rot is a slut

Mattheo Riddle seemed to cameo just a bit more over the course of the next month. You had begun to feel closer with your new friends, spending more time with the group and individuals both inside and outside of school hours. You had learned Blaise was incredibly skilled in potions whereas Draco was not. And curiously, when you were paired with the infamously argumentative Lorenzo Berkshire in Advanced Magical Botany, you learned he knew quite a bit about flora because of a special interest he’s had from childhood.

But Mattheo Riddle, that elusive man, he never seemed to reveal anything about himself. Always a noticeable arms length away from the rest of the group, never speaking more than he has to. But when he does. Its like the whole world stops breathing. His words carry immeasurable weight, and when he speaks, you all know to listen.

You’ve always assumed it’s the burden on his name that makes his tongue drip with power.

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Maybe what your instructors growing up always said was right, curiosity killed the cat. You weren’t even a drinker, or you hadn’t been up until Mattheo Riddle had pushed the solo cup into your hand. Just barely over the electronic drone of the aggressively loud music, you could hear those weighed down words hit you like a hammer over the head.

“Drink,”

And by god did you.

It felt like the world melted away with each drink you shared with Mattheo. Honestly, you did most of the talking. Nearly all of the talking save some inquisitive hums and “what?”s when the music drowned out your slurring words.

At some point you had too much to drink, and you slumped against his body as he escorted you to the dorms. He didn’t once complain about how you drooled a little on his shoulder, too drunk and tired to bother closing your slack jaw.

You cant really remember what happened after that, but you have the faintest memory of being tucked snugly into bed. That was the first time you looked at Mattheo a little differently.

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Mattheo was there for your first time getting high too. In fact it was only you and him. It was a late October weekend, the air cold as the sun set over the countryside, and one by one each of your friends departed as the darkness settled in.

Then it was just you and him.

And honestly, at this point, you weren’t even nervous to be around him.

You started chatting at him like you had learned to do, filling the silence with a mundane comment about an in-season constellation. He nodded along, digging around in his jacket pocket, fishing out a lighter and what you had only assumed was a fucked up cigarette.

You scrunched your nose at the initial smell upon spark, eyeing him with slight judgement. You had assumed Mattheo, like his buddies you witnessed indulging more often, partook but you had just never seen it for yourself.

He lazily passed you the joint, and waggled it slightly in his fingers, imploring you to take it. And thus you did, taking a slow, tentative drag from the filter.

After coughing like an unsocialized ipad incel, which i’ll spare you the details of for your own sake. But the feeling afterwards? God theres nothing like it.

Your whole mouth and throat and lungs felt oily, and felt like with each breath you took you brought in less air.

Mattheo didn’t seem to mind the feeling at all though, not chuckling or picking fun at your coughing or watering eyes. In fact, he just grinned a little bit, in a genuine manner.

“I didn’t know you were a little pothead,”

“Oh, I’m not.”

“Mhm…”

“This is actually my first time—“

“Oh shit.”

That night lasted longer than any night you had experienced before. As the drugs settled into your system, and noticeably Mattheos, the conversation flowed like no other you had ever had with Mattheo. His once curt, and yet somehow always clever, remarks became full on paragraphs about whatever came to mind. It was the first time you genuinely saw him for who he was.

You talked about the stars, about future careers, about the economic state of the wizarding world. You spent hours laughing, doubling over in the hallways trying to stifle giggles even as the two of you walked to the dormitories. You never made it there though, and that was the first all-nighter you pulled.

Late night smokes with Mattheo grew more and more common over the course of the year. Sitting on the floor of his room, your room, the common room, sparking up in the overwhelmingly large hallways for gloomy pictures with Theodore’s camera.

You would wake up; spend your day with Mattheo, spend most of your night with Mattheo, and then go to sleep. Rinse and repeat everyday, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

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The first time you tried shrooms was with, surprise, Mattheo Riddle. You writhed on his bed as you came up on your high, only 10 minutes after saying “this edible ain’t shit”. Your blood literally felt like it was vibrating underneath your somehow tight skin, your whole form shaking, and finally…

Ecstasy.

God what a feeling. You laughed and giggled over some nature documentary Mattheo had put on earlier. One thing led to another, your hands exploring the hard surface of Mattheo’s arms and chest, and you kissed Mattheo for the first time.

Your bodies tangled together naturally until you didn’t know where yours began and his ended. That was the first time Mattheo Riddle put his head between your thighs, slowly lapping at the soft, soaked folds of your pussy. His toned, veiny hands pawed at the meat of your thighs, pushing them apart and pulling them together around his head or up to your chest. That was the first time Mattheo Riddle had made you come.