#freshouttheslammerimagues

[sadnymi]

「 ✦ Fresh Out the slammer. ✦ 」

[Mattheo riddle × reader] [TTPD Masterlist]

Summary: Y/n made a decision she thought was right, but it ended up costing her the only real thing in her life. Now, instead of finding peace and stability, her life has turned into a nightmare a slammer. She ran away, only to realize her mistake and now she knows there's only one person she can turn to—the only person her heart truly loves.

Warnings: angst,fluff,smut,strong language.

Words:5k.

The dress shimmered like moonlight on water, a cascade of champagne silk that clung to my curves in all the right places. I stood frozen, a statue sculpted from fabric and societal expectation. Perfect. Flawless. Engaged.

Yet, the reflection staring back at me held no spark of joy, just a hollow echo of a smile. It wasn't sadness, not exactly. More like a numb acceptance of a life carefully mapped out, not by my own desires, but by the whispers and needs of my family.

Charles, my fiancé, was everything a respectable young woman could desire. Handsome, wealthy, with a lineage as distinguished as his manners. On paper, we were the perfect match – a union that would solidify our families' positions in high society.

The party buzzed around me, a symphony of congratulations and well wishes. I played my part, radiating a picture-perfect fiancée. Laughter bubbled on my lips, practiced and polite. This was the new normal, the life I'd been groomed for. A gilded cage.

Then, across the crowded room, my gaze locked with a pair of dark eyes. A jolt went through me, a spark that had nothing to do with champagne or diamonds. Mattheo. There, in the shadows by the doorway, stood the one man who disrupted all carefully laid plans. His lips were curved in a smirk, a knowing amusement that sent a shiver down my spine.

He wasn't celebrating. He was observing. Analyzing. Like some predatory toying with the carefully orchestrated scene before him.

Exhaustion, emotional and physical, washed over me. I needed a moment, a single breath outside the suffocating air of expectations. Slipping through the French doors, I stepped onto the cool balcony overlooking the city lights.

And then, there he was, leaning against the railing a few feet away. Mattheo, his gaze following mine as he took a long drag from a cigarette. I clutched the glass of juice in my hand tighter, the cold seeping through the crystal.

"Care to share the joke?" I finally managed, my voice low and laced with a touch of bitterness. He didn't turn towards me, but his voice, when he spoke, was a smooth caress in the night air.

"Just admiring the performance, love," he drawled. "You play the part beautifully. Almost makes you believe it yourself."

The words tumbled out of my mouth, a torrent of frustration and a desperate attempt to mask the truth even from myself. "What are you doing, Mattheo? Making fun of me?" My voice rose a notch, defensive and angry.

"He's a perfect man. His family and mine have been friends for decades! Don't go acting like you care about some fairytale love story." I knew I was overplaying it, the words spilling out too fast, a frantic attempt to convince someone – maybe myself – that Charles was the answer.

He didn't flinch at my outburst. "No, not that," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "It's just… I don't get it. Why settle for 'perfect' when you could have something real?" His gaze held mine, a challenge and a question all at once.

"Real?" I scoffed, the bitterness dripping from my voice. "What's real? This?" I gestured at the glittering party scene below, the forced smiles and hollow laughter. "Or a life filled with… with what? Uncertainty? Danger?" The words hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the life I'd always secretly yearned for, a life that somehow always seemed to revolve around Mattheo.

"Maybe," he conceded, shrugging a shoulder.

My breath hitched. His words were a direct hit, piercing through the carefully constructed walls I'd built around my heart. "I…" I started, but the words wouldn't come.

Frustration bubbled over, a cocktail of anger and confusion. "This is for me to decide, Mattheo! I don't need him, I want him! He'll be a good husband, a good father, a good partner. " My voice grew louder, the carefully constructed facade crumbling with each word.

"Sure, love," he said, that infuriating smirk twisting his lips once more.

"Dammit, Mattheo!" I exploded, tears stinging my eyes. "Either be happy for me, at least pretend, or leave!" The words were out before I could stop them.

Regret washed over me as quickly as the anger had risen. The light in his eyes, playful just moments ago, vanished, replaced by a flicker of pain I couldn't decipher.

For the first time that night, he looked at me seriously. No smirk, no amusement, left me speechless. "I think I'll leave then “.

And then he was gone, disappearing back into the throng of partygoers. The air felt suddenly colder, the weight of his absence a physical blow. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs, a mix of anger, fear, and something far deeper twisting in my gut.

A desperate urge to chase after him, to call him back, flooded me. But pride, stubbornness, and the carefully constructed image I'd spent all night portraying held me frozen in place.

I watched him go, a lone figure swallowed by the crowd, and a single, tear finally escaped, tracing a glistening path down my cheek.

The engagement ring felt like a lead weight on my finger. It was supposed to be a symbol of happily ever after, but all it brought was a dull ache in my chest. Charles, my fiancé, had proposed on a gondola ride in Venice, a picture-perfect moment straight out of a romance novel. The only problem was, the picture was a lie, a carefully staged facade.

The cracks began to show soon after. Charles, always so attentive during our courtship, started developing a curious habit of "forgetting" dates and appointments. His phone, an ever-present extension of his hand, would suddenly become a mystery when important calls came in. Excuses piled up like unwashed dishes, each one chipping away at the foundation of trust.

One particularly galling instance involved a charity gala. Charles had promised to accompany me, a public show of unity for my family's foundation. As the guests arrived, resplendent in their evening wear, I stood alone, a nervous knot twisting in my stomach. An hour later, with half the night gone, he sauntered in, a sickeningly self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips. His excuse? A "business meeting" that ran long. The lie was obvious, the scent of his cologne a dead giveaway – the same kind of perfume that clung to the woman flitting at his side the previous weekend.

One blustery Saturday, we planned a picnic by the lake. Charles, however, turned up two hours late, reeking of butterbeer and with a smear of lipstick on his collar. My accusations were met with a dismissive, "Oh, Y/N, you're being paranoid again."

Selfishness was another of Charles's defining traits. He saw everything in terms of "me" and "mine." My interests, my dreams, were relegated to mere footnotes in his grand narrative. One weekend getaway we'd planned, meticulously tailored to my love for hiking and stargazing, was abruptly rerouted to a luxurious spa resort "because stress relief is good for everyone, darling." My protests were met with feigned sympathy and a dismissive pat on the head.

The final straw came at a Ministry charity gala. All night, Charles was glued to a group of Aurors, completely ignoring me. I stood alone, clutching my champagne flute feeling like a pretty ornament on his arm. As I excused myself for a moment of fresh air, I rounded a corner and saw him, laughing carelessly, his hand resting on Astoria's waist. They were kissing, a passionate embrace that ripped the last shreds of hope from my heart.

Tears blurring my vision, I confronted him later that night. "How could you?" My voice trembled, the anger barely masking the deep well of hurt.

He sighed, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "Y/N, darling, don't be dramatic. It was just a kiss. A silly little thing."

"Just a kiss?" I cried, the dam of my emotions finally bursting. "And all those lies? The neglect? Charles”

His face contorted in anger. "You," he snarled, "are supposed to be the perfect fiancée. All smiles and beauty. You're just a pretty face, Y/N, that's all. Your role is to stand there and look pretty."

“I deserve better than this!"

He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. "You deserve exactly what I'm giving you, Y/N," he said, his voice cold and hard. "A comfortable life, a prestigious name. Do you think your father will be thrilled if you call off the wedding? Think of the scandal, the gossip! That's all that matters, after all."

His words cut deeper than any wand. In that moment, I saw him for who he truly was – a self-serving, arrogant man who only valued me as a trophy, not a person. The anger surged through me, hot and cleansing.

"I don't care anymore about what any of you want!" I ripped his grip on my face, my voice a ragged scream. "This doesn't matter anymore!"

With that, I spun on my heel and fled, leaving him and the shattered remnants of our engagement party behind. Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of anger, sadness, and a newfound sense of freedom.

Escaping the suffocating confines of the argument felt like breaking free from a Dementor's grip. My phone buzzed incessantly, a frantic symphony of missed calls from Charles and my furious father. Ignoring them, I switched it off, the silence a balm to my raw nerves.

There was only one person I craved, the one face that flickered behind my tear-filled vision – Mattheo. He'd been a constant presence in my mind, a forbidden flame that refused to be extinguished.

With newfound resolve, I hailed a carriage, the rocking motion mirroring the turmoil within me. He might not want to see me, might not even care. But right now, there was nowhere else I'd rather be. Nobody else who understood the storm raging inside me the way he did.

Love. It was a terrifying, exhilarating word, a truth I could no longer deny. I loved him. We'd never spoken the words, not truly, but in stolen glances and secret smiles, a connection had bloomed, defying all societal expectations.

The ride seemed to stretch on forever, each passing minute mirroring the frantic beat of my heart. Finally, the carriage drew to a stop before the imposing gates of Mattheo's mansion. As I stepped out, a heavy rain began to fall, mirroring the tempest within.

The grand entrance, familiar yet intimidating, recognized me with a soft hum. It creaked open without a touch, a silent welcome that sent a tremor through me. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I approached the heavy oak door that separated me from him.

"Mattheo," I whispered, my voice barely above a choked sob. "It's Y/N. Please, I… I need you."

Silence. The only sound was the insistent drumming of the rain and the frantic pounding of my heart against my ribs. Doubt gnawed at me. Maybe he wasn't there. Maybe he didn't want to see me.

Tears welled up again, blurring my vision. Just as I turned to leave, defeated, the door creaked open. Light spilled out, illuminating Mattheo's tall figure framed against the warm glow.

Relief washed over me, so intense it took my breath away. His face was etched with surprise.

But before I could decipher it, his surprise melted into a mask of cool indifference. My tears, held at bay for a moment, finally spilled over, cascading down my cheeks in a torrent.

Ignoring the shocked silence, I threw myself into his arms, clinging to him as if he were a lifeline in a storm-tossed sea.He reacted instantly, his strong arms enveloping me, lifting me off the ground with surprising ease. His warmth seeped through my cloak, a familiar comfort amidst the chaos.

Buried in the crook of his neck, I poured out the events of the evening, the anger, the hurt, the suffocating realization of Charles' lies. He held me silently, his touch a silent reassurance. I clung to him, feeling a sense of safety I hadn't experienced in a very long time.

Finally, the sobs subsided, leaving behind a raw vulnerability. I pulled back slightly, wiping a tear from my cheek.

The room spun as he set me down on the plush couch, a soft cushion beneath my tear-streaked face. His strong arms cradled my shoulders, steadying me. Then, cupping my chin, he tilted my head up with a gentle yet firm touch.

"Y/N," he said, his voice a low rumble laced with concern. "What happened? Did someone hurt you?"

His worry, raw and unconcealed, was another dam breaking within me. Shaken sobs wracked my body again, each one a release of the pent-up emotions.

"I…" I choked out, voice thick with emotion. "I just… needed you."

He didn't pry, just nodded understandingly, a silent promise of safety washing over me. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes first, love," he murmured, his touch surprisingly gentle.

He helped me remove my soaked dress, the cold fabric clinging like a memory I desperately wanted to shed. A blush crept up my neck as he handed me one of his oversized shir. I slipped it on, the familiar scent of him – a mix of expensive cologne and something uniquely Mattheo – wrapping around me like a comforting embrace.

Settling back onto the couch, he cupped my face again, his thumbs brushing away stray tears and a lock of hair that clung to my damp cheek. "Now, tell me everything," he said, his voice low and steady.

Taking a shuddering breath, I spoke. Words tumbled out, a torrent of pent-up emotions finally finding release. I told him everything – Charles' lies, the crushing disappointment, the suffocating loneliness of a horrible engagement.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, clutching his hand like a lifeline. "I was so afraid. I thought feelings, love, they would make me weak. So I thought Charles, with his perfect reputation and his predictable life, was the safest option. I didn't want to end up like my parents, constantly fighting, their love a battlefield. But this... this is worse. An empty shell of a life. And the hardest part…" My voice hitched, threatening to break again. "I lost you in the way. And I missed you, Mattheo. I missed you almost all the time."

"You will never lose me," he said.

Surprise flickered across my face. Never lose you?

"I never wanted you to leave," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "That night of the engagement, I… I wanted to run back to you. Run back home."

The tension in the room crackled as I stood, my body fueled by a newfound courage. My gaze swept across the opulent room, searching for escape, for a way to bridge the chasm that had grown between us.

Then, I met his eyes. A storm of emotions brewed within him – surprise, vulnerability, a flicker of something that made my heart skip a beat.

"I love you, Mattheo," I blurted out, the words tumbling forth with the weight of a thousand unspoken confessions.

He held my gaze for a long, agonizing moment, then looked away, a muscle clenching in his jaw. He turned towards the window, the rain now a gentle patter against the glass.

"You're not going to say something?" The silence stretched, threatening to suffocate me.

He finally turned back to me, a wry smile twisting his lips. "Well, I've spent my entire life only loving one thing, Y/N. Only one thing. And it was you. So yeah, I don't know what to say now."

My mouth opened, ready to respond, a million questions swirling in my head. Images of a younger us flooded back – a scraped knee, whispered secrets, and a childish declaration that love was a fool's game.

"No, no," I stammered. "I remember when we were kids, and I said I didn't believe in love, and you said you didn't too. You said—"

He cut me off, a playful glint in his eyes. "Well, I lied."

My heart skipped a beat. "You lied?"

He walked towards me, his smile turning tender. "You were terrified of the idea, and I may not have believed in love then, but I believed in loving you, Y/N. So I would have done or said anything you wanted me to."

Shame clawed at me. How could I have been so blind, so wrapped up in my fear that I missed the love that had been right in front of me all along?

"I'm so sorry, Mattheo," I choked out. "I'm so sorry. I don't deserve your—"

He cut me off, pulling me into a tight embrace. "Stop being so harsh on yourself, love," he murmured, his hand stroking my hair gently. "Look at me."

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. His eyes, usually filled with a mischievous glint, now held a tenderness that made my breath catch.

"You rest now," he said, his voice a soothing balm. "And if you're still in your word tomorrow…" He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"I love you, Mattheo," I repeated, my voice firm and unwavering. "And tomorrow, and the day after, and every day after that."

He smiled, a genuine, heart-melting smile that sent a warmth radiating through me. "Okay then," he said, his voice husky. "If you're still sure tomorrow, I'll be here. I'll always be here for you."

He leaned down and kissed my forehead, the soft touch sending shivers down my spine. As I burrowed into his oversized shirt, a new sense of comfort and belonging washed over me.

Holding the pillow to my chest, the scent of his cologne lingering on it, I drifted off to sleep. Two things were crystal clear in my mind. One, I loved Mattheo with a fierceness I never knew existed. And two, never again would I let fear or societal expectations dictate my heart. He was mine, and I was his. And nothing would ever tear us apart again.

The morning light streamed through the window, painting the room in a soft golden glow. Sunlight and the lingering scent of Mattheo's cologne pulled me from sleep. The events of yesterday flooded back – the storm of emotions, the confessions. Was it real? Had I imagined it all in the heat of the moment?

Uncertainty gnawed at me. Should I stay curled up in this bed, a safe haven from whatever awaited me downstairs? But the thought of not seeing Mattheo, was unbearable.

Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself, 'It's Mattheo. My Mattheo.' The fear ebbed slightly, replaced by a nervous flutter in my stomach. Ten minutes later, after a pep talk in the mirror and a failed attempt at straightening my sleep-tousled hair, I crept downstairs.

The kitchen was bathed in the warm glow of the morning sun. And there he was, leaning against the counter, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand. Relief washed over me, as welcome as the familiar aroma of roasted beans.

His eyes lit up as he saw me. "There you are," he said, a smile playing on his lips. He crossed the room in two strides, handing me a steaming mug.

My heart did a little skip. It was my favorite blend, a subtle smoky aroma that always reminded me of cozy mornings at home. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. "Thank you," I murmured, accepting the mug. "That's perfect."

"I'm so sorry for showing up like that yesterday," I stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I thought… well, I thought you'd be mad. That you wouldn't want to see me."

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "Mad that you came to me? Y/N, I'd be mad if you didn't. I'm glad you're here."

The weight of anxiety that had been building in my chest began to loosen. But with the tension gone, my nerves started playing up. In a desperate attempt to fill the silence, I launched into a monologue about the weather, the latest Quidditch news (which I barely followed) and the peculiar new flavor of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans I'd tried the day before.

I could feel his eyes twinkling with amusement, but he didn't interrupt my rambling. Instead, he leaned against the counter, a smile playing on his lips. Finally, he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice sending shivers down my spine.

"Yes?" I squeaked, my eyes locked on his.

"Calm down, love," he murmured, his thumb brushing my cheek. "You're safe here. And you don't have to talk if you don't want to." He paused, his gaze holding mine. "Just stay. Just be with me."

My fingers traced the familiar lines of his face – the strong jawline, the slight furrow between his brows that always appeared when he was thinking, the little scar above his left eyebrow from that time we tried to ride a rogue Hippogriff in third year. I missed it all – the details, the imperfections, everything about him.

As I looked up to meet his eyes, a wave of emotion washed over me. It was a cocktail of relief, happiness, and a lingering nervousness that fluttered in my stomach. This was the same feeling I used to get whenever he was near, but this time, it wasn't laced with fear. It was pure, unadulterated excitement.

"Every time you look at me like that," he murmured, his voice husky, "I lose control."

My heart skipped a beat. "And is that a bad thing?" I leaned in closer, the space between us shrinking with each passing second.

He shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. Our lips were a breath apart, the tension crackling in the air. Then, he closed the distance.

The kiss was electric, sending shivers down my spine. It was filled with a raw emotion that neither of us had dared to express before. But just as quickly as it began, he pulled away.

"We can't," he said, his voice strained. "You're still confused with what happened, and I can't take advantage of that."

A pang of disappointment shot through me. But then, a cold realization dawned on me. He thought my confession, my affection, was a way of coping, a distraction from the fallout of yesterday.

"Mattheo," I said, cupping his face in my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. "You would be crazy if you thought I didn't mean what I said. I'm in my right mind. I meant every word. I love you. I have for a long time, even when I told myself I didn't."

And then, without further preamble, he closed the gap. His lips were on mine again, this time with a fierce intensity that left me breathless.

He picked me up, setting me on the kitchen table. The cool wood beneath me was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body. He trailed kisses down my neck, making me shiver with pleasure.

“Your skin is so soft against mine. I could spend eternity just touching you."

I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. "Don't stop," I moaned, as he nibbled on my earlobe.

He chuckled, the sound sending vibrations through my body. "I have no intention of stopping," he said, his voice full of promise.

He continued his descent, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire on my skin. He reached the waistband of my pants, teasing me by hooking his fingers under the fabric but not pulling it down.

I squirmed under him, desperate for more. "Please," I begged, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up at me, his eyes full of desire. "Please what?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Please touch me," I said, my voice filled with need.

He didn't need any more encouragement. He pulled my pants down, exposing me to him. He leaned in, his breath hot against my skin. He kissed my inner thigh, teasing me even more.

I moaned, my hips bucking towards him. "Please, Mattheo," I said, my voice filled with desperation.

He finally gave in, his tongue darting out to taste me. I cried out, my fingers digging into the table. He licked and sucked, driving me wild with pleasure.

I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge. I wrapped my legs around his head, pulling him closer. "Don't stop," I begged, my voice barely above a whisper.

He picked up the pace, his tongue working its magic. I could feel myself tightening, my orgasm building inside me.

And then I was there, my body shaking with pleasure. I cried out, my fingers gripping the table even tighter.

He didn't stop, his tongue continuing to lap at me. I moaned, my hips still bucking towards him.

Finally, he pulled away, looking up at me with a satisfied smirk."You taste like heaven. I could spend hours between your legs." he said, his voice full of affection.

I smiled down at him, my heart filled with love. As I pulled him up for a kiss.He lifted me off the table, carrying me to the couch. laid me down, his body covering mine.

I could feel his hardness pressing against me, and I wrapped my legs around him. "I want to feel you inside me today and everyday I want all of you," I whispered, my voice filled with need.

He kissed me, his lips hot and demanding. He reached down, positioning himself at my entrance.

He looked at me, his eyes full of love and desire. "Do you want me to show you how much I've been thinking about you?" he said, his voice full of conviction and i nodded.

And then he thrust into me, filling me completely. I cried out, my fingers digging into his back."You're so big." I say and he shuts my cries with a kiss.

He started moving, his hips thrusting in a steady rhythm. I met him thrust for thrust, our bodies moving in perfect harmony.

“want to hear you say my name over and over. Let me know who's making you feel this good." He reached down, his fingers finding my clit. He rubbed in circles, sending waves of pleasure through my body.

"I want to mark you as mine, leaving my scent and my love all over you." He whispered in my ear, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine. He placed soft kisses on my neck, nibbling gently on the sensitive skin there.

"The way you look at me when I'm inside you drives me wild, love." He murmured, I could feel myself getting even wetter at his words if that was even possible.

His phone rang, interrupting the moment. He looked at the ID and smiled. "Turn around for me, my love." He said, his voice low and commanding. I did as he asked, turning around so he could take me from behind.

He put the phone on speaker and pulled my hair to the side, exposing my neck. He sucked and bit gently on the skin there, marking me as his. I moaned at the sensation, my body trembling with pleasure.

"She's with you right?" The sound from the phone was Charles, my ex-fiancé. I moaned at the thought of his call while we’re doing this, and Mattheo put his hand over my mouth to muffle the sound.

"Yes, she's very much with me, Charles." Mattheo said, his voice confident and sure. He thrust hard into me, making me scream into his hand.

"I don't want any rivalry, just stay away from my fiancé." Charles said, his voice filled with anger. The moment the word fiancé got out of his mouth, Mattheo thrust into me again, harder this time.

"I want that rivalry, it's fine with me. And she's your ex-fiancé, I can see no ring in her finger anymore."

"What was that? Was that Y/N? Can I talk to her?" Charles said.

"No, you can't. Not now, not ever “Mattheo said, He turned me around so I was looking at him. He pulled his hands away from my mouth and leaned down to kiss me.

"If I saw you near her, if I saw you in the same place as her, even by accident, if I saw you breathing the same air as her, you're a dead man, little Charles." Mattheo said, his lips touching mine. And then he ending the call.

He kept thrusting into me until I knew I was close. "I'm so close, Mattheo." I said, my voice breathless.

"You're such a good girl, taking me so well. Cum for me, baby." He said. I did, my body trembling with pleasure. He thrust into me a few more times, then cum. He pulled away, his cum on my stomach.

"One day, I'm gonna cum inside you." He said, his voice low and commanding. The thought turned me on so much, my face was red by now.

"Oh, you like that? Like the thought of me putting a baby inside you?"I nodded, unable to speak. He pulled me so I was on top of him, hugging me so tight.

He played with my hair as we lay there, our bodies still trembling with pleasure. "I love everything you say, I want everything if it will be with you." I said, my voice filled with emotion.

Now that I knew better, forever was no longer a scary word, but a beautiful vow. I would never lose him again.

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