SUMMARY: Theodore Nott thought surviving Dueling Club would be the hardest part of his week. Turns out, surviving his angry girlfriend was significantly worse.
Based off of this request. @red--roses hope you like it<3
You were furious.
It wasnât the fact that Theodore had gotten hurt in Dueling Club. It was the fact that you had to hear it from Lavender Brown â three days later â that heâd taken a nasty curse to the ribs and had been walking around like nothing happened.
So when he finally found you in your room that evening, you didnât even let him speak first.
âYou got hurt,â you said flatly, arms crossed. âAnd you didnât tell me.â
Theo sighed, running a hand through his messy brown hair. âIt wasnât serious. I handled it.â
âThatâs not the point, Theodore.â You used his full name like a weapon.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
âIâm your girlfriend. You donât get to decide what I can and canât handle. You donât get to keep me in the dark âfor my own good.ââ
âI was protecting you,â he said quietly, jaw tight. âYou already worry enough.â
âIâm not a child,â you snapped. âIf you canât trust me with the truth, then what are we even doing?â
The argument ended in a tense stalemate. Theo tried to reach for you, but you stepped back and left him standing there.
And thatâs when you decided on petty terrorism.
The next evening, the entire friend group was gathered in the Slytherin common room for a casual dinner.
You sat right next to Theo like nothing was wrong â except everything was wrong, and you were making sure he felt it.
You picked up a piece of spaghetti with your fork, looked him dead in the eyes, and cut it cleanly in half.
Mattheo choked on his drink.
Theoâs eyes flicked to the broken pasta, then back to your face. He said nothing.
Pansyâs eyebrows shot up. Daphne pressed her lips together, trying not to smile.
Later, when Theo reached for the salt, you moved it just out of his reach.
When he gave you a look, you smiled sweetly.
âCommunication is so important in relationships, donât you think, Pansy?â you asked.
Pansy nearly lost it. âOh my god.â
Enzo was grinning like an idiot. Blaise leaned back in his chair, thoroughly entertained. Even Draco looked amused.
Theo's jaw ticked. You weren't done.
When Mattheo asked Theo something about Quidditch practice, you turned to Mattheo with an innocent expression.
âDo you actually listen when people talk to you, Mattheo? Or do you also decide what people can and canât handle?â
Mattheo laughed, raising his hands slightly. âIâm not getting involved in this.â
Theo finally spoke, voice low.
âCan we talk?â
You blinked at him, feigning innocence. âAbout what, Theodore?â
Blaise muttered under his breath, âSheâs evil. I respect it.â
Later that night, you âaccidentallyâ moved Theoâs bookmark three chapters forward in the book he was reading.
When he noticed, he gave you a long, tired look.
You just smiled and went back to your own book.
The group was losing their minds in the background.
âTen galleons says she wins,â Enzo whispered.
âIâm not betting against her,â Pansy replied. âSheâs unhinged right now.â
Theo eventually cornered you near the fireplace when most people had gone to bed.
He looked exhausted.
âAre you done?â he asked.
You crossed your arms. âAre you going to stop hiding things from me?â
He stepped closer, voice softening.
âI thought I was protecting you. I hate worrying you. I hate seeing you scared because of me.â
âIâm more scared when I find out from other people that youâre hurt,â you said, voice cracking just a little. âIâm your girlfriend, Theo. Let me be there for you. Even when itâs ugly.â
Theo stared at you for a long moment, then pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you.
âIâm sorry,â he murmured into your hair. âIâll tell you next time. Even if itâs stupid and small.â
You hugged him back, tension finally draining from your shoulders.
ââŚYouâre still Theodore for the rest of the week though,â you mumbled against his chest.
He let out a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling through him.
âFair enough.â
You smiled into his sweater.
Because no matter what, he was still your Theodore.
I've finally gotten enough motivation to go through my drafts and publish them lol.
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hii i love sweetheart!reader & mattheo! idk if youâre comfortable with writing this but maybe sweetheart!reader being insicure about the fact that mattheo used to sleep with lots of girls and she thinks maybe she wonât be as good and he comforts her đĽšđĽš
sweetheart!reader is insecure about mattheoâs playboy past
he's so gentle with her i'm crying
cw: heavily implies + talks of sex but no real depictions â brief mention of their âfirst timeâ + fade to black at the end. sweetheart!reader & mattheo are definitely a little older in this one.
masterlistÂ
As a general rule, it's best to not ask questions you don't want the answer to.
Just like you know not to ask Mattheo what happened to the boy who made a snide comment about you in class and why he's covered in blood, you know not to ask Mattheo about his âplayboy pastâ â anything that he did before he met you is none of your business, youâve decided.
You're sitting on his bed watching him get dressed, your back is resting against one of the many pillows he gently propped up for you just a few minutes ago. Itâs a peaceful moment of post-bliss â too bad you canât stop yourself from ruining it.
You tug the sheets closer to your chest as you call out his name. He hums in response, still buttoning his half-done shirt. âHow many girls have you, um⌠slept with."
His hands still, he looks at you with a questioning look, a little amused by the shy way you phrased it.
"Only you, sweetheart, you know this." He says, you frown.
"No, I don't just mean sex-sex, I mean, you know... other things too." You say.
"Like handjobs?" He says. You blush at the crude way he phrases it, nodding. "Where's this coming from?"
"I'm just curious." You say before you wait for his answer.
When it doesn't come and he simply returns to fixing his watch on his wrist with a shake of his head and a smile, you pout. "Come on, Matty, you promised you'd never keep anything from me."
He chuckles. "I also promised I'd never hurt your feelings, sweetheart, that includes telling you things you don't want to know." He retorts, fixing the collar of his closed shirt. "Answer my question first, where's this coming from?"
You shrug again, looking down at your lap.
"I was just thinking about how I'm not a lot of your firsts." You say casually, far more casually than you feel.
"Well, you're technically my first-first." He says.
Your cheeks warm at the sweet memory: your trembling hands that he tried to still with his, though his were shaking just as much; the way he whispered "are you sure?" over and over and over again; his eyes filled with adoration as he stared down at you so reverently.
You pout again. "I know, but you're all my firsts, I'm only one of yours."
"It's kind of the big one though." He teases, you look down at your lap again. His face falls when he realises you're not laughing and his attention is immediately on you, he walks towards you.
"Hey." He says, sitting on the bed next to you. You feel stupid, this isn't something he should have to console you over, you don't meet his eyes. He gently tilts your chin to look at him.
"Are you bothered by this for real or are you bothered by this because you think I am?â He asks. How does he see right through you?
"I just don't want you to get bored of me." You say, "I don't want you to ever compare me to another girl in your head, I know I'm not as good butâ"
"Sweetheart." He cuts you off firmly but gently, you blink at him quickly, "You think I'm capable of comparing you to anyone else? Come on, it's you."
You chew on your bottom lip. "But don't you ever wish I was a little more experienced? Like you?"
"No." He says it so definitely. "You are perfect for me the way you are, I don't ever wish you were different."
He tucks a strand of your hair behind your ears, just as an excuse to touch you.
"You will always, always be the best I've ever had." He says surely, "Because those girls never mattered, nobody matters to me like you."
You nod, his words float in your ear and out the other.
"Besides, you're forgetting something." He says with a tilt of his head. "You're my first for something else."
You furrow your brows. "First what?"
The corner of his lips lift up slowly.
"You're my first love." He says softly.
Your chest warms and you beam a wide, real smile. He smiles just as wide.
"You're mine too." You say softly. He knows, but it has a certain effect on him all the same. He feels everything in him melt, he gently cups your face, pulling you into a kiss.
"Okay, I feel better." You declare much later when you two break for air, he huffs out a laugh.
"Good, I'm glad." He says before shaking his head in disbelief. "Can't believe you'd ever wonder if you're 'good enough for me' do you know what you do to me? I knew I was done for when you kissed me."
You laugh, he feels a rush of affection for you.
You watch as his eyes trail down your body. The sheets that you once held up to your chest have dropped just a little, his eyes trace over your shoulders, collarbones up to your neck. You watch his adam's apple bob as he swallows. His eyes drag up to meet your wide ones, the brown of his eyes swallowed by his pupils. His lips curve into a smirk.
"Why don't I show you, hmm?" He murmurs with a wolfish grin before gently pushing you onto your back. "Wanna feel much better?"
He takes off his watch and discards it on his bedside table â remembering the time you winced when the sharp edges dug into your skin and he soothed the spot with his mouth â before crawling over you.
"Let me show you just how perfect I find you. Make you forget about any other girls." He says, hovering over you. Your breath hitches and you feel warm all over again.
âI thought you said you had to get dressed to meet your friends.â Your voice comes out breathlessly.
âThey can wait five minutes.â He murmurs low in your ear before pressing kisses down your neck.
Your eyes flutter shut. âSomeoneâs cocky.â
He raises an eyebrow, lifting his head to meet your eye. He smirks.
âMy record with you is two and a half.â You open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off. âWhat? You said I was experienced remember.â
You want to talk back, you really do. But you canât exactly think straight when his palm grazes your stomach and his mouth is trailing down your chest.
All your worries float away, who cares about the girls before? You have him now and forever.
okay⌠i really donât know how i feel about this one but i liked writing it soooo for now take it as perhaps not canon!! i think mattheo being a half-virgin when he became friends w sweetheart!reader and her being very very inexperienced makes the most sense w them though <3 hope u liked this, thanks for requesting lovely!!
summary: beater!Mattheo helps you pick a dress for a night out in hogsmeade with the quidditch team. The only problem is he's not much help, especially not when your dress is that short.
wc: 1.2k
âAbsolutely not.âÂ
Mattheo surveyed your hopeful eyes with exasperation, shaking his head as he lounged at the edge of your bed. His arms were folded across his chest, his biceps on full display in the short-sleeved top he wore. You werenât exactly subtle as you eyed the muscles sparingly, a scowl forming on your lips as a grin broke out on his, catching on to where your attention had drifted.Â
Your Quidditch playing beater boyfriend was going to be the death of you.Â
âBut whatâs wrong with this one?â You huffed, your shoulders sagging as you glanced down at the fabric that clung to your body like second skin, running a hand across the diamantes that shimmered like tiny stars sewn into the dress. âIâm running out of options, and you said you liked this one.âÂ
Mattheoâs grin widened and his eyes drifted down your body lazily, drinking in the strappy heels youâd paired with your outfit and the matching shimmery handbag. His gaze lifted slowly, sliding up your legs, gliding over the soft skin of your thighs that was on show, still silky and glimmering from your shower earlier. He hummed, his eyebrow lifting at the short hem that left little to the imagination, the tip of his tongue brushing across his bottom lip.Â
âI never said I didnât like it,â his voice rumbled, raspy and low like it often was when he was trying to turn you on. His arms flexed as he moved to push himself up, meeting your gaze with a salacious glint in his eyes. âQuite the opposite, actually. Your arse looks phenomenalâŚâÂ
âMattheo.â You whined, arms slapping down at your sides, shooting him a withering stare to scold his lewdness. âYou promised youâd help me choose.âÂ
âI am helping.â He insisted, his pointer finger twirling in a small circle, a silent instruction to give in to his insatiable nature. He watched you through half lidded eyes, making no effort to hide the way his hand skirted over his crotch, adjusting himself. âCâmon pretty girl, spin for me.âÂ
It was impossible to stay angry at him. The tight lipped scowl youâd been directing his way morphing into a wry, barely contained grin, your cheeks heating under his watchful gaze. It was too easy to give in to him when he looked at you like that.Â
âPretty please,â he coaxed, tilting his head at the smile that was beginning to bloom on your lips, knowing you couldnât say no when he asked so nicely.
Your teeth bit at your bottom lip. Noticing the way his eyes trailed across your body, the smugness in his expression as he reached down to ease the growing strain beneath his pyjama bottomsâ it was all too much. Heâd adjusted himself while you contemplated giving in, sitting up and leaning back on his hands, his legs spread wide as he waited with bated breath.Â
Slowly your hands unclenched, your heels tapping against the floor as you spun slowly for him, shy under his stare as you showed off every angle of your dress. A soft sigh left him as your back turned, and when you were finally facing him again, his eyes were blown wide and his lips had parted to let out another strangled groan.
âSalazarâs bloody ballsack,â he murmured, head dropping back to stare at the ceiling for a moment, collecting himself. âYouâre not wearing that anywhere.âÂ
You scoffed, heels clunking loudly as you walked across the dormitory, pausing at the foot of the bed, right between his spread legs, and glared at him. âYouâre my boyfriend, you know, not my father.âÂ
His head was level with your sternum in this position, and he had to crane his neck to look up at you. His eyes darkening as his hands planted against your thighs, slithering up to your hips, one curling at your waist, pulling you closer, and the other resting against your arse.Â
âYou⌠are not⌠wearing that⌠anywhere.â He repeated slowly, as though you mightâve misheard him the first time. âEspecially not around the rest of the Quidditch team. Otherwise I might just have to permanently blind the lot of them.âÂ
Your brows lifted humorously, your hands coming to rest against his shoulder and tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck. Your fingers gently twisted in his hair, gaze flitting over his broad shoulders and toned arms. That familiar sensation began to curl in your stomach as your thighs pressed together, long past caring about what dress you were going to wear later.
âOh really?â you hummed, knowing full well heâd never really tell you that you couldnât wear something. You tugged softly at his hair, pulling his head back just that bit farther and gazing into his eyes.Â
âMhm, really.â Mattheo nodded, his hands beginning to slide across your body, groping and stroking at you reverently. You smirked, watching the glee in his face as his hands explored.Â
âThink of the team, Slytherin are close to winning the Cup,â he murmured in a deeply dramatic tone that had your eyes rolling, âWhat use is Malfoy in catching the snitch without any eyes?âÂ
His thumbs dug into the fabric as though testing how flimsy it was, still looking up at you with that glazed look in his eyes.Â
âExactly,â you grinned, cupping his cheek and stroking your thumb across his cheekbone, âThink of the team. They deserve a morale boost.âÂ
Mattheo, to his credit, had the sense to see you were only teasing, even as a look of pure horror broke out on his face.Â
âThey do not deserve that kind of privilege.âÂ
You began to giggle at the seriousness in his tone, the way he sat up straighter and seemed to snap out of his lustful teasing. The way his face softened at your laugh frustratingly endearing as he gazed up at you, like it was the best thing heâd heard all day.Â
âBesides, you're my girlfriend, not theirs.â he muttered with a pout.Â
You rolled your eyes fondly, fingers threading through his curls again as you laughed, this side of him was your favourite. The softer, vulnerable side he only showed when the two of you were alone. He practically purred under the attention, shameless as ever, tilting his head further into your touch.
âYou know,â you mused lightly, âmost boyfriends would just say their girlfriends look nice.â
âI did say you looked nice.â
âYou said my arse looked phenomenal.â
âIt does.âÂ
He maintained his straight face for all of two seconds, before you snorted in disbelief, and he grinned at the sound. Utterly pleased with himself for dragging such a sound from you. The two of you were quiet for a moment, and his eyes raked over you once more, slower this time. Appreciating every inch of your body.Â
âFine,â he sighed heavily. Relenting though he sounded bitter about it, âYou can wear the dress tonight.âÂ
Your brows lifted in surprise, pausing your fingers that had begun to scratch at his scalp.Â
âWait, really?â Your face lit up, peering down at him with a puzzled look.Â
âNo.â he replied almost instantly, grip tightening around your hips, âAbsolutely not. I just wanted to see your face.âÂ
a/n: for my darling @nottendo , the fluffy mattheo content I promised ;)
The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chaos, owls swooping low over tables, the clatter of silverware, and the low hum of gossip that never quite died down at Hogwarts.
Sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling, casting a soft golden glow over the Hufflepuff table where you sat, though your eyes were already drifting toward the Slytherin side.
Mattheo Riddle was there, as always, lounging in his seat like the hall belonged to him.
Dark curls slightly tousled, uniform tie loose in that deliberate way that screamed I donât give a fuck, and an expression that could freeze fire.
He hadnât looked your way once. He never did, not really.
You didnât care.
Grabbing a fresh apple from the bowl, you wove through the crowd with the easy confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times.
A few Hufflepuffs shot you curious glances, saying âagain?â but you just smiled brightly and kept going. You werenât afraid of him. Never had been. There was something beneath that cold exterior, something sharp and broken and real.
âMorning, Mattheo,â you said cheerfully, sliding into the empty seat beside him without waiting for an invitation. You placed the apple in front of him, perfectly polished. âThey had the good ones today. Thought you might want it before Theo hogs them all.â
Mattheo didnât even glance up from his plate. âDidnât ask for it, Hufflepuff.â
His voice was low, edged with that familiar bite. Sharp tongued as ever.
Around you, his friends, Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy exchanged looks. Theo smirked into his pumpkin juice.
You shrugged, undeterred, and reached for some toast. âYou didnât have to. You skipped dinner yesterday. Figured you might be hungry.â
He finally looked at you then, dark eyes narrowing. âStalking my eating habits now? Cute.â The sarcasm dripped like venom, but you just beamed at him, biting into your own toast.
Across the table, Pansy snorted. âMerlin, sheâs at it again. Give it a rest, sweetheart. Heâs not going to suddenly turn into Prince Charming because you bring him fruit.â
âIâm not expecting charming,â you replied lightly, defending yourself with a small laugh. âJust making sure he doesnât starve while plotting world domination or whatever it is you lot do before Potions.â
Draco raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. âBold for a Puff. Most of your house wouldâve run by now.â
You met his gaze steadily. âMost of my house doesnât see the point in running from someone who hasnât actually done anything to them.â Your eyes flicked back to Mattheo. âBesides, I like sitting here.â
Mattheoâs jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He took the apple though after a long pause and bit into it with more force than necessary.
You counted that as a win.
This had become routine. Weeks, maybe months now, of you orbiting him like a persistent moon.
Good mornings in the corridors, even when he responded with nothing but a grunt or a cutting remark about your âannoying cheerfulness.â
Little things: fixing the strap on his bag when it broke during Transfiguration, saving him a seat in the library (which he ignored and sat somewhere else, only for you to move anyway), defending him when some Gryffindor idiot muttered âDeath Eater spawnâ loud enough for the hall to hear.
His friends had started teasing you mercilessly at first.
âAnother lap around the Riddle fan club?â Blaise had drawled one evening in the Slytherin common room after youâd somehow ended up there (Theo had dragged you along, claiming you were âfunnyâ and âharmlessâ).
âCareful, love,â Pansy had added with a wicked grin. âHe bites.â
Youâd just shrugged and settled onto the couch like you belonged. âIâm not scared of teeth.â
Over time, the teasing softened. You laughed at their jokes, bantered back, helped Theo with Charms homework, and even managed to get Draco to admit your taste in Quidditch teams wasnât completely abysmal.
You became part of the group, almost by accident. They got used to your presence. Mattheo⌠tolerated it.
Or at least, thatâs what he showed.
Lunch was more of the same. You slipped into the seat beside him again, ignoring the way Lorenzo Berkshire raised his eyebrows across the table.
âSaved you the last treacle tart,â you whispered, sliding the plate over. âI know theyâre your favorite.â
Mattheo exhaled sharply through his nose. âYou keeping a bloody list or something?â
âMaybe.â You grinned, unbothered. âSomeone has to notice these things.â
Theo kicked Mattheo under the table. âMate, sheâs literally handing you desserts on a silver platter and youâre acting like she hexed you.â
âShut it, Nott.â Mattheoâs tone was flat, dangerous. But his hand closed around the fork anyway.
You chatted easily with the others, Pansy about the latest fashion disaster in the common room, Blaise about the upcoming match, Draco about some pureblood nonsense you mostly tuned out.
Every so often youâd glance at Mattheo, offering a comment or a small smile. He rarely responded with more than a grunt or a sarcastic jab.
He never spoke to you nicely. Not once.
Yet you kept showing up. After classes, in the corridors âHow was Arithmancy?â even when he brushed past you with a muttered âDonât you have badgers to hug?â
You sat with the Slytherins at dinner, laughing when they roasted each other, fitting in like a bright patch on dark fabric.
His friends noticed.
One evening in the Slytherin dungeons, after youâd left (having fixed a rip in Mattheoâs robes with a quick charm and a cheerful âSee you tomorrow!â), Theo finally snapped.
âYouâre a fucking idiot, Riddle.â
Mattheo leaned back in his chair by the fire, nursing a glass of firewhisky. âProblem?â
Blaise chuckled. âShe does more for you in a day than half the girls throwing themselves at you ever have. Brings you food, defends your sorry arse, actually listens when youâre in one of your moodsâ
âI donât have moods,â Mattheo cut in coldly.
Mattheoâs eyes darkened. âSheâs just another girl hovering. They all do it eventually. Looking for the thrill of the âdarkâ prince or whatever bollocks they tell themselves.â
Pansy rolled her eyes. âSheâs not looking for thrill, you dense git. She likes you. Properly. And sheâs not scared off by your award winning personality.â
âSheâs a Hufflepuff,â Mattheo said dismissively, though his grip on the glass tightened. âToo soft. Too⌠good. Sheâll get tired of it.â
Theo laughed. âSheâs been at it for months. Sat through your worst days. Defended you to McGonagall when you got detention for that stunt with the Gryffindors. And you still treat her like dirt.â
He was possessive by nature, territorial. But admitting she mattered? That was weakness. And Mattheo Riddle didnât do weakness.
âSheâs nothing,â he said finally, voice low and sharp. âJust background noise.â
His friends exchanged glances. They knew better. They saw the way his eyes followed her when she left the room, the subtle shift when she sat beside him. The hidden softness he buried under sarcasm and ice.
You, meanwhile, walked back toward the Hufflepuff basement with a small, satisfied smile. Heâd eaten the tart. Heâd let you sit there. Progress, in your book.
You werenât naive. You knew he was cold, conflicted, carrying shadows most people couldnât imagine. But you saw the good, buried, fighting to surface. You werenât afraid. And you werenât going anywhere.
Mattheo could pretend to tolerate you all he wanted.
Youâd keep showing up until he couldnât pretend anymore.
âââ
It was a rainy Thursday when things shifted, just a little.
You were waiting outside the Potions dungeon after class, two umbrellas tucked under your arm (one borrowed from the Hufflepuff common room because you knew heâd âforgottenâ his again).
Students streamed past, giving you odd looks. A group of Ravenclaws whispered behind their hands.
Mattheo emerged last, collar up, expression stormy. His eyes landed on you and narrowed.
âDonât,â he said before you could speak, brushing past.
You fell into step beside him anyway, unfurling one umbrella and holding it over both of you. âItâs pouring. Youâll catch a cold and then complain about it for a week.â
âI donât complain.â His voice was clipped. âAnd I donât need a bloody babysitter.â
âToo bad. Iâm self appointed.â You smiled up at him, rain pattering loudly against the fabric. He didnât take the umbrella from you, but he also didnât speed up to leave you behind. Small victories.
Theo and Blaise caught up, grinning like idiots.
âLook at that,â Theo drawled. âDomestic already. Riddle, you gonna let her carry your books next?â
Mattheo shot him a withering glare. âFuck off.â
You laughed softly. âI already did his Arithmancy notes last week when he was⌠occupied.â You didnât mention the detention heâd earned for hexing a seventh year whoâd called him a monster in the corridor. Youâd simply copied the notes in your neatest handwriting and left them on his usual spot in the library.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. âSee? Sheâs useful. Unlike you when youâre brooding.â
Mattheoâs jaw flexed. He said nothing the rest of the walk.
Dinner that evening brought new company.
A tall Gryffindor boy, Cedricâs old friend, Marcus something, had wandered over to the Slytherin table, apparently on some inter house project nonsense. He stopped right beside you, flashing a bright, easy smile.
âHey, Iâve seen you around. Youâre the Hufflepuff who talks to this lot without running. Impressive.â His eyes lingered. âWeâre having a study group in the library tomorrow. Potions theory. You seem like you know your stuff. Want to join?â
You felt Mattheo stiffen beside you before you even answered.
âThatâs sweet,â you said politely, âbut I usually study with these guys. Thanks though.â
Marcus didnât take the hint immediately. âCome on, itâll be fun. Less⌠intense.â He glanced at Mattheo meaningfully.
You opened your mouth to respond, but Mattheo beat you to it.
âShe said no.â His voice was low, dangerous, laced with that dark charisma that made people listen. He didnât even look up from his plate, but the temperature around the table seemed to drop. âRun along, Gryffindor.â
Marcus hesitated, then shrugged with a nervous laugh. âAlright, Riddle. Didnât mean to step on toes.â He left.
Silence fell for half a second before Pansy cackled. âTerritorial much?â
âIâm eating,â Mattheo muttered. âDonât need distractions.â
You turned to him, heart doing a small flip at the possessiveness heâd just shown, even if it was wrapped in irritation. âYou didnât have to do that. I couldâve handled it.â
âClearly.â His sarcasm was sharp. âYou were about to agree.â
âI wasnât.â You poked his arm lightly. He didnât pull away. âI like sitting with you lot. Even when youâre grumpy.â
Draco snorted into his goblet. âGrumpy. Thatâs one word for it.â
The real crack appeared two days later.
It was late evening in the Slytherin common room. Youâd been dragged there again, this time by Pansy, who wanted your opinion on a dress for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.
You ended up staying, curled up on the couch with a book while the boys played a lazy game of Exploding Snap nearby.
Mattheo was in one of his moods. Silent, sharp edged, staring into the fire like it had personally offended him. You knew the signs by now something from his past, or a letter from home, or just the weight of his own name pressing down.
You stood up quietly and disappeared toward the dorms corridor (Pansy had shown you where the spare blankets were kept weeks ago). When you returned, you draped a slightly warmer one over his shoulders without a word.
He tensed. âWhat the fuck are you doing?â
âYou looked cold.â You sat back down beside him, closer than usual. âAnd you always steal the good blanket when weâre down here.â
âI donât stealâŚ..â He stopped, exhaling through his nose. For once, he didnât shrug the blanket off. His fingers curled into the fabric anyway.
Theo watched the exchange with open amusement. Later, when you stepped away to grab drinks for everyone, he leaned toward Mattheo.
âYou know sheâs in love with you, right? Properly. Not the silly crush shit.â
Mattheoâs eyes flicked toward your retreating figure. âSheâs delusional.â
âOr youâre blind,â Blaise added quietly. âShe defends you to teachers, to randoms in the hall, even to her own housemates who think sheâs lost her mind. Brings you food, fixes your shit, sits with you even when youâre a complete bastard to her. And you still act like sheâs nothing.â
âBecause she is nothing,â Mattheo snapped, voice low and venomous. But his eyes betrayed him,they followed you as you laughed at something Pansy said across the room.
âSheâll wise up eventually. Get tired of playing saint to the villain.â
Draco shook his head. âYou keep telling yourself that, mate. But the way you nearly hexed that Gryffindor for just talking to her? That wasnât nothing.â
Mattheo didnât reply. Inside, the conflict raged. You made things easier, yes. Mornings were less bleak with your stupid cheerful âgood morningâ and perfectly ripe apples. His robes didnât fall apart. He hadnât missed meals. And the way you looked at him⌠like he was worth saving⌠it terrified him. Because if he let you in, if he admitted how much heâd come to expect your presence, then you became leverage.
A weakness.
And people like him didnât get to keep soft, bright things without breaking them.
He was possessive. The thought of you smiling at someone else like you smiled at him made magic crackle at his fingertips. Territorial. He wanted you close but he refused to give you anything back. It wasnât fair. He knew that. He just didnât care.
Or so he told himself.
The next morning you were there again, sliding into your usual seat with a bright, âGood morning, Mattheo,â and placing a small vial beside his plate.
âPepperup Potion,â you explained before he could sneer. âJust in case. You sounded a bit off last night.â
He stared at the vial, then at you. Something in his chest twisted uncomfortably, warm, annoying.
âYouâre exhausting,â he said flatly. But he took the vial. Tucked it into his robe pocket like it was nothing.
You just grinned. âYouâre welcome.â
Across the table, his friends shared knowing looks. They were done watching him self destruct in slow motion.
One of these days, Mattheo Riddle was going to have to face the fact that the persistent Hufflepuff had already wormed her way past every wall heâd built.
And when that happened⌠well. Even he wouldnât be able to pretend anymore.
âââ
Slytherin party,
The common room pulsed with music and low green light, the party in full swing after Slytherinâs narrow win over Ravenclaw.
Music thrummed from enchanted speakers, firewhisky flowed freely, and clusters of students laughed too loudly, danced too close, and forgot for one night about OWLs, NEWTs, and the shadows hanging over the wizarding world.
Youâd shown up with Pansy, who had insisted on you wearing a simple but flattering black dress sheâd âborrowedâ from somewhere.
âBlend in for once, Puff,â sheâd teased. Youâd laughed and gone along with it. By now, no one batted an eye when you appeared in Slytherin territory. You were one of them. Sort of.
Mattheo sat in his usual spot on the large leather couch near the fireplace, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.
A glass of firewhisky dangled from his fingers. His expression was the same half bored, half dangerous mask he wore most days.
You had claimed the spot beside him earlier, but the crowd had shifted. Now a Slytherin girl, sixth year, long dark hair, sharp cheekbones and sharper ambition had taken your place.
Literally. She was practically in his lap, one hand trailing down his chest, laughing breathily at something he hadnât even said.
âMattheo,â she purred, loud enough for you to hear over the music, âyou really are the most interesting one here. All that mystery⌠I bet I could make you smile if you let me try.â
She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear.
Mattheo didnât push her away. He also didnât pull her closer. He simply took a slow sip of his drink, eyes distant, like she was background noise. No smirk, no flirtation, no interest. Just cold tolerance.
You stood a few feet away, watching for a moment. A small sigh escaped you, not dramatic, not heartbroken, just⌠tired.
You knew this game. Girls threw themselves at him constantly. The dark aura, the dangerous reputation, the undeniable charisma, he attracted them like moths to a cursed flame. And he usually let them hover until they got bored.
You turned away and spotted Theo leaning against a stone pillar, nursing his own drink and watching the scene with clear amusement.
âHey, Theo,â you said brightly, walking over and bumping his shoulder. âThink weâll see another Exploding Snap disaster tonight, or has Lorenzo learned his lesson?â
Theo grinned down at you, glad for the distraction. âDoubt it. Heâs already three drinks in and eyeing that pack of cards like an idiot. You good?â His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the couch.
You shrugged, leaning beside him. âIâm fine. Sheâs bold, Iâll give her that. Think sheâll last longer than the last one who tried?â
Theo chuckled. âNah. Heâs not even pretending tonight. Look at his face, pure ice. Poor girl doesnât realize sheâs talking to a statue.â
You laughed softly, genuine and light. Talking with Theo was easy. He had become a real friend over the past weeks, someone who actually listened when you rambled about Herbology or the latest book youâd read.
âI was going to ask Mattheo if he wanted to dance later, but⌠maybe not. He looks like heâd rather hex the music.â
Theo raised an eyebrow, studying you. âYouâre really not bothered by that?â He nodded toward the girl, who was now tracing patterns on Mattheoâs arm while he stared into the fire.
You took a sip of your butterbeer. âBothered? A little. But Iâm not going to compete by climbing all over him. Thatâs not me.â Your voice stayed calm, sweet but honest. âHe knows Iâm here. If he wants me to leave, he can say it. He never does.â
Theo shook his head, half laughing. âYouâre something else, you know that? Most girls would be over there hexing her by now. Or crying in the corner.â
You smiled, eyes drifting back to Mattheo despite yourself. âIâm not scared of him, or of this.â You gestured vaguely at the party. âBesides, I like talking to you lot. Even when heâs being⌠himself.â
Mattheoâs gaze had found you.
Even from across the room, even while the dark-haired girl whispered something in his ear, his eyes locked onto you and Theo. His jaw tightened. The girlâs hand slid higher on his thigh and he shifted away just slightly but didnât stop her. His fingers flexed around his glass until his knuckles paled.
He didnât like it.
Not the girl. Her touch felt like nothing, irrelevant, annoying. But you standing there, laughing with Theo, looking perfectly at ease in his common room, in his world⌠that twisted something ugly and possessive in his chest.
You were supposed to be orbiting him. Not chatting and smiling at Nott like it was the most natural thing.
Yet he said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched, brooding.
Later, the girl finally gave up with a dramatic huff and stalked off to find easier prey. Mattheo didnât even watch her leave.
You eventually wandered back, sliding onto the couch beside him now that the seat was free. Your shoulder brushed his.
âEnjoying the party?â you asked lightly, offering him a fresh drink youâd grabbed on the way.
Mattheo took it without thanks, setting his empty one aside. âItâs loud,â he said flatly. His eyes flicked to you, scanning your face like he was searching for cracks. âYou and Nott seemed cozy.â
There it was the sharp edge. Not quite jealousy admitted, but close.
You tilted your head, smiling softly. âTheoâs funny. We were just talking about how terrible Lorenzo is at cards.â You paused, then added, âYou couldâve joined us. Or told that girl to give you space if she was bothering you.â
He scoffed, leaning back. âDidnât need to. Not interested.â His voice dropped, sarcastic and low. âUnlike some people, I donât need constant attention to feel important, Hufflepuff.â
You didnât flinch. âGood. Because I wasnât planning on giving her any competition.â You reached over and straightened his already loose tie with gentle fingers, a small habitual gesture.
âYou looked bored. Thought maybe youâd want actual company instead of⌠whatever that was.â
Mattheo stared at your hands on his tie, then at your face. The conflict raged behind his eyes, wanting to snap at you, push you away, and simultaneously wanting to pull you closer so no one else could even look at you the wrong way. He settled for his usual defense.
âYouâre too much,â he muttered, but he didnât move away from your touch.
âââ
Weekend ends, and the new week already started badly for Mattheo.
A letter from his fatherâs old circle had arrived that morning cryptic, demanding, laced with expectations he wanted nothing to do with but couldnât fully escape. Combined with a brutal detention from Snape and losing a Quidditch strategy argument to Draco, his mood was blacker than the dungeons.
The kind of day where the shadows around him felt heavier, and everyone with sense stayed out of his way.
Everyone except you.
You had noticed immediately during breakfast. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, eyes darker than usual.
Still, you slid into your usual seat beside him with a gentle smile, placing a steaming cup of his favorite black coffee (extra strong) in front of him.
âMorning, Mattheo,â you said softly. âRough night? I brought youâŚ.â
âEnough.â
His voice cracked like a whip. Louder and sharper than heâd ever been with you. The entire Slytherin table went quiet.
You blinked, hand still hovering near the cup. âI just thoughtâŚ.â
Mattheo turned to you fully, eyes blazing with barely contained fury and exhaustion. âYou thought what? That your pathetic little acts of kindness would fix anything? That I want you here every single fucking day breathing down my neck like some lovesick puppy?â
The words cut deep. His friends froze.
âMattheoâŚâ Theo started quietly.
âNo.â Mattheo didnât even look at him. His gaze stayed locked on you, cold and unrelenting.
âIâm done with this. Done with you hovering, done with the apples and the notes and the stupid blankets and the defending me like Iâm some broken charity case. Leave me and my group alone. Go back to your Hufflepuff flowers and mind your own business for once.â
The silence was suffocating.
You stared at him for a long second, heart twisting painfully in your chest. Your eyes stung, but you refused to cry in front of them. Not here. Instead, you swallowed hard and stood up slowly.
âSorry,â you mumbled, voice small but steady. âIâll leave.â
You turned and walked away without another word, head high even as your hands trembled at your sides. The Great Hall felt endless. A few people whispered, but you didnât look back.
Mattheo didnât watch you go. He gripped his fork until it bent, then shoved his plate away and stormed out. His friends exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing to him. Not yet.
Three days passed.
You kept your word. No more good mornings in the corridor. No more saving seats. No more sitting at the Slytherin table.
You ate with your housemates, smiled politely when people asked what happened, and threw yourself into Herbology and helping in the kitchens, anything to stay busy.
You missed them. You missed him. But you respected his wishes. If he wanted space, youâd give it to him, even if it hurt.
The Slytherin group felt the absence immediately.
Lunch on day one was too quiet. No one to laugh at Lorenzoâs terrible jokes or argue Quidditch with Draco. No soft voice reminding them about upcoming assignments.
By day two, Pansy was scowling at everything. âThis is ridiculous. The table feels empty.â
Theo kept glancing toward the Hufflepuff table where you sat, surrounded by your housemates but somehow looking⌠dimmer. Less bright.
Day three, Blaise finally said it out loud in the common room: âSheâs makes this lot tolerable. Can we bring her backâ
Mattheo was there, slouched in his usual chair by the fire, pretending not to listen.
He hadnât spoken much in three days. His mood hadnât improved, in fact, it had soured further. The little things you used to handle were piling up. His bag strap had broken again. Heâd missed dinner once because no one reminded him. The common room felt colder without your occasional presence.
He told himself it was better this way. Cleaner. No weaknesses.
His friends disagreed.
On the evening of the fourth day, the group made their move.
Pansy and Theo cornered you after Charms class, blocking your path to the Hufflepuff basement with determined expressions.
âYouâre coming with us,â Pansy declared, linking her arm through yours.
You blinked in surprise. âPansy, I canât. He saidâŚâ
âHeâs an idiot,â Theo cut in. âA miserable idiot. The common room has been dead without you. Dracoâs even more unbearable. Lorenzo keeps losing at cards because no oneâs betting against him properly. Come on. Just for a bit.â
You hesitated, biting your lip. âI donât want to make things worse.â
Blaise appeared behind them, smirking. âToo late for that. Mattheoâs been brooding like the Dark Lord himself since you left. We miss you, love. Properly.â
After a few more minutes of gentle insistence (and Pansy threatening to drag you), you gave in. You let them lead you down to the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering the entire way.
And there, in his usual spot by the fireplace, sat Mattheo.
He looked up when the portrait hole opened. His eyes landed on you immediately, widening for half a second before the guarded mask slammed back into place. He said nothing.
The others moved casually, like this was normal. Pansy pulled you toward the couch. Theo dropped into the seat across from Mattheo with a pointed look.
âLook who we found,â Theo announced lightly. âOur favorite Hufflepuff.â
You stood awkwardly for a moment, offering a small, uncertain smile to the group. âHi.â
Draco nodded at you, almost relieved. âAbout time. The silence was getting pathetic.â
You sat down carefully, not beside Mattheo this time, but on the opposite end of the large couch, giving him the space heâd demanded. Your hands twisted in your lap. You didnât look directly at him, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face.
The conversation started slowly, Pansy complaining about homework, Blaise teasing Lorenzo, but it gradually warmed up. You laughed softly at one of Theoâs jokes, the sound familiar and bright again. For the first time in days, the common room felt alive.
Mattheo remained silent, watching you from the shadows of his seat. His jaw was tight, fingers drumming restlessly on the armrest. The conflict was clear in his eyes, the same storm youâd always seen, only sharper now. Heâd told you to leave. You had. And now that you were back (because of them), the relief mixing with his anger and possessiveness was making his chest feel too tight.
He still didnât speak to you.
Laughter echoed off the stone walls as Lorenzo dramatically retold his latest failed attempt at asking out a Ravenclaw, complete with sound effects.
Pansy was curled up beside you on the couch, showing you fabric swatches for some upcoming event, while Theo kept sliding in clever quips that made everyone groan or laugh.
You smiled and participated. You really did. You complimented Pansyâs choices, teased Lorenzo right back, and even debated Quidditch tactics with Draco when he dragged you into it. It felt good to be back among them.
They had become real friends, and their obvious relief at having you there eased some of the ache in your chest.
But with Mattheo⌠it was different now.
You stayed on the far end of the couch. You didnât slide closer like you used to. You didnât offer him the fresh drink Blaise had passed around. You didnât reach over to fix the cuff of his sleeve when it rode up.
Every time your eyes accidentally met his, you gave a small, polite nod and looked away again. Careful. Guarded. Not cold, you couldnât quite manage that but no longer shining that bright, effortless warmth directly at him.
Mattheo noticed.
He sat in his usual chair, legs stretched out, nursing the same glass of firewhisky heâd barely touched. His dark eyes followed your every movement. The way you laughed freely with Theo. The way you leaned into Pansyâs side comfortably. The way you existed in his space without orbiting him like before.
It irritated him more than he wanted to admit.
âYouâre quiet tonight,â Pansy murmured to you at one point, low enough that only you could hear. Her eyes flicked toward Mattheo. âStill sore about what the idiot said?â
You shrugged lightly, tracing a pattern on the couch leather with your finger. âIâm here for you guys. Not⌠not to push anything. He made it pretty clear he doesnât want the extra stuff from me. Iâm respecting that.â
Pansy rolled her eyes. âHeâs a dramatic prick. He didnât mean half of it.â
âMaybe.â You offered her a small smile. âBut Iâm not risking it again. Not right now.â
Mattheoâs grip tightened on his glass. Heâd heard enough.
When Theo stood up to grab more drinks and you naturally followed to help him carry them back, Mattheoâs voice cut through the air sharp, sarcastic, aimed straight at you.
âCareful, Hufflepuff. Wouldnât want you overexerting yourself playing servant again.â
You paused, holding two glasses steadily. The group quieted a little. You met his gaze evenly this time, no flinch, but no smile either.
âIâm just helping a friend, Mattheo,â you said softly. Calm. Not defensive. âNo big gestures. No hovering.â
You set the drinks down and returned to your spot without another word. No apple. No blanket. No gentle check in about his clearly still terrible mood.
The silence stretched for a beat too long.
Theo cleared his throat. âSmooth, mate. Really winning her back with that one.â
âShut up, Nott.â Mattheoâs tone was flat, but his eyes stayed on you. That possessive streak was flaring hot under his skin. You were here, in his common room, surrounded by his friends, yet you were keeping him at armâs length. It felt wrong.
The next few days followed the same careful pattern.
You sat with the group at meals again, but not directly beside Mattheo. You chose seats between Pansy and Blaise, or across from Theo.
You still defended the group when outsiders made snide comments, your Hufflepuff loyalty ran deep but you no longer singled Mattheo out.
No more personal good mornings whispered just to him. No more saving his favorite desserts. You were warm with everyone else, bright and kind like always.
With him, you were⌠polite.
âPass the salt, please?â youâd asked at dinner the next evening, voice neutral when your eyes met his.
Heâd slid it over without a word, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Later in the common room, when youâd laughed at one of Dracoâs rare jokes and bumped knees with Theo accidentally, Mattheo had snapped at Lorenzo over nothing, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips.
His friends saw it all.
âYouâre an absolute bellend,â Blaise told him bluntly one night after youâd left for curfew (earlier than usual, another new habit). âSheâs giving you exactly what you asked for and you look like you want to burn the castle down.â
Mattheo leaned back, staring at the dying fire. âSheâs acting like Iâm a stranger.â
Draco snorted. âYou told her to leave you alone. Loudly. In front of the entire hall. What did you expect? Eternal devotion on command?â
âI expectedâŚ.â Mattheo stopped himself, running a hand through his messy curls.
He didnât know what he expected. Heâd wanted space, wanted the annoying persistence gone. But now the absence of her specific light left everything feeling flat. The little comforts heâd pretended not to notice were glaringly missing. And worse, seeing her still smiling, still caring, but redirecting all of it away from him⌠it stirred something ugly and jealous and needy he refused to name.
He was emotionally conflicted on the best of days. This was torture.
A few nights later, the group was studying (or pretending to) in the common room. You were helping Pansy with her Transfiguration essay, heads bent together, your neat handwriting filling the page. Mattheo sat nearby, book open but unread.
You felt his stare again. Heavy. Burning.
When Pansy got up to fetch another book, leaving the two of you momentarily semi-alone, you glanced up. His eyes didnât waver.
You offered a small, cautious smile. âNeed help with anything? The essayâs brutal this week.â
Mattheoâs response was instinct sharp-tongued and defensive. âDonât start that again.â
You closed your ink bottle slowly, expression softening but staying reserved. âIâm not starting anything. Just offering as a friend. Like I do for the others.â
The distinction stung more than he cared to admit.
He wanted to snap again. Push harder. But the words caught in his throat when he saw the careful walls behind your eyes the way you were protecting yourself now, even while sitting in his world.
You waited a beat longer, then turned back to your own work when he stayed silent.
Mattheo Riddle watched you, the same storm raging behind his guarded expression. He was possessive. Territorial. And right now, the girl who had always chosen him was choosing distance, even while staying close to everyone else.
It was driving him mad.
The common room was quieter tonight, the fire crackling softly as most students had retreated to dorms or the library for last minute revisions. Only the core group remained scattered across the couches and armchairs, Pansy flipping through a magazine, Theo and Blaise arguing over chess moves, Draco reading with a bored expression, and Lorenzo half asleep.
You had been sitting with Pansy again, but something had shifted in you. Youâd watched Mattheo. Really watched him. The way his eyes tracked you when he thought no one noticed.
The tighter set of his jaw whenever you laughed with the others. The restless tapping of his fingers. He was regretting it. You could see it, the conflict, the stubborn pride warring with whatever softer thing lived under all that armor. He wanted you close again. He just didnât know how to say it.
Time to test the theory.
You stood up casually, stretching, and moved across the room. Instead of your careful distance, you dropped down on the couch right beside Mattheo, close enough that your thigh pressed lightly against his. The same spot you used to claim every night before the blow up.
Mattheo tensed instantly, dark eyes snapping to you.
You didnât look at him right away. You simply leaned forward, grabbing a spare quill from the low table and twirling it between your fingers like nothing had changed. âTheo, pass me that book on curses? I want to check something for Pansyâs essay.â
Theo raised an eyebrow but tossed it over with a knowing smirk.
As you settled back, your shoulder brushed Mattheoâs. You felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.
He lasted maybe thirty seconds.
âWhat do you think youâre doing?â The words came out harsher than he probably intended, laced with that unwilling venom. âDecided to test how much shit Iâll take before I snap again, Hufflepuff?â
You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze. There was no flinch in your eyes, only quiet understanding.
You saw it: the regret flickering behind the ice, the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach out but refused to let himself.
âIâm just sitting here,â you said softly, voice even and sweet. âLike I used to. You havenât told me to move.â
Mattheoâs jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. He tried again, the meanness spilling out despite himself, like a defense mechanism he couldnât turn off.
âMaybe I shouldnât have to. Thought I made it clear youâre exhausting. Always there, always fixing things no one asked you to fix. Find someone else to play hero for.â
The words stung, but you saw straight through them. His eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your hair fell over your shoulder, on your hand resting near his leg. He wasnât pushing you away physically. He wasnât standing up.
He was just⌠lashing out, the same way a wounded animal snaps at the hand trying to help.
You smiled. Small. Knowing. âYou donât mean that.â
He scoffed, looking away into the fire. âDonât tell me what I mean.â
But he still didnât move.
Emboldened, you shifted even closer, tucking your legs under you so your knee rested against his thigh. You reached over and gently tugged the loose thread on his sleeve that had been bothering you for days, something you wouldâve fixed without thinking weeks ago. He froze under your touch but didnât pull back.
âMattheo,â you murmured, low enough that the others pretended not to hear, âyou can keep saying mean things if it makes you feel better. Iâm not leaving this time unless you really want me to. And I donât think you do.â
His breathing hitched. For a moment, the guarded mask cracked completely. Something raw and conflicted flashed across his face, possessiveness, relief, anger at himself, that hidden softness he buried so deep.
His hand lifted halfway, like he might touch your arm, then dropped back down.
âFuck,â he muttered under his breath. Then louder, sharper, still failing at kindness âYouâre going to regret sticking around when I inevitably ruin whatever this is.â
You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder for just a second, testing, pushing, offering. âMaybe. But Iâm still here.â
He didnât shrug you off. Didnât stand up. Didnât tell the group to kick you out.
Instead, after a long, heavy silence, his body relaxed, just a fraction, against yours. His arm stayed draped along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. Territorial. Close. Accepting.
Pansy caught your eye across the room and hid a triumphant grin behind her magazine. Theo didnât even bother hiding his smirk as he moved a chess piece.
Mattheo still hadnât spoken to you nicely. Not really.
But he wasnât pushing you away anymore.
Your theory had been right. He regretted it. He wanted you back in his orbit closer than before, even if his sharp tongue hadnât caught up to that truth yet.
Youâd rest your head against his shoulder for a moment here, brush his hand while passing a drink there. He tolerated it all with his usual gruff silence and occasional sharp remark, but the tension rolling off him was palpable.
His friends had had enough.
Pansy caught Theoâs eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod. The plan they made that morning was in motion.
âTruth or Dare,â Pansy announced suddenly, clapping her hands. âIâm bored out of my mind and someone needs to entertain me.â
Lorenzo perked up immediately. Draco rolled his eyes but didnât protest. Blaise smirked like he already knew where this was going.
Mattheo narrowed his eyes but said nothing, he rarely backed down from a challenge, even a stupid one.
You smiled softly. âIâm in.â
The game started innocently enough. Lorenzo admitted to stealing Pansyâs favourite lipstick.
Draco chose dare and had to charm his eyebrows pink for the next ten minutes.
Theo got asked about his latest failed hookup and laughed it off.
Then Pansy turned her sharp gaze on you.
âTruth or Dare, darling?â
You felt the shift in the air. Mattheoâs posture stiffened beside you.
âDare,â you said, because backing down in front of this group had never been your style.
Pansyâs smile turned wicked. âI dare you to kiss Theo. Proper kiss. Ten seconds.â
The room went still.
Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly in on it, but kept his expression playful. âOnly if she wants to. Iâm not above being used for a good cause.â
You glanced sideways at Mattheo. His hand had curled into a fist on the armrest, knuckles white. His jaw was locked so tightly it looked painful. Dark eyes burned holes into Theo, then flicked to you, possessive, stormy, conflicted.
Your theory had been right. He was cracking.
You leaned forward slowly, giving Mattheo every chance to say something. He didnât. He just watched, breathing shallow.
You turned to Theo, cupped his cheek lightly, and pressed your lips to his. It was soft, brief, exactly ten seconds. Theo kissed back gently, more performative than anything, and pulled away with a dramatic sigh.
âNot bad, Puff,â he teased, winking.
You sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, heart racing for an entirely different reason. You didnât look at Mattheo immediately.
The crack appeared.
Mattheo let out a low, dangerous sound, almost a growl. Magic crackled faintly around him, making the fire flare for a second.
âEnough,â he said sharply, voice dripping with venom. âThis game is fucking stupid.â
Pansy feigned innocence. âJealous, Riddle?â
âIâm not jealous of Nott getting pity kisses,â he snapped, the words unwilling and too quick.
His eyes finally met yours raw, territorial, and something deeper. âShe can kiss whoever the hell she wants.â
But he looked like he wanted to hex Theo into next week.
You saw the tiny fracture in his restraint. The way his hand twitched like he wanted to pull you into his lap and erase what just happened. The hidden softness bleeding through the anger. He cared. Deeply. He just wouldnât admit it yet.
The game continued awkwardly for a few more rounds before dying out.
As people started heading to bed or pretending to study, the group quietly regrouped near the fireplace once youâd stepped away to grab water.
âClose,â Theo muttered, rubbing his jaw. âDid you see his face? He nearly lost it.â
âNot enough,â Draco said. âHeâs still too stubborn. One little kiss isnât cracking that reinforced concrete he calls emotional walls.â
Pansy crossed her arms. âNew plan then. We need to push harder. Something that forces him to choose publicly. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend. We get her to âcasuallyâ flirt with someone else. Or we set up a situation where she has to be alone with one of us and see how long it takes before he drags her back.â
Blaise chuckled darkly. âOr we make him think sheâs actually moving on. Heâs possessive as hell. If he believes he might lose her for realâŚâ
Theo glanced over at Mattheo, who was now staring into the fire like it had personally betrayed him. âHeâs already regretting everything. We just need one more push and that restraint of his is dead.â
They all looked toward you as you walked back, none the wiser to their scheming.
Mattheoâs eyes followed you the entire way, dark and intense. The crack was there. Now they just had to widen it until he had no choice but to admit what everyone else already knew.
âââ
The Hogsmeade weekend arrived under a crisp, clear sky the first proper snow dusting the rooftops like powdered sugar.
Students poured out of the castle gates in excited clusters, scarves wrapped high and pockets jingling with allowance money.
The Slytherin group had claimed their usual spot near the Shrieking Shack path for pre butterbeer strategy, but today their energy was sharper, purposeful.
The new plan was simple and ruthless : push Mattheo until his restraint shattered completely.
Pansy had looped her arm through yours as you all walked down the snowy path. âStick close to me at first,â she whispered, lips barely moving. âThen âaccidentallyâ wander off with Theo or Blaise when we reach the village. Weâll make it look natural.â
You glanced at her, then at Mattheo walking a few steps ahead, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable. âYouâre really doing this?â
Theo fell into step beside you, grinning. âHe needs it. The kiss barely made him twitch. Time to light a proper fire under his arse.â
You exhaled, a mix of nerves and reluctant amusement fluttering in your chest.
Part of you still felt the sting from his harsh words days ago, but another part, the one that saw every hidden crack in his armor, wanted him to finally admit what was so obvious to everyone else.
âJust⌠donât go too far. I donât actually want to hurt him.â
âToo late for that,â Blaise murmured from behind. âHeâs been hurting himself plenty.â
Mattheo slowed slightly, eyes flicking back toward you. You offered him a small, neutral smile the same careful one youâd been giving him since returning to the group. He didnât return it, but his gaze lingered.
The village was bustling. Honeydukes was packed, Zonkoâs even louder. The group moved as one at first, weaving through the crowd.
You stayed near Mattheo out of habit, your shoulder occasionally brushing his in the narrow street. He didnât pull away.
Inside the Three Broomsticks, you all claimed a large corner booth. Firewhisky for the boys, butterbeers for everyone. Conversation flowed easily until Pansy executed the first move.
âI need to check out that new robe shop,â she announced, standing up. âCome with me, Draco? I want a second opinion.â
Draco sighed but followed, shooting the rest of you a knowing look. Lorenzo tagged along âfor snacks.â That left you, Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise.
You took a slow sip of butterbeer, then turned to Theo with a bright, deliberate smile. âTheo, didnât you say thereâs a new shipment of cursed artifacts at Dervish and Banges? Iâve been wanting to see that silver dagger you mentioned last week.â
Theoâs eyes sparkled with mischief. âAbsolutely. Letâs go before the good stuff disappears.â He stood and offered you his hand.
You took it without hesitation, letting him help you out of the booth. Your fingers lingered in his just a second longer than necessary. âMattheo, Blaise, weâll be back soon,â you said casually, like it was nothing.
Mattheoâs entire body went rigid. His glass hit the table harder than needed. âSince when do you give a fuck about cursed artifacts?â
You shrugged, still holding Theoâs hand. âSince Theo told me theyâre fascinating. You know I like shiny, dangerous things.â Your tone was light, playful the same sweetness you used to direct only at him.
Theo tugged you gently toward the door. âWe wonât be long, mate.â
Blaise stayed behind, nursing his drink and watching Mattheo like a hawk.
The snow crunched under your boots as you and Theo walked down the high street.
You didnât go straight to Dervish and Banges. Instead, Theo led you on a slow, meandering route stopping at a stall selling enchanted jewelry, laughing loudly at your jokes, standing a little too close when showing you a necklace with a tiny snake charm.
âYouâre enjoying this far too much,â you muttered, cheeks pink from the cold and the performance.
Theo grinned down at you. âItâs for the greater good. Look behind us, donât turn too obviously.â
You risked a glance. Mattheo was stalking after you both, coat flapping open, expression thunderous. Blaise was a few paces behind him, failing to hide his amusement.
Your heart skipped. The plan was working.
Theo leaned in closer, pretending to examine the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your collarbone. âSmile at me like you mean it,â he whispered.
You did, soft, warm, the kind of smile that used to be reserved for Mattheoâs rare good moments. Theo laughed like youâd said something brilliant.
That was when Mattheo snapped.
âHaving fun?â His voice cut through the snowy street like a blade. He stopped right beside you, eyes locked on where Theoâs hand still rested near your shoulder. The possessiveness rolled off him in waves, dark and electric. âDidnât realize you two were suddenly so fucking cozy.â
Theo raised an innocent eyebrow. âJust showing her the artifacts, like she asked. Problem?â
Mattheoâs jaw worked. He looked at you, really looked.
There was that storm again : jealousy burning hot, restraint fraying at the edges, the unwilling mean streak fighting against something deeper.
âYouâre really doing this?â he said to you, voice low and sharp. âParading around with Nott after everything? Thought you were supposed to be the one who saw âgoodâ in people. Not throwing yourself at the first idiot who smiles at you.â
The words stung, but you saw right through them again. His hands were clenched. He was one breath away from dragging you away from Theo. The crack from the truth or dare game had widened significantly.
You stepped just a little closer to Theo, testing. âIâm not throwing myself at anyone, Mattheo. Iâm just⌠spending time with friends. Like you told me to do. Remember? Stop hovering. Stop fixing things for you.â
Mattheoâs eyes darkened dangerously. For a second you thought he might actually hex Theo. Instead, he grabbed your wrist not painfully, but firm enough to feel possessive.
âWeâre going back to the group,â he growled. âNow.â
Theo smirked. âWhatever you say, Riddle.â
You let Mattheo pull you along, his grip staying locked around your wrist the entire walk back to the Three Broomsticks.
He didnât let go even when you reached the booth. He sat down and tugged you into the seat directly beside him closer than youâd been in weeks. His thigh pressed against yours. His arm draped along the back of the booth, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder like a silent claim.
He was still being an arse, muttering sarcastic comments under his breath and shooting Theo lethal glares, but he wasnât pushing you away.
The plan had started. And it was already cracking him open.
Pansy and the others returned shortly after, taking in the scene with barely concealed triumph. Mattheo didnât speak to you nicely. Not yet.
But the territorial hold on your wrist, the way his body angled toward yours like a shield, and the raw, conflicted heat in his eyes said more than his sharp tongue ever could.
The restraint was dying.
The rest of the Hogsmeade afternoon passed in a charged haze.
Mattheo didnât release your wrist for a long time. Even after you all returned to the Three Broomsticks, his arm stayed slung possessively behind you on the booth, fingers occasionally brushing the back of your neck like a silent warning to everyone else.
He was still sharp tongued, snapping at Lorenzo for talking too loud, throwing barbed comments at Theo, but he kept you glued to his side.
The group wasnât done yet.
As the sun began to dip and snow started falling heavier, they all gathered outside, Pansy with a calculated sigh âItâs getting late. We should head back, but some of us still need to pick up things from Honeydukes. Theo, you mentioned wanting more of that fizzing whizzbees?â
Theo caught on instantly. âYeah, and I could use help carrying stuff.â He looked straight at you. âCome with me? Youâve got better taste in sweets than these lot.â
You felt Mattheoâs body coil like a spring beside you.
Before you could answer, you turned to him with that same soft, testing smile youâd been using. âDo you mind? Iâll be quick.â
His dark eyes flashed. The crack was widening dangerously. âYes, I fucking mind,â he bit out, the words escaping before he could stop them. âYouâre not going anywhere with him.â
They went quiet. Even Draco raised an eyebrow.
You tilted your head, pushing just a little more. âWhy not? Youâve made it very clear Iâm exhausting. That I should stop hovering around you. Iâm just hanging out with friends, Mattheo. Like you wanted.â
That struck hard. Mattheoâs hand slid from the to your waist, gripping firmly. Territorial. Needy in a way heâd never allowed himself to show.
âYou know thatâs not â He stopped, jaw clenching. The internal war was visible, the mean, guarded part of him fighting the part that had grown addicted to your presence, your care, your unwavering light.
Theo slowly, offering his hand again with an exaggerated grin. âReady when you are, love.â
Pushing further Theo says âItâs just sweets, mate. Unless youâve got a problem with that?â
Mattheoâs eyes darkened. He pulled you flush against him in one sharp movement, right there on the snowy street in front of everyone. No grand speech. No soft vulnerability. Just raw, irritated truth wrapped in his usual barbed tone.
âYeah. Iâve got a fucking problem with it.â He glared at Theo, then looked down at you, jaw tight. âYou win, alright? Happy now?â
You tilted your head, staying close but testing him one last time. âWin what?â
Mattheo let out a sharp, sarcastic breath, his breath visible in the cold air.
âThis. You. The constant hovering and fixing and defending my sorry arse like Iâm worth the effort.â His grip didnât loosen. If anything, it became more territorial.
âI told you to fuck off because it was easier. Because you make shit⌠simpler. And I hate how much Iâve gotten used to it.â
He glanced at the group, who were all watching with barely hidden smirks, then back at you. His next words came out gruff, almost annoyed at himself for saying them.
âI donât want you orbiting anyone else. Not Theo. Not some Gryffindor prick. No one. Youâre annoying as hell and far too soft for someone like me, but I want you next to me. Where youâve been. Stop with the careful polite bullshit youâve been doing since I snapped at you. Just⌠be there again. Like before.â
It wasnât flowery. It wasnât sweet. It was Mattheo, reluctant, possessive, laced with sarcasm and that dark charisma.
He leaned in closer, voice dropping so only you could hear the rest. âAnd if Nott tries to hold your hand again, Iâll break his fingers. Clear enough for you, Hufflepuff?â
You smiled softly, reaching up to fix the collar of his coat like you used to. He didnât stop you.
âCrystal clear,â you murmured.
Mattheo huffed, but he didnât move away. Instead, he slung his arm firmly over your shoulders and started walking back toward the castle, keeping you tucked tightly against his side. The others fell in behind you, Pansy looking victorious and Theo chuckling quietly.
âFucking finally,â Blaise muttered.
Mattheo shot them all a sharp look. âSay another word and Iâll hex every single one of you.â
But his hand stayed on your shoulder the entire walk back. No more pushing you away. No more pretending he didnât care. He still wasnât nice, not really, but the walls had come down in the only way Mattheo Riddle knew how.
And you were right where he wanted you.
âââ
The castle was quiet by the time you slipped through the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering against your ribs.
It had been a long evening after Hogsmeade. Mattheo had kept you close the entire way back, but he hadnât said much more after his gruff admission. The weight of everything still felt new and fragile.
You were nervous. Actually nervous, for the first time in months around him. Your fingers tightened around the rolled up essay youâd finished copying for him (Arithmancy, due tomorrow).
It was a small thing, an old habit, but it gave you an excuse to see him before bed.
You knocked softly on the door to his dorm. Theo and the others were still downstairs, giving the two of you space.
Mattheo opened it in a loose black shirt and trousers, hair messy like heâd already been running his hands through it. His dark eyes softened a fraction when they landed on you.
âEssay,â you mumbled, holding it out. âI know you hate this topic, so I made notes on the side.â
He took it without a word, stepping back to let you in.
The room smelled faintly of him, smoke, cedar, and that sharp edge of magic that always clung to him.
You lingered for half a second too long, then leaned in quickly, pressing a soft, shy kiss to his cheek before immediately turning to leave.
âSorry, goodnight,â you whispered, cheeks burning as you tried to rush back out.
A flick of his wrist and the door slammed shut, locking with a sharp click.
You froze, back to him. âMattheo, Iâm sorry? I didnât mean to push, I justâ
He was on you in two strides.
His hands came up on either side of your head, caging you against the door with his body. The wood was cool behind your back; he was burning hot in front.
That stern, smug look was fixed on his face, dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction, one corner of his mouth curved in that dangerous half smirk.
âDo it again,â he ordered, voice low and rough.
You blinked up at him, still flustered. âI⌠what?â
âKiss me again,â he repeated, leaning closer until his breath brushed your lips. âProperly this time. Donât run.â
Your heart stuttered. The nervousness melted under the intensity of his gaze. You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek once more, slower this time.
Then, gathering your courage, you turned your head and brushed your lips softly against his.
Mattheo made a low sound in his throat, half satisfaction, half relief. One hand left the door to slide into your hair, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, claiming your mouth like heâd been waiting weeks to do it. Possessive. Hungry. But there was something almost gentle underneath the fire.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. The smug look had softened into something warmer, more private.
âYouâre still an idiot for thinking Iâd let you run after that,â he muttered, sharp tongued as ever, but his thumb stroked your cheek. âTold you earlier, youâre mine. That means you donât get to kiss me and bolt, Hufflepuff.â
You laughed breathlessly, the last of the nerves dissolving. âI was scared youâd regret it tomorrow morning.â
Mattheo huffed, pulling you away from the door and toward his bed. He sat down and tugged you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
âI regret a lot of things,â he admitted gruffly. âBut not this. Not you.â He pressed another kiss to your temple, almost absentmindedly. âYou make my life easier. Better. Even when Iâm a moody bastard. So stay.â
You nestled into his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his shirt. âIâm not going anywhere.â
âGood.â His voice dropped, that dark charisma curling around the words. âBecause Iâm territorial as hell, and Iâve decided youâre stuck with me now.â
From outside the door, you both heard Theoâs muffled voice âFinally! Can we come in yet or are you two still snogging?â
Mattheo didnât even look up. âFuck off, Nott!â he called back, but there was no real heat in it.
You giggled against his neck. He squeezed you tighter, a rare, quiet chuckle rumbling through his chest.
For the first time in a long time, Mattheo Riddle looked⌠content.
Still guarded, still sarcastic, still carrying shadows, but with you curled in his arms, the weight seemed lighter.
You had seen the good in him from the start. Now he was finally letting himself believe it too.
And as the two of you stayed wrapped up together long into the night, talking in low voices between kisses, everything felt exactly right.
Summary: When the tarot cards tell you youâre going to fall in love, sometimes itâs best to just listen to them
word count: 6k
Šď¸obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.
Divination was stupid. Theo knew it. Enzo knew it. But unfortunately for the two of them, Daphne Greengrass did not. She was quite the believer in factâspending hours charting stars to gauge compatibility, gazing into her crystal ball, and practicing her palm reading. A load of bollocks and a complete waste of time in Theo's opinion, but, he wasn't a monster and so he humored his friend, content in blocking out Professor Trelawney's incessant babbling for an hour at the start of his mornings.
Theo was just admiring how particularly gray the walls of the castle were looking this fine afternoon when a sharp elbow to the ribs pulls his attention back to the old bat's class. Theo shoots a glare Enzo's way as he rubs his wounded ribcage pointedly. To only further his agitation, Theo notices that Trelawney is now stood directly in front of him extending a deck of tarot cards to him as she blinks her wide owlish eyes at him expectantly.
With a deep sigh and a rather dramatic eye roll, Theo plucks a card from the deck and hands it back to the witch without even bothering to glance at it. Trelawney doesn't seem to mind much though as she inhales sharply, a grin that seemed much too wide for her face forming as she flips the card back to Theo.
"Yes, yes. Just as I predicted dear boy. Just as I predicted. The Two of Cups!" She announces proudly, brandishing the card out towards the class.
Daphne squeals.
"Oh Teddyâ"
"Don't call me that."
Daphne ignores him.
"How exciting. How romantic," she continues, clearly far more interested in the pull than Theo was.
She pulls out a script of parchment, finger tracing down the lines of notes until she finds what she's searching for. Then she shoves the parchment under Theo's nose.
"Look there. The Two of Cupsâsignifies mutual attraction and deep connections. A representation of kindred spirits in the early stages of falling in love. That's so romantic," she gushes, continuing on in her notes.
Enzo snorts doing a horrible job trying to stifle his laughter. Theo glowers, not even wanting to deign such a ridiculous concept with a response. This was ludicrous. The whole thing. Theo had been attending Hogwarts for well long enough to know that there was not a single present student in the school that he would even dignify having a romantic relationship with. He can't help but shake his head and scoff at the mere idea.
"Oh lighten up Teddy, heaven forbid you let Daphne have this," Enzo snickers, clearly enjoying the discomfort the whole thing brought Theo.
It was easy for him to say. It wasn't his love life being carefully dissected by their mystic enthused friend.
Being the new student at any new school was always going to be nerve wracking. But being the new student at a new school in a whole new country was significantly worse in every aspect. Whispers float down the corridors, your name echoing off the high ceilings of the castle, and eyes flicker towards the ground as you pass as if they hadn't just been staring shamelessly the moment prior. Normally the stares wouldn't bother you much, but the constant hushed voices were beginning to be unnerving. Your lips tighten as you move swiftly through the halls and you can't help but feel a bit self conscious as you smooth out your unfamiliar, deep blue robes.
You weren't exactly enthusiastic about your new school to begin with. It was differentâof course it would beâbut no matter how much you had prepared yourself for all the changes, it just hadn't been enough. Like really, they let a ratty, oldâalbeit sentientâhat determine house placements? You hadn't wanted that thing anywhere near your head, but it just couldn't be helped. Then, once you had been placed into your house, you come to find that yours is the only one in the entire school that requires you to solve a freaking riddle just to get into your damn room. Asinine. And to top it all off, the wretched school was literally impossible to navigate because the staircases, apparently, were also sentient and did whatever the hell they wanted.
All that to say, when you finally collapse into a seat in the back of, what you hoped was the History of Magic classroom, you were more than a little miffed. With an agitated huff, you try to stay invisible as more students begin to file into the classroom, taking their seats closer to the front. As seats fill, the extra buffer of breathing room melts a bit of the tension in your shoulders. When your professorâa ghost you notice drylyâbegins to write on the chalk board, you finally feel yourself start to relax, pulling out a roll of parchment from your bag and carefully copying down each line.
Just as you're about to finishâThe Gargoyle Strike of 1911âthe classroom door swings open once more and a boy with brown hair and dark, calculating eyes saunters in. You're content with giving him a quick, uninterested glance before getting back to your notes, but unfortunately for you, the boy is rapidly approaching. His bag hits the floor next to you with a dull thread and you feel your lips turn downward into a frown as you look up at the boy once more in annoyance.
You watch as the boy's mouth opens as if to say something, but then his eyes meet yours and you watch him freeze, mouth agape for a moment then two. Just as it's becoming a bit uncomfortable, he seems to awaken from his trance looking shaken, brows furrowing as if he were wondering why on Earth he was just standing there like a fool. Still though, he tilts his head awkwardlyâchin gesturing towards the rest of the classâand for the first time you notice that every other seat in the room seems to be occupied. With a sigh of defeat, you wordlessly turn back to the board, preparing to scramble to write down whatever you'd missed just now, content with simply ignoring this boy's existence for the the rest of class.
"A 'wildcat strike' refers to a stopping of work by unionized workers without authorization from the union. In 1911 the wildcats were winning, meaning things were moving in favor of the gargoylesâ"
Good god this was horrible. You weren't even ten minutes into your first day of this new class and you already wanted to throw yourself off the top of Ravenclaw tower. It seemed as though many of the other students in class felt similarly as one of the boys sitting a few rows in front of you lets out a concernedly loud snore. You have to choke down a snicker as your eyes flicker up to the ghost at the front of the room, but he doesn't seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn't care.
"That's Finnigan. There's a running bet on how long it'll take him to fall asleep after Binns starts monologuing," the boy next to you murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips.
You turn to look at the boy, surprised to hear him speak after all, and for the first time take a good look. Shit. He was hot. You don't really get the chance to dwell too much on it though because he speaks again.
"That one next to him is Thomas. Any second now he'll start piling things on top of 'em. See how high the stack gets before it falls over or Finnigan wakes up. Whichever comes first."
As if on queue, the boy next to the snoring kid carefully places a thick text book on his friend's back. Then another. It's like you can't look away as you watch on in morbid fascination.
"They friends of yours?" you find yourself asking as the boy, Thomas, adds an ink well to his tower.
Your desk partner snorts.
"Hardly. Lions and snakes don't exactly get along," he says smoothly.
You have no idea what that's supposed to mean, but you don't want to ask. Instead you continue to watch as a bag of Bertie Bott's jelly beans, three quills, a sweater, and someone's pet frog is added to the pile. A potted plant is about to be placed on top when a sneeze sends the whole thing crashing to the floor. Professor Binns doesn't even blink as he just continues on. Finnigan's head shoots up as he takes in his surroundings once more, shoulders slumping when he apparently realizes where he is. Understandable.
The rest of class is an absolute drag as you flit in and out of different thoughts and daydreams. Anywhere was better than here, listening to this ghost drown on. If he were any less interesting, you're sure the entire class would die of sheer boredom and be cursed to haunt this very classroom with the old professor. Doomed to be subjected to the very thing that killed you all in the first place for all eternity.
After what you're certain is the longest hour of your life, class finally ends, but to your dismay, you realize that halfway through class you'd simply given up on taking notes. Dammit. As though reading your mind, the boy next to you slides his parchment towards you. His notes are impeccable. Perfectly neat rows in dark ink with not a smudge in sight.
"I can get them back tomorrow," he says simply, before returning the rest of his materials into his bag.
You open your mouth to thank the boy, but before you even get the chance he's gone in a swoosh of emerald green and black.
The whole thing leaves you a bit stunned. It was the first real interaction you'd had with, really anyone at your new school and you couldn't tell if you'd completely blown it or not. He'd seemed decent enough, whoever he was. And that's when it occurs to you. You hadn't even bothered to ask the boy's name.
"Mmm. What was their name again?" Theo asks, trying to appear nonchalant as he inserts himself into Enzo and Daphne's conversation.
The three of them occupied their usual spots inside the Slytherin common room, the soft glow of green flames painting their faces as their voices mix in with the other echoes of the dungeon. Enzo eyes Theo suspiciously, noting thatâdespite the unbothered front he put onâTheo's fingers couldn't seem to stop tapping anxiously against his knee. See, usually when Enzo and Daphne were participating in their daily debrief, Theo was staring off into the abyss, pointedly ignoring them. So it didn't take an intuitive genius to pick up on the sudden spike of interest he was showing.
"Y/n. They're from America," Daphne says helpfully, seemingly oblivious to the way that Enzo was trying to dissect their friend's inner most thoughts.
"Why all the interest? They catch your eye? Are you two already falling into the early stages of love?" He taunts when he isn't able to get a proper read on his friend.
Theo's heart stops beating in his chest for half a moment before he juts out his chin defiantly.
"All anyone will talk about. Just curious to know who all the fuss is about," he retorts, forcing his voice to remain steady as he continues to stare ahead, avoiding the curious glances of his friends.
He can tell Enzo doesn't quite buy it, but that simply isn't his problem to worry about at the moment.
So they were from America. Huh.
Truthfully, Theo didn't know much about America. Hadn't ever really cared to find anything out. He was familiar with Ilvermorny of course. Which was presumably your former school, but that was pretty much the extent of it. Maybe he'd ask you about it tomorrow.
Assuming he didn't freeze up again at the mere sight of you. Salazar's ball sack that had been bloody embarrassing. Theo couldn't think of a single other time he'd ever frozen up like that, brief as it had been. Usually Theo liked to consider himself to be quite suave. Charming even, if he did say so himself. And he did. It was completely unlike him to be rendered speechless. Especially not by the mere presence of someone with a pretty face.
But it simply hadn't been his fault. How was he supposed to expect that some great, higher power was going to reach deep into his inner most thoughts and desiresâpull together every single physical trait that Theo could possibly fantasize aboutâand combine them all into one single heavenly creature, and then plop them down right next to him in History of Magic of all classes.
Fate was cruel.
And speaking of fate, there was also all that nonsense from Divination that morning to think about. Theo leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. Surely the fact that batty, old Trelawney had predicted that he would fall in love was a complete coincidence in relation to him practically being prepared to propose to the new student in History of Magic a mere few hours later. How could it be anything else? Divination wasn't real. The whole class had been so close to being completely scrapped so many times that you either had to be a fool, or Daphne to believe in it.
Okay, so maybe Theodore was starting to believe it. A little. But what was he supposed to think as he watches you drag your feet through the door scowling? He feels his chest tighten as the two of you make eye contact and he watches as you make your way over to him.
"This seat taken?" you ask, already dropping your bag to the floor. "Didn't take you as one to be into this kinda stuff," you say conversationally as you pull parchment and a quill from your bag.
Theo scoffs, rolling his eyes.
"I'm not," he assures, "But Daph is," he adds, head tilting as he gestures to his friend.
He watches as your eyes dart over to the pretty brunette sitting happily between him and Enzo, assessing.
"Oh. Are you two?" The question lingers on your lips and Theo is quick to shake his head no.
Salazar he was being stupid. Of course you would assumeâWhy was he being like this?
"Nah. No. Daph's an old friend. Enz and I are just here for moral support. And an easy O." Theo hears himself drawl. "What about you? Training to become a seer?"
"Hardly. This was the only elective left that fit into my schedule apparently."
Salazar's balls you were perfect, Theo thinks to himself as Trelawney comes sweeping into the room. Her eyes are closed and her fingertips are pressed against her temples as she swooshes around the room, humming lowly.
"I feel new energy. An unfamiliar presence. You!" Trelawney screeches in her trembly voice, stopping in front of a poor, innocent Hufflepuff with an accusatory finger hovering dangerously close to their eyeball.
Theo can't help but let out a dry snicker and is delighted when he sees you out of the corner of his eye trying to hold back a laugh too. When it's clear to the old professor that the student in front of her had actually been present all year, her eyes scan the room, finally coming to a stop when they rest on you.
"Ah, there you are my dear! Your energy feels so concentrated on this side of the room, it simply drew me over," Trelawney babbles as she makes her way over. "Now let's see here. Palms up dear, palms up, let me have a look."
Theo watches amused, ignoring the weird kissing faces Enzo is making at him, as you sigh but still present your palms facing upwards to the professor. Her bony talons quickly engulf your hands, her eyes fluttering shut once more as her head tilts back, a low hum starting once more.
"Yes, yes. How interesting," the hums get louder as the professor's fingers dig into the lines of your palms. "I see. In the darkest hour, a dark shadow, it will over take you. Consume you."
Trelawney's eyes snap open and Theo watches her face melt back into a warm smile as she gives your hands one last squeeze.
"Welcome to class dear. We have much to learn, so much to see!"
Theo finds that he rather likes the way his heart swells when you turn to look at him, brow raised as you shake your head ever so slightly as if to say, 'what a nutter'.
"How many freaking goblin rebellions is it going to take before the British Ministry finally takes the hint and leaves those poor goblins alone?" you huff, slamming your books a little too loudly onto your table in the library.
You can feel Madam Pince attempting to burn a hole through your back as she glares at you, but you ignore her.
"Probably at leastâ" Theo checks his notes from the day's lesson, "six or seven. Unfortunately not every revolution to rid oneself of British rule is successful," he teases lightly.
You glare at the boy pointedly.
"I'm not even particularly, patriotic," you grumble, the word actually quite sour on your tongue, "but nothing brings Americans together quite like our mutual hatred of the British."
"Mmm. Do let it go on record now that my family is Italian," Theo replies dryly.
Theodore had very quickly become your closest friend at Hogwarts. From that first day in History of Magic the two of you just seemed to click. It also definitely helped that not only did he share your dry sense of humor, but he was also insanely smart, and very easy on the eyes. You'd been worried for a split second when he first introduced you to Daphne Greengrass, a familiar turning in your stomach that you'd quickly identified as jealousy flaring up, but it had been quickly squashed when Theo assured you that they were indeed just friends. But that was neither here nor there. You and Theo had become practically inseparable in the month that you'd been at your new school, much to the chagrin of his friends. You liked them too of course, and they'd been good sports about welcoming you into their little group, but with Theo it was just easy.
You slide your potions notes across the table just as Theo hands over his Charms essay for you to look over. No words exchanged, but you were both perfectly in sync. Easy.
It's far past dark when you finally push your chair back, the old wood scraping against the floor, and you force yourself to stifle a yawn.
"Alright. I'm calling it a night," you announce as you begin packing up your books. "I should head back in case it takes an hour to get that damn eagle to open up the common room door again."
You hear Theo let out a snort at your last comment. He'd heard well and good your complaints about that stupid hunk of metal.
"Guess I'll head out as well. Mattheo has been complaining that he never sees me anymore, but he's just mad he can't copy my notes anymore."
The two of you quickly gather the rest of your things, slinking out of the library right as Pince begins making her rounds to toss the last lingering students out before closing the doors for the night. The walk to Ravenclaw tower is made in comfortable silence as you walk side by side, both of you trying to ignore the way the back of your hands were brushing against each other as you went. When you finally arrive, a whole group of students in black and blue are outside the door when it swings open. Not wanting to miss your chance, you toss Theo a smile over your shoulder before disappearing with the crowd of students through the door.
As soon as you enter your room, you dump your bag on the ground at the foot of your bed, trade your stiff school uniform for a more comfortable track set, and turn right back out the doorâa disillusionment spell on the tip of your tongue. You move silently against the walls, retracing the same steps you'd just taken, leading your right back to the library. It's dark nowâyou knew from experience that as soon as the clock hit ten, Pince was out the doors. You lift your wand, ready to cast the usual alohomora but tonight something stops you. Call it a gut feeling. You grip the handle of the heavy, wood door and without so much as a squeak, the door swings open. Huh. Maybe the cranky librarian had been in such a rush to leave she forgot to lock up.
Without giving it so much as a second thought, you slip through the doors, following the familiar path that lead you right to the heart of the restricted section of the library. Really, you often found yourself wondering, why on Earth did they have a so called restricted section, and then not even bother to put up a single ward to keep students from entering? Wasn't very restricted if they asked you. Your fingertips brush over the spines of different books as you pass through the shelves, pulling one from the shelf every so often if it catches your eye. The silence of the empty library was deafening, but you relished the way you could hear your footsteps echoing on the tile and the rustle of pages turning as you flipped through your nightly finds.
You're on your tiptoes, straining to reach a large tome from the top shelf when you catch sight of a dark shadow appearing out of the corner of your eye. God, you hoped it wasn't that old man Filch. He wasn't as bad as everyone made him seem, you'd been able to talk him out of snitching on you thus far, but it kind of ruined the mood. Your hand drops to rest on the handle of your wand as the shady figure draws closer and you prepare to throw one of your books its way just in case.
"What are you doing here?" the confused voice of Theodore rings out just as you're about to launch your copy of Moste Potente Potions at his head.
You feel your shoulders sag in relief. You hadn't been scared of course. Just vaguely alarmed. Then you let out a laugh.
"And what's funny?"
"Oh, nothing. Just Trelawney and her whole 'A dark shadow is going to overtake you' spiel," you snicker. "And what do you mean what am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you ask rather indignantly, turning back to focus on the book that was just out of your reach.
"I come down to the library at night all the time," Theo replies, crossing his arms defensively.
"Well it's obviously not all the time because I've been here every night this month and I've never seen you down here," you reply casually.
You can practically hear Theo rolling his eyes at you.
"Well of course not all the time, Filch would start gettingâsorry did you say you've been here every night? How has Filch not caught you?"
You shrug your shoulders noncommittally, glaring up at the book that seemed to be just taunting you.
"He has a few times, but we usually just chat for a little and then he'll send me on my way."
You don't see the absolutely stunned look on Theo's face.
"You chat? With Filch. About what?" Theo asks incredulously.
You let out an exasperated sigh.
"The weather. Cat toy recommendations for Mrs. Norris. His mother's retirement in France. I don't know, we chat about a lot of things."
You still aren't facing Theo, but if you had been, you probably would have laughed at the completely gobsmacked look that was written across his face.
"Now will you be useful and get that book down for me?" you ask, foot stomping impatiently on the ground.
Still too shocked to respond, Theo reaches up over your head, placing one hand on your shoulder for balance as he easily plucks the book you'd been reaching for off the shelf. Just as he's about to hand it to you though, it seems he comes back to his senses and that smug grin that you'd become so familiar with recently finds its way back to his lips.
"Uh uh uh, where's my reward?" he teases, holding the book just out of reach once more as he smirks down at you.
"Reward?" you ask dryly, looking up to raise an eyebrow at your friend.
Had he always been standing so close?
"I'm a Slytherin. I don't do something for nothing now," he says, voice like honey in your ears.
"What do you want?" you ask, eyes narrowing.
Theo tilts his head as if pretending to think.
"A kiss."
You blink, shoulders shrugging as you turn to face the boy properly. Seemed fair enough to you. You were definitely getting the best end of the deal. So you tug on the collar of Theo's sweatshirt, before crashing your lips into his. His lips are warm and soft and that's all you take note of before pulling away quickly. Theo is clearly stunned once more so you take the opportunity to finally get your hands on the book you'd been eyeing this whole time.
"Thanks Theo!"
Theodore Nott was dangerously close to never brushing his teeth ever again. Because you had kissed him last night. In some sudden, stupid burst of confidence he had asked you to kiss him and you did. It had been a complete jokeâTheo hadn't even remotely considered that you'd actually do it, but you'd grabbed the collar of his jumper and then your lips were on his and he knew he was well and truly done for.
"Theo. Theo! You need to get your act together mate," Lorenzo grunts, elbowing his friend to get his attention.
"What? Stop that," Theo mutters, batting his friend away from him.
"Seriously. You're acting like a love sick puppy."Brie
Theo glares.
"Would take one to know one," he snaps, falling back in his seat with a huff.
Now it's Enzo's turn to narrow his eyes.
"I'm going to choose to ignore that because you're just upset that you didn't kiss y/n back," he responds.
Theo's eyes bulge at the boldâalbeit correctâobservation.
"Can you keep your bloody voice down?" he hisses, eyes flickering about to make sure no one had heard.
Luckily, you had only just entered the divination classroom so at least Theo was safe for now. Or maybe not.
"Morning," you say brightly giving the group a small wave and taking your usual spot next to Theo.
Theo opens his mouth to respond but, Salazar you smelled good today, and your lips, god your lips looked soft and pink and, the words feel caught in Theo's throat. Somewhere in the distance he can hear Enzo snickering obnoxiously, but all Theo can do is stare at you dumbly. This was mortifying. As soon as he figured out how to move again Theo was launching himself straight off this bloody tower.
"Hey, do you want to sneak into the library again tonight?" you ask casually, laying your things out on your desk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you were about to send Theo into cardiac arrest.
Of course I'll sneak back into the library with you. Especially if it means you'll kiss me again, Theo wants to say. But he has at least a little bit of dignity left, so he straightens himself in his chair, trying to maintain at least somewhat of an air of nonchalance as he finally strings a sentence together.
"Sure."
Okay, so a sentence might be giving himself a bit too much credit, but it was better than sitting there gaping like a daft idiot. You seem satisfied with his answer though as you turn to face the front just as Trelawney waltzes into the room with her usual dramatic flair. Theo drifts in and out of the lesson as Trelawney rambles on about tea leaves and the placement of tasseography symbols. He tried to focus. Really he needed to, because the alternative was his gaze finding its way to the curve of your lips and the way your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek as you furiously scribbled down notes.
The gentle sound of metal clinking on china pulls Theo wholey back to class as a spoon taps impatiently on the teacup in front of him as if urging him to drink. Glancing around he sees most of his classmates were already bottoms up. Drinking down the rather bitter liquid, Theo carefully places his cup back down in front of him, peering disinterestedly at its contents. Just looked like soggy tea leaves to him.
Trelawney insists on moving about the room though, dissecting the meanings inside each little cup and leaving behind a trail of utterly befuddled students in her wake. When she finally reaches Theo, he can visibly see her begin to vibrate with excitement as she moves his cup around in her hands, swishing the tea leaves back and forth.
"Look there, dear. Do you see?" she asks giddily, shoving the teacup back in Theo's face.
"No." he replies flatly, not even bothering to examine the wet leaves.
"Look closer."
Theo's nose is practically inside the cup now and he can hear you and Enz snickering on either side of him. Traitors. When he still doesn't say anything, Trelawney lets out a huff, sticking her crooked finger into the cup and speaking slowly as if explaining something to a small child.
"Right there. Don't you see?" she asks, as if it should've been the most obvious thing in the world. "An axeâ" she swirls the cup to the side. "And a butterfly."
Theo stares blankly at the old woman.
"Use their notes and figure it out," she finally huffs in exasperation before sweeping off to another table.
As soon as she's gone and Theo makes eye contact with you he can't help but chuckle as Daphne scowls at the two of you.
"Look," she sighs, shoving her notes across the table for Theo to read.
The Axeâproblems overcome
The Butterflyâsuccess and pleasure
Wonderful. More nonsense. That was the problem with divinationâthe definitions were so broad they were basically meaningless. Overcoming problems and success? That could be about anything. Theo pushes the parchment back to its owner with a shrug. He'd just do what he always did and make something up for the assignment.
Shadows loom against the dimly lit walls of the library as you and Theo wander through the shelves together. Theo had been quieter than usual tonight. To be fair, he wasn't usually the most talkative person ever, but you had had to push to get your usual banter out of him. He clearly had something on his mind. You don't push though. That was something you both appreciated about each otherâjust being there together was enough.
Once you both have a sizable stack of books pulled together you tuck yourselves away in one of the back corners of the restricted section. Far enough that not even Mrs. Norris would bother to wander all the way back. You find yourself curling up next to your friend, legs pressed together and shoulders brushing as you cast a soft lumos charm just bright enough to illuminate the pages of your books as you read. The quiet is nice after a long day of navigating the crowded halls and classrooms of the school. Hogwarts was definitely a lively place, and you hadn't realized just how much you missed having some peace and quiet until you'd snuck out of Ravenclaw tower that first night.
"Do you think divination might not be completely useless?" Theo asks a while later, breaking the silence.
You look up in surprise before glancing down at the book he's readingâDivination Through the Ages: A Skeptics Guideâyour eyebrows furrowing in thought. If you were being honest, you'd always thought that divination was, to be polite, dumb. In fact, you'd been rather pissed when your head of house, Professor Flitwick, had told you that it was the only class that would fit in your schedule. But you didn't think that was what Theo wanted to hear at the moment.
"I mean, all forms of magic have their unique uses I suppose," you reply carefully, wondering where this was going.
Theo just hums in response, continuing to finger through the pages of the book as you watch with curiosity. Finally, with a deep breath, he snaps the book closed and turns to face you. It's clear he wants to say something as you search his eyes which seem to be getting ever so slightly closer by the second. You can't help the way your eyes drop down to his lips as his tongue glides across his bottom lip nervously. They're so close now you can practically feel the way they had pressed against your own last night. However brief that encounter had been. When you finally tilt your head back up to meet his eyes once more, your nose brushes his and you feel your breath hitch. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was about to kiss you right now.
And then his lips are on yours and you feel your body go limp as he pulls you into him, your eyes fluttering closed as he molds you to him. Your book slips from your fingers with a dull thud as it hits the ground, but you hardly notice. Theo's lips are just as warm, and soft, and utterly intoxicating as you remembered them to be. You can feel Theo smiling against your lips as he pulls you impossibly closer and you forget where you are, what you were doing, everything except what it feels like to be held in Theo's arms.
When you finally break apart, it's your turn to blink in stunned silence as Theo gazes down at you, his breath warm against your cheek.
"Ever since you arrived, everything that divination has told me has come true," Theo says gruffly, clearly not pleased to be having to admit it.
You couldn't blame him. The two of you had kind of bonded over how unseriously you both took the class. Still though, you tilt your head, inviting him to continue.
"The first day we metâthat morning in divination, a deck of tarot cards told me I was going to fall in love."
A dry laugh escapes Theo's lips as he pulls back, eyes trained everywhere but at you now. Which is probably for the best as you feel tendrils of heat creeping up into your face.
"I didn't believe them of course. Thought it was pure rubbish."
Your heart stutters for a moment before your eyes land on the book Theo had been reading so intently up until now.
"Hm. And did something change?" you ask cautiously, not daring to get your hopes up.
"Well, the soggy leaves in my tea this morning kind of implied that I should get my act together if I wanted any sort of success, soâ" Theo lets out another wry laugh, though there's no humor in his voice. Just a nervous undertone that you can tell he's trying to mask.
"Well did you? Fall in love that is?" you ask, suddenly feeling shy around Theo for the first time.
There's a beat of silence where you can practically feel your heart trying to tear its way out of your chest. You hadn't quite realized just how much you wanted this until it was staring you in the face. Or rather anywhere but. Then Theo meets your eyes once more.
"I think I could. If I'm not half way there already."
His words melt every bit of tension you had been feeling previously as you let out a breath that you didn't know you'd been holding.
"I think I'm half way there too."
Everyone say thank you to the beta readers @simplyastra and @nottendo đŤśđ˝
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Synopsis: Theo sneaks into your dorm late at night, only to find you asleep. When he finally wakes you up, he eats you up for his troubles.
warnings: smut, oral fem receiving, carnal implications
Word Count: 6.5K
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xoxo!
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You were deep, subterraneanly deep, in a sleep that felt earned, your limbs feeling weighed down by anvils after a grueling week of double Potions and night after night studying seshes. Youâd collapsed into bed with your sweet vanilla oil still potent on your pulse points, the scent intertwining with the faint herbal notes of the lavender sachets tucked under your pillow. You were completely, utterly, blissfully out.Â
So, imagine your loverâs dismay as he finally completes the death-defying journey to your dorm, dodging prowling Prefects and the jagged sensors of the castle wards, only to find his prize knocked out. He stands in the threshold, expression mixed with adoration and genuine offense that you arenât already awake and waiting to devour him.Â
Thereâs a faint shift in the room, like the air itself has changed, warmer somehow, closer. Youâre wrapped in blankets and half-buried in a dream purely psychedelic, when something nudges at the edges of your awareness. Itâs not loud, nor urgent, not a bit. Itâs just...there, a presence that definitely wasnât there when you closed your eyes.
âHey⌠hey, bella miaâŚâ
From a distance, the voice is even more shushed, dragging you upward through the layers of sleep. Itâs familiar, so so familiar. The voice that lived in the margins of your mind all damn day.Â
Your brows twitch slightly, a reflex you can't quite kill, but you don't wake. Your eyes are almost anchored shut in your rest.Â
A brief moment passes. You can hear him breathing, smelling faintly of the peppermint tea he always drinks to settle his restless mind. His eyes scan your form once over.Â
ââŚyouâre kidding me,â he mutters under his breath, softer now, like heâs talking more to himself than to you.
Thereâs a quiet click of the door latch behind him. He has spent his entire life navigating the shadows of a house that didn't want him heard, and now, ultimately, a boarding school with the same desire. Heâs done this before.
Youâre still asleep. Well, youâre supposed to be.
A hand brushes your shoulder, initially light as a feather, testing the waters. His fingers are cool yet his palm remains warm; the heat seeps through the fabric of your sleep shirt.
âHey,â he tries again, a little firmer this time, his fingers giving you a gentle shake that makes your head roll lazily on the pillow. âWake up.â
You donât. Not really. But your body reacts just enough. With just a shallow hitch in your chest and your breathing changing for half a second you slip right back into the slumber youâve maintained for some forty-five minutes now.Â
He sucks his teeth in a tsk, letting his stocky shoulders slump just a taste. Too bad youâre asleep, you miss the way his eyes sexily roll to the ceiling in his light frustration.Â
âUnbelievable,â he murmurs, and you can hear the weary tilt in his voice. âI risk my damn life sneaking into your dorm and youâre dead asleep?â He lets a hand push his tousled waves off his forehead, an act of habit, only for them to fall back to nearly the same spot. ââDodged like three wards.â
Thereâs a faint rustle of fabric as he takes a moment to glance around your room. His eyes scan your mahogany desk, parchment messily strewn about, three wide spined books dog eared in a makeshift bookmark. He can get an idea of what you were up to before you dozed.Â
Darling, you should probably wake up. Definitely should sit up and ask him what the hell he's doing in your room at three in the morning.Â
He hovers over your form, so close you can smell the sandalwood and the wintry bite of the outdoors clinging to his robes.
ââŚguess you really are asleep.â he says it halfway disappointed and halfway fond.
The quiet, heavy thud of his dragon-hide boots hit the rug. One, then the other, tossed shoddily in the doorway. Moments after thereâs a faint drag of fabric when his charcoal cloak slides off his shoulder, probably slung unceremoniously over the chair where your desk is still disheveled. Heâs making himself quite at home.Â
The mattress groans under his weight, a compression that pulls the silk sheets taut across your hips and rolls your body just a fraction of an inch toward the center of the bed. That sudden dip is what cracks the heavy shell of your slumber, finally. Your survival instincts could use some work.
Your consciousness wades to life, but your eyelids feel like theyâve been sealed shut with lead in your exhaustion. You know damn well youâre not alone. But you also know itâs undoubtedly Theo based on his weight alone. Youâve sat with him so many times, you could probably pinpoint his exact mass in less than three tries.
You obviously wonder why in the world heâs in your room at this hour, and silently thank yourself for not being a mouth breather tonight. Truly, a win is a win. Yet, a flicker of pure perversity infiltrates your otherwise pristine superego. Youâll make him work to see your irises.Â
So, you do as any other sensible girl would do when thereâs a very pretty boy encroaching on your personal space at an ungodly hour. You double down and make him work for you. Sinking down further into the pillows while letting your head laze a little more to the side, you commit to the act. Even let a tiny little sniffle of a snore out.Â
The sensation of his eyes on you was enough, but when those lanky pianist fingers reach to touch you, you feel yourself folding. They find the shape of your calf through the olive duvet, the warmth of his palm seeping through the layers. His thumb shifts slightly, brushing against the fabric in slow, absent-minded arcs. Or maybe not absent-minded at all. Theo doesn't do anything without intent.
ââŚyeah,â he murmurs quietly, his accent thick with familiarity. âOut cold.â
He gives your leg a tiny teasing shake, his fingers hooking slightly into the soft muscle of your calf. You donât budge, biting the inside of your cheek so hard youâre surprised you haven't drawn blood.
His fingers begin to trace the faintest line along the curve of your leg, like heâs mapping the geography of you out, testing boundaries heâd think twice about doing with your eyes open.
The weight on your leg lifts, and for a split second you feel a surge of relief from the retreating warmth. Maybe heâs satisfied. Maybe heâll just sit there and watch you sleep like a normal creep. Only then, his hand snakes under the covers, his fingers searching blindly until they find the cool, bare skin of your ankle. Your skin warms instantly as his fingers circle the bone, hairs on your legs spiking at the anticipation of the contact. Â
His hands grow sneakier, letting his grip fall lower, to the arch of your foot. He lets his thumb brush against the sensitive sole. Your lower body tingles at the unexpectedness of it. Biting your cheek turns to catching your tongue between your teeth, trying to suppress the instinctive jerk of your leg. Youâre cursing him out in your head, calling him every name in the book, wondering how he always knows exactly how to get under your skin.
Bastard.Â
Then you make the smallest, most pathetic mistake when your lips twitch nearly imperceptibly. It was really only a hint of a smile at the gall of him. Yet under Theoâs scrutiny, it might as well have been a neon sign. You hold your breath hoping he didnât see it, but youâd honestly be more surprised if he hadnât.Â
He exhales softly, clearly amused. You can feel it in the way his hand stills for half a second before it tightens around your talus. âMmm,â he hums quietly, âFunny.â From your ankle to your shin he climbs, taking his sweet time.Â
âYou always sleep like this?â he asks casually, as if you were actually in dreamland. You let your smile widen just a teeny bit, and he huffs mirthfully at the sight. Thereâs a shift in the blankets as he reaches down, his fingers hooking into the edge of the soft duvet, giving it a playful tug. The cool air of the room slides to nip your skin under the blanket, hitting your knees and mid thigh. Only then do you realize the gravity of your predicament.Â
âOh⌠okay,â he murmurs, a light chuckle coming from his chest in response to you. âGood to know.â
The mattress groans a pitch when he shifts his weight again, maneuvering himself tight into the center of your space. His finger slides under the meat of your calf, hooking higher under your knees and lifting you until your legs are draped right over his lap. Â
And youâre very, very aware of the fact that youâre pantsless. Youâd tossed those cotton joggers where only the wizards would know. There was nothing but that scrap of lace between your skin and the rigid fabric of his trousers. You could feel the rough texture of his quads through his pants, the solid muscle of them pressing against your lower legs. It was so masculine, so heavy, and Gods, youâd almost pay to see those thighs bare and flexed right now.
He lets the silence fester for a heartbeat as he looks at the uncovered skin of your shin like a starved, starved man.Â
âGuess I gotta pull these higher. You should probably stop me.â
He pauses for another short moment, almost expectedly. Heâs waiting for you to crackâ you can almost see the way heâs likely smirking right now, that stupid sharp self assurity. But bratty, bratty you. Youâd never give him the satisfaction so easily.Â
He huffs, annoyed with an undertone of endearment. The blanket moves again, sliding up until it was bunched at your waist.
âDio mâaiuti,â he breathes out in a rough exhale that ghosts over your cheek. Lord, help me. âDamnâŚâ he curses under his breath, mumbling your name, the syllables catching in his now dry throat.
You feel his shadow loom larger. Heâs looking at you, really looking, in a way heâd never dare if your eyes were open to catch him. He takes his lower lip between his teeth, his intentions with you abundantly clear.
âThose look so good on you,â he whispers, and you can feel the compliment buzzing in your stomach. There's a ghost of a touch at your hip, his thumb hooking into the thin lace of the waistline of your thong. He tugs, lets go.The tension of the elastic snaps softly against your skin.Â
âYou had to have worn this for me,â he says, his smile wryly returning, though itâs strained now. âNo way you floss your ass every night with these. Youâre too practical for that.â
He lets out a shaky breath that hits the bare skin of your stomach. His hands, usually so careful with his books and his potions, grow even more sure. He slides his palms down, settling them firmly on your inner thighs. The heat of his skin is a shock against the cool expanse of yours, almost a searing brand that makes your muscles tingle and jump.Â
âSo, so sleepyâŚâ he coos, very obviously mocking you.Â
He begins to rub you, his thumbs tracing spirals against the sensitive skin of your thighs, moving higher and higher with every stroke. They rest at the hem of your thong, tracing the fabric as if it were a riverbank. You definitely have a river going on in near proximity, and you feel your facade blend from cheeky fun to a genuine struggle to stay still. Heâs waking up the familiar ache between your thighs, drawing all your blood to your throbbing center.
âE seâŚâ What ifâŚhe murmurs, trailing off into a contemplative hum. He nudges your thighs apart just the slightest bit. Even in this state, heâs careful, wanting you comfortable as he settles his weight.
From his vantage, he can see how the thin scrap of lace barely contains youâthe soft puffiness of your lips spilling out from the sides.You can audibly hear the way sighs, and at that point you give in, discreetly giving your own lip a bite. The way heâs reacting to you makes you feel a dizzying rush of giddiness, like an actual visceral thrill in knowing your body is reducing him to this.
âOh, man,â he whispers, gravelly and overwhelmed.Â
He sits back for a second, dragging a hand roughly down his face, his fingers dragging over his features the way someone does when theyâre trying to snap themselves out of a fever dream. What am I going to do with you? the thought is written in every sharp line of his jaw. He leans back in, his gaze fixed between your legs. âYouâre so puffy here, pretty girl.â his voice nearly cracks.Â
His thumb migrates, sliding over the lace to run directly along the length of your lip. The feel makes your hips stutter upward, your body asking for what your mouth is too stubborn to formulate. He reaches down and takes the thin triangle of your undies, hooking his finger under the lace and tugging it upward.
A flash of pure perversion dances in his eyes. He watches, transfixed, like a lad playing with his favorite toy, seeing how your pussy swallows up the thread of the thong as he pulls it taut. He tilts his head to the side, tracking the way your wetness starts to seep out from the sides, glistening against the dark fabric.
Youâre practically dying. For you, it feels like heaven, and he absolutely knows it. The tight friction of the lace slides up against your clit, right where you need it most. The texture of it is just rough enough to catch on all that sensitivity, soothing just enough of the ache heâs been building up.Â
His eyes are fixed on the way the lace is buried deep between your lips, lost in the heat heâs stoked.
âLook at you. Sopping wet for a piece of string.â
He chuckles a frustrated laugh, his gaze dropping to the wet, dark line of the thong and then drifting lower to where his own trousers are straining. He shakes his head, his jaw tight. âMy cock would fit better there,â he muses. âBut whatever. If you want to keep playing pretend, I suppose Iâll just have to make do with this.â The mental image of that makes you throb in a brand-new way, imaging him nestled in your crevice.Â
He leans down, his lips brushing the very top of your thigh, right where the skin is the softest. His thumb found the center of that drenched undergarment and ground into it with a heavy circle. You can feel the moisture spreading, the silk now completely saturated and acting like a conduit for every bit of friction heâs generating.
âPoor thing,â he coos, the mockery in his voice thick and honeyed. âTossing and turning in your sleep because youâre so needy. I suppose Iâve gotta play with your pussy just to get her to calm down, havenât I?â
His finger trails up, sliding until he finds where you ache. He takes your clit between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a hard squeeze thatâs almost a demand for a reaction.Â
âMhmm...â
Alright, everyone has limits. That was yours, the sound escaping you before you can choke it back, a sweet, quiet moan. The irony of it was you sounded exactly like you were answering his question.Â
âOh, mhmm?â he asks, mirroring the sound back to you with a low hum. He knows he won, the smugness practically radiating off him.
âDid you say something, stellina?â he whispers, his voice dripping with honeyed mock-innocence. âI couldâve sworn I heard a sound. But... no. Not from someone so deeply, deeply asleep.â
"Such a shame," he muttered, his voice thick with teasing lust, his thumb circling you once more. "I wish you were awake right now so I could actually taste you. Iâve been thinking about it since the Great Hall."
He places a chaste kiss on your belly, minty breath fanning over your skin. "But I suppose I canât exactly get your consent while youâre off in dreamland, can I? Much too bad.â You feel the coolness of his breath retreating. âI guess Iâll just have to waitâŚor leave."
He stays perfectly still, his hand just resting there, depriving you of the friction heâs been teasing you with for the last ten minutes. The sudden lack of movement is agonizing.Â
No way in hell youâre letting that happen. Your eyes flutter open, blinking against the dim light of the dorm. Putting on your best âI just woke upâ face, a tiny, stupidly smitten smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him.
"Wh-what'd you say?" you murmured, your voice thick and honeyed with fake sleepiness.
Theo didn't buy it for a second. He stared down at you, not even trying to hide the way his eyes wandered all along your body.Â
Now that your eyes were finally open, you feasted on the sight of him. He wasnât in his usual, stiffly tailored school robes. Heâd clearly snuck out of his own dormitory in a state of undress, his only outer garment tossed carelessly into the shadows of your room. He was wearing a pair of dark, silk pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips, the fabric thin enough to hint at the hard, lean muscle of his quads underneath. He might as well not have bothered to put on a shirt, the dark fabric of his shortsleeve doing little to hide the shape of his pecs and biceps.Â
He looked uncharacteristically undone. His mousy hair, usually swept off his forehead, fell over it instead, messily, tips touching his eyebrows and framing those eyes you came to love. There was a smudged shadow of fatigue beneath them. Youâd always scold him for drinking coffee late, yet you watched as he gulped down a mug at dinner, hours earlier. No wonder he couldnât sleep.Â
You loved seeing him like this. So handsome in a way that felt private, like you were seeing a version of him the rest of the world was never allowed to touch.Â
"Sei una furbetta," he mumbled, the Italian sounding like an approval. "Mustâve been the wind, darling, âdidnât say a thing. Since youâre so, so asleep, I was just heading out."
He made a show of shifting, the silk of his trousers tickling against your bare skin as he started to lift his weight. The movement was tauntingly slow,giving you every second to realize exactly what you were about to lose.Â
"Theo, stay," you gasped out, your pride officially dead and buried. You reached up, your fingers snagging the hem of his silk pants to anchor him to the mattress. Your knuckles grazed the warm skin of his hip.
He stilled instantly, his eyes tracking the way your hand was nearly trembling against him. He sighed theatrically, starting. "Oh... I guess I can stay for a bit," he murmured, his voice dropping a few notches. He settled back over you, his weight a grounding comfort. His hands made sure to stay where you can see them. He looked down at you as if he were a saint. "But what do you want to do, bella? You look so tired. Perhaps we should just talk?"
He was being an absolute asshole, and he knew it. He acted as if he hadn't spent the last ten minutes between your legs.
"I want you to taste me," you whispered, painfully needily. "Like you said you wanted to."
He wet his lips with his rosy tongue as if on instinct. He really is like a puppy for you. Yeah, he may have the upper hand many, many times, including now. But truly he is at your beck and call. So of course he didnât waste a minute of time, positioning himself over you, his knees framing your hips. "Merlin, youâre so bossy when you're awake," he muttered, trying to convince himself that heâs the one with all the control here.Â
âAnd asleep too. You did exactly what I wanted.â you look up at him, batting those lashes triumphantly.Â
He groans, shaking his head, hair messily falling into his eyes as he looks down at you. âYeah, well, you were faking it,â he countered without any bite. âBrilliant performance by the way, truly.âÂ
âNot the whole time I wasnât.â you defend, weakly.
He just clicks his tongue at you, his eyes growing a little softer at the edges. He slid his large hand underneath your head, his fingers tangling in your hair to cradle your skull against the pillow. He leaned closer to you until his forehead was resting against yours, nose just barely brushing your own.Â
âI missed you, mamma.â he admits, almost as if it were a secret.Â
Goshhh. That nickname. You feel like literal putty, your face parting in a toothy smile.âTheo, I just saw you like, nine hours ago.âÂ
He humphs. âSĂŹ, certo, pero. I was tossing and turning. Without you. Nine hours is a small eternity when my bed feels that empty.âÂ
Your smile impossibly widens. You know exactly the kind of charmer he is, and yet he woos you every single time. You lean up, closing the tiny space between you to kiss him. He doesnât hesitate for a second, he meets you halfway, his mouth devouring yours with a hunger thatâs sweet and filthy all at once. He adds his tongue almost instantly, already knowing the shape and taste of your mouth so well that it feels like coming home.
One hand kneads into your scalp, massaging the skin soothingly. His other finds your waist. You feel his palm slide upward, slipping under the hem of your sleeping shirt, his skin a welcomed familiarity against yours. His thumb traces the curve of your side, the tingle of it making your breath hitch into his mouth. He groans in response, the sound caught against your teeth. A hand snakes around you, pulling you flush against him.Â
After a few more moments of those perfectly sloppy, wet kisses, you reluctantly pull back an inch. Your chest rises and falls quicker than it would standardly, lips puffy. âOkay,â you whisper, unable to mask the laugh in your voice. âNow, my other lips.â
Theo pulls back just far enough to look at you, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, a slow, boyish laugh bubbling up from his chest. One of his thick brows shoots upward in genuine surprise.
âPardon?â he asked in disbelief, not sure he heard you correctly.Â
âI donât know...â you tease, your eyes dropping to his mouth and then back to his. âI just think my other lips need some serious attention. Theyâre feeling a bit neglected.â
Theo lets out a short, incredulous laugh, his chest heaving against yours. âYouâre such a... a deviant,â he accuses, shaking his head. He settles back on his haunches, even though he keeps his hand firmly planted on your thigh. âIs that what this is? Are you just using me for my mouth? Is that all I am to you? A tool for your pleasure?â
He places a hand over his heart far too dramatically in a gesture of hurt. He furrows his brows, giving you the most pathetic attempt at puppy dog eyes youâve ever seen. With his sharp corners of his eyes, it looks like heâs trying to use telekinesis to scramble your brain.
âYes!â you say, your voice dripping with fake seriousness as you reach up to trail a finger along his jawline, feeling the slight prickle of stubble. âYes, absolutely. It would be a waste not to put your talent to workâ
He stares at you for a beat, his jaw tightening as he looks at the flush on your cheeks. He knows damn well it isnât true. He remembers the months of pining, the way you begged your friends to change their route to class so you could make eye contact with him for 2 seconds. And the way you used to turn scarlet even when he said something as simple as âGood morning.â He knows youâre just as addicted to the soul of him as you are to his hands.Â
âWow,â he sighs, a long, exaggerated exhale of breath that he lets fall against the bare skin of your stomach. He looks down at your navel, then slowly trails his gaze back up into your eyes, his expression lascivious. You canât bear it when he looks at you like that, like you are the only thing in the entire castle worth seeing, like heâs going to take you apart and memorize every piece of you to put you back together. All you can think about is the blue of his eyes.Â
âIâll remember that,â he muses against your skin as he begins to trail a line of nipping, open-mouthed kisses down your torso. âTreating a guest like this. After I risked a midnight run-in with Mrs. Norris just to see you. Truly heartless.â
âA guest who happens to be very, very hungry,â he whispers.
You let out a breathy, frantic little laugh, trying to keep your head above water as his hands squeeze your thighs. âYou literally finished my plate at dinner, Theo. I watched you eat my last three potatoes.â
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his messy waves falling over his forehead, âA man canât want dessert? Iâm a growing boy, I have requirements.â
âThat is more than okay with me,â you breathe, honestly, some of your confidence crawling back. You place your hands behind your head in a flourish, stretching out like a cat, and then slowly lift your legs, placing your feet firmly on his broad shoulders. The contrast of your soft skin against the hard line of his frame makes you woozy. âSo what's the plan? Are you gonna eat me like a cannoli?â
He freezes. Like, actually stops moving, his hands hovering over your thighs as he stares at you in dead silence. âNo way,â he says, his voice flat. âNo way you just said that. Absolutely not.â
He pulls one hand away to run it through his already messy dark hair, tugging at the ends trying to process what you just said. Heâs looking genuinely upset at your choice of pastry, and you couldâve sworn he even scoffed. You canât help it; a snort escapes you, followed by a fit of giggles because the look of pure offense on his face is far too much to handle.
You catch your breath just long enough to look him in those icy, narrowing eyes, and you can't resist the opening. âAbsolutely, Nott!â, you chirp, giving him a cheeky, lopsided grin.Â
The corner of his mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile heâs clearly fighting to suppress. He hates that he finds you funny right now, that your puns actually land. You watch his cheek hollow with a bite, and he furrows those brows again.Â
âUgh, baby, no. No, no,â he groans, shaking his head and leaning back over you, his expression suddenly very serious, though his eyes are dancing with tell-tale amusement. âYou need to know this. You have to understand the geography of whatâs about to happen to you. Cannoli? Thatâs Sicily, thatâs the South.â
He rolls his eyes, and only then do you realize heâs being partly facetious, playing up his heritage just to tease you back.Â
âYou know Iâm from the North. My family is from Venice and Milan. We don't do cannoli like that. We eat tiramisu.â
He leans down and nips, quite firmly, at the soft fat of your belly. You squeal, half-laughing and half-moaning as he begins to trail those kisses lower again, his hands sliding under the crooks of your knees to pull you closer.
âWell,â you start, tiptoeing around your ask. âCould you..could you fill me up like a cannoli? Later?â
The words hang heavy in the air of your dorm, and you can almost see behind his eyes. Clearly his internal monologueâs a mess of good-natured disbelief.âwhat is this girlâs problem?âBut the mental image attached to your phrasing does much to turn him on further.
He clears his throat, yet his voice is still raspier than before. âFor you, I think I can arrange that. Actually, Iâm certain of it.âÂ
He canât even help himself. As he kneels there between your thighs, he lets out a jagged, frustrated breath and slides one hand low, disappearing into the waistband of his silk pajama bottoms.You watch the line of his shoulder flex as he cuffs himself through the fabric, his knuckles grazing the hard, insistent length of him as he tries to process the mental image of finally, finally being inside you. The sight of him touching himself, even for a second, just because of something you said, makes you feel higher than any drug could render you.
 He looks down at his own hand, then back up at you, irises darkening in anticipation. âYouâre going to be the death of me,â he mutters, jaw tightening.
His fingers leap up to hook into the damp lace of your thong, slowly shimmying the fabric down your legs. He watches every inch of skin as itâs revealed, his breath picking up when the lace finally clears your ankles and gets tossed somewhere toward the foot of the bed.
âWhat a treat,â he sighs in pure adoration.
He moves back in, his chest brushing against your shins as he settles between your knees. He leans down and presses a fervent kiss right to your pubic mound. The heat of his mouth against that sensitive skin is a shock to your senses. He stays there for a moment, breathing you in, his nose brushing against the soft curls as he worships the very sight of you.
 He looks up at you through his dark lashes, his chin resting right against your inner thigh.
âYou want your pussy eaten?â he asks, uncharacteristically crude for him. Â
A breathless, shaky laugh bubbles up in your chest, trying to gain some of your footing.âI think,â you pant, your fingers curling into the silk of the duvet, âyou mean my tiramisu, Theo.â
He smiles lightly, but doesnât laugh this time, pressing a slow, soft kiss on the meaty part of your thigh. âTell me, silly girl,â he murmurs, the words almost commanding.âI donât joke about consent. I need to hear it. Is that what you want?â
You swallow hard, your voice coming out as a small, desperate thread of a sound. âPlease... please can you?â
He nods as if it were a promise. He leans back in, using the tip of his nose to gently nudge your labia apart. The cool air of the dungeon hits your heat for a split second before itâs replaced by the warmth of him. He begins to pepper wet, open-mouthed kisses over your swollen folds, his tongue darting out just enough to tease the edges of your sensitivity without giving you the full contact youâre feining for.
Your leg gives an involuntary shake when he gets closer to where you need, even surprising yourself as your knee knocks against his shoulder.
âYou okay?â he asks, pulling back just enough to check your face.
Inwardly, he is absolutely stoked. The sight of you already reacting so strongly while heâs hardly even started is a massive stroke to his ego.Â
âMhmm,â you manage to whimper, your eyes fluttering shut as you tilt your hips up, wordlessly begging for him to stop the teasing and just finish you.
He hums in response and approval, bringing his hands up to rest comfortably but firmly around your stomach. Grounding, yes, but also practical. He wanted to hold you firmly in place so you couldnât retreat from what was coming.Â
His head dipped again, the slickness of his tongue dragging from your perineum all the way up to your tiny, throbbing point. Your chest falls in relief, the first shocks of the contact balming your overcoiled tension. He groans to himself at your taste, the sound muffled by your skin. He began to lick you softly, his tongue fluttering in light strokes over your swollen folds. He was acquainting himself with you, movements curious as he sipped at the moisture you were yielding for him. So gentle, so coaxing.Â
âYes, Theo.â you squeak out softly, not really knowing what else to say, yet you wanted to spur him on somehow. It did just enough. His hands gratefully tightened around your waist. He looked up at you, his hooded eyes pulling you right into him. âLike this?â he asked, softly, his breath a minty fog that made your walls flutter. He flattened his tongue, placing a heavy, heavy pressure right at your center. The texture of it is slightly rough, catching against your supersensitive skin. He settles in, stubbly chin rubbing at your entrance as he grows more sure.
Your restraint said farewell a long time ago, your moans so lewd and guttural, punctuated by the wet sounds of him making out with your sopping lips. Heâs meticulous, moving from side to side, catching the sensitive skin of your labia between his lips and giving a soft, playful tug that makes you gasp his name. âSo loud, baby.â he sighs against you, praise disguised as a complaint. âTake what you asked for.â he continues, his thumbs rubbing circles over your waist. Heâs enjoying the taste of you, his head tilting to the side so he can get a better angle, his tongue darting deep into your opening before returning to flick against your clit.Â
A daring hand slides down, reaching to pull your lips open wider, exposing you fully to his gaze and his tongue. He watches the way you pulse for a short moment, leaning back in to soothe exactly that. âAtleast, slow d-..slow down.â you stumble deliriously, the tension in your thighs coiling slink.
âYes maâam.â he tells you, almost too easily. He moves lower, nose brushing past your opening as he trails a line of wet, stinging kisses down, down down, toward the sensitive, tight skin below. He presses his mouth firmly against you, sucking a wet kiss directly onto the sensitive skin of your anus. You feel it from your center to your toes, so taboo and uncharted.Â
âTheo-â you gasp, ripped from your lungs, legs shifting involuntarily against his shoulders.Â
He pulls back just a fraction, the cool air hitting the wet mark heâs left behind. He looks up at you through the messy locks falling into his eyes.
âSorry,â he mumbles, a half assed apology. âI missed.â
He migrates back up, his mouth wide and hot as he latches onto your clit with an uncontained hunger. He does the exact same thing, sucking a deep kiss right onto your peakâbut he holds it this time. He stays there for twice as long as before, his tongue swirling in tight,damp circles.
With his mouth busy, he brings one of his thumbs down, circling your entrance teasingly, his digit slick with the mess heâs made. He traces the very edge of your opening, pressing just enough to make you feel the hollow ache of your own emptiness. From there, you know youâre a goner. Your legs are shaking violently against his shoulders, your breath coming in short panicked hitches that you can't control.
âTheoâIâm... Iâm coming,â you mewl, torso twisting instinctively in an attempt to gather yourself.Â
Heâs not surprised in the slightest, his hand holding you securely against him. He sweetly grunts against you in response, finally slowing down when he feels you trembling. The feelingâs consuming, starting at the base of your spine, wading outward, your whole body like jelly. You can feel the warmth of your spilling out slowly, across the cool skin of his chin and the heat of his tongue.Â
His fingers shift to the undersides of your thighs to hold you open, keeping you pinned to his mouth. He begins to lick up the small, pearly liquid that leaks out of you, cleaning up the mess he made. He ensured not a single bit of you is wasted. ââTastes so good.â he murmurs against your thigh. âYou did so well for me.â he tilts his chin down to meet your eyes, a boyish grin on his lips. âBetter than any dessert.âÂ
He lets out a long, shaky exhale, resting his forehead against the inside of your knee for a heartbeat as he tries to regulate his own jumping pulse. You swallow hard, your voice coming out small after you finally garner the strength to shift. Your eyes drop from his face, trailing down the lean line of his torso to where⌠zoo wee mama.
The bulge in his pjâs is impossible to ignore, the insistent line against his pants belying to you just how much he was holding back while focusing only on you. âWhat about you?â you whisper, your fingers reaching out to ghost over the waistband of his pants.
Theoâs belly lurches, his entire frame going rigid at the suggestion. He looks down at your hand and then back up into your eyes, his features melting into something so much more raw. He sits back on his heels, rising up on his knees until heâs shadowed over you, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his silk bottoms.
It feels like a scene unfolding in slow motion, and all you could do was watch with your lips parted. As he pushes the fabric down, the sharp, sculpted hardness of his obliques melts into the lean muscle of his lower stomach, trailing down to the dark, soft dusting of hair that leads to his manhood. He stops his descent there, a deep smile line forming in his cheek at your needy expression.Â
âI suppose,â he starts, letting his hand dip in to cup himself, pumping a few times just to push your buttons. âI can cut my losses and make a cannoli for once.â
He doesn't have to clarify. You know damn well he isn't talking about dessert.
---------------------
hiii my loves i am so so sorry ive been AWOL for a bitttt. finals finals finals ughhhhhh. i have part twos and a full length fic in the works:) this is just a little somethin somethin ive whipped up in between;) huge kisses. soon as i get over this hurdle, so much more to come.
hear me out, you can change it up but like bitchy reader being on her period and crying from the pain but mattheo is not there (he tracked the cycle and was getting snacks and flowers). As soon as he enters he gets scolded for being a bad bf leaving his gf while shes âdyingâ from cramps and bf mattheo comforts reader and shows what he got. Then reader starts crying again bc she feels bad and mattheo has to comfort her again.
mattheo comforts bitchy!reader while sheâs on her period
hello & welcome!!!! i lovee this idea, thank you for requesting it <3
masterlist
You lie on your bed, clutching your stomach as you reach for your phone. You pull up your text thread with Mattheo to send him a message.
princess <3
iâm dying
He replies immediately.
mattheo
??
are you okay????
You smile a little at his panic, feeling better already, when a sharp pain hits you in the stomach and youâre reminded of why you texted him.
princess <3
no :(((
i got my period
mattheo
i know baby
i got the notification, i was just about to text you
are you doing alright?
do you need anything?
princess <3
no
i want u here
come quick
You pause, typing the next message with a small pout, though he canât see it.
princess <3
pls
mattheo
go take a nap first
iâll come as soon as i can
i love you
A smile makes its way to your face despite the pain.
princess <3
u better
ilyt
<3
mattheo
ily MORE
You send him an eye roll emoji & a middle finger emoji, he hearts the message.
mattheo
go to sleep baby
You turn off your phone and settle into your pillows, already feeling better knowing that heâll be here soon.
But when the ten minutes it should've taken for him to get from his dorm to yours pass by and heâs still not here, you open your phone to check for a message saying heâs on his way.
You donât see any new notifications and you frown. You decide youâll just wait a little longer.
Eventually, the pain in your abdomen and the waiting become too much and you drift off to sleep.
Itâs okay. You reassure yourself. You can sleep, Mattheo will be here when you wake up.
When you wake up, however, Mattheo is nowhere to be found and youâre left all alone in your room. You turn on your phone, seeing that a full hour and a half has passed since he sent that last message.
Youâre not one to jump to conclusions â well, you are, but you trust Mattheo enough by now to give him the benefit of the doubt â and you're certainly not one to be extra clingy or needy. But with how emotional your period is making you, you are jumping to conclusions and you are feeling needy.
Itâs a Saturday, which means he doesnât have quidditch. Itâs not a special holiday by any means and, since itâs a weekend, he probably had his whole day clear to see you anyway â what gives?
You wonder if he's avoiding you because you're on your period, you're mean enough when you're not in pain, you can't imagine you're very pleasant right now. Your meanness has finally driven him away, it seems.
You and your heightened sensitivity come to the conclusion that heâs grown tired of you â no matter how irrational the thought is, you rationalise it in your head â and he simply no longer places you as top priority, he must have better things to do.
You're filled with a sadness so strong you have to convince yourself it's anger. You let the anger and hurt simmer until you're stewing in it, furiously fantasising about letting him have it later when he eventually talks to you again.
The door to your dorm swings open just as you're practicing an argument in your head. You watch Mattheo enter quietly, he gently closes your door, worrying you're asleep.
âWhere were you?â Your voice cuts through the room, and it sounds so bitchy. All the softness you usually reserve for him is gone and in its place, your bitch persona is back. God, no wonder he's sick of you.
âI had to get some stuff, baby, sorry I took so long.â He murmurs, walking over to you almost like a dutiful nurse. âHowâre you holding up?"
You keep your head turned away, ignoring him.
He sits on your edge of your bed. âWe don't have to talk if you'reââ
âYouâre such a bad boyfriend.â You whine, feeling extra irritable and irrationally upset as a result of your period. You don't even mean it, you just want him to hurt like you are right now. A tear rolls down the side of your face, angry tears, you tell yourself. "I'm in pain and I'm dying and you left me all alone."
You canât see it, but he frowns. Though your words sting just a little, he doesn't take what you say to heart, knowing you don't mean it. He purses his lips, overly cautious of the state youâre in and knowing he has to tread gently.
He gently rubs your shoulder and you canât help but feel yourself relax a bit. He rolls you over so you can see his face and smiles softly when he catches sight at the small pout on your face.
âYouâre so cute.â He says, kissing your forehead and nose just to make you laugh â it doesn't work and the pout stays on your face.
âStop it.â You say, swatting at his hand. âIâm still upset, what the fuck else was so important? What were you getting?â
He gently lifts the plastic bag he had dropped on your bedside table. He takes out the contents one by one.
âHeat pad, dark chocolate bars â with the little raspberry bits you love, pain killers.â He lists each item as he takes them out, âI brought my DVD player, too â we can watch those shitty chick flicks you love.â
He continues to show off all the things he must have ran out to buy as soon as he knew you were on your period. You suddenly feel sick with guilt â how could you be so mean to him? You had promised yourself that youâd start being the sweet girlfriend he deserved. How could you ever think he wouldnât prioritise you?
You feel awful and you feel a rush of self hatred return.
âAlso, I got you food from that taco place we like because I know you havenât eaten â oh, princess, whyâre you crying?â He says softly, cupping your face in his hands.
âBecause Iâm such a bitch!â You cry, sobbing harder at the touch of his hand.
âYouâre not a bitch.â He says with a small smile on his face, like he's holding in a laugh.
"I am! You're the best boyfriend and I'm a bitch, you deserve someone better." You sob into his hands. Normally you'd be appalled being so pathetically self-hating out loud but, right now, everything just pours out.
"I thoughtâ" You start, cutting yourself off with another sob. "I thought you were avoiding me or that you didn't want to see me, how could I think that of you?"
His eyes soften. âItâs my fault; you're right, youâre in pain and I shouldâve told you I wasnât coming immediately.â He says, looking down at you tenderly.
Heâs being so patient with you, so understanding â it makes you feel worse.
"It is absolutely not your fault." You say sternly, shaking your head furiously. "Don't say that."
"Well, it's not yours either." He says kindly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. âIâm sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart.â
He soothes his hand over your head for what feels like hours until youâve finally calmed down.
âYou felt bad being mean to me.â He says after a long lull of silence, grinning from ear to ear, âYou love me.â
You scowl. âDonât flatter yourself, Iâm hormonal and my emotions are all fucked up. A commercial for dog food could make me cry, in fact, it hasâ"
Heâs not listening, he lowers his head to kiss you softly. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss.
âYou love me.â He mumbles, face still hovering over yours. You blink up at him, lips almost curling into smile. You tug him by the front of his shirt, chasing his lips for another kiss.
You feel a sharp pain in your stomach and your face screws up, you whimper into the kiss. He pulls away and quickly assesses you.
You clutch your stomach, eyes screwing shut. "Hurts."
âI know, Iâm sorry.â He hands you the heat pack he bought you and you hold it to your abdomen.
"Is there anything I can do for you now?â He asks.
âJust hold me, please.â You say, sounding embarrassingly like a small child. He doesnât tease you, instead placing all the things he bought for you on your bedside table before sliding under the covers with you.
With his warm arms wrapped around you, you feel the pain being alleviated immediately. You fall asleep knowing you have the most loving and patient boyfriend in Hogwarts, who loves you enough to put up with you â your mood swings and all your bitchy glory.
every mean + secretly sensitive gf needs her patient + loving bf who'll stay & reassure her no matter what <3
Request: So I love your Mattheo riddle fanfics. Dan I love the ones where he gets injuries or something. So I would like a fanfic where he gets sick, but he's not awkwardly clingy, just annoyed by the disease. It would be cool.
The first hint that something was off with Mattheo was his absence at breakfast. He never missed a meal... He loved food too much for that. So when he didnât show, it was enough to sour my mood before noon.
Mattheo Riddle was a lot of things. Annoying, sharp-tongued, and completely impossible when he felt like it. But he was never unreliable. He didn't just disappear without a reason, and he definitely did not skip meals in the Great Hall. Not unless he was dead, dying, or deliberately avoiding someone. And since we were dating, and I knew he wasn't avoiding me, that didn't leave many options.
By the time I left Herbology, my skirt was damp from the wet grass, and I was still annoyed at my partner for nearly dropping a tray of Venomous Tentacula clippings on my shoes. Somewhere between that and walking back up to the castle, Iâd managed to work myself into this quiet, heavy kind of worry sitting in my chest.
âYouâre glaring at a castle wall,â Pansy said, glancing over at me as we walked down the corridor. âIt hasnât done anything to you.â
âMattheo wasnât at breakfast,â I said, still staring straight ahead.
Theo, on my other side, let out a quiet hum. âYeah. Not at lunch either.â
I stopped and turned to him. âYou saw?â
âI have eyes,â he said, completely unimpressed. âDonât look so shocked.â
That didnât help. If anything, it made the knot in my stomach twist tighter, like something was properly wrong now.
Mattheo skipped things sometimes. When he was annoyed, in a mood, or stuck in detention, and refusing to tell anyone about it. But he didnât just disappear for half the day for no reason.
 He just didnât.
I changed direction without saying anything else.
âThere she goes,â Pansy muttered behind me. âOff to play worried girlfriend.â
âShut up,â I shot back over my shoulder, already picking up my pace. I heard Theo laugh quietly as I headed straight for the Slytherin common room.
The dungeons felt colder than usual, or maybe I just noticed it more with that uneasy feeling sitting under my skin. The torches along the walls burned low, casting this dim golden light that made the shadows stretch across the floor. Everything felt too quiet, like the whole place was holding its breath.
I passed a group of third years outside the common room, but their voices barely registered. I mumbled the password and stepped inside without really looking at anyone.
The room was mostly empty. A couple of students sat near the fire with books open, talking quietly, but I didnât pay them any attention. My eyes went straight to the boysâ staircase.
I took the steps two at a time, my heartbeat starting to feel off, uneven, and way too loud the higher I got.
When I got to Mattheoâs door, I knocked once, quick and sharp.
Nothing.
I frowned and knocked again, louder this time. âMattheo?â
There was a dull thud from inside, like something had hit the floor, then silence. A long, dragging pause that made my chest tighten.
Then his voice, rough and strained enough to make my stomach drop.
âGo away.â
I stood there for half a second, staring at the door, then just pushed it open anyway.
The room was dim, with the curtains only half drawn and the fire burned down so low it was barely more than a dull orange glow. The whole place smelled like potion ingredients and old parchment, with something sharper underneath that instantly made me think of Pepperup Potion. Clothes were tossed over a chair in the corner, and one of his textbooks was lying face down on the rug like heâd dropped it hours ago and just never bothered picking it back up.
Mattheo was in bed, propped against the headboard like he was trying way too hard to look fine. His dark hair was a complete mess, sticking up in different directions, and his skin was way too pale to be normal. There was a flush spread high across his cheekbones, but it wasnât the nice kind. It looked feverish. Off. Wrong. His eyes flicked up to mine the second I walked in, already full of irritation.
âDidnât I just tell you to go away?â
His voice came out rough and hoarse, scratchier than usual, and it didnât really match the attitude he was clearly trying to give me.
I shut the door behind me and looked him over. âYou look awful.â
âHow sweet of you,â he grumbled.
I crossed the room and dropped my bag at the foot of his bed. Up close, he looked even worse, which I honestly hadnât thought was possible. There were faint shadows smudged under his eyes, and when he pushed a hand through his hair, the movement was slower than usual, like even that tiny bit of effort was too much right now.
âWhy didnât you tell me you were sick?â
âBecause Iâm not dying,â he said.
Before he could stop me, I reached out and pressed the back of my hand to his forehead. His skin was ridiculously hot, enough to make me pull back almost right away.
My eyes narrowed. âYou have a fever.â
He caught my wrist and moved my hand away, but there wasnât any real strength behind it. âCongratulations on your miraculous discovery.â
Normally, that attitude wouldâve annoyed me. Right then, all it did was confirm what I already suspected.
Mattheo was miserable.
Not the dramatic kind of miserable where he could still make a scene out of it. Not the sort where he could complain and sulk and act like the world was ending just for attention. No, this was worse for him. He was actually sick enough to feel weak, and he hated weakness in any form. Hated how helpless it made him. Hated the idea of needing something from someone. Even from me.
That explained the glare, the clipped answers, and the fact that heâd apparently spent the whole day hidden away in bed like being seen like this was some kind of humiliation.
"Well..." I trailed off as I sat carefully on the edge of the mattress. âHave you gone to Madam Pomfrey?â
âNo.â
Shock.
âWhy not?â I scoffed.
âBecause I donât need Pomfrey fussing over me like Iâm a first-year with a stomachache.â
âBut itâs not just a stomach ache, Mattheo. Your cheeks⌠You lookâŚâ I trailed off, frowning at him properly now. The flush on his face looked worse up close, and there was this tired heaviness in his eyes that didnât belong there. I let out a quiet breath and shook my head.
âYouâre so ridiculous sometimes,â I said, softer this time, even if it still came out a bit sharp. âYou canât get better if you just lie here and pretend itâs nothing.â
âOh, shush. You adore me.â
I probably wouldâve smiled if he hadnât looked so exhausted after saying it.
Instead, I reached up and ran a hand through his hair, gentler than I usually was with him. The strands were warm against my fingers, soft in a way that made something in my chest ache. He went completely still for a second, and I felt it more than I saw it, the way he almost leaned into my hand before stopping himself like the instinct had slipped out by accident.
That tiny, automatic movement pulled at something in me harder than it should have.
For all his temper, Mattheo was terrible at being taken care of. He could be comforting in his own weird, quiet way when he wanted to be, but letting someone do the same for him was different. It made him restless. Guarded. Like, even a little bit of tenderness put him at some kind of disadvantage.
âDid you take anything?â I asked.
He gave a small nod toward the bedside table. A tiny glass vial sat there, half empty, catching the firelight. âPepperup. It tasted vile and did absolutely nothing.â
I reached over and glanced at it. âMaybe because you took one sip and then decided the potion had personally offended you.â
The corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile, but it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and let out a sharp breath, like even that much movement made everything worse. âDonât start. My head already feels like itâs splitting open.â
The teasing dropped out of my voice straight away. âOkay. Sorry.â
He lowered his hand and looked at me properly then. Under all the irritation, there was something raw in his expression, something stripped down and younger than he ever usually let himself look.
âI hate this,â he muttered.
He said it so quietly I almost missed it. The room had gone nearly silent except for the low crackle of the fire, and somehow that made the words land even harder.
My chest tightened.
âI know,â I said softly.
He looked away toward the curtained window, his jaw going tight again. âI canât breathe through my nose, my throat feels like sandpaper, and every time I move it feels like someoneâs taken a hammer to my skull.â His mouth flattened into a line. âItâs ridiculous.â
There was more bitterness in that last word than in everything else heâd said, and I understood straight away that he wasnât only talking about the fever or the headache.
To him, the whole thing was ridiculous. That something as stupid and ordinary as being sick could get him like this. Could leave him stuck in bed, feeling awkward and uncomfortable in his own body. Could make him snappy and exhausted and just off in a way he couldnât fully hide or control.
I reached for his hand where it rested on top of the blanket. His fingers were warm when they curled around mine, a little loose at first like he didnât have the energy for much more, but he still held on.
âYouâre allowed to be sick,â I said quietly.
His eyes flicked back to mine. âHow generous of you.â
âI mean it.â
He let out a short, humorless laugh and shut his eyes again. âThat doesnât make me hate it any less.â
For a second, I just looked at him.
Most people looked at Mattheo and saw sharp edges first. Easy threats. Dark looks. That constant sense of danger that seemed to follow him around even when he was barely doing anything. They saw the confidence, the cruelty he could pull out when he was angry, the way he carried himself like the world should know better than to get in his way.
I saw that too.
But I saw this, too.
The crack in the armor. The way the fever had worn him down enough that he couldnât keep every wall perfectly in place. The frustration he kept throwing outward because he didnât know what else to do with it.
It made my chest ache in a way I didnât really want to think about too hard.
âHave you eaten anything?â I asked.
He cracked one eye open like even that was too much effort. âNo.â
âMattheo.â
âDonât say my name like that.â
I frowned. âLike what?â
âLike Iâm being deliberately difficult.â
I just stared at him for a second. âYou are being deliberately difficult.â
His lips pressed together, and for one second, he looked so genuinely offended that I nearly laughed right in his face.
Instead, I squeezed his hand. âIâll go get you something from the kitchens.â
His grip tightened around mine straight away. âNo.â
I blinked. âNo?â
âNo.â He opened both eyes this time and looked at me with a faint frown. âJust stay here.â
The words sounded reluctant, like heâd had to drag them out of himself and already regretted saying them.
Something warm twisted low in my chest.
Mattheo didnât say things like that often. Not clearly. Not when he could hide what he meant behind sarcasm, arrogance, or some careless little comment that sounded like nothing unless you knew him well enough to hear what was underneath it. So hearing it said that plainly did something to me.
I softened immediately. âI can stay.â
Some of the tension left his shoulders, only a little, but enough that I noticed. His expression still looked annoyed, which honestly just made the whole thing worse in the best way.
âDonât look so pleased with yourself,â he muttered.
I tried to keep my face straight. âIâm not pleased.â
âLiar.â
I shifted further onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard beside him, careful not to jostle him too much. He looked at me for a second like he was deciding whether to tell me off, then seemed to realize he didnât have the energy for it. Good.
I reached over and picked up the vial from his bedside table, turning it between my fingers as the firelight caught against the glass. âWhen did this start?â
âLast night.â He swallowed and winced a little, like even that hurt. âI thought I was just tired. Then I woke up feeling like death.â
I glanced at him. âVery dramatic.â
âIâm being serious.â
âSo am I.â
That finally dragged a weak, crooked smile out of him. It was small and tired and gone almost as quickly as it came, and then he tipped his head back against the headboard with a quiet sigh.
I studied his face from the side for a second longer than I meant to. Even sick, he was unfairly pretty. Thick dark lashes. Sharp cheekbones. A mouth that was usually curled into something smug or cruel, now set in tired irritation. There was something about seeing him like this, all worn down and unguarded, that made me feel weirdly protective. Not just a little protective, either. Fiercely, stupidly protective.
I hated that heâd spent the whole day dealing with this alone.
âYou shouldâve sent for me,â I said after a moment.
âWhy?â
I turned to look at him properly. âBecause I wouldâve come.â
He went quiet.
Then, softer than before, he said, âI know.â
The certainty in those two words caught me off guard more than it shouldâve.
I looked back down at the potion vial in my hand, suddenly way too aware of everything hitting me at once. The worry. The affection. That stupid, helpless tenderness he always managed to drag out of me whenever he let his guard slip without meaning to.
Sometimes loving Mattheo felt like standing too close to a fire. It could burn. It probably shouldâve scared me more than it did. But once youâd felt that kind of warmth, stepping away from it felt impossible.
I set the potion back down and let my fingers brush lightly over his wrist. âDo you want me to get Blaise to bring you notes from class?â
âNo.â
âPansy?â
âDefinitely not.â His expression twisted faintly. âSheâll say something awful and then hold it over my head for the next ten years.â
âTheo?â
Mattheo actually seemed to think about that for a second. âMaybe. If he can keep his mouth shut for once.â
I gave him a look. âSo no one, then.â
âProbably no one.â
I shook my head. âYouâre exhausting.â
His mouth twitched. âAnd yet, here you are.â
âYes,â I said, before I could stop myself. âHere I am.â
Something changed in his expression at that. It was tiny, the sort of thing anyone else probably wouldâve missed, but I didnât. Some of the irritation eased out of his face, just enough for me to see the exhaustion underneath it and, deeper than that, something that looked a lot like relief.
He looked away first.
I pretended not to notice and reached down to pull the blanket a little higher over him. He let me do it, even if he rolled his eyes like he was somehow the one doing me a favor.
After a minute, I got up and conjured a cool cloth from the washbasin in the corner, wringing it out before bringing it back to him. When I pressed it lightly to his forehead, he hissed and flinched a little.
âToo cold?â
âNo,â he muttered, his nose wrinkling. âJust unpleasant.â
I sat back down beside him. âThatâs usually how these things work.â
He cracked one eye open at me. âYouâre enjoying this entirely too much.â
I couldnât help the small smile that pulled at my mouth. âIâm enjoying the fact that for once you canât get up and storm out when I annoy you.â
He turned his head to glare at me, but the cloth slid crooked over one eyebrow and completely ruined the effect. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
âCruel,â he said.
âTerrible, really.â
His eyes stayed on mine for a long second after that, and then, unexpectedly, some of the tension in his face eased. It was slight, but I saw it. He looked tired enough that it seemed to sink through his whole body, like he was too exhausted to keep fighting every little thing anymore.
âStay until I fall asleep,â he said.
The words came out low and rough, scratchy with exhaustion.
I didnât think he realized how much trust was hidden in a request like that.
Or maybe he did, and that was exactly why he kept staring at the blanket instead of looking at me.
I reached out and ran my fingers gently through his hair again, slower this time. âOf course.â
He shifted lower in the bed, grimacing once like even getting comfortable took more effort than it shouldâve. After a second, he finally settled back against the pillows. I moved with him, staying close at his side, one hand still in his hair and the other loosely tangled with his. His palm was burning against mine.
For a while, neither of us said anything.
The room was quiet except for the soft crackle of the dying fire and the occasional murmur of voices drifting up from the common room below. Outside the window, the lake threw that strange green light across the stone walls, making everything look dim and unreal. It made the whole room feel hushed and far away, like the rest of Hogwarts had faded out and left us alone in this one small pocket of stillness.
After a few minutes, his grip on my hand tightened once, then loosened again.
âI hate being like this,â he said, his eyes half closed.
I brushed his hair back from his forehead. âI know.â
âI canât even think properly.â
I glanced down at him. âThat explains some of your recent behavior.â
He made a quiet sound that mightâve been a laugh, or at least the closest thing to one he could manage right then.
I smiled anyway.
Then he said, so quietly I almost didnât catch it, âDo I look terrible?â
I stared at him for a second.
He opened one eye and looked immediately irritated. âDonât make it into something.â
It took actual effort not to laugh at how offended he already looked.
âYou look sick,â I said carefully.
His expression flattened. âThat bad, then.â
âMattheo.â
âI knew it.â
I leaned down before I could overthink it and pressed a kiss to his forehead, warm skin and all. âYouâre stubborn even with a fever.â
He went completely still.
When I pulled back, he was staring at me. His eyes looked darker somehow, softer too, like the irritation had slipped for a second and left something quieter underneath.
âYou kissed my forehead,â he said.
âYes.â
He looked genuinely offended by the whole concept, which almost ruined the moment if not for the color already warm in his cheeks. âThatâs humiliating.â
âNo, it isnât.â
âIt absolutely is.â
I had to bite back a smile. âYouâre being dramatic.â
âAnd youâre being awful while Iâm ill.â
âTragic for you.â
For a second, he just looked at me, and then a real smile finally pulled at the corner of his mouth. Small and tired, but actually real this time.
There you are, I thought.
That was what Iâd been waiting to see all afternoon. Not the attitude. Not the perfect composure he was always trying to keep in place. Just him, underneath all the irritation and stubborn pride.
His thumb brushed weakly over my knuckles. âYouâre very smug for someone sitting in a sick personâs bed.â
I huffed out a quiet laugh. âAnd youâre very needy for someone who told me to go away.â
He made a face like Iâd deeply offended him. âDonât use that word.â
âWhy? It fits.â
âIâm not needy.â
I just raised my eyebrows at him.
His expression darkened a little. âSay one more thing, and Iâll break up with you.â
I looked at him for a second, then snorted. âYou can barely sit up.â
âI can still end things.â
âNo, you canât. Youâre too feverish to be taken seriously.â
He stared at me for a moment, then muttered, âI hate you.â
But there was nothing sharp in it. No real bite. It was the same way he said half the things he didnât actually mean, with that familiar layer of attitude thrown over something much softer.
I threaded my fingers more securely through his. âNo, you donât.â
His eyes closed fully this time. âNo,â he murmured, his voice going quieter, softer with sleep, âI really donât.â
Something in me melted instantly.
I sat there and watched him as his breathing slowly evened out, the hard line of his mouth easing little by little. The irritation was probably still there somewhere, waiting for him when he woke up, but sleep softened it into something almost peaceful.
He looked younger like this. Less like the boy who walked through Hogwarts with a blade hidden behind every smile and more like someone whoâd just worn himself out trying to be untouchable all the time.
I kept running my fingers through his hair, slow and careful, until I was sure he was actually asleep.
Only then did I let myself really look at him and feel all of it at once, the full weight of the tenderness sitting in my chest.
It was almost ridiculous, in a way.
Out of every version of Mattheo that couldâve undone me, it wasnât the smirk or the temper or even that dangerous edge everyone noticed first.
It was this.
Mattheo sick and furious about it.
Mattheo asking me to stay without trying to turn it into an order or a joke.
Mattheo letting me see him when he was exhausted and miserable and nowhere near his best.
Maybe that was what love actually was, I thought, sitting there in the dim green light of the Slytherin dormitory with his hand still warm in mine.
Not just wanting someone when theyâre sharpest, prettiest, and hardest to reach.
Wanting them like this too. Half asleep, annoyed, feverish, and human.
Wanting to stay.
So I did.
When he stirred what mustâve been an hour later, flushed and frowning even in his sleep, I was still there. When I pressed the cool cloth back against his forehead and muttered that he was going to survive this terrible tragedy after all, he barely even opened his eyes before turning toward me on instinct.
That tiny movement, thoughtless and trusting, hit me so hard it almost hurt.
Heâd deny it later, obviously. Heâd wake up with enough energy to glare, complain, and act like he hadnât spent half the afternoon holding my hand like he needed the contact.
Iâd let him.
But as the green dungeon light faded toward evening and the castle settled into that quieter nighttime hush, I sat beside him and listened to him breathe and thought, with a certainty so simple it made my chest feel full:
Let him be irritated.
Let him be frustrated.
Let him hate every second of being sick.
Iâd still be here to push his hair back from his face, argue with him until he drank his potion, and stay until the fever finally broke.
Because for all his pride, all his temper, all those sharp impossible edges, Mattheo never asked for softness unless he really needed it.
And when he did, even like this, even reluctantly, I didnât think I could ever say no.
WHAT FEELS LIKE FOREVER // t. nott (Multi-Part) Pt. 4
RATING: R / 1.1K WORDS
Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (no gender-specific details)
+ SUMMARY - Mattheo and Enzo help you drag Theo back to his room after his drunken fight. Tension ensues.
+ WARNINGS - Language, tension, eventual smut
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Dandelion Wine - Gregory Alan Isakov
- - -
When Mattheo and Enzo had pulled Theo into his hotel room, you worried he might strangle the two of them. Youâd never seen him so angryâsober or not.
"Grab his armâno, damn it!" Enzo muttered as Theoâs swollen fist swung around, looking for another target.
They laid him down on his bed and each hissed directions at the other. Mattheo pulled Theoâs shoes off as Enzo loosened his tie and pulled his jacket off. Theo sat thereâstripped down to his dress shirt, trousers, and socksâsulking.
With a deep breath, you dropped to your knees against the bed and looked up at Theo. You found his shredded hands and cupped them safely within yours, cringing at the wet redness that coated his flesh.
The drunk man before you watched closely with parted lips as you held onto his hands like they were a lifeline. Your fingers touched the damaged flesh gently, careful not to provoke any pain. Your lips came down and ghosted across his cracked knuckles.
Theoâs blood was metallic against your teeth. It tainted your tongue with red. He watched so closely and so quietly, you were worried he might have fallen asleep.
Eventually, you pulled away but kept your eyes trained on your love's hands and the wounds that decorated them. Once you moved, Theo seemed to come back to life. The hand that had not yet been let go of reached down and angled your chin up. Your eyes met.
His thumb slid softly over your bottom lip, gathering his blood that stained, seeping into the cracks. You watched him through admiring eyes, waiting for every small touch that he gave you.
"So sweetâŚ," he whispered.
"Go to sleep, Theo," you smiled slightly, slowly pulling his hand away. You adjusted his position, resting his head comfortably on the pillow he hadn't brought to your room and tucking his feet beneath the sheets.
"Will you stay with me?" Theo gripped your shirt sleeve just as you pulled away. His fingers tightened in the material, reminding you once more of a young child.
You glanced around the room, noticing a shut door and the absence of a certain drummer and a guitarist. You hadnât noticed Enzo or Mattheo slip out.
You hesitated, dragging your eyes back to Theo. He was drunk, so anything he said didn't matter. Or, perhaps he did mean them and just would never think to say them while he was sober.
"Theo, IâŚ," you started, but quickly shut yourself up when you saw the look Theo was giving you. You couldn't say no.
"Yes, Iâll stay with you," you whispered to him, pressing one last kiss to his knuckles which already seemed to be bruising. "Letâs clean you up first, though."
You disappeared into the bathroom. After a moment, you located an embroidered cloth and ran it under the tap, making sure the water wasn't too warm or too cold. You wondered if Theo would continue to try and talk to you in his inebriated mindset, sharing secrets you were never meant to know. You felt bad for almost wanting him to do that.
You shut the tap off and brought it in to Theo, kneeling back down beside him. You cradled his hands again, gently running the damp cloth over his knuckles.
The drunk man winced slightly, clenching his eyes shut at the pain. You glanced up every once and a while, gauging his facial expressions in order to know where not to touch.
"'m sorry, Theoâtrying not to press too hard," you whispered soothingly, attempting to comfort the man.
Theo sighed and closed his eyes, letting you work in peace. You watched the cloth slide over his damaged flesh, seeing it soak up the blood. You couldn't possibly imagine why on earth the man had come after Theo and why he'd assumed he'd been messing around with his girl. Unless he had been.
Your hands halted, threatening to drop the cloth. The only thing that kept you from moving was the thought that Theo would never hear your confession; even if you told him. His ears and eyes would remain shut to your love forever until the day he died, and you would continue to love him until then.
"Whyâd you stop?" Theo asked, barely getting the words out. His eyelids looked so impossibly heavy and his breathing was becoming steadier and steadier.
"Sorry," you whispered, quickly finishing your work. Once you stood to dispose of the cloth, Theo had completely fallen asleep. Nothing short of heaven itself could wake him now. You smiled softly at this.
You reminded yourself to thank Mattheo and Enzo in the morning as you began undressing.
Your white dress shirt, trousers, and jacket were laid nonchalantly across the chair in the corner and you found yourself beneath Theoâs sheets.
Your eyes found him, watching his chest rise and fall with each sleepy breath. You hesitantly raised the hand that wasn't tucked under your cheek and traced it down his face.
You brushed a piece of hair behind his ear, gently gracing your skin with his. His cheek was soft and just as you expected; reminiscent of that of a younger boy just like everything else about Theo. It saddened you to think that these small things that reminded you of him, could just be a reminder of how violently his childhood had been ripped from him. Overbearing, controlling parents. Having to leave home to play his music. You let out a shuddering breath.
Theo took in a deep breath and shifted a bit closer to your touch, feeling the warmth of your body radiating through the sheets. Your hand came back down by your side, allowing him to bury himself as deeply within you as he needed to.
You wanted to wrap your arms around him, sleeping so close to you, but you kept yourself from doing so. It took everything in your power not to wake him up and whisper sweet nothings into his ear, making him believe that you loved him whether or not he wanted to.
ŕ¨ŕ§ HP CHARS GETTING JEALOUS BECAUSE A KID COMPLIMENTED YOU
ŕš summary: title â smau , fluff , anon req. hp masterlist
đŕ§ featuring @ Lorenzo Berkshire, Sirius Black, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Fred weasley, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Theodore Nott, Cedric Diggory, Oliver Wood, Severus snape, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Barty Crouch Jr, Regulus Black, Newt Scamander, Theseus Scamander, Neville Longbottom, And Bill Weasley (in order)
im tweakin â I JUST NOTICED THE MISTAKE W THESEUS MB YALL
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ŕ¨ŕ§ HP CHARS WHEN YOU SEND THEM A PIC OF YOU WEARING A WEDDING GOWN
ŕš summary: title â smau , fluff , anon req. hp masterlist
đŕ§ featuring @ Lorenzo Berkshire, Sirius Black, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Fred weasley, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Theodore Nott, Cedric Diggory, Oliver Wood, Severus snape, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Barty Crouch Jr, Regulus Black, Newt Scamander, Theseus Scamander, Neville Longbottom, And Bill Weasley (in order)
anon: â Can u make one where hp character reacts to the pic of u wearing a wedding gown (probably of ur mum's/cousin's) â
ŕš summary: title â fluff , smau. hp masterlist
đŕ§ featuring @ Lorenzo Berkshire, Sirius Black, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Fred weasley, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Theodore Nott, Cedric Diggory, Oliver Wood, Severus snape, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Barty Crouch Jr, Regulus Black, and Newt Scamander (in order)
anon: â THEM WHEN THEY TRY AND TEXT READER AND SHE REPLIES "She's busy rn" BUT IT KEEPS GOING LIKE SHE STAYS IN CHARACTERS LIKE "She's w me rn" "You dont need to know who I am" "Chill bro she's having fun" LIKE YKYK SERIOUS JEALOUSY EHEHEHHE â
ŕ¨ŕ§ HP CHARS WHEN YOU TELL THEM YOUR PERIOD IS LATE(as a prank)
ŕš summary: title â fluff , smau. hp masterlist. â tw: pregnancy scare(?)
đŕ§ featuring @ Lorenzo Berkshire, Sirius Black, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Fred weasley, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Theodore Nott, Cedric Diggory, Oliver Wood, Severus snape, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Barty Crouch Jr, Regulus Black, and Newt Scamander (in order)
anon: âSo apparently I got my period today and had this thought that how hp characters will react on pranking them abt reader got their period late lmaooo can u make one plsâ â a/n: I DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO START THIS OFF BUT I HOPE THIS WORKS
ŕ¨ŕ§ HP CHARS WHEN YOU TELL THEM SOMEONE HURT YOU (physically)
ŕš summary: title â fluff , smau , anon req. hp masterlist
đŕ§ featuring @ Lorenzo Berkshire, Sirius Black, George Weasley, Ron Weasley, Fred weasley, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Theodore Nott, Cedric Diggory, Oliver Wood, Severus snape, Hermione Granger, Pansy Parkinson, Barty Crouch Jr, Regulus Black, and Newt Scamander (in order)
I APOLOGIZE FOR DOING THE ASKS/REQ SLOWLY LOL IM WORKING ON THE NEXT ONE
The library was silent, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears and made every small sound reverberate louder than it should. Dust floated lazily in the shafts of candlelight, soft motes drifting like suspended stars. The air was heavy with the dry tang of parchment and the faint musk of leather bindings, that old-library scent that always seemed to settle in your lungs.
You were curled over your textbook, quill poised but useless, ink bleeding into a dark blot where you hadnât moved in minutes. Your eyes followed the lines of text, but not a single word took root in your mindânot with him there.
Mattheo sat close, too close, his shoulder brushing yours every time he shifted. That casual contact sent jolts up your arm, even as he pretended not to notice. His scent curled around you, dizzying and warm: smoke clinging to his clothes, spice from some cologne he probably didnât even remember putting on, and beneath it all the sharper note of leather that always seemed to follow him. It was maddening, like every inhale was a reminder that he was right there.
You could feel the heat radiating off him, the way his thigh almostâbut not quiteâtouched yours, a constant tease in the sliver of space between you. His quill scratched steadily across parchment, his focus seemingly unshakable, and it only made it worse. How could he write so calmly when your heart was stuttering, when every nerve in your body seemed tuned to the sound of his breathing?
Then his hand slid under the table. Warm. Steady. The brush of his knuckles grazing the bare skin of your thigh beneath your skirt was so subtle at first you thought you imagined it. But the heat was undeniable, spreading like fire from the point of contact.
Your quill slipped in your hand, ink streaking across the parchment in a crooked line. The scratch of the nib against paper was far too loud in the heavy quiet of the library. You froze, pulse hammering, every thought scattering.
Mattheo didnât move his hand away. If anything, his touch grew bolder, dragging slowly back up, the edge of his fingers leaving gooseflesh in their wake. He didnât look at you, didnât acknowledge itâhis eyes stayed trained on his textbook, quill gliding with effortless ease, as though he wasnât undoing you with the slightest movement.
Then, at last, he tilted his head just enough to catch your expression from the corner of his eye. That faint smirk tugged at his lips, lazy, knowing, infuriatingly sure of himself.
âYou dropped your quill,â he murmured, voice pitched low, husky with amusement. His hand squeezed, a gentle pressure that carried the weight of a promiseâor a warning. âDistracted, darling?â
âKeep writing,â he whispered, his voice a low hum against your ear, each word curling down your spine like smoke. âDonât let me distract you.â
But his fingers pushed higher, steady, unhurried, like they already owned the path they took. His knuckles nudged your skirt further up your thighs until the cool air of the library licked at skin you hadnât meant to expose. Thenâdeliberately, maddeninglyâhis hand found the heat between your legs.
You stiffened, quill trembling in your grip as his fingers pressed against the thin fabric of your knickers, the slow drag of his touch making your breath catch. He traced the damp patch blooming there, feather-light, teasingâdrawing circles that made your thighs twitch open before you even realized you were yielding.
The scratch of your quill across parchment sounded uneven, betraying you, the ink stuttering just like your breath. Mattheo chuckled low in his chest, the sound a soft vibration against your ear. âYouâre soaking through them already,â he murmured, voice velvet-dark. âAnd Iâve barely touched you.â
He pressed more firmly, parting you with the pad of his finger through the fabric, the friction unbearable in its restraint. Your hips jerked despite yourself, a muffled gasp escaping that you instantly bit down on.
âShhh,â Mattheo cooed mockingly, his free hand sliding up to your wrist, guiding your quill back to the parchment when it faltered. His lips brushed the shell of your ear, hot and smug. âBe a good girl. Keep writing.
âMattyââ you breathed, voice breaking on the whisper, but before you could say more, his other hand slid over yours, catching your trembling fingers and pressing the quill firmly back onto the parchment. The nib scratched a shaky line, the ink blotting as his grip forced you to keep writing.
âNone of that,â he murmured, his lips brushing so close to your ear that the warmth of his breath made your skin prickle. âDonât make a sound. Donât stop. You donât want anyone finding out how desperate you are under this table, do you?â
The pressure of his hand guided yours in a steady line across the page, feigning composure you didnât have. Meanwhile, his other hand slipped beneath the damp fabric of your knickers, fingers finally breaching the barrier with devastating ease. He groaned quietly when he felt just how wet you were, the sound low and dark against your neck.
His fingers teased along your folds, slow, lazy drags that kept you teetering on the edge of frustration, circling but never giving you exactly what you needed. Your hand shook violently under his as you tried to keep writing, the words on the page dissolving into nonsense.
Mattheo smirked against your skin, teeth grazing your jaw. âYou canât even spell your own name right now, can you? Pathetic little thing.â His finger slid inside you with deliberate slowness, your walls fluttering around him, pulling another strangled gasp from your throat. His palm muffled it, covering your mouth before the sound could escape.
âShow me how smart you are, hm?â he breathed against your ear, voice honey-dark. His finger curled inside you, deliberate, knuckle pressing deep as his thumb stroked a slow circle over your clit. âAnswer the next question while I make you fall apart.â
Your eyes blurred over the ink-stained parchment, the letters swimming as you tried to focus. The question in front of you was a simple oneâsomething about defensive spellsâbut your lips parted uselessly, no sound coming out.
Mattheoâs smirk curved wider against your skin. âThought so,â he murmured, thrusting his fingers deeper until your thighs shook against the edge of the chair. âNot so clever when youâre dripping all over my hand, are you?â
You choked on a gasp, biting down hard on your lower lip to keep the sound in. His palm pressed harder against your mouth, forcing silence even as your body bucked into him.
âCome on, pretty girl,â he coaxed, voice low and mocking. âSay the answer. Prove to me youâre still that perfect little know-it-all⌠or admit youâre just my mess now.â
Another curl of his finger had you whimpering into his hand, your quill dragging a desperate, jagged line across the parchment. His thumb pressed tighter, faster, the rhythm building heat that had your body trembling violently against his.
Your heart stuttered. The words blurred on the page as his fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding you slick. He groaned softly, lips brushing your temple.
Your pen shook in your grip, ink blotting into a dark, ugly stain on the parchment. Your breath caught, a sharp hitch in the suffocating silence of the library.
He dragged a slow circle over your clitâbarely there, the lightest pressure, maddening in its restraint. The tiniest movement, but it sent shockwaves tearing through your nerves, had your thighs twitching helplessly against the chair.
âEasy,â Mattheo whispered, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, velvet-soft. âSo jumpy. So sensitive.â His finger never sped up, never pressed harderâjust that steady, unbearable circle, enough to make you ache but not enough to bring release.
The scratch of your quill faltered again, hand trembling as you tried to keep writing. The letters bled into one another, illegible nonsense. You wanted to shove the parchment away, to surrender, but his grip on your wrist was unyielding, forcing the act of composure even as he tore it from you.
âRead it out loud,â he ordered, nodding to the page. His dark eyes glinted, sharp and possessive. âDonât you dare stay quiet on me now.â
Your hands shook, quill trembling as it hovered over the parchment. The ink smudged beneath your fingers, illegible lines blurring into chaos. Your thighs twitched involuntarily under his teasing fingers, his slow, deliberate pressure making your body betray every attempt at composure.
âIâI canâtâŚâ you stammered, breath shallow, pulse hammering in your ears.
âYes, you can,â he countered, his voice low and firm, the kind of tone that brooked no argument. His thumb circled lightly over the most sensitive part of you, just enough to make your spine arc, your body quake in silent desperation.
You forced your lips open, the words coming out in a trembling, breathless stream, each syllable shaking as he watched, his gaze like fire on your skin. The scratch of your quill against parchment became secondary, insignificant compared to the pressure building inside you, the unbearable heat of his hand that had you trembling, trying to keep control while failing spectacularly.
âPathetic little whimpers in between every answer,â he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear, warm and insistent. His voice was low, velvety, each word dragging over your skin like a caressâand a promise.
âMerlin, youâre so perfect,â he continued, his thumb pressing harder, circling with cruel deliberation. âLook at youâso clever, so obedient, letting me ruin you with my fingers while you try to study.â
Your quill wobbled in your grip, ink blotting across the page as your body betrayed you, hips shifting involuntarily against him. Every syllable you read aloud trembled, breath hitching in time with the precise teasing of his touch.
Mattheoâs free hand found your jaw, tilting your head so your focus was back on the page. âDonât stop,â he murmured, teeth grazing your earlobe. âKeep going. Answer the questions. Read. I want to hear your voice breaking for me, even as you pretend to be in control.â
You shivered, trying to force focus, but his thumb traced a slow, maddening rhythm, pressing you into edge after edge, making every line of text blur, every word crumble.
Another thick finger slid inside, slow at first, deliberate, and your head fell back against the chair, a soft gasp escaping before you could stop it. Your back arched without thought, quill rattling in your trembling hand.
His hand was quick to cover your mouth again, palm firm and warm, pressing against your lips as though claiming them for himself. The faint scent of smoke and iron from his clothes mingled with the sharp tang of your own arousal, grounding you even as it set your nerves aflame.
âAh-ah. Quiet.â His voice was silk and gravel, each word dragging over your skin and pulling every nerve taut. You froze mid-breath, trembling beneath him, caught between desperate need and the sharp sting of restraint.
âYou want to come, donât you?â he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear, the vibration of his words sinking deep into your chest. His fingers pressed inside you, slow and deliberate, circling, curling, teasing the very edge of your control.
Your quill wobbled, parchment trembling under your grip as your body betrayed every effort at composure. Hips jerked, thighs pressed involuntarily against his hand, and the soft, muffled whine that escaped you made him chuckle low and dark.
âAnswer me,â he whispered, landing a small smack to your clit before resuming his thumb, brushing over your clit with maddening patience, âor Iâll stop. And you know you donât want that.â
You nodded desperately, body trembling, clenching around his fingers as if your life depended on it. A strangled gasp escaped, muffled against the palm covering your mouth, and heat bloomed between your thighs, curling up into your belly.
He chuckled low and dark, a sound that vibrated through your chest. âOf course you do. Greedy girl.â His thumb pressed harder against your clit, dragging in merciless circles, teasing and punishing at once, his fingers now pushing in and out in a punishing rhythm, pushing you closer and closer to the edge you didnât want to admit was already trembling beneath him.
âCome for me, princess,â he murmured, voice silk and steel, teeth grazing your earlobe. âCome all over my fingers, right here in this library, where anyone could see if they looked too close.â
Your body jerked involuntarily, spine arching as a rush of heat and need pulled you over the edge. Fingers tightened around his, quill slipping from your grasp, parchment forgotten. You bit down on his hand, muffling the sharp whine that tore from your throat as your body shuddered violently, riding the wave heâd coaxed with every deliberate stroke and tease.
Every nerve screamed, every muscle clenching and releasing, and he held you through it with a steady, merciless rhythm, guiding you past the edge again and again until your body was entirely his to command.
His fingers slowed, tracing feather-light circles over your sensitive flesh, coaxing out the last tremors as your spine arched and then sagged, finally collapsing boneless into the chair. Quill slipped from your hand, ink smudging across the page, forgotten, while your breaths came in ragged, uneven bursts.
Mattheo pulled his hand away, slick and glistening on his fingers, and without hesitation popped them into his mouth, the wet sound echoing faintly in the heavy silence of the library. The movement was casual, almost innocent, but it made your stomach twist and your cheeks burn all at once.
He leaned down then, brushing his lips against your cheek as if nothing had happened, as if the tremor still racing through your body were nothing but a quirk of the candlelight. His eyes met yours, dark and smug, glinting with mischief and satisfaction, and your chest tightened, caught between disbelief and want.
âSee?â he whispered, low and velvet-dark, licking the rest of your taste off his fingers with a groan that sent heat crawling down your spine again. âKnew you were clever. My perfect girl always does her homework.â
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HELLO Iâm so glad to see your still writing after all the bullshit life has put you through and honestly your motivation to keep writing despite how busy you probably are is actually inspiring.
I absolutely adored fwb Mattheo and was wondering if you could write another more spicy one of he and reader sneaking around and almost getting caught?
TYYYYYYYY đŤśđŤś
Thank you so much for the kind words! I know this took forever to get to, but I hope you enjoy!
Almost Caught
Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader
Warnings: unprotected sex, public sex, cussing
18+ Minors DNI!
It'd been months of sneaking around with Mattheo. There was no reason to tell anyone, and the sneaking around was so much more exciting.
He had dragged you into the quidditch locker room after practice this time-risky, but that was half the fun. He was still drying off from his after-practice shower, hair still wet and skin still warm from the hot water. Hands were all over you, yanking your shirt over your bra and bunching your skirt up just enough to pull of your panties.
He picked you up easily, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing your back against the back row of lockers. He slid inside you as both of you moaned. You'll never get over the stretch of him inside you.
He had only managed fucking you for maybe 2 minutes before the locker room door opened. You both froze, listening carefully to the person who entered. Persons. Fuck, there were at least three talking loudly, one you recognized as Theo, maybe Enzo was one of the other people? You weren't paying attention when Mattheo decided to start thrusting again, covering your mouth with his hand.
It wasn't fast and rough, but slow and deep-the kind that made your eyes roll back. And it made all concerns of being caught fly out the window. You couldn't care less if one of those guys walked around the corner and saw you and Mattheo like this.
The only thing that brought your attention back was the mention of Mattheo's name. One of them had asked where Mattheo was.
"I didn't see him leave yet." Theo said, a locker slamming shut just on the other side of the lockers you were against.
"Maybe he's still in the shower." The one voice you don't recognize said.
The door to the showers was only a few feet away from you, and you heard footsteps walking towards it.
"I'm getting dressed here! Can you give me a moment?" Mattheo suddenly spoke up, voice clipped like he was hoping it would stop everyone from coming around the corner.
"Oh, my bad! Yeah, dude, we'll see you later." The voice that you thought was Enzo said.
"Yeah, later." Mattheo mumbled, pausing until he heard the voices retreat and locker room door shut, waiting only 2 more seconds before fucking you like he did before they entered. "Fucking hell."
I just read pretty and pliant and I live for the idea of Mattheo being like kinda pervy with u once your actually his. like I feel like he's the kind of guy that will always make you cum before he lets himself, and I have this idea in my head of him taking you to shower together after ruining you with his mouth, leaving him unsatisfied, and instead he watches you shower, dealing with his problem himself if you're catching my driftđ
Shower
Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader
Warnings: Mentions of oral sex(female receiving), masturbation
18+ Minors DNI!
You were panting by the time he was done. Sweaty, panting, covered in a mix of sweat, his saliva, and your own juices. You felt so satisfied, wrecked in the best way possible. But in the most desperate need of a shower.
You didn't even have to tell Mattheo, the look on your face was enough. So he got up to start the shower, making sure it was hot enough by the time you got there. He helped you up and walked you over to the shower, helping you under the water. It felt wonderful, exactly what you needed.
And also what Mattheo needed, apparently. He was hard-painfully hard. Has been since he started eating you out, but that was about you, not him. So while you started cleaning yourself, Mattheo made sure he was out of your way in one of the corners, finally relieving some of the tension in his cock. He stroked himself slowly at first, but that didn't last long. Not when he saw the shampoo bubbles being rinsed out of your hair and sliding down over your tits like they were just trying to draw his attention there.
So his hand sped up while his other hand reached out, cupping one of them gently, giving a small squeeze before letting go to give you space to continue your shower.
But his hand found your body again when you turned around and he just had to grab your ass. He laughed at your little squeal when he spanked you, lightly, just once.
But, Merlin, just looking at you was enough of a visual to get himself off with, and it really didn't take him that long when you started soaping down your body and his eyes went right back to your tits. Wet, soapy tits he'd love to feel against his dick, and that fantasy is what made him cum, shooting it right onto the shower floor with a groan that brought your attention to him, enjoying watching him fall apart this time.