with your best friend, back when the yule ball had been announced. And now, this.

Ron pointed an accusatory finger at you, frowning. “That was the least convincing no I’ve ever heard.”

Meanwhile, Ginny was giggling away at your side. “You so did,” she called your bluff and patted your leg in false pity.

With a long, desperate groan, you buried your face in your hands. “Ugh, shut up, please!”

But Ginny, still laughing, only marked her page with a bookmark and threw it aside onto a nearby table to turn her whole attention to you. “Merlin, this is so much better than my book!”

To quell all of their teasing at once - you could see Ron opening his mouth to add to your embarrassment and even Hermoine seemed to have something to say as she put away her parchment - you lifted your head from the palms of your hands and raised them to bring about silence. However, only your next words could get their attention. “Alright, alright, sure!” you called, face burning, “I’ll go with you, Harry.”

Whistling loudly, Ron earned himself a stern glare from Hermoine. When she had silenced his appreciative teasing, she turned to you, slightly frowning now. Meanwhile, Harry fisted the air, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll be the best fake date you’ve ever had.”

These words did manage to make your lips twitch into a small smile. “That is not a very high bar, Harry.”

Still frowning worriedly, Hermoine, ever the voice of reason, leaned towards you and placed a hand on your leg. “You don’t have to say yes just because Harry is desperate, you know that, right?”

“Wow, thanks, Hermoine,” said Harry sarcastically from the side, but she ignored him. Hoping to calm her worries, you smiled at her.

If you were being truthful, you would admit that this wasn’t a purely altruistic move on your part. Actually, you were hoping for some benefit to come out of this arrangement for you, as well. Maybe you could finally figure out if Mattheo felt anything more for you than friendship, if you forced his hand by going with his biggest rival. But you would rather have Harry and the others think you were just doing your friend a favor, a far more noble motivation than these darker intentions.

But Ginny seemed to see right through you. “Oh, come on. We all know you’re just saying yes to make Riddle jealous,” she blatantly called you out, earning herself a round of chuckles as the blood rushed to your face.

“That’s not-” you lied, a blushing and embarrassed mess and probably very obvious. You had never been that good at lying, and at least Mattheo said that he appreciated it, being surrounded with a group of friends who were just as good at lying as seeing through the lies of others. That he felt less like he had to watch his every step with you. He liked your openness, and he found your blushing adorable, always pinching your cheeks when you did and only worsening your situation most of the time.

Ginny curled with laughter at your feeble attempts to hide your true attention. “It totally is, who are you trying to convince here?” she asked, amusedly and you breathed a long sigh. Why did all this have to be so complicated? Feelings and people and dances.

But at least Harry seemed to take mercy on you, which was the least he could do after you’d given into his desperate pleas. “Alright, it’s settled then,” he sounded over Ginny’s laughter, giving you a trusted smile, “You and me- two best mates, going to the ball together. No weirdness.”

“No weirdness,” you repeated, quite thankful.

But Ginny quirked a teasing brow at you. “Except for when Riddle inevitably loses his mind over it." The idea ignited a spark of hope in you that you immediately felt bad for. Of course you didn’t want to make Harry a pawn in your game- but it may have been a sacrifice you were willing to make. However, you certainly didn’t want to put him at risk of spending time in the hospital wing or anything. Which was not that far-fetched of a worry.

“Not my problem,” shrugged Harry at Ginny’s words and you bit down on your lip. “It might be.”

Your words had been but a quiet mutter, but Ginny picked up on them and grinned at you with an expression that eerily reminded you of Pansy at the prospect of some juicy new drama. “On a scale of one to absolute insanity, how bad do you think he’s gonna take it?”

Sighing deeply and wringing your hands in your lap, you gave her a sheepish look, trying not to glance at Harry when you said, “I’m hoping for mild irritation.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up until they almost reached her hairline. Harry, too, seemed quite skeptical, as he leaned against the couch and frowned up at you. “And expecting?”

A small smile tugged at your lips, but you weren’t in a mood for joking. “...Something between homicide and setting the entire venue on fire,” you replied, hesitantly but probably as a more realistic estimation of the prospects. Regardless of whether or not Mattheo liked you, he surely didn’t take kindly to any boy getting, in his opinion, too close to you-especially not the Chosen One, whom he’d been pitted against since the first time he’d set foot on the doorstep of the castle.

“So, about a nine?” asked Ron, chuckling, and making the rest of you laugh again. It resoilved some of the tension that had been lingering in the air, the knowledge of a looming confrontation. Leaning over to you with faux secrecy, Ron said, “Just don’t come crying to us when he inevitably drags you into some dark corridor for a dramatic argument.”

“She’s hoping for that,” smirked Ginny, rolling her eyes- if at you or at her brother, you weren’t sure. Honestly, both of you deserved it.

Suddenly, Harry stood up from the carpet and straightened out his shirt, grinning dowm at you. Again, he had a business-like air about him. “Alright, if we’re doing this. we’re doing it properly.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, chuckling at his sudden enthusiasm.

Harry tipped an imaginary hat. “If i have to face the wrath of Mattheo Riddle, I at least want to look good while doing it” All of you chuckled at his determination and Ginny whistled. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

The first day of the holidays brought the first proper snow of the winter. Overnight, the snowflakes had danced quietly onto the earth and had turned the castle grounds into a fairytale landscape. The dark forest was no longer a black but a white mass, somehow less threatening and more inviting. But who would have felt the desire to disappear into the trees when the castle was buzzing with warmth and christmas joy?

The excitement for the yule ball especially was apparent everywhere, as students stood in the courtyard, huddled together in groups against the cold, and discussed dress robes and hairstyles for the next day's evening. A blanket of snow lay thick upon the stone gargoyles as you passed them, trotting behind Harry and Ron with Hermoine by your side. Your crunching steps left footprints in the white, glistening layer as you listened to Harry and Ron how much cake they would need for the afterparty in the common room.

Reaching the protection of the castle wall, you stood together, shielded against the sharp winter winds, as Ron started to change the topic to the amounts of firewhiskey they could smuggle in. “The thing is,” he said with a fervor you could rarely spot with him in class-related situations. “The Slytherins have the best connections to the hogshead, so we had a bit of trouble even finding someone who would give us hard liquor. We tried pretending to be McGonnagall to trick Madam Rosmerta into sending some up to the castle, but I don’t think it worked because she didn’t answer our owl.”

“Have you considered to pass yourself off as a teacher a bit more… relaxed than Professor McGonnagall?,” you suggested, looking from Harry to Ron with an amused expression.

“She’s the only professor who’s writing I could mimic,” said Harry, shrugging. “You have connections in Slytherin, right? Maybe you could get us some firewhiskey.” Hermoine murmured something like a reasonable objection into her scarf, but there was a lenient glinting in her eyes when she looked at Ron, who suddenly seemed hopeful at the idea. For once, not overly critical of your other friendships.

“Nah,” you said, deriving a certain satisfaction from seeing their hopeful expressions crumble. “Get your own connections. I’m not catching shit from McGonnagall for being responsible for your alcoholism.”

“Says the one with the nicotine addicted whatever he is to you,” said Hermoine, arms crossed tightly over her chest for warmth, with a smile and you huffed out an amused chuckle, your breath swirling in transcendent forms in the air before mingling with theirs and fading.

“But you bring up a good point,” said Harry, “The real question is: how would we even get all of it past McGonnagall and up to Gryffindor tower? I mean, we could use the invisibility cloak, but-”

Abruptly, he fell silent, and just the split of a second later did you realize the reason why, when the familiar smell of cigarettes and leather alerted you, with pin-point accuracy, who the culprit of Harry’s sudden discontinuation was. A shadow loomed over the four of you, huddled into your corner, and the easy atmosphere shattered like glass. You did not need him to speak to know who it was.

“Mind if I steal her for a moment?”

Mattheo’s voice was low, edged with amusement, but laced with something else as well, something unreadable. Ron and Hermoine whipped around, sharply, at the sound of his voice, Ron stepping in front of her slightly, as if on instinct. However, you turned only reluctantly, already aware who you’d find standing there, but not knowing whether you were keen on talking to him and revealing the inevitable bomb that might set him off.

Mattheo was leaning against the castle wall, mere feet from you. His dark eyes flickered over your friends with a lazy kind of scrutiny, lips twitching when he caught the way Hermoine’s posture stiffened and Ron’s expression darkened. His gaze lingered on Harry for half a second longer than necessary. Harry straightened slightly, shoulders squaring, and shifted as if to protest, but before he could speak, Mattheo cut him off with an easy smirk and a tilt of his head. “Relax, Potter, I won’t bite.” His gaze flickered back to you, locking onto yours as his smirk shifted into something more… deliberate. “Unless you ask nicely.”

He extended a hand- not touching you, just gesturing you forward, but the implication was clear. The moment seemed to stretch, a thick tension settling in the chilly air, before you stepped away from the wall, brushing a bit of snow off your sleeve. Behind you, Hermoine let out a barely audible sound of disapproval, Ron muttered something, in all likelihood, rude under his breath and Harry shifted slightly in your field of vision, as if he wanted to step in. But you threw them a pleading look not to make a thing out of it and walked over to Mattheo’s side, raising your brows at him in silent inquiry.

His eyes studied your expression, before he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you away. With a last little smile to your friends, you told them goodbye and walked away with him, not registering the slow, smug glance Mattheo gave them over his shoulder as he turned with you towards the entrance.

But the castle didn’t seem to be his desired destination. Instead, he led you down the flight of stairs connecting the courtyard and the greenhouses, all the while silent. You stocked it up to his bad mood. In truth, it was nervosity.

Mattheo had been rolling it around in his head all night, ever since he’d watched you leave the common room last night, Theo's dark suggestion still ringing in his ears, the cursed images of you with Potter, of all people, still haunting him. He’d already given Pucey his piece of mind about him considering to ask you out, but he knew you would mind - a lot - if he had a go at Harry that was so clearly provocated by himself. Knowing you wouldn’t forgive him too easily if he rearranged Potter’s face just a few days before christmas, and considering the massive truthbomb that was the fact that he, in actuality, held no claim over you. Yet.

Finally, after staring at the ceiling stubbornly for a good few hours, making his way through what was left of his last pack of cigarettes and not getting a minute of sleep, he’d finally not only worked up the courage, but also the words to finally, finally ask. But now, as he led you down the icy stairs, vigilant you wouldn’t trip, both the nerve and the ability to articulate himself seemed to have left him. Maybe he should have gotten some sleep before this after all. Or consumed anything other than black coffee and nicotine before approaching you to ask you- possibly the only question that really mattered.

When you reached the greenhouses, he leaned against one of the glass walls, fogged up against the cold, hands buried in his coat pockets. Feeling nervous, you moved to stand on the bit of snow-covered grass in front of him, sneaking glances up at him, his furrowed brows, his clenched jaw. “So,” he said slowly, as if weighing every word, “About the ball.”

“Oh,” you made, swallowing. With a nervous little nod, you wrung your frost-bitten hands and looked up into his brown eyes, so beautiful against the cold white sky. They were surprisingly calm, given the news you thought would enrage him. Maybe it didn’t matter to him after all. “So you heard, then?”

But Mattheo tilted his head, incredulously. “Heard what, exactly?” Oh shit. Perplexedly, you blinked up at him, having assumed he would have heard by now through Enzo’s miraculous grapevines, and that that was the reason he had wanted a chat. “...that I’m going with Harry.”

Mattheo stilled, expression faltering for just a second before his jaw clenched- tight. His eyes, usually gleanming with lazy humour, darkened as they locked onto yours, the look in them almost making you take a step back before you could get your instincts back under control. “Potter?” he said, his voice deceptively calm, but you could see the way his fingers flexed, as if suppressing a sudden urge to clench them into fists. His tongue ran over his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was trying to reel himself in.

Mattheo felt the words hit im like a slap, over and over again. That I’m going with Harry. I’m going with Harry. I’m going with Harry. They twisted something inside him, and it hurt, though he’d rather die than let it show. Potter. Out of all the people in this godforsaken castle, it had to be him. His jaw was locked as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, but he could feel the tightness in his chest, the way his fingers flexed and twitched with the urge to grab you- to shake some sense into you.

You tilted your head and looked up at him with those nervous, pretty eyes of yours, an unsure, hesitant smile playing around your lips. “What other Harrys could I possibly be referring to?” you asked, in a feeble attempt to bring some humour into the situation, light up his face that was grim and tight, as if in shadow.

Mattheo wanted to laugh, to show you how utterly unaffected he was by this news, and at the same time, he burned to throw out some sharp, cutting remark about how predictable it was, how you must have lost your damn mind. But the words felt heavy in his throat. Because it was a perfectly sane decision. Going out with Potter was probably way more sensible than going out with him.

Instead, he leaned back slightly, rolling his shoulders as if the news didn't settle like lead in his stomach. “Didn’t know you were into charity work now,” he drawled, voice deceptively smooth, but there was a cutting edge to it, a sharpness that wasn’t usually there- or rather, was usually directed at everyone but you.

“You’re really going with that bastard?” he asked, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. Not even looking into your eyes could calm the storm raging inside him now, as it spread through every fibre of his body, balled in his chest, reached the tips of his fingers as they almost shook with suppressed rage. Now, they were just a reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Of course you’d go with Potter, why would you have even considered him? When people were already whispering behind your back about you and your friendship with him, calling you names and giving you looks, calling you a house traitor and shallow or two-faced, the irony not even occurring to them. But Merlin, how he hated, how he detested, how he loathed that Harry was, sensibly, a better option for you than he would ever be.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. He shouldn't even care. Since when had he let people get to him like this? But you weren't just anyone. You were you. You were his. And then again, you weren’t. And he shouldn’t be feeling this burning frustration curling in his chest, shouldn’t feel the itch in his fingers to grab your wrist and tell you to drop the whole fucking thing. But he did. And that pissed him off even more.

“He asked me as a friend,” you said, feeling the need to clarify. Why you had thought it would calm the storm raging in his eyes, you didn’t know, as a dry, sarcastic laugh fell from his lips, missing his usual casual teasing tone. “Oh, of course. Just friends.”

Your clueless frown only fueled his anger and he clicked his tongue impatient at you, taking some sick enjoyment in the way his glare made you recoil slightly. “Never taken you as naive before, sweetheart.” When he usually whispered the nickname, it was a flirty drawl, and accompanied by a teasing smirk, or just a casual, rare smile. Now, he spat it out, barely containing his frustration. But he wasn’t the only one irked by the other.

“Mattheo, I adore you,” you said firmly, frowning up at him, “But just because you’ve got a hidden motive behind everything doesn’t mean he has.” Trying to think of the right words, you bit down on your lower lip. “He just…”

“...didn’t find anyone as nice as you to take pity on him?” Mattheo finished your sentence, his brows raised with dry humor. You could tell he was trying to push your buttons now, deflecting from his own emotions by trying to get yours up, in an attempt to get the upper hand. Because with him, everything had to be a fight, a struggle, a confrontation.

Refusing to let him get to you, you crossed your arms over your chest and looked at him coolly. “Maybe I said yes because he actually asked me.”

Unexpectedly, his detached demeanor seemed to crack for just a second. Something shifted in his expression, flickering -or falling- before he got his features back under control. “Huh,” he made, and you were treated to the rare sight of Mattheo Riddle running out of words. His lips twitched grimly, brows furrowed.

Trying to stop him thinking of some sarcastic, meticulous provocation, you took a step towards him, your breath puffing in the air. “Yeah. Huh.”

Finally, an ironic smile forced itself upon his face, it almost seemed to pain him, as the way his nails dug into his palms had to. “So, you’re gonna spend the whole night batting your eyelashes at Mr. Gryffindor Golden Boy then?”

“Why do you care?” you asked quickly, trying to catch him off guard. Your eyes zeroed in on every twitch of his expression, looking for tell-tale signs- as he surely was, too. Was it platonic protectiveness and his disdain for his rival, Harry, or could it be jealousy? His eyes met yours, fiercely, his intense stare piercing you, and though your heart skipped a beat, you held his gaze, determined not to back down.

Mattheo leaned in slightly, getting close to your face with a mocking smile dancing around his lips. “I don’t,” he said with biting sarcasm. “I wish you the best of times with Potter.”

Scoffing, you averted your eyes. His proximity was suffocating, it was confusing, a round of sparks dancing in the pit of your stomach, so unlike the butterflies people always talked about. No, your love for him was explosive, it was brimming with glimmering tension, threatening to turn into a wildwire, expanding until it consumed you whole. And you’d burn gladly as long as you burned in his hold. “No, you don’t” you contered, looking back up to find him looking at you with such hunger in his brown eyes.

Mattheo grinned grimly, clicking his tongue in a way that could have drove you into a craze. “You’re right. Hope you trip in those ridiculous heels Pansy will make you wear.”

Pretending to be annoyed, you huffed out a long breath, caught somewhere in between amusement and exasperation. “You have no right to be mad, Mattheo.”

For a moment, the only sound between you was the distant howl of the wind in the courtyard archways above, the faint echo of laughter carried down to the greenhouses by the breeze as the truth of your words hung in the tense air between you. Mattheo was watching you, his jaw tight, his lips curved into that infuriating smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You could see it- how his amusement was forced, how something far more volatile simmered beneath the surface. His words from a second ago still hung between you, sharp-edged and taunting. “Who says I’m mad?”

Without thinking, you reached up, fingers curling around his jaw, your palm warm against the biting cold of his skin. His breath hitched- so soft, so fleeting you almost missed it- but his entire body went rigid, as if the contact had struck him like a spell. His dark eyes, always so unreadable, widened just slightly, caught between surprise and something else. You tilted his chin up just enough to meet his gaze fully, your thumb brushing over the sharp edge of his jaw, and then, with a voice quiet but unwavering, you murmured, “Your face.”

With a whiplash-inducing speed, his demeanor changed, his smirk turning seductive as he leaned into your touch, a disarming glint in his chocolate brown eyes. “And you’d no all about that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

It was unfair. He knew exactly how to tickle your nerves, and just when you’d thought you’d won the struggle for the upper hand, he flipped a card like this, completely taking you aback. The heat of your stomach seemed to rush into your cheeks and you glared at him, at the knowing look in his eyes. There was a reason he was in Slytherin. But there was also a reason you were in Gryffindor.

“I'll see you tomorrow at the ball,” you scoffed, frustrated, let go of his face and took a step back. You knew looking at him might make you turn back to either kiss or slap him, so you turned around sharply and stormed up the stairs back to the courtyard. He didn't follow you, but you could feel the burning piercing of his stare resting on your back.

Pansy’s dorm was alive with the flicker of enchanted candlelight, the air thick with the mingling scents of your perfumes, hairspray and the faintest trace of Pansy’s expensive vanilla-sandalwood lotion. You stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing your hands over the flowing green fabric of your dress as Pansy, perched on the edge of the bed, tilted her head in assessment. “Honey, you look absolutely gorgeous,” she concluded, rising from the bed to walk over to you and arrange the dress in areas.

Her's was already wrapped around her figure, complementing her curves. You tugged at the neckline of yours, unsure of how much cleavage you were showing. In the shop, it had somehow seemed less risque, though it had still been more than you would usually be comfortable with. “Are you sure?”

Halting her prodding movements and tugs, Pansy straightened up and rested her head on your shoulder, smirking at you through the mirror with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Am I sure you look gorgeous or that Mattheo will like it?”

The blush that shot up into your cheeks would have made any rouge unnecessary. “Pansy!” you hissed, glaring at her, but she only laughed and lifted her head from your shoulder to turn you away from the mirror and to her, for further inspection.

“Don’t worry,” she said, for once with a sincere look on her face and a warm smile gracing her lips. “He will fall in love with you all over again and beat Potter to death before he can even get a hand onto your waist.” Her eyes glinted. “At least after I’m done with your hair.”

In spite of her reassuring words, you let your critical eyes wander over your figure in the mirror as Pansy sat you down on a chair. Her fingers carded into your hair, brushing it out and parting it into sections as she got to work on pinning it up in elegant ways. Brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers worked as if she’d done it a million times before. You scanned her frowning face in the mirror's reflection, rolling her words over in your mind. Pansy was one of your best friends, she wouldn’t lie to you, but-

“Pans?” you asked into the quiet, making her hum in response and raise her brows at you. You opened your mouth, lips parted to beg for further reassurance- but you closed them again, swallowing. It wasn’t like they would convince you, not after having heard her constant encourages for months and never truly having believed them. Or had you? Was it the reason you were so disappointed about Mattheo not asking you out, like you felt you could expect it of him after all Pansy had told you? “Thanks,” you finally said.

Your defeated tone seemed to catch her attention as her eyes snapped up to meet yours in the mirror’s reflection. She frowned. “You know, for someone who’s got a date tonight, you don’t look very excited.”

“I am excited,” you lied, giving her a tense little smile she saw right through.

With raised brows, she got back to putting your hair up with a mix of barrettes, hairspray, and magic. “Mhm, try saying that again without sounding like you’re in mourning.” With a promising little smile, she nudged your shoulder. “I promise you the evening will still get rather exciting for you, even if Potter’s a bore.”

You sighed, unable to hold onto the words any longer as your hands clasped in your lap. “You always try to convince me that he likes me,” you said, without saying the name you were trying to avoid, because it was such a sinful pleasure to let it flow off your tongue, like a kid mumbling a curse word under the protection of its blanket, just to try out the sound of it. A forbidden sound, the promise of freedom. Why was it so hard to say his name, after you’d said it so many times these past few months? In scolding tones, in warning tones, in teasing tones, in affectionate tones. Most of the times, it was the latter- most of the time, he returned your name in the same way.

As you thought of the right way to express the confusion you felt over his actions, Pansy waited, sielntly, and delivered the last, finishing touches to your hair. “If he likes me, why didn’t he ask me?” you finally asked, simple enough.

The question made her sigh and roll her eyes as her perfectly manicured hands clasped down on your thinly clad shoulders. “Because he’s an idiot and a coward. Just like you. Don’t tell him I said that.” You returned her encouraging smile, though still feeling rather pessimistic. Pansy patted your shoulder. “Honestly, since when has Mattheo known to handle his feelings?”

“Fair point,” you sighed, as she released you and walked over to her desk, to her other mirror, displaying her makeup on the surface. As she started to put hers on, you opened your bag as well and got out what you needed, making sure to get none on your dress. For a few minutes, you worked in silent concentration, the quiet only broken by laughter and shouts from the Slytherin common room.

Because she’d insisted on helping you with your hair, you’d agreed to get ready with Pansy in her dorm on the big evening. You had been here for an hour, chatting, trying on each other’s dresses, flipping through magazines for hair and makeup inspiration. Now, it was only an hour until the start of the ball, and the excitement that brimmed in the whole castle even reached the Slytherin dorms in the dungeons. When you’d hurried through it with Pansy, the common room had been devoid of its usual calm and had rather reminded you of the Gryffindor common room on a rowdy saturday, with students mingling and mixing, chatting in excited voices, their anticipation barely contained behind their Slytherin coolness.

Pansy’s voice cut through your meandering thoughts, snapping you back to reality as you started to apply mascara. “When did you tell him, anyway? That you’re going with Potter?”

“Yesterday,” you answered, leaning forward to examine your work in detail. “Why?”

Even through her distant reflection in the mirror, you could distinctly make out her sudden smirk, pulling at her now full and red looking lips. “Oh, nothing,” she warbled innocently, though she looked as if she’d just unraveled a particularly thrilling christmas present. Her glinting eyes locking on your expression as she closed the lid on her lipstick was like a mouse trap snapping shut. “Just… Have I mentioned Mattheo has been a complete nightmare since yesterday?”

You paused mid lipgloss application to meet her eyes through the mirror, her words sinking in and coiling in the pit of your stomach. “...What?” you asked, trying not to sound too eager for her to expand on these seductive words.

Pansy grinned, turning to her mirror to deliver some last finishing touches to her face. “Oh, darling. He’s livid.”

“Why would he be livid?” you asked, frowning, getting back to your lipgloss. “It’s not like he cares.”

Pansy’s mock gasp told you she was not at all convinced by your reasoning- nor fooled by the false indifference in your voice. But she gave into your silent need for answers anyway, a knowing smile on her lips. “Oh, sure, that’s why he nearly hexed Enzo for breathing too loudly this morning.” She corrected the blend of her eyeshadow, enjoying the effect her words had on you. “Honestly, I should be mad at you for causing such an unbearable mood in our common room, but it’s just too entertaining.”

“I didn’t cause anything,” you deflected grumpily, glaring at your own reflection as if it were him, trying to convince yourself, trying not to let Pansy get your hopes up again and, at the same time, yearning for something to grasp onto. “Whatever’s got to him, I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with me.”

Making an unconvinced sound, Pans angled her face differently to admire it in different lighting. “Tell that to the poor first-year who had a nervous breakdown yesterday when Mattheo snapped at him for existing.”

“What?” you snapped sharply, frown deepening. Unfazed, Pansy rose from her seat and walked over to you, swaying her hips as she met your eyes in the mirror. You sighed at the grin on her face, getting back to applying your makeup. “He can be mad all he wants, it doesn’t change the facts.” Right. It changed nothing. You shouldn’t even care.

Pansy raised her perfectly lined brows at your attempts to seem indifferent. “Then why are you applying your lipgloss for the third time?” Before you could answer, she grabbed the lipgloss out of your hands, closed it and threw it back into your back. With a pull that left no room for protest, she tugged you up and towards the door. “You look fantastic. Come on, let’s get you out and about so you can meet your Chosen One up at Gryffindor tower.”

As you walked down the steps and stepped into the common room, your heart began to thrum in your chest at the realization that he’d probably be there. That he’d see you. In this dress. For a moment, you wished you’d gotten one with a more modest neckline, but then again, you burned to see his reaction.

It was as if you already felt it on the bottom step, as Pansy urged you into the common room. His presence, and then, the weight of his stare as you spotted him leaning against one of the leather couches beside Theo, dressed in, for once, unsullied dress robes. His gaze locked and you, your figure, and the tension in the air seemed thick enough to choke on.

Mattheo hadn’t even been looking, let alone waiting for you. At least that was what he told himself. But the moment the sound of heels clicking against the stone steps echoed through the common room, his body betrayed him. His fingers, lazily spinning a silver ring around his knuckle, stilled. His jaw clenched. And when he finally glanced up, just like he swore he wouldn’t, it was like taking a hit straight to the ribs.

You were stunning. Not just in the way that made his breath catch, but in the way that made his stomach twist, made something dark coil in his chest. Because you weren’t dressed for him. And yet, his first thought was that you should’ve been. His expression didn’t change, smirk perfectly in place, body draped in his usual lazy confidence- but his grip on his ring tightened, his throat felt dry, and he had to physically stop himself from shifting toward you. He knew the moment your eyes met his, you’d notice something in his stare, something raw, something dangerous. So he looked away first. Just for a second. Just long enough to breathe.

A thrill ran through you when your eyes met his, sharp and electric. He was still lounging in that infuriatingly effortless way, all cocky smirks and feigned disinterest, but you knew better. You saw it—the clench in his jaw, the way his fingers had gone stiff around that damn silver ring. The way his gaze flickered, just barely, before snapping back to you like he hadn’t meant to look away at all.

The other boys had now taken notice of your presence as well. Charming compliments rolling off his lips like the finest vinegar, Blaise made his way towards Pansy, who smirked him off and locked her arm with yours, telling him something about just having perfected her look and getting you out of here before someone choked on their own spit. But your eyes were still locked on Mattheo, as if there was a magnetic pull attracting them that rendered you unable to avert your gaze.

Only Pansy’s gentle nudges and tugging moved your feet towards the entrance wall, as if on autopilot, and only her whispered voice as she leaned in could cut through the rushing in your ears. “Alright, what’s the plan for tonight when Mattheo inevitably corners you at the ball?”

Anxious for none of the boys to overhear you, you leaned in closer, muttering, “... Ignore him?”

Pansy scoffed at your suggestion, rolling her eyes with a little smirk. Gently, she nudged your side and lifted her brows at you. “Adorable. Wrong, but adorable.”

You sighed, reaching the entrance to the common room and turning to her for a brief goodbye. You had to physically restrain yourself from looking back at Mattheo, who’s gaze you could feel burning into your skin, a silent dare to look back, walk back, to him. But you wouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter,” you tried to convince yourself more than you tried to convince Pansy. “I’m with Harry tonight. End of story.”

But Pansy seemed unimpressed by your stubborn conviction. A promising smirk graced her lips as she tilted her head towards Mattheo subtly. “Oh, honey. This story is just getting started.”

a/n: stay tuned for part b 🫶 | if anyone would like to get tagged for part b who isn't already in the general or mattheo tag list, leave a comment!

taglist: @lady-peiskos @hazeldunst @juliet-017 @furioussharkcat @onlytenkos @jannie-belaerys @blueflowerpots @whosyourgnomie @revesephemeres @longpondlibrary @aespaslut @s00ty-feet @cosplayboi18 @messageforthesmallestman @iamheretoread1234 @devilsadvcte @jolly4holly @deeplyinlovewithfluffbullshit

[harknessgf]

ACCISMUS

↬ maybe it was stupid trying to make theodore nott jealous by going to the yule ball with mattheo. maybe.

↬ sfw; wc: 9.4k; cw: violence, suggestive; theo nott x reader, friends to lovers

( masterlist )

Mattheo Riddle was a genius. At least after today he was. Though it wasn't like he wasn't sharp, it was more so the fact that his desire to punch someone got in the way of his composure that had earned him the reputation of a beater rather than a schemer. Usually, it was Theodore with the observant eyes, perfect composure and the thoroughly thought-out plans. Mattheo would know, as Theo’s quick-witted responses and excuses were likely the only reason he hadn't been kicked out yet. But today, he would turn the tables.

As usual, younger students jumped out of his way as he stormed through the halls, climbing the stairs that led up to Gryffindor tower. A group of his peers that were climbing out of their common room entrance cast him incredulous looks as Mattheo surged forward to hold it open and slip in in their wake. The second he entered the lion’s den, conversations fell silent and a sea of Gryffindors wearing expressions of varying shock stared at him, standing panting before the exit.

With a sweeping glance, Mattheo spotted you, sitting by the fire with your friends and playing chess against Weasley. When he had entered, you had looked up from your game and were now looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He called your name and motioned outside, hoping you'd get the hint. You did and rose from your seat, quelling the nervous remarks of your Gryffindor friends.

In spite of your house, you had been included in Mattheo’s friend group ever since you’d had a charms project with Enzo in fifth year, who had introduced you to them. Against all odds, it had been an instant match, and you hung out with them whenever you could, even though your housemates had been opposing the idea from the start.

Now, you stifled their complaints and slipped past Mattheo out of the portrait hole, who followed in suit, not sorry to leave the room of judging stares behind. When he let the portrait fall back into place, he found you frowning at him. “Did you run all the way up here, Mattheo?”

“Maybe,” he grinned cheekily and you rolled your eyes, though actual annoyance was missing from both your eyes and voice. “Whatever for?”

His appearance was slightly unnerving. Though completely out of breath and heaving heavily, an eager, almost crazed smile tugged at his lips and his eyes glinted dangerously. “I have a proposition for you,” Mattheo grinned and you sighed. Oh Merlin. You were going to get roped into another one of his schemes, weren't you?

“So, here’s the deal,” Mattheo whispered conspicuously and dragged you into a darker part of the corridor. “I think we can both do each other a favor that benefits both of us.” He swatted his hand at your skeptical expression. “I mean, actually benefitting both of us.”

“Let's hear it,” you replied and crossed your arms. You had your doubts wether this wasn't just an elaborate plot advantageous to exactly one person: Mattheo. That wasn't prejudice talking, but experience. Just a few years ago, you would've thought it impossible that you would be friends with Mattheo Riddle one day, but he had turned out to be a genuinely funny and easy to talk to person. But that didn't mean you trusted him when he looked at you like that. Especially because Mattheo had a way of causing trouble that rivaled Harry Potter’s.

“Be my date for the Yule ball,” Mattheo blurted out and your brows only rose higher.

During the last few weeks, nobody had known another topic of interest than the Yule ball that would take place at the end of the week, the hustle and bustle around it had been exhausting. Not to mention the drama resulting from the dating rumors. Secretly, you’d been hoping that Theo would ask you out. You had been crushing on him since even before you were properly introduced, and befriending him had only intensified your feelings for him. But he hadn't made a move. And now this.

“How would that benefit either of us?” you said, stunned. “What use could either of us possibly have to gain from stepping on each other's toes for a whole evening?”

“Well,” Mattheo started, rubbing his neck. “Ya see, I have a lot of … options, but I don't want anyone to become attached and start bugging me or expecting a relationship.” He pulled a disgusted face and you suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. Out of his whole friend group, who were all very sexually active, Mattheo had earned himself the title of the biggest whore, but it looked like that came to beat him in the ass for the first time.

“Why don't you go alone, then?” you asked sensibly. “I'm sure no one is going to doubt your sexual prowess just because you go solo to the Yule ball.”

Mattheo shook his head. “Not an option. I did a bet with Draco and I have to eat a hundred living flubberworms if I don't get a date.” A shudder ran through his body at the thought. “So I’m thinking I'll just ask a friend. But Pansy and Blaise are going and Draco and Daphne have made arrangements and Merlin forgive me for not wanting to go to the ball with Enzo or Theo.”

You couldn't help the snort that escaped you and turned into a laugh at the incredulous look he gave you. “God, Mattheo, I can't believe it. This is absurd.”

Patiently, Mattheo waited for you to come down from your laughing fit. “So, what do you say, angel? I can dance, I promise.”

“What's wrong with going out with Enzo or Theo?” you asked elusively. Though you had become used to the looks and stares that you earned every time your friendship to the Slytherin gang came up, you weren't keen on the attention you’d get for going out with the Dark Lord’s son, even if it was merely platonic.

“Come on,” Mattheo pleaded with you and it was a genuinely curious sight to hear him beg. “Think about what's in it for you!”

“Having to listen to you for hours on end and a public witch hunt?”

“Aha!” he called and sprung up. “That's where part two of my plan comes in.” When you opened your mouth to protest, he waved his hands to stop you. “Listen to this. I get to escape the flubberworms and the nosy girls and you get to make Theo jealous.” Ignoring your spluttered response, he continued. “That boy’s head over heels for you, and with a little luck, seeing you with me will make him explode and confess, and the two of you can ride into the sunset together yada yada yada.”

Luckily, your hidden corner was so dark the blush on your cheeks would not be visible to the eye, but in the deafening silence that followed, you could hear your heart beating faster. Finally, you broke it with a wavering laugh. “You’re ridiculous, Theo doesn't like me like that. He isn't- he wouldn't-” But Mattheo grinned wider the more you stuttered on and you glared at him. “If he likes me, why hasn't he asked me out yet?”

It was impossible. Too good to be true. Theo was stunning, he was smart and just overall great. When you first joined their friend group, he had warmed up to you the fastest, after Enzo of course, even though it was quite unusual of him to be open to strangers. But you had bonded over your shared academic interests, and once you had started recommending each other books and studying together, you were a done deal. But it was a purely platonic deal, at least from his perspective. Right?

“He will,” Mattheo interrupted your train of thought. “And he’ll give you the same spiel as me. He just needs a wake up call to realize he wants to fuck you!” Ignoring your piqued look, he gesticulated wildly. “Come on, are you just going to let him use you when you love him and he can't wrap his head around his feelings for you?”

“Like you are using me?” you reminded him but it couldn't deter Mattheo. “That's different. You don't have feelings for me, do you?”

You avoided his eye as you pondered his proposal. What if it didn't work? Well, at least you'd know and finally be able to let go of your stupid crush. There was, objectively, nothing wrong with going to the ball with Mattheo, you could just say you were helping out a friend.

Mattheo had said Theo had feelings for you- but what did he know? Why would someone as amazing as Theo be interested in you? Then again, there had been those moments, between bookshelves in the library, or in his common room, or out at the lake, shuffling closer to each other because of the cold. Moments when he had said or done something more befitting of a boyfriend rather than a friend. Rare smiles, interlaced fingers, sweet compliments, weirdly romantic Italian nicknames you had researched in a muggle library over the holidays. Was there a chance that Mattheo, who had the emotional intelligence of a tree trunk, was right about Theo’s feelings, or was he simply misinterpreting them?

“He really likes you,” Mattheo added quietly, as if he had read your thoughts. “He just needs a little push. Come on, angel, what could go wrong?”

Angel. That nickname. The first time Mattheo had called you that had been in the Slytherin common room. You had been lounging on the couch next to Theo, a book abandoned in your lap, and tried to cheer them up after a depressing quidditch practice. When Mattheo had called you an angel, Theo’s hand on your thigh had tightened and you had looked up just in time to see him throw a warning glare at Mattheo. Maybe there was something to his words.

But then again, you reminded yourself, Mattheo had an agenda with this, and when had someone else ever been more important for him than he himself? It was ridiculous to think that Theo liked you, but you were so hopeful. What if Mattheo’s stupid plan did work in your favor?

“F-fine,” you spluttered out before you could start to doubt yourself again. “I'll go with you. But it won't work because Theo doesn't like me like that. And you’re just taking advantage of my stupid schoolgirl crush. So, if it doesn't work, which it won't, you’re going to let me test my practice potions on you for a weekend. Deal?”

“Deal,” Mattheo grinned, shaking your outstretched hand. “But I fear you’ll have to find another guinea pig for your potions, because it will work.”

When Mattheo strode into the Slytherin common room fifteen minutes later, he walked in on Pansy beating Blaise at chess maliciously. The light of the flickering green fire made the shadows of their chess figures flicker over the walls in giant dimensions. Both of them looked up when he fell down on the couch with a triumphant grin and exchanged a glance. Usually, Mattheo's good mood could mean one of two things: someone was bleeding or someone was going to bleed.

“So…,” Blaise began when Mattheo made no indication of speaking. “What's got you in such a good mood?” Immediately after, he began to curse bitterly when Pansy took advantage of the distraction to get rid of his Queen.

“I’m not going to eat any flubberworms any time soon,” Mattheo said, satisfied. “y/n just agreed to go to the ball with me.”

The reaction was immediate. Pansy choked on a chocolate frog she had been eating and Blaise was too shocked to pat her back when she began to cough. In the armchair a few feet away, Enzo shot up and stared at Mattheo as if he had just announced he’d take a Hungarian Horntail to the ball. Then, he folded up his edition of the daily prophet he had been reading and sighed. “Mate, Theo’s going to kill you. Like, properly murder you.”

“That's what I'm counting on!” Mattheo retorted enthusiastically, undeterred by the skeptical looks on his friend’s faces. “Hold up, it's actually genius. I go out with y/n, Theo’s jealousy overloads, he explodes, finally confesses to her and stops yapping to us about how great she is.” He had framed his words with dramatic gestures, but they didn't have the planned effect.

“Mattheo, you absolute idiot,” said Pansy, so outraged at this display of foolishness that she didn't catch Blaise sneaking some of his chess pieces back onto the board. “You think jealousy is going to work? Have you met Theo? He’ll just brood in the corner forever.”

“She's got a point,” said Enzo, rolling up his newspaper and staggering over to his friends. “Also, Theo’s not going to confess if he thinks she’s into you!”

“You all underestimate his selfishness,” said Mattheo, still wholly convinced of this plan. The others exchanged looks. “Of course he’ll be broody and torn, but in the end, he’ll choose himself, as much as he loves her. And then he'll finally man up and tell her how he feels, she’ll confess right back and they ride out into the sunset together. Come on, it's guaranteed to work!”

A long silence followed, in which Mattheo smiled to himself giddily and the others contemplated the plan. Then- “this is why no one trusts you with anything emotional, Mattheo,” said Blaise, shaking his head. “Why not just talk to Theo instead of creating this drama? Oh, right, because you’re Mattheo.”

“We’ve tried, haven't we?” Mattheo asked in an exasperated voice. “We’ve told both of them again and again to finally get off their ass and make a move and they never listen, because they are oblivious angsty idiots.” He did have a point. Since the start of term, it had been obvious to the whole friend group how head over heels in love the two of you were for each other. Their attempts to get you together had failed miserably, however. Though the two of you were probably the smartest in your friend group, in this matter, you were wholly oblivious.

Enzo was the first to speak. “I swear, if you ruin this for Theo and y/n, I’m taking you down myself.”

“You can try, Berkshire,” grinned Mattheo, reaching for his wand, but Enzo only rolled his eyes and retreated back to his armchair, unfolding the daily prophet and continuing to read where he had left off.

“Wait,” said Pansy, narrowing her eyes at him. “y/n actually said yes to this? She's either braver than I thought or just as mad as you are.” She groaned exasperatedly and rubbed her temple, giving Blaise the opportunity to wipe a few of her chess pieces off the board without her noticing. “I give it two days before Theo starts plotting your untimely demise. Maybe less.”

“Well, that's the spirit, isn't it?” Said Mattheo, brimming with excitement. “Haven't had an equal fight in months.”

“Oh, that's what this is about,” murmured Pansy under her breath and gave Blaise a sharp look at if to say 'I've done all I can, it's your turn now’. Blaise, who wasn't one to let down his girlfriend, frowned thoughtfully. “Mark my words, this isn’t going to end well- for you, at least. I’ll enjoy watching, though.”

“Watching what?”

All four of them shot around at the sound of a drawled out voice coming from the entrance. It was Draco, covered in mud and shouldering a broom, and in his wake Theo, looking no less in need of a bath. “Why weren't you at practice, mate?” Draco asked Mattheo, who surely didn't regret ditching practice now that he'd gotten a clean shirt and a date out of it.

“I had to make a trip to Gryffindor tower,” he answered honestly, eyes roaming over their dirty forms. “Equally as unpleasant, I figure. Though it did ultimately work in my favor. Because I have a date for the ball now.” His observant eyes rested on Theo, who’s tired ones briefly flickered over and narrowed at him in suspicion.

“You’re taking a lion to the ball?” asked Draco skeptically, he seemed unable to imagine Mattheo having the audacity to ask you out, since, as everyone knew, you were Theo’s girl. “You must be really desperate. Who's the unlucky girl?”

“y/n,” grinned Mattheo simply, but the words had their intended effect nonetheless. A loud clatter silenced the common room when Draco’s broom landed on the floor, having slipped right out of his hands. His face was almost as white as his platinum hair as he gaped at Mattheo and then glanced back at Theo who had frozen mid-motion. Now, he straightened up once more to look at Mattheo. Theo, other than Mattheo, understood it to hide his reactions behind a mask of indifference, but his blue eyes were as hard and cold as ice.

“She said yes?”

“Yeah,” grinned Mattheo, failing to read the room, or he simply said the following out of madness. “She seemed pretty stoked!”

“Did she?” asked Theo tight-lipped and Mattheo only grinned in response. Teasing Theo, prodding him, holding you over his head, waiting for him to snap, for his oh-so-great composure to crack was the definition of fun. Mattheo could almost see it flicker in his eyes, the desire to punch him, to punish him, for taking what was his. And then, Theo’s annoying righteousness when it came to you, how he would remind himself that you didn't belong to him, that you could do whatever you pleased.

Mattheo could imagine both sides battling viciously in Theo’s head as he returned his gaze, it was delicious to have him squirm. He only had to watch his step, not play with the fire too much. Theodore Nott was one of the few people he knew that could actually beat his ass if they got poked too much. But he didn't take his eyes off Theo's who seemed just as determined to hold his. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his hands tighten around his broom before they relaxed, he spread his fingers like spiders and disciplined his own body into submission.

“So,” said Theo cooly, a certain bitterness tinging his tone that he kept to a minimum. Of course Theo knew Mattheo was trying to provoke him, and he was determined not to give him the satisfaction, or that was what Mattheo himself concluded. “When exactly did you decide you were into her? Before or after you knew I-” Theo paused and clenched his jaw “Never mind.”

“Does that bother you?” Mattheo asked in faux consideration and he could feel his friends holding their breath. Theo's infamous death stare fell upon him and the grin fell off his face, though the daring look in his eyes did not subside.

When Theo answered, his voice was smooth and controlled. “Doesn’t bother me. I just… didn’t think she’d be your type.”

“Why not?” asked Mattheo, his body ready for attack, every nerve tense in excited anticipation of a good fight. “She’s sweet, pretty, smart-”

“She's too good for you,” Theo cut him off with narrowed eyes, but Mattheo only shrugged. “It's the damn Yule ball, mate, I just need a date so I don't have to eat three courses worth of flubberworms, and I could imagine way worse than spending the evening with her. I mean,” a light smirk curled his lips, “she's not your girlfriend, is she?”

Oh, he could just feel Theo’s fury in his fingertips, the way he looked at him as if he wanted to take his head off. How he had to regret not asking you sooner, how confused over his anger he had to feel. Mattheo reveled in the power he had over him. But Theo smoothed out his features and stared at him through a mask of indifference. “Right.” Looking somehow a lot moodier than when he had stepped in, already brooding, he shouldered his broom and left for the boy’s showers.

His absence left behind a tense silence. Blaise was the first to speak. “Mattheo, mate… you're dead.” But Mattheo only laughed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, unbothered by his pessimistic outlook and still wholly convinced of his plan.

You wondered if Theo had caught wind of the Yule ball arrangement when you caught sight of him the next day in the Great Hall, looking more somber than ever. Even from the Gryffindor table, you could see him staring gloomily down on his porridge as if it had wronged him somehow. You were equally as unable to eat. Gnawing on your lip, you weighed the explanations in your head. Could he be jealous? No, that was too good to be true. It couldn't be.

Maybe he too had made a bet with Draco and had to eat flubberworms if he didn't find a date? Maybe there was some other explanation as to why Theo seemed to be answering all questions directed at him with either a frown or a shrug. Hunched over, his dark locks fell into his eyes as he glowered at his meal, fingers flexing around his fork. It was true, Theo was a grim person, and on bad days, he tended to glower at everyone who crossed his path- could this be just another one of his mood-swings?

“Everything alright?”

Taken aback, you looked at Hermoine who surveyed you with a cautious look in her brown eyes. “You haven't eaten.”

“I'm just not hungry,” you smiled truthfully and discarded the fork. No use pretending, you weren't getting any breakfast down today. Not when Theo looked so distractingly sinister and gorgeous.

But Hermoine didn't look convinced. “What did Riddle want yesterday? When he wanted to talk to you, what did he say?”

Your attention had been captured by Theo giving Mattheo his nastiest death glare, so you only registered the words slowly. “Huh? Oh, he only asked me to be his date for the Yule ball.” you replied, making Hermoine choke on her cereal. “He did what?”

Biting into the sour apple, you decided to come clean. “I said yes.” To escape her unbelieving and quite frankly accusing eyes, you rose from your seat. “See you in Arithmancy, Hermoine,” you said hastily and walked along the Gryffindor table in long strides. When you reached the doorway, however, you turned left and walked along the Slytherin table towards your friends.

Pansy noticed you approaching and waved, making the others look up as well. Mattheo grinned at you and blew you a kiss you rolled your eyes at. When Theo’s eyes fell upon you, however, they softened visibly. He scooted to the side, making space for you to sit down next to him. You smiled at him, albeit intimidated slightly by his bad mood, and moved closer to him. To your immense relief, he returned your smile and grabbed an empty glass to fill it with pumpkin juice and place it before you.

“Decided on a dress yet?” Pansy asked from the other side of the table and you looked at her, therefore missing the slight narrowing of Theo’s eyes at the mention of the ball. You did, however, notice his hand, reaching for yours over the table and interlocking your fingers with his. The Nott family ring on his ring finger burned cold against your skin, the calloused tips of his fingers from all the smoking burns felt even more uneven against your soft skin. You didn't know why you noticed his hands so clearly at this moment. Maybe, you realized, because you had never actually held his hand.

“Uh- yes,” you said, a little flustered, and returned your attention to Pansy who gave you a knowing look. “And you?”

The two of you slipped into a conversation about the ball and your dresses that the other boys participated scarcely in. Blaise asked questions about Pansy’s dress that he had never actually seen before. From time to time, Draco threw in a comment about his dancing skills and Enzo laughed along to Pansy’s teasing. Mattheo made flirty comments towards you when you talked about your dress, glancing at Theo to gauge his reaction.

Only Theo didn't participate in the conversation, though his fingers stayed interlocked with yours. Every now and again, they seemed to tighten, especially when Mattheo directed one of his flirty comments at you. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on your part. When everyone rose to go to class, he tugged you down again by your interwoven hands. His expression was serious. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Uh, sure,” you smiled, waving the others goodbye. Mattheo winked at you and you rolled your eyes at him. You sat back down, but Theo didn't speak immediately. His eyes studied your face, roamed over your features, as if he was seeing you for the first time- really seeing you. Merlin, he was an idiot. He should have asked you before Mattheo would be able to. The thought that you had looked up at Mattheo this sweetly just a day prior, before he had gotten ahead of him and asked you, was gnawing at him.

“You're going to the ball with Mattheo?” he forced the words past his lips, but managed to make them sound casual, as if he was asking about the weather.

“Yes?” you said and immediately scolded yourself for making it sound like a question. Your tone made him lift his brow as his eyes searched yours for any hesitance. “You don't have to go out with him, if you don't want to,” he said.

You could hear your heart beat in your ears. Was he trying to tell you that you had other options? Like him? For one second, you could see yourself, in the dress you had already picked out, side by side with Theo. He had to be a wonderful dancer. But then, you remembered what Mattheo had said. It was a platonic offer, even if he had feelings for you. Which you doubted. The thought of going with him when it was a merely platonic deal for him but meant so much to you, it was almost unbearable.

“I want to,” you replied and your voice sounded steadier than you’d dared to hope. For a second, you thought you saw his expression drop, but you could never trust your eyes with him, his fleeting expressions and flashes of emotions were hard to keep up with, even for you, who could see through him better than most people, by his own admission.

Theo merely nodded and stood up. Before you could, he shouldered your book back as well. Like the gentleman he was, he fended off your protests and held out his arm for you to take, as if you were at a special occasion, when, in truth, it was just another Tuesday in the Great Hall. Both glad and disappointed that nothing had changed, you slipped your arm into his and you left the Hall on your way to the Arithmancy classroom.

The soft hum of chatter filled the entrance hall as students in glittering gowns and sharply tailored dress robes gathered beneath the glowing light of the enchanted candles. The winged doors to the Great Hall were still shut as students who had partners in another house pushed through the crowd in search of them. You, however, didn't have much of a hard time finding your group of Slytherin friends, as any sane student steered clear of them. Before they could make you out in the wave of Gryffindor students that swept over the hall just now, you spotted them in a more secluded corner.

Of course, you noticed Theo first. He looked impossibly handsome in his dress robes. They were black, but with subtle hints of dark green. A dark green that matched the color of your dress. As if you were just meant for each other. Well, in your dreams. You noticed he didn't have a girl on his arm, neither did Enzo. Pansy and Daphne both looked gorgeous in their dresses, and especially Blaise looked hopelessly smitten. Then, there was Mattheo. You were somewhat surprised to see that he was actually wearing something formal. It was already a rarity for him not to be bloody, but to wear something festive was not a sight you ever expected to be subjected to.

Mattheo was the first to spot your approaching frame, a slow grin spreading across his face as he leaned casually against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets. His gaze seeped over you with an aporoving nod. “Well, aren't you dressed up nicely,” he drawled when you were in earshot, causing the others to take notice of your presence as well. Pansy, ever supportive, let out a low whistle, Blaise wiggled his eyebrows and Enzo gave you a thumbs up. But it was Theo’s reaction that you felt most acutely- a subtle shift in his posture, his jaw tightening ever so slightly as he looked you over. His gaze felt hot on your body and you felt your breath hitch when his stormy eyes locked with yours, a flicker of something unspoken flashing across his face before he quickly glanced away.

Fuck. You were gorgeous. Of course, he'd always known you were pretty, but seeing you in that dress did something to him. That green was the color of his house, of his family, the color of him. You looked like his, even though Mattheo put an arm around your waist and pulled you towards him. He could have killed him, he might have, if you hadn't let out a bright laugh at something he had said that stilled every and all remains of fury in him. Your laugh was disarming, especially when you looked over at him and gifted him one of your sweet smiles. “Hey, Theo.”

He could only nod, unable to take his eyes off you, even when the doors to the great hall opened and the group slowly made their way towards them. His gaze zeroed in on Mattheo's hand on your lower back. That was not Mattheo's spot, that was where his hand lay when he was walking you to class or Hogsmeade. Unable to look anywhere else, he followed the others mechanically, unaware of the glimpses you stole at him to gauge his reaction. But all you could see was indifference.

When you stepped through the doors you were momentarily distracted from Theo. The Great Hall was alight with blue light, decked in ice crystals. The usual four house tables had made way for a multitude of smaller, round tables surrounding the dance floor that took up the better part of the hall. Mattheo led the way to one table in close proximity to the dance floor, which surprised Theo. Usually, Mattheo preferred corners over the center.

Mattheo pulled out your chair for you before Theo had the chance to and - wether by chance or because he was a snarky asshole - sat down in between Theo and you. With a sly grin at Theo, he interlocked your fingers over the table and moved closer to you. In that moment, Theo swore to himself that he would dance with you today. He'd stay up until three in the morning if necessary, but he would hold you in his arms tonight, twirl you around in that damn dress and see the light of the crystals reflected in your eyes. And if he had to hex Mattheo, he would gladly do so.

Your laughter rang in his ears and he cursed himself. Hex Mattheo, and ruin your night? What right did he even have to feel like this? As much as he hated to admit it, Mattheo was right. You weren't his girlfriend, he had no claim over you. His possessiveness was sick, twisted and entirely selfish. You were his friend and he should only want the best for you. What he had masked as ‘the best for you’ was no more than what fulfilled his desires. He was being a horrible friend to you.

“Wanna dance, angel?” Theo couldn't even find it in himself to feel anything but bitterness when Mattheo rose and offered you his outstretched hand. Over his death stare directed at the table, he missed the way you glanced over at him before taking it and allowing Mattheo to eagerly drag you to the dance floor. The music was fairly quick and as Mattheo twirled you around, you let him pull you into him and mirrored his steps. Mattheo was a fairly skilled dancer, but you struggled to keep up with his extravagant style and quick steps.

Mattheo twirled you around so fast you could barely see beyond the flashes of blue that remained of the room. And even when a more slow piece came on, he found a way to keep you on your toes. “He's looking over,” you whispered after daring a glance over your shoulder to see that Theo's brooding gaze was fixed on the two of you.

“You even have eyes in your head?” grinned Mattheo, pulling you closer by your waist. “He's been looking at you the whole evening.” A smirk curled his lip. “Told ya”

You were a little too out of breath to answer, but when Mattheo leaned close to whisper a question in your ear, you nodded, albeit a little hesitant. Your rowdy dancing partner pulled you even closer until there was barely any space between you two. When he said something, anything, you giggled and he laughed along, even though neither of you remembered what he had said. In spite of the dancing, Mattheo managed to dip his head down and trail pecks up your neck to the shell of your ear. The shudder that went through your body was not as much a result of his lips, but a reaction to the way Theo’s fists clenched as you locked eyes.

Worry and stupid excitement coiled in your stomach. The way he was glaring at you through his dark locks, his fists clenching and unclenching, his cerulean eyes so dark, his posture so tense as if he was a predator ready to devour his prey, was so damn attractive that you couldn't help but stare longer than you intended to, before you managed to avert your eyes and focus them back on Mattheo. But you couldn't help but worry what his tense appearance might mean. Had he seen through Mattheo's plan to make him jealous and considered this a betrayal of your friendship?

Meanwhile, Theo had to summon up his last reserves of restraint when his best mate’s hand crept down your back, further than he was supposed to, teetering the edge of inappropriateness. But you looked so happy, laughing along to Mattheo's jokes. Though somehow, he had missed the repeated glances you cast at him all throughout the dance.

When the next number came on, you parted from Mattheo who lifted his brows. “That's enough. If he hasn't done anything by now, I must be right. You were wrong about these supposed feelings, Mattheo.” You sighed and shook your head about your own stupidity. Of course Theo hadn't reacted, you’d been right all along. Still, disappointment stung in your heart. Maybe you had held on to hope. Oh, who were you kidding, a part of you had believed Mattheo, and now you felt way worse than you had before. Before Mattheo could talk, you parted from him and left the dance floor.

Theo slowly, dangerously, lifted his head from his knuckles as his gaze followed your figure, ducking in between dancing couples to make your way back over. Your expression showed disappointment, sadness… you’d always been easy to read for him. When he asked you about it, you said you showed your emotions openly on purpose. Why, he had asked, and you'd laughed and said that you wanted to make people feel at ease and safe when talking to you, so you showed yourself to them to invite them in, make them feel welcome.

Even though he didn't fully understand, he admired you for it, recognized it as a strength when Mattheo had outright laughed at your explanation, earning him a sinister glare. But right now, Theo desperately wished he wouldn't be faced with your sorrow, it would make it easier to keep himself from walking over to Mattheo, drag him out into the hall and finally confront him. A horrible suspicion dawned on him as he locked eyes with Mattheo, who had been watching your retreating figure as well. When they locked eyes, he grinned, winked and disappeared into the crowd of dancing bodies. Had he been using you to make Theo jealous, to tease him for his personal satisfaction?

His sinister thoughts were quelled when you reached the table and sat down next to him, bending over with a groan and slipping out of your heels. But before you could even grab a slice of cake to drown your sorrows in sweets, someone got a hold of your hand. You followed the arm and saw Theo, looking at you with a serious expression. His grip was soft, as if you were fragile, made out of glass, made to look pretty and shatter. But his eyes were hard as stone. “What did he say to you?”

“Huh?” you asked, genuinely perplexed at the growl in his voice. “Who- what- You mean Mattheo?” A curt nod. You understood. Theo must've misinterpreted your bad mood upon leaving the dance floor for hurt at something Mattheo had said. “Nothing,” you said quickly. “Everything's alright.” But your reassurances couldn't wipe the skepticism from his eyes. “Look, it's just my feet that started to hurt, alright? It's not Mattheo's fault.”

Though he still looked doubtful, Theo seemed to accept your explanation and reached over to cut you a large piece of cake. In spite of your expensive dress, you brought your knees to your chest as you started eating, but your sudden appetite quickly subsided. With a long sigh, you leaned your head on Theo’s shoulder and reveled in his warmth. “‘M sorry,” you murmured under your breath, unsure if he would even catch it.

He did, and frowned, you could hear it in his voice though you didn't see his face. “What for, amore?” Amorina. It meant ‘little love’, or that was what the muggle dictionary books said. Those damn Italian nicknames. His accent, barely noticeable in everyday conversation, was thicker when he spoke hushed and you allowed yourself to revel in how it made you feel, just for a moment. Then, you shrugged, hoping it would be enough of an explanation for now. Would you ever be able to tell him why you had gone to the ball with Mattheo or would you sooner die of embarrassment?

This wasn't so bad. Actually, it was quite nice. You rocked slightly in the rhythm of the music and leaned into Theo who, in turn, leaned onto you carefully. Somehow, your hands had found each other. Draco was dancing with Daphne, Blaise and Pansy were making out in a distant corner of the room and Enzo was at the buffet to get seconds. It was quite peaceful, almost like you two were the only thing that mattered and all around you was just noise and light and colors. They would fade, he wouldn't, and you wouldn't either.

Your peace was only disturbed when Mattheo arrived, who, to your not-really surprise, had a giggling girl holding onto his arm. Unbeknownst to you, Mattheo had not given up just yet. If Theo's selfishness wasn't stronger than his desire to see you happy, maybe his knight-in-shining-armor urges would be. He grabbed your plate from in front of you, ignoring Theo's frowns, dug the fork into it and held it out to the giggling girl that was clutching his dress robes.

“You enjoying yourself, darling?” he asked and she nodded, giving him a sultry look. He cast you a deliberately indifferent look. “You don't mind, angel, do you?” Though he didn't dare look at Theo and give himself away, he could practically feel him fuming.

“Knock yourselves out,” you replied with a wave of your hand but Theo was not so quick to dismiss the scene. He rose from his seat, feeling as if all his frustration and resentment of the last week had reached its peak and was ready to boil over. In moments like these, when he allowed his anger to escape, to be felt just for a moment before funneling it towards the intended target with deliberate precision, he could feel himself getting calmer. The rushing in his ears subsided, his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace as he looked down on his best mate.

“What do you think you're doing?”

“Taking a gorgeous girl to dance with me,” Mattheo answered casually, grinning at the girl on his arm. How could he act as if you weren't even there? How dare he run to another when he had taken you to be his date, was he never satisfied?

“You already have a date, scemo,” he growled. By now, a few pairs of eyes had gotten wind of the brewing storm. A few of them stepped closer to observe the scene, others pushed through the crowd to put some space between them and the two boys who now glared at each other. Mattheo was tense, brimming with excitement and pushed away the girl. Theo, on the other hand, seemed almost unnaturally calm, his hand slowly slipping into his robes in search of his wand.

“Theo,” you said quietly, in an ineffectual attempt to avoid more attention. “I really don't mind.” He cast you a quick glance and you knew it hadn't been enough. His eyes were soft all of the sudden, but you knew he wouldn't back down. And you weren't going to lie, it did warm your chest that he was so willing to stand up for you. Though you didn't want the situation to escalate into an actual fight because of your’s and Mattheo’s stupidity.

Mattheo would apologize to you for the following later, but now he had to wound Theo up so much that he’d attack him with bare hands, Mattheo's preferred method of fighting, because he knew he couldn't beat the academic weapon Theo in a wizarding duel. “Yeah, she was kind of a bore so I-” But he didn't get to finish that sentence, because Theo had abandoned the search for his wand, surged forward and tackled Mattheo so they fell to the ground in a heap of robes and fists.

You had rarely seen Theo fight. Well, that was not quite true. You'd seen him hex people, curse fellow students, but never like this. The punches he delivered to Mattheo’s face were less deliberate and full of rage. It was a show of force unlike any you'd ever seen from him. When tackling Matteo, he had discarded his robes and now his white shirt got the first red spots. Mattheo hit and kicked back with the same fervor you already knew from him, and you could see it in his eyes, this was all just a game for him.

Students screamed when a resounding crack echoed through the hall, amplified by the sudden silence that had come over the crowd as everyone formed a circle around the fighting boys. Theo had broken Mattheo's nose, you were sure of it, and for a moment, you thought Mattheo was down, but of course not. Without a sound of pain, he shot up and tackled Theo, who had hesitated for a split second too long, to the ground. Wherever they threatened to crash into the wall of onlookers, the students moved back like a coordinated swarm of fish.

Slowly, Theo seemed to get the upper hand on Mattheo who seemed slightly knocked out from the hit in the face that had broken his nose. But nonetheless, while Theo’s expression was bitter and hard as he brought his fist down on Mattheo's face again and again, the latter laughed, almost crazily, coughing up blood. His laughter was the loudest sound, and for a good minute, you doubted his sanity. In contrast, Theo was eerily silent as he beat Mattheo with the utmost concentration, jaw clenched and eyes full of disdain.

Finally, the headmaster managed to push through the crowd. Some of them were chanting, others were covering their faces with their hands. Dumbledore assessed the situation in one glance, and you thought he even winked at you, before he pulled out his wand. As if pulled apart by invisible hands, Mattheo and Theo were ripped apart and both stumbled a few feet back, making the crowd on either side burst to scramble away.

They were both heaving. Mattheo looked worse than Theo, his nose was visibly broken and his face was littered with cuts and bruises and two black eyes. Theo’s lip and nose were bleeding, dripping crimson upon his stained shirt, as were his fists, and a darkening bruise bloomed above his right jawline. Both of them looked ready to jump back into it, if it hadn't been for a very disgruntled Snape, who stepped in between and sneered at Theo especially. “What a display! You have dishonored your house with your public brawling-”

“Now, now, Severus,” said Dumbledore calmly and smiled in understanding. “Tempers run high at events like these. I can remember, in my youth, there was no ball without a good duel. Of course, some choose the more direct approach.” His eyes twinkled.

Unfortunately, Mattheo chose the exact moment to send you a wink and Theo, who looked just about a hundred percent done with his bullshit, took a step towards him, only to be roughly pushed back by Snape. It couldn't stop the words leaving his mouth through gritted teeth, though. “Sei praticamente mio fratello,” growled Theo with a wild look in his blue eyes. “come hai potuto farmi questo, pezzo di merda?"

Mattheo was still gasping for breath and wincing at every inhale, but he grinned nonetheless. “non parlo italiano, you dumbass,” he sneered with what you could only assume was a heavy British accent, and Theo, still fuming, spit on the ground over Snapes shoulder who was still holding him back.

“Now, now,” said Dumbledore with a level of indulgence you could only admire him for. “I believe, Mr Riddle, you should see Miss Pomphrey. As for you, Mr Nott, how about a walk to, ah- cool off?”

Theo pushed Snape off of him who glared at him, only to be glared at right back. “Twenty points off Slytherin, Nott,” he said with clear disdain in his voice. Before Theo could protest or do something rash (you had never seen him like this, he looked like he was capable of anything), you grabbed his hand and started pulling. To your immense surprise and relief, Theo gave in immediately, following you as you pushed through the students, out of the door, through the entrance hall, and finally, out into the dark grounds where the chilly night air finally cleared your head a little.

You sat down on the stone steps and Theo followed suit, still breathing heavily and flexing his hands. For a few minutes, you didn't dare speak. When you finally managed to work up the words and the courage, it was Theo who spoke first. His voice had lost all temper, all edge, it was full of regret. “I'm sorry, amore.” Taken aback, he turned your head to look at him. His gaze was fixed on his hands, covered in both Mattheo's and his blood, seeping out of his knuckles.

“What for?” you asked and he finally looked at you, albeit as if you were asking a very ridiculous question. “Cazzo, for ruining your night. You deserve better, I was a-” But you didn't let him finish, you reached over to wrap your arms around him and pull him in, needing his warmth more than ever. Immediately, his arms engulfed your form and he pulled you into him so that you were sitting halfway in his lap, but neither of you cared. Maybe even without realizing, he rocked you back and forth lightly and you breathed out, breathed in, let the smell of him consume you whole. Cigarettes had never smelled better.

When Theo reluctantly released you, his gaze trailed over the goosebumps on your arms. Your dress, as wonderful as it was, did not have sleeves. “Let's go,” he said softly. He didn't say where, but you didn't care, you trusted him. So you let him pull you up and back inside, down the staircase to the dungeons. None of you said a word. When you stepped inside, the Slytherin common room was deserted, as everyone was still upstairs, enjoying themselves.

Theo urged you towards the couch, but you had come to a halt. You knew you needed to come clean. Now. Before he had the chance to actually take Mattheo's head off. Mistaking your hesitation for doubt rather than guilt, Theo let his arms engulf you once more. It may have been a trick of your imagination, but you thought you heard him breathe in the scent of your hair. “Maleditelo, that bastard. Merlin, I could have broken his fucking jar if they'd given me one more minute. Curse him for doing that to you. I’d never have-” He fell silent.

You sighed against his chest, silently wishing you'd never taken part in Mattheo's crazy plan. “I didn't mind that,” you murmured into his blood-stained shirt, reveling in the feeling of his thumbs brushing over your shoulder as he held you. But it stopped, and Theo pulled away, face contorted into a bitter smile as he began to pace in front of you. “No, of course you didn't. Sei troppo dannatamente bonario, troppo gentile, troppo perfetto.”

“Theo!” you said loudly and that made him look down on you. Your voice was shaking slightly. “I’m sorry.” He frowned, and then it all spilled out of you. How Mattheo had proposed the idea of making him jealous because he was convinced he liked you, how you had said yes because you were a lovesick idiot, how he had been purposefully riling him up and you had went along with it all. “I'm sorry,” you said shakily, holding back tears. “I was so stupid, this is all my fault, I'm so, so sorry Theo.”

During the whole tale, Theo hadn't moved an inch. Now, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from out of his pocket, ignited one with a bit of wandless magic and took a long drag. Usually, Theo didn't smoke when you were around, because he knew you didn't like it. But desperate times seemed to call for desperate measures. Staring down at the glowing cigarette between his fingers, Theo seemed to gauge the words, weigh them on his tongue, before he spoke. “You like me?”

“I love you,” you confessed, hiding your face in your hands. “God, Theo, I'm so sorry.”

“Why didn't you just talk to me?” You peeked at him through your fingers, but he seemed calm. Sure, he was frowning, but the cigarette seemed to have helped. His gaze was fixed on you as he studied your expression, what little he could catch a glimpse of, anyway.

You let out a helpless sigh, feeling ridiculous. “Because… you know, you’re you.”

At that, his frown deepened and he took another drag of his cigarette, as if to calm himself. Then, he flicked it into an ashtray and approached you slowly. His gentle hands came up to pry your hands from your face. They fell helplessly at your sides. “What's that supposed to mean?” he asked with furrowed brows. “Are you intimidated by me, amorina?”

“N- no!” you stuttered desperately, “it's just…” You let out a long sigh, not daring to look at him. “I was scared it might ruin our friendship, it just… seemed like the best way.” As you spoke them, you realized the stupidity of your words, and Theo, too, raised his brow at you. “You thought going to the ball with Mattheo to make me jealous, letting him kiss you on the dance floor and rile me up all evening was the best way, did you?”

“Yes?” you squeaked, never having felt this abashed in your life.

Theo rolled his eyes, but he leaned down and suddenly he was so close. So close you could feel, hear and smell his breath, still reeking of cigarettes. So close you suddenly realized just how blue his eyes were, a deep cerulean blue. So close your breath hitched. Theo's voice was but a whisper, but he seemed distracted, his eyes darting between your eyes and - could it be? - down to your lips. “Stupid plan.”

“I know,” you breathed, looking at him with wide, teary eyes that Theo wanted to burn into his memory forever. He couldn't find it in him to be mad at you. Not when you looked at him like this, not when he could smell you.

“It worked,” was all he said, and you could barely comprehend the words before his lips crashed onto yours.

You'd imagined many times how it might feel to kiss Theo, too feel those soft lips on yours. Would it be messy? Gentle? Rough? It turned out to be none of those, or perhaps all of those. Kissing Theo was dizzyingly overwhelming. His lips moved in yours in a controlled passion, slow and meticulous, but at the same time, hungry. So, so hungry when he let out a groan and parted your lips with his to slip his tongue into your mouth. To explore, to discover, to make you whimper against him as he pulled you in tighter by the waist.

You suddenly felt impossibly hot and bothered, especially when Theo's lips departed from your mouth to nip at your jaw and travel down the crook of your neck, biting, sucking, caressing, worshipping. When you felt something solid poke against your thigh, you gasped, nervousness coiling in your stomach. “M-maybe,” you stuttered, “now that all is cleared up, we should maybe go look after Mattheo in the-”

You gasped loudly when Theo bit down hard on your neck, silencing you effectively with the growl that escaped his throat. “Don't say his fucking name, amore.” You nodded frantically, biting back moans, and Theo started lapping at the bite, rubbing his tongue over it in soothing circles as his hands travelled down, further down before they reached the slit in your dress and he grabbed a handful of your thigh. “You can scream mine instead.”

Suddenly, the door burst open and you jumped, Theo took a step back from you to glare at your intruders. It was Pansy, and, following right behind, Blaise. She had her brows lifted and grinned. “Holy hell, get a r-”

“Get out, Pansy,” Theo cut her off, fingers digging into your thigh. Though she held Blaise back from standing up for her, she rolled her eyes at his tone and turned to leave. “Lock the door,” Theo called after them and you somehow found yourself giggling. “Theo, you can't just shut your whole house out of the common room.” You felt light headed, slightly dizzy, but you smiled and he managed to return it. “'Course I can.”

He let go of your thigh and walked a few steps, over to what had to be an enchanted record player. With a tip of his wand, it started playing a slow song. Theo looked back at you, extending his arm, offering you his right hand. A small smile played around his lips as he crooked his head to the side. “Dance with me, amorina.” And of course, you took it, let him pull you towards him and closed your eyes as he began to move you to the slow rhythm. Somehow, your head landed on his shoulder, his came to encircle your waist as you moved, barely taking a step.

He would make the stolen night up to you. Every single second.