lov3notts-recs

[lov3notts-recs]

ONE CUP OF COFFEE. theodore nott

( master list )

IN WHICH… Theodore Nott can’t stand the idea of actually falling in love but he finds himself questioning his choices after a series of rather comforting conversation with a Hufflepuff.

“Do you hate me so much that you can’t stand having one coffee with me?”

Warnings: Smoking, mentioning of throwing up, mentioning of weed, swearing here and there, mentioning of hooking (pretty tame for a Theodore Nott fic tbh)

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“One coffee. Black. No milk or sugar. Make it hotter than usual.” Theodore Nott wasted no time in repeating his order to the worker behind the counter. A new coffee shop had opened inside of Hogsmeade and in the Slytherin’s opinion, their drinks were better than any muggle one.

He tossed a few golden coins onto the table before walking away and taking a seat in a deserted corner. He liked to be away from people because despite being part of a popular Slytherin group and partying often, he wasn’t a social person.

The quiet lulling of muggle songs played around in the cafe, bouncing off the walls. Theodore pulled his turtle neck up higher, covering his bare skin from the cold air. It nipped at his slim fingers and he wished he had taken a pair of Draco’s Dior gloves now.

The rusted bell attached to the door dully rang as someone else entered. The cafe wasn’t too crowded. There were a few other students scattered here and there but not many people were willing to freeze just to grab a coffee.

Melted snow dripped off Theodore’s boots as his observant eyes followed the actions of the newcomer. He couldn’t tell what house she was in because she was wearing all white, but she definitely wasn’t a Slytherin. The girls clad in green and silver had a certain aura; an unfriendly, poisonous, and addictive one.

This girl radiated off sunshine and daffodils and basking in the warmth of a crackling fire. Theodore guessed she was in Hufflepuff because she had a certain charm to her bright smile.

“One cinnamon chai latte.” She ordered, kindly handing the cashier a few coins. She was practically the opposite of Theodore.

“Name?” The cashier asked, much comfortable in her presence as opposed to the Slytherin who sat a few feet away.

“Y/N.”

Her name jogged Theodore’s memory. She was the girl Lorenzo had been paired with in herbology. It was quite a long and dragged out assignment so whenever Lorenzo wasn’t hanging out with his friends, he was with her.

Theodore subconsciously sat up straighter and leaned forward to get a better look at Y/N. Lorenzo described her as a pretty and bright girl with a warm perspective on life. Instead of saying “what’s the worst that could happen?” She always said “what’s the best that could happen?”

Theodore was somewhat impressed by how positive a person could be.

He didn’t notice he had been staring until Y/N turned her head, innocent E/C eyes burning holes into his. Theodore almost jumped. He quickly adverted his gaze, clenching his jaw.

Out of the corner of his vision, he could see Y/N sit at the table beside him. She sat with her legs oddly crossed and her body was turned so she could look at him.

“Theodore Nott, right? Enzo’s friend?” Her voice was gentle, like a meadow full of daisies and glittering ponds of water.

Theodore thickly swallowed before he nodded. “Yeah. Lo’s talked about you. You were his partner for potions.” The brunette had never heard anybody call Lorenzo by Y/N’s nickname, but maybe that was because he didn’t allow anybody to call him that. Unless it was Y/N, of course.

The poor boy was smitten with her during fifth year but he shyly backed off when he realised he had too much competition. To this day, Draco was still trying to convince him to man up.

“He talked about me?”

“Only once or twice.” Theodore lied through his teeth. He may be a tease, but he refused to out his friend.

“The assignment we did was so annoying. I’m glad I had him as my partner. If it was anybody else, I would’ve gone mad.” Y/N signed and a small laugh slipped past her pink-tinted lips.

“You practically saved his herbology grades. Lo is smart but his plant knowledge is in the negatives.” Theodore huffed in amusement, his mouth curving into a sly smirk.

“He’s good with everything else, though.” Y/N uttered. Out of the whole Slytherin group, Lorenzo, Draco, and Pansy had the highest grades. Blaise couldn’t care less; he still scored pretty high but grades weren’t his whole life. And Matteo and Theodore, the players they were, didn’t even bother studying for exams.

“Black coffee.” The barista suddenly called out, making Theodore realise he had never given the worker his name.

“That must be your’s.” Y/N said, nodding over at the steaming drink. She smiled, which almost set Theodore’s heart alight. It was already drowning in gasoline and her damn grin may as well be the flaming match. “Theo?” She waved a hand in front of his face as he spaced out.

“Huh?” Finally, his blank eyes shifted to stare at her.

“Your coffee.” Y/N reminded him.

“Oh. Right. I’ll see you later.” Theodore was quick to stand up and grab his drink, the paper cup burning the palm of his hand.

“See you later, Theo!” Y/N called out, not seeming to notice his uneasy mood.

Theodore sped walked out of the coffee shop, holding a hand to his chest. His stomach sank as dread overwhelmed him.

Him and Matteo were like two peas on a pod. They shared the same habits too, like drinking their sorrows away and smoking until their lungs burned. And let’s not forget their infamous reputations as playboys. Theodore Nott didn’t do relationships so he refused to let a soft Hufflepuff change his mind.

Despite shoving down whatever warm feeling he felt when he was next to Y/N, Theodore couldn’t help but crane his head in search for a certain flash of H/C hair.

“Black coffee. Extra hot.” He muttered absentmindedly to the same cashier who had served him a week before.

“Name?” She asked, bored eyes gazing up at him.

“Theo.” He quickly replied, turning his head again when he thought he saw Y/N. He felt disappointed when it wasn’t her. The worker seemed to notice.

“Are you looking for that Hufflepuff you were talking to last time?” She questioned, arching a thin brown eyebrow. Theodore glanced down at her name tag that read Eulia.

“No.” He quickly denied her inquiry, wrapping his long Slytherin scarf tighter around his bare neck.

“She comes in every week around this time. She’ll be here soon.” Eulia said, glancing over Theodore’s shoulder to take in the growing line. She cleared her throat, reminding Theodore of where he was.

As usual, he threw some coins onto the countertop and walked away to the same table he sat at before. His head perked up when he heard the sound of familiar laughter.

Y/N walked in, waving good-bye to her Ravenclaw friend. “The usual, Y/N?” Eulia asked, already typing her order into the monitor.

Y/N practically bounced over to Theodore, taking a seat in front of him. “Hey, long time no see. I thought I’d see you at school but I guess not.”

“I was busy.” Theodore lied. In truth, he had been hauled up in his dorm and listening to Draco rant about Pansy.

“Doing what?” Y/N innocently tilted her head to the side, genuinely curious.

Theodore, as blunt and brainless as ever, blurted out the first thing he could think of. “Weed, drugs, and smoking.” He wanted to bash his head into the table. What kind of response was that?

Yes, he used to do all those things but he had toned it down. The only addiction he had was smoking now.

“I don’t know why I said that. It was the first thing that popped up in the mind.” He admitted, scratching the back of his head.

“I’m not judging you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Y/N laughed, “By the way, your cigarettes are about to fall.” She pointed to the packet that was lazily shoved into Theodore’s pocket. He quickly caught it.

“I don’t do weed or drugs anymore.” He uttered, “Just so you know.”

From the coffee machines, Eulia rolled her eyes. “Coffee for Theo. Cinnamon chai latte for Y/N.” She called out, placing the drinks down.

Theodore quickly stood up. “I’ll get them.” He offered, not waiting for a response.

“Smooth.” Eulia said as he grabbed the drinks.

“Cut me some slack. I’m used to hooking up with toxic girls, not chatting over coffee with a sweet Hufflepuff.” Theodore lightly scoffed.

“So, Theo, what do you want to do when you graduate?” Y/N asked as soon as he sat back down again.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” In all his years of Hogwarts, he had never thought about it. “What about you?”

“I want to open a bakery.” Y/N said like she had been waiting the question to come up.

Theodore raised his eyebrows. “You like baking?”

“Yup! I’ll bake you something next week. Do you like chocolate?”

“Who doesn’t?” Theodore only knew one person who didn’t like chocolate, and that was Pansy. But to be fair, she had gotten food poisoning from spiked chocolate in third year.

It was safe to say that she spent most of that day hunched over the toilet while Matteo held back her hair and Lorenzo gently got her to drink water, which she threw up too but it’s the thought that counts.

“Great! I have to go now. I’m meeting up with another friend. See you at school, Theo!” Y/N effortlessly chugged her scorching hot drink. She slammed the cup against the table, grinning.

“What the…” Theodore was still trying to process what had just happened as he watched Y/N run out of the cafe and into the arms of her friend

The next week, Y/N arrived earlier than Theodore. He had been held up by Blaise, who was curious as to why he was visiting the same coffee shop three times in a row.

Theodore entered the store after managing to shake Blaise off. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shivering despite the atmosphere being warm.

Eulia, who seemed to be on duty every day, had already made his drink and placed it in front of Y/N. She was too busy doodling on his cup with a permanent marker to notice his sudden appearance.

“Cute outfit.” He said as he sat down, the legs of his chair scraping against the tilted floor. Y/N’s face visibly lit up at his small compliment. Theodore observed her pink sweater with little bows sewn on it and her short white skirt with fleece leggings lining her legs.

“As promised, your cookie.” Y/N slid the box over to Theodore, smiling. “I would recommend heating it up. A warm cookie is better than a cold and hard one.”

“Do you bake often?” Theodore asked, taking the box and letting it rest on his lap.

“I try to bake as much as I can. I like helping the house elves too.” Y/N began to fondly talk about her love for baking and as much as Theodore tried to focus on her words, his gaze wandered to a suspicious group huddled in the opposite corner.

Once Theodore looked past their dark sunglasses and large coats, he recognised them as his friends. He saw Draco shove past Pansy and he surely pointed at Y/N then at Theodore before slapped his hands together.

Theodore stared at him, puzzled. And it showed as he furrowed his eyebrows and frowned. Y/N didn’t seem to notice his wavering attention, much to his relief.

“Do you want to bake together sometime, Theo?” Y/N asked, bringing him back to their conversation. He felt a little guilty because he hadn’t heard another word of what she had said.

“Sure. Though, I don’t think I’d be much help. Matt and I tried making edibles once and we messed that shit up.”

From behind Draco, Matteo glared at Theodore. It was your fault, he mouthed. He wasn’t lying, Theodore had gotten just about every ingredient in the recipe wrong.

“Edibles?” Y/N tilted her head to the side.

“Weed brownies.” Theodore elaborated, “But that was last year. I don’t do that anymore, remember? I only party and smoke.”

“I know. You told me.” Her eyes crinkled when she smiled. Y/N’s gaze flickered to his packed of cigarettes that always looked like it was about to fall out.

“Would you like to come to a party with me?” Theodore asked, leaning forward. There was one in the Slytherin common room next week. Normally, people from other houses weren’t invited but if you had the right connections, you’d be let in.

“Parties aren’t my thing. I… don’t like the vibe. You know?”

“That’s fine. You ever tried smoking?”

“No. Cedric offered to teach me but I declined.” Y/N frowned at the lost opportunity.

“I’ll teach you.” Theodore said a little too quickly. He cleared his throat. “I mean, you keeping me company wouldn’t be so bad.” He grabbed his packet, sliding it across the table. “These are my good ones. Keep ‘em and whenever you’re having a bad day or just wanna have a smoke, find me. I’ll light one for you.”

From across the room, Matteo lightly gasped. Theodore never ever shared his good cigarettes with anyone, not even him.

“Really?” Y/N picked up the worn-out box, staring at it.

“Yeah. I gotta get going. My friends are probably wondering where I am.” Theodore, once again, lied through his teeth. He knew his friends had questions and he didn’t want to keep them waiting. He stood up, feeling Pansy’s gaze burn a hole through him.

“Enjoy the cookie!” Y/N exclaimed, grinning and waving him off.

Theodore smiled. “I’m sure I will, love.” He walked out of the cafe, his friends following close behind and bombarding him just like he had predicted.

“You clearly have some sort of feelings towards her.” Panay said as she poked the brunette beside him. All throughout breakfast, Panay had been trying to get Theodore to admit his growing affection for Y/N. He denied it every time.

“I don’t.” He said for the third time, leaning down to stuff some bacon into his mouth. As he quickly chewed, his gaze flickered to Y/N.

“You’re looking at her again!” Pansy exclaimed, huffing. “It’s so obvious you like her!”

“Where’s Lo and Draco?” Theodore changed the subject, realising the two boys were missing.

“You can’t change the topic. You like her and you know it.” Unfortunately for Theodore, Pansy was persistent. Maybe a little too much.

“Theo likes who?” Lorenzo tilted his head to the side in curiosity. The whole group, even Blaise who laughed at awkward situations, froze.

Nobody responded for a moment before Blaise put down his fork. “Y/N. He likes Y/N L/N.” Theodore glared at the boy, wondering why on hell he’d even tell Lorenzo the truth.

“… Oh.” Lorenzo didn’t say much as he sat down, glancing over at Y/N. “You’re not going to break her heart, right?”

“I don’t like her. End of conversation.” Theodore groaned, taking a huge gulp from his goblet.

“I don’t believe you.” Lorenzo uttered, pointing his fork at Theodore’s eyes, “Your eyes say it all. You keep looking at her every minute and when you do, your eyes soften.”

Pansy snickered, nudging Theodore. “Told you.”

“If you don’t like her, then you wouldn’t mind if someone else asked her out, would you?” Matteo piped up.

“You aren’t her type.” Theodore immediately replied, scoffing.

“We’re practically the same, Theo. If I’m not her type then you aren’t. She’s pretty and all but I don’t date. That guy, on the other hand, seems like he does.” Matteo pointed over to a Ravenclaw boy approaching Y/N. The whole Slytherin group watched as he nervously asked her something and when she slowly nodded, his face lit up.

Theodore clenched his hands into fists. “Did he just ask her out?” He seethed, clenching his jaw.

“You don’t like her, remember? You shouldn’t care.” As usual, Matteo had that same infuriating smirk on his face. “Anyway, what are we doing for the party tonight?”

Theodore had forgotten all about it. He faintly remembered Y/N saying parties weren’t her thing. Did she like guys who didn’t party? That Ravenclaw boy looked like he didn’t. Is that why she said yes?

“I’m not doing. Not really my thing.” He uttered, shrugging. His friends looked at him in disbelief.

“Not your thing?” Matteo stammered, “Mate, the only thing you do is party! What’s gotten into you?!”

“He’s trying to turn into Y/N’s ideal type.” Pansy snickered, “He knows he isn’t the blueprint and he can’t see her with anyone else so he’s improving himself.”

“Respect, bro. But what about Izzi?” Matteo motioned to the Slytherin girl down a few rows who was Theodore’s favourite hookup.

“I don’t care about her.”

“What about the drinks?”

“I need to cut my alcohol intake.”

“Smoking? You can’t give up smoking! You’re addicted!”

“Y/N has my cigs. When she wants to learn, I’ll teach her.”

“And if she never wants to learn?”

“Then I won’t pester her. Not smoking for a while might do me some good.” Theodore on the brink of giving up smoking for some girl was a huge deal.

Matteo leaned over to Draco, “Is he sick?”

Pansy lightly snorted and she teasingly grinned, “If you mean lovesick, then yeah.”

To be honest, Theodore didn’t even know what he was doing. His head tried to convince him to return to the common room and drink like he usually did, but his heart said no.

That’s how he ended up in the courtyard, enjoying the fresh breeze.

“Theo?” An all too familiar voice called out. He practically spun around, facing Y/N. “I thought you’d be at your party.” She stared at him, confused.

“I’m taking a break from all that.” He said. Y/N silently sat beside him on the stone bench.

“I still have your cigarettes if you want them.” Y/N said, handing the packet over. “I thought about it and I don’t think I want to smoke just yet.”

“Thanks, love.” Theodore took the box, shoving it into his pocket without hesitation. Normally, he’d take one out and light it up but tonight was different.

“So, that Ravenclaw boy.” Theodore drawled. “He asked you out, huh?”

“Hm? Oh, Rowan? Yeah. I only said yes to be nice though because he helped me with some work last year.”

“You’re too kind, love. You need to know your boundaries.”

Y/N’s cheeks heated up at the sound of his endearing nickname. “I can’t say no now. It’ll just be one date then I’ll say it didn’t work out.”

“What if he wants a second date? What will you do?” Theodore moved closer to Y/N so he could feel the warmth radiating off her body. His heart jumped at their close proximity.

“Then I’ll tell him I don’t want one.” Y/N whispered, staring up at Theodore with those gentle eyes he liked so much.

“I liked your cookie, by the way.” Theodore slowly smiled, “It was good.”

“I’ll bake you a few more next time.” Y/N beamed. “I’m trying a new recipe for a brownie so I’ll give you one too!” Theodore smiled as she jumped into another rant about baking. This time, he could actually listen without being pestered by his friends.

Theodore, as usual, walked into the cafe around the same time he usually did. Eulia spotted him and subtly waved. “Has Y/N come in yet?” He asked.

Eulia hesitated before she pointed over at Y/N and Rowan. Theodore visibly deflated. He knew Y/N was only being nice to the Ravenclaw but he still felt a twinge of sadness.

“I’m sorry, Theo. If it makes you feel better, she hasn’t looked like she’s enjoyed the date. She looks much happier talking to you.” Eulia handed him his coffee.

“Right.” He sat down at a nearby table, glancing over at Y/N every so often. The slight pang in his heart reminded him of why he never dated in the first place. He quietly cleared his throat, deciding that whatever butterflies he felt for Y/N had to be drowned.

He stood up and Y/N immediately caught his gaze. She smiled and waved when Rowan wasn’t looking, but Theodore ignored her. Slowly, she lowered her hand.

As Rowan ranted on about how Ravenclaw was the best house, Y/N couldn’t help but think of what she had done to possibly anger Theodore. So much that he ignored her when he usually enjoyed her small smiles and secretive waves. She blocked out Rowan’s voice, frowning. He couldn’t grab her attention like Theodore could.

If only she knew that Theodore was simply trying not to fall in love.

Theodore avoided her for the rest of the week. Whenever she tried to approach him, he’d walk away. Even his friends were puzzled. After another failed attempt of trying to talk to Theodore, Pansy placed a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll talk to him.” She said.

“I don’t know what I did wrong. He’s been acting so moody all of a sudden.” Y/N sighed and pouted.

“Maybe he’s on his period.” Matteo snickered at his own joke but immediately stopped when nobody else laughed with him. “I mean, Theo hasn’t had a good drink, fuck, or smoke since Monday. And all he did on that day was smoke for five minutes before he got caught.”

“I thought he liked doing all those things. Why’d he stop if it’s just going to make him grumpy?” Y/N murmured, playing with the hem of her blouse. Matteo and Pansy exchanged a glance, knowing they shouldn’t expose Theodore so early.

“He’s just being unreasonable. Don’t worry, we’ll get through to him.” Matteo grinned, his eyes flickered to the box in Y/N’s hands. “More cookies for him?”

She nodded. “Could you give this to him? It might make him feel better.” Matteo lowly hummed, taking the box. He and Pansy walked off after Theodore, muttering to each other about what could possibly be wrong with their friend.

“Theo.” Matteo called out as they entered the Slytherin Chamber. They found him sprawled out on the couch, a burning cigarette in his mouth. “Y/N made you cookies.”

Theodore looked at the box in Matteo’s outstretched arms. “I don’t want ‘em.” He said with a lazy flick of his hands.

“But you said you love her cookies. Jeez, dude, what’s gotten into you?” Matteo scoffed as he grabbed one, shoving it into his mouth. “If a girl made me cookies like these, I’d fall in love.”

“That’s the problem!” Theodore exclaimed loudly. “I’m Theodore Nott, Hogwarts resident fuck boy. I don’t do relationships! But Y/N- Y/N is making me feel things I shouldn’t!” He groaned, pulling at the ends of his hair.

“That’s the problem?” Pansy huffed, taking a seat beside him. “Theo, look at yourself. You haven’t partied in ages, you haven’t drank, you haven’t had sex with any other girl since last month. And you haven’t been smoking up until now! If you’re willing to stop all that shit for Y/N then you obviously like her!”

“What if I’m just concealing it, huh? What if I haven’t changed and if I date Y/N, then I hurt her? I don’t care about any other girl’s feelings but Y/N, fuck. I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Figure your feelings out then decide what you want to do. Easy peasy.” Matteo shrugged, eating another cookie. Theodore clicked his tongue, snatching the box out of his hands.

“It better be easy or I’m going to smoke all your favourite cigs, Matt.”

Matteo was lying. It was not easy to figure out how he felt towards Y/N. Every time he got close to her, he changed his mind last minute and rushed off. It earned him some weird looks but he couldn’t care less.

“Have you even slept lately?” Matteo questioned, slamming a cup of coffee in front of Theodore. He groaned.

“Do I look like I’ve slept?” He muttered, glowing at Matteo.

“Like a baby.” His friend teased, cruelly laughing. Lorenzo glanced over Theodore’s shoulder, clearing his throat.

“Y/N’s coming this way.” He whispered, kicking Theodore.

“What?” He looked around, panicked. Y/N was indeed walking towards him. He grabbed his coffee, splashing it onto Matteo’s wrinkled blouse.

“Yo! What the fuck, dude? That’s hot!” Matteo seethed, resisting the urge to peel his wet shirt off. Some girls hoped he would.

“Sorry, Matt. It was an accident. I’ll help you clean up.” Theodore tried to play his stunt off as an accident while practically dragging Matteo out of the hall.

“Okay, seriously, what was that all about?”

“I needed an excuse to get away.”

“So you spilled hot coffee on me?!”

“I would’ve let you do the same.” Theodore glared at his friend as he sat down and slumped. “She’s everywhere. How is she so social? I can’t get away from her.” He ran a hand through his messy hair.

“Have you been running away from Y/N this whole time?” Matteo questioned, arching an eyebrow. “It’s hilarious to imagine you running away from a girl.”

“Shut up. I’m processing things.” Theodore sighed.

“Just talk to her, Theo.” Matteo lightly nudged his leg, “What else can you lose? You’ve already lost your dignity.”

It had been a few weeks since Theodore had returned to the coffee shop. But finally, he strutted through the doorway with his usual uncaring demeanour.

Someone else entered as Theodore stood in the middle of the room, taking in everything he had missed about this cafe.

“Theo?” Y/N asked, peering over his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in a while.” He stiffened and slowly turned around. “Are you having a coffee?”

“I’ve already had one, actually. I was just seeing if this place had changed.” Theodore wanted to walk away but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Y/N’s eyes.

“Well, there’s no harm in having another one, right? It’s on me.” Y/N smiled at Eulia, “One cinnamon chai latte and…” She thought for a moment, glancing over at Theodore, “You’ve already had a coffee so one cream latte as well!”

Y/N paid and brushed past Theodore.

“Kiss her.” Eulia hissed, harshly poking Theodore’s shoulder.

“I’m not kissing her.” Theodore replied back in a hushed whisper.

“Theo, you coming?” Y/N called out, looking over her shoulder.

There was barely anybody in the cafe and even if there was, Eulia would’ve ignored their drinks to make Y/N and Theodore’s.

Theodore reached out to grab his but Y/N was quicker. She grasped both drinks, smiling at him. “We don’t have to be back at school for a while so let’s sit here.”

Theodore nervously followed behind Y/N to their usual table. He sat down, rigid and stiff. He saw his cup and glared at Eulia, who laughed. She had written a message on the cardboard, kiss her, and Theodore was quick to cover it.

He looked out the window, almost jumping with joy when he saw Matteo. “Oh! Matt! I need to talk to him! Sorry, Y/N. I’ll see you later!” He ran out of the cafe, crashing into his friend.

“Matteo! Quick! Do something!” Theodore shook his friend, urging him to create a distraction.

“Is this about Y/N?” He asked.

“She’s in the coffee shop- don’t look!” Theodore shoved his friend.

“And you need me to something stupid?”

Theodore eagerly nodded but was unprepared when Matteo pushed him forward and down a snowy hill. “Theo! Sorry! My hand slipped! I’m coming!” Matteo yelled out in a fake worried voice as Theodore rolled and got a mouthful of snow.

Y/N watched their strange interaction as she sipped on her drink. “… He didn’t call me love like he usually does.”

Y/N hummed to herself as she slipped on a pair of mittens and took out a tray of cookies. She placed the hot metal tray on the counter, the smell of baked goods wafting through the air.

She poured herself a cup of light coffee and sat down, swinging her legs. She lifted her head when she heard the sound of quiet swearing and smelled the scent of cigarettes and cologne.

“Theo?” She asked, tilting her head to the side. It was silent for a moment before the boy sheepishly pushed the kitchen doors open.

“I was looking for a snack for Pansy. She’s not feeling well.” He looked around, staring at everything but Y/N.

“I would offer her a cookie but she doesn’t really like chocolate, does she?” Y/N circled her finger around the rim of her cup, “Would you like some coffee? I made it myself.”

Theodore found himself sitting across from her against his will. He watched as she poured him a cup, softly smiling.

“Thanks.” He stammered, grabbing the white mug and gulping it down.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Careful! Isn’t it hot?”

Theodore slammed the cup down, ignoring the burning sensation on his tongue. “No.” He wheezed, his vocal cords threatening to give up on him, “I’m fine. Tastes great.”

“You’ve spilled some.” Y/N said. She leaned forward, pointing at his collar. His top two buttons were undone and hot coffee trickled down his skin. “That must hurt. Here, let me help.”

Y/N dabbed a tissue against Theodore’s collar and he flinched as her fingers came in contact with his exposed skin. She noticed, peeking up at him through her lashes.

“Do you hate me so much that you can’t stand having one coffee with me?” She asked, taking a small step back.

“What?” Theodore choked. He didn’t hate her, quite the opposite to be honest.

“You keep running away from me. And you left me in the cafe the other day. And you didn’t wave back. Do you hate me?”

Theodore hated how he could see her E/C eyes glass over. He fiddled with his mug, tapping his nails against the porcelain.

“I… have to go. Pansy needs me.” He stood up, leaving without another word. He was doing what he did best; running away from his problems.

With Theodore out of the picture, Y/N felt lonely. She dug around in her pocket, confused when she fished out a cigarette. “Oh… it must’ve fallen out.” She murmured.

She was on her way to the cafe, but not to meet up with Theodore. The day after he had walked out on her, again, a Gryffindor had approached her and asked her out. She said yes in hopes this date would be better than her date with Rowan.

Spoiler alert, it wasn’t. In fact, she felt like it was worse. Y/N stared at her cup as the boy beside her talked on and on about his love for quidditch.

“What’s your hobby?” He suddenly asked.

“Baking.” Y/N answered absentmindedly.

“Oh, that’s kind of boring. Quidditch is better, don’t you think?”

Y/N resisted the urge to sigh. Theodore never insulted her love for baking.

“Do you do anything else?” The boy questioned.

“I study.”

“Jeez, you really are boring. You wanna come to a party with me? I know a guy who’ll hook us up with some coke.”

“No thanks.” Y/N rested her cheek in the palm of her hand, watching the clock closely so she could dart away as soon as the date was over.

Someone suddenly pulled up a chair in front of Y/N. “Coke is boring.” Theodore uttered, “Baking is better.”

Y/N tried to conceal her smile since she was still upset with him, but when he winked at her, she couldn’t help it.

“What are you doing here, Nott?” The Gryffindor sneered.

“I’m here to thank you for keeping my girl company.” Theodore grinned, showing off his pearly white teeth. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.” He grabbed Y/N by the wrist, tugging her out of the cafe.

“Why do you choose the shittiest guys to go out with?” Theodore asked.

Y/N lightly huffed. “It’s not like I mean to. At least they don’t walk away from me when I’m trying to talk, though.”

“You still upset with me, love?”

“You hurt my feelings, Nott.” Y/N pulled out the lone cigarette, shoving it into Theodore’s hand, before hurrying off.

He quickly placed it between his lips and lit it. “Let me explain, love!” He exclaimed, chasing after her. He breathed out a mouthful of smoke.

“Okay. Then explain.” Y/N folded her arms over her chest.

“What? Here? Now?” When Theodore saw the unamused look on Y/N’s face, he sighed. “Fine, but this is going to sound stupid.” He took another hit from his cigarette, needing all the courage he could get.

He took a deep breath. “I think you’re wonderful person and I didn’t want to risk hurting you so I tried to distance myself but that backfired and I was trying to process my feelings because I’m Theodore Nott. I don’t do relationships. But you made me want to give it a go so I got scared and that made me do stupid shit like spilling coffee on Matt or running away or allowing Matt to push me down a hill.”

Y/N furrowed her brows. “What are you trying to say?”

“I like you, Y/N! I like the way you smile and the way your eyes light up and I like how you look and me and how fond you are of baking! I like how you take the time to make me cookies because it makes me feel special! You treat me so differently from other girls and that’s how I know you aren’t just around for a hook up! I like your perfume and your hair and your outfits and the way you skip when you’re happy and how you read classic Muggle books because you want a cute teen romance!”

“You noticed all of that… about me?”

“How could I not? You have such a charming aura and I can’t stand it because no matter how much I try to deny it, I like you.”

“You really like me?” Y/N knew about Theodore’s reputation and she’d be lying if she didn’t feel the same way. But what if he was just toying with her?

“I do.”

“Okay then. Hug me!” Y/N exclaimed, confident he was joking. Theodore shrugged before embracing her tightly. “Uh… hold my hand!” He intertwined their fingers without hesitation. “Kiss me!” Y/N was sure he wouldn’t do it but when he leaned down and pecked her lips, she froze.

“Are you done? There’s a lot more things I’d do for you, Y/N.”

“Are you sure you like me? Like, really? Because what if we get married and you decide you don’t like me but we already have two kids and a cat together? Who will keep the cat? Or will we have shared custody over it?” Y/N spoke so fast Theodore could hardly understand her.

“What about the children?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

“What about the cat, Theo?”

“I really do like you, Y/N. Believe it or not. I’m willing to give dating a try… if it makes I can date you.”

“Please don’t break my heart, Theo.”

“I won’t.”

“Can we finally drink coffee together without you running off?” Y/N questioned, which earned her a small chuckle from Theodore.

“I won’t run away this time, love. I promise.”

[lov3notts-recs]

mechanic!theo; who is infuriating. not just because he’s the only mechanic in town who knows what he’s doing, or because he seems to know exactly when your car is going to break down again. it’s because he’s frustratingly good at getting under your skin. 

you hate how attractive he is. you hate how quiet he is. you especially hate how he looks at you like he knows you’re bluffing when you act like you’re not impressed by his work. because you are. and that smug little twitch at the corner of his mouth when you ask too many questions? you’ve seen it. he enjoys this. 

you keep going back to him. maybe it’s the way he works with that intense, thoughtful focus. maybe it’s the way he actually listens, even if he pretends not to. maybe it’s the glimpses of softness—like when he fixes a part without charging you or when he plays older songs on the shop radio and doesn’t change the station when he catches you humming along. 

there’s something about him that doesn’t match his sharp tongue or the gruff way he shuts people out. somethings hidden. 

he’s clearly been through hell—there’s pain in his silence, a carefulness in how he handles people like he’s afraid he might break something. but he doesn’t realise he’s worth being cared about, worth fighting for. 

you didn’t mean to care, didn’t mean to stay. but somewhere between the bickering, the banter and the way he offers you his jacket when it’s cold in the garage, you start to realise; there’s more to Theodore Nott than oil stained hands and scathing sarcasm. there’s a man who’s been waiting for someone to choose him and you just might be the one stubborn enough to do it. 

ᡣ𐭩. au collection, main masterlist + hp masterlist, mechanic!theo

[lov3notts-recs]

Sweet lies

pair: Gryffindor!Reader x Toxic!Theodore Nott

summary: when Theodore takes another girl as his date to the Yule Ball you realise that you’re nothing more than a filthy secret of his, but is that enough to make you leave?

warnings: manipulation, love bombing, reader gets manipulated

A/N: I just wrote this very quickly, let me know if you like it! English is not my native language, if there are any grammatical errors please let me know! Enjoy lovelies!

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The night of the Yule Ball was supposed to be magical, but for you, it was hell dressed in glitter and silk.

You looked breathtaking — an ethereal dream spun from moonlight, your gown hugging your figure like a lover’s embrace, your makeup enchanting every delicate feature until you hardly recognized yourself. You were a goddess among mortals. And yet the only eyes you truly wanted on you — Theodore Nott’s — didn’t even flicker in your direction.

He didn’t notice. He was too busy with her; Daphne Greengrass.

You watched, heart hammering against your ribs, as he smiled at her, laughed with her, touched her like he wanted to be seen with her. And you — you were nothing more than a dirty little secret rotting away in the shadows.

You weren’t supposed to care, but you did. You cared so much it made you sick. You told yourself you shouldn’t be surprised. Theodore had always known exactly how to make you crumble — with whispered compliments in hidden alcoves, with wicked smirks across crowded hallways, with desperate hands pulling you into dark corners when the need became too much for him to bear.

He knew exactly what you wanted, what you needed — and he weaponized it.

Every time he ran to you, murmuring baby, sweetheart, my love against your fevered skin, you fell a little deeper, clawing for scraps of affection that he dangled just out of reach.

You said yes every time.

Like a fool.

And every time, once he had wrung every ounce of pleasure from your body, he discarded you like you were nothing — a plaything he no longer had use for. He would press a fleeting, almost perfunctory kiss to your damp forehead, so different from the way he had touched you moments before, and then, with barely concealed impatience, he’d untangle your limbs from his. His voice would lower to a rushed whisper, mumbling half-hearted excuses about his roommates, about how it wasn’t safe for you to stay, about how no one could ever know.

You’d gather your clothes in a daze, clutching them to your chest like a shield, blinking back the sting in your eyes as he ushered you toward the door — careful, always careful, never to be seen.

You would leave, hair tangled, skin still humming from his touch, heart bruised and bleeding.

You never understood why the tenderness evaporated so fast, why the boy who worshipped your body in the dark turned cold and distant the second it was over.

Every time you told yourself it would be different — that next time, he would pull you into his chest and fall asleep with you, that next time he wouldn’t look at you like you were a burden he needed to hide.

But it was always the same.

Still, you kept going back.

You clung to the way he touched you when no one was looking, to the pet names he whispered against your skin, to the rare moments when his hands trembled against your waist as if he needed you. You let those crumbs of affection fill the gaping hole he left in you, mistaking his manipulation for love, mistaking his selfishness for something sacred.

Because no matter how many times he pushed you away, no matter how many nights you cried yourself to sleep, the moment he called for you — with that soft, broken voice and those desperate, lying hands — you ran back to him.

Every. Single. Time.

As if he had strung invisible threads through your heart, pulling you back whenever he pleased.

And you, too fragile, too hopeful, too his, would let him.

When you heard about Daphne, everything snapped into brutal, ugly clarity: you had never been anything more than a game to him.

But knowing it didn’t stop you from wanting him. It didn’t stop you from sitting alone at a table, glass of champagne trembling in your fingers, heart in tatters, watching him dance with her.

You had turned down every other boy who asked — foolishly saving yourself for the boy who had already chosen someone else.

And when you saw Daphne’s arms wind around his neck, their bodies moving together like they belonged, you felt something inside you shatter beyond repair.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t stay.

You stumbled out into the cold night, desperate to escape the suffocating ache in your chest.

You barely made it past the castle doors before you heard him calling you, his voice slicing through the night like a blade wrapped in velvet.

You turned, rage and heartbreak a storm inside you.

“Fuck off, Nott,” you snarled, your voice raw, broken.

He approached with slow, deliberate steps, a master puppeteer reeling in his favorite marionette. His hands lifted in false surrender, a hurt, confused look plastered across his handsome face.

“Whoa, cara mia,” he soothed, his voice all honey and heat — the kind of tone that always made your knees weak, even when your heart was breaking. He looked at you like you were something fragile, a trembling creature he needed to calm, to tame.

“Talk to me,” he coaxed, stepping closer, “what’s wrong?”

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms as your body trembled with the effort it took not to crumble. You wanted to scream, to cry, to demand he stop doing this — stop acting like he didn’t know exactly what he’d done.

“You can’t do this to me!” you shouted, the words tearing from your chest like broken glass, raw and jagged. “You can’t keep treating me like I matter one minute, and then pretend I don’t exist the next!”

He tilted his head, expression carefully sculpted into one of harmless confusion — the same way he always did when you caught a glimpse of the truth he didn’t want you to see.

“Do what, amore?” he asked, voice smooth, eyes wide and unbothered — a masterful performance of innocence.

“Don’t play dumb,” you spat, your voice trembling now, turning away from him to hide the tears you could feel burning behind your eyes. You stared at the forest like it could give you answers, like it could distract you from the ache threatening to spill from your chest.

“Why didn’t you ask me to the Ball?”

For a moment, silence fell between you. Not peaceful — no, this was the kind of silence that thundered. Loaded. Heavy with everything you weren’t supposed to feel.

Then you felt him behind you, his presence slipping into your space like a shadow. His hands moved over your shoulders, slow, possessive, down the curve of your arms — a touch you had once mistaken for comfort, now branded like chains.

“Oh, bella…” he crooned, each syllable melting like velvet off his tongue — so soft, so sweet, it nearly made you forget how bitter it really was. His voice was poison wrapped in silk, and it sank into you, into your bones, until you couldn’t tell where your pain ended and his touch began.

He spun you to face him, his grip firm — too firm — like he couldn’t bear the idea of you pulling away. But his eyes… they weren’t soft. They weren’t full of remorse or longing. They gleamed with something colder. Amusement. Control. Triumph.

Because he knew. He knew you still loved him.

And that was all he needed.

You, meanwhile, were unraveling in his hands. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, caught between wanting to hate him and needing to be loved by him. Even now, even after everything, your soul still reached for his. You clung to the idea of him — of the boy you thought he was, not the one standing in front of you.

You didn’t see that for Theo, this wasn’t love. It was power.

He didn’t need your heart — he needed your need. He fed on your longing, your devotion, the way your voice cracked when you said his name. He liked watching you fall apart for him. It made him feel like a god.

And you, lost in the illusion, kept letting him.

“You’re jealous of Daphne?” he asked, amusement flickering in his gaze despite the soft concern in his tone.

You nodded before you could stop yourself, hating how easily he drew the truth from you.

“Dolcezza, Daphne’s nothing. You’re my girl. My special, beautiful girl,” he whispered, his hands cradling your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks with mock tenderness.

You tried to look away, but he gripped your chin, forcing your eyes back to his.

“Look at me,” he ordered, and you obeyed, because you always obeyed.

“You know how it is, amore. You’re a Gryffindor, I’m a Slytherin. People wouldn’t understand. They’d ruin what we have,” he murmured, each word sinking its claws deeper into your heart.

You clung to his lies like they were oxygen.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, as if the intimacy could wash away all the cruelty. “We have something real. Don’t you feel it?”

You nodded, tears spilling down your cheeks, desperate for the fantasy he painted.

“I love you,” he breathed against your lips.

Your heart stopped.

“You do?” you asked, your voice trembling with fragile hope.

“Of course I do, cara. Always.”

And just like that, you were his again. Completely. Pathetically. His.

“I love you too, Theo,” you whispered, the words a death sentence you delivered to yourself.

He smiled then — not a smile of love, but a predator’s smile. He had won. Again.

You were so easy. So hopelessly easy.

“You scared me, pulling away like that,” he scolded, voice hardening as his arms tightened possessively around you. “Don’t ever do it again. You’re mine. You don’t get to leave. Not when I love you.”

The guilt hit you like a slap. How could you have doubted him? How could you have been so childish?

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, shame curling in your gut.

He grinned, victorious, and captured your lips in a bruising kiss that tasted like ownership.

And even though some distant, dying part of you knew he didn’t love you — not really — you chose to believe him anyway. Because the lie felt better than the truth.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A/N: let me know if you liked this!

!Reblogs and Likes are always highly appreciated¡

masterlist

…until next time lovelies💋

[lov3notts-recs]

Crawling back to you

inspired by Hozier’s version of “Do I wanna know?”

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

summary: Mattheo is your new neighbour who quickly becomes obsessed with you and finds rather creative ways to talk to you

warnings: mentions of blood, fluff

A/N: in my mind every single song by Hozier is Mattheo coded. I had so much fun writing this! English is not my first language! Hope you enjoy reading this!

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You stood quietly over Mattheo, his left palm bloodied and trembling ever so slightly beneath your touch. The harsh scent of disinfectant clung to the air between you as you dabbed at his wound with a cotton pad, each movement slow, deliberate, and tender. Your fingers moved carefully, reserved in their precision, as though he were made of fragile porcelain and might shatter under the weight of anything more. The sting of the antiseptic hitting his torn skin made Mattheo hiss under his breath, his jaw tightening—but the pain barely registered compared to the storm of emotion twisting in his chest.

He couldn't take his eyes off you. There you were: utterly focused, lips pressed into a firm, concentrated line, your brow slightly furrowed as you worked. Your hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, a few loose strands falling across your cheeks, catching the light in a way that made you seem almost otherworldly. You were breathtaking, ethereal, and completely unaware of just how beautiful you looked like that—lost in the task of patching him up with a quiet determination that made his heart ache.

Since the moment Mattheo had first seen you, since his gaze had landed on your soft, unassuming figure in the hallway of your apartment block, something inside him had shifted. You had smiled at him— just a polite, neighborly smile—but it had been enough to snare his thoughts entirely. He hadn't believed in fate, not until the day he realized he'd moved into the unit just two doors down from yours. And now, sitting on your worn-in couch, his injured hand in yours, it felt like the universe had led him here with purpose. You were kind, graceful, quietly radiant— a walking contradiction to the chaos that often lived inside him. And he wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you'd let him.

"You're all patched up," you murmured, voice soft as you smoothed the final fold of the bandage over his palm. Your touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, gentle and warm. Then you looked up at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Can I get you anything else?"

Mattheo's heart stuttered. That smile—god, that smile—was enough to make him weak. He felt something in his chest unravel. "Just a glass of water," he replied, offering a smile of his own, the kind he didn't give to many. It felt unfamiliar on his face, but it bloomed easily in your presence. You nodded and rose from the couch, heading toward the kitchen, your silhouette briefly disappearing into the dim light.

As you turned the tap and filled the glass, you finally summoned the question that had been sitting on your tongue since he first stepped into your apartment. "You want to tell me how you got that?" you asked, voice casual, but laced with curiosity as you leaned your back against the counter, arms crossed.

Mattheo hesitated. His mind spun quickly through the easiest lie, one that wouldn't spark more questions. "I broke a jar," he said finally, tracing absent circles over the bandage you had so gently applied just minutes before. "Tried to pick up the glass, tripped a little. Guess I wasn't being careful."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and offered him a look that made him simultaneously want to laugh and squirm. "Nice story," you said, chuckling slightly. "Now tell me what actually happened."

Mattheo pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, his features twisting into a playful expression. "Are you implying that I'm lying to you?" he asked, tone exaggeratedly wounded, though there was amusement glinting behind his eyes.

"That's exactly what I'm doing," you shot back, your smirk deepening, your eyes dancing with the challenge.

And just like that, something unspoken passed between you—a shift in the air, a charge that neither of you fully understood, but both of you felt.

"What makes you think I'm lying, hmm?" Mattheo asked, his voice smooth and low, edged with amusement. He cocked a brow, a smug little smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth—a smirk you'd seen far too many times in the hallways, in the elevator, in passing glimpses at your mailbox. You hated that it affected you the way it did. Hated how your pulse picked up every time you caught sight of him. How your breath always stalled for just a second too long.

There was something about him—something magnetic and consuming. Maybe it was his unwavering confidence, or the lazy way he always seemed to lean against doorframes like he had nowhere to be, like he had all the time in the world just to look at you. Maybe it was those dark curls, often tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed, or those impossibly deep brown eyes that made it hard to look away. Or maybe it was the small scar on the bridge of his nose—a subtle imperfection that made him all the more perfect. Whatever it was, he left you flustered in a way you hadn't been in years. You weren't the type to get distracted by someone so easily—but Mattheo was an exception, and your thoughts betrayed you constantly because of it.

You pushed yourself off the edge of the counter where you'd been leaning, suddenly aware of how close he still was, and walked over to hand him the glass of water. As you did, your fingers brushed his, sending an uninvited jolt of electricity through your veins. "One," you began, coolly, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I didn't find a single shard of glass when I was cleaning your hand. Two, that cut's far too straight to have come from a broken jar. And three..." you looked up at him, your gaze unwavering, "we live close enough that I would've heard something shatter in your apartment. But I didn't."

Mattheo's eyebrows rose, genuinely impressed. He hadn't expected you to pay such close attention—to every sound, every detail, every flicker of inconsistency in his words. God, it only made you more irresistible. The way your voice held firm, the way that one loose strand of hair curved down your cheek—he was hopelessly enamored. "Aren't you a bright one," he teased, the words curling out of his mouth like a purr. His gaze locked onto yours, heated and steady.

You tried to hold it, really, you did—but the intensity in his eyes was unbearable. It made your stomach flip, made your throat tighten. You hummed in response, barely audible, before quickly turning away and heading back toward the kitchen. You didn't need anything from there—not really. But the nearness of him, the way your skin still tingled where his hand had touched yours—it was too much. You needed distance. Space to think. Space to breathe. Because if you stayed too close, for even a moment longer, you might do something stupid— like lean in and kiss him.

"Care to explain how it really happened?" you asked, your voice a little quieter now as you fiddled absentmindedly with a spoon left out on the counter.

Silence.

You glanced over your shoulder, expecting a response—but he was still watching you, like he was drinking you in. Your heart jumped at the intensity of his stare, and something twisted in your chest. You narrowed your eyes slightly, thinking through the details. That kind of wound—clean, precise—it hadn't come from glass. It looked like the kind of cut a blade would make. But... how the hell did someone slice the inside of their palm like that?

And then it hit you.

"Oh my god..." you whispered, eyes widening slightly as you turned to face him fully. "Did you... cut yourself, Mattheo?"

Your voice softened on his name, barely more than a breath—but it stopped him cold. The way you said it, laced with concern and a quiet, blooming anger, made something primal shift in him. He could barely handle how it made him feel.

He grinned, far too casually for what he was admitting to. "Only so I could be taken care of by my favorite neighbor," he replied with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks flushed instantly. Heat rose to the surface of your skin, betraying your every effort to remain composed. You hated how easily he disarmed you—hated even more how much you liked it.

You didn't respond. Couldn't. Your body betrayed you with silence, and that was all the confirmation Mattheo needed.

"Are you turned on?" he asked, letting out a quiet, breathy chuckle that wrapped around your spine like silk. "What? No!" you blurted, your voice too quick, too defensive.

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing. "Now look who's lying."

And then he stood up.

You should have stepped back—your mind screamed at you to create space, to run before it got worse—but your body stayed rooted in place as he crossed the room in long, confident strides. Each step toward you made the room feel smaller, warmer, heavier with unspoken tension.

His hand came up gently, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing a featherlight path across your skin. Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded. You looked up into his eyes—god, those eyes—and felt like you might melt right there.

"Tell me," he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice dipping into something low and intoxicating. "What is it that turns you on, hmm?" Your gaze faltered again, flicking downward in a futile attempt to escape the intensity. But his other hand rose, cradling the other side of your face, holding you in place with a kind of softness that made your knees weaken. "Don't shy away from me now," he whispered, eyes searching yours.

And for a moment —just a moment— the world stopped spinning. You couldn't breathe. Or maybe you were just too aware of every breath, every inch of space between your bodies—what little was left of it. His hands framed your face with such reverent gentleness, as if you were something sacred, something fragile. His thumbs moved slowly across your cheeks, tracing invisible paths that left your skin tingling in their wake. And his eyes... god, his eyes were devouring you—full of heat and curiosity and something deeper, something almost tender.

He leaned in just slightly, just enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your lips, and it took everything in you not to close the distance.

"I mean it," he said softly, voice low and husky, as though the air between you wasn't already heavy enough. "Don't look away."

You didn't. You couldn't.

Your heart thundered against your ribs, your lips parted ever so slightly, and time stilled around you. The kitchen disappeared. The world fell silent. All you could feel was his touch and his gaze and the way every part of you leaned toward him like a tide being pulled by the moon.

"Say something," he whispered, his lips barely inches from yours.

But you didn't need to. Because in the next heartbeat, you closed the space between you.

Your lips met his—tentative at first, like a question you didn't know how to ask—but the moment they touched, everything else unraveled. His hands tightened ever so slightly on your cheeks, pulling you closer, grounding you in the softness of his mouth against yours. He kissed you like he'd been waiting forever—slow, deep, savoring every second like he never wanted it to end. You felt his breath hitch, the way he exhaled into the kiss, like you'd stolen the air from his lungs and he didn't mind one bit.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto. And maybe you did—because kissing Mattheo felt like falling. Like diving headfirst into something dangerous and beautiful and completely out of your control.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he'd thought about this a thousand times and none of those daydreams came close to the real thing. His hands slid down, one settling lightly on your waist, the other brushing the small of your back, anchoring you to him.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your foreheads touched, and your noses brushed. His eyes were still closed for a moment, as though committing every second of the kiss to memory.

You didn't say anything right away. Neither did he. You just stood there—hearts pounding, breathing each other in. "I knew it," he murmured finally, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "You were turned on." You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," he whispered, tilting his head slightly, brushing his lips against yours again in a teasing ghost of a kiss, "you kissed me."

You didn't argue.

Because you already knew you'd do it again.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A/N: this was so cute I loved writing it! Hope you loved reading it as well!

!Reblogs, Likes and Comments are highly appreciated¡

masterlist

…until next time lovelies💋

[lov3notts-recs]

you were nervous to post this??? babe this is amazinggg!! i can’t wait to read more of him🙂‍↕️

introducing...older!brother theo (au)

→ older!brother theo who has an innate sense of protectiveness rather than possessiveness

→ older!brother theo who still reluctantly looks out for you even when he's mad at you

→ older!brother theo who is the first to cave in for your more childish/irrational fights

→ older!brother theo who never belittles you or your feelings

→ older!brother theo who is above playing mind games with you

→ older!brother theo who babies you/spoils you when you give him the chance

→ older!brother theo who is, more often than not, sooo done with your shit

→ older!brother theo who finds your impulsive and/or self-indulgent behaviours refreshingly liberating and lets you bully him into going along with them

→ older!brother theo who enjoys puts up with your incessant fussing and teasing especially even at his expense

→ older!brother theo who is more patient than most yet you somehow still find a way to wear him thin

→ older!brother theo who remembers the palpable fear of his father targeting him or his siblings and hates himself for even raising his voice at you

→ older!brother theo who takes care of you all day every day. feet hurt? swap shoes with him. shoulders tired? he's not embarrassed to rock your purse better than you do

→ older!brother theo who knows how to get you out of a sulk and make you laugh even when you don't want to

→ older!brother theo who isn't afraid to get his head bitten off when you're in one of your more snippy moods just to figure out what's bothering you

→ older!brother theo who's just happy to be young and in love when he's around you

© illbegottenfaith

[lov3notts-recs]

[ bodyguard!mattheo x rich girl!reader ]

bodyguard!mattheo swore off taking pretty rich girls as clients from the moment he joined the agency. but how could he resist when her father offered three times as much money as regular clients, and on top of that, requested mattheo specifically due to the stellar reputation he managed to gain? she became an exception to every single rule he made for himself from the very start, and he has to try his damn best to make sure she won’t become his wrecking ball.

rich girl!reader is used to getting everything she wants handed to her on a silver platter. so why in the hell can’t she get her new young, hot bodyguard give into her demands? she’s bending over backwards trying to get him to crack, amplifying her bratty antics and sexual appeal to the max, but it proves to be the hardest task she’s ever had to accomplish.

[ bodyguard!mattheo x rich girl!reader works ]

‧₊ ᵎᵎ gunplay w/ bodyguard!mattheo (the birth of venus)

more.

[lov3notts-recs]

CHECK YOUR WINDOW ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

⌗ ┆ word count: 10k+

⌗ ┆content: perv!theo, boyfriend!mattheo, cheating & betrayal, strong language, heavy sexual content. 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. for @pilupotter ᰔ

⌗ ┆ summary: check your window, he’s at your window: caught in the mess between jealousy and obsession, theo begins to have a crush on the one person he knows he can never touch: his best friend’s girlfriend. but everything changes the night he sees you with mattheo through the window, a view he was never meant to witness.

♫ — ❝ check your window, he’s at your window. ❞

╰› navigation.⌇m.list.⌇my au’s .⌇other song lol.

THEO HAD NEVER KNOWN the ugly emotion of jealousy. it was an unfamiliar feeling to someone like him, one that belonged to other boys, boys who had to fight for attention, compete for power. jealousy, after all, only creeps in when you see something you want but believe you’ll never have. that had never been theo’s reality.

from the moment he could speak, if he pointed at a toy in a shop window, his father’s gold handled it before he even asked. if he admired a rare piece of jewelry in passing, it was in his room by nightfall. no explanations. possession had never been a question, it was an expectation. even people, in their own strange way, came to him. at school, if he decided he wanted someone’s company, it was only a matter of time. he never pleaded, never played the fool to earn friendship. he watched, waited, and the chosen eventually fell into his circle. whether from fear, or fascination, it didn’t matter. they came.

his father had shaped him this way. the elder nott would speak in a tone that meant more to theo than a shout. “there’s a difference between being loved and being feared,” he told theo once, as they stood in the drawing room. “when people hear the nott name, they do not smile. they do not speak it softly. they whisper it. that is power. power isn’t loved. it is obeyed.”

theo was like a cloth wiping down a table: soaking up everything his father said, holding onto it all until the next time he needed it.

so no, jealousy had no place in his chest. not when he’d been raised not to envy, but to expect. not when the world had always shown him that if he desired something, it would eventually belong to him.

mattheo was the only one who didn’t fear theodore, his closest friend, most would say. even back when they were in school, people used to joke they were glued at the hip. they told each other everything. from the girls they slept with, in detail, to family stuff. nothing was off limits.

when mattheo got kicked out of his father’s manor and showed up at the nott’ manor asking for a place to crash, no one was surprised when theo’s father said yes. the place had plenty of guest rooms, and mattheo had always been like a second son to the old man. leaving him homeless on the street would’ve been unthinkable.

"helloooo, girl next door,” mattheo whistled under his breath, leaning forward slightly as he peered out of the window. theo was scrambling through the mess on his desk, trying to find a quill beneath piles of parchment and books. at the sound of mattheo’s voice, he paused, head snapping up. with a furrowed brow, theo walked over and came to stand beside his friend. his gaze followed mattheo’s, settling on the window that overlooked the neighboring manor. it sat a little further out, though one window in particular caught their attention.

directly across from theodore’s was your room. your light was on, the sky outside had already started to darken into deep blues and purples. from where they stood, they could see just enough: the curve of your shoulder as you walked past, the way your curtains shifted with the breeze. "oh yeah," theo muttered, looking away. "the new neighbor my father was talking about." watching someone through their bedroom window, even unintentionally, felt intrusive to theo.

“didn’t think to tell me?” mattheo asked, he watched you move around your bedroom, opening boxes, pulling out books and folded clothes. your hair slipped over your shoulder as you bent forward, revealing the line of your bare neck. “sorry,” theo sarcastically replied from beside him, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “didn’t think you’d care about us getting a new neighbor.”

“i didn’t.” mattheo tilted his head, shifting a little closer to the glass. “now i do.”

you had no idea you were being watched, placing a few things on the windowsill before turning toward the bed, where a white towel was laid out. mattheo’s gaze followed your hands as they reached for the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, inch by inch. you were probably getting ready for a shower.

a cold water bottle came flying through the air, smacking mattheo square in the cheek. “stop watchin’ the girl, will you?” theodore snapped. “you look like a fuckin’ creep.” mattheo flinched only slightly, caught off guard, then turned his head slowly, the corner of his mouth curling into that annoying smirk. he rubbed the side of his face where the bottle had hit but didn’t look the least bit remorseful.

“jealous?” he drawled, cocking a brow. theo didn’t answer right away. he turned back to his desk, sifting through the mess like he hadn’t heard the question. a few crumpled pieces of parchment were swept into his hand and tossed into the nearby bin. “you’re still the love of my life, theo,” mattheo added, leaning back against the window frame. “there’s no need to be jealous.”

theodore let out a dry snort, not even turning around as he casually flipped him the middle finger. “and if she catches you staring at her while she’s taking off her shirt?” theodore said, looking over his shoulder. “might as well tattoo ‘pervert’ on your fuckin’ forehead and let the whole neighborhood know.” mattheo just shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek as he glanced once more toward the window.

“don’t know,” he said. “some girls love that shit.” theodore exhaled sharply through his nose. he was done. done trying to reason with a walking hormone in human form. “get to bed,” he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “you’re speaking with your dick again.”

mattheo chuckled, stepping closer to theo and giving him a playful shove to the chest. it wasn’t hard, more of a nudge, but it earned a shove right back.

that shove earned mattheo’s full attention: a harsh push to theodore’s shoulder that made him stumble back a step. without hesitation, theo shoved him again, harder this time. mattheo huffed. he’d always been a sucker for a good play fight, the kind that started as a joke but never stayed that way for too long. and the second theodore turned his back to brush him off, mattheo lunged.

he tackled him around the middle, dragging him down to the floor. the impact sent theodore crashing onto the floor with a thud, his back hitting the wooden floor beneath it as a grunt escaped his chest. “you fucker-” theodore cracked, trying to twist out from under him. but mattheo was already trying to pin him, arms locked around theodore’s shoulders.

in the fight, theo shoved at mattheo’s head with one palm, trying to push him off. his fingers caught the side of mattheo’s head, forcing him sideways — too far. the motion sent mattheo’s skull colliding with the edge of the desk beside them.

“asshole,” mattheo muttered under his breath, he rubbed the spot where his head had hit the desk, slowly pushing himself up before giving theodore a light kick in the ribs with the toe of his shoe before disappearing out the door with a dramatic slam that rattled the frame.

theo rolled his blue eyes and stood up. mattheo had been living at the nott manor for nearly six months now, but he still spent more time in theodore’s room than his own. no matter how many guest rooms the home had, he always ended up across theo’s bed, in his desk chair, or raiding his bookshelf.

theo thinks it’s because his room has always felt more like home than anywhere else. when they were kids, they rarely hung out in the guest rooms. those spaces were too too quiet, meant for people who didn’t stay. theo’s had history. it had laughter ghosting into the walls, secrets in the closet. back then, when life felt fresh, before things got complicated, before people started drifting: they all used to cram into his room without a second thought.

pansy would sprawl across his bed, flipping through magazines and rolling her eyes at draco’s ‘girly’ commentary. blaise would sit on the floor, leaning against the dresser, legs stretched out. enzo always found the window seat, sketchbook in hand, not listening to the talk around him.

mattheo was everywhere. on the bed, on the floor, by the door. moving constantly: he was trying to soak in every second of it. theo’s room held their shared growth. the jokes, the fights, the long talks that happened when the lights were out and no one wanted to be the first to fall asleep. even now, theo can still hear the echoes of it when he steps inside. maybe that’s why he feels more at peace there than anywhere else: a place with the memory of his happiest days, when they were all together.

theodore walked over to the window, and reached for the curtains, he hated sleeping with them open. the way outside lights bled into his room always messed with his sleep, casting odd shapes on the walls and waking him up at stupid hours.

just as he grabbed the fabric, something caught his eye. you had just stepped out of the shower, the steam still curling around you. a towel was slung loosely around your body, clinging to your damp skin, the fabric darkened in places where water still kissed your flesh. your hair was wet, heavy with moisture, dark strands sticking to your shoulders and framing your face.

theodore paused the moment he saw you. he watched, completely helpless as a bead of water traced a slow path down the slope of your collarbone, disappearing beneath the edge of your towel.

he swallowed, feeling the back of his throat burn, blinking twice as if to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. every instinct in him choosing between looking away out of respect and drinking in the sight of you: wrapped in nothing but a bit of fabric.

the towel slipped from your body, falling to the floor soundlessly. theo’s breath hitched the second the fabric fell, revealing every inch of your bare skin. his lips parted without him realizing, gaze caught immediately on your breasts: perfectly perky—and pierced. the silver flash of the jewelry against your skin made his head spin.

he should’ve looked away. fuck, he knew that. he should’ve snapped the curtains shut the moment he saw you walk in, dripping wet from your shower, towel barely clinging to you. he should’ve thrown himself into bed, buried his head under the covers, forced himself to pretend he hadn’t seen anything.

you didn’t bother getting dressed. still naked, you crossed the room without a hint of shame, water on your skin as if you were dipped in moonlight. with a small hop, you climbed onto your bed, body completely exposed from where theodore stood frozen by his window. he watched you move, comfortable in your own skin. the way you shifted around on the mattress, adjusting your pillows, tossing them this way and that way without a care in the world. you were putting on a show without even realizing it, every twist of your hips, every stretch of your arms offering him a new angle to memorize, to burn into the back of his eyelids forever.

once you finally settled, your back sank into the sheets, muscles relaxing into the mattress. the soft cloth cradled you, hugging every dip and curve. theo’s chest rose and fell unevenly, unable to look away as your pierced nipples stood tight and hard, pointing up toward the ceiling. the silver jewelry small and beautiful on you.

you trailed your right hand down, fingertips dancing lazily over your breast, nails scratching slightly across the sensitive skin. lower and lower you went, dragging those fingers over the smooth, freshly shaved skin of your lower stomach, your body arching just slightly into your own touch.

he could see everything: the way your breathing deepened, the way your thighs shifted apart the ever so slightest, welcoming yourself home. with a roll of your wrist, you dipped your hand even lower, your index finger brushing gently over the swollen mound of your clit.

theo couldn’t move, couldn’t even think as he watched you spread yourself out across the bed, knees bent and falling open, giving him a full view of everything. your skin practically glowed, a leftover dampness still clinging to your body. your fingers, those delicate fingers moved lazy strokes over your clit. his stomach tightened painfully, a low heat coiling in his gut. he watched as you dragged the tip of your finger in circles, the movement so soft it was almost teasing yourself, building your own tension.

you tilted your head back slightly, letting your teeth sink into your bottom lip. he didn’t know if you were trying to muffle your sounds or if it was some subconscious need to savor the pressure, but either way, it didn’t matter. all thoughts that made sense abandoned in favor of the desperate need flooding his body.

everything he was feeling, every throb of want, every spike of lust, every dizzying pull toward you seemed to rush straight down to his dick, swelling painfully against his sweats. you moved, hips rolling up into your own touch, adding more pressure. with the kind of slowwww that made theodore’s vision blur at the edges, you pushed a finger deep inside yourself. “mmph…”

the sound you made punched the air right out of theodore’s lungs. it wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be. whether you had meant it to be heard or not, it banged through him, making his entire body clench and his cock harden so fast it hurt. he squeezed his eyes shut for half a second, trying and failing to gather himself. but the second he opened them again, you rewarded him with an even filthier sight.

another finger joined the first, stretching you wider, making your hips rock slightly against your hand. you moved them in and out, out and in, fingers disappearing into the heat of your pussy, coated in the evidence of your own wetness. theo’s ears were ringing, too consumed by the sight of your hand moving, of your body writhing slightly against the sheets, of your thighs trembling as you fucked yourself open.

your eyebrows pulled together, forehead creasing in that beautiful, desperate way as your pleasure built. gasping sounds slipping free without a hint of restraint. the movements of your fingers grew faster, your hips subtly chasing every stroke, your thighs trembling with the effort to stay open. theodore’s eyes devoured you. every detail. every breath.

he noticed everything: the way your right breast, slightly pressed to the side by the movement of your arm, causing the piercing threaded through your nipple to poke out at a perfect angle. theo felt a an aching need crash through him, a hunger to have it between his teeth, to feel the cold shock of metal against his hot tongue, to suck and tug and soothe until you were gasping even harder beneath him.

his hand gripped the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white. he stared hard, breath fogging up the small corner of glass before him, matching the uneven, shuddering breathing of yours. every squeaky whimper, every hitch of your hips, every sound of your fingers plunging deep into your own body buried itself into his mind.

you came with a cry, legs quaking around your hand. your face softened in the aftermath, a look of pure bliss taking over your beautiful features: lips parted, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks.

with a violent jerk, theo closed the blinds, the snap of the cord sounding too loud in the silence of his room. he stumbled back a step, chest heaving, staring down in disbelief at the painful boner against his sweats. he dragged a shaking hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. he felt like a damn teenager again, seeing boobs for the first time on a crumpled magazine page he wasn’t supposed to have.

“you think she’d like this?” mattheo asked, holding the dress up between his fingers. he rubbed the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, raising an eyebrow. “she’s always fuckin’ talking about wanting dresses with this kind of fabric. all soft and shit.”

it had become a routine, one theo never spoke about, even to himself. every day, he found his feet carrying him to the same spot: the window in the far corner of his room, the one that offered a perfect view into yours. from there, he could see you through the soft cover of curtains that you always forget, or maybe just didn’t care, to close.

most days, you were alone. reading, usually. sometimes curled on your side with a blanket pulled up to your waist, the bedside lamp illuminating your face. other times, you were cross legged in the center of your bed, a book propped open against your knees, mouthing the words silently as your fingers absentmindedly traced the dog eared page corners. sometimes, you’d bring a friend over, usually a girl with a laugh too loud. you’d lounge across your bed together, heads bent over the edge of your bed, your body loose with comfort.

theodore would watch. you’d become his obsession without even trying. he told himself it was nothing. that it would pass. that if he just kept watching from afar, the pull in his chest would ease. but it never did.

what made it so much fucking worse, what twisted the blade in deeper, was the guilt. not just the guilt of watching you when he shouldn’t have, but the guilt that grew the day he saw you kiss someone else. the day he realized it wasn’t just someone.

it was mattheo. theo hadn’t known. not even a hint. mattheo told him everything, or so he thought. they’d been friends for years, bonded by too many fights and drunken nights and secrets they weren’t proud of. every hookup. every fling. every girl who’d passed through mattheo’s bed had been a joke, something to laugh about the next morning.

not this time. theodore had been standing at the window like he always did, eyes drifting toward your room. you were sitting cross legged on your bed, a paperback open in your lap, your hair loose and slightly messy like you’d just woken from a nap. you were turning a page when the door to your room opened, and theodore’s heart gave a confused lurch: mattheo stepped in. like it was normal. like it was his place to be.

theo had watched, body frozen except for the slow tightening in his jaw. mattheo didn’t say anything. as if he didn’t need to. he just crossed the room with that confidence he always carried, tossed his hoodie on the chair by your desk, and leaned down. as if this was a routine, pressing his mouth to yours in a kiss that was far too comfortable. your hands slid up into his hair and kissed him back, like you’d done it a hundred times before.

theo just stood there, staring with furrowed brows. the silence of his room made everything worse, the way your lips moved, the curve of your smile against mattheo’s mouth. he watched as his best friend slid his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, slowly pushing the fabric upward, revealing the bare of your waist, the lump of your breasts, the metal piercings theodore had spent countless nights dreaming about tasting with his own tongue.

and when mattheo came back from your house that night, theodore couldn’t stop himself from prying. working around the edges of the conversation like trying to defuse a bomb without knowing which wire to cut, asking the kind of casual questions that wouldn’t make him seem desperate to know.

eventually, however, mattheo cracked. laughing under his breath, running a hand through his curls: told theo that the two of you had been sneaking around together for about five weeks now, slipping in and out of each other’s beds, pretending the fire between you wasn’t setting blaze to everything it touched. and just like fuckin’ that, theodore felt stupid.

he sat there, nodding along like an idiot, pretending to find it funny, pretending he wasn’t shattering apart piece by piece inside. because all those nights he’d been standing at his window, staring at you like some fool, you’d already been his. mattheo’s hands had already mapped the curves theo could only dream about touching; his mouth had already tasted the skin theo ached to claim.

of course. of course that was why your curtains were drawn most nights now, blocking theo out.

regardless, even after theo found out you were dating mattheo, the acknowledgment hadn’t been enough to pry him away from that damn window. it should’ve been. god, it should’ve been. but how could he stop? you were still there, every day, existing just on the other side of the glass. gorgeous. the thought that you belonged to someone else now, that you were mattheo’s, should’ve made it feel wrong. and it did. it absolutely did. but that shame came with something addictive. the twisted thrill of watching something he could never have, of seeing you laugh or stretch or curl beneath your sheets in the early morning, knowing you were his best friend’s girl.

“no clue. you’re the boyfriend,” theo muttered, eyes scanning the hang of a sundress mattheo had plucked from a display rack in some dress shop. a pale blue thing, the kind of dress that would fall just below your thighs and hug your waist. theodore didn’t want to picture you in it, but of course, he did. he could already see it: you standing barefoot in your bedroom, spinning just slightly in front of the mirror, fingertips brushing down the fabric. or worse—he imagined it sliding down your shoulders, puddling around your ankles as mattheo stepped toward you with that smirk he wore when he knew he was about to get lucky.

“have to get it for her,” riddle said, holding the dress up. “she’d look fuckin’ amazing.”

theo stayed quiet. watched as mattheo strutted up to the front desk, tossing the dress gently onto the counter. the woman behind the register gave a soft smile, eyes flicking up to riddle. theo could make out the exchange from a few steps back, hearing the cashier ask, “for your girl?” with a teasing smile. mattheo’s curls bounced as he nodded and said something that made her giggle. some stupid line, no doubt.

theodore had never been the jealous type. anything he wanted, he got, usually without even having to ask. but people always want what they can’t have. and theodore wanted you. wanted you soooo badly in a way that ate at the open places inside him he hadn’t even realized were empty.

mattheo strolled back, confidence in every step, a small black bag dangling effortlessly off his ring finger like it weighed nothing, catching on the silver rings he always wore. his grin was all teeth. “let’s go,” he said, tilting his head toward the street. theo didn’t trust himself to speak, not when his head was a hurricane of thoughts that had no business being there. he kept his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes on the ground, his jaw tight as he tried to walk off the jealousy clawing at his ribs. it was stupid, he knew.

by the time they reached home, the sky was a shade of indigo. theo didn’t wait around — the front door had barely clicked shut behind them when he was already climbing the stairs two at a time, footsteps heavy on the wood. he didn’t even glance back.

mattheo didn’t follow. turning on his heel and heading right back out the door, toward your place. theo caught it from the top of the stairs: the quick jingle of keys, the door creaking open again, the soft click as it closed behind him. theo stood there, hand still on the banister, lips parted like he might call out — tell him to wait, to stay, to go fuck himself. but nothing came out. what was he going to say anyway? don’t go see her? mattheo would’ve just laughed. that cocky laugh that always made theo feel two inches shorter. he’d say something like, “jealous?” with that tilt of his head, and then walk out anyway. so theo let him go. let him take that damn bag of whatever he bought you, let him walk right into your space, right into your home, into the warmth that wasn’t his to want.

who the hell was theo to protest? he went straight to his room, peeled off his jacket, and crawled under the covers fully clothed. the sheets were cool against his skin, but it didn’t soothe anything. the drinks he’d had earlier sat heavy in his stomach — not enough to make him dizzy, but enough to make everything feel just a little off. he hoped they’d knock him out. that sleep would come quick.

it didn’t. he lay flat on his back, one arm flung over his eyes to block out the thoughts, but they came anyway. he counted the cracks in the ceiling. focused on the soft tick of the old clock on his dresser. on the way the wind brushed against the window, rattling the glass every so often.

"mm... ugh."

theodore jolted upright, ears straining like an animal catching the faintest scent of a target. had he heard that right? he thought he was imagining it, but then he heard it again, clearer this time. “yes… augh, yes…” desperate.

he would have known those sounds anywhere. those pretty little squeal of a moan that slipped from your mouth. he’d spent many nights pressed against the windowsill, watching you with your curtains drawn open just wide enough, seeing the way your body moved beneath your own touch. each quiet gasp, each whimper had been burned into him. engraved so deep inside his mind that even now, with nothing but the sound of your voice to guide him, he could see it all: the way your lashes fluttered, the way your fingers moved, the way your back arched off the mattress as you chased your own pleasure.

theo tossed aside his blanket and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. pushing himself up with his arms, he began walking toward the window. it was already open, though the curtains were drawn. grabbing them at the center where outside light peeked through, he yanked them open.

your bare back faced the glass. mattheo lay stretched out beneath you, his dark curls a mess against your pink silk pillows, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. your nails: painted a perfect, glossy white, the edge of your french tips scratched lightly over the broad of mattheo’s chest, leaving red trails. every movement you made was sluggish, lifting your hips, rolling them with a rhythm that made mattheo’s fingers dig deeper into your skin, leaving bruises theo could already see forming along your hips.

his best friends hands clutched you, urging you to move faster, so much harder, needing more.

you leaned down, your spine arching in a curve, and pressed a line of tongue mouthed kisses along the side of mattheo’s neck: hungry kisses that spoke of intimacy theo had never been allowed to taste. he watched you part your lips against mattheo’s throat, tasting the salt on his tan skin, heard the low groan mattheo let out as you continued to ground your hips down.

theo bit down so hard on his own cheek he tasted blood. his cock was hurting against his sweats, but he didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe, terrified he’d miss a second.

mattheo’s hands slid from your hips to the plush of your ass. his fingers digging into the meat, squeezing with a grasp that made your body jolt slightly against him. with rough strength, mattheo lifted you just enough to adjust the angle between you, guiding you down again. until you took every inch of him, your bodies fitting together like two broken pieces of the same shattered thing.

theo saw the way your head tipped forward, a moan falling from your lips: the sound sooo soft, vibrating against mattheo’s throat where you kissed him, your lips dragging across his pulse point. fingers curled against mattheo’s chest for balance, the rock of your hips as you rode him faster.

mattheo’s cock drove into you, the swollen head bumping against your g-spot with each thrust.

theodore could see it, could feel it, just by the way your body reacted. every time you lifted your hips, your thighs quivered, your back arching in those beautiful little spasms you couldn’t control.

but frustration simmered just beneath the heat because you were facing away from him, the smooth curve of your back blocking the view he craved most: he’d always loved watching the way your pierced nipples caught his full attention, how the metal glinted as your chest rose with every breath. and now it was hidden from him, kept secret while mattheo got to touch it, taste it.

each grind of mattheo’s hips had your body jolting forward, theodore knew, knew that the thick veins along his best friend’s cock were dragging against your squishy walls, stroking you just right. the way your body melted against his, the way your mouth parted in gasps said everything. your wetness coating him, making every thrust sticky, the lewd squelching sound loud enough that theo could almost hear it through the damn glass.

theo’s dick was throbbing painfully against his jeans, hard as fuck. he hated himself for it. hated that he couldn’t look away. hated that you were right there, split open for someone else, and he couldn’t touch you.

a sound clawed its way from theo’s throat as he shoved his hand into his pants. the first cold brush of his fingertips against his cock tore a choked gasp from him, body jerking against the window. he wrapped his hand around himself in a punishing hold, stroking, as if he could tear the want out of his body by force alone.

“fuckin’ look at yourself,” theodore heard mattheo. you whimpered, head falling back, the ends of your hair grazing over his best friends thighs.

theo fisted himself harder, his eyes on the curve of your back to your golden hoops — in his mind, he saw it clearly: the tattoo beneath your right breast, the one he wanted to mouth, to bite, to worship until you sobbed his name. he imagined it was his cock buried deep inside you, his hands tangled in your hair, your voice breaking as you screamed for him.

that alone made the coil inside theo snap: a release that yanked a whine from his throat. his fingers pinched instinctively, milking every last pulse of hot, desperate seed into his palm. his body jerking against the windowpane, trembling as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through him. the glass against his forehead blurred and fogged with his stuttering breath, but he barely noticed, lost to the absolute high of it.

however, he was instantly flooded with embarrassment at how quickly he had come, all from just the simple sight of his best friend and you.

“oh, come on, nott. it’s my girl’s fuckin’ birthday,” mattheo said, annoyed. pleading as he leaned heavily against the edge of theo’s bedroom window, arms crossed tight over his chest. his chocolate eyes moved between his friend and the view just beyond the glass, where you sat at your vanity, running your fingers through your hair. “pansy and her girlfriend are already there,” he continued, yanking his head toward the sound of laughter and music starting to rise.

“draco, enzo, blaise—everyone’s waiting. it’s going to be weird as fuck if you don’t show up.”

theo didn’t look up. he remained at his desk, wiping it down with a soft cloth like he did nearly every evening. no matter how often he cleaned, it somehow managed to look messier by the next morning. what mattheo didn’t say, but knew, was that theodore’s desk sat in the perfect spot, positioned just below the large window that framed a direct view into your room. from where he stood, theo could see everything. the setup wasn’t intentional, it had been that way since before either of them could remember. his desk had always been there, longggg before he realized what that window actually offered.

“don’t feel like it,” theodore replied, barely looking up from where he was running his cloth in circles across the surface of his desk. “barely even know the woman,” he added with a shrug.

he didn’t know you, not in the way people usually mean when they talk about getting to know someone. he didn’t know your favorite color, or what kind of movies you liked, or whether you bit your nails when you were nervous. but he knew what your body looked like beneath soft silk and tight cotton. he knew the way your lips parted and your head tilted back when you were chasing pleasure, whether it was under someone else’s touch or your own. he’d never heard your voice in conversation, but he’d heard it in squeaky moans carried through open windows.

mattheo exhaled loudly, dragging a hand down his face before turning back toward the window. “exactly,” he said, gesturing toward the sight of you. “you don’t know her. so m’trying to fix that. my two favorite people don’t even know each other, theo. that’s messed up.” that made theodore pause. he turned his head, giving a sideways glance at mattheo. his best friend wasn’t even looking at him, his gaze had returned to the window, locked on you.

curious despite himself, theo followed his best friend’s line of sight. you were sitting at the edge of your vanity chair, legs crossed, applying a final coat of lip gloss. your hair was half up, curls falling down your back like warm honey. the dress you wore, silky where it hugged your hips: the one mattheo had bought for you last week.

you looked gorgeous. too stunning. and somehow theo’s eyes weren’t drawn to the usual things. his attention caught on the tiniest details: the shimmer of body oil on your collarbone. the way your earring swung each time your head tilted. and, because he couldn’t help it, the outline of the piercings on your breasts, barely visible through the thin material of the dress, but justtttt enough to be noticed if someone was looking closely.

“not in the mood to party anyway.” the words were simple, tossed out casually as theo leaned back in his chair, fingertips tapping lightly against the edge of his desk. but the second they left his mouth, mattheo’s head snapped around like he’d been slapped. “not in the mood to party?” he repeated, disbelief in his voice.

mattheo had known theo since they were kids, since scraped knees to the stolen bottles of alcohol behind the castle. if there was one thing he could count on, it was that theodore nott never missed a party. not for exams, not for breakups, not even for detention. the boy lived for chaos, for loud music and dancing girls and a drink in each hand. so this didn’t make sense. “who are you, and what the fuck did you do to my best friend?” he asked. “seriously, tell him i want my him back.”

nott rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. he shook his head and stood up slowly, stretching before he leaned his weight against the desk. “i’m serious,” he said. “go have fun with your girl. it’s her fuckin’ birthday, just tell her i said happy birthday, yeah?” but even as he spoke, even as he tried to sound uninterested, theo’s eyes wandered back to the window. back to you. still seated at your vanity, fastening the tiny clasp of a necklace around your neck, brushing the curve of your collarbone as you adjusted it.

theo couldn’t go to that party. he wouldn’t. if he saw you and mattheo together, up close, arms around each other, eyes locked in that way that only couples do. he wouldn’t be able to handle it. he’d pretend, obviously. theo was good at pretending. he’d lean against the wall with a drink in hand and wear that handsome grin. but the whole time, he’d be watching you. watching him with you. watching you with him. it would tear him apart.

you were already irresistible when seen through a window. but up close? with that perfume he’d caught traces of in the hallway? with your laugh in his ears instead of muffled through glass? he’d lose his mind.

mattheo bit the inside of his cheek. he hated this. hated the feeling of walking away from something that was supposed to be fun, that was supposed to include everyone he cared about. he and theo had done everything together since they were eleven: first smokes, first fights, first girls, first heartbreaks. there wasn’t a memory worth keeping that didn’t have nott’s name scribbled somewhere in the corner of it. and now, on a night that mattered. his girlfriend’s night, your night, mattheo couldn’t help but feel wrong leaving him behind.

however, mattheo knew better than to argue. if theo said he didn’t feel like partying, then dragging him out would be a lost cause. the fucker was more stubborn than anyone he’d ever met. once he was set in a direction, you’d break your legs trying to turn him around.

letting out an exhale through his nose. “alright,” mattheo said finally, turning toward the door, disappointment dragging at his voice. “if you change your mind, the party’s next door. you know where to find us.” theo gave a nod, already turning his back on his best friend. behind him, he heard the sigh mattheo always gave when he was pretending not to care, followed by the slow creak of the bedroom door opening, closing, then fading footsteps down the hallway.

the moment he knew he was alone, theo turned around. he didn’t even try to hide it anymore. his gaze went straight to your window.

you were standing now, having just risen from your vanity chair. the hem of your dress settled around your thighs as you reached for your perfume, spritzing a small cloud into the air before stepping through it, letting it kiss your skin.

your hands smoothed down the fabric of your dress once more as you took a final look in the mirror, brushing a curl of hair behind your ear. theo watched as you grabbed your little clutch bag. paused at the frame for just a second, looking back, maybe to check your reflection one last time, maybe just thinking—and then disappeared from view.

of all the people theo could’ve become obsessed with, why did it have to be you? why did it have to be his best friend’s girlfriend? the one girl he couldn’t have, the one person who should’ve been completely off limits. obsession didn’t even feel like the right word anymore. it was deeper than that.

when this all started, when theo first saw you touching yourself, you weren’t even with mattheo. he remembered that night vividly: down to the way you were lying back, lips parted, chest rising and falling with every desperate sound you let out. your hand was slow between your thighs, and the look on your face was tattooed into his mind permanently.

what if he’d moved first? what if he hadn’t stayed silent, hadn’t given mattheo time to get close to you? would you have looked at him the way you look at his best friend now? would you have let him touch you until you were trembling, maybe even crying from how good he’d make you feel? would you have let him ruin you in all the ways he dreamed of?

oh, could’ve, should’ve, fuckin’ would’ve. but the most twisted, most fucked part of it all: theo had only grown more obsessed after finding out you and mattheo were together. he couldn’t explain it. something about seeing the two of you wrapped up in each other, giving and taking pleasure so lovingly, cracked him open in ways he didn’t even want to name.

just like mattheo had said, his two favorite people. you and mattheo: two people theo is utterly obsessed with — had found each other. the two people theo loved to watch, to crave for, had somehow ended up in a relationship.

god, he loved it. he loved when his best friend came back smelling like you: the sweetness of your skin, raw scent of sex still sticking to him. he loved knowing you had made mattheo feel so good that he’d finally settled, finally stayed in a relationship.

theo loved it. loved that if it couldn’t be him wrecking you, worshiping you, making you come on his cock so deliciously, at least it was his best friend. if he wasn’t the one making mattheo’s eyes flutter shut in pleasure, you were. he tried to deny it — every part of him convinced that he was just jealous because mattheo had you. but the truth was more twisted: he was jealous because you had mattheo too.

theo blinked hard, over and over, as if it would somehow erase the thoughts that had taken inside his mind. thoughts so bizarre, so fucked, they didn’t even feel like they belonged to him. his chest felt tight, his skin too hot. he pushed himself up from his desk chair, the legs scraping roughly against the wood floor, and stalked toward the bathroom. he slid open the shower door with a clatter, the sound echoing in the tiled space, and twisted the faucet on full blast toward freezing cold. the pipes making a shuddering sound as he tore at his clothes: stripping his shirt off over his head, kicking his pants down in one tug, leaving a trail of garments behind him like he couldn’t get them off fast enough.

the moment he stepped beneath the icy spray, the shock of it hit him instantly. theo hissed through his teeth, bowing his head as the water tickled down his overheated skin, soaking his hair, dragging goosebumps across his frame. he leaned a palm against the cold tile, his other hand curling briefly into a fist at his side as he forced himself to stand there, to let the freezing water do its brutal work.

the arousal he’d gotten, just from the vivid thought of his two favorite people tangled up in pleasure, so good for him — fucked him up.

he stayed there longer than necessary, shampooing his hair, scrubbing his body hard enough to turn his skin red. as if he could wash the images out of his mind along with the sweat from his skin. when he finally shut off the faucet, the silence was instant. water dripped from his hair, trailing down his spine as he reached for a towel. he wrapped it low around his hips, the cotton scratching at his skin, and wiped a hand across the fogged mirror without bothering to really look at himself.

he grabbed a handful of cotton swabs, poking one into his ear, not yet swishing it around. with the other hand, he reached for his toothbrush, squeezing a quick line of mint toothpaste across the bristles before jamming it into his mouth.

theo stepped back into his room, still brushing his teeth, however: he stopped dead in his tracks. the sight before him instinctively made him stumble back a step, his heel catching on the edge of the rug. the toothbrush slipped from the corner of his mouth, hanging awkwardly. “what ttthe—” he mumbled, his voice barely hearable through the toothpaste foam.

he spun around and rushed back into the bathroom. the faucet screeching as he turned it back on with clumsy fingers, quickly bringing his mouth down to gather water. he swished, then spat it out, gripping the sides of the sink to steady himself for a second before straightening up. his eyes searched his reflection in the mirror, as if to confirm he wasn’t losing his grip on reality. then he stepped back out into his room.

you were standing near the foot of his bed, wearing that dress, it looked even more stunning up close. one thin strap had slipped down your shoulder, exposing more skin that seemed intentional… or maybe it was intentional. you tilted your head slightly. “rude of me not to announce myself, i know,” it was the first time he'd heard your voice in a complete sentence, and he was already captivated by it. “but you were in the shower, and i didn’t want to interrupt.”

theo just stared at you, his brain struggling to catch up. he blinked once. then again. and again, expecting you to disappear like some strange dream.

his voice came out lower than usual, cracking embarrassingly. “where’s matt…heo?” his gaze darted briefly around the room, expecting his friend to appear from behind the curtain or the closet door. if you were here, then surely mattheo couldn’t be far behind.

“he actually sent me,” you said, lifting the keys you still had clutched awkwardly in your hand, as if they somehow validated your presence. “said you… uh… had condoms.” theo almost chuckled at how shy you got just saying the word condoms. sweet thing. if only you knew how much he had already seen, how much he had already imagined. his blue eyes dragged over you, barely suppressing the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“yeah?” he exhaled, turning away, crossing the room. his towel sat low on his hips, the damp fabric wrapped around the cut of his waist. every step he took made it shift dangerously. you stayed frozen by his bed, trying very hard not to look: failing miserably.

theo crouched down in front of his dresser, yanking open the bottom drawer. it creaked, revealing a mess of old things: wrinkled shirts, an empty box of mints, and underneath it all, a few leftover condoms from an ex-girlfriend.

he grabbed three without thinking, large hands checking the slim foil wrappers, and walked back toward you. the condoms dangled casually from his fingers as he extended his hand out: just close enough for you to reach. your hand was halfway there when theo snatched them back.

“you know how to put them on, right?” you lifted your gaze up at him through your lashes, lips parting slightly like you wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. and theo, all bare in front of you, save for the thin strip of towel slung dangerously low around his hips. the shape of him barely covered the way your thighs instinctively pressed together.

you shook your head. theo could’ve groaned at the sight. he already knew, obviously. knew you and mattheo didn’t use condoms, his best friend had always been stubborn about it, even back at school, bragging about how he hated the “killjoy” of it. the number of plan b boxes theo had seen mattheo toss into his bag over the years only confirmed it: it was even worse now that he had you.

regardless, knowing it was your birthday, theo was certain mattheo wasn’t going to stop at just one round. not a fuckin’ chance. shit, knowing his friend, he’d probably go as many rounds as the number you were turning, determined to fuck you until you couldn’t even remember how old you were.

these were mandatory.

“want me to show you?” theo asked, the words slipping out before he could think better of them. he knew. fuck, he knew — this could either go insanely wrong or exactly how he’d fantasized a hundred times in the guilty corners of his mind. the moment the question was said, your pretty lips parted, eyes blinking up at him with disbelief. theodore couldn’t blame you, your boyfriend’s best friend had just asked if you wanted him to show you how to put on a condom.

silence pulled between you. theo’s stomach twisted, a thread of doubt shredding through the daze of heat blurring his mind. he thought about taking it back, covering it up with a laugh, pretending it was a joke, anything to save face.

“yes,” you breathed. so sickly sure. the single word dip into him like a match to gasoline.

theo’s pulse pounded loud in his ears as he moved to sit on the edge of his bed. he ran a hand through his damp hair, pretending to be okay, but every nerve in his body was tickling. he gestured for you to sit beside him, hand loose in the air, but his entire body felt tense. you obeyed without hesitation, shy as you perched on the mattress next to him. so fucking obedient. so fucking tempting.

he let the towel fall from his hips with a flick of his fingers, letting it pool on the bed. your breath caught. fully bared in front of you, was theo’s dick: an angry red at the tip, straining up at full attention. all from the simple sight of you sitting there, looking so shy and sweet in that little dress mattheo had bought you.

you swallowed, throat bobbing with the effort. your body shifting almost unconsciously on the bed: thighs pressing together, hands clenching into the fabric of the comforter beneath you. you couldn’t stop looking at him, at all. that gorgeous, heavy heat standing between his hips. theo’s mouth tilted into a smile at your reaction, but his voice stayed rough around the edges, when he said, “don’t open it with your teeth. could accidentally rip it. then it won’t work.”

you nodded, completely focused on him. on what he was doing. on how he was doing it.

he tore the wrapper open with his hands, the foil crinkling. he plucked the condom from the packet, letting it spread slightly between his fingertips. “it’s a little wet,” theo murmured, his accent peaking through due to nerves. “you have make sure it doesn’t slip through your pretty little fingers.” the way he said it, your pretty little fingers, made your entire body hot. you couldn’t tear your eyes away as he lined the condom carefully with the head of his cock, making sure it was angled just right before slowly rolling it down.

the latex slapped onto his skin, catching every vein, every impossible inch that had you pressing your thighs even tighter together. “just like that.” you bit down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep from making some humiliating sound right there on the bed. your hands squeezed tighter in your lap, thighs trembling from the effort of staying still.

“can i… can i try?”

theo was about to nod, maybe crack a joke about grabbing a banana or something less dangerous, but you shook your head quickly, moving forward on the bed before lifting a manicured hand to stop him. “i mean… on you,” you said. “can i try… on you?”

theo genuinely thought he was on the verge of passing out. your words ricocheted around his mind, hitting every nerve. his heart was pounding so loud it was all he could hear, he wondered if you could hear it too. nott gobbled down his saliva, fingers a little shaky now as he grabbed one of the extra condoms from where he’d tossed them on the bed. his hand brushed yours when he passed it over, your manicured nails scratched slightly against the rough pads of his fingers as you took the foil packet from him.

he forced himself to move, peeling off the condom he’d already put on, tossed it into the small trashcan by his desk.

you tore open the foil carefully, trying not to rush, your bottom lip caught between your teeth in concentration. when you slid the condom out, you held it up between your fingers. “you weren’t wrong,” you said, giving him a shy glance from under your lashes. “it’s… really wet.”

his cock twitched, visibly, at the sound of your voice, at the sight of you sitting there so pretty. you turned slightly to face him, holding the condom between your fingers. theo had to clench his fists into the mattress to stop himself from reaching for you. you were so close now that the scent of your shampoo mixed with the smell of latex was starting to become theo’s new favorite scent.

he observed, almost in slow motion, as you lined the condom up with the tip of his dick, so carefully he found it cute. and started to roll it down over him.

the first brush of your nails against his cock had theo’s thighs tensing, an involuntary jerk of his hips that he quickly bit back. you were trying so hard to be gentle, to be careful, your eyes flickering up to his face every few seconds for approval. “like that?” you whisper, voice barely hearable over the ringing in his ears. you were so close that when you tilted your chin to look at him, the slightest movement brought your face right near his: breath sweet, brushing across the tip of his nose. theo thought he might actually lose his mind. his dick throbbed against your palm, and it took every control he had not to thrust into your hand and wreck every bit of innocence still in the room.

“just like that,” theo rasped. he cleared his throat roughly, trying to ground himself, to wrestle back the thin shred of control slipping through his fingers. he was about to hook a finger under the rolled latex and slide it off, end this insanity before it went any further. when your hand shot out and stopped him, fingers brushing his wrist.

“wait,” eyes wide and questioning, locked onto his. “what about… if it’s filled?” you asked, cheeks flushing at the bluntness of your own words. “how do i remove it without any of the… juices spilling inside me?”

thrown off by how sweetly filthy that question sounded coming from your mouth. theo licked his lips slowly, mind racing, what to do. because the images flashing behind his eyes were downright dirty. he should have just explained it easily — but instead a far darker thought came to mind a sick, sick thought. one he didn’t have the power to resist.

theo reached out, his fingers brushing along your bare shoulder where the strap of your dress had slipped down. he caught the strap between two fingers and lifted it gently, sliding it back into place, his knuckles skimming your heated skin in the process. the soft prickle raising across your skin in visible waves. his fingers stayed a second too long, memorizing the warmth radiating off your body, before he forced himself to pull away.

“i’d show you… but it’s more of a visual lesson.” a smile tugged at your mouth, and you leaned in, just enough that theo could see the lust in your eyes. “good thing i’m a visual learner.” the condom still slapped over his cock stretched as he grew even harder. something he hadn’t thought physically possible until now.

“oh, i believe you,” theo muttered, he nodded toward the two empty condom wrappers on the mattress, to show how very serious you both were taking this ‘lesson.’ he adjusted himself on the bed, settling more toward the middle to give you both more room. “let me just-” he started, reaching for himself, intending to stroke his cock and mimic how the condom would fill. however, before his fingers could even brush his hardened dick, you stopped him.

“i have a better idea,” you said, syrupy sweet. “to get the full experience.” theo blinked at you, confused, until you rose up from where you were sitting beside him. you swung a leg over him, straddling his hips, and his heart just about stopped.

the thin material of your underwear brushed over the sensitive head of his dick, and theo had to bite back a sound. a pathetic noise that scratched up his throat. he could already feel it, could already feel himself on the verge, and you hadn’t even taken him inside yet.

“always have to be sure…” theo’s voice weakened. you gave him a look, that sexy look and slipped your fingers down between your legs, hooking into the side of your panties. you dragged the fabric aside, exposing yourself to him, and theo’s mouth actually watered.

you reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around the base of him. theodore nearly jolted at just that, your fingers, so warm wrapping around him. “for learning purposes,” you said softly, locking eyes with him. for learning purposes. you lifted yourself up a bit, lining him up with your entrance, and theo could barely believe this was real. he was finally going to touch you, finally going to make you feel so unbelievably good, just like he’d imagined far too many times. then slowly, soooo slowly, you started to sink down.

the head of his red, angry dick disappeared into the squishy walls inside you. theo whimpered instantly, an embarrassingly wrecked sound that slipped out through his nose and clenched teeth. this was the same position you’d been in when he watched you and mattheo through the window, your back to him, making his best friend fall apart under your touch. only now, you were on top of theo, and he could still smell your boyfriend on your skin. he could still smell mattheo on you.

he wasn’t sure which he loved more: the scent of you on mattheo… or the smell of mattheo left on you.

your palms laid flat against theo’s chest for balance, hips rolling in waves that had both of you gasping, lost in the feeling. his hands roamed your body, thumbs sweeping over the curve of your waist, the full bulge of your breasts. his hands traced lightly over the ink just beneath your right breast, the red cursive spelling angel against your skin.

what an angel, riding him like your boyfriend, his best friend, wasn’t just next door. throwing a party in your honor. “feel fuckin’ amazing…” theo breathed against your skin. “my best friend had all this to himself?” his words dissolve into kisses and biting sucks against your pierced nipples, leaving trails of swollen, purpled marks. you moaned, arching into him, shoving your breast deeper into his mouth. he groaned as he sucked around the metal, loving the taste he had only ever dreamed about. it was even better than he had imagined, shocking against his tongue.

even up close he could still taste the traces of your boyfriend’s cologne clinging to your skin. the thought should have disgusted him. however, it made him impossibly harder.

theo sits up, caging you against him in a bruising hold, his arms locking around your body so tightly you can barely breathe. he holds you there, crushing you to his chest as he thrusts up into you, giving you everything. your hands fly to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, dragging him even closer to your chest as he continued to drive into you.

“keep hitting right th—ugh…” yur words broke off in a choked moan, the sentence dying on your tongue. theo didn’t need to hear the rest; he already knew. he obeyed immediately, adjusting the angle of his thrusts, jabbing into the spot inside you that made your body jolt. you tried to keep moving, hips grinding down against him in desperate circles, but every time the thick head of his cock nudged that sensitive spot: you faltered, legs trembling around his waist. theo caught you when you slumped forward, letting your head drop onto his shoulder as you whimpered. his arms curled around you, holding you steady while he kept thrusting up into you, meeting your weak movements halfway, guiding you through the waves of pleasure crashing over your body.

every breath you took fanned across his neck as you clung to him. you hadn’t even bothered warning him that you were about to come, you couldn’t find the words, and he didn’t need them anyway. he could feel it.

the way your walls sucked him in, squeezing him tighter. even through the condom, he could feel the rush of your release, dripping down all over his cock. theo cursed under his breath, losing his rhythm as his own orgasm hit, his body pushing against yours. hips lifting up into you one last time, deeper than before, as he spilled into the condom with a groan muffled against your shoulder.

for a while, neither of you moved, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing. theo pulled out of you, the latex still slapped against him gleaming with your juices. but instead of letting go, he wrapped his fingers tightly around the base of the condom. “first,” he said, voice still recovering from the aftershocks, “don’t just yank it out like you usually do.” he demonstrated, pinching the tip of the condom carefully between two fingers to trap the contents inside. “always pinch the tip,” he instructed, “or you’ll make a fuckin’ mess.”

“then,” theo murmured, eyes locked on yours, making sure you were paying attention. his fingers gripping the base of the condom, not letting a drop escape. “slowly roll it down,” he instructed. “keep your grip tight at the tip.”

you watched, still catching your breath, as he demonstrated for you: rolling the condom down his still softish cock inch by inch. you could see the way his knuckles tensed slightly with the control he forced himself to maintain, ensuring not a single drop spilled.

when the condom was finally off, theo pinched the tip again for extra caution, lifting it between two fingers. you caught a glimpse of it, full of everything he was going to pour into you. theo twisted the open end into a tight knot, sealing it shut before tossing it casually into the nearby trash can with a flick of his wrist.

only then did he turn back to you. your back sprawled out across his bed, hair wild against his dark sheets, skin covered in sweat. fat purple hickeys scattered down your neck, your chest, your thighs. theo stood for a moment, just drinking it in, the gorgeous sight of you, the mess of you. the way you looked destroyed and beautiful under his touch. part of him, a greedy part, wanted to take a picture, to keep you like this forever, ruined by him with the scent of his best friend on you.

instead however, he let himself hover over you, one hand brushing your cheek. “happy birthday, by the way,” voice almost too soft for what they’d just done.

he lowers himself, mouth trailing a path down your throat, across your collarbone, tongue lapping up the thin sweat he left behind. you exhale through your nose, blinking down at him through post-orgasmic daze. “you’re obsessed,” you whisper, voice wrecked.

“of fuckin’ course i am,” he mutters, almost resentful, like somehow it’s your fault he’s like this. when his mouth reaches the curve of your breast. he stops, catching on the silver piercing on the tender peak. “fuck…” he breathes. his mouth falls open, tongue flicking over the metal before he seals his lips around it, sucking it into the heat of his mouth. his free hand cups your other breast, thumb rolling over the second pierced nipple, the barbell clicking under the pressure.

he devours your chest, leaving trails of saliva and bruises like signatures across your skin. dark red and purple marks blush over the soft bump of your breasts, around the delicate piercings, down to the fragile skin just above your ribs.

you sink your nails into his hair, yanking sharply when the overstimulation becomes too much. he looks up at you then, lips all swollen. “now go show my best friend everything i just taught you.”

[lov3notts-recs]

the way this actually made me shed TEARSSSS

everything is in his pov;( ??

"But l'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."

& the fact that he see’s the version of her from months ago that he misses :((( the one who calls him baby so casually </3

"I didn't think you'd care this much," you say finally.

"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?"

omg your breaking my heart 💔

"You didn't even ask me to come with you."

now this… this did it for me. IM IN TEARSSSSS

His laugh is bitter. "Guess you didn't think l'd want to."

"Would you?" you whisper, barely audible.

"I'd follow you anywhere," he says. "That's the problem."

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.

YEAH RIP OUT MT HEART WHY DONT YA

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 :’)

[lov3notts-recs]

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

[lov3notts-recs]

DELIRIUM | a stalker! theo au.

"you're so fucking special; I wish I was special."

word count: 5,662.

warnings: please read all trigger warnings before proceeding. dead dove do not eat, noncon, murder, coercion, stalking, assault, manipulation, gaslighting, knife play, blood play, abusive behavior.

author's note: I don't say it lightly when I say that this fic is very dark. I fully understand that the topics and themes discussed are not for everyone, so please be mindful of the warnings before engaging. special thanks to @writingsbychlo for proofreading and encouraging my over all psychophathy.

♫ creep - radiohead. nav. stalker! theo au.

There was something wrong with Theo Nott. 

Perhaps it was a result of his traumatic upbringing or perhaps it was simply encrypted into his genetic code, but whether nature or nurture was to be blamed, this simple truth was certain: a sick, twisted, and insatiable monster lurked within him and its hunger could be satiated by one thing and one thing only — you. 

In the deepest and darkest depths of his inky black heart, Theo knew that he was completely and utterly fucked up. This thing inside of him — this madness — rendered him incapable of forming healthy relationships. Time and time again, his passions and proclivities hinted towards a more sinister nature. Some called him deranged, delirious, delusional, but Theo simply thought of himself as a hopeless romantic. 

Theo was not the type of man to harbor a crush or entertain a fling or succumb to a fleeting infatuation that eventually faded over time. When he loved, he loved with his entire being. He loved until it became a fixation, a compulsion, an obsession. This has and always will be his fatal flaw. 

From a young age, Theo learned that he was not normal. When he presented Pansy Parkinson with the front teeth of the boy who dared knock her off the swings, that was not normal. When he gifted Daphne Greengrass the rotting carcass of a bird that had kept her up with the incessant tapping of its beak against her bedroom window, that was not normal. When he offered to carve the initials of Mattheo Riddle into his skin to prove his loyalty, that was not normal. 

Theo was bereft when his friends cried and fled from him, feeling distraught and disappointed by their reactions. After all, he had only done those things to make them happy. Why couldn’t they see that?

When his mother found him crying in the Nott Manor gardens, she explained to him that he was a very special boy. That his capacity for love would be misunderstood by those around him because they simply could not feel the way that he did. The intensity of his emotions surpassed their understanding; they didn’t know what it was like to be irrevocably consumed by love. His devotion could be misconstrued, his affection scorned, which is why it became imperative for Theo to shield himself from the world until the right person came along. 

So, he conformed, he adapted, he survived, but Theo knew it was only a matter of time before his carefully constructed mask slipped. 

In the back of a crowded restaurant, Theo swirled the glass of wine in his hand before taking a long sip. The waiter had recommended the red vintage, droning on and on about the quality of the 1978 Barolo Montorfino and the meticulous aging process of the Nebbiolo grapes to produce this particular bottle. Theo fought the urge to roll his eyes. He already knew all of this, given that the wine was produced by his family’s vineyard in the Italian countryside. 

The complex flavor danced on his tongue. On any other occasion, he might have savored the hints of cherry, roses, and truffle peeking through its rich-bodied profile, but Theo tasted nothing but ash in his mouth. Because across the rooftop sat the woman of his dreams, drinking and laughing and dining with another man. Theo gripped the stem of his glass until his knuckles turned white. 

Needless to say, the night was not going as Theo intended it to. It was supposed to be him feeding you little bites of tagliatelle, topping your wine off with a wink, and listening to your melodious voice recount silly anecdotes about yourself. Instead, Adrian fucking Pucey was blattering on like a bloody twat, failing to appreciate the goddess seated across from him. The stupid prick was probably too busy gauging whether or not he was going to get lucky tonight. As if Theo would ever let that happen. 

No, that simply wouldn’t do. 

Sure, he had enjoyed the game of cat and mouse between you over the past few months. Since the day you moved into the house next to his, there had been this constant push and pull between you. The flirtatious banter as he helped you carry your dresser into the foyer after he found you struggling in the yard, the freshly baked goods you presented to him as thanks after the fact, the shy way you smiled at him every time you crossed paths when you departed and arrived back home. 

Something awakened within him the second he laid eyes on you. Something dark, something dangerous, something that he thought was long buried in the depths of his depraved soul. 

It wasn’t all in his head. Hell, you had invited him in on that very first day. You wanted him there. You wanted him near you. You wanted him.

All the darkness that he tried so hard to push down seemed to resurface all at once. Suddenly, Theo found himself falling back into old old habits. Watching you through your bedroom window while you undressed, sneaking into your house while you were away at work, planting cameras in every room without your knowledge, and even going so far as stealing your lingerie. 

But Theo wasn’t stalking you. 

No.

He was merely keeping an eye on you. 

Clearly, you needed someone to look after you if you were putting your trust in a man like Adrian Pucey. You were too soft and sweet and innocent for this world. Theo wanted to protect you. In his eyes, Pucey was a threat to your relationship and there was only one way to deal with a threat — eliminate it. 

The opportunity presented itself after that sordid dinner. After dessert was served, Theo quietly slipped out ahead of the happy couple. Well, the two of you wouldn’t be happy for long. Not if he had anything to do with it. 

Surrounded by silence and darkness, Theo laid in wait until he heard the tell-tale sounds of the front door unlocking. He observed in quiet rage as Adrian kissed his girl. The door snicked shut, but the two of you barely noticed as you stumbled through the foyer, his lips sucking at your neck, his hands roaming underneath your dress, his cock pressing against your core as you mewled for him. Theo couldn’t stomach a second more of this. The sound of Pucey’s name falling from your lips was enough to awaken the monster within him. 

A sickening thud echoed through the house as Pucey dropped to the floor. With wide eyes, you scrambled in the darkness, blinking in disbelief at the sight before you. The silk strap of your dress fell from your shoulders at the abruptness of the attack. Your pupils, which were previously blown from desire, now shifted into fear. 

“T — Theo?” Disbelief colored your expression as you looked up at your neighbor. Dressed in all black, his tall and lithe form blended in with his surroundings. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t really think I’d let this prick weasel his way into your bed, did you?” 

You blinked in confusion. On the floor of your living room, Adrian nursed his broken nose, trying and failing to staunch the blood flowing through his fingers. 

“Do you know this asshole, Y/N?” 

“He’s my neighbor,” you answered. Theo’s face twisted in anger at your response. You cowered under his gaze and scooted backwards against the wall. “Theo, what’s going on? Why are you doing this?” 

Theo sneered. “Isn’t it obvious, bella?” Your blood ran cold when a flash of silver appeared in his hand. “I know why you went on this date tonight. You wanted me to fight for you, so here I am. I love you and I won’t let anyone keep us apart.”

“What are you talking about, Theo?” You cried as he stalked towards you. “I barely know you. We’re neighbors, just neighbors, that’s all.” You pleaded, begging for him to listen to reason. “Please, just stop this. You don’t have to do any of this.” 

“Shh, my sweet Y/N,” Theo cooed as he wiped a stray tear away with his thumb. His blue eyes bore into you with such intensity that it made you shiver. There was something lurking behind that dead eyed stare and you feared for whatever it might unleash. 

Theo caressed your cheek with reverence while you trembled in fear. “You just don’t know any better, cara mia. But don’t worry, I’ll show you how much I love you. I’ll protect you; I’ll keep you safe.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m going to take care of this. He will never come between us again.” 

Before you could protest, Theo had already rounded on Adrian. The brunette threw his hands up as Theo pulled him up by his collar. “I almost feel sorry for you, you know,” Theo taunted. “You probably thought you were so smart, preying on someone as sweet and innocent as Y/N. You never deserved her.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Adrian retorted, crimson staining his dress shirt as he struggled against his captor’s hold. “It was just a few harmless dates.” 

“A few harmless dates?” Theo repeated in a mocking tone. “Christ, you can’t truly be that stupid, can you? You don’t even understand how lucky you are to have gotten the chance to be in her company. She’s a fucking goddess and you — “ Adrian groaned when Theo yanked his hair back to give him a proper view of you. “Well, you’re nothing.” 

“Look man, I don’t want any trouble. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend. I was just lookin for an easy fuck — “

Fury simmered in Theo’s gaze. The careless words that Adrian spoke cut you deep, but not nearly as deep as the blade that sliced his throat open. The crimson river flowing from Adrian’s neck bathed Theo in blood, covering his face, his hair, and his clothes. 

You screamed as Adrian slumped to the floor, his lifeless body discarded onto your cream rug as his vacant gaze stared at nothing. The gravity of his death sent a surge of adrenaline in your veins. You needed to get the fuck away, The instinct to survive kicked in and you darted for the door, but unfortunately, Theo was quicker. 

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, hauling you away from your only form of escape. You struggled in his hold, clawing and kicking and screaming as Theo dragged you through the living room. 

“You killed him!” You screamed while you continued thrashing. “He’s dead, you killed him, oh my god — “

“Don’t be like that, cara mia,” Theo said in a soothing voice. “I thought you would be happy. With our little problem out of the way, we can finally be together.” 

“You’re a fucking psychopath!” 

With a swift kick to the balls, Theo stumbled backwards which gave you time to frantically reach for your purse. The slick blood that coated the wooden floors now sullied your dress, but you pushed the thought away as you recovered your phone. As you tapped on the screen, it came alive with a bright light. With shaking hands, you tried to swipe up to dial emergency services, but the screen buzzed with static before completely dying out. 

“No!” You screamed in frustration as you pressed the dead screen over and over again. “No, no, no, this can’t be happening!” 

Behind you, Theo sighed and shook his head in disappointment. Crouching down before you, the warmth of his palm felt like a slap to the face as he cradled your jaw.

“You’ve been a bad girl, bella,” Theo purred. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.” 

Your eyes widened as he produced a set of handcuffs from his pocket. “No, please, you don’t have to do this. Just let me go and I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” 

“Let you go?” Theo repeated in a cold, menacing voice as he clamped the handcuffs over your wrists. “After all that I’ve done for you, do you really think I would be capable of just letting you go?” He tutted in disapproval as he tugged you towards the stairs. “You’re all mine now, you’re not going anywhere.” 

The short walk to your bedroom felt like a march towards death. You began to shake violently as Theo guided you towards the bed, instructing you to lie down as he tinkered with the handcuffs. Tears blurred your vision as your heart hammered against your ribcage. 

“Are you going to kill me?” you whispered. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Theo said with a scoff as he rearranged the cuffs and chained you to the bed. “You wouldn’t be any fun if you’re dead.” 

Fear gripped every fiber of your being in a chokehold. Theo leaned back and admired his work. The intensity of his gaze felt like a brand against your skin as he drank in the sight of you spread out for him. The silk of your dress was stained with blood, the fabric nearly see through from how soaked it was. 

“You’re such a pretty little thing all tied up like a present for me, principessa.” 

His blue eyes were nearly black as he gazed at you with unadulterated desire. The pale moonlight streaming through the window casted sinister shadows on his face. 

“If you’re not going to kill me, then what do you plan on doing?” 

“I’m so glad you asked,” Theo declared with a deranged smile as he brandished his knife. “I plan on worshipping every inch of your body.” The cold edge of his blade traced the curve of your jaw. “I plan on making you see God with my tongue, my fingers, my cock.” The knife continued its path down the valley of your breasts. “I plan on possessing you, owning you, and ruining you for every other man.” 

“You barely even know me,” you pleaded, shying away from the blade that now rested on the hem of your dress. “I’m not yours, Theo.” 

The air left your lungs all at once as his hand wrapped around your throat. The lack of oxygen made you dizzy and you grew limp against the bed, barely even registering the blade caressing your skin. 

“I’ll carve my name into your thigh if that’s what it takes to get it through your pretty little head that you are mine.” 

You coughed as he released his hold, disoriented by the sudden rush of air into your lungs. “Don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me, oh fuck —“ 

Your hips jerked at the sudden cold sensation between your legs. Theo watched in amusement as he pressed the hilt of his blade against your clothed core, drinking in the way you writhed underneath him. 

“What was that, bella?” Theo teased. “I can’t hear you over all that moaning.” 

Your cheeks burned with shame as you continued his ministrations against your clit. It was a purely physical response, but it felt like your own body was betraying you. This wasn’t supposed to feel good. You hated the way you reacted to his touch, his words, his gaze. You hated him. 

“You’re a sick fuck,” you yelled as you tugged at your restraints. Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, you couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pleasure. “This is vile, this is evil. I hate you. I fucking hate you —“ 

Theo chuckled darkly as he tugged your panties to the side and slipped the hilt of his blade through your folds without warning. “Then why are you so fucking wet for me?” 

“I’m not!” In all your life, you had never felt more degraded and humiliated. The conflicting emotions warred in your mind, but the truth of the matter was that you had absolutely no control over your own arousal. “I’m not.” 

“You are,” Theo growled as the handle of his blade squelched in your slick. “But by all means, keep lying to yourself. In fact, I quite prefer it if you put up a fight. I like it rough.” 

You groaned, delirious with need as he fucked you with his knife. “When I make you cum, I know that I’ve earned it.” 

You bit down on your bottom lip until blood filled your mouth. The horror of the scene unfolding before you filled you with dread yet you couldn’t stop the moans and whines that escaped past your lips. When you looked up, Theo was transfixed by the sight of your greedy cunt taking his knife.

“That’s it, Y/N,” hummed Theo. “This will be a lot easier if you just stop fighting it. You want this. You want me.” 

“I — I don’t! I don’t want —“ 

“I —I don’t want,” Theo mocked. “How fucking pathetic. You can’t even finish that sentence without moaning.” He pulled out his knife and slid two fingers in without warning. His cruel laugh echoed in the bedroom when the sound of your slick filled the silence. “If you don’t want me, then why are you riding my fingers like this, hm?” 

There was no answer as he plunged the hilt of his knife into you again, stretching and filling you in the most delicious way. His thumb rubbed your sensitive bundle of nerves in tantalizing circles, pushing you towards the edge of pleasure. 

You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an orgasm, but it couldn’t be helped. There was no stopping the intense pleasure that barrelled through your body. As you crested over the finish line, your vision went dark. The depravity of the act filled you with mortification and indignity. Theo, on the other hand, looked euphoric. 

“You’re so beautiful when you cum,” he whispered softly. 

You wanted to claw and scratch and hit him for the way he made you feel. Theo presented the knife to you with reverence. The blade was soaked in blood, but the hilt dripped with your cum. His tongue darted out and licked and lapped at your arousal with long, languid strokes as his eyes rolled back in euphoria. The way he moaned when he tasted you was obscene. 

“You taste so sweet,” Theo rasped in a choked groan. “Such a good girl for me.” 

This was beyond fucked up. 

Theo was beyond fucked up. 

You watched in alarm, waiting for disgust to overwhelm your senses, but it never came. Instead, your pussy clenched around nothing at the sight. What the fuck was wrong with you? 

Theo leaned over you, his brown curls brushing against your nose as he smirked. “Don’t I get a kiss as a reward for making you feel so good?” 

The absence of pleasure finally made you come to your senses. “Fuck you.” 

The depth of his blue eyes was swallowed by a void that threatened to suffocate you. The man before you transformed into a monster as he growled and held his knife against your throat. “Let me rephrase that,” he hissed as the blade nicked your skin. “If you don’t kiss me, I’ll slit your fucking throat.” 

You whimpered as the blade dug deeper into your neck, causing small droplets of blood to stain your sheets. Theo stared at you with malice, his face hovering a few inches from yours as he waited for your next move. His cool breath fanned over your skin while his lips ghosted over yours. 

“Please, Y/N?” Theo pouted as he blinked down at you through his thick, dark lashes. “Just one kiss, please.” 

It was apparent that he wanted you to make the first move. As if it would absolve him from this abhorrent act. As if it would exculpate him despite the threat he made on your life if you refused to comply. In some sick, twisted way, you knew that the second your lips touched his, Theo felt absolutely vindicated. 

The growl that crawled out of his throat was purely animalistic. It spoke of need, of desire, of lust that had simmered underneath the surface for far too long. The taste of you, soft and supple and sweet, was better than anything Theo could have ever imagined. His cock strained against his pants as he deepened the kiss, tongue sweeping over the seam of your lips to demand entrance. 

A part of you wanted to fight back, to pull away from him, but it was nearly impossible when he harshly grabbed your jaw and forced his way in. You opened for him reluctantly, but that was all he needed. Theo was the type of person to take a mile when given an inch. His hands roamed your body while his tongue massaged yours, moaning, panting, licking the roof of your mouth with unabashed glee. Theo squeezed your tits and gripped your hips and wrapped your legs around his waist. He felt like a dog in heat as he rutted himself against your clothed cunt. 

Fuck, he was so hard it hurt. 

Dazed and drunk with desire, Theo pulled away, his gaze sweeping over your kiss bitten lips and flushed cheeks. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

It was fucking horrible, horrendous, atrocious. You wanted the deepest pits of hell to open up and swallow you whole. Because that kiss had lit a fire in your belly despite your disgust for the man forcing himself on you. 

Before you could think twice, you reared back and spit right into his face. Theo blinked in surprise. You expected anger, but amusement greeted you instead. The motherfucker was enjoying this. 

“You’re a feisty thing, aren’t you?” Theo drawled as he unclasped his belt. The sight caused panic to grip you from all sides. “Don’t worry, principessa. I’ll fuck the fight right out of you. I will break you until you become the good girl that I know you can be.” 

“Theo please, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you sobbed and begged. “Don’t do this, please.” 

Theo chuckled darkly. “You’re not sorry,” he said as he cut your dress open with his blade. “But you will be.” 

Exposed and vulnerable, you struggled against your restraints as Theo trailed kisses down your torso. His lips were a searing brand against your skin, sucking and biting and marking your skin as though he was staking his claim on your body. His deft fingers unhooked your bra and his pupils were completely black as he ogled your chest. 

With his lips latched around your nipple, Theo blinked innocently up at you. “I’m so fucking in love with you,” he murmured as he flicked his tongue over the stiffened peak. “You make me crazy, Y/N.” 

You moaned as he sucked fervently, losing himself in the heat of your skin and the scent of your perfume. Roses and vanilla. Sweet and simple, just like his pretty girl. Theo groaned as he lavished your other nipple the same treatment. 

There was such reverence and awe in the way that he touched you. For a brief moment, you forgot how truly vile he was because the second his fingers slipped inside of you and curved against that sweet spot, every ounce of common sense abandoned you. 

“I bet Adrian would’ve never gotten you this wet, huh?”

Your eyes snapped open at the reminder. Somewhere underneath you, Adrian’s lifeless body was still bleeding out on your wooden floors. “You’re fucking awful — o —oh —“ 

The involuntary whimper that crawled up your throat was pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. Theo had ripped your panties to shreds and positioned the head of his cock over your folds, teasing and taunting at your entrance as you continued to resist. 

“Theo, Theo, please,” you pleaded as he began to breach your cunt. You kicked your legs in the air and tilted your hips away from him, anything to keep him away from you, but it didn’t work. 

Theo held your hips down, his large hands forming bruises on your skin. “Stay fucking still,” he growled against your neck before biting down hard. 

Shocked, you stopped struggling and cried as the sting broke skin. Theo took the opportunity to push the head of his cock inside of you, making your eyes water from the sheer length of him. He was too big, it didn’t fit, it fucking hurt. But the desperate pleas seemed to fall on deaf ears as Theo fully sheathed himself in your warmth. 

“So fucking tight,” Theo grunted as he slowly dragged his cock out of your pussy, entranced at the way your bodies melded together, watching your cunt clench around nothing before slamming all the way in. Your teeth clattered together from the force. “Dio mio, you feel so fucking good. I want to ruin you.” 

Once more, he pulled out and pushed into your warmth, savoring the way you squeezed around him. The sensation made you dizzy with desire. Try as you might to fight it, every breach of his cock only stretched and filled you even more, the filthy sound of your pussy squelching with every thrust echoing in the room. 

“Wanted this for so long,” Theo grunted. “You have no idea what it’s been like for me, cara mia.” His hips snapped against your ass while he drove deeper and deeper, thick cock kissing the tip of your cervix. “But now I finally get to have you all to myself.” 

Your knees buckled, every brush of his cock within your snug walls weakening your resolve as he fucked you into the mattress. His pace was relentless, punishing, and it was all you could do to lose yourself in him completely. 

“Don’t fight it, bella.” Theo murmured as he hiked your legs up over his shoulders. “I could be so good to you.” He punctuated his statement with a slam of his hips. “I know everything about you. Probably better than you know yourself. I’ve watched, I’ve waited, I’ve wanted.” Another slam caused you to writhe and arch your back off the bed. “No one else could ever love you like I do.” 

A breathy moan pushed its way past your lips without your consent. Self-loathing made you flush with embarrassment; your body was betraying you in the worst way as your own slick dripped down your thighs while Theo angled your hips to sink in deeper. He had spoken true about knowing you better than you knew yourself, because he seemed to know how to caress you, how to kiss you, how to command you until you were teetering off the edge once again. 

His long fingers circled your clit, stroking the sensitive bud in the exact same way that he had watched you touch yourself over the past few months. Theo was diligent in every sense of the word; his studious nature pushed him to perfection. The focus in which he devoted into pleasuring you was singular. He was obsessive and possessive; he was determined to make this good for you. His pretty girl deserved nothing but the best. 

“You can’t deny that we’re a perfect fit,” he murmured, dead-eyed gaze drinking in the sight of him slipping in and out of you. You tried to avert your gaze, but Theo gripped your chun and forced you to watch. “Look how well you’re taking me. It’s like we were made for each other, my love.”

Words failed you at the heat of the moment and even if you regained the ability to speak, you wouldn’t know what to say. Theo took your silence for submission, his lips pressed against yours, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip while he pounded into you. 

The instinct to fight dimmed with each urgent thrust, buried deep within the recesses of your mind. All you could do was moan in pleasure and Theo eagerly drank in every gasp and pant and whimper, studying your face as though he was committing every detail to memory.

“Please, please,” you panted. You weren’t quite sure whether you were begging him to stop or urging him to continue, but either way, Theo seemed to know exactly what you needed. 

His kisses were open mouthed and filthy, swallowing your protests with the flick of his tongue. You jerked when Theo slapped your pussy, chuckling against your mouth before he kneaded his thumb against your tender nub harder and faster. 

“Theo —“ The realization that your climax was near filled you with both excitement and indignation. 

“Be a good girl and come for me, Y/N.” 

You clenched as Theo squeezed your throat in his fist, momentarily robbing you of oxygen. Somehow its absence intensified the sensations. The combination of Theo pushing his cock into you again and again while his thumb stroked your clit harder and harder sent you barreling over the edge. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, making your legs shake and your walls spasm around his cock. 

“Oh fuck,” Theo cursed, his resolve close to breaking. “Just like that, cara mia. Squeezing me so tight, milking my fucking cock dry.” 

Stars burst behind your lids as his balls slapped against your clit, coaxing yet another orgasm out of you. Your mind went fuzzy with static. A faint ringing echoed in your ears while you trembled and convulsed. 

“Such a good girl,” Theo grunted as he chased after his own pleasure. You were limp and boneless underneath him, unable to respond save for a pathetic whimper. “I’m going to fill this pretty pussy up with my cum, bella. You’re going to let me, aren’t you?” 

You started to shake your head, but Theo paid the action no mind. “Take it, cara mia,” he said forcefully. “Take my cock, take my heart, take all of me.” 

Your tits jiggled as he fucked you through his own orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic as he spilled his thick, hot cum inside of you. His eyes rolled back at the thought of filling you and stuffing you full of his seed. It overflowed past your sensitive, puffy folds and dripped down your thighs. Even when he pulled his softening cock out of you, Theo made sure to push it all back in with his fingers. You whimpered at the sensitivity between your legs as he leaned back to admire his work. 

Theo seemed to take pity on you, tutting at the red circles around your wrist. “M’gonna take the cuffs off now, okay, bella?” 

You nodded, trembling slightly when he finally unchained you from the bed. Theo cooed over your raw wrists, kissing and fawning over the sensitive skin. Taking full advantage of the distraction, you snatched the knife Theo had carelessly discarded by his thigh and drove the blade into his shoulder. 

Theo hissed in surprise, his blue eyes widening. “You fucking stabbed me,” he declared incredulously. “You really fucking stabbed me.” 

“Oh my God —“ you sobbed, regret flooding you all at once as your hands shook over the blade. “Theo, I didn’t mean — fuck, are you okay —“ 

The shock caused you to let your guard down, tears streaming down your face as the realization of what you had just done crashed over you. Despite the blade sticking out from his shoulder, Theo seamlessly switched positions so that you were straddling his lap. 

Your right hand was frozen in place, still holding the blade while shaking violently. You expected anger and fear, but Theo only flashed you a lovesick smile as he wrapped his slender fingers around your wrist. “Don’t be shy, Y/N,” Theo teased. “You can do better than that, can’t you?” 

You screamed as Theo drove the blade further into his shoulder, the wound splattering a rain of blood all over your face and hair. “Stop, stop it! Don’t. Theo, stop, please —”

Theo tilted his head and examined you with a curious expression. His gaze softened as you sobbed and trembled in his lap. In his silky voice, he whispered soothing words in your ear and stroked your back to calm your growing hysteria. 

“Aw, you’re worried about me? That’s cute, bella.” The timbre of his voice almost sounded proud. “I wouldn’t waste your tears, though. I'll be fine. It’s just a silly little nick. Besides, now that I’ve had you, it won’t be that easy to get rid of me.”

You gasped as his hardness poked against your ass. How could he be fucking hard at a time like this? There was goddamn knife sticking out of his shoulder, for fuck’s sake!

“Look at you, crying over me.” His voice was husky with need as he rolled his erection against you. It seemed that not even a murder attempt could faze the man underneath you. If anything, Theo seemed turned on by it. God, he was so fucked up. “It’s a good sign, bella. It means that you care. To think, just moments ago, you said you hated me, but here you are concerned for my well being.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to listen to him speak. It only confused you more. Theo kissed your tears away and caressed your cheek. His violation of you earlier was a direct contradiction of the way he handled you with such gentleness and care, almost like you were something precious to him. You couldn’t reconcile the warring versions of him in your mind. 

“Please, stop,” you murmured as you tried to cover your ears. “You’re confusing me.”

“There’s nothing to be confused about,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Clearly, you care about me. Otherwise, you would have aimed for my heart.” 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you whispered in a broken sob. “I just wanted — I wanted —” 

In truth, you didn’t know what you wanted. It was all too traumatic and taxing to fully process. Theo pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Shh, hush now, principessa. I told you, I’ll take care of you. You never have to worry about anything ever again. You can trust me, I promise. I would never let anything or anyone hurt you. I’ll kill anyone who tries. I love you so fucking much.” 

Theo gently pried your wrists away and kissed your fingertips. “You don’t love me yet,” he admitted in a wistful tone. “But you will, bella.” 

[lov3notts-recs]

tw dddne. noncon/rape. rape threats. purge au theo

“you think you can just run away from me? dumb bunny.” theo growls, his tone dark and threatening, as he harshly grips a handful of your hair and yanks your head back, your neck aching from the sudden movement. tears brim at your waterline, your lower lip quivering as pure fear rushes through your entire body— it’s over.

“i don’t want to force you,” he grunts, effortlessly pushing you down into the dirt in the middle of the woods, even though you’re doing everything you can to fight back, your legs aimlessly kicking in the air and choked sobs escaping your swollen lips, “but you’re giving me no choice here.”

tears are streaming down your face hearing the menacing words mercilessly slip from his lips, and he quickly flips you over, leaving you on all fours. through your hazy eyes, you notice the dirt beneath you turn a shade darker in small circles where your tears fall, and slowly, you’re giving up. with your heart pounding out of your chest, and your nails dirty with mud from trying to escape, you catch your breath and accept your fate.

“that’s it, doll. keep still just like that.” theo murmurs, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down before doing the same to you, and the chilly breeze over your cunt sends goosebumps all over your trembling body. without a warning, he ruthlessly pushes inside of you, completely indifferent to your discomfort as he sets a harsh rhythm.

more salty tears fall down from your chin onto the ground beneath you, but the uncomfortable tightness from your cunt is only giving theo more pleasure as he aggressively grips your hips, undeniably leaving dark bruises on your skin. “dirty fuckin’ slut. bet you love it when i rape you in the middle of the woods like this, huh? bet you fuckin’ wanted this.”

his words send a wave of rage through you, but you’ve lost the energy to fight back, your weak body helplessly jolting back and forth with each of his movements. “don’t worry, sweetheart. i’ll find you again and rape this pretty little cunt over and over again. make you all mine, you hear me? you can’t ever escape me.”

[lov3notts-recs]

introducing bf!mattheo x influencer!reader

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ yeah, i'm a ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ busy woman ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

he doesn’t show his face, doesn’t like the spotlight, and swears he’s “not a tiktok boyfriend”—but somehow he’s in every video, doing every trend, letting you boss him around with a smile he thinks no one sees. he mumbles his lines, hides behind hoodies and his favorite green cap, and rolls his eyes when you call him your mystery man, but the way he looks at you? yeah, that’s why the internet’s obsessed. because faceless or not, they know he’s hopelessly in love with you—and honestly, so were you ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ୨ৎㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

works.

stay tuned

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[lov3notts-recs]

WICKED GAME. mattheo riddle.

mattheo riddle x fem!reader. part one. part two coming soon.

summary ; after the war, nothing feels real except him—you’re not together, not really, but that’s never stopped you from crawling back to him when it burns too much to feel nothing at all. it’s cruel and addictive, and things change when your hypocrisy begins to bleed through. words ; 9.5k warnings ; sexual content, angst, toxic situationship, fingering, unprotected p in v, mattheo’s rough, creampie, oral m! & f!receiving, throatfucking, overstimulation, f!masterbation, voyeurism (?), swearing, hair pulling, orgasm denial, dirty talk, degradation, spitting, choking, pussy slapping, spanking, dp (fingers + cock), squirting

navigation. masterlist.

His back is to you when you open your eyes. 

You watch as he slides on his jeans—the same blue denim he was wearing last night when he showed up at your door. Listen as his shoes tap against the wood floor. There’s a certain rhythm to it, almost mechanical, like he’s done this a thousand times before. Muscle memory. 

He bends down to pick up his shirt from the floor, his movements slow, careful. You can almost hear the thoughts running through his head, though you know better than to ask. He’s good at keeping things to himself, as good as you’ve learned to be. 

His muscles flex as he reaches up to slide the shirt over his head, and your eyes catch on the scars littering his back, the faint red lines and the faded, angry stains left upon his spine, holding memories of the days that brought him to this point of roboticism, and despite your best efforts not to think too hard about it, your heart clenches painfully in your chest.

He glances over at you, and for the briefest second, there’s something in his eyes. Something soft, something different, though you can’t quite place it. Then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by that familiar mask.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says, his voice low, but there’s nothing in it. No affection. No real meaning. Just words.

You nod, eyes following his every move as he heads for the door, but you don’t say anything. Because what is there to say?

He leaves, and the silence that follows feels heavier than it should. You stay there for a few moments longer, listening to the sound of the door clicking shut, before you finally let out the breath you’d been holding.

Last night still lingers—on your skin, in your throat, between your legs. You feel it in the ache of your limbs and the hollow in your chest. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It never is.

Mattheo Riddle had become a ghost before the war had even ended, had already lost his entire sense of self. That moment—when he watched his father turn to literal dust—he couldn’t differentiate between whether the stirring he felt was grief or relief. 

The first time you saw him outside of Hogwarts was in a Muggle pub just off Diagon Alley. It had been a couple months since the end of the battle, right around the time you’d returned to a rebuilt version of Hogwarts for an eighth year. You hadn’t expected to see him at all, let alone there—half-drunk in a booth, sleeves rolled to his elbows, eyes darker than you remembered. He looked up when you walked past. Didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just lifted his glass in a sort of salute, like you were two survivors nodding across the wreckage. 

You weren’t close, back then. Not really. Before the world went to ashes, you ran in the same circles—shared friends, shared classes, shared the occasional smirk across the room—but that was it. He was always a little too reckless for you to trust. And you were a little too careful, too quiet, for him to notice.

But war changes things.

The boy you remembered—the one who used to tilt his chair back during lectures and talk shit under his breath—he’s gone. What’s left is quieter. Harder to read. He still walks like he owns the ground beneath his feet, but there’s something broken behind his eyes now. Something lonely. You recognized it the moment you saw him again.

How could you not? It’s the same hollow feeling you can’t escape even in your wildest dreams.

That night in the pub, it was you who approached first, who spoke first. What started with small talk about mutual friends—about who made it out, who didn’t—turned into two drinks, then three, and then suddenly you were closer.

You can’t remember who leaned in first—only the bitter taste of whiskey on his lips and the way his hands slid under your shirt, all rough and desperate, as if he was trying to claw his way back into something real. It wasn’t gentle or romantic. Just a pathetic attempt from both of you to bury the feeling of emptiness lodged into your hearts.

He took you back to his dorm that night, and all you can remember was the way he had you pressed up against the wall, his mouth on your neck and his fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shirt like he hadn't touched another person in years. 

And then it happened again, two weeks later. And again, and again, until it became a pattern, the months passing by in an unyielding ocean of grievance and lust, the current never failing to pull you under.

No labels. No expectations. Just bodies and silence.

He doesn’t stay the night. Except when he does.

And you don’t care. Except you do.

You pull the silk sheets tighter around your bare chest, the scent of him burning your flesh. It’s riddled with vodka and musk and that cheap ass cologne you pretend not to love. Your eyes flutter shut, drifting back to last night, or more accurately, to every fucking night you’ve ever shared with him, honing in on every time he touched you with a certain gentleness that he usually never possessed. 

Despite your better judgment, despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to wake up and face reality, you’ve catalogued each of those moments in the most ornate corners of your brain. The moments when his fingertips glided softly along the ridges of your spine, when you’d moan a certain way and he’d ease the hold he had on your hair, when he positioned you facing him instead of away. 

It was pathetic, really. The arrangement was what it was, and there was no underlying meaning to any of the unspoken rules the two of you set. It wasn’t serious, it wasn’t exclusive, and it never would be, but it seemed the walls around your heart were far too fragile, far too decrepit, to ever stand a chance.

You told yourself you could do it. That it was fine. That you really were just helping each other cope and it was only about satisfying a mutual need. The problem was, that need had a different definition for you than it did for him.

You glance to your side, sitting up with the covers pulled just below your arms. His expensive watch is on the nightstand, forgotten again. He always forgets something, and you’ve started to wonder if it’s intentional. 

Eventually, you force yourself out of bed, wincing at the sensation of your bare feet hitting the cold floor. The clock’s only just ticked past six—feels too early to get up now for a 9AM class, but you decide you need a shower. To wash away the smell of drinks and smoke and the grease in your hair, but mostly, to wash away last night’s activities. To wash him off your skin.

This cycle, it’s never ending, like a wound that scabs but never heals. Maybe a sane person who actually fucking cared about theirself would have called it off by now, but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. Because no matter how much it stings, no matter how bad the fire burns you, it’s still reassuring. There’s an odd kind of comfort in knowing that you’re still able to feel, in knowing that your heart still works, and you’ll take whatever pain comes along with the pleasure to prove it.

Your body feels unfamiliar as you pad quietly to the bathroom, like it doesn’t quite belong to you anymore, your limbs heavy with leftover sleep. You let the door click shut behind you before turning the water on hotter than you should, letting the steam rise and drown out the thoughts bouncing around your skull.

You step under the spray without waiting, eyes shut, letting the heat burn away whatever’s left of last night. It doesn’t work—but you stay there anyway.

By the time you drag yourself out, the mirror is too fogged to show your face, and your fingers are wrinkled from how long you stayed under. You dry off without thinking, dress even faster, and force yourself out of the dorm before your mind can drag you back.

The Great Hall is already buzzing with chatter when you arrive for breakfast but making conversation is the last thing you want to do.

Unfortunately for you though, things never work out in your favor. That’s made clear enough by the sight of a handsome boy in blue robes waving you over. Groaning internally, you give in and trudge over to him and his friends—not that you have much of a choice.

“Hi Rowan,” you offer, flashing him a half-arsed smile as you took the seat next to him, fighting the urge to drop your tired head into your hands. 

“How’d you sleep?” he asks with a smile that came too easily. 

Peacefully, with another boy in my bed who fucks like a—

“Fine. Well, actually, I slept well.”

“I’m glad.”

Rowan was sweet. You’d been seeing him for a few weeks now. Nothing serious, but just a bit of fun. Dates, kisses, late-night study sessions that turned into something more. It was easier with him. He smiled at you in the hallways, held your hand under the table, asked questions like he genuinely wanted to know the answer. And he wasn’t bad to look at either—or to kiss. But when you did kiss him, when his hands were on your waist, your mind wandered. You couldn't help wishing his hands were rougher, warmer, different.

He pours you a glass of pumpkin juice without asking, like it’s an ingrained habit now. You thank him with a small smile and start picking at a piece of toast.

Rowan leans a little closer, nudging your shoulder with his. “You look tired. Was it the Arithmancy essay?”

You nod vaguely, reaching for the pumpkin juice. “Yeah, something like that.”

He chuckles softly. “Knew I should’ve stayed to help. I would’ve, you know—if you’d asked.”

You manage a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I know. You’re sweet.”

There’s a brief silence as you sip your drink, and then:

“I was thinking,” he starts, hesitant. “Maybe this weekend, you and me could take a trip to Hogsmeade? Just the two of us. I feel like I never get you all to myself anymore.”

You nearly choke on your toast.

“I— yeah. Sure,” you say too quickly, blinking down at your plate. “That sounds nice.”

He grins, all sunshine and sincerity, and you hate yourself a little more than usual.

Because you know you’re going to cancel at the last minute. You always do.

Your eyes flick toward the doors of the Great Hall every few seconds, scanning the entrance like your body’s acting on instinct, searching for him even when your mind insists not to.

Rowan’s voice pulls you back.

“Do you have class after this?” he asks, brushing a crumb off your cheek with his thumb. “I could walk you.”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Yeah. Defense. With Slughorn.”

He laughs. “Isn’t he Potions?”

You blink again. Shit. “Right. Sorry. I meant… I meant Potions.”

You’re falling apart at the seams and he doesn’t even notice. That might be the worst part.

The weekend arrives with a sickening speed, each day bleeding into the next like ink soaking through thin pages. You’ve kept your distance, save for the occasional glance in his direction—you can’t help yourself. But every time your gaze finds him, he’s never looking back. You don’t get the butterflies, the stupid fluttering warmth a younger, more naive version of you might have felt if he’d met your eyes across the room. Mattheo doesn’t give you that satisfaction, and it eats at you because all you want to know was if it was on purpose—if he was fighting the same fucking battle as you or if he honestly just didn’t care.

Too much to dwell on, you think. Too much to dwell on and too little in return. 

Your hands tremble as they gently scoop up Mattheo’s watch from the cozy spot in your nightstand drawer that you’d tucked it into, between freshly washed socks and bras. It felt too intimate, storing something that belongs to him in such a personal space, but you told yourself that that wasn’t your intention, that you were just safekeeping it for him.

Of course, safekeeping would’ve meant more if you’d returned it to him days ago, during one of the countless times you’d crossed paths in classrooms and hallways, and of course you'd thought about it, but you backed down before you even began.

Speaking to him when you weren’t drunk was a risk you didn’t want to gamble.

True, it would give you an advantage; you wouldn’t spew the same utter bullshit and nonsense you usually did when intoxicated. And true, chances were he’d just take the watch and you’d both move along with your days, but fuck, there was also the chance that either he’d ask you something you didn’t want to answer or you’d say something you couldn’t take back.

Being sober means remembering everything, and you refuse to take that chance.

So instead you wait.

You wait and wait until Saturday night rolls around, his watch crammed into your jacket pocket as you stumble down the steps of the dormitories to the common room, where music is blasting so loud it could hardly be considered anything but noise. The air reeks of alcohol and weed, tendrils of secondhand smoke snaking through your nostrils to leave your head throbbing in record time. You haven’t even made it halfway across the room and your skull already feels like it’s cracking open.

The second Pansy spots you—your oversized jacket swallowing your frame, concealing the bare skin shown off by your tiny skirt —she’s practically lunging. Her arm hooks around yours, too tight and too fast, and her breath smells like firewhiskey when she leans in.

“Oh, look at you,” she drawls, eyes glassy, voice syrup-thick. “Looking all dangerous tonight. Who are you trying to kill with that skirt?”

You shift on your feet, uncomfortable. “No one, Pans,” you mutter. “I’m wearing the jacket for a reason.” Your free hand fidgets with the hem hidden beneath the leather, fingers twitching like they’ve got something to hide. “The skirt was the only clean thing I had.”

Pansy’s smirk doesn’t budge. If anything, it grows smugger. She tilts her head, eyes narrowing with a glint that makes your skin prickle. “Mhm. Sure. Nothing to do with a certain someone you’re hoping to accidentally bump into? Saving the view for him?”

God.

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts, but the heat crawling up your neck betrays you. Because she’s right. And maybe you are that transparent. Like someone’s cracked open your spine and flipped through your insides. Public display. Exhibition. Autobiography of your worst decisions.

“Fucking hell, Pansy, give it a rest. Aren’t you the one preaching every day and night about how women don’t dress for men?” 

She blanches, her brows furrowing. “Yes. Doesn’t mean I can’t tell when my best friend’s trying to get a certain boy’s attention.” Her voice is softer than before, like she’s trying to ease you into being honest with her, but she’s still slurring her speech and frankly, the words ‘best friend’ give you the urge to pull away. It only takes a couple beats without a response from you for her to rub at her reddened eyes with a fist and speak up again.

“You know he’s fucked up, right?”

Right. That again.

Like it’s news. Like it’s something you haven’t played on repeat in your brain until the record scratched.

“I’m well aware.”

“He’s not built for relationships.” 

You smile, sharp as broken glass. “Good thing we’re not in one then.”

She sways slightly, like the ground feels just a little softer than usual, and gives you a look, one that says you’re not fooling anybody, and it’s enough to make your stomach twist.

Eyes flicking to the floor, you bounce up and down on the heels of your feet, running your tongue over your teeth. “I came here to loosen up, not be lectured.”

You slip your arm from hers, gently but firmly, like peeling off a bandage that’s clinging too tight. Her fingers linger for half a second before falling away, and you don’t wait for her to say anything else—you’re already moving. Head low, feet light, weaving through the maze of limbs and smoke and pulsing bodies.

The makeshift bar is a disaster. Half-empty bottles, sticky counters, solo cups stacked like some drunken monument to poor decisions. You grab the first clean-ish one you can find and pour whatever’s within reach—firewhiskey, you think, but it burns sharper than usual when it hits your tongue. You wince. Swallow anyway.

Your eyes skim the room. Just surveying. Being observant. Gathering intel like you’re not standing there in a fucking skirt short enough to haunt a Catholic grandmother.

Swallow again. The burn licks up the back of your throat, makes your eyes sting, but it shuts your brain up for a second. So you pour another.

You don’t even like the taste. You never have, but it gives your hands something to do, and something about the numbness creeping in behind your ribs feels... safe.

You glance around, like you’re doing it casually. Like you’re not scanning the room for a face you know too well. 

Your fingers tighten around the cup.

You’re not drinking just to get brave enough to talk to him. That’s not what this is.

This is you having fun. Being normal. Loosening up, like you said.

Right?

You take another sip.

He’s not even your boyfriend. You’re not his. There’s no label, no promises, no rules. Just... blurred lines and late nights and moments that mean too much and not enough all at once.

Your mouth tastes like sugar and regret. You chase it with more alcohol.

But then you catch a glimpse of him. He’s got a short brunette in a little black dress pressed up against the wall with his hands on her hips, the top button of her shirt undone, and worst of all, his mouth on her neck. 

The sight hits you like a fucking punch to the gut, jealousy slithering up your spine and coiling tight around your ribs until you feel like you can barely breathe. Your hands tighten into fists without you realizing, the stupid watch in your pocket starting to feel like 50 pound weights, dragging you down every moment you were still standing.

Jealousy slowly bubbles into rage, and you don’t know what pushes you to do it. Be it the alcohol, or bravery, or just pure fucking stupidity, you stomp over, effortlessly pushing through the countless bodies in your way, the hurt giving you power enough to do so. 

“Mattheo,” you croak out when you’re closer to him, fingers twitching with a lethal mixture of fury and anxiety. He doesn’t budge, lips still firmly attached to her neck, leaving a trail of red splotches and saliva.

Heat floods your entire body, up your ears and cheeks and neck, leaving you embarrassed for having called to him in front of all these people only to be ignored. Either he didn’t hear you because he’s completely entranced by this girl, or he disregarded you on purpose. Either way, it burns.

“Mattheo,” you call, louder this time. 

His eyes snap up, searching his surroundings before landing on yours, hooded, glazed, like he’s not really there. But the second he sees you, something in his expression shifts. Brief and barely visible, but there.

“…What?” he mutters, voice low and rough. He doesn’t move away from her. Doesn’t drop his hands from her hips. The girl turns slightly, confused, but he doesn’t even acknowledge her. His gaze is still locked on you, half-dazed, half-aware, like he’s trying to decide whether to fight or flee.

Stomping over, you fish the watch out of your pocket, eyes never leaving his as you get closer. “You fucking forgot this,” you snarl, shoving the dumb thing against his solid chest, hard enough to make him stumble and to make the girl yelp. Without wasting a single second, you turn the fuck back around and walk away.

“What the fuck?” he mutters under his breath, his hand clasping over the watch as to not let it fall before completely disregarding the girl to follow you through the crowd.

You pray that he’ll lose you in the swarm of people, but of course, he doesn’t. He catches up just as you hit the corridor past the main room and grabs your arm—not hard, just enough to stop you, to turn you around—and the look on his face is equal parts confusion and condescension and anger. Like you just ruined his night.

“Are you fucking serious?” he growls into your face, the watch still clutched in his fist. “You come storming in, start throwing shit like a lunatic—”

You yank your arm out of his grip. “Oh, I’m the lunatic?” You laugh, short and humorless. “Sorry, didn’t realize interrupting you sucking face with some random slag made me the irrational one.”

He scoffs. “She’s not random.”

“Yeah? What’s her name then?”

He opens his mouth then closes it. Shrugs like he can’t be bothered to come up with a proper answer. “Does it matter?”

You glare at him, lip curled. “No. Of course not. Why would it? You’ve got a whole fucking lineup, don’t you?”

“You’re one to talk,” he sneers. “You playing house with Rowan fucking Rivers now? Letting him leave his shit behind too? Or do you just shove it under your bed like a good little whore and keep rotating us in?”

The slap would’ve landed if he hadn’t caught your wrist.

“You don’t get to fucking talk about him,” you seethe, struggling against his grip. “You don’t get to say anything.”

“Why not?” His voice is low, dangerous now, eyes narrowed as he leans in. “Because he’s the one who takes you on real dates? The one you’re actually proud to be seen with? While I get what—sloppy seconds in the dark when you’re drunk enough to forget you don’t give a shit about me?”

“You don’t know anything,” you snap, shoving him. He barely moves, just smirks wider, crueler.

“No?” He leans in again, voice like poison. “I know you kept that watch for a week. Slept with it on your nightstand like some pathetic little souvenir. I know you came here in a skirt that screams look at me, Mattheo, and now you’re pissed that I did.”

You take a step back, voice shaking. “I kept it because I thought you’d come back for it, you prick.”

The silence that follows is blistering. It’s a truth you’ve only just admitted to yourself for the first time.

“You left it in my room on purpose, Mattheo.” Your voice is trembling now, shaking with everything you won’t say. “Don’t act like I imagined that.”

His expression darkens. He lifts the watch, holds it between two fingers like it’s meaningless. “Yeah. Well. It was just a fucking watch.” He lets it drop to the floor between you, doesn’t even flinch when it hits with a metallic clink.

You feel something splinter in your chest. It’s quiet for a while; you can’t even think of what to say anymore.

“I know enough about you,” he says again, and the venom in his voice feels like a slap all on its own. “I know you like it when I fuck the good girl out of you and you still act like I’m the one who should feel dirty.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, to make you sound like such a needy, sex-depraved little girl, but you know he’s not wrong. Being with him makes you feel alive—that’s how you ended up in this position to begin with. Because you made each other feel real.

“Fuck you,” you whisper.

He takes a step forward, chest nearly brushing yours. “You already did. Again and again. Until you were shaking so hard you couldn’t even see.”

You shove him. Hard.

He lets you.

But then he grabs your arm, pulls you into a corner, out of view, and slams his hand against the wall beside your head, caging you in like a goddamn threat.

“Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he says low, voice almost shaking now. “Don’t act like you came to this party looking like that for anyone else.”

Your mouth opens to argue, maybe, or scream, or slap him again, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

Because suddenly his mouth is on yours—hard, bruising, possessive—like he’s trying to prove a point, or make you forget every name that isn’t his. And you let him. You bite back. You kiss like you’re angry, because you are, and he tastes like smoke and firewhiskey and everything you can’t have but take anyway.

He’s already dragging you up the stairs to his dorm before you can even blink.

He slams the door shut behind you and you barely have time to catch your breath before he’s on you again, his mouth hot and desperate, hands roaming like he needs to memorize the shape of your body all over again just to spite himself. Your back hits the wall with a thud, and he swarms into you, one hand fisting your hair and the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

“You’re such a fucking liar,” he growls against your mouth, biting at your bottom lip until you gasp. “Walking around with that innocent look, like you don’t fuck like you want to ruin me.”

You dig your nails into his shoulders, dragging him closer, refusing to let him think he’s the only one holding the reins. “You ruined yourself,” you spit. “Don’t put that on me.”

He laughs, low and cruel and breathless. “Still acting like you’re better than this,” he whispers, pressing his body flush to yours so you can feel just how hard he is, how much he wants. “Better than me.”

You don’t answer. You kiss him instead, messy and open-mouthed, biting down on his tongue just enough to make him hiss. He grabs your throat, not to squeeze, just to hold you there, thumb stroking along your jaw with a gentleness that contrasts his actions.

“You think Rivers would still look at you the same,” he murmurs, “if he saw the way you drool on my cock?”

Your breath catches, humiliation and arousal burning through you simultaneously. He sees it, the way your body betrays you, and it only makes his grin sharper, hungrier.

“Knew it,” he mutters. “Knew that mouth wasn’t just for smart little comments and pretending you’re not fucking dying to be used.”

He tugs you deeper into the room, pulling off your jacket and revealing the skirt you wore underneath. His eyes narrow; the implication is clear. So is the command in his voice when he says, “On your knees.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, mostly because you’re too proud to hesitate. The carpet bites at your knees as you kneel in front of him, evading his gaze because he’s watching you with a look that makes your skin feel too tight.

“Take it out,” he says, voice low and sharp. “Since you came all this way.”

You glare up at him, but your fingers are already working his belt loose, pushing fabric aside, your hands far steadier than you feel. He’s hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. You swallow hard, shame heating the back of your throat, and he fucking sees it.

He’s thick and hard, and when he hits the back of your throat, you gag, but don’t pull away. He holds there a second too long. Then pulls back. Then thrusts again—harder this time, hand fisted in your hair.

“That’s it,” he grits, hips starting to move. “Take it. Fucking take it like a good girl.”

You whimper around him, hands curling against his thighs for balance, spit slicking your chin as he thrusts deep, over and over. It’s brutal and filthy and not even a little bit gentle.

“You pretend you’re too good for this,” he breathes, cock dragging against your tongue. “Pretend you like him so much, but you never gag on his cock like this, do you?”

Your eyes water. Your throat clenches. You want to hit him, bite him, shove him back and scream, but you don’t. You just moan, low and broken, like you're agreeing with him.

Because part of you is.

“You like when I use you like this,” Mattheo hisses, slamming in again, making you choke. “When I fuck the lies right out of your pretty little mouth.”

He doesn’t stop until your mascara’s smudged, your mouth swollen, and you’re gasping through your nose with tears running down your cheeks.

Only then does he pull out, cock wet and twitching, your saliva glistening down his length.

He watches you pant for breath on your knees, lips red and parted, cheeks flushed.

“Still think I’m the problem?” he asks softly, venom sweet in his voice.

You glare up at him, breathing hard, heart thudding so violently you swear it might crack your ribs open.

“Yes,” you whisper hoarsely, voice raw from his cock.

Wrong answer. He slams his dick back in without warning, so deep his balls are practically pressing against your chin. Your throat constricts in protest and the noise you let out is one of pure, unadulterated shock, but it only spurs him on. 

His hands find the hand of your head, wrapping strands of hair around his fingers and moving your head back and forth on his own to meet the thrust of his hips. He’s too strong for you to stop him, not that you even want him to, so you let him fuck your face like a damn fleshlight.

“Cumming,” he groans. “Get ready to swallow every fucking drop—I’m gonna check.”

And after a moment, you feel ropes of warm, salty liquid shoot down your throat, coughing a little as he finally lets you come up for air but still doing your best to swallow. His thumb and forefinger harshly grab your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“Open.”

Oh. He wasn’t kidding when he said he’d check.

Your lips part slowly, tongue out, breath still hitching from the aftershocks. Your throat is sore, your eyes glossy, but you hold his gaze steady even as your jaw trembles from the effort.

He leans in, one hand still gripping your chin, eyes dark as sin. His thumb drags your bottom lip down further, admiring the mess he’s made. His cum still glistens faintly on your tongue.

“Good,” he murmurs, low and rough. “Good fucking girl.”

The praise hits something dangerous inside you and you swear your body betrays you all over again. You don’t move, don’t speak, just keep holding your mouth open like he told you to, letting him see every bit of you wrecked and obedient. “Keep it open.”

You blink up at him, confused for only a second—until you see him curl his lip, tilt his head slightly, and then—he spits.

It lands right on your tongue, warm and wet and humiliating.

And your whole body clenches with how fucking turned on you are.

“That’s it,” he growls, watching you like a man possessed. “Fucking swallow it. All of it. Like you’re proud.”

You do. You swallow every drop—his cum, his spit, all of it—and then open your mouth again without being told, just to show him.

And the look on his face when you do… God, it’s like you’ve just handed him your soul.

You barely have time to brace before he’s yanking you up from the floor by the hair, your knees scraping the rug as you scramble upright, unbalanced. Your face is hot and slick and wrecked, your mouth still tingling from how thoroughly he used it, and your body stings with humiliation and heat and something even worse: want.

He spins you around and shoves you toward the full-length mirror propped up against the wall. You catch yourself just in time, palms flat against the wood paneling on either side of the mirror’s frame. Your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed and flushed, mascara streaking down your cheeks, lips red and swollen and shiny with spit.

Mattheo crowds in behind you, pressing his chest against your back, trapping you with his body. His mouth hovers just above your ear.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick. “Fucking look.”

Your throat is raw. Your heart pounds. You look.

“Mouth wrecked. Face ruined. Drool all down your chin.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, unblinking. “And your thighs have been pressed together since the second you knelt down. What, sucking my cock got you wet?”

You don’t respond. He laughs, low and cruel, and his hands trail down, slow and mocking, sliding over your waist, the curve of your ass, gripping the hem of your skirt and hiking it up just enough to reveal the way your legs are trembling.

“This what Rivers gets?” he sneers. “This pretty little mess? Or do you clean yourself up for him, act sweet and shy and fuckin’ pure like you don’t choke on my cock every chance you get? Think he’d still hold your hand if he knew what you looked like with your mouth stuffed full of someone else’s cock?”

You blink, furious and humiliated, and maybe just a little aroused by the heat in his voice, the roughness of his grip, the fact that his cock’s already starting to harden again against your hip. Swallowing hard, you still refuse to speak, but your silence damns you more than any answer.

He smirks.

“Take your clothes off,” he says simply, stepping back and folding his arms. “Slow.”

Your breathing falters, but your hands move.

First your shirt, inch by inch, over your head and off your arms. Then your skirt, unbuttoning at your hip, sliding down your thighs and pooling at your feet, then your panties. You don’t rush, not because you’re trying to be seductive, but because there’s something humiliating about doing it this way. Slowly, while he watches, while you watch in the mirror. You’re down to just your bra, skin flushed, legs bare. 

Mattheo’s eyes drag over you like fire.

He walks you back toward the bed until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. You sit automatically, and he moves behind you, knees bracketing yours as he settles on the edge and tugs you back against his chest.

His breath is hot at your ear as his hands drift up.

One finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it with a single practiced flick. The straps slide down your shoulders, and you make a move to shrug it off, but he stops you, his hand coming around to cup your breast through the lace before it falls away completely.

You suck in a breath.

“Every part of you is prettier when it’s ruined,” he says, his hand squeezing once before letting the bra fall away altogether. “Even this.”

Your head tilts back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed for just a second, but then his other hand slides under your thigh, hooks beneath your knee, and yanks your leg up, holding it back so wide you can see the slick mess between your thighs in the mirror. He does the same to your other leg, locking them open from behind, his arms under your knees, your cunt completely exposed.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he mutters. “Not done with you yet.”

You blink at your reflection, the slow creep of vulnerability tightening your chest. You’re fully bare now, curled against Mattheo like some kind of obscene doll, his hands splayed possessively over your body like he owns it, like he owns you.

“You know what I want,” he murmurs, voice rough against your temple. “So do it.”

You hesitate again and his palm tightens under your knee, jerking your leg higher, further apart, until your muscles strain with the angle.

“Do it,” he says again, quieter this time. More dangerous.

Your hand trembles as it slides down between your thighs, slow and uncertain, and he watches you in the mirror like a hawk, gaze burning into every inch of you. You suck in a breath as your fingers reach your cunt, slick and hot and already pulsing.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Come on, baby, make yourself feel good.”

You press your fingers against your clit, drawing slow, tentative circles, but it’s not enough—he makes it feel dirty, degrading, like something shameful when he’s not the one doing it to you. But his eyes are fixed on your hand now, on the way your legs twitch under his hold, on the stutter in your breath.

His palm slides up to your chest again, this time tweaking your nipple between two fingers with a twist that makes your hips buck—and then he’s gone again, gripping both legs now, holding them wide, making sure you stay open as you push a finger inside. You don’t even realize you’re whining, begging under your breath—please, please, please—until you hear him laugh softly, right in your ear.

“Pathetic little slut,” he breathes. “You’re going to cum just from your own fingers? From being watched?”

You nod without meaning to, the pressure mounting too fast, too sharp. You’re close, so fucking close, and your body’s about to give in.

But then, his hand lashes out and grabs your wrist, yanking it away from your cunt just seconds before you tip over the edge.

You choke on a sob, hips rocking up into nothing, your cunt clenching around emptiness as the orgasm dies, suffocates, fizzles out in your gut like ash.

“No,” he growls into your neck, dragging your hand up and away. “You don’t get to cum yet.”

You whimper, chest rising and falling like you’ve run a marathon, still trembling in his arms. His grip on your legs doesn’t loosen. You’re still spread open, still flushed and dripping and unsatisfied, your cunt throbbing from the denied release.

He brings your hand up to your mouth, still wet from between your thighs.

“Open,” he says again, voice a whipcrack.

You do and he shoves your fingers between your own lips, slow and punishing, until your taste coats your tongue.

“Now be a good girl,” he says, breathing ragged against your ear, “and fucking hold it in.”

Your fingers are still in your mouth, tasting yourself on your tongue, when he finally lets go of your legs and shoves you forward onto the bed. You land on your elbows, breath catching, and before you can adjust, he’s dragging you back by the hips, forcing you flat on your back, knees bent and spread wide as he looms over you.

“Fucking mess,” he mutters, looking down at your slick cunt, still flushed and leaking from earlier. “And this is what you’re trying to give to someone else?”

His thumb drags along your inner thigh, deceptively slow, just skimming the edge of where you need him most, but not quite touching. You squirm under his gaze, shame prickling hot over your skin.

“You think Rivers could ever make you look like this?” he sneers. “Think he could make you drip like this, just from talking down to you?”

You don’t answer because you know he’s not waiting for one.

Instead, he grabs your thighs and spits—a sharp, wet sound—and the slick hit of it lands right on your cunt, warm and filthy. You jolt, moaning despite yourself, and his grin turns sharp and mean.

He licks a slow stripe through your folds, tongue flat and dragging, and your hips buck immediately. You can’t help it; you’ve been denied, teased, ruined already, and the wet heat of his mouth is unbearable. Especially when he groans, low and raw, like he missed this. Like he’s been starving for you.

He doesn’t start soft, doesn’t build up. He dives in with a filthy kind of hunger, tongue working in tight circles over your clit, then flattening to lick deep into you like he’s trying to clean out every trace of anyone else.

His hands push down on your thighs, holding them wide, fingers pressing bruises into your skin. You’re panting already, arching into his mouth, and he moans against you like he likes how desperate you are.

“Fucking taste of you,” he growls, voice muffled against your cunt. “Could eat this for hours. Make you forget every single thing but me.”

You whimper, fingers knotting in the sheets.

He pulls back just enough to spit on you again—louder this time, wetter—his saliva mixing with your slick and spreading as he drags his tongue through the mess. The sound alone makes your stomach twist.

You try to squirm away, overstimulated from earlier, nerves already frayed—but it’s useless. His mouth chases you with unrelenting hunger, tongue circling your clit, then sucking on it hard enough to make your legs jerk.

“Stay fucking still,” he growls, and when you don’t, he lifts one hand—crack. Slaps your pussy once, hard.

You cry out, thighs shaking, but he doesn’t give you time to recover. He slaps you again. And then again. Three times in total, each one harder than the last, until your whole cunt is aching and wet and flushed.

You blink through the haze of pain and pleasure, cunt throbbing where he hit you, but you don’t dare close your legs. His mouth is back on you in seconds, licking over the sting, soft for one moment before he starts sucking your clit again like he’s trying to draw every last sound out of you. His nails dig into your thighs. He growls something you can’t even understand because your mind is fucking splitting—

And still, he doesn’t let up.

Not yet.

His mouth is relentless, tongue lashing over your clit like he’s angry at it, like if he sucks hard enough it’ll undo the fact that you ever even thought about being with someone else.

When he pushes two fingers inside you, it feels like too much. They’re thick and rough and he doesn’t give you time to adjust; just starts fucking them into you, curling them with practiced precision until your back arches off the bed and your scream rips through the room.

“Yeah?” he pants, barely coming up for air. “You gonna cum? Gonna soak my fucking face like the little slut you are?”

Your hands fly to his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt, but he only groans louder, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

“I said fucking cum,” he growls, fingers driving in even faster. “Now.”

And you do.

It slams into you like a wave, knocking all the air from your lungs. Your thighs clamp around his head, your entire body tensing as pleasure crests so violently it almost hurts. You cry out, raw, broken, and fucked-out, and your cunt clenches hard around his fingers, gushing as your orgasm tears through you.

You thrash, moaning his name like it’s a curse, trying to twist away from the overstimulation, but he’s got you pinned. One arm locked around your thigh, the other keeping his fingers buried in your cunt, his whole body pressed between your legs to keep you spread open for him.

“Fucking look at that,” he growls against you, his voice thick with pride and something almost reverent. “You fucking squirted, baby. All over me. Shit.”

Your body convulses again when he spits on your pussy, again, mixing it with your slick as he keeps working his fingers in and out of you.

“I’m not stopping,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, like he can’t stop. “Not until you’re shaking. Not until you forget every name but mine.”

Your legs tremble around his hands, your breath coming in broken gasps, your vision blurring with tears from how good it feels, how fucking much it is.

And through it all, Mattheo doesn’t ease up.

He just keeps devouring you.

Like he’s trying to crawl inside your body.

Like he wants to tear every trace of anyone else out of you—until there’s only him left.

Your second orgasm hits fast, brutal, not even a minute later. It crashes into you mid-sob, a breathless, splintered sound that makes Mattheo groan like you just fucking fed him. Your nails rake down his scalp, your legs spasm around him, and it doesn’t matter how much you squirm or whimper or cry out—he keeps going.

Because this isn’t just about getting you off anymore.

This is him, laying claim to every last piece of you in the only language he knows—sex, sweat, spit, and everything he’s not brave enough to admit out loud.

He finally lifts his mouth from your cunt, lips swollen and glistening, and you gasp at the sudden cold air hitting your slick skin, but there’s no relief because his fingers are still moving inside you, slower now, deeper, like he’s exploring. Learning you all over again. Your hips twitch when he curls them just right and your voice breaks completely.

“Mattheo, I— fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he cuts you off, low and rough. His voice is almost affectionate now. Almost. “You will.”

His other hand strokes your thigh, deceptively gentle, before landing another sharp slap to your overstimulated pussy. You jolt, a pathetic little noise escaping your throat.

“So sensitive now,” he murmurs, like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Could cum just from my fingers, couldn’t you? Just from this.”

He adds a third finger.

You cry out, legs flying open wider on instinct, your walls fluttering as your body betrays you again, greedy, eager, desperate even when you’re already spent.

“You feel that?” he breathes, pressing against the spot that makes your whole body seize. “That little flutter? You’re so fucking close again, aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over my hand this time, too?”

Your answer is a strangled sob and a frantic nod.

But just as your stomach starts to coil, he pulls his fingers out.

You whine, hips lifting off the bed in desperate protest, but he presses a firm hand to your stomach, holding you down.

“Don’t fucking move,” he growls. “You’ll take it when I give it to you. Not a second before.”

Your body trembles under the weight of it, your thighs twitching, breath ragged, heart pounding so hard it hurts, and for a moment, it’s quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your skin crawl.

Mattheo sits back between your legs, hand dragging slowly down your stomach, through the mess between your thighs. His fingers are wet with you. You. He stares at them like they’re proof—proof of how much you want him, how much you’ll always come back, no matter how many names you let slip from your mouth in the dark.

He drags his hand up, smearing slick across your hip, your ribs, up to your throat, gripping it again, just tight enough to make your breath catch.

Then he leans in, nose brushing yours, voice low and gutted.

“You let him touch you?”

You blink up at him, wide-eyed, mind still trying to catch up. “What?”

He squeezes your throat once, firm, unforgiving.

“Rivers,” he spits. “Did you let him see this pussy?”

“No,” you gasp, voice thin. “No, I— Mattheo, I didn’t—”

“Did he taste you?”

You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes, and it’s not just fear or arousal or shame—it’s the ache underneath it all. The ache that says this still matters to you. That some part of you wants it to matter to him, too.

His grip on your throat softens for a second.

Then he shoves your legs open and flips you over onto your stomach.

You cry out in surprise, hands scrambling against the sheets, but he doesn’t give you time to think. He pulls you up onto your knees, dragging your hips back until you’re arched, exposed—humiliated in the most obscene way. Your face is half-buried in the blanket, flushed and wet, and you can just barely make out your reflection in the mirror across the room.

You look wrecked.

Mascara streaked down your cheeks. Lips red and bitten. Hair wild from where he’s been fisting it all night.

And your thighs are trembling, still parted, slick with arousal.

“Look at yourself,” he snaps, fisting a hand in your hair to make you lift your head. “So fucking beautiful.”

You do look. It’s unbearable.

“You see that?” he murmurs, dragging the head of his cock through your folds. “See what I’ve done to you?”

You shudder as he presses in just a little, enough to stretch you open around the tip, but not enough to satisfy the ache. Not yet.

“You used to pretend you were better than this,” he whispers, and his voice is low, hoarse, almost reverent. “All those books. All that fucking perfect posture in class. Not knowing I was watching you 24 fucking 7.”

He shoves forward, burying himself in you in one brutal thrust.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream as your body clenches around him, raw and slick and too sensitive, but fuck, you’re full. So full it almost hurts. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He just starts to move, deep and rough, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

Your eyes flick up again, dazed, catching your own reflection, and the look on your face is almost unrecognizable. Pleasure, pain, possession, and everything in between.

He wraps his hand around your throat, pulling your upper body back against his chest. Your spine arches, your tits bouncing with each harsh thrust, and he watches all of it, obsessed, with his eyes locked on the mirror.

"Say it," he snarls, hand tightening at your throat. "Say who you fucking belong to."

You gasp, pulse hammering against his grip, and he spanks you hard when you hesitate. The sting ripples through your thighs and up your spine.

“Try to run and I’ll fuck you into the floor,” he warns, lips brushing your jaw. “Now say it.”

Your chest rises and falls in stuttering gasps, throat working around the pressure of his grip. His cock pounds into you from behind, fast and unforgiving, and the obscene slap of skin against skin drowns out every last rational thought in your head.

“I— I belong to you,” you choke out.

He growls low in your ear. “Louder.”

“I belong to you, Mattheo.”

The hand on your throat tightens, but you see his eyes flash with something deeper. Something you’ve never seen before.

“Fucking right you do.”

He shoves your thighs farther apart, hand sliding from your throat to your mouth, stuffing two fingers between your lips until you're choking again, but on him this time, gagging softly as your tongue flicks against the calloused pads.

His other hand smacks your ass again, harder, the sting blooming bright across your skin. “Can’t even keep your legs closed,” he spits, hips slamming into yours. “So fucking desperate for it— this is what you need, isn't it?”

You nod, moaning around his fingers, mouth drooling, legs trembling beneath you. Every muscle is strung tight, a storm of overstimulation building beneath your skin, burning you alive from the inside out.

Then he pulls his fingers from your mouth and drags them down between your legs, slipping them in alongside his cock, stretching you, fingering you hard while still fucking you deep.

You scream.

He clamps a hand over your mouth this time, muffling the sound, and still doesn’t stop. The rhythm of his hips falters just long enough for him to pant in your ear, “Gonna make you squirt all over me. Gonna ruin this bed, this carpet— fucking everything.”

Your orgasm builds fast and brutal, a hot knot in your gut pulled tighter and tighter with every brutal thrust, every curl of his fingers inside you. You cum with a sharp, guttural cry, convulsing around him, the force of it knocking the breath from your lungs. Your thighs tremble, your vision whites out, and then you feel it.

Liquid gushes out of you, soaking the sheets, his hand, his thighs.

He groans like he’s been punched in the gut. “Fuck yes. Just like that. Look at yourself, baby. Look at the mess you made for me. So perfect, you’re so perfect.”

Your reflection stares back at you from the mirror: eyes wild and glassy, mouth open, chest heaving. You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

But Mattheo does and he’s fucking obsessed.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down.

His hips keep snapping forward, unforgiving, his cock slick with your release, his hand back at your throat now—not tight, not angry, but there. Holding. Anchoring.

“Mine,” he breathes, voice cracked and wrecked against your shoulder as he finally cums, spilling deep inside of you. “You’re mine, you understand me?” 

You can’t even speak. Just nod frantically, tears running down your cheeks. And then you feel a little splash on your bare shoulder, so faint you almost think you’re imagining it, but you look up to see his face in the mirror, small tears evidently falling down.

It’s unclear whether the fluttering in your chest is from heartache or hope or pleasure, but it’s there, and it reassures you that he must be feeling something. At least a fucking sliver of the suffering you’ve been dealing with, at least a fraction of the feelings you’re harboring for him.

He suddenly looks so fucking broken, so vulnerable. You want to reach for him, wipe the tear from his face, ask him what the fuck is going on inside his head. You want to ask him why he’s so fucking cold one minute, and then this the next.

But you can’t. Not now. Not with your body still trembling beneath his, still so raw, so exposed. He’s still inside you, still holding you in place as he leans into you, his face resting against your neck.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice hoarse and barely there. His chest presses against your back, his grip on your throat loosening, fingers brushing softly over the delicate skin. “I hate this.”

You let your head fall back onto his shoulder, feeling the weight of his confession. You want to tell him that you hate it too, but it’s a lie. Part of you thrives in this chaos, this connection that burns and stings, even when it destroys you both.

His breath is still shallow, and for a moment, you both just stay there, silent, eyes locked on the mirror. He shifts slightly behind you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost... genuine.

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispers. “I didn’t...”

But his words fizzle out, swallowed by the distance that still stands between you two, even in the most intimate of moments. The words hang in the air, unspoken, a fragile thread that snaps the second you try to hold onto it.

His fingers trace a line down your spine, his touch almost affectionate, but it doesn’t last long. The coldness creeps back in, wrapping itself around his words like a familiar shroud. “You should go.”

It’s not a command, not really. It’s just the unspoken truth of what you are. What you always have been in this twisted dance; temporary. A passing fucking storm.

You turn your head slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror one last time. The rawness of his expression still burns in your chest, and for a fleeting second, you almost feel like he might say something else. Something more.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lets go of you completely, pulls away, and it’s like the warmth he’d offered you was never there to begin with.

”I should go?” 

“… Yeah.”

Hm. Okay.

With shaky legs, you stand, slipping out from his grip and collecting your clothes. You force yourself to dress, your hands trembling, but your heart still pounding in your chest.

Before you leave, you glance at him one more time, his eyes averted, his jaw set, the wall around him already back up. You don’t say anything; you don’t need to.

You walk out of the room, the door clicking softly behind you.

And as you step into the cold air, your chest aches, but you don’t know whether it’s because you want him to chase you or because you know he won’t.

© 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 :)

[lov3notts-recs]

cult leader!theo🫦

cult leader!theo

https://x.com/gripfui/status/1606867434409009152?s=46&t=91sFahkvR5Dbn5XGRd-YGQ

link. cw: cult leader!theo, dubcon, somno, intox, cockwarming

another blissful night. another drink at theodore’s cabin. and then another one. and another one. and another. you had no idea how you ended up in his lap again, but you didn’t want to know – you felt too warm and comfortable pressed against his chest, with his arms firmly enveloping your waist, rubbing soft circles on the small of your back. his cock was nestled deep inside of you, hot and rock hard, and you just felt so honoured to be the one in this position.

your eyes felt heavy, and you weren’t even trying to keep them open anymore. the wetness from your pussy was drenching theodore’s pants around his thighs, but the lack of any real stimulation made you forget about your arousal for a moment. you nuzzled into the soft fabric of his satin shirt, a soft, sleepy sigh escaping your parted lips. you were just about ready to doze off when you felt the tip of his cock bumping against your sensitive inner walls. a quiet but surprised gasp fell from your drooling mouth, and you lifted your misty head the tiniest little bit, as much as your nearly passed out state allowed.

"what is it, darling?” theodore raised an eyebrow, one of his hands coming up to stroke your hair in a manner so soothing it started lulling you back to sleep.

"feels good, teacher…” you mumbled, your words slurred and hardly coherent. the tingle in your belly grew stronger, but you were too out of it to properly understand what was happening.

"what feels good, darling? are you dreaming again?” theodore murmured with a soft smile, his lips planting a light kiss somewhere between your hairline and the skin on your forehead.

"don’t know… feels good…” you repeated, your own whine cutting you off when another small brush of his cock hit a spot inside of you that was particularly sensitive.

"shh, my dear.” theodore’s coo was smooth and calming, and it was so, so hard to stay awake with his deep voice in your ear, the haze of multiple consecutive drinks clouding your mind and vision, stripping you of any hope for coherence. “must be a very good dream, isn’t that right?”

"yeah… good dream…” you whispered, cuddling into his body once again, your cheek resting comfortably against his warm chest. you sighed with content, finally letting go, letting yourself fall into peaceful slumber. theodore’s smile widened a little – you were knocked out cold, he knew that. his cock twitched inside of you, but there were no sounds from you anymore. good. just what he needed.

[lov3notts-recs]

tw noncon. drugging.

what the fuck is wrong with me, you think to yourself as you sit on fratboy!theo’s bed in his messy dorm room. you glance around— open and unopened condom wrappers litter the floor, alongside cigarettes and scattered clothes. you know damn well about his infamous reputation, and yet, here you are, watching him close the curtains before approaching you.

“you want some?” theo holds out a red cup filled with booze in front of you, and you take it, giving him a small nod in thanks. the music from the party downstairs blasts through the walls, people cheering and singing along at the top of their lungs. your friends were too drunk to even notice you slipping away, as theo took your hand with a wink and dragged you to his room.

he came to sit next to you, the mattrass dipping under his weight and causing you to lean closer to him, and his eyes immediately drop to your tits nearly spilling out of your tight top. he takes a sip from his own drink, exhaling with a soft sigh, before speaking again, his voice deep and gravelly, “you’re fuckin’ hot, y’know that? you walked in and half the house started thinking with their dicks. swear to god, you’re everyone’s number one fuckin’ fantasy.”

you feel your cheeks heat up, but you couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable around his presence. he probably says that to every girl he tries to sleep with, and you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t fall for it. “thank you, but uhm… i have to go back to my friends.” you murmur, attempting to rise to your feet, but your knees buckle. your vision blurs. your body grows limp, collapsing back onto the bed.

“c’mon, you really think i’d let you leave? you’re right where you need to be, sweetheart.” a wicked grin forms on his face, and through your heavy, half-lidded eyes—fluttering open and shut—you watch him crawl on top of you, the red LED lights and the heat in the room making you feel even drowsier.

the scent of his cheap cologne and beer fills your nostrils, and your weak arms try to push him off you against his chest, but to no avail, causing him to chuckle condescendingly. his hand roughly rubs your cunt between your legs, his lips attached to your neck and planting wet, open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

“s—stop… i need to… i need to go…” “jeez, you still whining? quit bitching and let me have it. i’ll be quick, yeah? dumb slut.” and that’s the last thing you hear before he rips your clothes from your frozen body and fucks your tight cunt as you’re too weak to fight back, just like he has with countless other girls before, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

[lov3notts-recs]

i wouldn’t look away

stepbro!mattheo would build a habit of stealing things from your room — lip balm, hair ties, even your phone charger — just to watch you walk into his room in your tiny pajama shorts to retrieve them 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

“MATTHEO!” you yell down the hallway as you march towards your stepbrother’s room, your hair in a messy ponytail and the sleep still clouding your eyes. without hesitation, you burst through his door— only to let out a startled yelp at the sight in front of you, immediately covering your eyes.

“well, look who it is… you lost, sis?” he drawls, his hand wrapped around his cock, lazily pumping it up and down, completely unfazed by your presence whatsoever. lewd, pornographic moans and the wet sound of skin slapping echoes from his phone, and he is in no rush to turn it off. “what’s up?”

“sorry— i, uh, i just lost my stuff, but uh, i’ll come back later.” just as you’re about to close the door with your hand still covering your eyes, his voice stops you in your tracks, and you freeze in place.

“relax, i’ve got it. not like i mind being interrupted by you.” when you hear him pull his boxers and sweatpants back up, you dare to look again, your eyes nervously darting around his messy room. his gaze lingers a little too long on your body as a sly smirk forms on his face, making you feel exposed in your short pyjamas shorts and top, your hands instinctively covering yourself.

“here you go, princess.” mattheo says, giving you a quick wink. you take your belongings from his hand— only to quickly realise it’s the same hand he was just jerking himself off with, making you feel dirty from even the slightest contact. with your stuff now back in your hands, you don’t seem to realise that you’re motionless, seemingly still processing what just happened, until mattheo’s voice brings you back to reality.

“anyway, i’ll get back to what i was doing now, if you don’t mind.” “yeah, uhm, sure. thank you.” “mhm… door’s always open for you, sis. just for you.”

ੈ♡˳

[lov3notts-recs]

new girl au!theo not giving a fuck & just wants to find his keys😭😭

⊹ ࣪ ˖ texting the different theo aus “she’s busy rn lil bro” ⊹ ࣪ ˖