#mattheo | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherrixpie · 23 days ago

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DINNER AND DIATRIBES

double feature: part a - part b

-> not only is mattheo too late to ask you out to the yule ball, you're going with harry potter of all people. now, his best friend is going to the ball with his nemesis and he has some feelings about it.

-> mattheo riddle x bsf! reader; part a; sfw; wc: 13k; cw: suggestive, mentions of violence; tags: friends to lovers, yule ball setup; again I wasn't able to tag everyone, sorry :(

( masterlist )

There were many who would call Mattheo Riddle crazy. A bloodthirsty maniac, who couldn’t be bothered to feel attachment, or fear, or any normal human emotion for that matter. A psychopath who would snap on a whim and held an iron grip on the school when he wanted to.

But you had never been able to see him the way other people did, never could relate the picture the whispers and rumors painted to the man who was currently breathing down your neck. His nose ran down your skin and you could feel his boredom on your fingertips as he leaned his forehead against the back of your neck. His knee rocked unsteadily under you, making the thigh you had slung over his bounce up and down almost indiscernibly in return.

“Have you heard that Susan Bones is going with one of our house?” asked Pansy through the chatter surrounding you, widening her eyes dramatically. “Susan Bones. And a Slytherin. Merlin, I didn’t think I’d see the day, they must have the same freaky kinks or something to make that match work.”

Blaise’s laughter echoed off the stone walls of the dungeons. The Slytherin common room was painted in its usual emerald glow. It flickered across the tapestry showing scenes of a medieval wedding tonight. Only after spending more time with Pansy and the boys in your fifth year, and after weeks of hanging around with them in their common room, had you noticed that the tapestry kept changing its motif and scenery. Low chatter and conversation filled the space as groups of students were huddled around couches or desks, studying or talking, some of them reading by themselves. It wasn’t as busy as your common room, nor was it as loud, and you quite enjoyed the calmer atmosphere.

You sat comfortably on Mattheo’s lap, his arm draped lazily around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the fabric of your uniform skirt. It wasn’t unusual- your friendship with you-know-who’s son was quite affectionate, filled with easy touches and stolen warmth, a silent understanding of physical proximity neither of you ever questioned. But tonight, something felt different. His grip was a little tighter, his body a little tenser beneath yours, his usual sharp, sarcastic remarks replaced with a brooding silence as the others discussed the upcoming Yule Ball.

“I think I’d say yes to Diggory, if he asked,” Pansy mused, twirling a strand of dark hair between her fingers and quirking an evil little smirk at Blaise’s frown. “He’s got that whole golden-boy thing going on.”

Mattheo scoffed under his breath and you felt the brush of puffed-out air tingling the skin of your neck, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. “Golden-boy thing is just another way of saying boring.” His tone was clipped, disinterested, but you could still feel the way his legs bounced slightly beneath you, a tell-tale sign of his agitation. He’d been in a foul mood all day, propelling anyone near him or passing him in the corridors into a constant state of nervousness and vigilance.

As you thought back, you guessed his bad mood must have started back when Professor McGonnagall had announced the ball, halfway into december, and you felt your lips twitch at the thought that Mattheo Riddle might shy away from a dance. You shifted slightly in his lap, turning to look at him with a raised brow. “What’s got your robes in a twist?” you teased brazenly, delivering a playful nudge to his shoulder.

But instead of smirking back at you like he usually would, he simply huffed, gaze flickering away. “I just don’t see why any of you care so much,” he muttered. “It’s just a bloody dance.”

“And you call me a spoilsport,” huffed Theo next to the two of you, balancing a book in his lap. His eyes met yours and his lips curled into a mocking smile as they flickered back to Mattheo. Theo and you were probably his best friends- as well as the only ones who would ever tell him off for something. For good reason. Because the two of you were also, with high probability, the only ones Mattheo would never seriously hurt.

“Shut it, Nott,” mumbled Mattheo warningly and Theo shrugged, turning a page in his book.

Your body was still turned to Mattheo when Draco’s drawling voice spoke up. He was lounging in the best seat by the fire with an air of superiority. “I don’t know about you all,” he said uppishly, “But I already have a date for the Ball.”

“Really?” Pansy asked in surprise and shot up from where she was leaning against Blaise. Her eyes glinted at the prospect of being the first one to receive the newest gossip. Half the reason she was so excited for the Yule Ball had to be watching all the drama unfold. Having a front-row seat and sipping her red wine when the screaming matches and tearful breakups would start.

“Who are you going with?” asked Enzo, interested, from his place at the far end of the couch. He himself had already gotten three invitations to the Ball that day, all from very flustered looking, younger girls, and had to decline all of them with an apologetic smile, later complaining about it to his friends. And of course, you had all diligently listened to his woes before smacking him over the head with a pillow for being such a damn loverboy. And watching him shuffle his curls back into place.

“Daphne,” revealed Draco in a superior tone, watching his nails in feigned disinterest.

But Pansy sucked a loud breath in through her lips and gripped Blaises thigh so hard he let out a low noise of complaint. She ignored him, a predatory smile on his face. “Did you ask her or did she ask you?”

“Does that matter?” scoffed Draco lazily, but there was a very faint tint of pink on his pale cheeks. His displeased frown flickered over Pansy, Enzo, Blaise and you as you all started laughing. Mumbling something indiscernible, he pretended to be interested in the tapestry above, making Pansy bend forward with giggles.

“What about you, Pans?” you asked when she had calmed down and slumped back into Blaise, your eyes wandering back and forth between them. “Do you already know who you’re going with?”

With a secretive smile, Pansy shrugged but splayed a thigh over Blaise’s leg. Her manicured nails traced a line up his knee as she winked at you. “Who knows?” Her eyes flickered between you and the disgruntled looking Mattheo currently resting his chin on your shoulder and glaring into the emerald fire. “What about you?”

At the question, Mattheo’s hold on your waist stiffened. His fingers, that had been drawing lazy circles on your hip, suddenly stilled, pressing just a fraction harder into the fabric of your skirt. On your shoulder, you felt his jaw tense, a muscle ticking as he shifted slightly beneath you, his leg bouncing once more before he forced it to stop. Though he kept his gaze trained on the fire, his grip on you didn’t falter.

Normally, he held you like this when he had to somehow ground himself, threatening to lose himself in a whirlwind of anger and stress, moments before either jumping another student or being dragged off by you or Theo. But there was no one here that might have attracted his hate, and your brows scrunched up in a frown he couldn’t see. Anyone else might’ve missed the way his fingers flexed or how his breath grew just slightly uneven, but you felt it- every small, quiet reaction that betrayed his indifference.

Something about this Ball seemed to agitate him, and you placed a warm hand on his thigh to draw careful circles on it, in the hopes of appeasing whatever it was that fueled his bitter temperament.

“No plans,” you answered, as casually as possible. In truth, you had been hoping for Mattheo to ask you ever since the announcement. You had had a giant crush on him for months now, one that you sometimes thought he reciprocated, when his touch would grow a little to intimate, his face inch a little too close, his dark promises a little too sincere to be considered platonic. This was the downside to your rather touchy friendship, the fact that there was no clear line to cross, that you could never be sure.

Holding onto hope, you’d declined Harry’s invitation a few days before, still dreaming that he could feel the same about you, as Pansy constantly assured you. But if he didn’t ask you today… Glancing back at him carefully, you only caught half his face in your field of vision, but it showed no emotion. It was still hardened with the earlier tension, not a muscle twitching, not even a small look back at you.

Enzo leaned forwards slightly, propping his arms up on his knees and giving you a sly grin. “I heard Pucey’s thinking about asking you,” he insinuated, brows wiggling suggestively.

Before you could answer, Mattheo’s voices sounded against your neck, his chin still propped up on your shoulder. “Pucey can go fuck himself.” It was a low, dangerous sound and the group fell silent for a few seconds.

Something like excitement curled into your stomach, until you realized with a pang of disappointment that Mattheo’s disapproval of Pucey reached far deeper than some Ball. He was always raving and raging about him when he returned from his Quidditch practices, and made you card your hands through his curls until he considered himself appeased. Naturally, he wouldn’t want one of his best friends going out with his least favorite housemate. Naturally. Platonically. Disappointingly.

Pansy was the first one to speak again, the grin had found its way back onto her face as she turned to you once more. “So, that’s the verdict then, love? No secret admirers to swipe you away to the night of your life?”

She jiggled her brows suggestively, biting down on her bottom lip in a not so subtle way that made you chuckle and shake your head at her. Raising your hands in mock surrender, you leaned back into Mattheo whose chest seemed to be rising and falling a bit faster as he glared at Pansy. “No secret admirers that I know of.”

A low scoff sounded behind you, as Mattheo seemed much more eager to join the conversation than during the last half hour. “They wouldn’t be very secret if they knew what was good for them.”

Merlin, sometimes you wished he would talk more like your friend and less like… well, whatever this was. But his brows were furrowed so beautifully you could barely think about the implications of his words, or the way Pansy shrunk back instinctively at the look he was giving her, fingers curling around your thigh. Otherwise, you’d surely have scolded him for scowling at her like that.

Blaise hummed, rubbing circles on Pansy’s back and giving you a sly look. “You should go with someone … unexpected,” he suggested, mocking a thoughtful tone and expression, “Shake things up, y’know? Maybe you could release Enzo from his misery. Gryffindor Miss perfect with a Slytherin pureblood, story writes itself, doesn’t it?” You could hear his voice was meant to provoke, just who you weren’t sure. Because you merely laughed at the clearly unserious idea.

But over the amused look you shared with Pansy, you missed the way Enzo widened panicked eyes at Blaise as if he’d just thrown him under the bus, as well as the way Mattheo pulled you depper into his lap. You followed the urge subconsciously and leaned your head against his, still grinning. “Someone shocking, you say?” you picked up his statement, careful not to be too obvious, “Like who? Apart from poor Enzo, I mean.”

“Not fucking Pucey, that’s for sure,” said Mattheo under his breath and you bit down on your tongue, swallowing your disappointment. Pansy threw you a knowing look that you pretended not to see. You were being absolutely ridiculous.

A long, dramatically exasperated sigh came from the armchair near the fire were Draco was still sprawled out, toying with a loose strand of the leather cushions. “You could always go with Mattheo,” he suggested what you hadn’t had the guts to- quite ironic though it was; and ran his eyes over your intertwined figures. “Since you two can’t seem to spend five minutes apart anyway.”

In an attempt to overplay your flusteredness that he had brought it up, just said it out loud, while you were seated in Mattheo’s lap no less and one of his hands dipped under your shirt to bury itself in the meat of your tummy, you chuckled and scratched the back of your neck. Craning your head around, you smiled humorously at your friend. “What, and boost his ego even more?”

For the first time in a while, an actual grin finally played around his lips again as he kneaded the flesh of your belly, throwing you a challenging look. “You love my ego.”

Because one couldn’t simply lie to Mattheo without him knowing, you turned away with a laugh instead of answering his question. Joining in, Pansy watched the outline of Mattheo’s fingers against your shirt and smirked. Her glance back up at him was a silent promise not to let the topic go so easily, and he rolled his eyes at her behind your back.

“You do have standards, right?” asked Blaise lazily, passing around a bar of dark chocolate and shuffling around on the sofa to put his head in Pansy’s lap, who raised her brow but didn’t throw him off. Instead, she returned her attention to you.

“You should definitely go with someone who can actually dance,” she said, smirking.

You nudged Mattheo in the side, not catching the look in his eyes as they snapped up to your bright face. “So, not Mattheo then?”

Suddenly, his body seemed on alert again, no longer leaning against the cushions as his lips seemed to hover somewhere near your ear. If it was any indication, his breath fanned your earlobe and you had to suppress a shiver as his voice sounded low, next to your ear. “You don’t even know what I can do, sweetheart.”

Ah. Sweetheart. Damn the way your insides were curling with the way the nickname rolled off his tongue so smoothly. Mattheo had tried out many of those before settling on sweetheart, for some reason. You had loved every single one, from doll to darling to princess, but for some reason, Mattheo had decided that sweetheart was around to stay. So, now you were his sweetheart. In any sense but the literal one.

“Well,” said Enzo, carefully examining Mattheo, as if gauging if he was in a mood to be reasoned with. Not that he had to worry, Enzo was probably the fastest runner out of your friend group, always the least likely to get in trouble for a brawl or altercation because he was the first who disappeared from the scene of the crime, even before the teachers showed up, keeping him his prefect’s badge. “I heard something through the grapevine the other day-”

You believed to know what was coming now and your eyes widened as you shook your head at him. But Pansy leaned forwards eagerly, ignoring Blaise’s protests. “Go on!”

“Ah,” said Enzo, clearly deriving some sort of pleasure from having everyone hang onto his every word. “You see, some little birdie told me you had been asked out by Potter.”

Closing your eyes, you let the round of jeers and whistles that swept the others wash over you and buried your face in your hands, burning with embarrassment. When you looked up again, you met the eyes of five attentive listeners, eager to hear your side of the story. Even Theo had marked his page with an index finger and raised a brow at you expectantly. Only Mattheo was eerily still beneath you, his fingers having halted all movement.

“How do you get all this information?” you asked Enzo incredulously, rubbing the back of your neck again and trying to deflect from the fact he had just dropped- knowing nothing would fulfill your friends’ curiosity but your explanation.

“I have my sources,” said Enzo secretively and tapped his fingers against each other, watching you over them. “And it seems like they’re reliable.”

“You’re not- you know- going with him?” asked Pansy in an almost disgusted voice and you frowned at her. “I declined. But even if I didn’t, what would be wrong with that? He’s my friend after all.”

Your friends fell silent, probably swallowing down a round of insult they would gladly chat about once you were gone. Thinking of which, your eyes snapped to the clock above the fireplace and you jolted a bit when you saw the time. Before Pansy could open her mouth to ask you another question, you interrupted her. “Alright, this has been fun, but I’m leaving before this conversation gets worse- or before Filch starts patrolling the corridors.”

As you shifted to get up from his lap, Mattheo’s arm around your waist tightened instinctively, his fingers pressing into your side just enough to make you hesitate. You pushed against his chest lightly, but he didn’t budge, his grip lazy yet firm- like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. Or, perhaps, punishing you, for being asked out by Harry.

“Mattheo,” you murmured, half amused, half embarrassed because all your friends were watching with teasing eyes and matching grins.

But he only smirked, his dark eyes flickering up to yours with a glint of something unreadable. “What?” he drawled, feigning innocence even as his hold on you lingered, burning against your skin. It took another small shove- this time with a bit more force behind it- for him to finally release you, his hands dragging down your sides as you slipped free, leaving behind a warmth that made your skin tingle even long after you stood.

“Yeah,” said Theo slowly, tapping his fingers against the back of his book as his eyes lingered on Mattheo, who was now looking at you in a way that made it quite difficult for you to move your feet in the right direction- and steadily at that. “You better go before Mattheo combusts.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes at Theo, though his gaze was still firmly locked on you. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to ruin the fun.”

With a light-hearted giggle, you pushed past the sofas and armchairs and waved them goodbye, earning a round of “Good night”s and “Have fun with the lions” in return. As your figure disappeared in the common room entrance, Mattheo's eyes lingered on the wall sealing itself again, as if you were still standing there.

“Well, that was painful,” commented Theo, leaning back against the cushions and glancing over at his best mate. “Watching you struggling not to show how much you care who she goes with.”

“I don’t,” the other lied, knowing it was in vain when he saw the devilish smirk spread on Pansy’s face. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care,” she emphasized the last words sarcastically, “you sure grabbed her like she was yours.”

You were. Feeling annoyed at the lot of them and knowing he would be subjected to a great deal of teasing until Theo’s desire for a smoke reached the level of his, Mattheo leaned back against the couch and rolled his eyes, trying not to focus his mind on the memory of you flush against him- right where he liked you best. “She was already sitting there. What, you wanted me to throw her off?,” he snarled back, glaring at one of the portraits to avoid Pansy’s raised brows. When it came to affairs of romance, she was surprisingly sharp. No wonder she seemed to know how much he fucking adored you.

Next to him, Theo coughed a false, ironic cough and Mattheo knew he couldn’t expect any support from that side either. “Mate, your hand was on her hip like you were staking a claim,” Theo drawled, giving him a smug look that Mattheo returned, unimpressed. “You want me to put my hand on your hip instead?”

“Dios mio, no,” replied Theo under his breath, reopening his book but still actively listening to the conversation unfolding.

Again, it was Pansy who broke the silence with a daring grin, crooking her head at Mattheo. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re mad she hasn’t asked you to the ball yet.”

Mattheo deadpanned, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, yeah, Pans. I’m devastated.”

“You know,” Enzo piqued up now, smiling casually in the knowledge that he was on the winning side in this. “If you asked her nicely, maybe she’d go out with you.”

Leaning forwards, Mattheo gave him a sardonic smile, sneering, “Oh right.” His tone was mocking, exaggerated. “‘Please, love of my life, light of my existence, will you attend the stupidest event of the year with me?'” He did his best to sound nonchalant, as if the mere idea of asking you out on a date was absurd and not the subject of his more innocent daydreams.

But irony could only do so much to conceal how much he really meant the words, how they opened the door to a path to his deepest, darkest desires that he would rather not open right now. No, he preferred to visit those darker corridors of his sacreligious existence when he was alone, in his dorm, shame and excitement curling in his chest as he imagined you how he could never have you. Where nobody could see just how much you meant to him.

Draco let out a scoff from his place by the fire and everyone turned towards him instead. “Imagine if she said yes to Potter,” he said, expression morphing into one of disgust. “Imagine them slow dancing.” Mattheo, who knew exactly what purpose hid behind those carefully chosen words, couldn’t help but tightening his jaw at the idea, the image. If he hadn’t hated Potter enough already, the idea itself would have done it.

“Imagine me hexing you into next week,” he growled at Malfoym who fell silent immediately, but earned himself an appraising nod from Pansy.

“What if she actually did go with Potter though?” Blaise pried further, smirking up at him from where his head rested in Pansy’s lap.

Mattheo felt his patience undeniably tested, fingers flexing against his tense legs as one of them started to bounce restlessly. Merlin, how he could have smashed Blaise’s stupid, grinning face into this stupid, grinning portrait to make them both stop mocking him. But that would prove all of them right, and maybe he didn’t even want to admit to himself how much the image bothered him, how much it made him want to storm up to Gryffindor tower to eliminate the threat himself. “Then Hogwarts would need a new chosen one,” he gruffed out, voice low as his fingers itched for a cigarette.

The topic of you and your friendship had been one of great interest these past few months, ever since it had become normal for you to rest on each other's lap, run your fingers through each other's hair or sleep over in each other’s dorm. It had raised more than a few eyebrows, but Mattheo had always smirked them away, relishing in showing you off. This loose but ever-present claim he had on you, that made him feel perfectly entitled to stare down any boy you crossed when walking through the halls with him, it had been enough for him.

Up until now, it seemed. When they had gotten brazen enough to think that they could dare ask out his girl. Only that you weren’t, he had to remind himself. No matter how often he touched you, it wouldn’t make you his, properly, until he worked up the courage to ask you. But there was just one problem: himself. And the danger he put you in by making you something more than a friend.

“What makes you think I even want to go out with her?” he asked roughly, brows scrunched up in a bitter frown and aching for something to soothe his nerves. You would have been ideal, but alas, you were gone and he needed another, a lesser fix. When he glanced up, he was met with four pairs of raised brows, as his friends all stared at him incredulously.

“Mate,” said Enzo in a voice that suggested he was trying to reason with him. “You just had her in your lap. You glare at any guy who even looks at her. You beat up Zacharias Smith when he stood her up so bad he had to spend the holiday in St. Mungos, and the only reason you weren’t charged with something was because you literally threatened to kill him if he spoke to someone about it.”

Mattheo glowered at the ground, conflicting emotions clawing at his chest, desperate for release. He felt it again. The whirlwind of his own self, all-consuming, unstoppable, but by the your touch, the sound of your voice. When he felt like he was hovering with one foot over the abyss, threatening to be swept up by the confusing storm raging against the confines of his body, you were the only one able to reach him, reach out to him, calm his whirling thoughts, his flaring temper.

No wonder Enzo always ran for you whenever it looked like he was about to start a fight. He knew how utterly disarmed he was when you looked at him with those pretty wide eyes of yours. How your worry extinguished any and all rage inside him, making something else entirely pulse in his chest.

“Can’t I be a good friend?” he asked, sarcastically. But he knew the charade wasn’t fooling anyone anymore. Hell, it was not even fooling himself.

Pansy’s voice sounded surprisingly genuine, the teasing, though still present, taking a backseat to a hesitant reaching out. “Well, I think she would like you better as her boyfriend.”

Not wanting to even acknowledge the sincerity of the words, allow himself to think of the real possibility, get his damn hopes up only to get them squashed down again, he sniggered mockingly at her, a contemptuous smile dancing around his lips. Detached. “Well, I think she would have given some sort of indicator or signal if she felt that way.”

A stunned silence followed as all of them, even Theo, seemed completely taken aback. Pansy and Blaise shared an is he actually being serious right now sort of look and Enzo blinked, perplexedly, at his friend. All of them, completely stupefied with the blatant ignorance of the both of you. They had taken you to be oblivious because of some vague romantic insecurity, but Mattheo could usually be trusted to be quite observant, especially when it came down to you. His friends tended to tease him for being so much of a guard dog, having developed some kind of sixth sense for boys looking at you with greedy eyes and how he would press a quick goodbye kiss to your temple before excusing himself to go and sort them out.

But here he was, being so utterly oblivious to the way you clearly reciprocated his affections- how you would barely manage to conceal your blushing, how your eyes would linger on him, how you would stare at him lovingly when lost in thought, how he would always be your very first priority, how you would drop everything you were doing to come help him, even if it was about something some would consider utterly meaningless.

But alas, his ignorance seemed to match yours, and they had to sit and watch, growing ever more frustrated with the way you pined and yearned for each other without ever getting a fucking move on.

Theo was the first to break the silence, brow raised at Mattheo who still stubbornly glared at te ground. “So, what’s the plan? Keep glaring at every guy who looks at her until she magically realizes you’re in love with her?”

He had dropped the magic word. the l-word, that would never make it past Mattheo’s lips and could barely enter his thoughts, as if it was a trigger. Any time he heard it, he cringed involuntarily. But he was too tired of this day and this damn converssation to correct him. “Worked out so far,” he shrugged.

Theo rolled his eyes at him, and from the way his fingers twitched agitatedly against the bookcase, Mattheo knew he was just as eager for a smoke as him, meaning he would provide him with a way out of this fucking therapy session in under five minutes. The guy was just as addicted to nicotine as he was. “And how would you feel about it if someone asks her out tomorrow who she wouldn't be so quick to decline. How would you feel about it when she turns up to the ball with someone other than you?”

Nothing, was what he meant to say. But the words didn’t make it past his lips. They were chocked by the image of you, hanging onto another guy’s arm, laughing for another guy, dancing with another guy. Something dangerous coiled in his stomach, like a snake, ready to attack but with no one to sink its teeth into but himself.

“Fucking hell,” he cursed darkly, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were plain white, close to cracking, or so it seemed to him.

Theo nodded appreciatively, rising from his seat as Mattheo followed, running a calloused and shaky hand over his face. “You know what to do then.”

When you pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady, you were greeted with a warmth both the Slytherin common room and the halls of Hogwarts had been missing. Loud chattering and laughter filled the room, the figures of many Gryffindor students in the golden hue of the cackling fireplaces. Where Slytherin’s common room was undeniably more stylish and sophisticated, your common room was just cozy.

You spotted your friends sitting by the fire, having snatched the best sofa for themselves. Hermoine seemed to be working on an essay, Ginny’s nose was buried in her book, and over the rim of the worn out cushions, you spotted the heads of Harry and Ron, setting on the carpeted floor between sofa and fireplace. Walking over to them, you let your bag down with a thud that made some of them turn their heads and smile in greeting, though you could see the light frowns on some of their faces.

They were equally as unpleased about your friendship with their Slytherin peers as they were about your Gryffindor housemates. Really, it was only natural, seeing as the two groups had a history of picking petty fights with each other and landing the others in the hospital wing. At least some of them held their frustration with the others back for the quidditch pitch, but the same couldn’t be said for all of them.

But your friends’ disapproival of your Slytherin friendgroup was nothing compared to their objection to your attachment to Mattheo Riddle, son of Lord Voldemort himslef and Harry’s personal nemesis since first grade. Not only were they among the students whispering about his reputation and dark legacy behind his back, Harry (and Ron) had also been on the receiving end of Mattheo's fists before- and hit back.

As you sat down between Hermoine and Ginny on the couch, you saw that Harry and Ron were sitting on the carpet, facing each other, a board of wizard chess in between them. The game seemed to have been going on for a while already, as a larger pile of defeated white figures and a smaller one of black figures lay by the side of the board. Harry seemed to be losing, as anyone would, against Ron. Watching Ron make a clever move against him, you lamented that you would love to see him play with Theo- it would certainly be a battle for the ages.

Ron looked up from the game when you got comfortable in the squishy cushions of the worn-out sofa and his eyes ran over you for a second, as if checking for injuries. “How was the snakepit?” he asked, and though it was humorous, his voice held an underlying tension.

“Anyone bite you?” asked Ginny from behind the shitty romance book she was currently hate-reading, a teasing tone evident in her voice. Out of all of them, Ginny was probably the most chill about your ties to the Slytherins, as she herself didn’t give much of a shit about house rivalries. “Anyone you’d want to bite you?” she added, making you huff out a small laugh under your breath.

“I am unharmed, thank you,” you said, a bit curtly at the condescending tone of Ron’s question. Just as it was with your Slytherin friends, you’d always defend your ties to the other group when they talked shit about each other- in the full knowledge that it would never change anything, and they would just keep hating each other.

When Mattheo had suggested you shouldn't waste your breath trying to stand up for your friends when their hostility ran too deep to ever be dismantled, you had asked if he’d say that about you defending him in front of your friends too. Thinking back to his taken-aback expression, you had to suppress a smile. Mattheo had never again tried to convince you not to stick up for your friends, but when you'd slept over at his dorm a few nights later, he’d asked you if you had been serious about defending him to your friends. He hadn’t looked at you, but you had heard the vulnerability in every gruff grumble of his tone.

Hermoine’s matter of fact voice drew your attention back to the situation at hand. “Did he finally ask you?” she inquired, scratching a loudly purring crokshanks behind the ear.

You knew what she was talking about, of course, and averted your eyes. Concealing your disappointment, you pretended to be interested in Harry's and Ron's game, where Ron now checkmated Harry, making him groan loudly. “No,” you answered in your best impression of indifference.

Harry, who had not been paying attention to the conversation due to his humiliating defeat, finally admitted his loss and turned his attention to the couch. “y/n?” he addressed you, chiming in, and you raised your brows at him inquiringly. Wringing his hands, he seemed a little embarrassed. “So… remember when I asked you about being my date for the Yule Ball?”

“Vividly,” you answered, nodding.

In fact, you did. In this very same common room, at about one in the morning, he’d called back to you when you’d made your way back up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. Due to procrastinating your homework of the last week, you had been staying up to complete several essays, with only him as your company. Being the Quidditch team captain and assigned the duties coming along with the position, he’d been behind his course work as well until the last embers of the fire had burned down. In the total darkness, he’d asked you to come with him to the yule ball- as a friend, of course. But you had declined the offer, still foolishly hoping that Mattheo might put his money where his mouth was and ask you out instead.

Harry rubbed his neck, sounding just as embarrassed as that night. “Yeah, well, I still kind of don’t really have a date yet ...”

General laughter took over the group at his red-faced confession. Next to you, Ginny giggled, shifting her concentration back onto her book, as Hermoine shook her head with a little smile. “Absolutely pathetic, mate,” commented Ron, collecting the chess figures and board to store them back in one of the shelves beside the fireplace.

“Hey,” said Harry indignantly, raising his brows at him, “you had to get asked by Hermoine because you didn’t have the balls to ask her herself!” More laughter followed his words and you clutched your sides, glancing over at Hermoine who was chuckling to herself as her eyes skimmed the parchment for any errors she might have missed. “He does have a point," she smiled.

Ron groaned at her, as if she had just delivered a brutal stab to his back, and let himself fall back onto the carpet as the laughter subsided. When he was done grinning at Ron’s humiliation, Harry turned back to you in a business-like manner. “Alright, I’ll be asking you one last time before i accept my fate as the sad, date-less guy for the night.”

His words reminded you that you, too, were among the last people to not have a date for the night, probably in the entire school. Pretty much all of your friends already had partners, and really, it wasn’t only true that you were Harry’s last resort, he was also yours, since Mattheo didn’t seem remotely interested in the idea of taking you out for the ball.

“And that would be different from the usual how?” Ginny asked with raised brows, still not looking up from her book.

“You’re not helping, Ginny,” Harry deadpanned at her before turning back to you, a pleading look in his eyes. “Look. You don’t have a date. I don’t have a date. And, speaking for myself here, if I don’t find one, McGonnagall might force me to take Mrs. Norris out of pity.”

The thought made you break out into a fit of giggles, picturing Harry dancing with the caretaker’s grumpy cat. Ron, who seemed to feel a similar way, grinned. “Now that’s a mental image I didn’t need.”

“Mrs. Norris in a tiny gown…,” said Ginny dreamily, turning a page in her book and making Harry roll his eyes at his friends’ antics.

Feigneing support, you patted his shoulder and offered empathetic, constructive advice. “Why not take Filch himself while you’re at it? I’m sure he’s a great dancer.”

Harry rubbed at his temples and shook his head at the round of laughter that followed your words. “Okay, so, moving on-,” he turned his gaze back to you, serious once more. “You are my best option.”

“Flattering, Harry,” you joked, “And they say chivalry is dead.” Smiling, you averted your eyes to think properly and instead focused them upon crookshanks who was striding towards you on the couch. You started to pet him, earning a mechanical sort of purr from the old cat, as you contemplated the situation.

“Listen,” said Harry, dragging himself on the carpet in your direction. “It’s a good pitch. We’ll go as friends, no pressure, no drama, no expectations- just two people avoiding being total losers together.”

Crookshanks began purring with more enthusiasm as you scratched him behind the ears, hesitating. “I mean… I guess?” It wasn’t like he didn’t have a point. Turning up alone would be less than favorable, especially since all your friends had dates for the night, except Harry. Honestly, you’d probably spend most of the night with him anyway, due to that fact. Might as well make it official.

The scratching of Hermpoine’s quill next to you had stopped as she looked at you over the rim of her parchment. “You guess?” she asked, eyes narrowed. You shrugged, instead of relaying the lengthy explanation for your hesitation. In spite of what Pansy constantly tried to convince you off, you were quite sure by now that Mattheo wasn’t going to ask you- which was fine. Really. It was absolutely fine with you. Except for the part where it wasn’t at all.

Maybe it was because Pansy had gotten your hopes up about this. Any time you had expressed your doubts about your friendship with Mattheo to her, she’d roll her eyes at you and tell you all sorts of things: how he’d been responsible for McLaggen’s unlucky incident that sent him to St Mungos after he had stood you up, how he would look at you with, as she put it, ‘a disgustingly lovesick stare’, how he would always find ways to bring you up in conversation when you weren’t around, his mind floating back to you regardless of the context, either stating or guessing what your opinion might be on the matter.

‘Honestly,’ she’d say, ‘That boy is so in love with you it’s embarrassing to sit next to. Like, truly appalling. And even worse to sit by while he always cops out of asking you out officially.’

But either way, whether what she was saying was true or a misguided guess, or a kind lie, you were quite sure he wouldn’t be making a move before Christmas. Did you really want to turn up without a date and watch him spend the night with some other girl dangling from his arm? He had enough of them at his disposal, in spite of his parentage or reputation. And, really, if he was doing these things in spite of your blatant signaling, in spite of being so weirdly territorial over you, you might as well go out with a guy that would tickle his nerves. See how he felt about that. As his arch-nemesis, Harry would certainly be ideal in that regard.

“You wanted Riddle to ask you, didn't you?” Hermoine’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, her gaze knowing as it rested on you.

You felt caught and sat up a little straighter. “...no.” Curse your denial to come out so hesitantly. But really, she was right. There had been nothing you had been more excited for than the possibility of going out with your best friend, back when the yule ball had been announced. And now, this.

Ron pointed an accusatory finger at you, frowning. “That was the least convincing no I’ve ever heard.”

Meanwhile, Ginny was giggling away at your side. “You so did,” she called your bluff and patted your leg in false pity.

With a long, desperate groan, you buried your face in your hands. “Ugh, shut up, please!”

But Ginny, still laughing, only marked her page with a bookmark and threw it aside onto a nearby table to turn her whole attention to you. “Merlin, this is so much better than my book!”

To quell all of their teasing at once - you could see Ron opening his mouth to add to your embarrassment and even Hermoine seemed to have something to say as she put away her parchment - you lifted your head from the palms of your hands and raised them to bring about silence. However, only your next words could get their attention. “Alright, alright, sure!” you called, face burning, “I’ll go with you, Harry.”

Whistling loudly, Ron earned himself a stern glare from Hermoine. When she had silenced his appreciative teasing, she turned to you, slightly frowning now. Meanwhile, Harry fisted the air, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll be the best fake date you’ve ever had.”

These words did manage to make your lips twitch into a small smile. “That is not a very high bar, Harry.”

Still frowning worriedly, Hermoine, ever the voice of reason, leaned towards you and placed a hand on your leg. “You don’t have to say yes just because Harry is desperate, you know that, right?”

“Wow, thanks, Hermoine,” said Harry sarcastically from the side, but she ignored him. Hoping to calm her worries, you smiled at her.

If you were being truthful, you would admit that this wasn’t a purely altruistic move on your part. Actually, you were hoping for some benefit to come out of this arrangement for you, as well. Maybe you could finally figure out if Mattheo felt anything more for you than friendship, if you forced his hand by going with his biggest rival. But you would rather have Harry and the others think you were just doing your friend a favor, a far more noble motivation than these darker intentions.

But Ginny seemed to see right through you. “Oh, come on. We all know you’re just saying yes to make Riddle jealous,” she blatantly called you out, earning herself a round of chuckles as the blood rushed to your face.

“That’s not-” you lied, a blushing and embarrassed mess and probably very obvious. You had never been that good at lying, and at least Mattheo said that he appreciated it, being surrounded with a group of friends who were just as good at lying as seeing through the lies of others. That he felt less like he had to watch his every step with you. He liked your openness, and he found your blushing adorable, always pinching your cheeks when you did and only worsening your situation most of the time.

Ginny curled with laughter at your feeble attempts to hide your true attention. “It totally is, who are you trying to convince here?” she asked, amusedly and you breathed a long sigh. Why did all this have to be so complicated? Feelings and people and dances.

But at least Harry seemed to take mercy on you, which was the least he could do after you’d given into his desperate pleas. “Alright, it’s settled then,” he sounded over Ginny’s laughter, giving you a trusted smile, “You and me- two best mates, going to the ball together. No weirdness.”

“No weirdness,” you repeated, quite thankful.

But Ginny quirked a teasing brow at you. “Except for when Riddle inevitably loses his mind over it." The idea ignited a spark of hope in you that you immediately felt bad for. Of course you didn’t want to make Harry a pawn in your game- but it may have been a sacrifice you were willing to make. However, you certainly didn’t want to put him at risk of spending time in the hospital wing or anything. Which was not that far-fetched of a worry.

“Not my problem,” shrugged Harry at Ginny’s words and you bit down on your lip. “It might be.”

Your words had been but a quiet mutter, but Ginny picked up on them and grinned at you with an expression that eerily reminded you of Pansy at the prospect of some juicy new drama. “On a scale of one to absolute insanity, how bad do you think he’s gonna take it?”

Sighing deeply and wringing your hands in your lap, you gave her a sheepish look, trying not to glance at Harry when you said, “I’m hoping for mild irritation.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up until they almost reached her hairline. Harry, too, seemed quite skeptical, as he leaned against the couch and frowned up at you. “And expecting?”

A small smile tugged at your lips, but you weren’t in a mood for joking. “...Something between homicide and setting the entire venue on fire,” you replied, hesitantly but probably as a more realistic estimation of the prospects. Regardless of whether or not Mattheo liked you, he surely didn’t take kindly to any boy getting, in his opinion, too close to you-especially not the Chosen One, whom he’d been pitted against since the first time he’d set foot on the doorstep of the castle.

“So, about a nine?” asked Ron, chuckling, and making the rest of you laugh again. It resoilved some of the tension that had been lingering in the air, the knowledge of a looming confrontation. Leaning over to you with faux secrecy, Ron said, “Just don’t come crying to us when he inevitably drags you into some dark corridor for a dramatic argument.”

“She’s hoping for that,” smirked Ginny, rolling her eyes- if at you or at her brother, you weren’t sure. Honestly, both of you deserved it.

Suddenly, Harry stood up from the carpet and straightened out his shirt, grinning dowm at you. Again, he had a business-like air about him. “Alright, if we’re doing this. we’re doing it properly.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, chuckling at his sudden enthusiasm.

Harry tipped an imaginary hat. “If i have to face the wrath of Mattheo Riddle, I at least want to look good while doing it” All of you chuckled at his determination and Ginny whistled. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

The first day of the holidays brought the first proper snow of the winter. Overnight, the snowflakes had danced quietly onto the earth and had turned the castle grounds into a fairytale landscape. The dark forest was no longer a black but a white mass, somehow less threatening and more inviting. But who would have felt the desire to disappear into the trees when the castle was buzzing with warmth and christmas joy?

The excitement for the yule ball especially was apparent everywhere, as students stood in the courtyard, huddled together in groups against the cold, and discussed dress robes and hairstyles for the next day's evening. A blanket of snow lay thick upon the stone gargoyles as you passed them, trotting behind Harry and Ron with Hermoine by your side. Your crunching steps left footprints in the white, glistening layer as you listened to Harry and Ron how much cake they would need for the afterparty in the common room.

Reaching the protection of the castle wall, you stood together, shielded against the sharp winter winds, as Ron started to change the topic to the amounts of firewhiskey they could smuggle in. “The thing is,” he said with a fervor you could rarely spot with him in class-related situations. “The Slytherins have the best connections to the hogshead, so we had a bit of trouble even finding someone who would give us hard liquor. We tried pretending to be McGonnagall to trick Madam Rosmerta into sending some up to the castle, but I don’t think it worked because she didn’t answer our owl.”

“Have you considered to pass yourself off as a teacher a bit more… relaxed than Professor McGonnagall?,” you suggested, looking from Harry to Ron with an amused expression.

“She’s the only professor who’s writing I could mimic,” said Harry, shrugging. “You have connections in Slytherin, right? Maybe you could get us some firewhiskey.” Hermoine murmured something like a reasonable objection into her scarf, but there was a lenient glinting in her eyes when she looked at Ron, who suddenly seemed hopeful at the idea. For once, not overly critical of your other friendships.

“Nah,” you said, deriving a certain satisfaction from seeing their hopeful expressions crumble. “Get your own connections. I’m not catching shit from McGonnagall for being responsible for your alcoholism.”

“Says the one with the nicotine addicted whatever he is to you,” said Hermoine, arms crossed tightly over her chest for warmth, with a smile and you huffed out an amused chuckle, your breath swirling in transcendent forms in the air before mingling with theirs and fading.

“But you bring up a good point,” said Harry, “The real question is: how would we even get all of it past McGonnagall and up to Gryffindor tower? I mean, we could use the invisibility cloak, but-”

Abruptly, he fell silent, and just the split of a second later did you realize the reason why, when the familiar smell of cigarettes and leather alerted you, with pin-point accuracy, who the culprit of Harry’s sudden discontinuation was. A shadow loomed over the four of you, huddled into your corner, and the easy atmosphere shattered like glass. You did not need him to speak to know who it was.

“Mind if I steal her for a moment?”

Mattheo’s voice was low, edged with amusement, but laced with something else as well, something unreadable. Ron and Hermoine whipped around, sharply, at the sound of his voice, Ron stepping in front of her slightly, as if on instinct. However, you turned only reluctantly, already aware who you’d find standing there, but not knowing whether you were keen on talking to him and revealing the inevitable bomb that might set him off.

Mattheo was leaning against the castle wall, mere feet from you. His dark eyes flickered over your friends with a lazy kind of scrutiny, lips twitching when he caught the way Hermoine’s posture stiffened and Ron’s expression darkened. His gaze lingered on Harry for half a second longer than necessary. Harry straightened slightly, shoulders squaring, and shifted as if to protest, but before he could speak, Mattheo cut him off with an easy smirk and a tilt of his head. “Relax, Potter, I won’t bite.” His gaze flickered back to you, locking onto yours as his smirk shifted into something more… deliberate. “Unless you ask nicely.”

He extended a hand- not touching you, just gesturing you forward, but the implication was clear. The moment seemed to stretch, a thick tension settling in the chilly air, before you stepped away from the wall, brushing a bit of snow off your sleeve. Behind you, Hermoine let out a barely audible sound of disapproval, Ron muttered something, in all likelihood, rude under his breath and Harry shifted slightly in your field of vision, as if he wanted to step in. But you threw them a pleading look not to make a thing out of it and walked over to Mattheo’s side, raising your brows at him in silent inquiry.

His eyes studied your expression, before he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you away. With a last little smile to your friends, you told them goodbye and walked away with him, not registering the slow, smug glance Mattheo gave them over his shoulder as he turned with you towards the entrance.

But the castle didn’t seem to be his desired destination. Instead, he led you down the flight of stairs connecting the courtyard and the greenhouses, all the while silent. You stocked it up to his bad mood. In truth, it was nervosity.

Mattheo had been rolling it around in his head all night, ever since he’d watched you leave the common room last night, Theo's dark suggestion still ringing in his ears, the cursed images of you with Potter, of all people, still haunting him. He’d already given Pucey his piece of mind about him considering to ask you out, but he knew you would mind - a lot - if he had a go at Harry that was so clearly provocated by himself. Knowing you wouldn’t forgive him too easily if he rearranged Potter’s face just a few days before christmas, and considering the massive truthbomb that was the fact that he, in actuality, held no claim over you. Yet.

Finally, after staring at the ceiling stubbornly for a good few hours, making his way through what was left of his last pack of cigarettes and not getting a minute of sleep, he’d finally not only worked up the courage, but also the words to finally, finally ask. But now, as he led you down the icy stairs, vigilant you wouldn’t trip, both the nerve and the ability to articulate himself seemed to have left him. Maybe he should have gotten some sleep before this after all. Or consumed anything other than black coffee and nicotine before approaching you to ask you- possibly the only question that really mattered.

When you reached the greenhouses, he leaned against one of the glass walls, fogged up against the cold, hands buried in his coat pockets. Feeling nervous, you moved to stand on the bit of snow-covered grass in front of him, sneaking glances up at him, his furrowed brows, his clenched jaw. “So,” he said slowly, as if weighing every word, “About the ball.”

“Oh,” you made, swallowing. With a nervous little nod, you wrung your frost-bitten hands and looked up into his brown eyes, so beautiful against the cold white sky. They were surprisingly calm, given the news you thought would enrage him. Maybe it didn’t matter to him after all. “So you heard, then?”

But Mattheo tilted his head, incredulously. “Heard what, exactly?” Oh shit. Perplexedly, you blinked up at him, having assumed he would have heard by now through Enzo’s miraculous grapevines, and that that was the reason he had wanted a chat. “...that I’m going with Harry.”

Mattheo stilled, expression faltering for just a second before his jaw clenched- tight. His eyes, usually gleanming with lazy humour, darkened as they locked onto yours, the look in them almost making you take a step back before you could get your instincts back under control. “Potter?” he said, his voice deceptively calm, but you could see the way his fingers flexed, as if suppressing a sudden urge to clench them into fists. His tongue ran over his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was trying to reel himself in.

Mattheo felt the words hit im like a slap, over and over again. That I’m going with Harry. I’m going with Harry. I’m going with Harry. They twisted something inside him, and it hurt, though he’d rather die than let it show. Potter. Out of all the people in this godforsaken castle, it had to be him. His jaw was locked as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, but he could feel the tightness in his chest, the way his fingers flexed and twitched with the urge to grab you- to shake some sense into you.

You tilted your head and looked up at him with those nervous, pretty eyes of yours, an unsure, hesitant smile playing around your lips. “What other Harrys could I possibly be referring to?” you asked, in a feeble attempt to bring some humour into the situation, light up his face that was grim and tight, as if in shadow.

Mattheo wanted to laugh, to show you how utterly unaffected he was by this news, and at the same time, he burned to throw out some sharp, cutting remark about how predictable it was, how you must have lost your damn mind. But the words felt heavy in his throat. Because it was a perfectly sane decision. Going out with Potter was probably way more sensible than going out with him.

Instead, he leaned back slightly, rolling his shoulders as if the news didn't settle like lead in his stomach. “Didn’t know you were into charity work now,” he drawled, voice deceptively smooth, but there was a cutting edge to it, a sharpness that wasn’t usually there- or rather, was usually directed at everyone but you.

“You’re really going with that bastard?” he asked, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. Not even looking into your eyes could calm the storm raging inside him now, as it spread through every fibre of his body, balled in his chest, reached the tips of his fingers as they almost shook with suppressed rage. Now, they were just a reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Of course you’d go with Potter, why would you have even considered him? When people were already whispering behind your back about you and your friendship with him, calling you names and giving you looks, calling you a house traitor and shallow or two-faced, the irony not even occurring to them. But Merlin, how he hated, how he detested, how he loathed that Harry was, sensibly, a better option for you than he would ever be.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. He shouldn't even care. Since when had he let people get to him like this? But you weren't just anyone. You were you. You were his. And then again, you weren’t. And he shouldn’t be feeling this burning frustration curling in his chest, shouldn’t feel the itch in his fingers to grab your wrist and tell you to drop the whole fucking thing. But he did. And that pissed him off even more.

“He asked me as a friend,” you said, feeling the need to clarify. Why you had thought it would calm the storm raging in his eyes, you didn’t know, as a dry, sarcastic laugh fell from his lips, missing his usual casual teasing tone. “Oh, of course. Just friends.”

Your clueless frown only fueled his anger and he clicked his tongue impatient at you, taking some sick enjoyment in the way his glare made you recoil slightly. “Never taken you as naive before, sweetheart.” When he usually whispered the nickname, it was a flirty drawl, and accompanied by a teasing smirk, or just a casual, rare smile. Now, he spat it out, barely containing his frustration. But he wasn’t the only one irked by the other.

“Mattheo, I adore you,” you said firmly, frowning up at him, “But just because you’ve got a hidden motive behind everything doesn’t mean he has.” Trying to think of the right words, you bit down on your lower lip. “He just…”

“...didn’t find anyone as nice as you to take pity on him?” Mattheo finished your sentence, his brows raised with dry humor. You could tell he was trying to push your buttons now, deflecting from his own emotions by trying to get yours up, in an attempt to get the upper hand. Because with him, everything had to be a fight, a struggle, a confrontation.

Refusing to let him get to you, you crossed your arms over your chest and looked at him coolly. “Maybe I said yes because he actually asked me.”

Unexpectedly, his detached demeanor seemed to crack for just a second. Something shifted in his expression, flickering -or falling- before he got his features back under control. “Huh,” he made, and you were treated to the rare sight of Mattheo Riddle running out of words. His lips twitched grimly, brows furrowed.

Trying to stop him thinking of some sarcastic, meticulous provocation, you took a step towards him, your breath puffing in the air. “Yeah. Huh.”

Finally, an ironic smile forced itself upon his face, it almost seemed to pain him, as the way his nails dug into his palms had to. “So, you’re gonna spend the whole night batting your eyelashes at Mr. Gryffindor Golden Boy then?”

“Why do you care?” you asked quickly, trying to catch him off guard. Your eyes zeroed in on every twitch of his expression, looking for tell-tale signs- as he surely was, too. Was it platonic protectiveness and his disdain for his rival, Harry, or could it be jealousy? His eyes met yours, fiercely, his intense stare piercing you, and though your heart skipped a beat, you held his gaze, determined not to back down.

Mattheo leaned in slightly, getting close to your face with a mocking smile dancing around his lips. “I don’t,” he said with biting sarcasm. “I wish you the best of times with Potter.”

Scoffing, you averted your eyes. His proximity was suffocating, it was confusing, a round of sparks dancing in the pit of your stomach, so unlike the butterflies people always talked about. No, your love for him was explosive, it was brimming with glimmering tension, threatening to turn into a wildwire, expanding until it consumed you whole. And you’d burn gladly as long as you burned in his hold. “No, you don’t” you contered, looking back up to find him looking at you with such hunger in his brown eyes.

Mattheo grinned grimly, clicking his tongue in a way that could have drove you into a craze. “You’re right. Hope you trip in those ridiculous heels Pansy will make you wear.”

Pretending to be annoyed, you huffed out a long breath, caught somewhere in between amusement and exasperation. “You have no right to be mad, Mattheo.”

For a moment, the only sound between you was the distant howl of the wind in the courtyard archways above, the faint echo of laughter carried down to the greenhouses by the breeze as the truth of your words hung in the tense air between you. Mattheo was watching you, his jaw tight, his lips curved into that infuriating smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You could see it- how his amusement was forced, how something far more volatile simmered beneath the surface. His words from a second ago still hung between you, sharp-edged and taunting. “Who says I’m mad?”

Without thinking, you reached up, fingers curling around his jaw, your palm warm against the biting cold of his skin. His breath hitched- so soft, so fleeting you almost missed it- but his entire body went rigid, as if the contact had struck him like a spell. His dark eyes, always so unreadable, widened just slightly, caught between surprise and something else. You tilted his chin up just enough to meet his gaze fully, your thumb brushing over the sharp edge of his jaw, and then, with a voice quiet but unwavering, you murmured, “Your face.”

With a whiplash-inducing speed, his demeanor changed, his smirk turning seductive as he leaned into your touch, a disarming glint in his chocolate brown eyes. “And you’d no all about that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

It was unfair. He knew exactly how to tickle your nerves, and just when you’d thought you’d won the struggle for the upper hand, he flipped a card like this, completely taking you aback. The heat of your stomach seemed to rush into your cheeks and you glared at him, at the knowing look in his eyes. There was a reason he was in Slytherin. But there was also a reason you were in Gryffindor.

“I'll see you tomorrow at the ball,” you scoffed, frustrated, let go of his face and took a step back. You knew looking at him might make you turn back to either kiss or slap him, so you turned around sharply and stormed up the stairs back to the courtyard. He didn't follow you, but you could feel the burning piercing of his stare resting on your back.

Pansy’s dorm was alive with the flicker of enchanted candlelight, the air thick with the mingling scents of your perfumes, hairspray and the faintest trace of Pansy’s expensive vanilla-sandalwood lotion. You stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing your hands over the flowing green fabric of your dress as Pansy, perched on the edge of the bed, tilted her head in assessment. “Honey, you look absolutely gorgeous,” she concluded, rising from the bed to walk over to you and arrange the dress in areas.

Her's was already wrapped around her figure, complementing her curves. You tugged at the neckline of yours, unsure of how much cleavage you were showing. In the shop, it had somehow seemed less risque, though it had still been more than you would usually be comfortable with. “Are you sure?”

Halting her prodding movements and tugs, Pansy straightened up and rested her head on your shoulder, smirking at you through the mirror with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Am I sure you look gorgeous or that Mattheo will like it?”

The blush that shot up into your cheeks would have made any rouge unnecessary. “Pansy!” you hissed, glaring at her, but she only laughed and lifted her head from your shoulder to turn you away from the mirror and to her, for further inspection.

“Don’t worry,” she said, for once with a sincere look on her face and a warm smile gracing her lips. “He will fall in love with you all over again and beat Potter to death before he can even get a hand onto your waist.” Her eyes glinted. “At least after I’m done with your hair.”

In spite of her reassuring words, you let your critical eyes wander over your figure in the mirror as Pansy sat you down on a chair. Her fingers carded into your hair, brushing it out and parting it into sections as she got to work on pinning it up in elegant ways. Brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers worked as if she’d done it a million times before. You scanned her frowning face in the mirror's reflection, rolling her words over in your mind. Pansy was one of your best friends, she wouldn’t lie to you, but-

“Pans?” you asked into the quiet, making her hum in response and raise her brows at you. You opened your mouth, lips parted to beg for further reassurance- but you closed them again, swallowing. It wasn’t like they would convince you, not after having heard her constant encourages for months and never truly having believed them. Or had you? Was it the reason you were so disappointed about Mattheo not asking you out, like you felt you could expect it of him after all Pansy had told you? “Thanks,” you finally said.

Your defeated tone seemed to catch her attention as her eyes snapped up to meet yours in the mirror’s reflection. She frowned. “You know, for someone who’s got a date tonight, you don’t look very excited.”

“I am excited,” you lied, giving her a tense little smile she saw right through.

With raised brows, she got back to putting your hair up with a mix of barrettes, hairspray, and magic. “Mhm, try saying that again without sounding like you’re in mourning.” With a promising little smile, she nudged your shoulder. “I promise you the evening will still get rather exciting for you, even if Potter’s a bore.”

You sighed, unable to hold onto the words any longer as your hands clasped in your lap. “You always try to convince me that he likes me,” you said, without saying the name you were trying to avoid, because it was such a sinful pleasure to let it flow off your tongue, like a kid mumbling a curse word under the protection of its blanket, just to try out the sound of it. A forbidden sound, the promise of freedom. Why was it so hard to say his name, after you’d said it so many times these past few months? In scolding tones, in warning tones, in teasing tones, in affectionate tones. Most of the times, it was the latter- most of the time, he returned your name in the same way.

As you thought of the right way to express the confusion you felt over his actions, Pansy waited, sielntly, and delivered the last, finishing touches to your hair. “If he likes me, why didn’t he ask me?” you finally asked, simple enough.

The question made her sigh and roll her eyes as her perfectly manicured hands clasped down on your thinly clad shoulders. “Because he’s an idiot and a coward. Just like you. Don’t tell him I said that.” You returned her encouraging smile, though still feeling rather pessimistic. Pansy patted your shoulder. “Honestly, since when has Mattheo known to handle his feelings?”

“Fair point,” you sighed, as she released you and walked over to her desk, to her other mirror, displaying her makeup on the surface. As she started to put hers on, you opened your bag as well and got out what you needed, making sure to get none on your dress. For a few minutes, you worked in silent concentration, the quiet only broken by laughter and shouts from the Slytherin common room.

Because she’d insisted on helping you with your hair, you’d agreed to get ready with Pansy in her dorm on the big evening. You had been here for an hour, chatting, trying on each other’s dresses, flipping through magazines for hair and makeup inspiration. Now, it was only an hour until the start of the ball, and the excitement that brimmed in the whole castle even reached the Slytherin dorms in the dungeons. When you’d hurried through it with Pansy, the common room had been devoid of its usual calm and had rather reminded you of the Gryffindor common room on a rowdy saturday, with students mingling and mixing, chatting in excited voices, their anticipation barely contained behind their Slytherin coolness.

Pansy’s voice cut through your meandering thoughts, snapping you back to reality as you started to apply mascara. “When did you tell him, anyway? That you’re going with Potter?”

“Yesterday,” you answered, leaning forward to examine your work in detail. “Why?”

Even through her distant reflection in the mirror, you could distinctly make out her sudden smirk, pulling at her now full and red looking lips. “Oh, nothing,” she warbled innocently, though she looked as if she’d just unraveled a particularly thrilling christmas present. Her glinting eyes locking on your expression as she closed the lid on her lipstick was like a mouse trap snapping shut. “Just… Have I mentioned Mattheo has been a complete nightmare since yesterday?”

You paused mid lipgloss application to meet her eyes through the mirror, her words sinking in and coiling in the pit of your stomach. “...What?” you asked, trying not to sound too eager for her to expand on these seductive words.

Pansy grinned, turning to her mirror to deliver some last finishing touches to her face. “Oh, darling. He’s livid.”

“Why would he be livid?” you asked, frowning, getting back to your lipgloss. “It’s not like he cares.”

Pansy’s mock gasp told you she was not at all convinced by your reasoning- nor fooled by the false indifference in your voice. But she gave into your silent need for answers anyway, a knowing smile on her lips. “Oh, sure, that’s why he nearly hexed Enzo for breathing too loudly this morning.” She corrected the blend of her eyeshadow, enjoying the effect her words had on you. “Honestly, I should be mad at you for causing such an unbearable mood in our common room, but it’s just too entertaining.”

“I didn’t cause anything,” you deflected grumpily, glaring at your own reflection as if it were him, trying to convince yourself, trying not to let Pansy get your hopes up again and, at the same time, yearning for something to grasp onto. “Whatever’s got to him, I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with me.”

Making an unconvinced sound, Pans angled her face differently to admire it in different lighting. “Tell that to the poor first-year who had a nervous breakdown yesterday when Mattheo snapped at him for existing.”

“What?” you snapped sharply, frown deepening. Unfazed, Pansy rose from her seat and walked over to you, swaying her hips as she met your eyes in the mirror. You sighed at the grin on her face, getting back to applying your makeup. “He can be mad all he wants, it doesn’t change the facts.” Right. It changed nothing. You shouldn’t even care.

Pansy raised her perfectly lined brows at your attempts to seem indifferent. “Then why are you applying your lipgloss for the third time?” Before you could answer, she grabbed the lipgloss out of your hands, closed it and threw it back into your back. With a pull that left no room for protest, she tugged you up and towards the door. “You look fantastic. Come on, let’s get you out and about so you can meet your Chosen One up at Gryffindor tower.”

As you walked down the steps and stepped into the common room, your heart began to thrum in your chest at the realization that he’d probably be there. That he’d see you. In this dress. For a moment, you wished you’d gotten one with a more modest neckline, but then again, you burned to see his reaction.

It was as if you already felt it on the bottom step, as Pansy urged you into the common room. His presence, and then, the weight of his stare as you spotted him leaning against one of the leather couches beside Theo, dressed in, for once, unsullied dress robes. His gaze locked and you, your figure, and the tension in the air seemed thick enough to choke on.

Mattheo hadn’t even been looking, let alone waiting for you. At least that was what he told himself. But the moment the sound of heels clicking against the stone steps echoed through the common room, his body betrayed him. His fingers, lazily spinning a silver ring around his knuckle, stilled. His jaw clenched. And when he finally glanced up, just like he swore he wouldn’t, it was like taking a hit straight to the ribs.

You were stunning. Not just in the way that made his breath catch, but in the way that made his stomach twist, made something dark coil in his chest. Because you weren’t dressed for him. And yet, his first thought was that you should’ve been. His expression didn’t change, smirk perfectly in place, body draped in his usual lazy confidence- but his grip on his ring tightened, his throat felt dry, and he had to physically stop himself from shifting toward you. He knew the moment your eyes met his, you’d notice something in his stare, something raw, something dangerous. So he looked away first. Just for a second. Just long enough to breathe.

A thrill ran through you when your eyes met his, sharp and electric. He was still lounging in that infuriatingly effortless way, all cocky smirks and feigned disinterest, but you knew better. You saw it—the clench in his jaw, the way his fingers had gone stiff around that damn silver ring. The way his gaze flickered, just barely, before snapping back to you like he hadn’t meant to look away at all.

The other boys had now taken notice of your presence as well. Charming compliments rolling off his lips like the finest vinegar, Blaise made his way towards Pansy, who smirked him off and locked her arm with yours, telling him something about just having perfected her look and getting you out of here before someone choked on their own spit. But your eyes were still locked on Mattheo, as if there was a magnetic pull attracting them that rendered you unable to avert your gaze.

Only Pansy’s gentle nudges and tugging moved your feet towards the entrance wall, as if on autopilot, and only her whispered voice as she leaned in could cut through the rushing in your ears. “Alright, what’s the plan for tonight when Mattheo inevitably corners you at the ball?”

Anxious for none of the boys to overhear you, you leaned in closer, muttering, “... Ignore him?”

Pansy scoffed at your suggestion, rolling her eyes with a little smirk. Gently, she nudged your side and lifted her brows at you. “Adorable. Wrong, but adorable.”

You sighed, reaching the entrance to the common room and turning to her for a brief goodbye. You had to physically restrain yourself from looking back at Mattheo, who’s gaze you could feel burning into your skin, a silent dare to look back, walk back, to him. But you wouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter,” you tried to convince yourself more than you tried to convince Pansy. “I’m with Harry tonight. End of story.”

But Pansy seemed unimpressed by your stubborn conviction. A promising smirk graced her lips as she tilted her head towards Mattheo subtly. “Oh, honey. This story is just getting started.”

a/n: stay tuned for part b 🫶 | if anyone would like to get tagged for part b who isn't already in the general or mattheo tag list, leave a comment!

#slytherin boys x reader #harry potter #harry potter x reader #slytherin boys #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo x reader #mattheo smut #mattheo riddle #mattheo #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheoxreader #mattheo x you #mattheo fluff #mattheo imagine #mattheo angst #mattheo series

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cloveswifey · 1 year ago

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Clingy

Dad!Tom riddle X Fem!Reader

Fluff

"Mommy is mine!" Mattheo, your spirited three-year-old, shouted, pushing Tom's face away from you.

"Excuse me?" Tom feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. "She is married to me, little buddy." He proudly displayed your ring on his finger, causing Mattheo to cry in despair. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at your husband's playful antics.

Mattheo had definitely entered that clingy phase. He only wanted you to feed him, hug him, play with him, and put him to sleep. He absolutely despised when Tom even gave you a little peck on the lips, and oh, was Tom having fun teasing your little one.

In the past few days, Mattheo's clinginess seemed to escalate. Not that he wasn't clingy before, but now it had become even more intense. As you tried to cook, his little hands would constantly explore your body, causing him to become upset when Tom was around. In an attempt to scare Tom away, Mattheo would even throw his food at him, which only made Tom laugh even harder.

You gave Tom a knowing look and remarked, "I wonder where he got his bad temper from."

Tom affectionately placed a hand on your growing stomach and whispered against your head, "Let's hope this little one isn't as jealous as his brother."

#tom riddle x you #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom ridgewell #tom riddle x oc #dad!tomriddle #cloveswifey #draco x y/n #draco x hermione #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #mattheo x y/n

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deadghosy · 9 months ago

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☆BEING MATTHEO’S CHILDHOOD FRIEND TO LOVER ☆ male version||female version

COMPLETELY protective over you ever since childhood. He literally fought a kid back then because they didn’t like that you were a “girl” playing boy games with them. You were sensitive back then, so of course you cried to mattheo about it. And mattheo did something about it. He punched the kid and stole their teddy bear to give it to you.

He asks you about girl things so he can flirt and treat a girl better. You could be literally reading a romance book, and he wants to learn too. Please teach him or else he’s gonna whine about losing another girl.

“Sooooo what does a girl like for a guy like me to tap that ass…cause I got a girl on my roster..” mattheo says sliding by you in the library table you sat in. You were literally getting to the good part of where the two main characters were gonna kiss. “Why are you asking me these questions riddle…” you say with venom in your tone towards his last name. Mattheo frowned. “Actually my name from you is Matty, Matt, and matty bear. So please—”

“—Please kill yourself and never let your soul rest after.” You say getting up from the library table and walking away. Mattheo’s jaw drop as he followed you offended. He never interrupted your reading time ever.

When your period comes…he’s asking you “what the fuck that is” and “why is it hurting you” with a frown. He’s thinking he can solve it like any other with a wave of his wand…but it’s more complicated when you explained how your uterus is shredding itself and that’s all you can get out before mattheo started to gag and leave your dorm room like the overdramatic king he is.

He still loves you dearly so he got you tea and some materials you need for the rest of your week.

Sometimes when you two have a sleepover, which is just either of you two sneaking into the girls dorms or the boys. You two gossip like little girls ready to rip someone’s heart out.

Mattheo is 50/50 on you doing makeup on him. But if you really plead and want to do it. He’s gonna let you. He can’t say no to you sadly.

A guy had broken your heart once, so he broke his face in…and broke his dick. Don’t ask.

Couple of girls hated how close you were to Mattheo. He’s a handsome guy, so of course people may spread rumors around. And Mattheo doesn’t really like that, he’s going to the girl and showering her how equal rights have hands.

If you two ever argue, it leads to Mattheo apologizing first. He’s a sucker for you, he doesn’t know why. He just doesn’t want you to be mad at him.

It’s even worst when you talk to anyone else than him.

When you fully ignore him, no texting, no calling, not even talking to you in public and being by you makes him go insane. He’s smoking in the courtyard. Jaw tightened as he eyes you across. He can tell that you know he is staring. He can tell you know indeed when you shift a lot.

The way you feel his burning gaze on you, it made you feel warm. You always loved mattheo, but with him always “going after” girls…you just thought that maybe he wouldn’t love you back.

Jealousy is something mattheo has built into him. He doesn’t know why, so when a ravenclaw student tried to ask you out. He couldn’t stand it. He had to take you away. He couldn’t bare to lose you. He ushered you away from the student, taking you to an empty classroom. He couldn’t handle not being near you, he hated it the most. You are his other part.

He hates it.

“I don’t know who that guy was. But you’re mine. Okay? You’re mine, you always have been even if we both didn’t recognize it. Shit, I know I’m dumb to think to just push my feelings away from you. But I can’t help but love how you are so amazing…” he says slowly at the end. Kissing your head and closing his eyes. You smile slowly. Your heart swell with warmth, taking a deep breath in as you wrapped your arms around him too. You loved him just like how he loves you. He loves you as if you were the made the creation of his favorite food. He loved you like making new potions. He loved you like music to his ears.

He always has been a gentleman before you two dated. He made sure he opened doors for you. He made sure you were comfortable with things. He would even sacrifice his cloaks if you were cold.

He’s like a puppy in love as he just lights up seeing you.

He loves his girl very much. You are the prettiest thing he could ever ask and give for.

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sweetimmoral · 6 months ago

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the gentle shuffling beneath the sheets distracts tom from his reading. he turns to look at the bed. no, stare at the bed, as if his concentration is going to make your sleepy head visible to him like magic.

"tom?" he hears your tiny, sleepy voice call out.

"oh, i'm here" he calls out reassuringly, trying to sound a bit more reassured than how he feels himself. you hummed in response, a smile on your face evident in the tune.

it made his heart skip a beat.

he had never let anyone sleep over in his dingy apartment above burke's. it was more of a cupboard with creaky floors that smelt like old paper and a bit of earl grey. it smelled like tom. you liked that, you told him, and that he needn't be ashamed. the economy is in shambles after the great war, you said as you cupped his face. he could only manage half a smile to respond to that.

in the morning he'd expected you to disappear from his bed. to be gone. and never return.

as he held your face the night before, he was almost reciting his disappointment. ever since he'd met you he'd been waiting for you to leave him. waiting. anxiously. not hoping, no, never hoping. it's just that you're too good, to sweet for someone so cruel and unlovable.

in some twisted metaphor, he felt his cold, long fingers warm up as they soaked some of the warmth of your pretty face. he let himself feel it. the heat. the fact that you were so real, as real as the blood flowing through your body, as real as the part of you he kissed with his tip just moments before. he let his fingers wander down south to feel just how and where he had ruined you. caressing your swollen parts with his dexterous fingers, holding his breath a little when he found his cum there. actual. tangible. there you were. and it was all real.

his hand settled comfortably on your waist after its restless roaming. he didnt want to wake up and witness the guilt he'd feel for going against every principle of his. the giant wall he'd been making around himself had no entrance, then how did you manage to comfortably reside in the broken castle ruins it protected – his heart? at least he could be assured that you would never leave. never.

and he'd resent you for this cruel trespassing forever.

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enzosbabyangel · 28 days ago

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ᥫ᭡ Day 5 . . . camping sex with Mattheo

cw: 18+!, mdni, porn without plot, public-ish sex, whore name calling, slapping, degradation, lowk mean Mattheo

a/n: i didn’t realize this didn’t post i’m so sorry 💔

You laid bare on the cool air mattress. Chugs of water in one spot of the tent while bags and pretty much junk filled the other empty space. The cool air of the tent a stark contrast to the overwhelming heat of your body as your boyfriend thrusted into you with nothing but need.

“Oh my god-“ You moan out, neck straining to look down at where the two of you connected. Using your hands to play with your tits for added pleasure.

Mattheo laughed down at you as he watched where his cock disappeared into your warm pussy. Only his right hand resting on the air mattress to steady himself while he rams himself into you while his other hand roamed your body.

“Such a whore, moaning so loud when Theo ‘n Pansy are sleeping in the tent next to us.” He taunts, his tone dripping with faux concern while his hand found way to grab the flesh of your hips. Angling you closer to him so that he could get deeper into your plush ‘n velvety cunt that hugged his cock so fuckin’ well.

The change in position had your mouth falling open in a silent moan, pussy tightening around him as you sucked in a breath. You could feel Mattheo’s hand roaming back up your body, his touch managing to make your skin feel even hotter.

Then, a sudden slap made way onto your cheek. Before you could process anything other than the stinging pain that spread on your cheek. You let out a broken moan as Mattheo’s thumb hooked into your mouth and pulled your mouth open. Pad of his thumb digging into the flesh of your cheek.

“You like that? getting slapped like a fuckin’ useless bitch?” He degrades, smirk widening on his face when he feels your pussy shamelessly clench around his cock. Another broken moan spilling from your lips while you brought one of your hands down to rub circles on your clit. A breathy chuckle escaped Mattheo as he bit his lip, eye’s watching the show you put on for him. “Yeah of course you fucking do. Bet you’d love for Pansy ‘n Theo to hear you moaning and getting railed like a shameless bitch in heat.”

₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . written by enzosbabyangel, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

tags: @mattheoriddles-sluttt @weirdogirl888 @jennieonline @bella-713 @txzii @couch-potato69 @chalametlover444 @erika5373919882920

#hogwartsvalentines25 #✮⋆˙;Mattheo⸝⸝#mattheo riddle #mattheo #mattheo riddle x reader smut #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #slytherin #slytherin boys smut #slytherin smut #slytherin boys #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle fanfic #fanfic #hp smut #harry potter blog #smut

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distantdarlings · 7 months ago

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STRAY FROM ROUTINE // m. riddle

RATING: R / 4.5K WORDS

Mattheo Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* You wake up with an evil plan to ignore Mattheo Riddle until he cracks.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! (P in V), unprotected, spanking, thigh-hitting, dom!mattheo, sub!reader, mean mattheo, slight breeding kink, controlling mattheo, reader is resisting (but she's doing it on purpose), toxic relationship values, name-calling, degradation, language, not fully proofread (lmk if I missed anything!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Ride or Die, Pt. 2 - Sevdaliza (I can't get it out of my head :'))

- - -

The inspiration that struck you as soon as you woke up was one of some kind of age-old genius. The motivation that came with it seemed to cloud your mind like some kind of drug, flooding your mind and inhibiting all other thoughts that attempted to enter your brain the rest of the day.

You had always been a bit of a shit-starter when it came to Mattheo Riddle, but today, you were feeling downright sinister.

Your eyes flicked across the room to catch the dark boy’s oaken eyes. His strong hand lifted from the counter to toy with his bottom lip teasingly. Every move was calculated, down to the way his shoulders moved when he took in a breath.

He skirted through his usual routine of tracing his eyes slowly down your body, then flicking them back up to steel his eye contact. For the first few months of your relationship with him—if that’s what you wanted to call it—that whole intimidating facade had worked on you effortlessly. But now, you knew he was more bark than he was bite. That was, as far as you could tell.

You supposed that after sleeping with him so long, he’d have lived up to his whole King Mattheo act, but he'd fallen short. You were disappointed, to say the least. The majority of the entire student body, including some teachers, were terrified of this boy that currently stared you down, but you seemed to be missing something.

Was he good in bed? Hell yes. Could he get mean? Also yes, but where was the difference? As far as you could tell, he didn’t fuck any differently than any other Slytherin boy you’d been with. They were practically all the same. Mean, dominant, and rough. They usually had some kind of ego to keep up—or a tiny dick to compensate for. Whatever it was, Mattheo didn’t seem any different.

He was mean, dominant, and rough. The only thing that had surprised you about him was how gentle he was beneath it all. With every bruising thrust, his fingers cradled your hips gently where others gripped with their nails. With every mark he sucked into your skin, he darted a tongue out to soothe where others let it simmer. He was a rough lover, but he was still a lover. The others were just rough.

That was what had kept you going back to him so many times. But you were getting impatient. It was time for Mattheo to step his game up, or you were going to get bored. You wanted him to prove to you that he was different. But you didn’t want to have to ask for it. You just wanted him to know to do it.

By the time the last of the breakfast crowd had dissipated and the campus prepared for their first periods, Mattheo hadn’t broken eye contact once. Nor had you. If there was one thing you weren’t going to do—for Mattheo or any one else—it was back down from a challenge. If he wanted to tease and stare and frustrate, you’d do the same.

Finally, he stood with the rest of his group of friends. They headed toward the door but his focus remained on you.

The tip of his wand peeked out from the edge of his uniform sleeve and, with a few mumbled words, a small slip of paper had collapsed from the tip of the wooden object. It hit the floor silently, and weaved through the swarm of feet marching through the Great Hall. Once it had reached you, it stopped just before your shoes beneath the table.

At risk of being caught by your friends, you refused to glance down at it. But, just like he always did, Mattheo had thought of everything. With a shiver, you felt the piece of paper slide up your leg like a slithering snake.

It slunk over the curve of your knee and seemed to wait for you to grab it. Ignoring the thought that it seemed to be alive like some sort of bug, you slipped your hand beneath the table and pulled the slip of paper toward you. Discreetly, you opened it up and looked down at it.

How do you want me to take you today? was scrawled in heavy, broad strokes across the sliver of parchment.

You bit back a smirk. That little fucker.

But, no. With the inspiration you had today—the inspiration to push Mattheo Riddle as close to the edge as possible—you weren’t going to allow him the satisfaction.

In fact, you were going to ignore him entirely until he cracked. That was the plan and you were settled with it. While this likely wasn’t the best thing for your own health, you weren’t too concerned. Mattheo Riddle was an asshole, but he wasn’t a murderer. You were pretty sure, anyways.

Satisfied with your decisions, you smiled lightly and pushed the piece of parchment into the first pocket of your school bag. As soon as you returned to your room, it would be placed with all of the other notes he had passed to you. Even though you weren’t wildly impressed with Mattheo’s performance so far, it was still nice to have the dirty, little notes sitting around for a rainy day.

- - -

And throughout the rest of the day, you stuck to your plan like glue. Every stare, every sneaking touch, every whispered word from Mattheo was met with a brick wall. You simply weren’t interested in any aspect of his usual antics, today. He needed to earn what he refused to admit he wanted so badly, which was you.

And by third period, you could tell he was nearly ready to explode. His jaw was clenching and unclenching, his fists were wrapped so tightly together, the knuckles were almost completely white. He was fucking angry—possibly angrier than you had ever seen him. And that was exactly what you had wanted. You wanted him to know that you were a million times different than any of the other girls he’d romanced so far.

He tried once more to entice a little desire from you just toward the end of class. The two of you sat in the last two rows at the very back of the classroom.

The room was elevated with the back rows at the highest point of the room, overlooking the rest of the class. Any secret movements were noticed simply by the backs of heads and a nonchalant teacher.

Mattheo sat directly behind you with one of his unnamed friends to his left, and another to that boy’s left. You were alone on your row. The class was not that big. But this was exactly the kind of environment a sly boy like Mattheo Riddle loved. He would take any opportunity he could to slide his dirty lips against your ear and whisper any deviance that popped into his head at the moment. And that’s what he’d done.

His head had settled just beside yours. You’d heard his breathing before even noticing the heat from his skin radiating onto yours. A shiver passed through your body at his proximity. Annoyed at your body’s involuntary reaction to the dark boy, you slipped your arms beneath the table to hide the chills sprouting across your flesh.

He must have seen them, though, because a small breath of a smirk passed across his face in your peripheral.

“I don’t know what your game is, little girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “But you’d better straighten that attitude up, or, I swear, I’ll fix it myself.”

He didn’t say another word before he leaned back against his own seat, leaving you to wonder whether or not this was a good idea. You reminded yourself that intimidation was his shtick. That was the majority of the reason everyone was so frightened of him. You couldn’t even remember the last time he’d actually beaten anyone up or done anything to anyone who’d wronged him. Like you’d said, he was all bark.

Still, despite his threatening words, you simply flipped your hair over your shoulder and completely ignored him. He scoffed, seemingly suppressing a laugh. He was mad. But he wasn’t going to admit that to you right now.

Besides, you were sure you’d never hear the end of it once it was all said and done.

Once the teacher had announced that class was over and recited the homework assignment to a crowd of deaf ears, you gathered all of your things quickly and made a beeline for the door. You hadn’t even given Mattheo a second to gain a bit of awareness before you were out the door and halfway down the hallway.

You didn’t have a fourth period, but Mattheo did. He had Potions for the next hour, giving you just enough time to spruce up your appearance a bit and prepare for the storm that was brewing. You knew Mattheo well enough by this point to know how this evening was going to go. He would threaten your body within an inch of its life, ask if you ‘knew who he was,’ then he’d fuck you. Just like he always did. There was too much of a pattern. Not enough spontaneity to keep you occupied—you needed more. Hopefully, today was what did it for him.

The dormitory you shared with your mates was completely barren due to their schedules. Out of the five of you, you were the only one that had chosen fourth period as your free period. It seemed odd to you that they would rather have a late start to the day, than an early end. In your opinion, you’d wake up as early as you had to, if it meant you did not have to yawn your way through the last classes of the day.

You dropped your bag onto your bed and made for the small desk that was positioned just beside the headboard. It was stocked with all of your personal hygiene products—organized impeccably—and various bits of stationery for schoolwork. It served as both a desk and a vanity for you while you were getting ready in the mornings—or getting ready to see Mattheo.

You hoped he would be desperate all through his class. You hoped his eyes would be flickering around nervously, his knee bouncing rapidly, sweat dripping down his throat. It would be a sight to behold.

Mattheo was gorgeous—there was no denying that. It was just his attitude that needed adjusting. You smirked to yourself before taking a seat at your desk, glancing at your appearance in the small mirror you’d propped up against the stone wall.

And before you were even able to apply a second layer of mascara, the large wooden door in the corner of the room rattled violently. Three aggressive knocks permeated the silence so roughly the dust motes illuminated by the sun shuddered wildly.

A chill of anticipation settled in your stomach. Surely, that couldn’t be him. Fourth period had barely even begun.

You rose from your desk and crossed the length of the room, every step echoing through your body like a cannon. Why were you so nervous? The possibilities of consequences of your own actions were really starting to rattle around in your skull.

Your fingers wrapped around the bronze door handle and pulled.

Sure enough, on the other side, stood Mattheo Riddle. A malicious smirk was printed across his lips. He glanced around a few times, seeming to scan the surroundings of your dorm.

“Hi, is there anyone else here?” he asked, his voice sickly sweet. The courteous role he was playing made you all the more nervous. He never acted this way, even when he’d come to your dorm in the past. He was usually just as brash as he always was, no matter who was in the room.

“No, there’s not,” you said, your voice annoyingly shaking just a bit. “And if you don’t mind, I’m actually pretty busy—”

Just as you started to push the door closed again, Mattheo’s foot slammed against it, completely blocking its path. You tried to push against him, but he was much too strong for you to defend against.

“I’m sure you can spare a few moments for a quick chat,” he nearly growled, never dropping the fake smile planted on his face. His strong arm pushed against the door, rendering your protection of it completely useless. He pushed through and into the room as if you’d never been holding it in the first place.

He kicked the door shut behind him as soon as he stepped through, the door clunking shut with a rough thud. You suppressed a flinch at the loud sound, refusing to show any sign of vulnerability. You couldn’t pull away from your plan now that you were feeling his anger—that was cowardly.

“Mattheo, I’ve asked for you to leave,” you warned.

“Yeah? Just answer one question for me, baby…” he said, stepping directly into your personal space and invading it in every way possible.

As if asking for permission, he raised his hand slowly and let it hover just next to your cheek. When you did nothing, he placed his fingers along your jawline. They stroked gently across a small surface area, insisting that you felt every searing second of contact.

His face came impossibly close against yours. His warm breath fanned slowly across your cheek, hints of fire and cinnamon lingering beneath your nose. The feeling of his lips skirting slightly over your skin on the way to your ear sent a myriad of chills down the length of your arms and a pool of heat between your thighs. You silenced a shudder on its way through your lips.

“Did you act that way on purpose?” he whispered. His lips caressed the curvature of your ear, his hot words curling around the room. “If not, I’ll find a new girl to open her legs when I want. But if you wanted this, I will make you regret ever having turned away from me.”

You swallowed thickly, the sound piercing the blanket of silence that fell around the room the minute Mattheo stopped speaking. It irked you to no end, that the entire world seemed to hold its breath to wait for this boy. This dark, irritatingly impossible to resist boy. It was more than you were able to handle, no matter how determined you were to prove a point.

“What I wanted…,” you trailed off coldly. “Was for you to prove to me that you’re not exactly like every other Slytherin that waltzes in here, comes in ten seconds, and then asks me if I’ve finished. I’ve been waiting for that special something to jump out at me, but it just hasn’t. I’m getting bored of you, Mattheo.” You took a deep breath, gaining enough courage to flatten your face and select your next words perfectly. “Speaking of, I was wondering if your friend, Enzo, was single.”

You struggled not to smirk at his reaction. If you didn’t know Mattheo, you’d have assumed he was going to crash out and leave the room. But you knew him and his destructive tendencies. His rage, though extremely stigmatized, was something to be in awe of, and you were ready to see it. And to be the target of it.

His eyes darkened until they were barely reflecting any of the dim light around the room. His lips parted slightly, just enough for an evil smirk to stretch across his face. He was all dark eyes and sharp canines, and it looked as if he were desperate to sink them into your flesh.

“You’re fucking done,” he whispered menacingly.

Then his hand was around your throat, firm and bruising. He walked you backwards until your back roughly hit the stone wall, the cold rock biting into your shoulder blades. His lips met yours with a fervor you’d never seen before.

His tongue cruelly parted your lips and laid claim to the entirety of your throat. You could hardly breathe with the pressure he was applying around your neck and the force of his kiss. Yet, still, you could not deny the heat building within your stomach and radiating downwards.

His free hand wrapped around your waist, the fingers slipping slyly beneath the waistband of your uniform skirt. Just as always, in the midst of the fiery storm, his fingers were able to imitate some form of softness just long enough for his hand to prepare to rip your skirt away. Despite the roughness he provided everywhere else, his fingers were gentle as they slid along your skin so as not to pinch it against the wall. It was just thoughtful enough to melt your heart down into a broiling golden puddle.

His strong hand gripped the material of your bottoms and pulled them roughly down, revealing the absence of anything beneath, save your blackened tights. When he lifted his hand once more to tear your panties away, he recognized the lack of material within his fingers and growled against your lips.

“You fucking wanted this, you dumb slut,” he spat, his pearlescent teeth sinking down into the flesh of your bottom lip. With a whimper and flash of white across your vision, he finally released you, leaving behind a thin slathering of blood across your teeth.

“You wanted me to tear you to pieces,” he whispered, his hand finally freeing your throat, but only to get to work on ripping your uniform shirt apart. The buttons clattered wildly across the floor, rolling freely each in their own directions.

You moved to protest but Mattheo shoved you back against the wall. He shook his head as if in disbelief you’d even try to get away from him at this point in time. In his mind, this was well-deserved punishment. If you were his girl, you were going to fucking listen to him. You knew what you were getting into when you first laid your lips on his.

With your shirt split down the middle, the only thing standing between his lips and your heaving body were a lacy bra and a pair of tights. The cold, gray air hit your soaked body so aggressively, you thought your teeth might start clacking together.

“All this going to waste because you couldn’t ask me for what you wanted,” he whispered. “I’m going to have to destroy this gorgeous body, when it should be worshiped.”

To your disbelief, he sank down to his knees and placed his hands gently on the back of your thighs. His scorching mouth made contact with your thighs—still covered in the thin material of your pantyhose—and he began to place wet, biting kisses along your flesh. He moved slowly from just above your knee to the top of your thigh. Each mean kiss ached as if they were done by a wild animal, but—just as he always fucking did—he soothed them with his skilled tongue afterwards. Never letting you hurt for too long.

Once he reached your core, fluttering in anticipation, he took a deep breath. The scent of your desire filled his senses as if it was his last meal. Just from how he’d loved in the past, you could tell that he was refraining from devouring you. But this was a punishment. No matter how sweet or caring he so often was, he was never going to let you have what you wanted.

“But that won’t do today…” he whispered against the surface of your tights just above your core, so close that his lips brushed across the sensitive skin. You withheld a whimper.

“Seems like it wasn’t happening any other day, either,” you chuckled breathlessly. You weren’t dropping this fucking routine. You wanted this and every inch of teasing Mattheo wanted to give you.

He laid a biting slap across your left thigh. The sound of it echoed throughout the room, only being interrupted by the cry that left your lips at the sudden abuse.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he demanded, his hand soothing the sore flesh.

He pressed one more kiss to the blossoming handprint, before sliding a short nail against the hosiery, ripping it instantly.

You gasped at the sensation, watching as he pulled on the material. It shredded down your leg, exposing your bare thighs to the pale light. Flaming red fingerprints bloodied the soft flesh and marked you as his.

Despite your annoyance at his lack of excitement during the last few times you’d fucked, the feeling of possession that he’d laid on you always made an impression. You felt like you belonged to him in every aspect of the word.

Then before you were able to let another smart-ass comment fly, he slipped his hand beneath the large shear in the tights and ripped a hole right across your aching groin, baring your searing cunt to the world.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

Even though he was intending to punish, Mattheo couldn’t help but appreciate your body just a little bit. Though he wouldn’t admit it just yet, he could die happily buried within you.

Seeming to realize his “punishment” was a bit too sweet, he gripped your hips roughly and flipped your body around to face the wall. You helped aloud as the craggy stone bit into the skin of your breasts through your bra. The lace mixed with the cold wall made your nipples prick almost uncomfortably.

“Gonna fuck some manners into you, baby,” he murmured, his gravelly voice echoing against the curve of your spine. His mean fingers traced each nodule of each vertebrae until he reached the dimples imprinted in the small of your back.

His thumbs pressed deep against them, rubbing an easy massage into them for just a second.

“Feel good? You got any other dumbass things to say?”

“Why waste my breath? I’m gonna have to fake my fucking orgasm in a few seconds.”

You bit back a moan as he reached through your legs, gripped the hole he’d ripped in your tights, and widened it between your thighs. He pulled it up and over your ass.

“Yeah? You fake it every time, baby?” he growled into your ear, his heavy bulge pressing into your bare ass.

“Yeah,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a whisper. Your hands were settled against your desk, fingers tightened around the edges, nails scratching into the wood. Your back was arched uncomfortably against his core, begging for every slight thrust he pressed into you. You could practically feel him within you already.

“You fake it every time you cum all over my cock, huh?” he asked. Behind you, you could hear him wrestling his belt out of its loops and dropping his trousers.

“Answer me, bitch,” he demanded, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head back against his chest.

“Fuck, Matty, that hurts!” you whined. It was a good, searing kind of pain but you didn’t want him to know that. Didn’t want him to know that your arousal was dripping down your legs by now.

“Yeah? That hurts?” he taunted. “That’s nothing, baby. You can take it.”

Then suddenly, his hot core was leant against the top of your ass. You were biting back a moan and running your fingers into the desk so hard they were going numb. Still, you weren’t going to give up.

“We’ll see if you can give it—fuck!”

He shut you up by slamming himself into you. The force of his intrusion hit your cervix at a sharp angle, sending stars into your eyes.

“Let me hear you fake it, yeah?” he groaned as he pulled himself out of you all the way to the tip before pushing himself back into you.

You couldn’t hide it anymore. Though you could still force some mean comments out every once and a while, you were unable to repress your moans.

“I’m basically an expert at this point!” you moaned.

“I bet,” he growled, his hips increasing in pace. “I know the way you clench around me everytime I take you from behind—” every sentence was pushed out between deep groans that echoed in your womb— “I’ve memorized every possible way you can scream my name…and I’ve learned every single thing I have to do to make that pretty pussy cum all over me.”

Following his words, his right hand snaked around your hip and pressed directly against your clit. He rubbed perfect circles into the sensitive spot, demanding a finish from you as soon as he could pull it from you.

“You’re a bit too cocky for my liking,” you breathed against his ruthless pounding. “I’d still like Enzo’s number.”

And with one final thrust, he pierced the bubble of pleasure that had bloomed rapidly in your stomach. You came impossibly hard, with the evidence of your high embarrassingly gushing around him. He pulled away from you and let your desire cover his stomach.

He laughed almost maniacally at the way your orgasm stretched out for what felt like hours.

And then, as you were finally coming down, he was pumping himself noisily into his hand and coming all of your lower back, painting the dimples he so loved to touch.

He moaned breathlessly, a slight crack in his voice, as he slowed his movements down and came down from his own high.

A tired laugh left his swollen lips as he trailed his finger through the remnants of his spend on your back and pushed his coated fingers into your sensitive entrance.

The overstimulation sent a flurry of ice up your spine. You cried at the sensation. Your legs fluttered before giving out.

On your way down to the floor, he caught you against his arms. Your knees were impossibly weak, but he was ever so strong.

“You faking this too, baby?” he clicked his tongue before settling you against your bed.

“Fuck you,” you sighed, your eyes fluttering against the ceiling. The lightheaded feeling floating through your skull was nearly too much for you to handle, but you were still high up on your pedestal and refused to come down.

Distantly, you could hear him pulling his pants up and rearranging his clothes.

Gently, he slid the remainder of your hosiery down your legs, unhooked your bra, and lifted you up off of the bed bridal-style. Somehow managing to cradle you with just one hand, he used his left to yank your comforter back, and settle you beneath it.

He leaned down beside your ear and pressed his lips to your temple. Just before he pulled all the way back, he began to whisper.

“The next time you wanna act like that—just remember that I fucked you to sleep, brat.”

- - -

Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithhideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch, @abaker74, @ilovehotmenandwoman, @kissesbyarabella, @synicaljah

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#creative writing #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #reader insert #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #enzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire #female reader #afab reader #request #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle #mattheo smut #mattheo

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shakespearean-simp · 3 months ago

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have you guys heard that audio of like the "did you know that atoms never touch each other?" thing?

because it's giving matty explaining to professor mcgonagall that he did not in fact punch mclaggen for looking at you funny for 0.0000001 seconds too long

if you haven't heard it, it goes like:

"did you know...that atoms never touch each other...and since we're made of atoms...we've never touched anything in our entire lives. so to answer your question officer no i did not punch that kid-"

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ladypearl333 · 1 year ago

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pov: you weren’t in class today

slytherin boys!reader

(includes theo, draco, mattheo, blaise, and enzo)

warnings: mention of cigarettes & potentially suggestive content?

————————————————————————

theo nott:

draco malfoy:

mattheo riddle:

blaise zabini:

lorenzo berkshire:

thank you for reading!!!!!

*i need a way for you guys to send in requests but idk how to set that up on my page:’(

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iniquitousyearning · 6 months ago

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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.”

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ldrfanatic · 9 months ago

Text

this happens once every few lifetimes

mattheo riddle x reader

synopsis - reader transfers to hogwarts from ilvermorny. she and mattheo fall in love with each other at first sight.

warnings - none, i think?

listened to while writing - the alchemy by taylor swift

i have a clara bow theo one in the works right now that i'm excited to drop at some point. ngl this gif of benjamin in deadly class inspired this idea A LOT.

part two?

slytherin boys works

you waited with baited breath outside of the great hall.

any moment now the doors would swing open and albus dumbledore, who you knew only through legend, would announce your transfer to hogwarts.

it was terrifying honestly. leaving ilvermorny was indescribably difficult. but when your father got a job opportunity at the british ministry of magic, it was decided. already you were feeling overwhelmed. you'd done your research but hogwarts was much larger than ilvermorny. it was much older as well, and thus had gained a reputation over a thousand years of producing some of the greatest witches and wizards the world has ever seen.

the large magnificent doors opened and every pair of eyes was on you.

you walked forward with sweaty palms, subtly attempting to dry them on your plain, black hogwarts robes. another change. the wardrobe was much more strict here than back in america. and where every student at ilvermorny wore the same blue and gold, students at hogwarts wore colors representative of their house.

finally, you reached the end of the walkway and stood face to face with a dusty and rather ancient looking hat. to your light surprise, it spoke. a woman whom you'd met briefly beforehand, professor mcgonnagall, picked up the hat gently and motioned for you to sit on the stool.

it was time to be sorted into one of hogwarts four houses. you'd been in wampus, the house of the warrior, at ilvermorny, and despite hours of research, you couldn't distinguish what the hogwarts equivalent would be. all four houses seemed to be good choices but there was one in particular that stood out to you.

no shorter or longer than exactly fifteen seconds after the sorting hat touched your head, a declaration was made.

"slytherin!"

an older student in green robes gestured you over to the table on the far right. not wanting to sit at the very front and continue to be gawked at, you briskly walked a little further down and took a seat at the middle of the table.

once you'd taken your seat, dumbledore began to explain that hogwarts would be hosting the triwizard tournament this year. after a flashy introduction from beauxbatons and durmstrang, you effectively decided that you were not the most interesting shiny new toy at hogwarts this year and silently thanked the universe for this turn of events.

at last, it was announced that you could eat and the tables filled with food. all around you students' plates began magically creating complex dishes. there were even some dinners that held food that you were sure you couldn't see anywhere on the table.

frustrated, you stared down at your empty plate. it was a long journey to hogwarts. you were hungry and quite frankly tired of things being so different. if one more complicated situation made its appearance at this school, you were undoubtedly going to lose it.

"just think about a food you really want to eat. it can be anything."

a boy next to you with brown hair and bright blue eyes leaned over. a thick italian accent levied on his deep voice.

you closed your eyes and thought about a delicious juicy cheeseburger with golden-crisp french fries. sure enough, when you opened your eyes, your plate had filled with food.

absolutely giddy with glee, you turned to thank the mystery man.

"no problem. i'm theodore nott. this is draco malfoy next to me."

the platinum blonde boy didn't even look up to acknowledge your existence. theodore, seemingly sensing your mild displeasure, spoke up.

"don't mind him. welcome to slytherin house. riddle, say hello to our newest recruit."

the dark haired boy directly across from you who you assumed was 'riddle' did in fact look over from his conversation with a boy with a chestnut colored complexion. yet, when your eyes found his, he didn't say hello.

he didn't say anything actually. he just sort of stared. as you held eye contact, it was like lightning running through your veins and sizzling at your fingertips.

for a moment, you wondered if he'd ever seen a person before.

then, as if he'd snapped out of a daze, a gentle smile played at his lips. dark curls fell over his brown eyes that seemed to sparkle the longer you looked at them.

his large hand crept over the table until it was outstretched towards you with a kind smile.

"mattheo."

you shook his hand with a shy smile. mattheo was currently looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. in fact, your little interaction had gone on so long that theodore and the boy mattheo had been speaking with had both strucken up conversation with other students at the table.

"y/n."

mattheo eyed your appearance. his gaze flickered across your face, then to your hair, and all over the parts of your body he could see.

"sorry if this is a little awkward, but i can't remember the last time i was this captivated by someone." mattheo finally released your hand and you had to stop yourself from begging him not to.

"welcome to slytherin house. you're in the snake's nest now, beautiful."

---

7.8.2024

#slytherin boys #slytherin #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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cherrixpie · 17 days ago

Text

DINNER & DIATRIBES

double feature: part a - part b

-> mattheo riddle x bsf! reader; part b; eventual nsfw; mdni; wc: 12k; cw: swear words; mentions of violence; tags: friends to lovers, yule ball setup; again I wasn't able to tag everyone, sorry :(

( masterlist )

The crystal glass dangled loosely from Mattheo’s fingers, the deep red of the wine catching the flickering candlelight as he swirled it absentmindedly. The Great Hall, all decked in crystal blue, was filled with the chatter of students streaming in from the Entrance Hall, their dresses swirling in and ot of the crowd like a particularly hypnotizing kaleidoscope. Mattheo leaned against one of the grand marble pillars, the cool stone pressing into his back, but it did nothing to ground him- not when he spotted you in the midst of a large Gryffindor crowd squeezing through the Entrance Gates.

A slow burn seemed to spread out beneath his skin as he cursed the tight knot forming in his stomach- he had sworn to himself that he would not care. At least not visibly. That he’d drink, flirt, maybe even steal someone else onto the dance floor just to pass the time. But then he spotted you, and all his carefully built indifference collapsed. And here he was, clutching his glass so tightly it was damn near shattering under his grip and scowling as his eyes seemed unable to sway from your figure.

Despite having seen you just a few minutes before and having had to refrain himself from dragging you off to his dorm, the sight of you in your emerald green dress hit him like a slap in the face. It wasn’t for him -he knew that, damn it- but it didn’t matter. Because it was not just any green, but the kind that curled around his ribs like a vice, the kind that belonged to him. Deep, rich emerald, his color, pooling at your feet in silken waves, clinging to your skin in a way that made his fingers twitch with the urge to touch.

And yet, you weren’t on his arm. You were on Potter’s. And the sight of it -of Harry fucking Potter standing where Mattheo should have been- lit something violent and unsteady beneath his skin.

He rolled his jaw, exhaling slow and controlled breaths as he lifted the wine to his lips. The taste was sharp, bitter, but not nearly bitter enough. It did nothing to drown out the ugly feeling in his chest, curling around his insides like a snake, eager to squeeze all life out of him. A slow, pulsing irritation clawing at his chest.

He should look away. Should let the scene wash over him like he didn’t give a damn, like it didn’t matter that stood so close to you you could’ve been kissing, like it didn’t make his blood hum with something ugly. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Because no matter how much he told himself he didn’t care, there you were, wrapped in green silk like a present for him alone, ready to be unraveled.

Fuck. He really should have asked you sooner. How stupid of him to assume no one but him would ask you, how cowardly of him to keep teetering the edge without delving into the abyss with you, holding you tight as he fell from the heavens. But he’d drag you down with him. As a joke, you had called him a fallen angel once- and though he wasn’t so sure about himself, you had to be a creature of the heavens, with that smile and laugh of yours, with the way you eagerly listened to your friends and ran a hand over your dress. He could read your face like it was an open book, read your mingling self-consciousness in the dress, and it drove him mad. Made him burn to stride over and show you exactly just how stunning you were.

But in that exact moment, your eyes scanned the crowd and met his, widening slightly. A hesitant smile tugged at your lips. Innocent. As if you had no idea of the effect you had on him, the way he craved you, the way he boiled with hot anger when Harry noticed your distractedness and glanced over. And had the audacity to snake his arm around your waist. His jaw clenched and he willed himself to remain in place when Potter leaned in and whispered something to you. Merlin, this night would be hell. On his way down from heaven, it seemed he had missed earth and landed right in the devil’s lair.

“Everything alright?” At the sound of Harry’s voice close to your ear you flinched slightly, blinking to regain your normal train of thought- the one that didnt want to crash face first into the man currently glaring at you from across the hall.

You turned to Harry and gave him a friendly smile you hoped wouldn’t betray the mix of nervosity, self-consciousness and unbearable excitement curling in your chest. “Yeah,” you said quickly, clearing your throat. “You?” Because Harry had been squirming against your side ever since you’d set foot in the Great Hall.

A light frown pulled his brows together as he glanced fleetingly in the direction of the man you had been caught up with just before, tugging lightly at your waist to quicken your steps. “I’m alright, just terrified Riddle’s death stares will turn into actual curses,” he said, chuckling slightly but with a visible nervousness in the way his fingers twitched and eyes darted back every other second.

Refusing to look back at Mattheo, you leaned into Harry and gave him a reassuring smile. “If he comes this way, I’ll fall to my knees dramatically so you can make your escape.” That elicited a laugh from Harry, and, visibly calmer, he guided you towards the center of the room, followed by your Gryffindor friends.

Enzo, who stood next to Mattheo waiting for his Ravenclaw date for the night, whistled under his breath as you laughed with Harry, and nudged Theo. “She sure dolled herself up for Potter, didn’t she?”

The other chuckled in return, eyes flashing over to Mattheo who’s jaw was taut as his eyes remained glued to your figure. “Yeah…,” he said slowly, gauging his reaction out of the corner of his eye, “Dunno if I would dress like that for a friend.” Him and Enzo shared an amused look when Mattheo scoffed at them, knocking back the remaining wine. With careful words, they stoked the flames, ready to save themselves into appropriate safety distance once their prodding caused a wildfire.

But Mattheo stood eerily still, resembling a marble statue more so than a man. With a barely concealed smirk, Theo leaned over Enzo and dropped his voice, directly addressing him. “Careful, mate, you’re staring hard enough to set him on fire.”

Abruptly, Mattheo pushed himself off the wall and both Enzo and Theo took an instinctive step back. But Mattheo only glared at them in a way that had cold seep into their very bones before scowling at his empty glass. “I’ll get a refill.” And he was gone.

Weaving through bodies and dresses, Mattheo made his way to the bar, simplified somewhat by the instinctive step back people took at the sight of him. Muttering a frustrated curse under his breath, he slammed his empty glass on the bar counter, along with a few knuts to pay for the refill.

Breathing in the whifts of so many perfumes certainly didn’t clear the fog in his mind. Quite the opposite, they seemed to claw at the more rational functions of his brain, whispering in deivilishly seductive tones. In search of a distraction, he let is gaze flicker, but, as if it was magnetically drawn to it, it came to rest on your figure once more.

Beneath his fuming fury lay something deeper, more tender. As he watched you pull Harry onto the dancefloor with a look of mock pleading, he found himself completely enraptured with the way your lips moved, the way your dress swayed and your eyes shone bright. If it was him following you onto the dancefloor, would your smile be as wide? Why would it be? Harry’s hands were hesitant and gentle, his were stained with an unwanted legacy and the blood that you would always wash off of him, running a soft towel over his knuckles and cleaning his palms carefully.

You were all softness and gentleness, he was jagged edges and destruction. Where people flinched away from him, they seemed to gravitate towards your light. A light that Harry matched, while he was the dark, lurking in the shadows. A greedy, beastly creature that, in spite of loving you, craved to ruin you more than anything. Had he been delusional to consider that someone like you could ever love something as twisted as him?

It wasn't like he didn’t know you deserved better- maybe it had been what made it unable for him to finally bridge the gap, pull you into him in moments when your lips would hover close, yet impossibly far from each other. You were dancing in the light, and all he could think about was dragging you back into the shadows with him.

As you animated Potter to dance with you, he felt a pang of hurt tug at his bruised heart. Potter was the sort of guy you brought home to your family. He got to dance with you, while Mattheo got to drown in his own poison and pretend he didn’t care, ignore the monster rattling his ribcage, yearning to break free. Rolling his jaw tensely, he grabbed the filled glass and took off towards his friends once more.

“You’re so much better at this than me,” sighed Harry in frustration, staring intently at his feet as if willing them to repeat the same, easy steps.

His tense concentration elicited a small laugh from you. “i had practice. Harry, your feet are not the enemy, you don’t have to work against them, you have to let them carry you.”

“But I don’t trust them,” he murmured, albeit taking his eyes off the floor with a sigh- and promptly stepping on your foot. When you winced, a string of apologies stumbled form his lips like a waterfall, but you quickly assured him it was alright. the embarrassment left a pink hue on his cheeks and his eyes darted around, as if looking for an escape. They rested on someone behind you and twitched into a sudden grin. “Don’t turn around now,” he said conspiratorially, leaning down and lowering his voice. “But I think Pucey’s date might puke on his dress robes with the way she keeps squirming away from him.”

In spite of his warning, you shot a quick look over your shoulder and broke out into giggles when you spotted Pucey awkwardly dancing with his very unentertained date.

Mattheo’s grip on the glass tightened as you giggled at Potter’s joke. You were too far for him to hear the sound of your laugh, but he didn’t need to- the way your face lit up was enough to twist something savage inside him. Mattheo’s jaw ticked, a muscle twitching as he dragged his teeth across his bottom lip, biting down hard enough to taste blood. You shouldn’t be looking at Potter like that. That softness in your eyes, the kind Mattheo craved like a dying man craved air, wasn’t meant for him. And yet, there you were- beautiful, untouchable, clean and unspoiled, unlike him.

“I’m serious!” Harry called as the song took up speed and rhythm. Not even your pleading eyes seemed to sway him to twist you. “I can’t do stuff like that. I’m a miserable dancer!”

“Come on!” you groaned with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “It’s really easy, and I’ll be doing most of the heavy lifting anyway! Just hold your hand up like this-” He followed your order, clumsily spinning you around so that you stumbled into each other and almost crashed into Professor McGonnagall and Professor Dumbledore. Despite her pointed glare, you giggled like schoolchildren as you shuffled away from them.

Mattheo watched Harry twist you clumsily, and a bitter sort of satisfaction burned in the back of his throat, barely eased by the alcohol. “Pathetic,” he muttered sharply under his breath, eyes trained on you as you eased Harry back into dancing, cringing slightly when he stepped on your foot again. Fuck, how much better he would do if he was in Potter’s place. It was like the idiot wasn’t even trying.

Mattheo may not desreve you, but heavens strike him down if he couldn’t give you a better time than Potter. He wouldn’t hold you like you were a fragile thing, made of glass, shattering at the slightest tightening of a grip. As he followed your swaying figure with his eyes, he could picture it all: how he would hold and twirl you properly, his princess, his sweetheart. How he would whisper in your ear, tell you how gorgeous you looked, making you blush and giggle, or bite back a witty response.

Like the time a few months ago, when you’d practiced a quickstep. The topic had come up during one of your nights up at the Astronomy tower, him smoking and you pressed to his side, going through your Transfiguration notes. Under the watchful stars, he’d admitted to you that it had been Theo who had taught him how to dance, to both of their great frustration. The thought had amused you so much you had toppled over with laughter, and he remembered his heart picking up speed when you leaned against him for support, teasing him about the mental images he’d produced with this revelation.

Once you’d teased him thoroughly, you’d asked if you could rehearse the steps- supposedly for your refreshment of skill. You had barely tried to hide the fact that it was an excuse, and he hadn’t been about to question it when it presented such a tempting opportunity. There had been no record player up in the tower, but you’d simply pulled him up and rehearsed the steps. It had turned out he had more to learn from you than you from him.

With Theo as his teacher, it had been all steps, rigid rules, organised and contained, a pragmatic use of the legs. With you, however, it had been different. You had known what it meant to dance. The movement came natural to you, it wasn’t bound to rules or control, but a way to break free and let loose. It had been quite the adjustment, but Mattheo had found he much preferred your way of dancing. And by midnight, he had twirled you skillfully beneath the starry sky, your giggles and his teasing the only thing breaking the solitude of silence.

This night, however, felt like a warped version of the one he’d spend with you up at the tower. Too much noise, too many people and no clear fucking air, and instead of him, it was Potter holding you. At least you weren’t slow dancing.

His attention was momentarily averted when Pansy came stumbling towards him, Blaise following after. Their short breaths and the remnants of lipstick all over Blaise's face and neck were enough of an indicator where they’d been off too, as were the beaming grins on their faces.

Pansy, clearly already drunk, reached out and grabbed his drink, downing it. Too engrossed in the sight of Potter attempting another twirl that was just slightly less atrocious, he didn’t try to stop her. The alcohol didn’t help his overstimulated senses and cloudy mind anyway, only adding another layer of distortion to make him dizzy. He was miserable, he was fuming, and he couldn’t even drown his troubles in booze. Just great.

“Didn’t feel like dancing?” Pansy asked with a smirk. She leaned against the pillar next to him as Blaise left to get drinks for them both.

“You didn’t either, by the looks of it,” he quipped, eyes shortly tracing the marks that the dress was not accustomed to hide.

Pansy seemed as unbothered as usual though, only shooting him another smug smile. “She was cute though,” she said, grabbing a handful of chocolates off the plate of a waiter passing by them. “Ravenclaw, right?”

“Who?” asked Mattheo, taken aback, and stared at her incredulously.

Pansy toppled over with a snort. “You can’t be serious. You didn’t even see her? She was flirting with you for a good minute before she gave up.”

“Must’ve been distracted,” he muttered, glancing back to the dancefloor where you seemed to animate Potter’s spirits to little avail.

“I can see that,” Pansy jeered, following his gaze. “Merlin, she could’ve at least picked someone who knows how to dance. But then again-” She gave him a look he didn’t reciprocate, “it may still have been the best choice, don’t you think?”

“What the fuck makes you say that, Pans?” he asked sharply, letting his head fall back against the cold stone. At least the pain provided a small window out of the damn dizziness clouding his thoughts. “Just look at him, you could almost pity him.”

“Well, look at you,” she mused, which made him lift his head and frown at her. Pansy rolled her eyes in exasperation, actual sharpness laced into her tone as she glared at him. “Look, I’m tired of this. We all are. So either clear things up with her or you find yourself a good fuck for the night, Riddle. It’s an imposition to watch you brood.” Pushing herself off the marble pillar, she left in the direction of the bar, leaving Mattheo alone with his frustration.

He gritted his teeth as he rolled her words over in his mind. As if it were that easy. It was true that he had earned himself quite the reputation as a womanizer, or, as you called it, a manwhore, but his one night stands had become less and less frequent the closer he’d become with you over these past few months. He had always fucked for the distraction, never for the desire or the satisfaction. The fleeting high was a short moment of freedom, the control he could excerpt through his accommodated skills in bed a grim gratification.

But now, a burning desire unlike any he had ever known had taken a hold of him and wrapped an unrelenting hand around his heart. It would burn beneath his fingertips when he slipped his hands teasingly under your shirt, brushed his fingers over your thigh, pulled you into his lap. These short-lived moments that were both torture and fulfilment, especially when you’d blush and avert your eyes, when he would lean his head into the crook of your neck and listen to your heartbeat picking up speed.

Any time he’d have a girl in his bed now, all he could picture was you. When he kissed them, he imagined it was your lips, and when his hands would run along their bodies, he would imagine it was yours. He couldn’t stand it when they started moaning and talking, because it would fracture the fantasy and remind him that they weren’t you. But his bare hands weren’t enough either- they only intensified his desire to have you, to consume you, to see you fall apart on his cock and fingers. And it had the annoying downside that the girls he used as substitutes were, understandably, very indignant when it was your name he grunted when he came instead of theirs.

If he tried to distract himself with another hookup tonight, all he would be able to picture would be you and your dress, and there would be nothing but frustration at the thought, of unrequired longing. He also would have to fight the mental image of you if you found out how he was using others to fantasize about you. No, finding someone else to fuck wasn’t an option. So, what choice remained?

At that moment, the song ended and the crowd broke out into applause for the band. Stupid relief flooded him when Potter took his hands from your waist, tinged with slight satisfaction when it was Mattheo who he cast a nervous glance at, as if he’d touched a forbidden fruit. It cost him everything in the world to give him a harsh nod towards you. Fucking hell. Now he was directing his worst enemy to dance with his girl. But the last thing he wanted, truly, was to ruin your night. His was already miserable enough.

The band struck up a new, slower tune. It seemed to be a song you recgonized and you turned to Potter excitedly, but the latter seemed less enthusiastic at the prospect of another dance. After a short discourse, you seemed to reluctantly agree and readily let Potter tug you off the dance floor. Mattheo pushed himself off the cold stone digging into his back.

“I’ll get us some drinks, okay?” asked Harry, craning his neck to spot your friends. But Ron and Hermoine were occupied with each other on the dancefloor, Seamus and Lavender were making out near the teacher’s table, Neville was busy at his bartending shift and neither Ginny nor Dean where anywhere to be seen.

“Alright,” you smiled, albeit slightly disappointed that he had only done the mandatory dance with you, especially when it was one of your favorite songs playing. With an awkward nod towards you, he hurried off in the direction of the bar to join the crowd swarming Neville for drinks. You were left standing on the edge of the dancefloor as people swayed around you elegantly.

Just when you had decided that you might as well find some place to sit and treat your disappointment with some cake, an all-too familiar voice sounded behind you. “Guess Potter finally gave up, huh?”

With a startled gasp, you whipped around. It was like magic. One moment, Harry was leaving for drinks, the next, Mattheo seemed to materialize beside you as if he’d been waiting all right for the opportunity to strike. He leaned in, close enough that you could smell the light whift of alcohol on him. His frustrated scowl from earlier had shifted into a sharp grin practically dripping with mischief. His eyes, however, were as rough and stormy as ever as they raked over your figure. “Mind if I fill in? You look a little lonely, sweetheart.”

You felt conflcited as you stared up into those brown eyes you knew so well. If you took the hand he held out to you, gave into temptation, it would be just as always: you'd both reap the benefits without committing. He’d flirt and smile and charm his ass out of actually putting his skin in the game and asking you out- just like always.

Sensing your hesitation, he sighed and dropped his hand, running it through his curls instead. For a moment, his jaw was taut with tension, then, a flirtatious grin spread across his face once more and he seemed to reset. “Well,” he drawled smoothly, stepping even closer but making no move to touch you, “Do tell me what a pretty girl like you is doing in a place like this.”

The line was so old-fashioned and cliche it sounded comical, but despite your better judgement, your body betrayed you. You could only hope that he interpreted the flush on your cheeks as a consequence of all the dancing. The way his grin widened told you that he, in fact, did not. “And most of all,” he continued, leaning in so far you could smell the faint trace of a smoke, “what loser would would leave you to the vultures like this?”

“I hope you know that you are the vulture, Mattheo,” you replied in a fruitless attempt to divert from your flusteredness. It was the damn suit he was wearing- all black with just the faintest hint of green threading through the fabric, and beneath, his white, for once unbloodied, shirt that clung to him like it was stitched to his skin. The sharp lines of his jacket, the undone top buttons of his shirt, and the way his silver rings glinted against the dark material made it almost unfair how good he looked.

A devilish grin spread across his lips when you returned his heated gaze. “Oh, I know,” he agreed humorously. “And what’s he going to do about it when I steal away his girl? When he left you all alone?”

“I’m not his girl,” you replied coolly, ignoring the way your heart started to pound. All adrenaline from the dance, you tried to convince yourself.

But the sickeningly sweet smile he gave you didn’t only prove you wrong but somehow managed to melt your resolve. “Good news for me then, sweetheart.” Again, he held out his hand for you to take. His rings caught the light, they seemed to glint like a forbidden temptation, drawing you in. Merlin, how inviting that hand looked. “Dance with me,” he muttered, face only inches from yours, his dark eyes studying yours intently, as if he could see your perseverance crumble behind them. It wasn’t a question.

You hesitated for another second, eyes darting over the crowd to find Harry. You spotted him near the bar, chatting animatedly with Ginny, the drinks long-forgotten in his hands. When you looked back at Mattheo, his eyes pierced yours with unexpected intensity that made you swallow.

You shouldn't be doing this. There were rules you had set up for yourself tonight. This was supposed to be your game, not his. But his pull was as irresistible as that of a black hole, drawing you in and clouding your senses. The slight nod you gave him was enough.

With a gentleness you that surprised you, he took your hand, his other finding its place on your lower back as he guided you onto the dancefloor. Mattheo danced differently from Harry- more confident, slower, like he wanted to take his time rather than get it over with. His hand rested lower on your waist and he was so much closer.

The world blurred around him as all you could see was him in that damn suit, all you could feel was the burning touch of his hands, all you could smell were the traces of alcohol and smoke lingering on him like a reminder of who you were dancing with. You could have closed your eyes - if looking into his wasn’t so damn magnetizing- and recognized him by touch and scent alone, would have been able to differentiate him under all the boys of Hogwarts.

His grip on you was firm, but his more fleeting touches were tender. After a few steps, he had rid himself of all stiffness and you could feel his body mold into yours in a way that made your breath hitch slightly. His index finger drew circles on your waist.

You had wanted him to crack, to drop the teasing and admit what lingered beneath the surface. But you were rendered putty in his deft hands. Now, as his fingers splayed against the small of your back, seeming to tug you closer with each smooth step, you felt the pieces of your little game shifting in his favor. It was no longer yours to control. His touch burned through the fabric of your dress, deliberate and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to break you down.

The worst part by far was that he knew. Mattheo knew what he was doing, what power he held over you, and he wielded it like a blade wrapped in silk. His self-assured smile was like a checkmate, each wandering touch of his hands tightening the invisible thread he was weaving around you. He was spinning you in slow, deliberate circles, until you couldn’t tell whether you were chasing after him or he was already dragging you under. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he taunted you, leaning in until your temples nearly brushed. “This what you imagined when you said yes to him?”

This night had taken a tolerable turn, Mattheo thought to himself when a hint of pink dusted your cheeks and your eyes flickered away from his, well aware that he could see right through you. “I almost felt bad for him,” he smirked, “Watching him try not to trip over his own feet while you smiled through it.”

“It was sweet!” you exclaimed, feeling the need to defend Harry’s honor after you had made him a pawn in this game you were losing so miserably. “He tried his best!”

Mattheo raised his brows in mock scepticism. “Sweet? Sure, if that’s what you want to call a game of dodge the shoe.”

Recognizing a certain sharpness in his tone, you quirked your brow at him. “Jealous you didn’t get the chance to break my toes first?”

Mattheo shrugged slightly as his eyes flickered over your face, lingering for the split of a second on your lips. His pulled into a subtle grin when he noticed the way your breath came out as an airy tremble. “Jealous? Sure,” he purred, “Of your toes? Not exactly.”

His slight tap on your waist was the only sign you needed. You took the smallest of steps back and Mattheo spun you effortlessly, his hand like a firm anchor on your waist as he watched you with the kind of intensity that made your heart stumble. The room blurred around you as he twirled you back into his chest, taking a subtle step forward so your chest met his with more force than necessary. From the glint in his eyes, you knew he had done it deliberately.

“He danced like he was afraid you'd shatter if he held you too tight,” Mattheo sneered as he established a steady rhythm once more.

You gave him an unimpressed look. “Not everyone feels the need to manhandle me, Mattheo.”

Your words elicited a small chuckle from him; he seemed more light-hearted than he had at any point these last few weeks. “Maybe they aren’t up to your standards then,” he quipped back, running his thumb over your side. “Where is he off to, anyway? if he wanted to leave so badly, he could’ve handed you over to me.”

“Handed you over?” you scoffed, indignantly, and arched your brows at him. “That what I am now, some prize?”

“Don’t pout, sweetheart,” he smiled, leaning in. “You’re the one all wrapped up in silk like you’re a bloody gift.” This time, you didn’t receive a warning before both his hands dug into your sides and he lifted you up shortly, mirroring your fellow dancing pairs. You, who hadn’t seen it coming over all the whispering and being enraptured by his everything, gave a short yelp that made the grin on his face widen.

When his temple touched yours, your eyes fluttered shut and you enjoyed the moment to its fullest extent: feeling his skin on yours, the heat of his hand through your dress, his breath mingling with yours and his proximity enabling you to listen to the steady flow of his breath. The only thing that could ground you, as the ground seemed to unravel beneath your feet and all you could make out as reality rather than illusion was him. For one second of a lifetime, he was the sun you revolved around like a planet, forever stuck in its endless circles, cursed to reach out for him forever and never get to burn under his raw touch.

“I like your dress,” Mattheo muttered into the small space between your and his lips.

A small smile tugged on yours, and for this moment, all the pushing and pulling, challenging and playing, the threading of the needle, the teetering of the edge was forgotten. “Well, I like your suit too,” you mused. “You look good without all the blood.”

The chuckle seemed to get stuck in his throat, his voice a raspy whisper. “Don’t lie, sweetheart, you think I don’t know how hot you find me all bloody?” You parted just an inch or two to glare up at him, into those knowing eyes of his, restless as ever. “You’re an awful, awful person, Mattheo.” But you didn’t mean it. And he knew you didn’t.

“Oh, I know,” he purred, a grin pulling at his lips. “A right devil, aren’t I?”

“As I said,” you sighed, swaying in his arms. “A fallen angel.. Suits you though.” And if you’d stood just a few inches closer, if the music wasn’t still thrumming in your ears like an underlying growl, maybe you would have registered the way Mattheo's heart rate picked up speed at your words.

“Might want to pull away a bit, sweetheart,” he breathed without making any indication of following his own advice. “People might start to talk. And what a story that would be.”

“You dragged me onto the dancefloor, Mattheo,” you reminded him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking around for the stares that probably lingered on the pair of you, the same that would not subside however many times you leaned half-asleep against him during breakfast.

His grin took on a sharper edge, and you could feel in your very cells that the game was on again. “Only because you looked like you were waiting for me," he murmured lowly, causing heat to rush up into your cheeks because he made it sound like an undeniable truth. And it was.

You had nothing to retaliate, so you huffed and puffed for a few seconds before frowning up at him. “Since when have either of us cared about what other people think?”

“Oh, I certainly haven’t,” he said with the slightest air of superiority in his tone as his eyes flickered over your flushed features. Suddenly, his hand moved as he snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him, making you gasp and any and all response die in your throat, your brain short-circuiting. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he drawled under his breath, lips almost brushing yours. “Did you blush for Potter like that, too, or is it just me?”

It was this moment- the moment when the overwhelming desire to crash your lips gaainst his in front of the whole school took over your thinking, when you reminded yourself that you were mad at him, actually. What he was doing right now was the same exact thing you had been mad at him for for weeks: insinuating, flirting, touching, smiling, teetering the edge but copping out of any commitment or clarifying. Pulling away felt like the hardest thing in the world, but you managed to take a step back when the band finished the last note on a dramatic edge.

For one second, the world seemed suspended between you and him, right here on the dance floor, before you blinked and clarity flooded your brain. “I need some air,” you whispered, staring into his eyes as if hypnotized before you were able to pull yourself out of your trance. Swallowing your bitter regret, you gave him one last, fleeting glance before turning and weaving into the moving bodies of your fellow dancers, moving around you like a colorful marble game, in dire need of some fresh air to clear your racing thoughts.

From the way the people shuffled behind you, you knew Mattheo was coming after you, but you didn’t turn around to check- you didn’t have to. You could feel his gaze bruning into your back, felt almost as if you could differentiate the sound of his footsteps from those of the people scurrying out of his way.

People didn’t clear the path for you as they did for him, and so you were slower as you slipped through their midst, but Mattheo made no move to catch up to you, even when he easily could have. He seemed to follow you at a deliberate, short distance as you squeezed yourself through the small gap between a group of laughing Hufflepuff boys and a group of animetedly chatting Ravencalw girls and slipped through the glass doors onto the large, thankfully empty balcony.

Beneath the castle, it’s lights were reflected in the dark lake, shimmering secretively and blinking up at you as if they were mocking you. You leaned against the stone railing, gaze fixed onto the scenery below, painted in the dark shadows of a cold winter night. Mattheo’s footsteps sounded distinctly against the stone: slow, deliberate, and steadily approaching your figure. You refused to turn to him, knowing your expression would betray your wound up state.

When he was so close you could hear his breath over the muted sounds from inside the Great Hall, his step haltered as he stopped some two feet behind you, looming between you and the warm glow of the hall like a shadow. After a short silence, in which only the rustle of wind clawing at the castle walls was to be heard, he was the first to speak up. “Didn’t take you long to run off, sweetheart,” he said, words rolling off his tongue like the purr of a predator a second away from cornering its unknowing prey. “Was it something I said?”

An unbelieving scoff left your lips and you propped your arm up on the stone railing, rubbing your hand over your temple in frustration. “It’s everything you say, Mattheo.”

Even though you couldn’t see him, it was as if you could feel the way he raised his brows at you. A frustrated huff stumbled from your lips as you glared onto the dark lake, this stupidly serene scenery. “You- you think you can just flirt and smirk your way through this like nothing in the damn world could ever touch Mattheo Riddle.”

The light chuckle resonating behind you was so damn cocky and confident as if the world would bend under the weight of his fingertips, of his very voice- and didn’t he have all the reason to? “I don’t think,” his voice sounded softly behind you, so fucking self-assured it made your blood boil. “I know.”

With a sharp, humorless laugh, you threw your hands into the air. “And there we have the problem, way to self-report!”

The sound of his steps drew nearer, clearly distinct against the contrasting silence. His voice was a hiss through gritted teeth, his flirtatious teasing replaced by the violent turmoil that had been boiling in his chest all night. “That’s the problem, yeah?” he asked sharply, leaning against the stone railing right next to you. Stubbornly, you stared onto the black mass that was the dark forest, even as he leaned in and his lips brushed over the shell of your ear. “‘cause you sure looked real cozy with your friend Potter out there.”

“You care too much about my date,” you hissed, fully aware of the hypocrisy of your words. They were meant to wound him up, like the pull down to your end was nothing but a fatalistic tide you had to give into.

The scoff seemed to be interlaced into his tone as he withdrew from your figure slightly, leaning both forearms against the railing. So close, yet so far. “Did I say I cared?” he asked into the night, voice as cold as the winter breeze chilling your bones.

At those words, you finally whipped around to face him and folded your arms over your chest. “You sure act like it,” you said quickly, defensively.

With a low chuckle, Mattheo turned to you once more, his eyes piercing yours and you knew. Knew that he saw right through every excuse, every lie, every wall. Because Mattheo, for all the good and the bad it entailed, knew you, and he knew you well. His lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in. “And you sure act like you want me to.”

“God!” you exclaimed angrily and threw your hands into the air, no outlet for your aggression other than Mattheo. But he didn’t seem much different, as he laughed under his breath and inched even closer, until his shoulder brushed yours and his breath fanned your cheeks. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest as your eyelids fluttered. It was hard to hold onto determination when he was looking at you like this, when an outright devilish smile tugged at his lips.

“You like this, don’t you?" he muttered, eyes wandering over your face to detect any hesitation, any twitch, any fleeting glimpse of emotion. “The push an’ the pull, the fight?” A sarcastic smile graced his lips when he lowered his head to yours.

“I hate it,” you lied through gritted teeth, refusing to look away from him and narrowing your eyes stubbornly.

Mattheo’s fingers curled around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful- just enough to make your pulse stutter beneath his thumb. He lifted your hand as if inspecting it, dark eyes gleaming with something wicked when he felt the frantic beat of your heart. “Then why haven’t you left yet?” he murmured, voice dripping with mockery as he raised his other hand and the pad of his finger drawing a deliberate line to your collarbone. His knuckles brushed against your neck, featherlight, before he tilted his head and let his fingertip graze the spot where your pulse hammered beneath your skin. “Why is your heart beating like it’s got something to tell me?”

You could only pray the dark concealed the heat rushing to your cheeks as your breath got stuck in your throat. His fingertips grazing your pulse, both on your neck and on your wrist, made you feel like he was simply holding all of you with little effort. Handling your very being, balancing you at the tip of his fingers. And he knew. Oh, that damn smile told you all you needed to know. He tilted his head, his gaze burning through you, scorching your resolve, and your breath came out a shudder. “You’re infuriating” -ly hot, but you didn’t tell him that, of course. “If it bothers you so much, why didn’t you just ask me out instead?”

Awaiting his answer, your heart did a Olympic-level speedrun that he, no doubt, could feel right beneath his fingertips. Mattheo’s grip on your neck tightened slightly, but he didn't say anything. His mind seemed to weigh the words, form them into a sentence. His hesitation gave you a few seconds to compose yourself, and you managed to give him a sharp glare. “What, no clever remark?” you hissed, “No teasing? Merlin, I could be dancing with Harry right now!”

The words were meant to set him off, and set him off they did. His jaw clenched and his breath came in ragged, heavy motions, chest heaving under the strain of keeping it together. “You’re really trying to piss me off now, aren’t you?” he snarled sharply, eyes still boring into yours in the most disarming way.

You felt your composure slip. Gradually, it evaded your fingertips, notwithstanding the surge of anger you felt as all the doubt, all the hesitation, the waiting and the hurt crashed down on you. “Piss you off?” you asked, furious, and fully aware that your anger and slipping self-control were playing right into his little game of cat and mouse. “I’m pissed off!” you hissed, “You only want me when you think you can’t have me!”

Surprisingly, Mattheo seemed just as wound up as you, as his hand wrapped around your wrist fully and he rolled his jaw. “And you only notice me when i’m slipping through your fingers!”

A short, mocking scoff left your throat as you glowered up at him. “Are you even hearing yourself talk right now?” you seethed, “I think I notice you plenty, especially when you pull me into your lap every other day!”

Mattheo breathed a dark chuckle and shook his head at you. “That’s rich coming from the one who insisted I sleep in one bed with her.”

You stared at him angrily, but a sudden realization clawed at your chest. It was hard to admit its existence when it was an almost painful truth, but it's claws dug into your insides, making it hard to ignore. Maybe, the creature whispered into your ear, maybe you are just as bad as him. Maybe, just maybe, you could have asked him instead. maybe, just maybe, you get it. Maybe you would feel like shit too if he had come with another girl.

His lips hovered over yours and you swallowed, looking up into the dark pools of his eyes. "Say you don’t feel it,” he said, an eerie calm laced into his tone, “Say you don’t want me and I’ll leave right now.” He had rid himself of the smirks and chuckles as if of a false costume, raw intensity brimming in his gaze as it flickered down to your lips and your breath hitched audibly.

“Mattheo-”

“There you are! I- oh.”

Both you and Mattheo whipped around at the sound of a voice- Harry’s voice, to be more exact. He was standing in the open doors leading out to the balcony, the two drinks in hand. The flush on his cheeks was only pronounced by the soft glow of the Great Hall. As soon as he gauged the situation - you and Mattheo standing so close to each other a niffler wouldn’t have fitted between you, and Mattheo holding your wrist and neck - his brows pulled into a frown. One that Mattheo matched, eyes narrowing at the intrusion, while your eyes widened, a mix of disappointment and bashfulness coiling in your stomach.

Harry turned to you, eyes flickering over to Mattheo every other millisecond like he couldn’t stop himself. “...Did I, uh- interrupt something?”

“Yes,” sneered Mattheo through gritted teeth. You, on the other hand, quickly broke free from his grasp and smoothed out your dress, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment over being caught in such a compromising position. “No,” you replied quickly, not looking at Mattheo.

Harry seemed to misinterpret your nervous squirming, glancing cautiously from you to Mattheo and back again. “Everything alright?" he asked in an undertone that could mean nothing good- one that you had heard so many times, when people asked you, apprehensively, about your friendship with Mattheo, making no effort to conceal der skepticism.

Mattheo next to you rolled his eyes and gave an impatient click of his tongue. “Relax, Potter, she’s a big girl.”

Harry’s gaze settled on you. “Is he bothering you?” he asked sharply, and you could have rolled your eyes. Harry was no stranger to your mutual affection with Mattheo, had sneered over it many times. This comment was only meant to provoke, but he concealed it with protectiveness, which made you give him a warning look.

Mattheo hummed a low laugh, but the sound had an edge to it that made Harry tense up. “Didn’t realize you were her guard dog, Potter,” Mattheo taunted him from where he was still leaning against the railing, “Should I throw you a bone?”

Before things could escalate between the two, you stepped between them, shooting Mattheo a pleading look over your shoulder. “Go, please.” For a second, something vulnerable, almost like hurt, flashed across his face, but it was quickly replaced with a mocking smile and a predatpory glint in his eyes.

When he reached out, Harry shifted, almost like he wanted to step in, and Mattheo raised an amused brow at him before taking your hand and guiding it to his lips. His lips barely grazed the back of your hand and one could only assume Theo had taught him that this was the proper way- you didn’t know where else he would have learned it but in eighteenth century courtesy books. With one last dangerously gleaming look at you, he shoved past Harry and disappeared somewhere behind the group of giggling Ravenclaw girls.

You flinched slightly when Harry nudged you and looked up at him. “You okay?” he asked, handing you your drink. With a curt nod, you took it and took a long sip that did nothing to clear your head.

“Yeah,” you said, swirling the drink absentmindedly, “Just needed some fresh air.”

“...Right. Hey, look,” Harry said, seeming a little awkward. “Do you want to dance? You seemed a little bummed earlier and…” He trailed off, awaiting your answer.

Quirking a quick smile, you nodded at him. Inside, the band strung up a new tune, quicker. “Sure. After you.”

Mattheo had had enough. As Harry pulled you back into the dancefloor, having finally overcome his sober reluctance, he distinctly felt that if he had to spend another second watching you with him, he would break something. He probably would have. Would have marched right up to Potter and smashed his face into the fucking wall for laying a hand on you, even if it was a platonic one. But the gnawing feeling of guilt stopped him from doing so.

Mattheo had never had much of a conscience worth speaking of- at leat not in his opinion. The avoidance of overly atrocious deeds had never come from within, but as influenced by the need to survive in a rigid social system. Not until he met you had he known such adoration that he would place your needs over his any day. What you deserved was more important than his bloody daydreams. And what you deserved was a fun night- with or without him.

Not that he had been the first to lay a gentler hand on you. He had never known such patience and compassion until he earned your friendship. Such unconditional care that it made you sneak down to the Slytherin dorms in the dead of night to patch him up after a fight because you knew he didn’t take care of himself properly, that he would let the wounds get scabby and turn into scars because he made his body pay for the weight his shoulders had to carry.

He’d relish your touch like a devil, latching onto any small slice of heaven he could find. He found it in your voice, the way you said his name, sometimes amused, sometimes worried, sometimes angry in a way that made him want to drop to his knees and devour you until you were a screaming mess. He found it in your touch, so gentle and never flinching away, and your eyes, the tenderness they held and the fire that burned in them. A fire he would love to burn in if it pleased you.

Mattheo didn’t even realize he was moving at first, until he bumped into Enzo, who frowned at him. “Where are you going, mate? Party’s just getting started.”

“Air,” he grunted shortly and ignored Enzo calling after him. Students shuffled aside hastily as he made his way through them, towards the entrance hall. What he needed now was you, but you were off being twirled around by Potter, so cigarettes would have to do.

Fucking hell.

His fingers slipped into his inside pocket before he had even crossed the entrance hall, where only a few snogging pairs hung around in darker corners. He slipped through the great front door and skipped several steps as he hurried down the main staircase, stopping at a lower level. Impatient fingers pulled a smoke out of his almost empty pack and he ignited it with a flick of his index finger, taking the long drag he’d been craving.

You watched him go. Saw him slipping out of the great hall, fingers already reaching for his pocket in search of one of his beloved cigarettes. You barely noticed it when the song ended and only gave a half-hearted applause, burning to go after Mattheo but unsure how to do so without coming off as rude.

“Hey,” Harry said, nudging you and pointing at something behind you, “The rest is over there. Do you want to join them?” Turning around, you spotted Hermoine, Ron, Ginny and Dean at one of the tables, laughing together.

“Go ahead,” you smiled, the urge to follow Mattheo growing ever stronger. “I’ll join you in a bit, alright?” He didn't question you, only shrugged and took off towards the table while you turned towards the entrance hall, weaving through bodies and clouds of perfume to get to him.

You found him outside, a few steps down the main staircase, leaning against the stone wall. A glowing little dot stood out to you, one that glowed brighter whenever Mattheo took a drag. Crossing your arms over your chest to provide some level of protection against the cold winter breeze, you slowly walked down the steps, heart beating faster the closer you got to him.

Mattheo looked infuriatingly good, leaning lazily against the stone wall, smoke spilling from his lips, his suit crumpled and tie loosened. A few steps away from him, you hesitated, a certain guilt gnawing at you when you saw his scrunched up brows. Your clash earlier had been all but ideal- albeit very adrenaline-inducing - and right now, you wanted nothing more than to make things right. What was important was not some yule ball, it was your friendship.

Working up the courage, you walked down the last steps. He didn’t look up and you took it as an invitation to lean against the wall next to him, a long sigh leaving your lips and clouding the chilly air shortly.

“Finally ditched the golden boy?” Mattheo asked with a casual smirk on his lips, but his eyes looked distinctly tired. Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he let smoke billow into the air before turning to you.

A nervous little smile flashed over your expression and you angled your body towards him. “Golden boys have never really been my type,” you confessed, smoothing over you dress with shaky hands.

“Yeah?” he asked, eyes sweeping your slightly trembling figure. “And what is your type?”

You took another step towards him, your shoulder brushed against his arm and neither of you moved away. The contact settled like gravity. “Certainly no smokers,” you said breathlessly.

He watched your mouth as you spoke, the corner of his lips curling upward. Taking one last drag out of his smoke, he flicked it to the ground and squashed the embers with his shoe. He shifted his weight, the toe of his shoe bumping against yours like he was testing the distance. “I’ll be finished with this then.” His stance seemed relaxed as he leaned against the wall, but the gaze in his eyes was intense as his eyes bore into yours.

When he raised his hand, it was slow, as if he was approaching a scared animal, careful not to set it off by making a rapid movement. Bringing it up to your face, his knuckles grazed your jaw, a featherlight touch, as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “If I had taken you out tonight, I wouldn’t have let you out of my sight.”

Your breath catched when his knuckles ran a line up your jaw, but you didn’t pull away. Without even realizing, you inched even closer to him, his bodywarmth bleeding trough the thin fabric of your dress. A small smile graced your lips as you tilted your head of him, but the challenge was much softer than before. “Well, I’m glad he did, or we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

The hand that had been leaving a row of goosebumps behind on your neck came up to cup your cheek as his breath fanned your face. You could taste the nicotine on your own tongue as your lips parted slightly, as if on instinct. His fingers trailed over the curve of your wrist, idly tracing circles like he was trying to learn your heartbeat by touch. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he said, voice a low rasp.

A frown pulled at your brows, but you had half a mind to ease it with a smile. “And you do?” you asked, trying to grasp what “deserving” meant to him.

But he didn’t return your smile, more serious than you’d seen him all night as he tilted your chin up. “I’d ruin myself trying.”

His forehead came to rest against yours, as if he needed the grounding touch, and you leaned up into him, reciprocating the gesture. Your brain seemed to be a droning mass of nothing, taking up too much space in your head. He muttered something under his breath, a curse, chest heaving just as much as yours. His lips hovered over yours, the space between you charged, every second stretching into eternity. “Say the word,” he muttered, “and I’ll make sure you never think about him again.”

It was the most natural thing to you as your eyes fluttered shut and your hands fisted his shirt- how had they even got there?

“Please.”

Before you could gauge the impact of that one small word, he crashed his mouth against yours, all teeth and desperation, like he had been starving for this. And you had been, too. It was as if a deep craving was finally fulfilled as you kissed him back, barely managing to keep up with the rough movements of his lips. The afteratste of nicotine settled on your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mind. His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in, like he needed to anchor himself or he might lose control. They tugged you closer, impossibly close, as if he wants to erase any space that dares exist between you.

His lips moved with bruising intensity against yours and you sighed against them, making him growl. “M- mattheo,” you whispered in between kisses, his name but a breathless plea making his grip tighten on your waist. “I’ve -fuck- I’ve wanted this for so long.”

He cursed against your lips, fingers gripping fistfuls of your dress as if he meant to tear it off you. “Fuck, sweetheart, don’t say stuff like that-” His hands started to roam, one gripping the back of your neck to tilt your head into his desired angle, the other running down your side and latching onto your thigh.

You squeaked against him when he lifted it to wrap your leg around his waits, slotting his hips into the place between your legs. A sudden mewl left your throat and he swallowed it up as if it was the sweetest nectar. The way your body sank into his went to his head, your trust made his ears rush as his fingers curled into the flesh of your thigh. He wanted to break you, yes- but so much more, he wanted to love you.

“Always wanted this, I’ve always wanted you, sweetheart,” he whispered against you, lips wandering down to latch onto your neck.

“If you wanted to have me,” you said, rendered utterly breathless under his teasing touches and experienced lips, “all you ever had to do was ask.”

He groaned against your mouth, the sound rough and guttural, as if kissing you physically hurt and healed all at once. “Fuck, sweetheart,” Mattheo cursed, his lips crashing back onto yours as your breath hitched. He kissed you like he was angry at you, like every push and pull of your lips was part of some unresolved fight he never wanted to win.

You squealed softly when he bit your lower lip, sharp and fleeting, then soothed the sting with a flick of his tongue. His fingers curled into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head, demanding more. His thumb traced your jaw, a fleeting tenderness that contrasted the way he devoured your mouth. He pulled away for a split second, forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked when he muttered, “You drive me insane.” -before kissing you even harder.

“Why?” you whined in between kisses, hands running over his chest in search for any kind of support. “Why didn’t you ask me? I-” Another kiss of his shut you right up and you kissed him back with ferocity, mumbling in between his ministrations, “I was hoping you would, I wanted you this- h- hah - this whole time.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumblked hastily against your lips, his hands slipping into your hair and tugging to angle your head up at him. “Fuck, ‘m really sorry, sweetheart, that you had to resort to that fucking idiot.”

“‘S fine,” you slurred, your brain completely shutting down when the hand on your thigh slipped under your dress and traced a line up your bare skin, “Harry’s a friend and I like him just fine, but-” The way he fisted your dress in his hands and pulled you flush against you had the words die on your tongue as you felt something hard press against your core.

Shit.

“Say his name one more time and I’ll have mine engraved right about here,” he muttered threateningly, his digits drawing circles on your inner thigh and a pathetic whine left your throat, swallowed up by his eager lips. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmured, rolling his hips and making your breath hitch, your knees growing wobbly, “I’ll make sure it’s my name you’ll be screaming tonight.”

“Oh God, Mattheo-” you mewled loudly, thankful for the muffliato charm you’d cast on the door of the empty classroom Mattheo had dragged you into, “It hurts!”

But Mattheo seemed to have little regard for your words, his fingers pistoning in and out of your squelshing cunt as he chuckled against your lips. He had you perched ontop of one of the desks, fingers knuckle deep in your pussy and his lips painting your neck like a canvas. Trembling helplessly in his hold, your second orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave as the overstimulation became almost unbearable and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Oh, does it?” he mocked, false pity laced into his tone as he bit down hard on your neck, making you squeal. His thumb drew circles on your clit and your thighs shook, your hand spushing weakly at his chest. White hot pleasure shot through you, making your cunt clench painfully around his fingers. And there he was, smiling down on you as you completely unraveled in his hold, as your eyes rolled back into your head and your body slumped against his, whimpers of his name falling from your kiss-bitten lips. Yeah, this was how he had imagined the night to go.

“P- please,” you whimpered, fisting his shirt as you squirmed to escape his unrelenting fingers- and finally, finally he had mercy on you, swiping one last finger over your overstimulated clit and pulling you flush against him as his fingers, covered in your slit, brushed over your bruised lips.

“C'mon, sweetheart,” he smirked evilly, “Don’t tell me you’re tired yet?”

A shake of your head was enough for him as he flipped you around onto your belly, bending you over the desk. You could hear a metallic clinking sound and rocked your hips back against him, anticipation curling in your stomach. You’d heard- often to your own dismay - the stories of the girls he’d been with, envying them as you listened to their colorful tales- but now you were on the receiving end of his touches, his kisses, his cock that slapped against your folds in a way that made you jolt against the hard wood of the desk.

“Mattheo,” you breathed, unsure whether it was a plead or a demand. Whatever it was, he seemed all to eager to comply, his hands tightening on your waist. His cockhead was first, slowly pushing through your folds. With a gutteral groan, he slumped against you, fingers digging into your hips so hard you were sure they would leave bruises.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re tight,” he cursed, overcome by the overwhelming urge to rut into you like some animal, to take you raw, make you his completely until you writhed and screamed under him. But he knew he had to take it slower with you- despite all the teasing, you were his precious princess, his best friend, the only one who'd ever loved him unconditionally. And dear god was he going to pay you back.

“Doing real good,” he murmured huskily as you twitched beneath him, hips wiggling as you tried to adjust to his size in a way that didn’t help his restraint in the slightest. You yelped when he delivered a sudden slap to your ass, immediately soothing it over by rubbing gentle circles over it. “Stop squirming, sweetheart,” he growled, leaning over you as he pushed further in, relishing very inch. “Or I might just lose myself.”

“S- sorry,” you apologized so sweetly he could have devoured you then and there. But for once, he could be a man of patience. “A- are you fully in yet?” you asked shyly, looking up at him over your shoulder.

A strained sounding chuckle fell from his lips. “Not even halfway in. Want me to stop?” You shook your head rapidly, though his girth provided your walls with a painful sting. Instead, your fingers curled around the edge of your desk as you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to relax. “You're doing so good, sweetheart,” he groaned huskily against your ear as he leaned over you, slowly sliding another inch in. “Taking me so well.”

A breathless little mewl left your throat and he laughed under his breath, trying to keep his restrain from snapping with the way your warm walls hugged him, drew him in. “Relax f’ me, will you?” he asked, more softly, pressing kisses along your shoulder and onto your earlobe. “Breathe through it, that’s right,” he praised as you tried to relax your muscles around his cock and took slow, though trembling, breaths.

When he finally bottomed out, a gasp for air left your throat and he nearly whined at the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him. Fuck, like you were made for him. Mattheo started moving, slowly, sensually, as his lips whispered praises and confessions into your ear, only half of which you actually registered as your brain grew impossibly fuzzier.

When you breathed a shallow moan, the sting slowly turning pleasurable, his lips latched onto your neck, sucking hard. “Yer trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he asked, slowly rocking his hips against yours. “Feel so good, sweetheart, like you were made f’me.”

You moaned helplessly under him as he kept on talking, meeting his hips and moving yours in the same rhythm. “Always wanted this,” he murmured against your shoulder, his movements steadily growing more intense. He pulled out fully and sunk back in again, making both of you release strangled moans as your hands desperately tried to support yourself against the desk.

“Could barely hold myself back sometimes,” he rasped into your ear as you could feel the pleasure building in your core, his words not helping the mist in your mind. “Dreamed of it, y’know?” When he pulled out tis time, he plunged his cock back in harshly, baking you choke on the moans spilling from your lips. “I knew it was wrong that I rutted into my own fist, thinking about having you exactly like this. Fuck, it was wrong, knew you were way too good for me, but look at you now…”

His hips grew more feverish as they slammed into yours, pleasure and pain coiling in your lower belly as you mewled his name and you could feel him twitch inside you. a string of curses left his lips, and his fingers tug into your waist to ram your hips against his, matching his speed. “Hated seeing you with Potter tonight,” he spat, “Hated seeing his hands on you- god, you have no idea what i would’ve done to him if you hadn’t been there.”

A low growl of a chuckle left his throat and you shivered at the sound, pushing your hips back into his in desperate need for relief. His words had heat pool down, had your walls clench, and he let out a string of curses in return. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he panted, ruthlessly rocking your hips back into his, “Would you let him see you like this? How ‘bout I stuff you so full with cum he can see it run down your thighs tomorrow, how’d you like that? What if he were here right now, huh? Bet he’d love this, wouldn’t he? Bet he’d try to get himself off to the sight of what he can’t have.”

When your thighs started shaking and his name left your lips in a mindless string of moans, he straight up flipped you over, plunging his cock back into you before you could even realize what was happening. You yelped when he threw your legs over his shoulders and your eyes rolled back into your skull as his cock hit spots you hadn’t even known existed. Desperate for some kind of support, you grabbed his shoulders with shaky fingers as you completely unraveled under him- and he drank it in.

Your moans were like music to his ears, touching you was a special kind of heaven. And when your face scrunched up and your thighs shook, when your high hit you like a truck, in spite of his roughness, he interlaced your fingers with his, pinning them above your head and chasing his own high as you fell apart on his cock. “Good fucking girl,” he growled against your ear as you spasmed in his hold.

When the white-hot pleasure suring through you slowly stopped obstructing your field of vision, as you felt yourself come down from your high, you could hear his raw grunts and curses next to your ear as he chased his own high. As he felt his own release approaching, Mattheo pulled out and emptied himself all over your stomach. He stood above you, panting and watching it drip down the round of your belly, marking you as his.

Mabe he’d said that out loud, because you giggled with post-orgasmic bliss. “You’re such a dog, Mattheo!” With a smirk, he slipped your thighs off his shoulders, seeming entirely self-satisfied as he leaned down to press another, more tender kiss onto your lips.

When he parted from you, his eyes held a certain softness that was reserved for moments of quiet comfort between you two, when you’d sit in his bed, hold him in your lap and let him rant about it all- his father, his legacy, this school, the world. But it was all so far away from here. From this classroom, where he held you, where he looked at you as if he’d never seen something so precious, so worth protecting.

Dipping down, he started nibbling on your neck contently, no doubt adding more obvious signs of wreckage than he had already. But you couldn’t think about the consequences, about the stares you’d get tomorrow, no matter how much makeup you slapped onto your neck. Because his voice was rumbling low, next to your ear, as his nose nudged yours. “Wanna be my girlfriend, sweetheart?” And you nodded rapidly, barely able to control the grin tugging at your lips.

Completely out of breath, you slumped against him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His smell was so utterly comforting, the feeling of his chest rising and falling against yours as he, too, slowly recovered from his high. The exhaustion weigh heavy on your bones as you looked up into his brown eyes, reflecting the moonlight that spilled through the window. “Seeing as my ability to walk is probably impaired- will you carry me down to your dorm or do I have to ask Harry?”

The way Mattheo’s eyes glinted dangerously at the words was a promise that the night was far from over.

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