#Mattheo x you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkmarkmarauder · 1 day ago

Text

Sneaking out - T.R. & M.R.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞, 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬. 𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝒕𝒐𝒐 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝. 𝐀 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧—

𝑨𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐚𝐳𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐝. 𝐀 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫. 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞.

"𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐫�� 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒚 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐦.

"𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭," 𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲, 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. "𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐢𝐭?"

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞—

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝.

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬. 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞, 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐲, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝.

"𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟," 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭. "𝐈—" "𝐎𝐧𝐞."

"𝑶𝒌𝒂𝒚, 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒐𝒏—"

"𝐓𝐰𝐨."

"𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒!" 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐩.

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰. 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐮𝐧𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. "𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔," 𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.

"𝐘𝐞𝐬," 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞. "𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞—𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑰 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒎—"

"𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐈 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐨?"

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰. "𝐈 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝—"

"𝐖𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫," 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐥𝐲, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒆 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐤."

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥𝐬. "𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥, 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭? 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬—"

"𝐈𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭," 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰. "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 ��𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝?"

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬. "𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐝—"

"𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞," 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐲.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬, 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐞. "𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝."

"𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞," 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐥𝐲. "𝐒𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞."

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡. "𝐒𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰?"

"𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭," 𝐘/𝐍 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧. "𝐓𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬. 𝐍𝐨 𝐇𝐨𝐠𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐧𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭—"

"𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠?" 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰. "𝐌𝐮𝐦—"

"𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬," 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐲.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐞. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. "𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓?!"

"𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠?" 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐥𝐲. "𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡."

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫. 𝐇𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐣𝐚𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝. "𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞," 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐭. "𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒆."

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐬, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝. "𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬."

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞. "𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝. "𝐎𝐡, 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘."

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐘/𝐍 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐫. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭��.

𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐤𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭—𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐀𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 ��𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞—𝒐𝒏 𝑴𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒐’𝒔 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒌.

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭, 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤, 𝐮𝐧𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

𝐇𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐬.

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬.

"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐞. 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥?" 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐩. "𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐌𝐮𝐦?!"

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞-𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤. “𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬?" 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲. "𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐦𝐞," 𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝. "𝑰𝒕’𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕?"

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫. "𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨," 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬, "𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞?"

"𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭," 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫. 𝐇𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐘/𝐍 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭.

"𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞?" 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤."

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐫𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬. “𝐆𝐨𝐝, 𝐌𝐮𝐦, 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩 𝐢𝐭? 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞—𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭?”

"𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝," 𝐘/𝐍 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥-𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩. "𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬," 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬, “𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥. 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨?"

"𝐀𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧," 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐛 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦. "𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥—"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞. 𝐇𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐰 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐤. 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 ��𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.

"𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨?" 𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞. "𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐦, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. "𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤," 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐓𝐨𝐦’𝐬 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐰 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝. "𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭." 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈’𝐦 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞."

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐲𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭.

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐨, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧, 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐮𝐩. “𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐨!”

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦, “𝑺𝒉𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭.”

𝐘/𝐍 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐭. "𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨," 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬. "𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞?"

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐩. "𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐑𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐰, 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰?"

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐧𝐨 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧?" 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐮𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐨𝐧.

"𝐀 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬," 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.

𝐘/𝐍 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐦, 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫-𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. "𝑴𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒔?" 𝐘/𝐍 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠. "𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐬? 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭?!"

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐥𝐲. "𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥."

"𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭," 𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨. "𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞. 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧?"

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝. "𝐆𝐨𝐝, 𝐌𝐮𝐦—𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭!"

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐱 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞.

"𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐰𝐡��𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨," 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭. "𝐈’𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐲��𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭."

𝐓𝐨𝐦, 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐰, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡. "𝐈 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬."

"𝐓𝐨𝐦!" 𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐰. "𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐤𝐞."

"𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭," 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭. "𝐋𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐢𝐭." 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨. "𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬? 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬."

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒅. "𝐘𝐞𝐬, 𝐃𝐚𝐝, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐰?"

𝐘/𝐍’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐝. "𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞."

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫. 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭. 𝐘/𝐍, 𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬.

"𝐈𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧?" 𝐘/𝐍 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐲, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦. "𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧. 𝐃𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮?"

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞. "𝐘𝐞𝐬," 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭. "𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬... 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝. 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐦𝐞. 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐌𝐮𝐦."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐠𝐨 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐰.

"𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭," 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰. "𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧."

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫. "𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕?"

"𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭," 𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐦𝐥𝐲, 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐰. "𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝, 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫? 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐟 𝐈’𝐦 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐬."

𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐝. "𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨."

𝐘/𝐍 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬.

𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐨, 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡. "𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫. 𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞."

𝐀𝐬 𝐘/𝐍 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐱𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐫. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: I LOVEEE writing family ones like it’s so fun I have a ton of ideas I’m excited to write

i opened requests in case anyone wants to inspire any writings lol, I will ofc tag you when I post it!

MASTERLIST

29 notes · View notes

matsdoll · 16 hours ago

Text

᠀𓏲　⠀ ﹏ switch ! mattheo riddle who makes love. contrary to what most of the slytherin smut community thinks, that man is a sucker for soft! yearning! sex. he's got you all over his lap, the world outside doesn't exist. nothing, not even the quidditch victory after party could compare. he couldn't care less ... mumbles what lucky man he is to have you all over him, 'i'd give up all my trophies for you, pretty girl'

hell, not even his favorite scotch could compare to the soft feeling of your hands tangeled in his hair, at times digging into the brown locks, sometimes casually untagling small knots that have built. but this time your hands are wrapped around his bare back, faintly tracing over the little scars that he knows you know by heart. oh, what a pleasure it is to have you hug him, embrace him in such gentle matter when he's fucking right into you.

his mouth finds your shoulder, teeth grazing, lips pressing onto the fragile skin, for a seconnd you'll think he'll bite into you ── he rarerly does though. just resumes to pressing kisses onto every little mole, kisses that he knows you'll still feel tommorow, yet no one will see.

they are only yours to keep, yours to feel, yours to remember.

49 notes · View notes

eva-reblogs · 24 hours ago

Text

This is absolutely fantastic! Everyone please give this girl @shyamanuensis a follow her writing is phenomenal!! 🤩

Echoes & Emotions - m.r

Part two to - Showers & Scourers. Part three coming soon xo

Three weeks. It had been three weeks to the day that you found Mattheo emotionally distraught in the shower and it had taken almost just as long to try and push the image to the back of your mind. Three weeks of curiosity. Three weeks of friendship. Three weeks of being attached at the hip like old times. Three weeks of confusion. Your friends had asked if you were together again. You had never given them an answer. You weren’t entirely sure of what this was exactly. You don’t think you’d ever be. However, you were certain that it wasn’t a relationship. Not in the true sense or meaning of the word anyway. Laying in the middle of his bed; dorm room darkened – the only light filtering through being that of the lightning storm outside, you kept silent, trying to make sense of the single thought you had racing around inside your head – why were you here.

Recent time spent with Mattheo was nostalgic. Sweet yet dangerous. You knew his faults and he knew yours, but you had never expected them to become so entangled within each other again. Despite not having moved for hours; the bedsheets still felt cold. It was as if they were a reminder that you shouldn’t let yourself get too comfortable or let yourself fall into an insecure sense of love, want and need. Your mind knew better than your heart at this point but that wasn’t the way the game was meant to be played – surely. And this was a game. A game of survival, a game of lust, a game of winner takes it all. A game the both of you had enough experience in to know that the final score would cause nothing but suffering for one of you and so you prolonged it as best you could.

“Why are you still here?”

His question cut through the silence like a rough diamond against glass. You blinked; the gesture not doing much as your hand resting firmly against his chest, covered by his own clawed in on itself gently. His heartbeat that you had been feeling; listening for; keeping your breath in time to quickening. His ribs had begun to vibrate from the pounding that stupid muscle was capable of and yours now, following suit. You bit your lip; chewing at the soft flesh as if it were tasteless candy hoping to buy yourself enough time to come up with a suitable answer. Something that would appease the both of you; or at least, answer the question.

“Because I care about you.”

Mattheo chuckled; the sound however devoid of any humour or integrity. His gaze up at the ceiling remained distant before he turned to face you; shifting on the bed with a swift single roll onto his side – the thoughts you knew he had playing on his mind, swimming behind the cold and darkened veneer of his eyes. Care. There was that word you had always mentioned during your relationship. A word so easily thrown around it seems, yet so rarely, truly felt. Your eyes fixed upon his; the frangibleness of you both – your proximity, your anxieties, your devotions hung swinging like a pendulum of doubt as the gaze you both held. Boring into the depths of each other’s souls unsure of what you’d stumble across.

“..and this is what you call care?, his voice was laced with disdain. “Care. You care for me so much that you left me behind before like I meant nothing.” “I’m here now.” “Why – out of pity or convenience?”

You knew where this was going. You knew exactly how the conversation was going to pan out. Every night since you had begun spending time together again it had been the same. As if scripted by the devil to be played out as a duologue which never saw the scenes end. He’d ask you your feelings on the mark. You’d dance around the subject not wanting to upset him. He’d get upset anyway. You’d argue. Never just bicker or squabble; a full blown, ‘this is why we broke up in the first place’ cacophony of sorts which meant nights ended abruptly; without resolution to anything which had been said.

“No, you idiot – because I love… because I loved you.”

Mattheo flinched almost imperceptibly at what you’d just said. That cold, calculating mask that he was wearing; inherited clearly from his fathers’ side, was beginning to crack under the weight of your confession. He was expecting it. Well; not those words exactly. You had managed to correct yourself and he felt the knife you metaphorically had twisted within his heart dig in deeper; slashing away at the layers of anger and resentment he’d build around himself, exposing that small part of him that craved what he truly believed only you could offer him. Love and acceptance.

“Love is a weakness. A plaything.”

You’d heard that phrase before. This time it had hit you like a bludger and you’d have rather thrown yourself into the Whomping Willow than hear it again. It was said by his father; the night you disclosed your relationship to your families. It had resulted in nothing but tears. The same tone. The same hiss. The same scorn contempt.

“Matty, love isn’t a weakness. It’s not a plaything. It’s not something to be toyed or manipulated.”

Your whisper was soft; light and subtle. You gave yourself permission to gaze into his eyes; lean in to rest your forehead against his and stroke his cheek with the most tender of touches your fingertips could manage as you tried to get through to him. Boring deep past the surface layers of hesitation he’d built up to hide behind like a fortress of reservation. The admission which came next one that you’d forever hold onto.

“Your love may be Riddle; but don’t ever, ever think that mine is.”

Mattheo stiffened as your breath ghosted his jaw; the unexpected heat sending a shiver down his spine as his eyes began to darken to a rich espresso stain of emotion caused by a mixture of both defiance and vulnerability. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to argue with you. To dismiss your words. To call them out as naïve and helpless, but he couldn’t. The raw passion held in your gaze, gave him pause.

“Then prove it.” His reply that of a challenge. “Show me of this ‘love’ that you claim to feel. Get marked. Let’s be together again.” “Why? Is that what you want? What you’re craving? Proof of love? Proof of ownership?”

He paused. You fell silent. The questions had caught Mattheo off guard. His gaze turned cold again; turned sharp as another defensive mask that he was so used to wearing slipped back into place across his expression; yet even as words left his tongue, there was a hint of overall uncertainty that was beginning to betray him in ways, he hadn’t expected.

“I don’t crave anything.” A lie. “Least of all not love.” Another lie.

Tilting your head; you let your lips brush against his own with almost a barely there softness, as you fixed your gaze back into his own for a moment; contemplating if this should really have been done before locking lips with his own into a tender kiss.

“…I, love you.”

He gasped against your kiss; body instinctively rolling in towards your familiar touch and although he wanted to push you away, to uphold this sudden cold demeanour he’d been portraying all night, his heart was louder and won the fight against his mind. The kiss for the both of you, ignited a whirlwind of emotions; a tangle of memories and feelings which threatened to consume you both if not acted upon carefully.

“Don’t…” The murmur against your lips, a vibrational mix of both protest and plea.

“You didn’t let me finish...”, you spoke up against his lips; fingers delicate, near subdued in their movements to snake through his curls and then race down with a faint trace along his neck, shoulder, collarbone, chest, waist. Dancing at his belt – the soft supple leather acquainted against your skin for all the wrong reason. “I love you, but I can’t be in love with you.”

His body quivered and shivered beneath your touch – that gentle caress you stained his skin with leaving a trail, the feeling akin to fire, in its wake. Mattheo’s mind was at war with himself; with itself – torn between the need for you and the need for self-preservation. The familiar ache you had bestowed upon him with your touch a juxtaposition to your words. This was all like a dagger again straight to the heart.

“You – love me; but can’t be in love with me?” The echo of Mattheo’s words against the walls of the dorm were laced by an anguished laugh that barely had time to be processed before escaping him. He knew where this was going just as much as you did. It was the reason you’d decided to call it quits in the first place. Your heart not aligning up with what was to be expected of him.

“I know it doesn’t make sense right now; but trust me. As we grow apart again – you’ll see my reasoning, you’ll begin to notice why. It will all come together. I…” “..don’t want to be associated with a guy like me.” “It’s not that. You have a future Mattheo that I don’t agree with. A legacy, a name, a path to live up and follow and I just – I don’t agree with it. I never have and I never will.”

He wanted to argue with you; to demand answers – to hold onto your fiercely and not let you out of his grasp but the timing of all this couldn’t have been worse. His mark; it had begun to burn. He itched at the scar. He hated this as much as he hated the tonality of your words. He felt irritable; hopeless. His voice grafting into a symphony of resignation and frustration as he sat up on the bed and began to scratch at his arm vigorously.

“Fine”, he spat, “I’ll trust you.” “Good.”

You pushed yourself to sit up also; leaning in as if it were common practice and having Mattheo meet you halfway; one final kiss shared that was fuelled by a lingering want, a desire, of hope. Your lips moved against one another’s with a hunger that bordered near on desperation. Mattheo wanted to so desperately memorize the taste of you; the feelings you conjured up within him. You wanted one last final farewell; surprised as he pulled away as quickly as the kiss had begun, the expression on his face hardening into something emotionless.

“Good..”, he managed to echo in response; the word dripping with a hint of bitterness and perhaps, turmoil.

“I’ll see you round Matty. If you need anything…”

As you shifted off towards the edge of the bed to stand and find your sweater thrown to the floor from earlier in the night; Mattheo fought the urge to reach out and pull you back, knowing that it would be pointless. That he had been called for. Summoned. That if he didn’t show up – the unreliable son; there’d be hell to pay. Watching as you got ready to leave the dorm, he ground his teeth against each other, feeling a release of anger with the sound and scoffed before commenting.

“…I can manage on my own.”

You turned back to look at him; head in his hands, not quite a boy, but not yet a man.

“I know.” “You should go.”

Without restraint, you whimpered; tears pooling into the corners of your eyes at his suggestion and paused, wondering if Mattheo would do anything more, but as the seconds turned into the better half of a minute, you gave up waiting; gave up wanting something you knew wouldn’t happen. His heart was breaking. Mattheo didn’t reach out for you; not the way he usually would that you were perhaps expecting him to. His pride, or there lack of it, and anger; warring within him. He was at battle with himself, with his anticipations, with his now formalised expectations that that stupid mark had brought upon him and yet he wanted you to feel the same pain that he was feeling. He wanted you to regret your decision, however deep down – he couldn’t bring himself to hurt you. To harm you. He knew the only person he was hurting was himself in the process.

“Just … go.” He managed with a voice barely above that of a whisper. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be near me.”

You took no more than a few steps before your tears kicked in. Trying to blink them away; everything that had happened tonight finally began to sink in. Weeks, days, hours of blissful retreat within each other’s company torn to shreds within minutes; but perhaps this is how it was meant to be. You hated this. You hated yourself. Why couldn’t you just be there for him. Properly. In whole. With light footsteps you wandered away back to your own dorm, and Mattheo watched you with an expression of indifference until you were well and truly out of sight. Only then did he let his facade drop – his breathing become ragged; his body tremble as he fell back against the bed. Mark still burning but not enough to overtake every other demon he now had fighting inside of him. He fought back tears; feeling them swell within his eyes but refused to let them fall. The pain was palpable. He was alone again – and yet this time, it was unbearable as his final confession danced off the tip of his tongue.

“I’ll get you back my love.. just you wait and see…”

#shyamanuensis #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo angst

63 notes · View notes

sp7-mr · 7 months ago

Text

14K notes · View notes

tsukimirecs · 5 months ago

Text

SLYTHERIN // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

REGULUS BLACK

le lendemain matin

the salt and the sea

forever

the better of two bad options

a pen

the door

the black heir

distraction

THEODORE NOTT

love is sour grapes

by netws & nott

something stronger

like snow on the beach

the only heaven i'll be sent to (is when i'm alone with you)

TOM RIDDLE

desiderium

love again

from the glue

salted caramel, metal, strawberries, vanilla, and ink

midmorning

effects of amortentia

DRACO MALFOY

our little secret

honeydukes

firsts

how could i ever forget?

makeup

draco malfoy with shy!male!reader headcanons

cherry juice

MATTHEO RIDDLE

the cat

puppy eyes

the game

rainy nights m.r

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

like nobody else

7K notes · View notes

iniquitousyearning · 4 months ago

Text

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 4th. mattheo - virginity loss / corruption kink.

PART TWO | kinktober masterlist. | 2024.

summary: pls read part one first for a lil buildup. also. im laughing at myself bc there was a perfectly good bed…right there…

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, virginity loss, PIV, so much dirty talk, so much patience from mattheo, (more of a realistic virginity loss bc it’s not always easy), praise!!!!, slight degradation, fingering, multiorgasm, handjob, best friends lil sister trope.

Mattheo Riddle was so accustomed to this. The pulse of adrenaline in the dead of night, the quiet hum of anticipation stretching every second longer than it needed to be. You weren't naive to that, not to him, nor the danger he carried so effortlessly in his stride. He wore it like a second skin.

But you—you were not accustomed to it. Not to any of this.

So when you pushed open the door to the room of requirement a little over ten-minutes later, you hadn't been sure what you were expecting to find. Something darker, maybe. More foreboding. But when the room revealed itself before you—silent, draped in soft moonlight that pooled over the bed with a window wide and open, spilling that pale silver fog across the floor—you almost laughed.

Too perfect. Too on the nose, like the castle itself had been watching you both for months and had decided this was the moment it would indulge you.

"You're late." Mattheo's voice cut through the quiet.

His back was to you, suit jacket discarded on an old oak desk against the wall, dark curls falling just above his collar as he stood by the window, eyes fixed on the lake. The moonlight made the ripples dance, just like the tension in the room.

You took a step toward him, silent.

He turned, finally. His eyes met yours and you saw it—the hesitation, the way his gaze moved over you, slow, cautious. He took in the way the light draped itself over your shoulders, moving lower—and it was as if for the first time, he allowed himself to see you fully, all the details he had so tried to ignore, now right in front of him. He drank them in.

You gave him a small, nervous smile, hoping it would ease the weight of his stare. "I didn't realize you were the type to keep track of time."

He moved closer, but not close enough. Not yet. His breath was tight, chest rising and falling too fast. The space between you felt like a chasm, though it was barely there at all.

"You've a lot to learn, little girl," he teased, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though it did nothing to mask the conflict in his eyes. It was meant to disarm you, but it only made the air heavier. His jaw tightened. "You're sure about this?"

"Quite sure," you breathed, stepping closer, close enough to admire the sharp line of his jaw, the soft stubble. "You're the one who's hesitating."

"I'm not hesitating," he muttered, though the roughness in his voice betrayed him. He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this with you. His best friend's little sister. He wanted to give you every chance to stop this, to walk away. "Just trying not to rush this—rush you."

You let out a small huff, your hand moving up to find his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Mattheo Riddle was nervous.

"You've been making me wait for months," you whispered. "I don't think a little rushing would hurt."

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on your hand as it trailed over his chest, lower, teasing. Every touch was a flame against his skin, every breath between you a match struck in the dark. He wanted you, more than anything, but the weight of it—the wrongness, the danger—clawed at his conscience.

His hand caught your wrist, intending to stop you, but his fingers lingered against your skin. Frozen.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, the words thick in his throat. "Your first time should be—"

"My choice," you interrupted, pressing closer, your body flush against his, your lips brushing his jaw as your hand slid lower, teasing the edge of his belt. "My virginity is mine to give, Mattheo. And I want to give it to you."

He shuddered, your words settling, sinking into the dark space that held you both captive. His hand found your hip, the other threading through your hair, gently tugging your head back to expose the soft skin of your neck.

"You’re not thinking straight," he rasped. "You'll regret this..."

But even as he said it, his hands tightened, pulling you impossibly closer.

"I'll regret nothing." Your fingers slipped lower, grazing his crotch, moving with nothing but instinct and need. Biting your lip, you felt the outline of him, hard and aching under your palm, and squeezed—he grunted, snapping his hips, and you throbbed. "Shit, Mattheo..."

"You are—fuck..." Mattheo's voice was a ragged breath, the words drawn out like he'd been holding them back for months. "...such a little tease."

You let go as quickly as you'd squeezed, and he growled against your skin, fingers tightening in your hair. Your hands found his face, pulling him in, crushing your lips to his. You moved with intent, pushing him back until his thighs hit the edge of the desk, and he groaned again—this low, guttural sound that sent a thrill through you.

You smirked into the kiss, tasting his frustration, savouring the way his defences cracked open. When you pulled back, his chest was heaving, lips swollen, eyes dark with want.

"I learned from the best," you whispered, teasing as your fingers slid down, finding the buckle of his belt. He watched you, every breath uneven, as you worked at the latch, pulling the leather free. "You've had months of fun tormenting me," you continued, moving to the button, the zipper. "Kissing me, only to say it was a mistake. Grabbing my ass every chance you could. Talking sweet when my brother wasn't looking..." your smirk deepened, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "...it's my turn now."

His pants sagged around his hips as you undid them and he cursed under his breath—his brain was struggling to catch up, like he couldn't believe the sudden shift, couldn't quite fathom the boldness with which you undid him.

Until—his hands were on you, spinning you around, your back hitting the desk with a thud.

"You think you're in control here?" His fingers slid up your hips, dragging your dress along with them, baring your skin to the cool air. "You think you have any goddamn idea what you're doing?"

You shuddered—you'd never seen him like this before—there was something feral in the way he moved, now, something sharp in the way his hands worked. His thumbs hooked around your panties and in one swift motion, they were gone—torn down your thighs before he urged you back onto the desk, parting your legs with his torso.

You were breathless, chest heaving, pulse thrumming wildly. His presence consumed the room, and for a moment, it was all you could focus on—the intensity of him, the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes.

You stared up at him, mind empty, until—

Smack.

His palm came down on your inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of sensation straight to your cunt. Your skin stung from the contact, but that wasn't the part that made you gasp. It was the heat, the way it surged through your veins, flooding your abdomen in a slow, aching pulse. You liked that.

"I asked you a question." His lips brushed against your ear, breath warm as he leaned in. "Two, actually."

You couldn't think, mind swimming—the press of his body, the rough timber of his voice, the weight of his hands as his fingers teased, climbing higher, brushing closer to the ache between your thighs. You sucked in a breath, trying to recall what he'd asked, trying to focus anything but the fire he was lighting in you—

But then, his fingers slipped further, closer, just barely brushing your slit, and your hips jerked involuntarily, chasing that touch.

"No—I don’t—“ the shame in the answer barely mattered. His fingers were so close, so close. "Gods—I just know I want you—"

"That's all you think about, isn't it?" He smirked, lips falling to your neck, tongue tracing the places he knew would wreck you, each soft, wet press making you whimper despite yourself. "You don't care about anything else..." his fingers slipped lower, dipping between your folds—and you cried out, shameless, the sensation unlike any other you'd ever felt. "…not the consequences, not the risk...you just want me…”

Your nails dug into his back and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, wetting his fingers in your arousal before gliding back up to your clit and tracing over it.

"Oh—Gods—" you whinged, moaning into his shoulder.

Mattheo’s hands were experienced—that much was certain. Those fingers knew exactly how to move, precisely how to trace light, delicate circles over your clit that made you twitch, squirm— nerves stripped as you took in the new sensation. It wracked every inch of you, and you could feel him savouring your helplessness, drawing out every ounce of tension that had been building between you for months.

“You’re soaked.” You could hear the disbelief in his voice. “...filthy little thing for me, aren't you?"

"Gods, Mattheo, yes—" your eyes rolled, thighs twitching against his hand. "I am—ohh—"

"Yeah?" His tongue traced a slow, wet path up the side of your neck, teeth dragging over your pulse. "You like this?"

His words were enough to make you want to scream, but no sound formed—just a low, broken moan that spilled from your throat, raw and shameless.

"Answer me," he murmured. "You ever orgasm from this before? Hm?"

"No—" your voice choked, trembling as you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to look at him, something like shame pooling in your stomach. "Oh, fuck—"

"No, what?" His fingers pressed harder, circles growing faster, more insistent, and his voice—Christ, his voice— "I asked you two questions, little slut. Keep up. You wanted this."

"Yes—mmf—I like it—" you whined, the words a desperate spill from your lips, too flustered to form anything coherent. "And no—Gods—you're the first to...to touch me like this..."

He figured as much but the admission tore through him nonetheless, his teeth sinking into your shoulder with a groan—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark, a bruise, a reminder. His hand dipped lower, a finger pushing inside you without warning, pressing deep into your slick heat, and you cried out, your body tightening, pulsing around him, vision swimming.

"And this?" His voice was a smirk against your skin. "You let anyone else inside you like this?"

You knew he already knew the answer. You both did. He was reveling in it—the way he had you, trembling, helpless. You'd never heard him like this, never heard him so crass, so unfiltered, and the way he spoke made your whole body flush with heat.

"No." The word was a strangled moan, barely a breath. "Gods—Mattheo—you already knew that—"

He crooked his finger inside you, and your back arched, the stretch unfamiliar yet mindnumbing, his thumb working your clit. You felt teeth nipping at your earlobe, a hum into your eardrum—his body thrumming with the satisfaction of finally, finally letting himself have you where he wanted.

"Perhaps I did." He added another finger, curling them inside you, his teeth scraping along your neck in a smile. The groan that slipped from your lips was desperate, pained in its pleasure, your body reacting to every new inch of him. "Fucking hell—you can barely take two..."

Your head shook, words failing you. "Gods—Mattheo—I...fuck..."

A low grunt rumbled from his chest, his fingers moving quicker, slick with the evidence of your desire. "Feels good?"

"Yes—" you moaned, breath hitching, vision blurring as he pumped his fingers in and out, building something inside you that you couldn't name, something new, something overwhelming. "I feel—oh, gods—something...happening—"

"You feel something?" His voice was mocking, drenched in that innocent, teasing tone that had you falling apart. "Yeah? What's happening, princess?"

You couldn't find breath, couldn't form the words to answer him. The pressure inside you was mounting, intensity unbearable, your body tense and straining toward an edge. You clung to him, breathless, desperate for more, desperate for something, anything—

"I don't—" your voice broke as his fingers curled deeper, wetness flooding between your thighs, his thumb relentless. "Pressure—fuck—so much—"

He nodded. "Yeah? Pressure in that pretty stomach? Feels fucking good, doesn't it?"

"Fuck—yes, yes," your lids fluttered. "S’good—"

"You're so close." He watched you, drunk on your downfall, and smirked as you neared the edge. "You're going to cum for me."

Sanity shattered in your throat—words trapped, swallowed by the tension, leaving only the soft, unbridled whimpers you once might've once found embarrassing. But there was no shame now, not when you were this close, the pressure coiling tighter in your core, ready to burst.

"Ohh—" you managed, lungs sputtering, head tipping back. The sound of your voice, the way you moaned, was foreign, unfamiliar to your own ears. "Gods—oh fuck-"

"I know," he cooed, sweet like sugar. "I know."

You were a mess. Too close, too overwhelmed—everything was him. His scent, the heat of his skin, the feel of his fingers working that magic that had your body convulsing before you could even cry out, before you could process the way your vision blurred with the force of it. The climax hit like a wave crashing over you, and your moans were swallowed by his kiss, his lips on yours the second your body tightened, shaking against his hand.

He was relentless, rough and insistent, kissing you like he wanted to devour you whole—drowning out the world as your body pulsed around his fingers. You’d never felt such an intense sensation, lava coursing, replacing the blood in your veins. His breath stuttered against your mouth, a low groan vibrating through him, the sound making your spine tingle.

"F-fuck," he muttered, pulling his fingers from you, glistening and wet. "Messy little thing."

The words sent a shiver through you, not just from their meaning but from the way he said them, like something perverse, intimate. Your chest tightened with the warmth of them.

"You—" you panted, trying to find your voice. Blinking through the haze of lingering bliss. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" He chuckled your name against your neck, lips brushing a path to your ear. "Because you might fall in love with me?" His teeth grazed the sensitive spot under your lobe, along your jawline. "Oh wait...you already have."

"Shut up," you whispered, stomach flipping at the way he said your name, the way it dripped from his mouth like honey. "Have not."

"I've known for a while, you know," he mused, his voice so low, so quiet. "Don't think I haven't seen it—the way you look at me." He kissed your skin again, working his way up, each press of his lips something sacred, moving closer to your mouth. "The way you can't get enough of me."

You could kill him for it, for the way his words sunk into your bones, making all the feelings you've buried rise to the surface, pulling you under. He just had to go there—had to milk every inch of your composure out of you, because it's not enough for him to have you disarmed physically—sexually—he needed to have you disarmed emotionally, too.

Perhaps the worst part of it all is how right he was. Arrogant bastard.

"Stop talking," your hand drifted down, grazing the bulge in his pants, your fingers slipping under the waistband, rubbing him through the thin fabric of his boxers. It was reckless. You've never done this before, but God, you wanted to. "Stop talking and teach me."

The room tilted—the world off its axis. His breath caught, choked in his lungs as he grabbed your face and pulled your lips to his—his kiss wild, his tongue insistent, running along your gums and wrestling with yours for control.

"Fuck," he groaned into your mouth as you tugged his boxers down, freeing him, your hand wrapping around him. Hot. Hard. "Wrap your fingers around it, princess. Gentle strokes. Just like that."

Your heart stumbled at the sound of his voice, thick, raw and open. You tightened your grip, stroking him slowly, experimentally, and he hissed through his teeth, a groan vibrating through his chest.

"You're so big," you murmured, forehead against his, the words spilling out without thought. "So thick..."

"Fucking minx," he moaned. "Stroking me and telling me how big I am—fuck—you're not as innocent as everyone thinks."

"Only you know this," you whispered, your hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, pulse soaring as he groaned. "Does it feel good, Matty?"

"Fuck—Christ—" his breath was jagged, words ripped from his throat like they barely wanted to come out, hips jerking mindlessly. "Tighter, mm—little tighter—"

Your cunt throbbed—each whispered invocation of a god not his own, of something he didn't believe in, forced a shudder through you. That's how you knew. Knew how lost he was. He’d no mind left at all if he was muttering muggle gods.

"Like that?" Your fingers squeezed around him, your gaze burning into his as you looked up through fluttering lashes.

His face was a storm—flushed, eyes half-shut—but at your voice they opened and flicked down to yours, and for once, there was no arrogance, no mockery in that stare. Just raw, primal need, burning so fiercely it made you ache. His hips rocked, desperate for more. Painfully. A hole in his chest torn wide open for you to see, and he didn't care. Couldn't care.

"Yeah—shit—just like that," he gritted out, grip on your hips bruising, but you welcomed it. Needed it. "Fast learner, aren't you?"

"You're a good teacher," you whimpered, a sound that was barely yours as his fingers slipped between your thighs, finding your slit, teasing you open again. "Oh—"

"You've always been a little teacher's pet," he groaned, thrusting into your hand as he slipped a finger inside you. The stretch made you wince, pleasure and pain blurring into something that sent sparks behind your eyes. He watched you, gaze molten. "Fuck—it’s gonna hurt, you know that, right?"

The ache spread through you, but you didn't flinch. "I know," you whispered as his thumb found your clit, making you gasp. "I trust you."

"I know you do." His voice dropped, eyes dark and soft at once as he pushed another finger inside. "You know you’ve always had me wrapped around your fucking finger. You know I care about you—“

His words were too much, pressing on something fragile inside you, and you pulled him into a kiss to shut him up—deep, desperate, drowning. Your hand tightened on his length, the heat between you flaring, and you moaned against his mouth, shaking with the need for more.

"I want you," you breathed, each syllable shivering on your lips as you clenched around his fingers. "I've wanted you for months—"

Months? No, it had been years. Years of wanting, needing, watching from afar, heart in your throat. Years of avoiding anyone else because no one was him. You knew he’d felt the same and it killed him. It wasn't logical, wasn't supposed to be like this—not with you, not now, not his best friend's little sister, not him whispering sweet, dangerous things while knuckle-deep inside your virgin cunt.

It was as if you both shook those thoughts from your minds at once. You’ll think about the implications later.

"You've got me," he rasped, hips grinding involuntarily against your hand. "Just—fuck—don't hate me after this."

Hate him? The very idea was laughable, absurd. You could never hate him. Not even in those moments you tried, not even when he deserved it.

"I could never hate you," you murmured, drawing him closer, lips trembling against his. "Just—please—"

Something shifted in his eyes, and he knew. Knew what you needed. What you both needed. You were vulnerable, trembling, but you trusted him—completely. You’d been in his life for so long. You knew he’d never hurt you. He could see it your eyes, the trust, the in the way your body bent to his touch.

"Alright," he said softly, a hand running up your body to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Alright."

His fingers slid out of you, leaving you bare and breathless, and you swallowed. This was really about to happen.

"Lay back," his voice cut through your haze. "Legs to your chest."

The command wrapped around you like a vice, tightening the anticipation, and you fell back on your elbows, staring up at him as you raised your legs. Vulnerability crept in, making your thighs tense, but Mattheo was there, spreading you open with firm hands, pressing himself against your slick. His eyes were locked onto yours, all that self-assurance gone, melted into something more human—something raw, unguarded.

You could feel it; the vulnerability of this moment stretched between you both—the distance you'd maintained for so long, the careful walls you'd built, were nothing now. He was in too deep, and so were you.

"Stop me at any time," he whispered, his voice a raw rasp, eyes meeting yours. "Just breathe.”

He leaned down until his lips ghosted over yours, and you kissed him like the world might collapse if you didn't. He guided himself against you, the press of him at your entrance an unbearable ache. He was hot, hard, huge—and despite the wetness slicking down your thighs, your body resisted, too tight, too unsure of this.

You whimpered, instinctively trying to pull away, but he stayed, pressing kisses to your hair, your temple, whispering something that sounded like comfort but burned like fire. It hurt more than you expected, more than any of the fantasies you had dared to entertain.

Doubt curled through your chest, what if you couldn't take him? What if—

"M-Mattheo..." his name broke in your throat as you clutched his arm, nails digging into his skin. He tried to push in again, but your body resisted. "It—you—you can't fit..."

"Shh," his lips ghosted over yours, his hand slipping through your hair, trying again, moving slow, controlled. "You're just—so goddamn tight—"

The way he said it sent a spark through your veins. It was filthy, shameless, and it lit you up from the inside, despite the pain. No one had ever spoken to you like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears pricking as he tried to work you open.

And then—he was in.

"I-it hurts," you hissed—pain lighting up your spine as he worked his cockhead inside you, pushing against the resistance of your walls. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, each inch a battle. The pressure was unbearable, the sting so sharp it was paralyzing. "Oh, fuck, Mattheo—"

He groaned, a sound from deep within his chest, his head bowing, sweat creeping over his brow.

"Shhh, I know—I know..." he murmured through shredded cords, fighting to maintain control as his hips paused, barely halfway in, just enough to make you feel like you might break. "S'okay...you're doing so good..."

It was overwhelming—the fullness, the ache that felt like it might split you in two. And yet, beneath the pain, something else stirred. His words, soft and rough all at once, made the sensation bearable, turned the hurt into something else. You focused on his voice, on the way he stroked your hair, the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Why—mmff—gods..." you could barely speak, the words tangled in your throat. "Why do you have to be so big—"

A strangled laugh escaped him, though his eyes stayed shut tight, his jaw clenched—cock twitching inside you.

"I don't—fuck—know." His fingers brushed your lips, covering your mouth gently. "Don't go talking like that—not right now—"

You might have laughed, too, if your body wasn't so taut, strung tight with tension and pain and something far more profound. He was barely inside you, his words making your insides clench, drawing another groan from his lips at the squeeze.

His hand held your jaw, palm pressing lightly over your mouth, enough to breathe, to speak—

"Why—" you knew what he meant, knew the warning in his eyes, but you couldn't stop yourself. "—not?"

His breath hitched. "Because—" he swallowed hard, words coming through gritted teeth, his fingers tightening around your jaw, a warning in his grip. "Because—fuck—your mouth will get you in trouble."

Oh. That was what he meant.

"But—oh fuck—you're so...big..." the words slipped out before you could catch them, a disgruntled moan falling from your lips as he sank all the way in, filling you so completely it was dizzying. The pressure, the heat, the sensation of being pried open—it was all too much, and you cried out, unable to stop the sound from spilling out. "Ohhh—so big—"

"I said, fuck," he cursed, hand clamping firm over your mouth now as his body shuddered, as he ground his hips gently into yours. "—don't say that."

It was too late. You didn't need to say anything further. He could feel it—he could feel everything in the way you clenched around him, barely letting him move—so goddamn tight it was almost painful—he could feel it in the look in your eyes, in the trembling of your body beneath his.

"I can feel you thinking it," he grunted as you squirmed beneath him, every movement making him twitch inside you, drawing another choked groan from his throat. "Merlin sakes—"

You knew he wasn't used to this. To slowing down, to drawing out the tension like this, to the maddening slowness of every motion. He wanted to lose himself, to break you open hard and fast, to take and give and take again until both of you shattered into something unrecognizable. But he couldn't—not with the way your eyes glistened, not with the way you gasped and whimpered as he filled you.

"No talking," he sucked in a breath against your neck, his hips rolling into yours in slow, unbearable waves. "Only if you need me to stop."

He was breaking. So were you. Every thrust was an exquisite kind of torture—an ache that twisted and stretched, dulled only by the flick of his fingers against your clit. His lips pressed along your neck, kissed along the line of your jaw, groaning with each deep, patient push, carving his way into you as you clung to him, your mind floating through the fog of pain into something different—something overwhelming.

Your head fell back. “Oh—Oh gods—“

Each gasp felt like it might be your last as that something built deep inside you, tight and unfamiliar, an ache that didn't hurt but begged to be released. And he felt it too—Mattheo felt it, the way your body pulsed beneath his, the way you tightened around him like you couldn't bear to let him go.

"Bloody fuck—are you—are you going to—" his words were ragged, broken. He couldn't finish the thought, couldn't hold himself together. "Are you—"

“Mattheo—” your voice trembled, a breathless moan as your back arched, pressing into him, your body seeking more. The pain was null now, replaced by an overwhelming pressure, something tight and aching and good—you felt every inch of him inside you, every pulse of his cock as he moved, slow but relentless. “Mattheo—oh gods—”

"Fuck—" he bit down, teeth sinking into your neck as his fingers swirled your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. "You're gonna make me—"

You choked because there was no space for words, no breath for anything but the raw sound of your bodies—moans, gasps, ragged inhales tangled together as you both hurtled towards something inevitable. The light of the moon radiated the man above you and that was all you could register other than the rising crescendo of your climax—something so intense it scared you, almost broke you apart—your body seizing, trembling, as his fingers pressed harder against your clit, as he thrust deeper.

And then, there was only one more blink until you shattered beneath him, the orgasm tearing through you in oceanic motion, muscles clenching around him so tightly he could barely move—and then he was there, too, his body jerking as he groaned into your skin, his release ripped from him in jagged gasps as you milked him without mercy. He slumped on top of you, fingers digging into your skin, the two of you pulsing together in the aftermath, the room spinning, your bodies still trembling from the force of it.

The world was slow to return, the roar of sensations fading into something quieter, softer. The weight of him on top of you was grounding—his forehead pressed against the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Neither of you moved for a long while, just basked in the silence, kind that settled in after something irrevocable had passed between two people.

And then, Mattheo pushed up, enough to meet your eyes. Your chest ached at the softness inside his own.

“Are you—” he swallowed as he drank you in, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the flushed cheeks. His words hung in the air as if he didn’t know how to finish the question.

“I’m okay,” you nodded, voice hoarse. “I’m good.”

Mattheo nodded too but didn’t move, still buried inside you, just taking you in. Then, gently, he shifted, pulling back with a slow, careful movement that made you wince slightly. The second he’d pulled out, you felt different—more aware of the vulnerability you’d just laid bare, more aware of the line you two had just obliterated into absolute shambles.

“You sure?” he asked, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—

You nodded again, the smallest smile pulling at your lips, though your heart was still racing, the enormity of it all sinking in.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m sure.”

His jaw tightened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“This changes everything, doesn’t it?” His voice was barely audible, like he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

Of course he was thinking it too—how could he not? This was no longer something you could pretend didn’t exist, no longer something you could hide behind banter and stolen glances and secret kisses.

“Yeah,” you breathed, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the heat still radiating from his skin. “It does.”

3K notes · View notes

theosbaby · 6 months ago

Text

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ casually thinking about...

flashing mattheo during an argument

NSFW content ahead, +18

one second, he's shouting some unintelligible shit at you, and the next one, he's almost drooling at the sight of your pretty tits, naked just for him to see. he's falling silent in fucking milliseconds. but god, they're so bloody perfect... how could he not stare at them?

It's not fair, you know he loves them, and you use that knowledge against him. every. fucking. time.

he can't even remember what you were fighting about in the first place, not that he cares anymore, anyways. your full, round tits have him fucking mesmerised, the only thing in his mind at the moment being his feral need to bury his face in them and never come out again, not even for air.

"baby," he would growl, eyes not able to look away from your boobs.

you swear you can see a faint blush appear on his cheeks as you tell him, "i don't wanna fight anymore." you pout cutely at him while you're still tugging your top over your breasts, the piece of clothing it's so small that mattheo wonders how they were fitting inside it in the first place.

"me neither," he replies quietly, starting to walk towards you, not being able to stay away for a second more. "i'm sorry, a'ight?"

"it's okay... 'm sorry too," you also apologise, a little smile tugging at the corner of your plump lips as you watch him leaning forward to wrap his strong arms around you, lifting you up so your tits are right on his face.

and when he finally gets to bury his face in your glorious tits, he's not letting go. he's dragging you to his bed and dropping you in it without pulling an inch away. he lays on top of you, between your spread thighs, lips kissing your soft, pillowy flesh.

"fuck, i love these," he'd mumble against your chest, his hands squeezing your sides tightly. "so fucking perfect."

you chuckle softly at that, which makes your tits bounce slightly, and god, the sight makes him hard in seconds. he hums contently against the supple flesh of your boobs as he teasingly starts sucking and licking your tits everywhere but your nipples, alternating between the two as if he can't decide which one he wants to focus on.

his hands are roaming over your body, groping and caressing your curves as if he's re-learning them. he's squeezing your thighs, your ass, and occasionally, going up to your soft tummy, rough finger pads making goosebumps erupt in your skin.

you don't disturb him, letting him play with your boobs as he pleases while you run your slender fingers through his unruly curly hair. sometimes, you caress his face tenderly, watching with heavy lidded eyes while he worships your body. you find it cute, how much he loves your breasts. he's always wanting to touch them, lick them, kiss them... and it fucking turns you on so much, because you're so sensitive there.

you moan when finally settles on one nipple, sucking on it hard while his hand kneads the other breast. he'd push both boobs together, his mouth dropping the already hard peak he was sucking on to lick at the other. his hips are bucking against you the whole time, grinding his hard on against your drenched core.

he's definitely leaving marks, which you complain about, but he just looks up at you, pupils blown, and says, "they're mine, aren't they? i'll mark 'em if i want to."

after that, he slips his hand inside your shorts and panties, finding you completely soaked for him and that fact makes him groan as he returns to suck on your perky, reddened nipples. his fingers rub your swollen, little clit, making you whimper and squirm beneath him, but he uses his free hand to grab you and keep you still while he stuffs you full of his fingers, burying them knuckles deep. he's making you cum in minutes, orgasm so good that feels like fireworks exploding inside your tummy.

and then, once he's satisfied you, he rips both of your clothes off and makes you ride him. he'd be such a mess beneath you as he watches you jump on top of him, little whimpers escaping his lips against his will. the sight of your perfect tits bouncing right on his face while your tight little pussy squeezes his cock makes him cum so fucking fast that he's almost embarrassed... almost.

more.

#♡ ;; theosbaby #ꪆৎ casually thinking about...#harry potter #slytherin #slytherin boys #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo smut #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle scenarios #mattheo x y/n #mattheo x reader #slytherin smut #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys smut

3K notes · View notes

riddleriddles · 1 month ago

Text

ಇ do i wanna know, hozier cover.

pairing. mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!quiet!reader

summary. sometimes, pansy knows exactly how to bring couples together. when mattheo, known for his grumpy mood, finds himself growing closer to a quiet, introspective girl, he must come to terms with feelings he never expected to have.

warnings. a bit of suggestive scene, but nothing explicit

add notes. I feel like my dialogues would never be said in real life.

visit my masterlist :)

ಇ

It was Pansy Parkinson’s birthday. The Parkinson Manor was a spectacle—a grand, ancient, and imposing structure, surrounded by meticulously tended trees. Its tall stone towers stood in stark contrast to the ethereal silver of the moon on that autumnal night, while the crisp air carried the fresh, melancholy scent of fallen leaves. The entrance hall sparkled with the glow of greenish lights that reflected off the polished marble floor. Music flowed through the vast corridors of the manor, mingling with the voices and laughter of the guests. Pansy never did anything halfway, and her seventeenth birthday party was no exception.

The main hall was teeming with Hogwarts students, predominantly Slytherins, although a few figures from other houses stood out, strategically placed. Groups gathered around enchanted tables laden with exquisite appetisers, while others chatted or danced in the centre of the hall beneath the enchanting glow of chandeliers and floating magical candles.

Mattheo Riddle leaned against a wall near the fireplace. His spot had been carefully chosen, allowing him to observe the entire room without drawing attention to himself. A glass of some drink—nearly forgotten in his hand—served more as a distraction than a necessity. His eyes scanned the scene with the detached air of someone watching a mediocre play, clearly indifferent to the excitement around him. He despised parties, but Pansy had been emphatic: “If you don’t show up, I’ll never invite you to anything again, and you’ll have to live with that.”

And so, here he was, enduring the loud music, empty chatter, and the unbearable feeling of being out of place.

The room buzzed with familiar faces: Blaise was chatting with Daphne near the makeshift bar, Draco was laughing at something Theodore had said in a secluded corner, and at the centre of it all, Pansy shone like a star, greeting her guests with a smile that was as rehearsed as it was charming.

Mattheo let out a deep sigh, raising the glass to his lips and sipping half-heartedly, merely to occupy himself. His thoughts drifted to the garden, which promised a quiet, solitary escape—perfect for smoking a cigarette far from the noise and frivolity of the hall.

You entered the party hesitantly, your measured steps and reserved posture betraying your unease. Your eyes scanned the room cautiously, taking in every detail before allowing yourself to fully step in. You clutched a small, delicately wrapped gift in your hands, your arms tucked close to your body as if forming a barrier against the chaos around you.

This wasn’t your kind of place—not in a bad way, just different from what you were used to. Your hair, styled in a carefully crafted half-updo, fell in soft waves over your shoulders, catching the golden light of the chandeliers and the greenish glow of the magical candles scattered around the room. Your pastel yellow dress, a nod to your Hufflepuff identity, was graceful and perfectly suited to the occasion, modest yet elegant without being over the top.

Stepping inside, you carefully shut the door behind you with a soft thud, masked by the music filling the air. You looked around attentively, moving with the grace of someone trying to avoid drawing attention. Your eyes landed on Pansy, who, upon noticing your arrival, quickly made her way over, a radiant smile lighting up her face.

“I’m so glad you came! I’ve been waiting for you,” Pansy exclaimed excitedly, and you smiled shyly, offering her the neatly wrapped gift. She took it with equal enthusiasm and, without missing a beat, guided you with a gentle touch on your arm, introducing you to her closest friends, most of whom you didn’t know—predominantly Slytherins. To anyone watching from afar, you might have seemed out of place, but you nodded politely, feeling quietly pleased to be surrounded by the friends of your close companion.

You tried to adjust to the atmosphere. The party was loud and full of people, but you knew this was exactly the kind of event Pansy loved, and it had been hard to turn down her insistence—especially on such an important occasion as her seventeenth birthday. What you hadn’t anticipated, however, was the intensity of it all: the loud laughter, the conversations about topics you barely understood or didn’t care about, and the overwhelmingly high volume of the music.

“Relax,” Pansy whispered in your ear, giving your shoulder a light squeeze as she noticed your discomfort. “You’re going to have fun, I promise.”

Her words carried a hint of something unspoken, though you didn’t catch it immediately. She continued introducing you to her friends, eventually steering you toward a more secluded corner near the fireplace, where Mattheo Riddle stood leaning against the wall, his expression bored, as though he were merely fulfilling an obligation. Holding a half-filled glass in one hand, his grey eyes scanned the room with disinterest.

“Mattheo!” Pansy’s voice interrupted his reverie, casual but still confident. “I want you to meet someone. This is my friend [Name]. [Name], this is Mattheo.”

Pansy smiled, looking far too pleased with the situation. “I’m sure you two will get along wonderfully!”

“Uh… hi,” you said softly, offering a timid smile as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, revealing a delicate gold moon-shaped earring that Mattheo noticed with mild indifference.

“Hi,” he replied curtly, his tone brief and aloof.

Pansy watched the exchange, clearly unimpressed by the lack of enthusiasm. “Did you know that [Name] loves taking care of magical creatures? And Mattheo, you have an impressive tolerance for people who talk too much—aren’t you two a perfect match?”

“Funny, Pansy,” Mattheo remarked, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head with a trace of amusement in his otherwise dry tone.

“Thanks, it was sincere,” Pansy quipped with a playful grin before stepping away with a conspiratorial air. “Enjoy yourselves!”

With one last smile, she left you both alone, disappearing into the crowd.

For a moment, the sound of the music and the chatter around you filled the silence as you, uneasy with the quiet, fidgeted with the star-shaped pendant on your necklace.

“So…” you began cautiously, looking at Mattheo. “Do you not like parties in general, or just the people who talk too much?”

The question caught him off guard, and he raised an eyebrow, taking a moment to think before answering. “Depends on the party. And the people.”

You let out a soft, almost inaudible laugh, but it was genuine. “I get that. This isn’t really my kind of place either.”

“Then why’d you come?” Mattheo asked, his tone casual but curious, as if waiting for your answer without much urgency.

“Pansy insisted,” you admitted with a small shrug. “And you?”

“Same.”

At that, you felt a little more at ease, tilting your head slightly towards him. “Well, at least we’ve got that in common.”

“Besides Pansy,” he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he warmed to the idea that the conversation wasn’t as tedious as he’d expected.

The silence returned, but this time it felt less strained. You leaned against the wall beside him, gazing up at the ceiling, where floating candles with green flames illuminated the room alongside the warm, golden glow of the grand chandelier, while Mattheo’s eyes followed the movement of the partygoers.

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the commotion, you noticed the atmosphere beginning to feel heavier. The grand and magical hall, while impressive, didn’t make you feel at ease. Mattheo, seemingly indifferent to the pressure of the space, appeared entirely unbothered. So, you decided to suggest something.

“How about we head out to the garden?” you asked timidly, looking up at him. “It’s… quieter, maybe?”

Mattheo, still leaning against the wall with his usual impassive expression, raised an eyebrow. “You really think the garden will be quiet, considering how many people are here?”

You smiled, slightly embarrassed. “It’s worth a try, I guess.”

With a sigh, he slipped a hand into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall, nodding. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The Parkinson mansion’s garden was undeniably stunning, but you barely noticed the perfectly trimmed hedges shaped into geometric designs or the softly glowing magical flowers. Your attention was more on the refreshing coolness of the night air and the silence—a welcome contrast to the chaos inside the hall.

The two of you walked in silence for a while. Mattheo observed you discreetly, noticing how your fingers gently brushed against the petals of the flowers along the path, as if you were connecting with their textures and details. There was no urgency in your steps, and eventually, you reached a secluded corner near an ornate fountain illuminated by floating candles casting dancing reflections on the water. He stopped by a tree, crossing his arms and tilting his head back to look at the starry sky.

“Do you always go to Pansy’s parties?” you asked, finally breaking the silence as you strolled slowly, examining the plants with more interest.

“Not a chance,” he replied with a short laugh, as if the idea were absurd. “I try to avoid them, but she’s always got these… oddly persuasive arguments.”

“Like what?” you pressed, curious.

“Like, ‘if you don’t come, I’ll tell everyone you sketch people in your notebook like a frustrated artist,’” he said, smirking slightly.

You blinked, surprised at the confession, then let out a soft laugh. “You draw?”

Mattheo shrugged, almost defensive. “Sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t sound like something to be embarrassed about,” you said simply, your tone free of judgment. Kneeling beside a bush of blueberries that seemed particularly enchanting, their tiny fruits shimmering under the magical light, you added, “Actually, it sounds pretty interesting.”

He frowned slightly, as if unsure how to respond, before muttering, “You haven’t seen it.”

“Maybe,” you replied with a small smile, still studying the delicate berries. “But it’s good to have a hobby. Everyone should have one.”

He remained quiet, thoughtful, as he watched you. There was something about you that felt disconnected from the party—yet perfectly at home here in the garden. The calmness in your movements, even when you seemed shy or slightly flustered, struck him as unusual.

“So, what’s your hobby?” he asked, breaking the silence this time.

You took a moment before answering, as if reflecting. “I suppose it’s taking care of magical creatures… They don’t need explanations. You just feel and understand them.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by the clarity in your answer, but didn’t comment straight away. It was rare for someone to talk about something so simple with such genuine passion.

“Fair enough,” he finally said, his voice free of sarcasm but still lacking much emotion, as though he were processing your words.

The silence returned, though it was comfortable now—almost natural. Yet, your curiosity about him grew too strong to ignore.

“Do you go to these parties often?”

“Not at all,” he replied, his tone carrying a faint hint of amusement. “Just every now and then. Pansy’s good at twisting my arm. If I don’t show up, she starts predicting my social death.”

You chuckled lightly, your gaze shifting to him rather than the garden around you. “And you always give in?”

“I’m not great at resisting emotional blackmail,” he admitted with a short, slightly insincere smile. There was a coldness in his comment, as though he didn’t place much value on his presence here. “Pansy has a way of turning invitations into ultimatums.”

The floating candles swayed gently around the fountain, their light casting dancing shadows on the stone. You took a step aside, feeling the cool night breeze against your skin. After a few moments of light-hearted conversation, you realised the dialogue had run its course.

“Maybe we should head back,” you suggested, breaking the silence. “Before Pansy comes looking for us.”

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you. His expression still carried a hint of seriousness, but his eyes had softened somewhat.

“Maybe you’re right,” he finally said, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. “But you decide when to go back, not me.”

You chuckled softly, shyly, as though the conversation had taken an unexpected turn, though it didn’t bother you. “Alright then. Let’s go.”

ಇ

The Slytherin common room was bathed in a cosy silence, broken only by the gentle crackle of the fire. The flames cast flickering shadows across the stone walls, creating an atmosphere that felt entirely separate from the rest of the castle. Mattheo was sprawled across one of the black leather sofas, his posture completely at ease, as though he belonged to the room itself. He twirled his wand idly between his fingers, his sharp gaze lazily drifting over the surroundings, disinterested.

The peace was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of firm, purposeful footsteps echoing off the cold floor. Mattheo didn’t look up—he didn’t need to. Pansy Parkinson always made her presence known. She strode into the room with the kind of authority that promised trouble, her eyes glinting with determination.

“Riddle,” she started, stopping in front of him with her hands firmly planted on her hips. “Saturday. Hogsmeade. You’re coming with me. Theo, Blaise, Luna, and [Name] will be there too.”

Mattheo didn’t even glance up, continuing to spin his wand between his fingers. His lips curved into a faint smirk. “No.”

“No?” Pansy echoed, raising an eyebrow, her expression morphing into one of incredulity. The set of her jaw only made her look more stubborn. “Come on, you haven’t even heard what I—”

“I’ve heard enough,” he cut her off, finally lifting his gaze to meet hers. His voice was dry, laced with boredom. “And the answer is still no. I’m not going, I don’t want to, and I’m not changing my mind.”

Pansy let out a heavy sigh, though the self-satisfied smile creeping onto her lips only deepened Mattheo’s irritation. “You say that now, but come Saturday, you’ll be there.”

Mattheo let out a short, humourless laugh. “Pansy, I’d love to see you try. I’m not Theo, who does everything you say just because he thinks you’re ‘cute.’”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Pansy shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she crossed her arms. “Is this about [Name]? I saw you talking to her in the garden. You actually looked… sociable.”

“And? We exchanged a few words. That doesn’t mean anything.” His tone hardened as he narrowed his eyes, clearly irritated. Leaning back into the sofa, he added flatly, “If this is some attempt to set me up with someone, just give up now. You know I hate that.”

“Merlin, you’re dramatic,” Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “No one’s setting you up. [Name] doesn’t even care if you’re there, to be honest.”

“Brilliant,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “All the more reason for me not to go.”

Pansy let out a long-suffering sigh, though a mischievous smile tugged at her lips. “I know you, Mattheo. You say you won’t go, but come Saturday, you’ll end up tagging along with Blaise and Theo anyway. You need to connect with the world once in a while, you know.”

“I’m perfectly connected right here, thanks,” he shot back, gesturing around the room before rolling his eyes again. “I’d rather stay here than deal with people who think I owe them the courtesy of being interesting.”

Pansy tilted her head slightly, as though considering his words. “You’re so full of yourself. She’s not even thinking about you like that. And you know what? Maybe you should try acting normal around people who don’t fear you because of your surname.”

Mattheo huffed, but before he could muster a retort, Pansy was already making her way up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. She threw a parting remark over her shoulder, her voice bright with smug amusement. “Saturday, Mattheo. Be there, or I’ll add this to my list of lifelong grudges!”

He stayed where he was, his gaze falling back to the wand in his fingers. It spun faster now, less smoothly than before. Pansy was wrong. He wasn’t going. And if [Name] didn’t care whether he came or not, that was fine by him. A relief, really. A big relief.

ಇ

The streets of Hogsmeade buzzed with chatter and laughter, the crunch of footsteps in the snow, and the sweet smell of warm drinks wafting out of nearby shops. Despite the lively atmosphere, Mattheo would still take this over the castle any day—at least here he wasn’t constantly followed by stares and whispers. He walked with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his black overcoat, his expression bored, though his sharp eyes missed nothing.

“So,” Blaise started, nudging Theo with his elbow. “Whose brilliant idea was it to drag him out here? Thought Mattheo was allergic to socialising.”

“Don’t start,” Mattheo muttered without even glancing at them. “I’m only here because someone wouldn’t shut up about how this was going to be ‘fun.’”

Theo laughed, unbothered. “It is fun. You should be thanking me.”

Mattheo opened his mouth to fire back but was cut off as the three of them rounded a corner and found themselves face-to-face with Pansy, Luna, and [Name] standing outside the Three Broomsticks.

“Oh, what are you lot doing here?” Pansy exclaimed, her voice dripping with faux surprise. Only Mattheo caught the teasing glint in her eye.

“Pansy,” he began, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t even try it.”

“Try what?” She blinked at him innocently. “This is pure coincidence.”

Mattheo was about to argue when his attention was pulled to Blaise and Luna. The moment they spotted each other, Luna lit up with a bright smile, and Blaise… Well, he looked like someone had hit him with a softening charm. It was rare to see him like that—genuinely smitten.

Luna stepped closer immediately, lightly tugging Blaise by the arm as she spoke. Whatever she said made him laugh, low and almost shy, a side of him Mattheo hardly ever saw. Blaise was usually so composed, but with Luna, he seemed… different.

That’s when it hit Mattheo. This wasn’t some trap for him. It was for them.

He glanced at Theo, who was watching the scene with a smug smile. Theo shrugged in response, as if to say, Don’t look at me, this wasn’t my idea.

Pansy, however, wasn’t even trying to hide her satisfaction, though she kept her focus firmly on Luna and Blaise.

Mattheo sighed quietly. Right. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe this whole outing really was just about those two.

But then his eyes landed on you. You stood a little behind Pansy, a small, almost shy smile playing on your lips as you watched Blaise and Luna. You didn’t seem out of place, exactly—just quiet, like someone unsure where they fit into the group dynamic.

He looked away before you noticed, but Pansy, ever observant, caught the movement.

“Well,” she said, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “Since we’re all here, why don’t we do something together?”

Mattheo was already preparing to decline, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the way you, distracted, reached out to catch the falling snowflakes in your hand, that soft, almost enchanted smile still on your face.

He frowned. What was so special about snow, anyway?

“Relax, Riddle,” Pansy said, pulling him back to reality. “I didn’t plan this.”

“You planned this,” he replied flatly.

“And if I did?” She held her hands up, her smile infuriatingly casual. “It’s not the end of the world. Try being social for once.”

Before he could respond, Theo slung an arm casually around his shoulders, as if to stop him from bolting. “Not every day we hang out with such a… diverse group.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes but didn’t bother arguing. Judging by how glued Blaise and Luna were to each other, it was pointless. Still, the way Pansy kept glancing at you before whispering something to Theo made him suspicious.

You, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious to it all. You adjusted your scarf, your attention caught by a nearby shop window where tiny enchanted ice figurines were dancing.

“Alright,” Theo said, breaking the moment of silence. “So, what’s first on the agenda?”

Mattheo let out a heavy sigh and glanced over at you. You were standing a bit apart from the group, but somehow, your eyes met his. A small, tentative smile crossed your face, the kind that seemed unsure of its place, before you quickly looked away.

He considered walking away, but something made him stay. Maybe it was the sense that Pansy would never let him hear the end of it if he left.

“The Three Broomsticks?” he suggested, his voice laced with reluctance. “If we’re doing this, might as well get it over with.”

Pansy’s smile widened, like she knew exactly what he was thinking, but to his annoyance, she said nothing.

ಇ

The Three Broomsticks was as crowded as Mattheo had expected. The buzz of conversations and laughter mingled with the clatter of mugs and the sweet smell of butterbeer, creating a lively, almost chaotic atmosphere. For most, it was a place to forget about the pressures of school, but for Mattheo, it felt suffocating. He stood near the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, ready to leave at any moment.

“See? Told you this would be fun,” Theo said, flashing a carefree grin as he dropped into a chair beside Pansy.

“If this is your idea of fun, I’d rather be back at the castle,” Mattheo replied flatly, choosing the chair furthest from the table.

Pansy, ever the orchestrator, settled in beside Theo and shot a smug look at Mattheo. “Oh, stop being dramatic. You’ll survive.”

Luna and Blaise took their seats next, the pair seemingly lost in their own little world. Blaise leaned in to whisper something, and Luna let out a soft, musical laugh. Mattheo rolled his eyes.

“They’ve already forgotten we’re here,” he muttered, tapping a keyring against the table in an almost absentminded rhythm.

Pansy smirked. “Leave them be. They’re cute.”

Mattheo huffed but didn’t bother replying. His eyes drifted across the room, eventually landing on you. You had chosen a seat near the window, detached from the group’s chatter. The soft glow of candlelight reflected in the glass as you gazed out at the falling snow, your expression calm and contemplative, as though soaking in every detail of the world outside.

For a moment, Mattheo found himself wondering what was so fascinating about the snow. It was just snow—falling endlessly, especially this time of year. But to you, it seemed to hold some deeper meaning, something he couldn’t quite grasp. You watched the flurries with a quiet intensity he found… puzzling.

“Paying attention, or has the snow got you too?” Theo teased, nudging Mattheo as he caught him staring.

Mattheo shot him a sharp look. “Shut up.”

Glancing at you again, he lowered his voice. “Why’s she so quiet?”

Pansy, ever observant, turned her gaze from you to the two whispering boys. “Because that’s how she is. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Very funny,” Mattheo shot back, narrowing his eyes at her.

Theo chuckled. “She just doesn’t like all the noise. Makes me wonder, though… why’s she here with us?”

“Because you invited her,” Mattheo said dryly, his tone clipped. Theo shrugged, unbothered.

“She’s here for Pansy. And maybe because sometimes people like to shake things up a bit,” Theo replied, as if it were obvious.

Mattheo didn’t respond, his attention drawn back to you. You were still lost in the view outside, but you must have felt the weight of their stares because, after a moment, you turned to face the group. Your smile was small and uncertain, a touch of embarrassment in your eyes. “What?” you asked quietly, your voice soft and cautious.

“Mattheo thinks you’re mysterious,” Theo said boldly, grinning as he leaned back lazily in his chair.

You frowned, your gaze shifting to Mattheo, who let out an irritated scoff. “That’s not what I said.”

“No need to explain yourself, Riddle,” Pansy chimed in with a sly grin, hiding behind the menu.

You gave a shy smile, clearly flustered, and buried yourself in the menu as if it were a shield. Mattheo caught the faint blush creeping across your cheeks, and for some inexplicable reason, it made him glance away, feeling oddly unsettled.

“What’re we ordering?” Blaise asked suddenly, breaking the tension and redirecting the group’s focus.

While the others debated their orders, Mattheo remained silent, his fingers tapping against the table. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was something about you that left him uneasy—not in a bad way, but in a way that made him feel restless, like he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with himself.

The waiter arrived, looking a little tired but polite, his quill poised to take orders. Theo and Blaise rattled off their choices with ease, but when it was your turn, you hesitated, your voice so soft that the waiter leaned in.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” the waiter asked, his tone patient.

Mattheo noticed the discomfort on your face as you tried again, your cheeks flushing with self-consciousness. It was such a simple moment, but something about it made Mattheo feel compelled to step in.

“She’ll have a butterbeer,” he said abruptly, leaning back in his chair as if it were no big deal. “And I’ll have the same.”

The waiter blinked, then nodded. “Right, and the rest of you?”

You glanced at Mattheo, your surprise evident. For a moment, he wondered if he’d made things worse. But then you murmured, “Thanks,” so quietly it was almost inaudible. Your smile was small and a little shy, but there was something about it—something genuine—that made Mattheo’s chest tighten unexpectedly.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and while it wasn’t much, it was enough to make Mattheo look away, feeling a strange heat rising in his neck. What the hell was that?

He focused on the table instead, letting his gaze fall on Pansy. She was watching him with her usual smirk, the kind that screamed, I know something you don’t. That look alone was enough to irritate him further.

He clenched his jaw, determined to brush it off. Whatever Pansy thought she saw, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like him to get caught up in whatever game she might be playing. And yet, he couldn’t shake the thought of that small, genuine smile you’d given him—or the way it had made him feel completely out of his depth.

Later, the group had finished their meal and was now strolling leisurely through the softly lit streets of Hogsmeade. Snow fell in delicate flakes, blanketing the rooftops with a fine layer, creating a scene that was ordinary but, in your eyes, uniquely enchanting.

Mattheo walked in silence, his hands casually shoved into his pockets, while you stayed a little ahead with Luna, Blaise, and Pansy. The latter seemed particularly alert, as if she were plotting something in her mind.

“Let’s stop by Honeydukes,” Pansy announced suddenly, pausing beside Blaise and Luna. “I’m absolutely craving those ginger caramels.”

“Now? is probably a nightmare,” Theo grumbled, though his protest was pointless as Pansy was already dragging him firmly towards the shop’s entrance.

Before you could say a word, she turned to you and Mattheo with a sly, self-assured grin.

“How about you two check out the bookshop? We’ll catch up in a bit!”

You hesitated for a moment, glancing uncertainly in the direction of the bookshop and then back at Pansy. But she didn’t wait for a reply. Without giving you a chance to argue, she disappeared into Honeydukes with Theo in tow.

Mattheo let out a quiet sigh, his expression laced with a knowing irritation at Pansy’s obvious intentions. But he didn’t comment. Instead, he gave a small nod towards the bookshop.

“Fancy it?” he asked, his tone straightforward.

You nodded slightly, not trusting your voice to come out steady, and followed him towards the shop.

The interior of the bookshop was warm and serene. Tall shelves were crammed with books, from old, worn-out tomes to pristine, freshly bound editions. The air was filled with the unmistakable scent of aged paper, and the soft glow of strategically placed lamps added to the cosy atmosphere.

Walking slowly down the aisles, you trailed your fingers over the spines of books, savouring the texture of each one. Mattheo had wandered to a quieter section, where he pulled an old, dark-covered book from the shelf and examined it with mild curiosity.

“I’ve read that one,” you remarked casually, stepping closer.

Mattheo looked up at you, his expression faintly surprised. “Have you?”

You nodded, your eyes lighting up shyly but genuinely. “It’s really good, though a bit sad.”

He shrugged, placing the book back and reaching for another.

“That one too,” you said, glancing at the new book in his hand.

He raised an eyebrow, holding the book for a moment before putting it back and selecting yet another.

“Oh, that one’s brilliant!” you exclaimed, a spark of enthusiasm slipping through. “A bit heavy in parts, but it’s one of my favourites.”

Mattheo paused, studying the book in his hand before looking back at you.

“Have you read all of these?” he asked, disbelief evident in his tone.

You hesitated, your gaze flickering away briefly before meeting his again, your cheeks warming under his scrutiny.

“Almost all of them,” you admitted softly. “I just… really like reading.”

A faint, genuine smile tugged at Mattheo’s lips as he shook his head slightly.

“All right,” he said, holding up another book. “How about this one? Have you read it?” He revealed the title: The Great Gatsby.

Your eyes lit up instantly as you nodded. “Yes. It’s a classic. Sad, but so good.”

Mattheo let out a short sigh, glancing at the book with more interest. “Do you cry at all of them, or just the ones I pick because I like the cover?”

Your timid but sincere smile answered before your words. “Only the good ones.”

For a moment, he just watched you, his eyes lingering as you studied the shelves around you with quiet fascination.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “Think I’ll like this one?”

You tilted your head thoughtfully. “Depends. Do you like happy endings?”

Mattheo chuckled lowly, a hint of dry humour in his voice. “Wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

Your expression softened at his response, but you didn’t say anything right away. Instead, you looked up at him, as though trying to understand him better. He shifted uncomfortably under your gaze and glanced away.

“I’ll take it,” he muttered, holding the book firmly. “If it makes me cry, it’s your fault.”

You laughed quietly, the sound lighter this time, as he tucked the book under his arm.

“Do you read much?” you asked, your voice still a little shy as your eyes lifted to meet his.

“Not really.”

The moment was abruptly interrupted by Pansy’s familiar voice cutting through the quiet. She appeared suddenly beside Mattheo, a smug smile on her face.

“You two are taking ages,” she teased, throwing a loaded glance between the two of you. “Buying a book or writing one?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify her with an answer, while you glanced away, feeling slightly flustered. Pansy’s satisfied grin made it clear she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Without ceremony, she tugged Mattheo towards the counter to pay for his book. You followed quietly as they left the shop, snow beginning to fall again outside.

ಇ

Once again, the group had gathered, this time in a more comfortable setting, as if they had already gotten used to the rhythm of their regular outings. The Slytherin common room felt cosy and calm, bathed in the soft light of the fire crackling in the hearth, casting a warm, golden glow across the space. Theo and Pansy were chatting animatedly about something trivial, while Blaise and Luna stayed, as usual, wrapped up in their own bubble, oblivious to the world around them.

You and Mattheo, however, were more on the edge of the group, tucked away in a quiet corner where silence hung comfortably in the air. He was staring into the flames, his mind distant, while you flicked through a book, your eyes quickly scanning the shelves of volumes in the common room.

It was you who broke the silence, your voice soft, laced with your usual curiosity.

“Have you finished that book, Mattheo?”

He gave you a look after a brief pause, responding casually.

“Yeah, it was quick to read, just like Cat’s Cradle.”

“You’ve read Cat’s Cradle?” you asked, surprised, your eyes lighting up instantly at the thought that he might be interested in such a quirky book.

Mattheo nodded with a relaxed gesture.

“Mm-hm.”

“I love that book,” you said enthusiastically. “I thought you said you didn’t read much.”

He laughed and shrugged, not giving it much thought.

“Well, what’s ‘much’?”

You laughed, satisfied with the answer, before diving back into your love for the book.

“Cat’s Cradle is just so chaotic, so human, you know? Like a distorted mirror of ourselves.”

Mattheo furrowed his brow, now visibly more interested.

“Human?”

“Yeah,” you continued, gesturing lightly. “The way Vonnegut portrays people, with all their confusing flaws—it’s so real. It’s a bit uncomfortable, but still, it’s genius.”

Mattheo watched you for a moment, trying to understand your perspective before replying in a teasing tone.

“I’m not sure ‘genius’ is the right word.”

You let out a soft laugh, not offended.

“No? And how would you describe it?”

He shrugged, his eyes drifting to the window beside him, watching the snow fall gently outside.

“It’s more like… a bunch of people getting into trouble because they’re too thick to see what’s right in front of them.”

You tilted your head slightly, amused by the simplicity of his argument.

“Exactly. That’s what makes it genius.”

Mattheo blinked, clearly impressed by your response. He wasn’t sure if you were joking or if you really believed it.

“You think stupidity is genius?”

“Nooo,” you said with a sideways smile. “But it makes us reflect on that human stupidity, like a portrait of our own contradictions, in a raw way. It’s uncomfortable, but in a weird way, it’s beautiful.”

Mattheo fell silent for a moment, processing your words.

“Beautiful?” He raised an eyebrow, as if trying to decide whether the comment was fascinating or just plain weird.

“Yes, beautiful,” you insisted, your tone calm but firm. “I think there’s beauty in accepting that we’re flawed, that we’re always trying, even when we know we might fail.”

He let out a low, almost incredulous laugh.

“You’ve got a peculiar way of looking at things.”

“Peculiar?” You laughed back, not losing the lightness of the moment. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Before he could respond, you leaned forward slightly, without thinking too much, and with a gentle gesture, you brushed a stray curl of hair from his face. Your touch was so natural that he barely had time to process it. Your fingers slid smoothly through his dark hair, pushing the curl away, and you did it with such ease that it felt completely normal to you. But for Mattheo, the action was enough to freeze him for a moment.

Mattheo froze. His mind instantly went on alert. The touch, though brief, had triggered a cascade of disconnected thoughts that he had no idea how to sort or deal with at that moment.

You, completely unaware of the inner battle Mattheo was facing, turned your attention back to the book you were skimming through, still intrigued by the shelves in the Slytherin common room. They were filled with delicate details, snakes and symbols, which gave the place a peculiar touch.

Mattheo, on the other hand, remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. He tried to push the moment’s impact aside, but it seemed impossible. The touch was still fresh on his skin, and the echo of your words about the book lingered in his mind.

ಇ

The night was quiet and peaceful at Hogwarts Castle. Mattheo lay in his dormitory, the soft light of the moon streaming through the window, casting a subtle glow over the room. His mind, however, was restless, filled with thoughts that were hard to sort. Almost mechanically, he reached for his wand, and with a subtle motion, began to move it, calling the music.

The first notes of “Crash Into Me” began to fill the room, softly, as Dave Matthews’ voice echoed through the space, enveloping him in a familiar melody. The song seeped into him like a comforting whisper, and something in it gripped him almost viscerally. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be consumed by the music, and, without knowing why, raised his wand again to put the track on repeat.

The words of the song began to take on more meaning, subtly echoing within him, much like the thoughts swirling in his mind that he couldn’t quite organise. It was as if the song spoke directly to him, not in a clear and direct way, but through its rhymes and melody, something in between the lines made him think of you. Your calm presence, yet shrouded in mystery, took shape in his mind.

He turned over in bed, still immersed in confusing thoughts, trying to understand the nameless feeling that overtook him. What was this unease? The music seemed to break something inside him, as if it were unveiling parts of himself he didn’t know existed.

As the chords of the song filled the space around him, a quiet exhaustion began to settle in. He surrendered to the melody, letting himself drift, without haste or resistance. The last thing he thought of before falling asleep was your face.

In his dream, you were beneath the Astronomy Tower. The stars watched silently as you leaned against the balustrade, your hair softly shimmering, floating with the night’s breeze. They saw when you approached him, and the world around seemed to shrink, as if everything became insignificant. You kissed him, a simple, gentle kiss, incredibly soft, full of sincerity. When you pulled away, his eyes opened.

The song “Crash Into Me” still played in his ears, but the sensation of the kiss, the soft touch of your lips, lingered with him, even though the dream dissipated as quickly as it had come. He lay there, motionless, not knowing exactly when he had been struck. The confusion that had once dominated his thoughts now seemed entwined with that fleeting memory, and he allowed himself to feel.

ಇ

Theo’s dormitory was as cosy as ever, lit only by the bedside lamp, casting a soft yellow glow that created an intimate atmosphere. The lazy tendrils of cigarette smoke drifted in the air, mixing with the low hum of music playing from a small gramophone in the corner. Lorenzo was slouched on the sofa, his feet carelessly propped up on the coffee table, while Theo, seated on the floor with his back against the bed, took long drags from his cigarette, releasing the smoke in the air as if following a ritual.

Pansy, meanwhile, leaned against an armchair, distractedly fiddling with her wand. Mattheo remained on the outskirts, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and visibly more distant than usual.

“So,” Pansy began, breaking the silence with a mischievous smile playing on her lips, though her tone remained casual, “I’m thinking of organising another group trip to Hogsmeade next Saturday. You coming?”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, sceptical. “Who’s going?”

Pansy shrugged nonchalantly. “Me, obviously, Theo, Blaise, Lorenzo, Daphne… if she’s not busy.”

He gave a small nod, considering the idea. Maybe getting out a bit wouldn’t be so bad, even if he wasn’t exactly in the mood.

“And [Name],” Pansy added casually, throwing him a sly sidelong glance.

The effect was immediate. Mattheo froze, quickly averting his gaze. “Ah… no, I don’t think I’ll be going, then.”

Pansy stared at him, taken aback. “You’re not?”

“I’m just not in the mood,” he replied flatly, still avoiding her gaze.

“Not in the mood or running from her?” Pansy pressed, her tone sharp. She uncrossed her arms and stepped away from the armchair, facing him head-on.

He let out a humourless laugh, pushing away from the wall. “Oh, spare me, Pansy. This is just one of your dumb ideas to try and push me onto one of your friends. I’ve told you, it’s not going to work.”

“Push you onto my friends?” she repeated, incredulous, the disbelief clear in her voice. “Merlin’s beard, do you even hear what you’re saying? I’m just organising a trip, it’s not your bloody wedding!”

“Oh, right,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “You think I don’t notice? You’re always trying to set people up, like it’s some kind of game. But this isn’t some stupid romance novel. And honestly? She’s none of that, not worth the hassle.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. Even Lorenzo, who had seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, lifted his gaze, surprised by the bitterness in Mattheo’s voice. Pansy stood still for a moment before letting out a bitter laugh.

“Not worth the hassle?” she repeated, each word laced with icy venom, as she stepped right up to him. “Do you have any idea what utter rubbish you’ve just said?”

Mattheo tried to hold her stare, but there was something in her stance that unsettled him.

“You don’t even believe that,” she continued, her voice firm now. “You’re so terrified of the idea of liking her that you’d rather say something vile like that than admit it to yourself. But guess what, Mattheo? It doesn’t change a thing.”

He crossed his arms, frustration clearly etched on his face. “I’m not scared of anything. You’re the one harassing me with this ridiculous conversation.”

“Ridiculous?” Pansy raised her voice, frustration seeping through every word. “You’re the one acting ridiculous! As if liking someone is some kind of weakness. It’s pathetic, actually—it’s so sad, it’s almost funny.”

“Oh, fuck off, Pansy,” he snapped, his anger boiling over.

She laughed, a sarcastic chuckle escaping her. “I’m just trying to stop you from being an idiot. But, then again, maybe you don’t deserve someone like her. Maybe she’s too good for you, yeah?”

Mattheo clenched his jaw, irritation flashing across his face before he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

In the stillness of his own dormitory, he threw himself onto the bed, his chest still heaving from the argument. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to organise his thoughts, but Pansy’s words continued to echo in his mind like an unshakable spell.

“Maybe she’s too good for you.”

He knew he shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t true, and he knew it. She was worth the effort, without a doubt. He remembered the way she spoke about books, how her eyes lit up with passion for things he didn’t even bother to notice. She was kind, funny, incredibly genuine, and, above all, special.

With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Pansy was right. He was an idiot. And, worse yet, an idiot in love.

ಇ

The pub in Hogsmeade was packed, but the noise around Jasmine felt distant as she watched the group of friends play pool with curiosity. The soft lighting gave the place a warm, inviting atmosphere, while the low music in the background punctuated the occasional laughter of Theo and Lorenzo, who were arguing about who the better player was.

Mattheo kept his gaze fixed on you, knowing there was no escaping this. He was already falling, and he knew it. Rather than resist, he decided to enjoy the moment. There was something about your cautious yet charming manner that stirred him in a way he couldn’t quite understand. But soon he realised there was no need to comprehend it. It was as if the fall was inevitable, and somehow, the view would be worth it. All that was left for him to do was relax and let it happen. Maybe it was time to be bolder. Let the fall happen. He was ready for whatever came next and wanted to see how far it could go.

“Go on, who’s next?” Theo asked, twirling the cue stick with a teasing smile, aiming it at you.

“Definitely not me,” you muttered instantly, shrugging behind your butterbeer.

“Oh, come on,” Pansy teased, smiling. “You’ve never played?”

You shook your head, feeling a little out of place. “No idea how to play.”

Before Pansy could insist, Mattheo pushed off from the wall where he had been leaning, arms casually crossed, and approached. “I’ll teach you.”

You looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t have to, I—”

“Come here,” he interrupted, leaving no room for protest. He reached out and, before you could object, gently took hold of your wrist, guiding you to the right spot at the table.

Frozen, you watched him as if he’d just cast a spell. There was something so natural about the gesture – as though you’d shared this kind of proximity for years – that it left you speechless.

“Grab the cue,” he instructed, his voice low and slightly husky. You obeyed, holding the cue with clear hesitation.

Mattheo took a step back, so close that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. “Like this,” he said, adjusting his hands over yours. His fingers were firm but didn’t squeeze; the touch felt casual, yet it carried an intimacy that made you blush instantly.

He tilted his head, his voice close to your ear. “You need to align with the ball.”

His breath seemed to brush against your skin, and your heart raced. “Right… okay.”

He chuckled softly. “Relax, you’re all tense.”

“I’m not tense!” you protested, though the nervousness in your voice gave you away.

“Of course not,” he teased, shifting his hands slightly to adjust the position. “Now aim here.”

Biting your lip, you tried to focus, even though the closeness made it nearly impossible. The sound of his voice, the way he leaned in, his firm yet careful touch – it was all making your mind spin.

“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded, feeling your face heat up.

With his help, you moved the cue forward, striking the ball harder than you expected. It rolled across the table, hitting a few others before dropping into one of the pockets.

“See?” he said, stepping back slightly but keeping his hand near yours. “That wasn’t so hard.”

You laughed nervously, too shy to meet his eyes. “I think it was more you than me.”

“Maybe,” he replied casually, but his gaze was now locked on yours.

You noticed he was still holding your hand, even though it wasn’t necessary anymore, and for a moment, you were completely speechless. When he finally let go, the touch seemed to linger.

“Next,” he said, handing the cue to Theo, who was already laughing.

You stepped away from the table, trying to regain your composure, but your heart was still racing. Pansy watched you with a mischievous smile, but said nothing – which, in some way, was even more embarrassing.

Mattheo, now leaning back against the wall again, looked relaxed, though a subtle smile played on his lips. He knew exactly what he’d done – and he seemed to be enjoying it.

The night was light, filled with laughter and pool shots. You still felt a bit embarrassed about the last shot, about Mattheo’s unexpected touch, and the way he seemed so at ease. The way he approached so naturally, as if there was an intimacy between you two that you didn’t know how to handle, made you nervous, but also… curious.

At one point, you stepped away to grab the drink you’d left on the table, and Mattheo was right behind you, not wasting a second before taking the empty glass from your hand.

“I’ll get you another,” he said, flashing a casual smile.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him and then at the empty glass he’d taken from your hand. “Hey, I can do it myself.”

He shrugged as he walked away. “So what? Let me do it for you.”

You stared at him as he made his way to the bar, wanting to protest, but knowing he probably wouldn’t care. He was back quickly, drink in hand, placing it gently in front of you.

“Here,” he said, smiling tranquilly.

Still unsure how to react, you responded, “You really don’t listen, do you?”

He laughed easily and sat beside you. “I listen, I just don’t care. And let’s be honest,” he chuckled softly, “you’re not exactly good at hiding that you like it when I do things for you.”

Your face flushed, but you weren’t sure whether you were more surprised by the comment or by how comfortable he seemed with the situation. You tried to change the subject, though your voice still sounded hesitant. “I really could’ve filled my own glass.”

“Sure,” he interrupted with a sly grin, “but I wanted to do it.”

Not knowing how to respond, you looked down, crossing your legs and resting the drink on your thigh, unsure of how to act when Mattheo was messing with your composure. But secretly, you were enjoying this new side of him – unsure of how to react, but liking it all the same.

“I know what I’m doing,” you whispered, more to yourself.

“I know, princess,” he replied with an easy grin, “but I like doing it.”

ಇ

As time passed, your meetings became more frequent. The group hangouts gradually gave way to moments alone, and the relationship between you two became more comfortable and intimate. Being in each other’s company felt natural, easy, almost like an extension of everyday life. Mattheo’s behaviour grew more spontaneous, with fewer of the usual walls he built up when you were around. And it wasn’t just you who noticed; the entire group of friends could see it too.

One night, you were in Mattheo’s dorm. The atmosphere was calm and welcoming, with the scent of scented candles he’d started using now permanently filling the room. They were burning all around, three on the dresser and others on the bedside table. Meanwhile, Mattheo was rummaging through the wardrobe shelves and found a few hidden bottles. It was cheap wine that Theo had bought to settle a silly bet, but had forgotten there. Mattheo remembered it like it had happened yesterday. He looked at the bottle with a smile, laughing to himself. You raised an eyebrow, suspicious.

“I can’t believe you’re going to drink that,” you said, laughing lightly while lying on the black carpet in the middle of the room, fiddling with the radio.

Mattheo shrugged, flashing a carefree smile. “Of course I am, it’s here, right?”

You gave him a sceptical look, but couldn’t help but laugh at his audacity. “That’s a bit weird.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied, walking over and sitting beside you, holding the bottle out. “Try it, go on.”

Hesitant, but tempted, you sat next to him, smiling nervously. You took the bottle from his hand, laughing before bringing it to your lips, keeping your eyes fixed on his.

After a bottle and a half shared between you, the effects of the wine were already clear. The conversation flowed easily, words coming out freely, and you both laughed at anything, letting yourselves enjoy the sense of freedom the moment brought.

Then Mattheo stood up, walked over to the radio, and adjusted the music. Fleetwood Mac, one of his favourite bands, and he knew it well. The soft notes filled the room, creating a relaxing and warm atmosphere. He smiled at you, stood up from the carpet, and waited for you to follow. “Don’t you want to dance?”

You looked at him hesitantly, but he was watching you as if daring you. It didn’t take long before you got up, still a bit loose from the alcohol, and started dancing awkwardly, singing along with Stevie Nicks, a silly grin on your face. Mattheo held your hands and settled on the bed, watching your dance. There was no pretension; it was a spontaneous dance, a bit off-beat, but genuine.

Mattheo watched you with a satisfied smile, but his gaze revealed something more. He saw you differently. You moved with clumsy grace, not caring about the rhythm, and he was completely captivated by the way you threw yourself into the moment, without a hint of self-consciousness. Your movements, though not sensual, were, in that instant, the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. You were so at ease, as if you were dancing just for him. And, in a way, you were.

You laughed, unaware of the effect you had, how your hair shone and moved perfectly with the rhythm of your motions. That sight, so natural, only drew him in more. When the music finally ended, you stopped, out of breath, and looked at him with a mischievous grin, holding onto his shoulders while he watched you from below, his expression one of admiration.

“See? Was this what you wanted?” you asked, regaining your composure, but with a faint blush on your cheeks.

“More than I expected.”

The music still filled the room, but slowly, it became a distant echo, overshadowed by the tension that now dominated the space. The air felt heavier, each heartbeat ringing in your ears as you locked eyes with him. Your hands still rested on his shoulders, and despite the relaxed smile that appeared on his face, there was something in Mattheo’s gaze that made the lightness of the moment take on a new weight.

His eyes were fixed on yours, serious, intense, filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. Something in that look seemed ready to spill over, and before you could even question it, the space between you two was vanishing. Mattheo moved, his strong hands reaching up to cradle your face, holding it with a gentleness that contrasted with the fervour in his expression. The world around you faded in the blink of an eye. No more cheap wine, no more candles, no more Stevie Nicks in the background. It was just the two of you.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, filling the silence between you. His gaze didn’t waver, and the proximity made each word feel even more intimate, almost like a confession. A shiver ran down your spine, but you didn’t respond. There were no words that could capture what was going through your mind.

When he finally closed the remaining space between you, his lips found yours, and everything seemed to fall into place. The kiss began firm but soon softened, as if he was exploring each detail, testing, savouring the moment with an almost palpable intensity.

His hands didn’t stay still. One slid to your waist, fingers slipping beneath your shirt, touching your warm skin with a mixture of firmness and care. The other moved up to your neck, fingers light as a caress, but determined, keeping you close, as if he wanted to make sure you wouldn’t slip away.

When his lips left yours, it was only to trace a deliberate path along your jawline, down to the delicate spot on your neck, where he could feel your pulse quicken. Each kiss was meticulous, almost reverent, as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation. The softness of his touch seemed to contradict the intensity he maintained with every movement, and it made the moment all the more overwhelming.

Then, unexpectedly, Mattheo made a quick movement, pulling you onto the bed.

He was firm, but careful, lying you down with precision and security, as if guiding you through a dance he had already mentally rehearsed. Your bodies moulded into the surroundings, as if the moment had been waiting for you both.

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his hands slowly lifting your shirt, with a near ceremonial slowness. There was no rush, just a clear intention in every gesture, as though he was absorbing the significance of what was happening. His eyes scanned your body, but not with haste or crude desire. There was something almost devotional in that gaze, something that made your breath quicken and slow at the same time.

His lips descended to your stomach, touching it with the lightness of a promise. Each kiss seemed to hold something unspoken, something long-kept. Mattheo's fingers traced slow paths along your skin, as though he wanted to memorise every detail, while you let out a sigh that seemed to echo in the intimacy of the room.

For a brief moment, he lifted his head, meeting your gaze. His eyes sparkled with a mix of desire and playfulness, and a light smile curved his lips before he leaned in again, the kisses resuming their course, now with even more care, as if each touch was a silent vow of adoration.

#harry potter #riddleriddles #slytherin x hufflepuff #slytherpuff #mattheo fluff #mattheo imagine #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

2K notes · View notes

slytherinboysvip · 3 months ago

Note

Imagine best friend Mattheo being absolutely obsessed with his innocent little Hufflepuff bsf but she just can’t tell. Everyone else knows, and it is quite obvious, but she just can’t think someone like him would want someone like her. But when she jokingly says she’s gonna get Cedric to take her virginity he decides it’s time he came clean.

Possibly with some soft smut if you are comfortable with it of course

bsf mattheo riddle x hufflepuff reader

hopefully this matches your request <3 i’ll most likely make a part 2 for this because.. you’ll see ;) 3.5k words

you lived a rather simple uncomplicated life, attending hogwarts as a hufflepuff with no interest in anyone’s drama. though you kept to yourself most times you tried to be nice to all your peers maintaining your classic hufflepuff demeanor, despite this there was one thing that was different about you.

you see, you didn’t see or understand why people don’t like other houses just because of “house rivalry” especially the students who weren’t even participating in any sports or point winning. and with this over your years though you had few friends you had one best friend who at first seemed rather impossible to be friends with.. mattheo riddle.

when you two met you were a fourth year and him a fifth, coincidentally you were going on to a few friends about your annoyance with people automatically assuming the worst of slytherin even though you yourself weren’t in their house or nearly like one. mattheo overheard this heated- adorable voice coming from behind him and he walked towards you carefully.

he sat down in front of you beside your friend as she gawked faces towards you at his presence. “you don’t think we’re too mean, huh?” he questioned small laugh leaving his lips. “i just think that some people are misunderstood and just because some wizards turned out bad doesn’t mean all of them in your house are” you looked at him answering his question with ease

he smirked in amusement and leaned a little closer to you “hm, hufflepuff eh? what year are you puff?” he sat back examining you and you didn’t fail to notice that nickname he slipped in “fourth year but i have an early birthday which is annoying because i could technically be out sooner” you sighed ignoring his staring.

“well, seeing as it’s ravenclaw against gryffindor do you wanna watch the quidditch game with me i know the best view” he stood up and held his hand out for you, you look towards your friends and they’re both nodding their heads for you to go so you did.

from that point on you and mattheo had been best friends, sadly he was in his seventh year and now you in your sixth nothing much had changed in your life. living vicariously through mattheo and his stories about slytherin parties and how you should go to one with him before it’s too late, he’d tell you about his sexual adventures and your jaw would drop everytime.

you yourself also confided in him though with much less interesting things, telling him how you feel unlikeable by guys sometimes because they never try to get or talk to you, or how you feel lonely because you’ve never had a a boyfriend before. hed always help soothe the thoughts away, telling you that it’s only your brain making those things up , “listen y/n, anyone who doesn’t love you is fucking insane”.

𓆙

talking to your friend zarah who’d been there since day one you always told her what you told matt, for the most part. “i just don’t get why nobody is interested in me zar, like am i genuinely that ugly” you plopped onto your bed sighing dramatically. “you’re not ugly and if you think no guys want you you’re blind i know one in particular that really, really wants you” she giggled.

you looked at her with a confused expression “i must be missing something because i have no idea who you’re talking about” you awaited her response and she just rolled her eyes and sighed “girl your practically boyfriend of a best friend you do everything with” she gave you a duh look and you just laughed. you genuinely couldn’t believe she’d even think he’d like you especially with all the girls he’d been with, “you’re hilarious, we both know he doesn’t want me he wants all the girls he tells me about” you started to compose yourself but zarah’s expression didn’t change.

“you literally must be blind y/n do you need glasses? or should i say puff? let’s talk about how that man hasn’t stopped calling you that pet name since you’ve met.. he’s in love” she rolled her eyes raising her hands in the air. “i still don’t think he wants me so there’s no convincing me” you shrugged her off and she groaned getting up and leaving your shared dorm.

𓆙

“puff you gotta come to this party, slytherin won agains gryffindor i just know this is gonna be the party you want to go to pleaseee” mattheo put his hands on your shoulders shaking you “fiinee” you attempted to answer between shakes before he let you go “if i would’ve known it was that easy i would’ve done that years ago” he rolled his eyes.

“anyways it’s tonight at like 8 so i’ll just get you from your dorm at like 7 do you think they’ll let me in? actually what’s the password?” he didn’t give you time to finish any of your sentences before you just gave him the password “butterscotch” you whispered, in response mattheo laughed “fucking butterscotch merlin that’s hilarious” you looked up at him and rolled your eyes walking away.

“i’ll see you at 7 puff” he yelled across the hall and you just gave a thumbs up and continued walking. you honestly were quite nervous seeing as you’ve never necessarily been to a party before, you’ve made small appearances at hufflepuff parties but you’ve heard they don’t even compare to slytherin.

making your way into your dorm you spot zarah and you pull her up from the common room couch “i finally said yes to a party need help now” you quickly mumbled and she quickened her pace “when does it start girl i need the info right this second come on you’re talking too long for me” she rushed and you blurted it all out “8pm he’s getting me at 7 he has the password he will be at the dorm” closing the door behind you two you both stopped to catch your breath

“sooo is it a dateee” she shimmied her arm on you winking “i already told you he doesn’t like me!!” you replied to her relentlessness. “ugh whatever we need to get you ready girl it’s already six” she pushed you onto your shared vanity chair and pulled out all of your makeup and a few things of hers, “creative control?” she asked smirking at you “mm fine but not too much” you agreed “we’ll see” she giggled.

after around 30 minutes she finished your makeup and she showed you the finished product, looking at yourself in the mirror you thought how you never would’ve put on red lipstick yet you feel really good in it. she gave you a small smokey eye and a small winged liner and you felt you looked more aggressive then you were, but you kinda loved it.

“it’s so much but so pretty” you admired yourself and the makeup she put on you slowly getting used to the feeling of fake eyelashes on your eyes. “i’m so glad you love it, but we need to find an outfit like three hours ago” she joked and rushed to your closets “i actually have the perfect dress in mind if you’re feeling the want to rep slytherin green” she raised her eyebrows up at you in a suggestive matter “sure why not” you shrugged

she handed you a velvet body con forest green dress that you were sure was going to be extremely short and you mean in every place. she held it up onto you “this will be perfect. get it on come on” she rushed you into the bathroom and you began putting it on “this is sooo tight” you called out as you struggled “oh i forgot it was a corset back wait i need to help you can i come in” she yelled through the door

“yeah come on i need this thing one me already” you struggled more as she walked in and immediately began to help you loosening the strings of the dress and pulling it down onto you “there we go now suck in like your life depends on it” she said half jokingly and began retightening the corset back. with every pull it felt like your chest was spilling out more and more and your ribs were shrinking “okay merlin that’s enough before i can’t breathe” you huffed and she stopped tying it off in a bow

“stop you look so hot y/n i bet matt will be drooling” she teased and you just rolled your eyes “what do we do with my hair” you looked at her with horror as you only had ten minutes before he should arrive. you quickly began curling your hair not really caring if it was messy just giving it some body and just as you were spraying perfume on there was a knock on your door.

zarah looked at you and whispered “answer it go go now” she pointed to the door like she was afraid to touch it herself and you walked over opening it to see mattheo in an all black button down with the top few buttons undone and black dress looking pants yet somehow he didn’t look overdressed. he didn’t say anything for a minute he was just staring at you looking up and down in awe “holy fuck y/n who did your makeup you look woah” he put his finger on your chin moving your head around examining your makeup

“zarah isn’t it pretty” you smiled and he removed his hand and replied “yeah you are, now let’s go” he grabbed your hand and you looked behind you waving bye to zarah “he’s so in love with you” she whispered before the door slammed closed.

𓆙

once you got the the party you noticed there were already many slytherins already pregaming and mattheo brought you two to them, “let’s get some alcohol in you little puff” he winked and poured you a shot of who knows what, you smelled the foul drink and it made your nose burn “come on do ittt” he cheered on and you held your nose throwing the shot back gagging at the taste. “how do people enjoy that” you made a face at him “like this” he replied taking two shots himself, “now catch up” he winked pouring you yet another

“if i didn’t know any better id say you’re trying to get me drunk matt” you laughed and he looked at you amused “obviously that’s what im trying to do it’s a party” he put the shot glass to your lips and you parted them taking the burning substance down your throat, “eugh that didn’t get any better the second time” you shook your head in disgust. “hm, let me make you an actual drink” he grabbed a clear liquor and a red juice mixing them together adding more alcohol than your past two shots and handed it to you

“matt this smells foul” you looked up at him, “just try it trust me the slytherins have the masking drink down” he winked and you reluctantly took a sip, and to your surprise all you tasted was juice. after taking another few sips you quick began drinking it and mattheo pulled the cup from your lips “slow down there this shits dangerous you’ll get so drunk you won’t be able to walk straight” he chuckled. “it’s not my fault they made it taste like juice” you shrugged still sipping.

“hey mattheo have your little hufflepuff take some shots with us” enzo threw his arm around your shoulders and mattheo pushed them off almost immediately “no she doesn’t need any shots” he spoke “you didn’t even ask me” you protested, granted you didn’t necessarily want to take any shots you just didn’t like being talked for. “oo are you sure you’re not slytherin you got an attitude” enzo laughed handing you a shot and you looked at mattheo who rolled his eyes as you took the shot.

throwing the shot back the burning sensation took over your throat and you could feel it rushing down your throat. you coughed a bit and chugged your drink for comfort “puff you’re going to get shitfaced slow down” matt fully took your cup this time and you were already feeling it. giggling looking up at him “okay now who was going to tell me party’s are fun” you continued giggling.

the music started playing and the slytherin common room was now getting more and more packed. you saw fifth year students and up in here, even a few ravenclaw and hufflepuffs your recognized. to your surprise in the corner of the party you spotted cedric diggory talking to a group of girls holding a drink.

pansy noticed your head being stuck in a certain direction and followed your eyes “oh em gee, someone’s got their eyes on a certain hufflepuff” she winked shoving her shoulder at your “shhhhh he’s just nice to look at” you giggled at her and she giggled along “you two would be soo cute” she added dragging you back to the drinks

“let’s take some shots!” she exclaimed handing you two , you took them smiling and shot them back with her, a woo leaving her mouth. “here chaser, chaser!” she shouted handing you another drink this time what looked like a lot of the punch, downing it all she laughed “girl we’re gonna be gone”. looking around you were seeing doubles of everything but didn’t want the night to already end.

“so, are you a virgin?” pansy shouted over the music making your already alcohol flushed face even redder “pansy!! you can’t just ask that!!” you shouted back flustered at the intrusive question, “i’m only curious girl” she giggled and gave you begging eyes “come onnnn” she shook you till you gave in “fine yes i am but don’t tell anyone!” you replied back as lowly as you could over the music

“who would you lose it to?” she giggled “i lost mine to blaise hehe sshhhh” she winked, considering she just told you her secret you felt obligated and just looked around “i mean i guess cedric” you giggled as she pointed at him after your response. before she could say anything else you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist and drag you off. trying to kick your way out was useless and they brought you to an empty dorm.

through all of this you couldn’t tell who it was kicking and screaming for them to let you go till you heard mattheos voice “puff calm down it’s just me” he sighed putting you down on what you now assumed was his bed “why did you bring me in here that was so scary” you huffed trying to gain your composure. “diggory?” he scoffed not answering your question.

you looked at him confused as to what he was on about “what do you mean? what about cedric” you cocked your head to the side in confusion “you lost your virginity to him??” he questioned stepping closer to you looking rather.. pissed. you just laughed in response “me? lose my virginity to cedric?.. you’re funny” yeah you fantasized about it but it certainly wouldn’t happen.

“what were you talking to pansy about then??” he looked at you unconvinced, “she asked if i lost it and i said no, but id let him take it.-“ you shrugged “besides you know i tell you everything matt i’ve never even had a boyfriend let alone a guy be interested in my virginity” you sighed laying back onto the bed now feeling upset.

you heard mattheo sigh and you picked your head up to look at him, his eyes stared back at you in silence before breaking it “believe me there’s a lot of guys who want to get in your pants” he rubbed his fists and you gave him a confused expression yet again “what are you on about matt?” you were getting sober just from all of this extra mystery.

he walked over to the bed sitting beside you, “listen when we met you were just.. blooming completely and i would be lying if i didn’t say i first went up to you because of your looks.. well overtime you know we became friends and i noticed other guys staring in ways they shouldn’t have been so i had to teach them a lesson.” he looked at you and yo didn’t know how to respond to something like that.

“what exactly are you saying matt?” you didnt understand what he was poking at, did matt mean to say he basically likes you? were you reading too much into this? “look y/n, no one else in this school fucking deserves you. hell i don’t deserve you but i know i can treat you how you need. don’t ask me what took so long to confess to you y/n, but do you feel even remotely the same?” he let it all out quick and fast, and your mouth dropped.

“you want.. me?” you looked at him in disbelief and he just smiled “that’s what that whole speech was about, yeah” he chuckled nervously awaiting your reply “why?” you sighed still slightly unconvinced “have you fucking seen yourself puff? you’re so undeniably gorgeous, i don’t know how i hold myself back from you everyday” he leaned in closer to you making this all seem more real. without thinking you allowed yourself to lean into him, faces and lips meeting for the most magical first kiss you could’ve ever imagined.

“you’re so fucking beautiful y/n” he grabbed your face pulling you closer to him till you straddled over his lap sitting down continuing the now makeout. “this is so much better than.. imagined” you huffed through the kisses. you could already feel mattheos member growing beneath you and you never thought you’d be the one experiencing this from your best friend.

you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to a fantasy or two about him in the past but this was already one thousand times better than ever imagined. mattheos lips kissed their way down your neck leaving small marks tiny moans leaving your mouth, “i need to hear more of that, y/n, let me eat you out.. please i need a taste” he continued his kisses along your neck bringing them back to your lips “i’ve never- mm yes” you replied as his fingers began making circles over your underwear.

“you sound so good fuck” he groaned pulling you off of him and getting off the bed, “you’re sure of this?” he questioned one last time and you just nodded impatiently awaiting his next move. next thing you knew he was yanking you to the edge of his bed and slowly removing your pants and underwear looking up at you from below. “holy fuck puff.. you’re fucking soaking” he breathed out over your pussy sending tingles down your spine.

without warning his mouth met your untouched area and you felt things never imaginable. his tongue made its way around your bulging clit, flicking it up and down and making his way to your entrance sucking and licking “you taste so good holy fuck” he huffed going right back in not even looking up at you, “can i put two fingers” he spoke from your pussy and you couldn’t even properly answer “mm y-yes” you replied between your moans.

you felt his slender fingers teasing your entrance and he slowly began inching one in and out teasingly, “mattheo-“ you huffed and he chuckled shoving both fingers in, loud moan escaping your mouth and this new feeling. he did a few different moments trying to figure out what makes you moan the most, soon his tongue was sucking expertly on your clit as his fingers twisters and curled inside of you.

“matt i want to.. try” you moaned at this pleasure wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you now. “mm but you’re not ready yet puff” he continued devouring your pussy simply divulging in it as if he’d never eaten anything before. his pace on everything quickened and you were already near your own orgasm, “if you don’t s-stop i’m gonna cum” you moaned loudly trying to control yourself.

“let go for me sweetheart” he sucked harder on your clit, the nickname and action forcing your orgasm to flood over you harder than you’ve ever been able to make yourself experience. your body was shaking and you couldn’t hold your reactions back, mattheo slowly licked your gushing area clean before standing up “mm now i think you’ll be ready soon” he smirked leaning down over you, grabbing your chin and giving you a kiss.

2K notes · View notes

st6rrrs · 4 months ago

Text

𝑺𝑳𝒀𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑵 𝑩𝑶𝒀𝑺 𝑷 𝑳𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑺

THEO NOTT

You and Theo first time having sex together

theo fucking you in the kitchen

theo fucking you after a long day, not caring to fully take your clothes off

theo lets you grind on his cock

TOM RIDDLE

tom stretches you out with his massive cock

tom roughly fingering you

tom punishing you

tom lets you cum on his leg while he sits back and relax

MATTHEO RIDDLE

mattheo fills you up

mattheo fingering you after catching you talking to fred and george

morning sex with mattheo

mattheo shutting you up

LORENZO BERKSHIRE

enzo fucking you after classes

you and enzo in the middle of the night

enzo eating you out while your mad at him

enzo cums in his underwear

DRACO MALFOY

draco relieving your stress

lazy sex

draco breeds you

draco sucks on your nipple

#artists on tumblr #smut #slytherin boys #slytherin boys react #slytherin boys x reader #draco malfoy #enzo berkshire #theo x reader #theodore x reader #theodore nott smut #p links #mattheo riddle #mattheo x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x you

3K notes · View notes

mattnott · 1 month ago

Text

𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY: in wich mattheo knew that the best way to piss off his quidditch rival was to fuck his girlfriend. WORDS. 5K+. english is not my first language. N/A. literally edited this 3 times.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, face slapping, rough sex, porn w// plot, pnv sex, fingering (f!receiving), aged up characters, hair pulling, unprotected sex, dirty talk, infidelity (reader cheats on her boyfriend), pussy slapping, spitting, making out.

masterlist -> navigation

It wasn’t that Mattheo hated him—no, hate wasn’t a strong enough word. It was more than that.

Mattheo despised him. The smug bastard had spent years turning Mattheo’s life into a personal hell. Every time they faced each other on the Quidditch pitch, he made it his mission to overshadow him, turning every match into a game—his game. It wasn’t enough to win; no, he had to humiliate.

Every cocky grin after a game, every pointed remark, every stupid joke that made the whole school laugh—it all stuck with Mattheo, eating away at him. It wasn’t just the humiliation; it was the way the bastard seemed to enjoy it, like making Mattheo miserable was his favorite pastime. And it worked. Every time he strutted off the pitch like he owned the place, Mattheo was left grinding his teeth.

Mattheo could handle a loss—hell, he wasn’t above admitting defeat when it was deserved. But losing to him? To someone who could barely hold his own on a good day? That was a different story.

It wasn’t about skill. It was never about the game with him. It was about making a show of it, rubbing it in like he’d actually earned it, like scraping out a win somehow made him untouchable. And that made Mattheo’s blood fucking boil.

Every time it happened, he could feel the humiliation sinking deeper. The bastard would parade around like a king, lapping up the attention, making sure everyone knew he’d won—even if it was by sheer dumb luck. It was humiliating, to say the least.

The idiot couldn’t just play the game. No, he had to make Mattheo feel small while standing on the podium, taking all the praise like he deserved it—like he actually earned it. But he didn’t. Merlin, he never fucking did.

He was average at everything he did. Most of the goals he scored were thanks to others guiding him like he was some damn toddler; the guy couldn’t even stay balanced on his broom without looking like he was going to fall off at any moment. It was embarrassing to watch. And Mattheo was sure he had heard it from a few of the players on his team that the idiot was late to practice almost every day.

He was overrated in every sense of the word. Yet, somehow nothing ever changed. Everything stayed exactly the same.

No matter how many times Mattheo outplayed him, no matter how many matches he dominated or goals he scored, the brainless bastard always ended up in the spotlight, receiving compliments that didn’t even belong to him. It was insane how the whole school fawned over him like he was some god.

The guy was an untouchable, an untouchable piece of shit, but still untouchable. Teachers, students, almost everyone seemed to worship his ass, and the more they praised him, the more power the idiot seemed to get and the more self-centered he acted, which only made Mattheo even more pissed off.

The idiot didn’t even work for it. Everything was handed to him, like the world decided he was going to be the best, and nothing could change that. They treated him like some fucking golden child, and he ate it up like it was his due.

And that infuriated Mattheo, because no matter how hard he worked, no matter how good he was, he never got the praise. He never got the recognition he deserved. Never got the praise he craved. It was always about his last name. Riddle. At the end of the day, he was just Voldemort’s son, a son of a monster, a reminder of a legacy soaked in fear.

People didn’t see him for who he was or what he’d accomplished—they only saw his bloodline, his father’s sins, the deaths that followed him.

He hated every fucking bit of it. His idiot rival was constantly showered with praise and compliments, while Mattheo was stuck with pitying stares, whispers of fear, and the way everyone treated him like a damn outcast. He wanted to beat him up.

But the worst part? It wasn’t the wins. It wasn’t the way the bastard walked around like he owned the fucking place. It wasn’t even how everyone seemed to kiss the ground he walked on. No, the worst part was that he had you.

You. His precious girlfriend.

It wasn’t just that he had you, no. It was the fact that Mattheo had noticed you long before your brainless boyfriend ever did. And truth be told, it was because Mattheo saw the things your boyfriend never cared enough to notice. He saw how you laughed with your stupid friends in the stands during the matches, how you cheered when someone scored a goal, too distracted to even notice if the person was from your own house.

Mattheo noticed the way your brows furrowed when you were confused in class, the small crease on your forehead that made you seem so real, so human. So easy to ruin. He saw how your lips curved into a smile whenever you talked about something you loved—something he was almost certain your boyfriend never even noticed.

The scumbag always too busy looking at himself to care about what you were saying, too caught up in his own reflection to actually listen to the things that made you you.

But Mattheo? Mattheo listened. He saw the way your voice changed, the rhythm of it when you spoke, how it picked up when you talked about things that mattered to you. The way your breath hitched when you were nervous, the way you fidgeted, the little shifts in your body when you got caught up in something exciting.

Mattheo Riddle noticed every fucking thing about you. Every. Damn. Thing.

And how could he not? You were fucking irresistible to his eyes, like a fucking magnet drawing people to you, pulling them in, making them want you. And Mattheo wasn’t any different. He craved you. He craved you so much that every time you were in the same room, he had to hold his breath, trying to keep himself in check, or else his cock would tear right through his pants.

He wanted you so fucking badly, it made him ache, but still, you weren’t his. You belonged to an idiot who couldn’t even know what to do with all that.

You were his trophy, his pretty little prize to show around like a fucking object, more like a shiny thing he could flaunt to boost his already inflated ego than an actual human being. And maybe that’s all you were to him—a thing to fuck and show off, but not someone to cherish. Just another accomplishment that his pathetic success brought him.

Mattheo was sick of it. It wasn’t just the way your bastard boyfriend treated you—no, that was long past the truth. It was the fucking audacity of him, thinking he deserved you at all. If he couldn’t even catch a damn Quaffle properly, how the hell could he know how to protect you? How could he possibly know how to fuck you properly?

He didn’t. And Mattheo couldn’t for the life of him understand how you could see anything in a guy like that.

Mattheo stormed through the corridors, his Quidditch uniform pulling tightly against his exhausted, sweaty body. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed, still seething after the match he had just won against your boyfriend. It had been an easy win—your boyfriend was a joke without anyone else carrying him—but the anger still burned inside him. He should’ve felt good about the victory, but all he could focus on was how much it pissed him off.

He knew exactly what the bastard of your boyfriend would do when he left the locker rooms. He knew. He’d come straight to you, expecting you to lift his spirits like you always did: riding his dick until he was completely satisfied, making you do all the work while the fucking idiot didn’t even move his hips.

But this time, Mattheo would be quicker. He’d find you faster, and unlike your boyfriend, he wasn’t going to treat you like some cheap consolation prize. No, he planned on using you as a victory prize, almost as valuable as the points his house had just won.

He had taken his win, so it was only fair to take his consolation prize, right?

He thought so, so that’s why he didn’t think twice before slamming his fist against the door, the sharp sound of wood cracking under his hand echoing through the quiet room while his palm smacked against the sturdy surface, the force enough to make the door rattle in its frame, and making you jump at the sudden noise, your heart racing in surprise. Before you could process what happened, the door swung open again, and there, standing in the doorway, was an angry Mattheo Riddle.

And for a moment neither of you spoke.

Nevertheless, you could feel his eyes on you, shamelessly scanning your body, and for a moment, you felt vulnerable, as if you were standing naked before him. Still, he didn’t look away; instead, he crossed his arms over his muscular chest, his gaze fixed on you, already calculating how to draw you into his plan.

Yet he couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips when he noticed the blush creeping across your cheeks and the way your eyes darted, desperate to avoid his. You looked so pretty, so easy to ruin.

“You’re waiting for him, aren’t you?” His voice cut through the silence, startling you. You blinked, your gaze stubbornly fixed on his strong chest. The way his sweat-soaked uniform clung to every muscle was distracting—too distracting, and you noticed his dark curls fell messily over those piercing brown eyes, and for a brief, shameful moment, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring.

What the hell are you doing? You scolded yourself, your cheeks growing more red this time with shame.

You cleared your throat, lifting your head slightly to meet Mattheo’s gaze. His brow already arched as you looked, a mocking smile playing on his lips as he watched you closely. He knew his plan was falling into place, and so was yours.

“Yeah.” You stood up, trying to keep your voice steady as you looked at him. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

Mattheo scoffed, knowing full well your boyfriend was probably sulking in the locker room, making a scene about his loss and fishing for sympathy. He took a step closer to you, and it took everything in you not to back away or, worse, lean towards him. “He’s coming, he’s coming,” you kept repeating to yourself, almost like a desperate reminder that you had a boyfriend.

“Sure he will, sweetheart,” he said, the mockery in his tone impossible to miss, his eyes raking over you from head to toe again, a pretty little thing like you waiting for an idiot who doesn’t even know how to use his dick—sad, really. “He’s so reliable, isn’t he? Always putting you first. Always showing up for you,” he added sarcastically, smirking even more as you swallowed, knowing he had hit a nerve.

Mattheo’s words hit you like a slap, but the worst part was how much truth they carried. You bristled, refusing to acknowledge your failed relationship, and narrowed your eyes at him. “That’s none of your fucking business, Riddle,” you hissed, gripping your wrists tightly as he took another step towards you.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a smirk anything but friendly. “Isn’t it? I think it’s exactly my damn business.” His voice was calm—too calm—like he was savoring every second of making you realize the bastard was not all that. But even with that collected tone, you could still see the same anger in his eyes.

“You’ve been letting him walk all over you for too long, haven’t you? Always waiting, always hoping he’ll finally see you… really see you.” He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, his dark gaze still piercing into yours. “But he doesn’t, does he?”

You swallowed hard, the tightness in your chest making it difficult to breathe. You knew he was right; the frustration of always coming second to your boyfriend’s ego, of never feeling truly seen or satisfied, was frustrating. But you weren’t ready to admit it—not to him.

You knew who Mattheo was—the son of the dark lord and a top player on the Slytherin Quidditch team. But that didn’t matter to you, not when your boyfriend filled your head with his hate for him, always trying to be better than Mattheo, and deep down you knew he would never reach that goal. Your boyfriend had recognition but no real talent. He always hid his insecurities behind a false confidence and a big ego, caring only about himself and putting others down.

He was a piece of shit; you couldn’t deny it.

You lifted your chin, trying to stay calm and ignore how close Mattheo was getting, his gaze intense, like a predator eyeing its prey. “I don’t need you to tell me about my relationship.” You shot back, trying to hold your ground, though his words still gnawed at your mind. Yet Matthew wasn’t looking into your eyes. No, his attention was lower, fixed on the curve of your hips, like he was already claiming it as his prize.

He lifted his gaze from your curves, his smirk deepening as he seemed to enjoy the way you squirmed, desperately trying to defend a lost cause like your brainless idiot of a boyfriend. “You don’t, huh?” His voice dropping, growing darker.

“Then why the hell are you still waiting for him? How long have you been sitting here, staring at that door like he’s gonna show up and treat you right… fuck you right?” He paused, letting the silence hang between you, thick and heavy. “You know he never will, at least not the way you want, sweetheart.”

You blinked, over and over, not realizing how he had moved closer until he was standing right in front of you, too caught up in the way your heart seemed to race at his previous words, the way they sliced through your mind. You knew he was right; you were just a precious little thing for your boyfriend to show off, nothing more, and the bastard never knew how to properly use his dick on you.

Mattheo didn’t flinch, his eyes darkening as his smirk widened. He took another step toward you, finally stopping just in front of you, making your heart race, your knees almost buckling as you noticed his Quidditch uniform clung to his body with every movement.

“It’s the truth, and you know it,” he said, his voice low. “Every time he brushes you off, every time he acts like he’s too busy for you, too busy to actually care. But not me.” He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “I see you. I’ll use you how you deserve to be used, and I won’t make you feel invisible.”

You weren’t stupid; you knew the difference between Mattheo and your boyfriend. Even though both saw you as something to be conquered, at least Mattheo knew how to use his cock. The temptation was there, the promise of finally being noticed, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t because he cared.

It was all part of his plan, and you were falling deeper into his trap.

His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. The touch was light—almost innocent—but it sent a shiver down your spine, nonetheless. and you knew it wasn’t innocent at all. “Don’t,” you warned, your voice faltering as you tried to hold on to whatever little control you had left.

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” he whispered, his hand moving to your neck as he brought his face closer to you once again, this time only a few centimeters from your neck, his lips just millimeters away. “Hmm?” he hummed, a provocation, you noticed, his calloused hand tightening slightly around your neck as he placed a light kiss on the spot, almost as if testing the territory.

Fuck, that was easier than he thought, and at this rate he was going to get hard in no time; he wanted to feel your pussy so much.

“Riddle,” you said, your voice trembling as you tried to sound firm, yet the way you were trying to stand betrayed you. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he shot back in a whisper, his mouth still close to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes bore into your face, craving for you to finally break, for him to finally claim you as a prize, to finally piss off your boyfriend and show you how a girl like you should be fucked. Yet, he knew he had to wait; wait until you were so absorbed in him that you wouldn’t want to turn back.

“Mattheo…” First name, good.

He chuckled, his breath coming against your neck, sending vibrations through your body. His left hand was now on your stomach, while his right rested at the back of your neck. “Tell me something, sweetheart. When was the last time he touched you like this?” he asked, his hand sliding down to your skirt, gently caressing your thigh.

You try to ignore the way your own body was responding to his touch, his breath, the traitorous wetness between your legs growing, making you feel a bit ashamed, as you knew he could feel.

“I—” you stopped, the words catching in your throat, your breathing growing heavier as his hand continued to caress your thigh and his mouth lingered on your neck, leaving small kisses on your sensitive spot. You were too lost in the sensation to even remember that your boyfriend could walk in at any moment.

Mattheo chuckled against your neck, gently pushing your legs further apart as he looked at you, noticing the way you trembled against his body. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction—not just from the sight but also from the realization that you were already so lost in his touch, there was just a little chance you’d turn back now.

You sighed visibly, your eyes remaining closed as you were too lost in the touch and embarrassment to even look at him. However, you couldn’t help but let out a small scream when, with a sudden movement, Mattheo pushed you against a small desk, positioning himself behind you. His hand still squeezed your neck, but this time lifting your chin slightly, holding you like a trophy.

“Such a needy girl,” Mattheo murmured in your ear, his groin pressed firmly against your ass, making you bite your lip as your cunt clenched at his words. “So needy already, and I’ve barely touched you,” he mocked, the hand that had been on your thigh now sliding to your stomach, his fingertips prodding you teasingly.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, your head spinning as he pressed his groin even more against you. Fucking bastard.

“Shhh,” he shushed you mockingly, almost chuckling as you kept your eyes closed, trying to curse him. “Don’t be so mean, sweetheart. I’m about to give you what that fucking bastard doesn’t have the balls to do,” he whispered in your ear, giving a small bite to the lobe of your ear as he did so.

You didn’t respond; instead, you pressed your clothed ass against his hips, making him groan as he felt his quidditch uniform tighten around his cock.

Mattheo continued to rock his hips against you, his right hand tightening its grip on your neck and tilting your chin up, exposing your face to the small window of the room. His fingers on your right hand pushed your skirt down, and before you realized it, both your skirt and panties were already at your heels, causing Mattheo’s smirk to widen even more as he saw how wet you were.

“You’re so wet already,” he chuckled against your ear, his fingers trailing down your lower stomach, almost reaching your already dripping cunt. “Such a desperate little thing you are,” he mocked you again, his hips pressing into your bare ass. “He doesn’t fuck you properly, does he?”

You held your breath at his provocation, a small part of your rationality returning after the truth he had spoken. Your nails dug into the desk in front of you as you tried to process what was happening, struggling not to look at Mattheo’s fingers still trailing along the lower part of your stomach.

For a moment, a part of your mind sobered, the image of your boyfriend flashing through your thoughts. A wave of hesitation threatened to take over, and you almost gave in to the doubt, but before you could pull back, Mattheo’s hand landed firmly against your pussy, the sound echoing through the room. The sharp sting caused you to gasp, but before you could even recover, his fingers slid deep inside you.

“Mattheo!” You moaned his name like a prayer, gasping for air as his other hand moved to your hair, pushing your head towards his shoulder as his finger continued to fill your wet cunt.

Mattheo chuckled, his hips pressing and rubbing against your ass as his fingers moved in and out of you without any delicacy, and he felt his cock getting harder as your pussy squeezed his fingers, making him imagine what it would be like when it was wrapped around his cock, squeezing it until he filled you with cum.

“That’s it.” Mattheo said in your ear, his grip on your hair tightening as his fingers thrust, making you moan and move your hips even more. “Such a pretty slut.” He moaned as well, feeling your bare ass rocking against his clothed cock.From the frantic movements of your hips, he knew you were close to your orgasm, which only made him more satisfied.

Holy shit, he barely touched you, and you were already a mess; your boyfriend was a joke.

“Oh my fucking God,” you moaned louder, the pain from his grip on your hair almost fading as his fingers hit your sensitive spot, making you clamp your legs together. “Mattheo!” You breathed out, your nails digging deeper into the wooden desk in front of you, and you bucked your hips against his clothed cock as your vision began to blur.

“Jus like that,” he groaned, moving his hips and fingers in the same ruthless rhythm, the wet sounds of your pussy muffled only by the sounds of your moans. “Cum,” he commanded, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he did. You moaned louder, your legs shaking as you obeyed his order.

Your eyes opened, and you looked down, trying to control your breathing, which only made you moan louder as you watched Mattheo’s cum-soaked fingers slip out of your pussy with a wet sound. Feeling his smirk against your ear, his hips now grinding slowly against your ass.

Mattheo looked at your state, the sweat sticking to his forehead and making his hair cling even more. His eyes fixed on his fingers for a few seconds, your essence evident on them. He should be satisfied right now, on cloud nine—but he wasn’t. Not yet.

His eyes scanned over you again, taking in your flushed cheeks, the marks on your shoulder, your tangled hair. You were a mess—a hot mess—but it still wasn’t enough. No, quite the opposite. You were a mess, but not a crying mess, and that’s exactly what he wanted. After all, you couldn’t be his trophy if you weren’t used the right way, could you?

Well, that’s what he thought.

His hand pulled your hair back further, which made you let out a sudden scream and widen your eyes, the previous adrenaline still present throughout your body, and although you were tired, your pussy throbbed even more with the sudden pull.

“What are you—...?”

“Do you really think this is over, pretty thing?” He asked, his voice filled with mockery as he pushed your hair even more, his other hand still soaked with your cum. “A slut like you needs more to be satisfied, especially if she’s not being fucked properly.” He groaned into your ear, and you almost moaned at the dirty words.

With a sudden movement, Mattheo turned you to face him, his hand still gripping your scalp, and sat you down on the wooden surface, spreading your legs so he could position himself between them.

You looked at him, your pussy blinking in anticipation as you watched the way his sweat made his Slytherin uniform stick to the defined muscles of his chest, and you couldn't help but bite your lip at the sight.

“Do you like what you see?” Mattheo asked, his grip on your hair still firm, his lips curling into a smirk as he saw you nod. “Such a pretty girl.” He paused, his eyes still fixed on your face. “Open your mouth.” His voice was firm, and you, too lost in your previous pleasure, obeyed him without hesitation.

Taking advantage of the opening, Mattheo brought his free hand to your mouth, his fingers covered in your cum, making contact with your tongue. Neither of you could control the moan as your tongue rolled around his fingers.

Mattheo stared at the scene for a few seconds, as if hypnotized by the sight. However, the hardness of his dick quickly snapped him back to reality, reminding him of what he needed from you. In an instant, he pulled his fingers from your tongue and used them to open your mouth. Before you could fully react, he took the opportunity to spit onto your tongue and pressed his lips to yours in a hungry kiss.

You both moaned into each other's mouths, your taste present as tongues and teeth collided eagerly, both of you wanting to take control of the battle that your mouths were trying to win at all costs.

Mattheo’s hand pulled your hair harder, taking control of the kiss as you moaned against his mouth. He mirrored your sound; however, while you were completely lost in the kiss, Matt had already pulled his waistband and boxers down to his heels, his hard cock exposed as he struggled to control himself, fighting the urge to fuck you right there.

Yet, he couldn’t control himself—not when your pussy looked so fucking pretty, not when the anger was still beating against his ribs, and not when he was still waiting to make the trophy completely his.

Mattheo gripped your hair even tighter, pulling you out of the kiss with surprising strength, making you moan in annoyance at the loss of contact. However, that moan quickly turned into one of pleasure when you felt another slap on your pussy, signaling for you to open your legs. This one was stronger, the wet sound reverberating through the walls.

Yet, you obeyed quickly, spreading your legs to give Mattheo the opening he needed to finally enter you and claim the trophy he felt he deserved.

You looked at his dick anxiously, your sensitive cunt throbbing. Mattheo grabbed your leg, placing it over his shoulder, and without a single warning, he slid inside with a single thrust between your wet folds, and a loud moan escaped your lips at the sensation. "Fuck, you're so tight," Mattheo groaned, feeling your tight walls squeezing his cock as he thrust even harder.

Fuck, he was big—too big, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself, since the only dick you were used to was your boyfriend’s. And, honestly, you sometimes wondered if it was just for decoration.

Mattheo’s grip on you tightens harder, his breath coming in low gasps and whimpers almost as loud and scandalous as yours as he continues to push his cock deep inside your soaked folds, making the sound reverberate through the stone walls of the room.

You didn’t hold back, moaning and whimpering as you moved your hips with him, too lost in the sensation to care about your boyfriend.

Mattheo knew exactly what he was doing, stealing you from that worthless piece of shit you called your boyfriend and claiming you like a damn trophy. The satisfaction of finally having his hands on you, feeling your body around his, was like a fucking victory prize for him, an intoxicating one.

Yet, you didn’t care that you were being used as a pawn, not when you were being filled and used like a slut by a cock that actually did its job.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You whimpered, moving your hips even harder, making Mattheo groan and moan loudly and mimicking your actions, moving his hips with the same roughness as you, thrusting even further inside you. Your arms behind you, resting on the table, and you could feel your leg getting sore on top of Mattheo’s shoulder. You didn't care, though, as you continued to dig your nails into the table, leaving a mark.

“That fucking idiot has a bitch like you and doesn’t fuck her the way she deserves,” he growled, anger visible in his voice, his dick still moving inside your desperate, wet cunt, your flesh almost shining. “Such a good fucking cunt,” he murmurs, gripping your leg even harder, the sound of your moans and whimpers only fueling his ego.

He wasn’t just fucking you, you notice; the son of a bitch was claiming you in ways your boyfriend could never even dream of.

Mattheo took your leg off his shoulder abruptly, slapping your thighs roughly and then moving them apart so he had more access to your soaked pussy that was proudly swallowing his fat cock, which made him increase his movements even more, his fingers gripping your waist as he moved inside you, his brown eyes focused on yours for a few seconds.

“Mattheo!” You continued moaning his name loudly, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. You were so lost in the sensation, so caught in his intense gaze, that you had to close your eyes, shutting them tightly as you tried to regain control.

But that only seemed to anger him even more, and without warning, he thrust even harder into you, and in the next instant, his hand came down, slapping your face with force; the sound echoed through the room, making your head snap to the side, the force leaving a mark on your skin.

You moaned once more, opening your eyes and focusing on him again. Your pussy throbbed from the sudden contact on your cheek, and for a moment, you couldn't help but curse yourself under your breath, the sensation making you even hornier than before, your walls clenching even tighter around his cock.

“What a pretty little slut, squeezing my dick like this,” he moaned at the way your pussy tightened around him. “Look at your pathetic state,” he laughed through his nose, watching the red mark on your cheek.

His hips slammed harder against yours, making you moan when you felt his dick hit your sensitive spot, and he mimicked the sound when he felt you tighten around him, letting him know you were close to orgasm. You looked at him completely as you rocked your hips against his, trying to ignore the burning sensation his hand left on your cheek.

He looked fucking glorious; the way his curls clung to his forehead made him look even more irresistible.

Yet, you couldn’t help but notice how his muscled chest was still covered by his Quidditch jersey, and you couldn’t help but feel a little off, knowing that your boyfriend’s team lost to the house of the man who was fucking you right now.

The force in Mattheo's deep and rough thrusts increased, and you tried to use that to your advantage to try to take off the Slytherin jersey; however, when he noticed that your hands were going towards his uniform, Mattheo laughed dryly and brought his hand back to your hair, grabbing it and pulling you back, thrusting his dick harder into your pussy.

“No, no,” he forced a chuckle, trying to control a moan as he felt himself getting closer to his orgasm, the force on your scalp getting stronger. “I’m going to wear this fucking jersey until you cum.” He gave another deep thrust, and before you could even complain, he crashed your mouths in another bruising but sloppy kiss.

“Mattheo, please!” You moaned into his mouth, tears falling down your cheeks, making him smirk even more as he kissed you roughly and pressed his cock on your hole even more, satisfied that he was finally making you a crying mess and satisfied that you were so lost in the pleasure of his cock that you let him take you as a trophy, making you forget about your brainless boyfriend.

“Fuck, I’m close too, sweetheart.” He responded by thrusting even harder into your pussy, and not even ten seconds later you came moaning loudly against his lips, your pussy wetting his cock with your cum as you cried out.

Mattheo broke the kiss, moaning loudly, his goal accomplished. His mouth went towards your shoulder, biting the skin as he continued to thrust, guiding himself to orgasm. His hand tightened even more in your hair before finally cumming, filling your pussy with his release before taking it off you.

Both of you tried to control your breaths, your hearts still racing. Mattheo looked at you, his breathing still heavy, yet before you could come to your senses, he kneeled before you, his hand leaving your hair as he placed both of his hands on your thighs, looking at your expression, your eyes closed.

He licked a small part of your mixed orgasms, causing him to groan against your folds. The two of you were so distracted that you didn’t even notice your boyfriend standing in the doorway, looking at the scene with his jaw clenched.

Mattheo finally looked up, and when he noticed his asshole rival looking at the scene angrily, he moved his face away from your pussy, smirking in your boyfriend’s direction, while both of your orgasms ran down his chin, falling onto his sports jersey, showing your boyfriend that Mattheo had fucked the way he was never capable of.

And when your boyfriend finally stormed off, Mattheo turned his attention back to your pussy, not even warning you about the unrequited appearance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmured against your pussy, enjoying his victory. Because, in the end, being a trophy was better than being a consolation prize, right?

And after all, Mattheo Riddle always took good care of his trophies, and you wouldn’t be the exception.

first time writing full pnv… how do we feel? sad tbh 😔

for @asvtrials @astrxq @bucksplum @earth4angels my favorite beta readers, i love you all!! 🫂

and for @leona-hawthorne who was the first to know about this idea, i love you! 💕

comments and reblogs are appreciated and help me a lot, so feel free to interact 🫶🏻

edited but not fully corrected.

#— ; 𝐳𝐨𝐲𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 🧳#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo x reader #mattheo #mattheo smut #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x yn #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n #mattheo imagine #slytherin boys x you #slytherin boys smut #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #dividers by cafekitsune

2K notes · View notes

lenoraslament · 9 months ago

Text

Slytherin Boys React: How They Would Overstimulate You

I’ve been gone for too long, so I decided to write the dirtiest post I’ve ever written (for Tumblr at least)

Warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, smut, degradation, oral (m+f receiving), piv, voyuerism, fingering, overstimulation, toxic, cnc, fingering, slapping, smut with no plot, pain, praising, begging.

Mattheo Riddle: Fucking You Past Your Limit

“Hold your legs for me yea?” Mattheo asks, but you know by the tone of his voice that he’s really telling you to. You sigh softly and hold the backs of your knees as your legs tremble.

“Just like that,” he grins as he pushes forward bottoming you out immediately. The gasp leaving your wide open mouth is his reward. His hands press into the bed beside your face trapping you under him as he thrusts deeply. At least this position lets your body rest. Tonight, he’s already had you bent over his desk, standing by the wall with your leg hitched up onto his waist, and sitting on his dick with your legs dangling over the edge of the bed as you felt the full length of him threatening to break you.

He groans and curses as he jackhammers his way into you relentlessly. Your mouth is an endless string of moans and cries. When he feels you tense around him as you come, he finally rolls off and lays beside you on the bed.

“Get on top” he says tapping your leg urgently.

“You have got to be kidding” you whine breathlessly.

He takes your hand and places it on his still hard cock, “Does it feel like I’m kidding?”

Theodore Nott: Fucking Your Mouth

Another tear rolls down your cheek as you gag. Theo’s hand wraps tightly in your hair tugging you off his cock. Your lips drip with your own thick saliva mixing with tears. Your eyes look up at him blinking back water, wondering if he’s finally done.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you cry for me bella” he mutters in a low voice. His sleepy eyes don’t seem concerned that your jaw is aching, that he’s been using your mouth for nearly thirty minutes. Your mascara isn’t even under your eyes anymore, the muddy tracks are dripping under your chin.

“Just a little longer” he says as you gag again his thickness filling your mouth mercilessly. His hips thrust forward as he keeps your face in a vice like grip using you like his own personal toy. When he finally comes in your mouth, you’re so relieved it’s over. He whispers dirty praise making you feel proud of yourself. You’re even grateful to swallow.

Lorenzo Berkshire: Going Down on You

It felt amazing. An hour ago. Now Enzo’s hands have to keep your thighs from pressing back together around his ears. His tongue circles your clit, then flicks on the nub as you gasp and whine.

“Please baby…I can’t,” you whimper but he only laps and slurps greedily as she feel the coil inside of you threatening to snap again.

“Yes you can” he says in a low voice. You whine again as he flutters his tongue,.

“Oh God you taste so sweet,” he mumbles as his tongue plunges into your hole for a moment before continuing its assault on your bundle of nerves.

Your hips roll forward and he pins them down as your body nearly folds in half from another panting climax. Enzo’s mouth hungrily devouring your orgasm as he eats you through it.

Draco Malfoy: Making You Watch Yourself

“Look at how beautiful you are” Draco whispered in your ear. You can hardly stand anymore much less open your eyes and look in the mirror. When you finally do, you are a mess. Your cheeks are flushed, your lips parted, your hair is clinging to your forehead that is getting damp with sweat.

Draco stands behind you, one hand on your breast the cool rings of his fingers soothing your burning skin. The other hand delicately rubs your clit so softly and constantly. He buries his cock into you again as you whimper, his lips brushing kisses on your neck and shoulder. The maddening sensation hurling you to the edge, his lips curled up in a smirk in the mirror.

Your third orgasm rips through you as you shudder, your eyes rolling back obstructing your view of yourself again. That’s okay. Draco rolls your nipple between his fingers reminding you to snap your eyes open as you watch him take you over and over again.

Blaise Zabini: Fingering in Public

“Can you believe it Y/N?” Pansy asks you excitedly from across the table.

“Huh?” You asked softly. She looks at your parted lips confused, your eyes are half lidded and you squirm in your chair.

“Are you even listening to me?” She asks.

Blaise sits beside you, his fingers thrumming deep inside your cunt. Panties pushed aside and your skirt rolled to your waist. At least there’s a table cloth to provide some semblance of privacy.

“Stop being rude Y/N,” Blaise says teasingly, his cocky smirk watching you try and hold your composure. His fingers curl up in a ‘come hither’ motion brushing your Gspot. The rhythmic motions pair with his thumb tracing gentle circles on your clit and your brain feels fuzzy.

You have to put your head on the table and cover it with your hands to stop from screaming as Pansy rolls her eyes at your strange behavior and walks off. Blaise feels the liquid on his palms as you squirt onto his fingers, your face panting trying to shyly hide your face.

“Good job staying quiet babe, just give me one more” he whispers in your ear.

Tom Riddle: Pain

I mean. It is Tom Riddle. He loves overwhelming you in the most taboo way. Your legs wrapped around his waist as you sit on his desk, one hand pressed to the small of your back as he pushes into you. With every thrust he delivers a smack to your cheek. You’re breathless as his hand is wet with your tears.

“Take it doll,” he says in a low growl as you feel every slap shift your thoughts away until all you can focus on is the pain and the pleasure. Soon your breathing is rhythmic as your body responds, he loves watching you come undone as he pushes your limits.

Your pussy clenches him and your whimpers turn into loud moans of pleasure as he rolls his hips into you at an untethered pace. His hands to move to grip your ass as he fucks you through your climax.

Then he holds your red cheeks kissing you roughly as you shudder with orgasm. He’s not happy until you’re lost in sub space, nearly babbling incoherently. Desperately asking him if you’ve been a good girl.

—————————

☺️my requests for writing at open!

3K notes · View notes

winnie1emon · 3 months ago

Text

✧.* what happens after mattheo finds his sweet bsf moping after a bad date..?

bsf!mattheo x angel!reader (fem pov)

word count: approx 2.2k

cw: MDNI!!, smut, bsf!mattheo, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, finger sucking(?), lots of praise, mattheo is maybe kind of a perv idk lol, p link in the middle

a/n: sorry it took me a bajillion years to do this... sleep schedule is in the works :( + requests are open :3

Mattheo quickly flipped over the muggle Playboy magazine he had gotten his hands on the previous summer and fumbled with his zipper as he heard his dorm door swing open. Needn't to turn around as he recognized the familiar sound of your heels clicking across his floor as you kicked them off and slumped onto his bed, he clumsily shoved his small collection of magazines into his drawer.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "How was your date, he ugly?" He did not bother to turn around and face you, adamant about not showing you his flushed face.

Truth be told, your "date" was terrible. You had waited at the Three Broomsticks for hours, garnering pitying looks from Madam Rosmerta while you awkwardly stirred an on-the-house butterbeer, waiting for your blind date to arrive.

"Bad..." you managed to mutter, your voice trembling slightly. You had begun suffocating as your face was planted on one of his pillows, raising your head up for air and seeing the tear stains you left on the pillowcase.

Slightly surprised, he furrowed his brows, turning around his chair to get a full view of you, sulking, face-first on his bed. "Why? What happened?" he questioned.

"Didn't even show," you sniffled out, not looking up.

Concern washed over his face as he got up, readjusting his pants for the second time, before sitting gently beside you. He placed a palm on your shoulder, pushing slightly to get a view of you. You didn't resist, turning your body around, and giving him a clear look at you.

His heart ached at the sight of you; your dried-up tears, the red hue in your eyes, and the remnants of tears clinging onto your bottom lashes.

Mattheo brought his thumb to your face, swiping away at your cheek. "He didn't?" he asked softly. He meant to sound comforting and understanding, but his voice had a subtle tone of hope that you didn't catch over your small hiccup.

You shut your eyes, feeling new tears form as he pulled you up off your back, allowing you to sit against his headboard. Kicking off his slippers, he brought his feet onto the bed and sat beside you, placing your head on his shoulder with his arm slung over yours.

You both stayed in that position, silent, for a while. It wasn't uncomfortable, it was something familiar to make you feel better. Mattheo fidgeted with his sheets with his free arm and you felt most of the tears come to a stop. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you turned towards him.

"You're a guy right?" you asked.

"I'm pretty sure."

You stifled a small giggle before resuming your more solemn mood. "Do y'know why he wouldn't come?" you asked tentatively. Met with silence and his gaze set straight ahead, you prodded, "Like... think he saw me and left?"

"No. No way."

Mattheo had answered you quickly, even surprising you. You had expected a teasing yeah or a reluctant no from him, but he seemed dead serious. It wasn't like Mattheo was rude to you, merlin, you were probably the one person he was the nicest to, but he'd usually never pass up on an easy opportunity to make a joke.

Moving closer beside him, you peered curiously at his face, looking for any sign of sarcasm, but there wasn't any. "Really?"

The sight of your doubting eyes, the slight quiver in your lips, and the feel of your body pressed against his arm as you sat on his bed was all too much for Mattheo to handle. He wanted to scoop you up and mumble reassurances into your ears, but a part of him that he so desperately wanted to push away, wanted to fuck you senseless and show you how serious he really was.

Fuck. He knew it was wrong to feel this way when you sought comfort from him and nothing more, but he could hardly suppress his thoughts. Not when you stumbled into his room as he was about to relieve himself-- especially not in the strapless dress you wore for your date.

"Mm, yeah," he barely got out. "You're... beautiful."

You hummed appreciatively, feeling an unfamiliar blush creep up your face. Mattheo was your friend, and he had complimented you a few times before, but this was strangely... intimate. Grateful for him, you let your head sink past his shoulder and onto his chest and allowed one of your hands to play around with the material of his shirt, the soft cotton rubbing against your fingertips.

Tracing patterns on his shirt, his toned torso underneath; so close to your touch, you allowed yourself to be mesmerized while drawing swirls and stars on his shirt until you felt his body go taut and he cleared his throat.

"Oh-- sorry," you said sheepishly, retracting your hand. You sat back up, having your head properly rested against the headboard.

"No, don't be," Mattheo said. "I'm just, just a bit out of it right now," he told you, turning to face you.

"Yeah..." you noted. "You look a bit flush." You examined his face, his cheeks lightly dusted with a rosy hue and a very tiny bead of sweat on his forehead. You pushed yourself off the headboard, sitting straight up on the bed and your eyes wandered over him. "Are you," you began to ask in concern before your heart leaped into your throat from the sight of his very obvious boner. "...okay?" you finished, swallowing thickly.

"Don't even worry 'bout me," Mattheo shrugged off, oblivious to your wandering eyes. "Feeling better now?" he asked you, your tears from earlier no longer apparent.

Your brain still short circuiting from the sight of his boner, you paused before snapping back into reality.

"I-- uh, I don't know..." you said biting your lip. "I was really excited to go, but I guess he wasn't."

Mattheo searched for the words to say before you spoke again.

"Maybe I got the date wrong. Oo, oh! Maybe the place wrong?" you tried to convince yourself. "Merlin, who am I kidding? He saw me and decided not to show," you groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have worn this dress, I was kind of doubting buying it when I was at the store and-" you rambled before being cut off by a cool hand on your chin turning your head around.

"Hey- what are you doing?" you smiled sheepishly, caught off guard.

"Stop talking about yourself like that. You know it's not true."

You chortled, confusion etched onto your features, but nothing on his face resembled a joke.

"Stop joking, I'm actually sad," you finally drawled.

"M'not joking," he said. Before you could retort, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss.

Your mind clouded for a brief moment before you began to kiss him back.

For such a seemingly rough guy, his lips were soft and welcoming. You could go days without pulling away, your hands running up his back as he cupped your face. Kissing him felt natural, something that you didn't have to work very hard to do.

You let your body take over and kiss him without worry and he seemed to do the same as he slipped his tongue in, taking you by surprise.

Knowing he already crossed a line by kissing his best friend, Mattheo couldn't hold back the amount of arousal coursing through him at the moment. Without thinking, he allowed a hand to trail down from your face, feeling the lines of your waist until it found your thigh. Pushing the blue silk dress upwards, his hand rested on your ass.

Not protesting at all, you leaned closer, with his hands beginning to guide you onto his lap. You both sunk on the bed, having you straddle him. The cool air hit your bare skin as he brought your dress even upper, the dress folding inside out on your waist. His hands ran up and down your ass, stroking the lace of your underwear.

He slipped his hand underneath the material, feeling the skin of his palms on your unclothed ass, groping and grabbing blindly. You continued to kiss him, resting on top of him warmly until you felt his hand ghost over your bare folds causing you to pull away from the kiss and elicit a moan.

You looked at him curiously, parting your lips before he asked, "Can I?"

Before you could contemplate, your body was already deciding as you immediately nodded up and down. His fingers trailed lightly on the outside of your slick cunt and you could hear him murmur to himself but the sound was blocked out of your ears as your mind was clouded with thrill.

Burying your head beside his head and into his pillows, you let out a shrill whimper as you felt him insert one finger. Slowly, he pumped it in and out of your cunt, slowly increasing in speed.

Entering another finger, your whimpers grew into moans and he turned to look at your heated face.

"Fuck, you're cute."

Unable to respond, you attempted to give him a sheepish smile that sent him over the edge.

His fingers pumped in and out of you with uncontrollable fervor, your fluids coating his fingers as you leaked out. You writhed around on top of him, small squeals escaping your lips as you felt your orgasm near.

"M-Matt..." you mewled. "I'm gonna-"

"Shh, shh," he said, bringing his free hand to caress your head. "You can come. Come on my fingers for me." He buried his fingers deep inside, curling them slightly as he found your g-spot.

No longer able to contain yourself, you let your orgasm happen, your cunt tightening over his fingers. Panting, your body went limp which gave him time to flip you over so you were below him.

Watching the look you sported as your orgasm washed over you, the way you were beneath him, and how your lips were swollen from your previous make out, Mattheo could've sworn he was going to come right in his pants.

Wasting no time, he pulled down his pants, boxers following, allowing his cock to spring out, the tip already leaky with precum.

Pulling down your soaked underwear, he positioned himself between your legs. He pushed in slowly, each agonizing second torturing you as you desperately wanted him.

He rocked his hips and you had expected him to go slowly like he did with his fingers, but he quickly set a pace, hardly waiting for you to adjust.

The world felt unreal to you, having your best friend's cock inside of you when just moments before you were moping about some mystery guy...

Mattheo tugged down the top of your dress, the lack of straps allowing your tits to pool out. Fondling greedily, he couldn't even contain himself.

"Can't believe he lost this before even getting it," he groaned under his breath. "Fucking clown."

Unable to get a word out through your whimpers and mewls, all you could do was blush bashfully at his words.

He brought his hand to cup your jaw, slipping his thumb into your mouth. Teasing, he pulled his thumb to the edge of your mouth, contorting your lips as he laughed to himself. "You look adorable."

He continued to tease, finding the faces you made amusing as he continued to use his cock to kiss your cervix. You were about to unravel again, your cunt gripping onto his cock as your cries grew louder, your hands scratching his arms. "Gonna come?" he asked. You nodded quickly, a sign for him to slow down.

"Are you?" you asked tentatively.

"Not yet. Wanna savor my time with my favorite girl," he cooed, leaning into your ear.

Your surprise couldn't last long as you came for a second time, your face scrunching up. You breathed heavily, still allowing your body to process while Mattheo took the time to pull out and turn you around, your knees sinking on the bed.

Mattheo wanted to frame that moment right there and then. Capturing the sight of you; back arched down, ass up in the air practically inviting him inside your glossy cunt, face buried into the sheets.

"I hope you're forgetting about that guy. I would throw myself off the Astronomy Tower if I skimped out on a date only to find out it was with you."

Entering once more, he threw his head back before letting out moans of his own. Unlike during missionary, he went in patiently, admiring the view of his cock sliding in and out of your folds.

"I'm going to come just looking at you like this, I swear. Want me to? Want me to come inside?"

"Y-yes!" you managed to sputter out. "Please..."

"The day I say no to you; just know I'm under the imperius curse." And with that, he came, spurting thick ropes of cum inside to coat your walls. "Shit..."

He pulled out, leaning down to watch the remnants of his arousal seep out of you. He pulled you upwards to sit on your knees on his bed before hugging you by the head, caressing you with his hands roving your body.

"Bet you're glad he didn't show now, huh?" he joked gloatingly.

"Yeah."

―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――

2K notes · View notes