#strategic dialogue | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

riddleriddles · 21 days ago

Text

ಇ do i wanna know, hozier cover.

pairing. mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!quiet!reader

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

warnings. a bit of suggestive scene, but nothing explicit

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

visit my masterlist :)

ಇ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Same.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” you pressed, curious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you go to these parties often?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ಇ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ಇ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You planned this,” he replied flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ಇ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not really.”

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

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

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

ಇ

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

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

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

“Have you finished that book, Mattheo?”

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

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

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

Mattheo nodded with a relaxed gesture.

“Mm-hm.”

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

He laughed and shrugged, not giving it much thought.

“Well, what’s ‘much’?”

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

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

Mattheo furrowed his brow, now visibly more interested.

“Human?”

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

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

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

You let out a soft laugh, not offended.

“No? And how would you describe it?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You think stupidity is genius?”

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

Mattheo fell silent for a moment, processing your words.

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

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

He let out a low, almost incredulous laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

ಇ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ಇ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe she’s too good for you.”

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

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

ಇ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here,” he said, smiling tranquilly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ಇ

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More than I expected.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1K notes · View notes

ay0nha · 2 months ago

Text

Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds | Lucius Verus Aurelius

SUMMARY: "Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind. “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?"

PAIRING: Lucius Verus Aurelius x f!reader (arranged marriage for political reasons)

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, not much, mentions of alcohol, old-timey language, Google-accurate Roman empire things, dancing, arranged marriage, talks of lineage, angsty-ish, quotes from various people like Nina Simone and Octavia Butler sprinkled into dialogue, etc.

A/N: I quickly wrote this in a few days with the amazing help of @astrd00. This is just sort of an introduction to my fic idea so apologies if it's a little boring. Arranged marriage trope sort of colleagues to friends to lovers. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future parts. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment it really helps me to keep going! More to come, enjoy!

The Latin translates to: a water drop hollows a stone, not by force but by frequent falling.

Everyone clung to the fog of death in the air with stiff fingers, unwilling to let their proof of newly promised freedom go. They celebrated in the streets, disregarding the savagery that occurred only months ago. The public enjoyed the amnesia, looking to Lucius not solely for responsibility but as a new object to place culpability.

Yet, the heaviness permeated Lucius’ marrow. He hid it well behind the mask of authority. Even a sharp eye would miss the way it restrained him, intentionally ignorant of a flaw in their new leader.

It might have even been seen as a strategic move, a way to humanize the gladiator who seemed to defy the Gods. Strategy outside the arena was new, different from the portrayed brute that dusted his hands with sand. What lay in his palms now was similar to that of a child’s heart, beating rapidly with a not-yet-known burden of life. It was heavy and warm, begging for unwavering loyalty from its possessor.

Lucius remained delicate with his hold, but the heart wanted more from him. Strength and honor would soon no longer suffice. It needed sustenance worthy of devotion and destruction. His eyes were steady on this phantom heart until those around him required his attention.

“Emperor—” A magistrate repeated, voice raising enough to tease an echo. The new title sat heavily on Lucius’ shoulders, contorting his body into a position that mimicked Atlas. “Our suggestion should not be taken lightly, it is for the prosperity of your Rome.”

Scrutiny wasn’t found in his tone or bitterness behind the remark but rather in genuine regard. However, there was an intention behind the ownership of Rome, a hint at the generational promise.

“The public can wonder, speculate, but they do not see beyond the issue.” He continued, watching the twitch on Lucius’ face. “You may not like the mere thought, but gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed saepe cadendo.” The magistrate paused, his words lingering. “How much longer until Rome is hollow once again?”

“This order is a fallacy.” Lucius finally made contact, eyes surveying those around him. “There is a need for trust, yes. And yet, you ask for deception?”

“You misunderstand us, Emperor.” Another member of the senate spoke, hoping to alleviate tension. “There would be no deception in this union, only fortification of the reigning; an image for the people to find themselves in.”

“Your brethren trust you, you are the embodiment of redemption.” They spoke around Lucius, spewing anything in hopes of saturating his mind. “Where is your image of hope? Where is the person who will relieve you of the grief you share with your people? Where is your Empress?”

—

You smiled through the wine-fueled chattering of the ceremony, appeasing those who had just witnessed your union, but your focus moved beyond the conversation and revelry. Above you was a darkened sky that mimicked night. Rain poured down, tempting you to fall prey to its numbing hold.

The Gods are favoring your union, you were told when the sky opened. Divine intervention.

But you knew the Gods were fickle, always testing your will against temptation. It was a test sent for you, one that an elaborate wedding and an emperor declaring your shared existence hid well.

So you ignored the call of the humidity, being dutiful to your new role as empress. People bowed to you and nearly cried at how beautifully you paired with your new counterpart. Even as you sat on the marble throne beside Lucius you couldn’t deny their exactness.

“Don’t worry, they’ll soon pass out from the wine.” You spoke softly, eyes ahead at your guests as you spoke to your husband. His grip on your hand fidgeted exposing his anxiety.

Lucius paused, determining if honesty was worthwhile. His self-awareness was enough to remind him how unfamiliar he was with the environment that consumed his senses.

“It is for them.” You nodded ahead to the crowd. The room was hot from the amount of bodies swirling around. “Remind yourself of this when their faith falters.”

Lucius looked at you, attention trained on your profile. Even with a soft veil over your features, you were so absolute.

“I know my purpose here. You are still learning yours.” You continued. “All I ask of you is that when they falter you place your trust in our bond.”

“I will place it where it is due.” There was your gladiator. The defiance comforted you.

“Those around you are untroubled by that; all they crave is to spit on the fallen. It doesn’t matter if you are one of them, they are quick to turn.” You sharpened. “Be careful; join the sinful and you will be remembered with spite and desperation.”

You spoke of hidden things, of politics that lingered like venom in the bloodstream of the empire. Lucius knew not to mistake your words for ulterior motives. You were direct in your vows to further his image of a new Rome, it was why you were chosen to be by his side. Your mind was clear. You read the room perfectly, unraveling every detail of what was inherited.

“My legacy does not motivate me,” Lucius stated. His ears attuned to you and you only, enraptured in how deeply you spoke as if it was a common thought. “I will not look to them for fame.”

“You will, conscious or not. And once you do, you will not be able to look away.” You smiled pitifully as though you knew something he didn’t. “Just as they watched you fight, you misunderstand the impact of what is before you.”

“You believe that little of me?” There was a swirl of censure in his chest despite the small smile pulling at his lips.

“There is opportunity to win, but that is a fool’s goal—

“To win?” Lucius scoffed. “Even you have been mislead, then. Thinking that there is a conquest waiting to happen.”

“I do not wish to insult you.” Your thumb adjusted against his fingers. It was in your nature to be candid, but at times you placed your frustrations unfairly. You softened. “Your promise of growth will help amend this.”

Lucius wished to pull away from you. He needed to think, to be separated from the feigned festivities adjoined to love. This was love; love created not between two people, but shared by you and him for Rome.

That was not to say you were birds of a feather.

Your strengths were found in your experience. Although young, you were no novice to how to hold your chin high while delivering truths to the senate. You learned from your uncle, an official who raised you on the true meaning of government. You were clever. The public viewed you as such. You were of noble status and fit to stand before them.

What you lacked was a specific connection that Lucius brought to the people. He was one of them, raised humbly, hands worn from the earth’s harvest and war forced upon him. Lucius spoke well to them, building comradery with every way of life.

“I would never ask you to compromise your beliefs. I know better than to think you’d behave.” You teased at his rebellion, hoping the guard that was up would calm. “Besides, a well-mannered lover is an offense.”

“We are not lovers.” It was sterile in tone but revealed emotions long since buried.

“And we are not enemies.” You were quick, reading between his words to find the insult.

“My lord!” A raspy voice begged for attention. “My lady!”

You stood, bowing politely to the affluent man before you. He took advantage of the night; jewels adorned every finger that pulled at the elaborate fabric of his outfit.

“It is time.” The rasp withered when he lowered to speak to you directly. His arms went wide as if inviting a hug, but he spun skillfully to face the audience.

“Time?” Lucius looked to you.

The man boomed over the forgotten rain. ““It is time!”

Standing, you didn’t release Lucius’ hand. There was resistance on his end, wanting to remain sedentary and silent to wait out the rest of the night.

“Our dance.” You answered to his wide eyes. Your guests cheered, clearing space. “It is customary to rise together and move as one. It will complete the ceremony.”

He rose at your words, not much of a choice otherwise than to follow.

The fabric of your dress swam behind you, kissing the floor with each step toward the middle of the marble floor. The dress looked like water cascading down your body, hiding each bend and swell of your body. Yet, it highlighted something else, something deeper. It was subtle but powerful, like the way a garden seemed to breathe life into a space.

“May the rain create a river to fertility.” The man held a contagious grin that spread around the room.

Prosperity and posterity. This is what they wanted. Lucius alone was not enough. The bloodline was more important than a single figure. It hadn’t needed to be discussed as it was the obvious forethought for your unification.

The officials of the republic were more concerned about your fecundity and frame than the knowledge you held. It was a typical belief, one that you expected. Your fingers itched to bring your willingness to support the new decree to play and if this was your path to it, so be it.

You remained clinical at the thought. It was a means to an end rather than something to be meditated on. The way Lucius hardened at the man’s words told a story from another perspective where the political became personal. You did not miss the ring on his pinky that rubbed against a new gold one.

“Does the great gladiator know how to dance?” Your voice flowed to Lucius only knowing the opportunity rarely presented itself.

The music shifted from something fast-paced to something more melodic that would encourage you both to move swiftly but attractively. You knew your words would hit a nerve, but it was strategic to motivate Lucius’ hesitant hands.

“It is a back and forth. A push and pull.” You guided your hand to press against his palm, meeting together as if you were to pray. “Just like the arena, no?”

Lucius’ eyebrows pinched together. Not out of curiosity or frustration. He was genuine in his response.

“Rarely is a touch this…subdued.” Soft.

“Shall I spin you in circles, then?” Your painted lips were easier to see now that Lucius was close. He saw as they rose through your veil with the quip. “Disorientate you to the point of submission?”

Your arms weaved behind your back still connected to Lucius’. The dance was simple, one practiced as children. There were very few steps and wistful gestures that even the familiar still enjoyed.

“Those are my only options? Coercion or blind fealty.”

It left little room for interpretation or defiance. The statement came without hesitation but held pent-up sentiment veiled by familiar poise. You vetted his blank gaze for proper determination of his upset.

It was odd to see Lucius so close, your memory had failed to cast such a strong light on him. Once overgrown hair had been trimmed to only curl at the nape of his neck. Dirt was cleared from every line of his face. He was still rugged, but you saw through the exterior to find a boy.

A boy who had been stripped of child-like wonderment and care. Instead, he held his broad shoulders high and an expression that lingered from his exile. Lucius’ skin perked every time your dress acted as a barrier between the two of you, a warning that whatever you offered had to be earned.

“I do not ask much of you, Emperor...” You put it simply, knowing your worth and wisdom. You needed to be promised his word that against anything you would be beside each other. “...so I will not ask again.”

“You are not satisfied with the trust of the marriage alone,” Lucius stated his question like an observation. “You wish I promise myself to you in ways which I may not be able to provide.”

“Able or willing?”

Your faces were close, noses mirroring each other as you turned on beat. You could feel the warmth of your frustration start in your chest, only to spread across your skin as goosebumps.

“The past and the future press so hard on either side that there’s no room for the present at all.” You spoke again before he could answer. “You must decide where you belong.”

The music returned to Lucius’ ears. Its melody weighed down your words, letting them settle deeply in his mind. His head spun with thoughts busy on reasoning. Perhaps he was too guarded for his own good, but he’d gotten himself this far relying only on himself. He had held in a great deal. Often he felt he couldn't speak until the waters overflowed their banks and broke through the dam.

Those around him garnered support, but this was different. You understood what freedom was; it meant no fear. Fear rolled right off of you. Fear was like a pet to you: something you picked up to get a better look at but that you soon grew tired of.

The music slowed coming to an end. Lucius removed his hands from your body but didn’t venture far. His calloused fingertips followed the seam of your soft veil to meet the laced end. Once there, he gently revealed your true manner.

Your features were accentuated by an internal glow. There was no modesty in your gaze, it shattered any notion of strength. There was no insight into your emotions. What Lucius found was someone gifted. It was a marvel he hadn’t heard of you until you presented yourself as the wise option for him to marry.

Although you ran in many circles, your name wasn’t whispered among the council. They didn’t believe beauty and wit could fit within the reach of a woman. Yet, here you stood. A new challenge to be accepted. Lucius resisted the urge to swallow quick breaths as if he were going to endure a blow from Viggo. His body agitated in preparation, but looking at you so wholly all he could muster was concession.

“You have my word.”

1K notes · View notes