warnings: the slytherins suck at quidditch for a sec there☹️, actually nauseating amounts of fluff, & slight pda!
summary: the boys lost a quidditch game. puff is apparently their emotional support human?
word count: 892
a/n: hi guys! this is lowkey so ass i’m sorry💔 i moved apartments this week and had a midterm only in college do you have to pay $1.05 for a dumb scantron bro😒 anyways, i hope you enjoy my lovelies! 💌
the game had been a complete disaster, even you could begrudgingly admit that. not that the boys hadn’t fought their hardest, they always did, but gryffindor’s recently appointed captain ginny weasley had come out with new tricks— tricks that you weren’t sure were totally ethical, but genius nonetheless. the new strategy, mixed with the heavy rain and goyle getting removed for a nasty foul, had led to an almost embarrassing loss.
the drenched mud squelched noisily beneath your feet as you made your way to the changing rooms. you knew that mattheo would still have the boys on the field even after the crowds departed, reflecting and overanalyzing every minuscule thing that went wrong. even though you weren’t the biggest fan of goyle, your heart went out to him right about now.
leaning against the splintered wood of the locker room, you waited patiently under the cover, watching as the last light drops of rain drizzled out until all that was left was an earthy smell and a dampness to the air. the last of the lingering students made their way back to the castle, their chatter and laughs echoing behind them until all that was left was a still silence.
only then did the boys emerge from the field in long, angry strides, drenched with clenched jaws and a hardness to their eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. you stood straighter, noticing how mattheo, theo, enzo, draco, and blaise were grouped together at the front, the rest of the team and their reserves sulking behind them. mattheo turned slightly to say something to goyle, his fist flexing at his side, and you saw the first few letters of the word CAPTAIN displayed across his green back.
they made their way closer, still lost in tense conversation until enzo and you met gazes. he stilled for a brief moment as you gave him a sheepish smile and small wave, and then softened and nudged mattheo’s shoulder with his own, head tilting in your direction. mattheo paused whatever he was saying, following enzo’s line of vision until his eyes met yours.
and then, for the first time since he’d left you early in the morning, he felt his shoulders begin to loosen and his fists begin to relax, muscles losing their tension at the mere sight of you. his throat worked as he muttered something to theo, who nodded and repeated it louder. the rest of the team dispersed then, walking past you like beaten dogs into the locker room with their eyes on their feet.
the boys made their way over to you, appearing calmer than they had a moment ago. “hi guys.” you greeted, gentle, and mattheo’s arms came to wrap around your waist, pulling you into him with a deep sigh and resting his head on your shoulder, not caring of the audience watching. the boys rolled their eyes, used to his mindless pda, and offered you a mixture of hellos.
“bad game?”
a series of groans and comments rang out. you smiled, straining your ears to listen to their individual comments.
“fucking weasley.” draco, obviously.
“i almost killed goyle, puff, i swear.” theo.
“complete waste of time.” blaise.
“hooch acted like we were invisible.” enzo.
and of course, mattheo, who tightened his grip on you and mumbled bitterly into your skin, “‘t was a shit show.”
“okay then.” it came out as a light laugh, and you watched as the boys got amped up again and chatted vehemently, save for theo who just began cursing in italian. your hand came up absentmindedly to tangle in mattheo’s soaked curls as you listened. he melted into you like his body was made out of jello, and you giggled.
it continued on like that for a couple of minutes, you chiming in with the occasional comment when one of them would look to you for your take, making your heart warm inside of your chest. you entertained them until you finally couldn’t watch another one of them pretend not to shiver at the cold seeping into their bones. only then did you pull away from mattheo, who looked at you in betrayal, and order them to go shower and warm up.
despite the couple of complaints on how they weren’t children, they listened because it was you and you were in mom mode and they all were pretty cold. they all made their way into the changing rooms, drenched and looking slightly pitiable, all but mattheo.
“you’re freezing, matty.” you frowned, rubbing your palm up and down where it rested on his icy arm. “just a minute more, okay?” he asked, somehow entangled with you again, his dark eyes trained on yours. you sighed, and a small okay parted from your lips despite yourself, your body turning pliant against his.
your hand came up unconsciously to brush away a stray curl that had fallen into his face, your lip twitching at the way mattheo closed his eyes and rested his face into your palm, exhaling and planting a kiss on the inside of it.
“needed this.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.” it was a whispered brush against your skin, like a branding that you’d feel for hours after the moment had passed.
“i’m not going anywhere.”
with that promise warm in his soul and your body wrapped around his, the cold couldn’t reach mattheo if it tried.
the fluffiest little drabble, as requested (500ish) ♡
ˋ°•*⁀➷
Despite a few hushed whispers, barely audible over the soft sound of piano music, everyone's attention was fixed on the front of the room where, in the dim light of hundreds of floating candles, Pansy and Draco held hands and spoke sacred words to each other.
You smiled, your heart heavy with emotion, as you watched your best friend join her life with Draco's in an unbreakable vow.
You felt a swell of happiness at how sweet and sacrosanct the moment was, completely in awe of the beauty of it; weddings were always emotional, but this was the first for your group of friends, and in many ways it felt like it marked the start of a new chapter of your lives.
You glanced down the row of seats to see each of the boys dressed impeccably, dazzlingly handsome in their tuxedos. Blaise and Theo were watching intently, though Theo was tugging at his collar, and Enzo was slouched in his seat, arms crossed, impatiently waiting for the open bar at the reception though even his gaze was locked on the couple at the front of the room.
Finally, your eyes came to rest on the boy next to you. Mattheo was sitting rather unusually still, breathing calmly with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips that made your heart flutter. It was nice to see that despite all of their antics, there might be something in each of these boys that made them realize how special this was.
Your attention was pulled back as Draco began to speak his vows. He was the picture of calm, but you knew him well enough to hear the shake in his voice, his nerves.
"I pledge to honor you, love you and cherish you today and every day. Today I say 'I do' but to me that means 'I will'. I will stand by your side in the good and the bad. I bind myself to you, your happiness, your success, and your smile."
In a moment you felt the warmth of Mattheo's attention and turned to see him looking at you as Draco's soft whispers continued, though Mattheo didn't look away, instead, he was searching your face, drinking you in, like perhaps he was imagining saying those same words to you one day.
You blushed furiously as you felt goosebumps rise on your skin and your breath caught in your throat.
"I promise to be your guiding light in the darkness, your protector, a warming comfort in the cold, and a shoulder to lean on when life is too much to bear on your own."
Mattheo smiled at the words as he looked at you, eyes twinkling, like he was saying them to you in his mind, like he was sure, now, that that's exactly what he wanted you to hear him say. You felt tears line your eyes.
"You are my every dream come true. And if you give me your hand—"
Mattheo extended his palm to you subtly, mirroring the vow with one of his own. You glanced down and gently set your palm in his, tangling your fingers together as he grasped you tightly.
"—I will give you forever."
Your eyes lifted to his in surprise, but he didn't so much as flinch, instead, he let his smile swell on his perfect lips in a way you felt somewhere deep in your chest as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze.
His mind flickered for just a second to the small velvet box tucked in the back of his dresser, of the emerald and diamond ring inside of it, and then he tugged you toward him, pulling you close as he ducked his head, his lips softly brushing your ear as he whispered, "I love you pretty girl."
In which you refuse to believe a man like Mattheo riddle could be obsessed with you and are immediately proven wrong by the man himself.
Oblivious!fem!reader x Mattheo Riddle
Words: 854
A/n: lowkey kinda hate this but here ya go guys
“No.” You say definitively, arms crossed over your chest as a frown graces your lips. “Stop trying to bullshit me, enzo.”
Lorenzo makes a sound of indignance, pouting at you like you’ve truly hurt his sentiments.
“Y/n, don’t do this to me. I’m telling you, that man is utterly obsessed with you.” He insists, leaning down to get all up in your face like the annoying bastard he is. You scoff, pointedly shoving at his chest for distance. His grin is unrepentant even as he stumbles back, like he’s daring you to prove him wrong.
“Why am I friends with you?” You sigh.
“Because I’m a right handsome bloke,” he flounders and you roll your eyes.
Lorenzo had been behind you lately with his ‘theory’. It was an absurd creation of his mind, and he insisted that Mattheo riddle liked you. Well in his words, Mattheo riddle was obsessed with you.
Yeah right.
“Okay, so let’s assume I believe your shit for even a minute.” You say, eyes narrowed. “I’ll still need definitive proof, enz.”
“Proof!” He agrees, and you mentally chide yourself. He looks like he has proof, with the way he’s grinning. Merlin help you.
Lorenzo clears his throat theatrically, arms wide open as he starts to say, “he sits beside you in every lecture, which is weird since you’re a nerd and you talk everyone’s ears off—“
He’s properly cut off by you smacking the back of his head.
“Ow!” He yelps, rubbing his head with an injured expression. “You’re a cruel woman.” But he bounces back with his theory.
“So yeah, he listens to you talk. He never listens to anyone, like, anyone. I’ve only ever seen him glare, but his lips twitch when he looks at you!” He rambles, arms flapping like a bird’s.
“Enzo..” you grumble, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“He’s totally obsessed with you, I swear—“
“Who’s obsessed with who?”
Enzo freezes. You glance up and fight to keep your mouth closed. Mattheo stands behind enzo, arms crossed, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Who’s obsessed with who, Lorenzo?” He asks again, sharper and lorenzo visibly gulps.
“I..um well. You see, Mattheo, there are many people in the school obsessed with other people, makes you wonder if it’s a love potion? Or teenage harmones? Or—?”
Lorenzo is the worst liar in history and you’re growing red with second hand embarrassment. Mattheo looks unimpressed at his blabbering, glancing at you briefly like ‘how do you deal with this?’
Lorenzo flounders, and ends up just spitting it out.
“You’re obsessed with Y/n!” He says, loud enough to make several heads turn in the hallway. You have half a mind to hex your loud mouth friend, but Mattheo’s nonchalance throws you off kilter.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding like it checks out. “And?”
What. The. Fuck. ?
You blink, letting your mouth hang open as you straighten up, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Enzo gives you a look, smug asshole, and withers just a bit under Mattheo’s glare.
“Nothing..” he mumbles. “Nothing at all, Mattheo.”
“What do you mean nothing?” You scoff, stepping forward. “Don’t play into his delusions! I thought you were above pranks, Mattheo.”
Mattheo looks at you like you’re the one being unreasonable and it boils your blood.
“Y/n,” he says, voice quieter, lacking its usual edge as his eyes soften. “I thought it was obvious?”
Lorenzo takes a step back, letting you and Mattheo be face to face and hides a snicker behind his mouth. You both ignore him.
“I’ve been so bloody obvious? I sit with you in class everyday, I bloody smile at you! I don’t smile at someone unless their making a fool of themselves. And dammit, love, how have you not figured it out?” He says, running an agitated hand through his hair.
“She’s hopelessly oblivious.” Enzo chimes in helpfully.
“No,” you glare at him. “I’m just..” but yeah, enzo might be right on this one. You’re an idiot. Your neck grows hot at the thought and you groan, burying your face in your hands.
“You’re not pulling my leg?” You ask meekly, glancing at him from behind the gaps of your fingers. “You like me?”
“A bit too much, if I’m honest.” Mattheo chuckles, reaching forward to pry your hands from your face. “But in case you need me to spell it out..”
He pulls you closer, his hands firm around your wrists as he tugs you to his chest.
“Hogsmeade?” He whispers, dark eyes boring down at you. “Tomorrow, four o clock?”
“Yeah,” you exhale, your fingers catching his robe sleeves to steady yourself. Lorenzo hollers from behind you. You both ignore him. Again.
“It’s a date.” He grins, and dear Merlin he’s right. He never really does smile at anyone except you. Not like that. Not really.
It’s safe to say, Lorenzo is a royal pain in your ass after Mattheo walks off. But for once, you don’t swat him away for his comments. Because for all your obliviousness..it’s a good thing Mattheo’s bold, and obvious as hell for the woman he wants.
Summary: You ask Mattheo to let you into your boyfriend Tom's dorm room because you accidentally left your homework there last night. You both try to enter the dorm only to discover a charm that Tom has left on it.
Warnings: Fluff. Possessive Tom.
A/N: It's inspired from the Fourth Wing Series.
————————————————————————
You heard your footsteps echo as you made your way to the Slytherin common room, trying to find your new boyfriend, Tom Riddle.
He'd agreed to help you with your Potions homework last night, only for you to forget it on his desk the next morning while you hurriedly searched for your skirt that had been discarded on Tom's floor the previous evening.
You had a free period before Potions, giving you a chance to retrieve it before Snape handed out detentions.
"Please be there. Please be there."
You muttered to yourself as you hurried into the common room. You knew how particular Tom was about his personal space, especially his dormitory, so you didn't want to enter without permission.
Instead, you found the younger Riddle, Mattheo, and Theodore sitting by the fireplace, arguing over a chessboard.
Mattheo noticed you first.
"Hey, sweetheart... looking for someone?"
"Have you seen Tom?"
"Hmm, no. I think he has DADA right now."
"Shit."
Mattheo turned toward you.
"Is something wrong?"
"I left my Potions homework in his dorm, and Snape's going to kill me if I don't have it. I'm pretty sure Tom's dorm has some kind of lock on it too..."
"Sweetheart,"
Mattheo said, getting to his feet
"He's my brother. I'm pretty sure I can get you into his dorm. Come on."
Mattheo abandoned Theodore and gestured for you to follow him. He stopped in front of Tom's dormitory door.
"Here we are."
But the moment Mattheo placed his hand on the doorknob, he was sent flying backward into the wall.
"Mattheo! Are you okay?"
Mattheo groaned before pushing himself upright.
"I'm fine. Tom must've charmed the door so only he can get in. That possessive little shit. He sent his own brother flying into a wall."
You groaned.
"I cannot fail this assignment, Mattheo."
Before you could think better of it, you reached for the doorknob yourself. Mattheo winced, clearly expecting you to be launched across the corridor.
Instead, the door opened with a soft click, revealing Tom's pristine dormitory. Your assignment sat neatly on his desk.
"Blimey," Mattheo murmured. "That bastard..."
"Saying something, my dear brother?"
Tom's voice suddenly came from behind you.
"Tom!" you yelped, jumping in surprise.
"You really charmed your dorm so only your girlfriend can enter? Your charm sent me flying into a wall. Whatever happened to brotherly love?"
Mattheo crossed his arms.
Tom wrapped an arm around your waist.
"Brotherly love is not hexing you the moment you touch the knob. If it were anyone else, they'd be cursed. You should be grateful."
Mattheo muttered something about "evil brothers" before walking away.
"Wait," you said, turning back to Tom. "You really charmed your dorm so only you and I can enter?"
"Of course I did."
Tom sounded genuinely confused by the question.
"No one is allowed in my dorm. Well-except you, love."
"Why would you do that?"
"I want you to be comfortable in my space, sweetheart. It's yours now, too. Besides, it teaches people to stay out of my room, don't you think?"
He guided you inside.
"Now, did you actually need something, or did you just decide you wanted to snoop around?"
"Potions!" you exclaimed, suddenly remembering. "I forgot my Potions assignment!"
You rushed to his desk and grabbed it.
"I'll see you this evening?"
"Of course you will, darling. Otherwise, I'll simply have to come find you."
He kissed you before letting you hurry off to class.
SUMMARY: Soulmates shared everything. Including scars. When Umbridge's detentions begin exposing soulmate pairs throughout Hogwarts, one bloody sentence on the back of your hand changes everything.
A/N: For my lovely, wonderful @obsessedwithceleste. Astra loves Cel and hopes this came out good<3
Tagging: @delulugirl2000
Soulmate AU
The soulmate bond had always been cruel in its honesty.
From the moment you were born, your soulmate’s scars appeared on your skin like quiet promises. A small scrape on your knee at age six. A faint burn on your forearm from some childhood accident. Tiny, whimsical marks that told you somewhere out there, someone was living.
You were both sorted into Slytherin in first year. You and Mattheo Riddle had been in the same friend group since then — you, Mattheo, Theo, Draco, Blaise, Enzo, Pansy, and Daphne.
No one knew who their soulmate was yet. The scars were still small and meaningless.
Until the summer before fifth year.
Voldemort had returned. The world was darker. And one night, you stood in front of your mirror at home, staring in horror at the new scars that had bloomed across your back — thin, angry lines like someone had been whipped or cursed.
You traced them with trembling fingers, heart aching for whoever was on the other end of this pain.
You didn’t know it was Mattheo.
Fifth year brought Umbridge.
The pink toad took over Defense Against the Dark Arts and quickly turned it into a nightmare. Detentions became frequent. Her quill wasn’t just a writing tool — it carved the words you wrote into your skin with blood.
The first time Enzo got detention, Susan Bones showed up the next morning with the exact same cut on her hand. The soulmate reveal spread like wildfire.
You tried to stay out of trouble.
But one afternoon, you spoke back when Umbridge insulted Harry.
Detention was immediate.
That evening, you returned to the Slytherin common room with fresh, stinging words carved into the back of your hand:
I must not support liars.
The common room was nearly empty — most people were still at dinner.
You sat by the fireplace, cradling your bleeding hand, trying not to cry.
Footsteps echoed from the boys’ dormitories.
Mattheo came down the stairs, absently scratching at the back of his own hand with a scowl.
When he saw you, he froze.
His eyes dropped to your hand.
The exact same words were carved into his skin, still fresh and bleeding.
The air left the room.
Mattheo’s face went pale.
He crossed the room in seconds, dropping to his knees in front of you.
His hand reached out, hovering over yours like he was afraid to touch you.
“...It’s you,” he whispered, voice cracking.
You stared at him, tears finally spilling over.
All those years.
The small scars on your knees. The faint burn on your arm. The thin lines that had appeared across your back last summer — Mattheo’s scars.
And now this.
“You’ve been carrying my scars this whole time?” you choked out.
Mattheo looked wrecked.
He gently took your injured hand in both of his, staring at the bloody words like they were a curse.
“I thought...” His voice was hoarse. “I thought my soulmate was someone else. Someone who didn’t have to see all the ugly parts of me. The scars from my father. The ones from... after he came back.”
You lifted a hand to cup the side of his face.
“I saw them,” you whispered. “The ones on your back. The one across your ribs. I’ve had them since last summer. I stayed up all night wondering who was hurting so much.”
Mattheo let out a broken sound and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck.
You clung to him just as tightly, both of you shaking.
“I’m sorry,” he rasped against your skin. “I’m so fucking sorry you got stuck with me.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, cupping his face.
“I’m not,” you said fiercely. “I’m not sorry it’s you, Mattheo.”
He stared at you for a long moment, eyes glassy, before pressing his forehead against yours.
“All this time,” he breathed. “I’ve been hating the world... and you’ve been walking around with my pain on your skin.”
You gave him a watery smile.
“And you’ve been carrying mine.”
Mattheo kissed you then — desperate, trembling, full of six years of unspoken everything.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, breathing you in.
“I'm not hiding anymore.” he whispered. “Not from you. Never from you.”
You nodded, tears still falling.
“I'm not, either.”
He gently lifted your bleeding hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it, right over the cruel words Umbridge had carved.
Then he stood, pulling you up with him.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go clean this up. I’ve got scars to take care of now.”
You smiled through your tears and let him lead you toward the dorms, fingers intertwined.
For the first time, the scars didn’t feel like burdens.
They felt like proof.
Proof that even in darkness, you had found each other.
Steam curled around you, hot water cascading down your spine, but it did nothing to erase the evidence Mattheo had left behind—dark bruises painting your throat, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts. You cursed under your breath, fingers pressing into the sore marks in a feeble attempt to rub them away. Needed to cover this shit up before Theo saw. You hadn’t meant to drop that truth on Mattheo like that.
The smugness in his face when he thought he was your first, the cocky little smirk like he’d won something, only for you to completely shatter his ego. His face had shifted in real-time, it had been fucking priceless. You wished you had a Pensieve to relive it over and over.
You pulled your towel tighter around yourself and leaned closer to the mirror, dabbing concealer over the worst of it. It wasn’t enough. Fuck. You were already late to breakfast as it was, Enzo was probably just now rolling out of bed, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being hunted for sport first thing in the morning.
Meanwhile, in the Great Hall, Mattheo was in the middle of a different kind of hell.
Mattheo sat stiffly, forcing himself to focus on his food while across from him, Theo and Draco were locked in some intense Quidditch strategy debate. Blaise was muttering something about fucking Chasers, and Enzo was running late—probably just waking up now, the lazy bastard.
But Mattheo barely heard any of it. His mind was elsewhere.
More specifically?
He was thinking about you.
Your legs wrapped around his waist. Your nails digging into his skin. The sounds you made, the way you came apart for him—
And that fucking bombshell you dropped after.
"Did you really think I’d lose my virginity to you?"
His jaw ticked. Because the answer was yes. He had thought that. You sold it perfectly—the hesitation, the wide eyes, the fucking tightness—but you hadn’t. You’d already lost it to Theo.
And Mattheo had to sit across from him right now and act normal.
Fuck.
"Oi, you get laid last night?"
Mattheo’s fork froze mid-air.
Theo’s voice was casual, teasing, like it was just another morning, just another question. His sharp gaze flicked down to Mattheo’s collar—where, fuck, maybe a little bruise was peeking out—and then he smirked down at his plate, laughing as he loaded on more food.
Mattheo forced himself to relax, to breathe, to fucking play it cool.
He rolled his shoulders back, feigning nonchalance. "Some Slytherin legacy," he lied smoothly. "Sixth year. I forgot her name."
Theo snorted, "Merlin, must’ve been some girl if she’s got your neck looking like that."
Mattheo needed to redirect. He needed to know.
"So," he started, voice casual. "She’s really a virgin?"
Theo arched a brow, chewing thoughtfully. Then, after swallowing, he shook his head, a smirk playing at his lips.
"Nah," he said, tone smug. "Her and I were each other’s firsts."
And just like that, Mattheo felt his stomach drop.
Fuck. He had known the answer. You had told him. But hearing it from Theo’s mouth? That was something else.
And Theo knew it.
Satisfaction gleamed in his sharp eyes as he leaned back, clearly relishing the moment, clearly enjoying the way Mattheo’s jaw ticked.
"She was so wet," Theo continued, voice dipping into something almost reminiscent, smug and taunting. "When I ate her out, she does this thing—" he exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "She’ll try to push you away as soon as she’s about to cum. So fucking hot."
Mattheo gripped his fork tighter.
Blaise let out a low chuckle. "mate, you’re gonna make Riddle choke on his food."
Draco snorted and Theo just smirked.
"Nah, he’s good," he said, eyes still on Mattheo, reading everything in his expression.
But Mattheo forced his face into neutrality, kept his lips curled into a mocking smirk, as if he wasn’t internally seething.
"She can cum more than once, too," Theo continued, taking a bite. "First time we fucked—"
Mattheo froze.
First time?
So it wasn’t just a one-time thing?
Oh, fuck that.
Theo was still talking, oblivious to the way Mattheo’s eye twitched. "Didn’t last long—first time and all—but mate, the time after that? And after that?" Theo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "She can last all night."
Mattheo clenched his jaw, forcing himself to smirk, forcing himself to nod, to act like he wasn’t visualizing slamming Theo’s face into the fucking table.
That comment. That fucking comment.
Because last night, you had looked him dead in the eye and laughed, mean and pretty, and said—Next time, try lasting longer. And now? Now he knew.
It had been Theo.
And not just once.
Fucking multiple times.
Mattheo forced himself to exhale, to calm the fuck down. He was not going to let Theo see that this was getting to him. He was not going to let his ego take that hit.
But fuck.
Fuck.
He couldn’t stop picturing it now—the visual of you under Theo, back arching, thighs trembling, mouth parted around desperate moans—
His nails dug into his palm.
Theo grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "What about you, mate?"
Mattheo blinked, snapping himself out of it. "What?"
Theo gestured at his collar. "Your sixth-year legacy. She good?"
Mattheo smirked laughing,"Wouldn’t you like to know?"
Theo laughed. "Not really. I doubt she can take it like our girl can."
Our girl.
Mattheo’s grip tightened.
And then, as if the universe really fucking hated him—you walked in.
Late, as always, hair still damp from your shower, your lips slightly swollen from where you’d been chewing on them, collar high but not high enough.
Theo’s gaze flickered up, locking onto you immediately.
Mattheo could feel the moment his friend’s eyes landed on the faint bruises still peeking out from your throat.
His smirk froze as his eyes narrowed.
And then—like the smug bastard he was—he leaned back in his chair, lips curling into something wicked.
“Well, well,” Theo mused, dragging his tongue over his teeth. “Looks like somebody had a long night.”
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move as casually as possible toward your usual seat next to Theo. If you acted normal, maybe—just maybe—you could brush past this.
"Sorry, overslept," you lied smoothly, grabbing a piece of toast.
"Mm," Theo hummed, swirling his spoon in his coffee. "Overslept? Or overworked?"
Your stomach dropped.
Blaise, catching onto the tension, looked between you and Theo, then at Mattheo, who was still suspiciously quiet. Draco, as always, seemed unfazed, focused on some Quidditch play he was detailing, but even he seemed to sense that something was brewing.
You forced a laugh, shoving a bite of toast into your mouth as if that would somehow defuse the situation. "What are you on about?"
Theo leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough for only you and Mattheo to hear. "Y’know, you’re usually good at covering them," he mused, reaching out to flick the collar of your robe. "Usually.”
Shit.
Mattheo's entire body went rigid beside you. You didn’t dare look at him.
Theo, oblivious to the storm he was about to unleash, grinned before taking a sip of his coffee. “So, who was it?”
You blinked. “What?”
“Who left those pretty little marks on you?” Theo asked, tilting his head, voice edged with something dangerously close to amusement. “Because it wasn’t me.”
Silence.
Mattheo finally spoke, his voice low, smooth—but laced with something sharp beneath it.
“You sure about that, mate?”
Theo’s grin faltered.
You sucked in a breath, stomach twisting.
Oh, fuck.
For the first time, Theo actually looked at Mattheo—really looked at him. He took in the barely-hidden tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped against the table with practiced patience, his brown eyes darker than usual.
Then, realization hit.
Theo’s smirk dropped completely.
His head snapped back to you, eyes narrowing, searching, flickering between your bruised throat and Mattheo’s lazy posture. His gaze dragged down to Mattheo’s shirt collar—barely unbuttoned but just enough to catch the faintest hint of red scratches near his neck.
He laughed.
A dry, disbelieving laugh as he ran a hand through his hair. “You didn’t.”
You stayed silent.
Mattheo, on the other hand, simply leaned back in his seat, smirking now—full of smug arrogance. "Guess we have more in common than I thought."
Theo’s jaw clenched.
"You're joking," Theo muttered, shaking his head, the disbelief quickly being replaced by something else—something closer to irritation.
Mattheo tilted his head, fake innocence dripping from his voice. “Why would I joke about that?”
Blaise muttered something under his breath, looking like he definitely did not want to be here right now. Draco, finally cluing into the situation, raised a single brow but wisely stayed silent.
You could feel the tension crackling between the two boys.
Theo scoffed. "Since when do you fuck leftovers, Riddle?"
Blaise choked on his pumpkin juice.
Mattheo barely reacted, only tapping his fingers against the table once before exhaling a soft chuckle. "Leftovers?" he repeated. "That’s funny. She didn’t seem too full last night."
Theo’s eyes flashed.
Your heart dropped.
"Oh, really?" Theo drawled, his smirk back, but this one was meaner—sharper. “Let me guess, she did that thing where she pretends she can’t take any more but really wants you to keep going?” He clicked his tongue. "Cute, isn't it?"
Mattheo's smirk faltered as Theo grinned.
Checkmate.
You, meanwhile, were trying very, very hard to pretend like the ground might just swallow you whole.
Blaise sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Can the two of you not have a dick-measuring contest at breakfast?”
“Not my fault,” Theo said, leaning back, arms crossed. “I just think it’s hilarious that he thought she was a virgin.”
Mattheo’s smirk disappeared entirely.
“Oh, he did?” Blaise mused, suddenly interested.
Theo nodded, clearly enjoying himself now. “Oh, yeah. He thought he was the first to break her in.” He turned back to Mattheo, feigning concern. “Was she good for you, mate? Or did she already know exactly how to take it?”
A muscle in Mattheo’s jaw twitched.
Theo grinned wider, leaning in closer, voice taunting. "Guess I did teach her well."
Mattheo moved so fast, you barely registered it.
One second, he was seated. The next, he had grabbed Theo’s collar, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart.
"Say that again," Mattheo spat, voice eerily calm.
Theo didn’t even flinch. Instead, he laughed, low and cocky, eyes flickering toward you before settling back on Mattheo.
“What’s the matter?” Theo was smug. “Can’t handle the fact that she was already mine before you even touched her?”
Mattheo’s grip tightened.
Your stomach twisted.
Draco sighed. “For fuck’s sake.”
"Alright, alright, break it up,” Blaise muttered, reaching out to push Mattheo back slightly. “You two are gonna start swinging, and I swear, I am not in the mood to watch you get detention over this.”
Mattheo finally let go, shoving Theo back roughly before exhaling through his nose, nostrils flaring.
Theo smoothed his collar, clearly pleased with himself.
You, however, were done.
Slamming your fork down, you stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. "Both of you," you snapped, voice low but sharp. "Get your fucking egos in check." leaving the great hall more pissed than ever.
You slammed the door to your dorm behind you, heart still hammering in your chest.
Fucking idiots.
You couldn’t believe them—Theo, with his smug little taunts, practically poking Mattheo just to piss him off, and Mattheo, falling for it like an arrogant, possessive prick.
Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, tugging it off with more force than necessary. You weren’t even fully undressed before the door swung open behind you.
“Seriously?”Mattheo’s voice was dark, low—dangerous.
You didn’t turn around, just rolled your eyes, tossing your robe onto your bed. “If you came here to throw a tantrum, Mattheo, I’m not in the mood.”
He scoffed. “Oh, you’re not in the mood?”
You arched a brow. “What was that?”
Mattheo took a step forward, and you instinctively took one back. “Theo just sits there, talking about you like you’re some trophy he won, and you don’t even flinch?”
“You do the same shit,” you shot back. “Don’t pretend like your ego wasn’t bruised the second you found out you weren’t the first to fuck me.”
His jaw clenched. “Does he know you came for me last night? Does he know how wet you were for me?”
Before you could open your mouth, another voice cut through the tension.
“D’you two always argue like this after fucking?”
Your head snapped toward the door.
Theo leaned against the frame, arms crossed, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. Unlike Mattheo, he still looked completely composed—like he had walked in expecting this exact moment.
Mattheo didn’t move, just exhaled through his nose. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Theo shrugged. “Call it curiosity. I wanted to see what had you so riled up after breakfast.” His gaze flickered to you, slow and deliberate, eyes dragging over your half-undone uniform. “Looks like I found my answer.”
He walked towards the both of you with an eased slowness that made your pulse spike.
"You’re gonna fix it."
Your breath hitched.
"Fix it?" you echoed, voice dangerously light.
Theo leaned in, mouth brushing your ear.
"You’re gonna let us both fuck you."
The room shrank. Your heart slammed against your ribs, a wild staccato of disbelief and arousal. Theo’s presence behind you was suffocating, his fingertips ghosting over the nape of your neck. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension simmering between the three of you so thick it left you lightheaded.
“You wanna fix it, don’t you?” Theo’s voice was honeyed sin, coaxing. “You wanna make it up to us.”
Theo pressed closer from behind, his body solid against yours, a quiet hum of approval slipping from his throat. “Come on, princess. Be a good girl and say it.”
Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs. You should say no. You should push them away, leave them standing there with their smug smirks and dangerous eyes.
But you wouldn’t. Because you wanted this.
You swallowed. “You two can’t go five minutes without trying to kill each other,” you said, but your voice lacked conviction.
Theo hummed. “That’s part of the fun.”
Then, Mattheo finally spoke. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”
Your breath hitched. “Thinking about what?”
He stepped closer, backing you against the wall, his voice dropping to a whisper. “How it would feel.”
You could lie. You could push them away. But the way they were looking at you—Mattheo’s gaze dark and commanding, Theo’s filled with knowing amusement—you knew they wouldn’t believe you.
Your lips parted. No sound came out.
Theo chuckled. "That’s what I thought."
Mattheo's grip slid from your chin down to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch. "Use your words, sweetheart," he murmured, voice low and rough.
Your thighs clenched.
Fuck.
"Both," you finally admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Theo’s fingers gripped your waist, yanking you flush against him. His hard cock pressed into the curve of your ass through his trousers, and he knew you could feel it. “You have no fucking idea what you just agreed to, princess,” he murmured against your ear, voice dark and dripping with promise.
Mattheo’s fingers curled under your chin, forcing you to look at him. His mouth crashed against yours, devouring you, his hands already working on the buttons of your blouse. Theo’s hands fisted in your hair, tugging your head back so he could watch. “So fucking needy,” he muttered.
Your blouse hit the floor.
Theo turned you in his grip, claiming your lips this time, his tongue sliding against yours in a filthy, desperate kiss. Mattheo’s hands were rough as they gripped your waist, sliding down to your skirt, yanking the fabric up over your hips.
“Fuck,” Mattheo growled. “She’s soaked.”
Your breath hitched as he dragged his fingers over the damp lace of your panties, pressing down just enough to make you whimper.
Mattheo groaned, fingers curling under the waistband of your panties, ripping them down your legs.
You gasped. “Mattheo—”
“Shut the fuck up,” he growled, shoving you back against Theo. “Get on the bed.”
Theo grabbed your waist, manhandling you onto the mattress, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you up onto your knees.
Theo’s belt hit the floor with a heavy thud, his sharp gaze locked on you as he shoved his trousers down just enough to free himself. His cock stood thick and flushed, a bead of precum glistening at the tip as he stroked himself lazily.
“Open your mouth, princess.”
Your breath hitched, but you obeyed, your lips parting as he guided himself forward. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you steady as he slid between your lips, hissing at the warmth of your mouth around him.
“That’s it,” Theo murmured, his voice low, rough. “Just like that.”
Behind you, Mattheo’s hands gripped your hips, his body flush against yours as he guided his cock through your soaked folds, teasing you with shallow, taunting thrusts.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re still so tight, baby. Thought Theo would’ve stretched you out by now.”
You whimpered around Theo’s cock, the sound making him curse, his fingers tightening in your hair.
Theo groaned. “She’s always tight.”
Mattheo exhaled a laugh, then thrust into you all at once.
A whimper tore from your throat, muffled around Theo’s cock as Mattheo filled you to the hilt, stretching you open with one deep stroke. Your nails dug into Theo’s thighs, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming fullness.
“Fuck,” Theo gritted, his head tipping back. “You feel that, Riddle? Feel how she’s squeezing you?”
Mattheo groaned, fingers bruising your hips as he pulled back and slammed into you again. “Tight as fuck.”
They set a rhythm that had you unraveling too fast, Theo’s slow thrusts in your mouth syncing with Mattheo’s brutal pace behind you. Your body rocked between them, pleasure blinding, each snap of Mattheo’s hips sending you forward onto Theo’s cock.
Tears streaked down your cheeks as Theo wiped a thumb across your cheekbone, his smirk sharp as he forced you to take him deeper.
“Look at you,” Theo murmured. “So desperate for it.”
Mattheo’s hand cracked against your ass, making you yelp around Theo, your walls clenching hard around Mattheo’s cock.
“Oh, she likes that,” Mattheo taunted, slamming into you harder, deeper. Theo laughed, guiding your head up and down his length, groaning as your throat tightened around him. “Gonna cum for us, princess?”
You moaned in response, your body tightening, teetering dangerously close to the edge. Mattheo could feel it, too, his grip becoming bruising as he fucked you harder, his rhythm growing erratic.
“That’s it,” Mattheo groaned. “Cum for us.”
The orgasm slammed into you, a choked cry leaving your lips as your body shook, pleasure crashing over you in thick, hot waves.
“Fuck, that’s it,” Theo growled, his own restraint snapping as he buried himself deep, his cock pulsing as he came, his grip on your hair tightening as he held you still, spilling down your throat.
Mattheo was seconds behind, slamming into you one last time before he groaned your name, his fingers digging into your hips as he emptied himself inside you, warmth spilling deep.
Theo was the first to move, slipping from your mouth with a satisfied hum, swiping his thumb across your lips to gather the last remnants of himself before pushing it back into your mouth.
“Good girl,” he praised.
Mattheo pulled out with a groan, his hands shaky as he slid his fingers over your hips, pulling you back against him for a slow kiss on your neck. Theo’s chest heaved, his gaze fixed on you as he caught his breath, still trying to get control of his own erratic pulse.
Mattheo and Theo had collapsed beside you, catching their breath, fucked-out and satisfied. You looked up at them both, your body tingling from the aftershocks, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed.
You licked your lips, letting the silence settle for a moment before humming softly, tilting your head.
“That’s all you got?”
Theo barked out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Are you serious?”
Mattheo narrowed his eyes. “Cute?” he repeated, voice laced with something dangerous.
You stretched out, making a show of it, skin still burning from where they had touched you. “Yeah. Real cute. You boys put in a good effort.”
Theo snorted, shaking his head. Mattheo, though? He leaned in, gripping your chin between his fingers, “Princess,” he murmured, voice all gravel and threat. “You’re gonna wanna shut the fuck up.”
Your grin was wicked.
“Oh?” you purred. “Or what? You’ll fuck me properly next time?”
Theo let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck, you’re insane.”
Well this had been fun, but now you were done. Sitting up, massaging your neck slowly, voice flat, uninterested.
"Alright. Time’s up. Get the fuck out."
Mattheo’s grin twitched. Theo barely reacted, just tilting his head like he was waiting for you to crack a smile.
"You’re serious?" Theo muttered, sitting up.
You gave him the most unimpressed look known to man.
"You thought I was gonna fall asleep in your arms or some shit?"
Mattheo’s jaw clenched, running a hand through his messy curls. "You’re actually throwing us out."
You barely spared him a glance.
"Clothes are over there. Door’s right there. Don’t make me say it again."
Theo let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head as he stood, stretching like this was all some big joke. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, grabbing his shirt off the floor.
Mattheo, though? He wasn’t laughing. He stayed put, gaze burning into you like he was trying to decipher some hidden meaning in your words.
You met his stare, arching a brow. “What?” feigning innocence as trailed your finger down his sweat slicked chest.
Mattheo scoffed, shoving your hand away before grabbing his shirt off the floor. “You’re a fucking nightmare.”
Theo, already at the door, sighed. “Alright, lover boy, let’s go before she bruises your ego any more.”
Mattheo lingered for a second longer, eyes raking over you, searching for something—anything—that suggested you might be playing at indifference. But you just stared back, cool, unreadable.
With a low curse, he turned on his heel, yanking the door open. “You know where to find us,” he tossed over his shoulder.
You didn’t reply. Didn’t watch them leave. Satisfied with yourself, already reaching for a cigarette on the nightstand.
pairing : fem reader x slytherin gang x golden trio.
warnings : SMUT (in the next chapter), tom can read minds, female reader, reader is a virgin, they’re all infatuated with her, ron and draco are really touchy with each other, reader is a pureblood and a rosier, but no physical characteristics are included.
a/n : please let me know if you enjoyed this, it motivates me to write more and faster. also, i really wanted to include smut in this part, but i didn’t want to rush it and make it bad. love 🤍
────── ☾ ──────
“you don’t look too good” a deep, low voice said from behind you, and you immediately turned to see its owner. not that it was needed.
you hummed, incredulous. “nice to see you too, draco.”
he only laughed at your dismissive attitude and sat down next to you. his eyes scanned the paper you were almost ripping into, and he searched for your gaze, silently asking you to let him look at it. “what kind of idiot would even take muggle studies? it’s optional” he nodded slowly, making you feel even dumber. “you don’t have to take it.”
huffing, you took the paper back and tried your best to ignore him, as if that would make him go away.
“okay, sorry” he mumbled, scratching the tip of his pen against a plain piece of paper, his eyes avoiding yours. “i just. i would’ve never taken it. ever. and take that from someone who’s good at every subject.”
and that made you finally snap. “okay, you’re so good at everything! congrats on that, dimwit!” you spat at him, rolling your eyes as you felt your blood boil. “you think i’d actually take this class on my own accord?! think again.”
draco fell silent at that. you were right, you were a pureblood after all. and your family would go crazy if they found out about you taking this class. so that only left him one option - his eyes lit up. “you like a mudblood” he said with disgust, making a face that you were so familiar with already.
and you wanted to lie to him and tell him it’s not true, but your cheeks reddened and you tried to hide it with your hair, but it was no use. draco knew you like the back of his hand. “oh, merlin!” he stood up from the chair, mouth open wide, but instinctively curling into a scowl when madam pince shushed him.
“which one is it? is it riddle, please say no” “no, draco… why would i even take muggle studies for him? he despises muggle-borns. he doesn’t even like his own grandmother since she’s the reason he’s a halfblood.”
draco made a realisation sound, but his eyebrows furrowed. “you know an awful lot about this guy.”
“i only spend like half of my time with you lot. and mind you, the other half i’m sleeping.”
your words didn’t do anything to him, though. only made him fall deeper into thoughts. why was he comfortable enough with you so that he could be himself, yet you weren’t?
you looked up at him curiously, noticing his nails tugging at the thin skin on his knuckles, and you couldn’t help but place your hand over his, that causing draco to look up at you as well. “what?”
he was visibly more relaxed under your touch, but you could tell that he didn’t expect it. you were not too touchy, especially with him. “do you wanna go back to the common room? you look tired.”
but he shook his head, dragging his chair even closer to yours. “no. no, i’m just fine” he whispered whilst trying his best not to yawn.
you smiled to yourself. he was a cutie when he wanted to be. or when he wasn’t trying so hard to make other people feel bad. “i’ll go with you. i’m done here anyway. i think i’ll try to get help from an actual muggle-born.”
he didn’t really let it show, but he was grateful. either you did it because you were tired too, or for him, he was more than content when you took his hand and dragged him behind you back to the common room.
🤍
yet when you arrived to the common room, with draco basically glued to your side, you almost prayed that it would be quiet. it was anything but that.
loud chatter could be heard all the way down the hallway, and as you whispered the password, you could even distinguish the voices.
“oh, look who’s here!” lorenzo basically threw himself at you two, kissing your cheek and squeezing draco closer to him. yet, he only let go of you, keeping the younger boy wrapped around his body.
you took the opportunity and plopped down on the sofa next to a visibly tired theo. he shot you a lazy smile which you returned, your hands resting on the back of the sofa. “i’m fucking tired.”
“poor baby. you stayed late studying again?” blaise cooed at you and your brows shot up hearing his voice, not even aware of his presence until then.
you whined quietly, your eyes closing for a mere moment. “yeah. i think i might need hermione’s help though. i don’t think i’ll be able to do it on my own anytime soon.”
“granger’s help?” theo seemed more awake now, and your words made even tom put his book away. “what for? i’m sure it’s nothing draco couldn’t help you with.”
draco hummed softly from beside you, head resting against enzo’s chest as he looked just about three seconds away from falling asleep. “she’s taking muggle studies.”
you gave him a dirty look that you’re not sure he even caught, judging by his eyes being more than 80% closed by then.
though, around you, strings of questions followed. “oh, dolcezza, what for?” theo was the first one to ask, a gentle smile on his face.
to be fair, you weren’t sure why. you just found yourself wanting to know more about muggle-borns. you were concerned about their abilities. of course, other reasons ensued.
you sighed. “i’m just really curious. how can a muggle do magic? how can some of them be even better at it than us?” you paused, opening your eyes to look at them. “do you ever think about that?”
“i always thought that they’re not really muggle-borns. just adopted by clueless muggles” mattheo shrugged, taking a drag from his joint.
tom looked at his brother with something that you could only call disdain, before he looked at you, your eyes locking. “distant ancestors is my humble guess” his tone had a bite to it, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you.
maintaining eye contact, you felt as if he was eating you alive with just his eyes, gaze so intense that it made your knees give out. “that’s what the books say” you agreed, slightly startled when theo’s head dropped on your lap, your fingers almost instinctively going to play with his soft curls, the boy humming with appreciation.
you smiled down at him. “what do you say, teddy?”
“whatever you wanna do is fine by me, amorina” he replied a bit too quickly, his long, slender fingers rubbing at your knee.
that made you snicker, and you relax against the sofa, closing your eyes again. you didn’t hear much after that as you drifted off. but you surely remembered someone’s arms wrapping around you and carrying you to your prefect dorm.
🤍
you woke up with a headache the next day, and your owl delivered a letter - oh no. you wanted to postpone opening it, but you had no chance as it opened on its own, your mother’s high pitched, obnoxious voice ringing in your ears.
“y/n rosier! how dare you embarrass us this way??! taking muggle studies?! might as well put a knife in my heart. i don’t care about extra points, as long as you’re risking all of our lives - if the dark lord is made aware of this nonsense, he’ll have our throats! if you put another toe out of line, we’ll bring you STRAIGHT HOME!”
sighing, you ripped the parchment into pieces and threw your bag over your shoulder. you knew it was coming, you just didn’t know who told them.
walking down the stairs, you were met with a pair of curious eyes - they probably heard it all. how could they not?
“what was that about?” a confused blaise came to stand beside you, placing a hand at the small of your back as he walked with you out of the common room.
“my mother” you looked straight ahead as you walked, an unreadable expression on your face. “I have to drop muggle studies or the dark lord will have our throats.”
blaise chuckled lowly and squeezed you closer to his side, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “didn’t you expect that? i mean, we’re friends with his sons, of course they’d tell him.”
“you think so? i thought matt hated him” you said confusedly. mattheo did hate him, but his evil twin was a spitting image of his father.
your mouth opened in realisation. that bastard.
“listen… i love tom, but i don’t always trust him” he explained quietly, his face inching closer to yours as if he was afraid tom would actually hear him. “he’s a lot smarter than i think possible. and we all know that he’s always trying to please his father.”
that left you deep in thought. you had known tom for years, but you never thought he’d turn you in.
arriving to your first class of the day, potions, blaise left your side and went to sit at the table in front of you. funnily enough? tom was sitting just behind you.
“you’ll be paired up today as this is quite a difficult task and i’m not sure all of you can manage” professor slughorn eyed adrian pucey and you giggled quietly, blaise turning to you to shoot you a devilish grin.
dismissing you both with a hand waving in the air, slughorn continued. “alright, if miss rosier and mister zabini will allow me, i’ll start reading” he eyed you rather playfully and you gave a curt nod.
“mister zabini and mister pucey,” you could see blaise’s fall even from the side, as he gathered his things and went to sit with adrian, but not before shaking his head at you. “mister weasley and mister malfoy,” and your head snapped, your eyes widening when you finally heard your name, “mister riddle and miss rosier.”
you froze on the spot, unable to move as you heard shuffling from behind you, and soon after, tom was neatly placing his cauldrons on your table. “morning” his voice was soft but firm.
“morning” unlike your own, which was rather shaky. “did you hear what kind of potion we have to make? i-i wasn’t paying attention.”
he could see the blush creeping up your neck, his eyes observing every little detail - as always. “I didn’t tell father about you.”
you choked on air, tom having to pat you on the back, a foreign glint in his eyes. and once you finally relaxed, your throat rough, you asked. “how do you know that?”
“i read blaise’s mind” he shrugged as if it was nothing.
mouth agape, you stared at him like he’d grown two heads. and when you didn’t speak, he continued. “see weasley and malfoy there” he pointed to them and you nodded. “he’s thinking about screwing him. malfoy.”
“draco?!” you almost yelled and half of the class turned to look at you, which earned you a disappointing head shake from tom.
“yes, draco” he whispered nonchalantly, and his face fell. “they’re screwing more than any of us. they even do it in broom closets and if you catch draco drinking more than two butterbeers, he’ll tell you all about it.”
you nodded once, twice… and your brows furrowed. “any of you? who are you screwing?”
“our group. plus the golden trio, but i’m not big on that. it’s casual, not to them apparently” he nodded toward ron and draco again, and you sighed, still very much confused.
“why… why am i not a part of that?”
tom looked down and you could swear it was the first time he actually hesitated. “draco started all of this. i’m not… i’m not sure why.”
“bullshit” you spat, turning your face away from him. it actually made you feel bad. why did they not include you?
just as tom was about to speak again, probably come up with some lame excuse, you raised your hand, feigning stomach ache. “may i please be excused, professor? i don’t feel so good.”
and obviously, crazy scared about these things, slughorn let you go, and you felt tom’s burning gaze on your back as you left.
you decided that you didn’t want to see any of them that day. maybe the next day too. and the days after that.
you felt deeply hurt. not just because of the physical things you were missing on, but because they were your friends, and you were the only one being excluded from their activities.
sitting alone on the great hall, your mind started to wander. it wandered to all those times theo would disappear right before dinner and come back disheveled, when hermione would leave your study sessions early, when enzo and mattheo would feign being sick whilst the rest of you went to hogsmeade.
and your conclusion? none of them found you attractive. not a single person. you had had problems with the way you looked, as one does, but they were never this serious.
never to the point that you could physically feel the hole in your heart.
putting an end to your thoughts, the bell rang and students started making their way to the great hall. it was already lunch time.
you contemplated leaving, as you could already hear some of your friends nearby, but instead, you sat a few seats down from your usual spot, adrian pucey claiming the sit next to you.
“i must say i didn’t expect this, but i’m not mad” he chuckled as he started cutting into his meat, eyeing you curiously.
you tried to put on a smile, as insincere as it was due to your state. “i could use a change of scenery… what about your match against gryffindor on saturday? tell me about that.”
his eyes lit up instantly, and you thanked merlin for it. he would blabber and never shut up about it, so he couldn’t ask any more questions about your unusual behaviour. “so, we’re gonna beat those dimwits up. i don’t care what it takes-”
“yeah, shut up, pucey” you were startled and pulled out of your daydreaming by mattheo’s rough voice. looking up at him, you could see his eyes turning red with anger, and he took your hand in his.
he was so gentle even though he looked about ready to jump adrian. you stood up and held him close to you. without another word, he shot adrian a dirty look and led you out of the great hall and back to the slytherin common room.
the walk there was quiet, yet you could feel how tense he was. his hand on yours, even if gentle, was stiff. his shoulders were tense and it almost looked like he refused to blink.
you didn’t dare speak a word to him as he led you inside, the common room much too crowded at this time - dinner time, more specifically.
but the people there were not just random people.
“what is this?” you asked meekly, feeling too exposed as all of their eyes were on you.
they all looked at you with different kinds of expressions. draco looked angry, whilst ron, leaning back against his chest, was more excited than ever. blaise had a stern look on his face, and theo, enzo, tom, hermione and harry just looked thrilled to be there.
when none of them answered, mattheo spoke up. “my brother here is an idiot.”
“say something new” draco scoffed and blaise elbowed him in the ribs, the blond looking down as mattheo glared at him.
he turned back to you, his thumbs rubbing your knuckles as he looked down at you. “sweetheart, we didn’t include you because…” he sighed and you gulped, not feeling ready for the refusal. “because we know that you’re a virgin.”
you gasped, trying to push him away with your hands, but he tugged you closer to him, his hands wrapping around your smaller frame. “this is bullshit, i don’t care-!”
“okay, okay!” theo interrupted you and all of you looked at him, your brows rising. “we thought that even if you agreed to it… we didn’t- fuck! we couldn’t accept that, when you had to pick one of us to be your first, the others would just have to- live with it.”
you froze for what felt like the hundredth time today - they didn’t find you unattractive. they wanted you more than you could begin to think of.
sub!mattheo this, sub!mattheo that…what about sub!LORENZO!!!! that man is so cocky 90% of the time but when he’s comfortable with you, he is sooo submissive. like im talking a raging mommy kink, nursing handjobs all the time day, and begging you to ride him. he loves seeing you cry, but he is also a crier. he definitely cries when you let him come after edging you. and then he SOBS when you overstimulate him after.
he would be such a submissive bitch, whining and whimpering and just pathetic!!!! lorenzo berkshire is a pathetic pathetic man!!!
i need more submissive slytherin boys content on this platform. why does tumblr hate submissive men? 😔😔
ok ok, i LOVE sub!enzo 😤 i feel like he’d have no problems being a sub too, cuz he cares about his own pleasure a lot. and if being a sub is what brings him that pleasure, then he’s just gonna do it. although, i do feel like at first, he’s gonna try to be like a power sub and a brat, still trying tease you while you’ve literally been edging him for an hour. but when you manage to break him and make him whimper and cry for real, oh honey… he just lets go and becomes the whiniest, most subby man in the history of ever. and he’s enjoying the hell out of it. you wanna make him cum two or ten times? he’s gonna take it all and beg for more. my personal favourite is sitting on his face while he’s crying after being denied for the umpteenth time.
also, what immediately came to my mind when i first saw this ask is @leona-hawthorne’s fic. this is one of my fav enzo works ever, so definitely go give it a read if you’re a fan of sub!enzo <3 (i made her unprivate it just for this)
summary : theo teaches you how to please your boyfriend.
"you need to do better then that if you wanna please that boyfriend of yours, sweetheart." theo said lazily, manspreading on the leather chair in the Slytherin common room, a cigarette in his hand as he occasionally took a smoke.
you looked up at him, tears prickling in your eyes from your spot on the ground, hands around his cock as you sucked on it. his hand was around your hair, pulling it up into a ponytail. you nodded, trying to take more of his cock inside your mouth.
you had recently gotten into your first relationship, it was with a ravenclaw-and you knew nothing about anything intimate. so, what better way to learn then learn from your best friend? you and theo have been best friends ever since childhood, and he'd gotten with multiple women before. so, he offered to teach you on how you could please your boyfriend.
"use your hands for the area you can't reach." he said, looking at you with those dead eye of his. he would never admit it, but it had been a fantasy of his to come in your mouth, and even if he had to do it in this way, he didn't mind. atleast he got to see you on your knees for him, looking like an angel.
you obliged, hands immediately cupping the rest of his cock which you couldn't reach. he hissed, head leaning back onto the leather couch. "mhm.. keep doing that, angel.. so good.." he muttered. his praise caused you to heat up, a small faint blush appearing on your cheeks.
when theo looked down at you once more, he couldn't help but smirk. seeing you blush, because of what he said. not your boyfriend, no, him.
"y'know cazza, im starting to doubt you even like that idiot if you're here, on your knees, for me." he took a smoke from his cigarette. you wanted to deny, you wanted to pull away and say no. but, you didn't. you stayed in place, not even batting an eyelid as you continued pleasing him.
he only smiled, "you're gonna take my come in your mouth, 'kay? or, do you want me to paint your face with it? your boyfriend can see what you're doing." if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was jealous.
it was only a few moments after, that he pulled his cock out of your mouth, and before you could question why, he held his cock in hand, come spurting out as he painted your entire face with it. "theoo..!" you complained quietly. he smirked once more, "stay like that, pretty. i helped you, now, you need to help me."
you could only stay confused in place, before he grabbed his phone from the couch next to them, opening it as he snapped a picture of your beautiful, innocent face-tainted with his cruelty. "this'll help me for my own needs." he said, feigning innocence.
"you best be going, if you don't want anyone else to see you lookin' so gorgeous." you huffed, standing up. you fixed your hair and skirt, immediately heading towards your dormitory so you could clean yourself up.
what you didn't know though, was that theo had then opened instagram on his phone, going onto your page, only this time -not stopping onto your pictures to jerk off, no, but to find your boyfriends profile and send him a little something.
getting matching hand holding tattoos with mattheo riddle
hiii thank you for your request <3 this is so super cute, i hope you like this! based on this video — reader is depicted as wearing a skirt (the hogwarts uniform) + wearing heels btw !! my first ever non-series drabble hehe
masterlist
Despite (unfortunately) being in class together all day, Theo doesn't notice anything different about Mattheo until after quidditch training.
Mattheo collapses onto the common room couch, Theo rolls his eyes but follows suit on the chair beside him. A few first years scurry away, the two of them barely bat an eye.
Mattheo rubs a large hand over his face, his sore muscles straining against his shirt. It's then Theo notices the dark black ink decorating his hand.
"What the fuck is that?" Theo asks, squinting his eyes.
"What?" Mattheo plays at nonchalance, a bored expression on his face.
"Those... are those fucking stars?" Theo says incredulously, leaning forward to touch the pretty little stars decorating his hand.
"Fuck off." Mattheo swats at his hand.
"Did your girl draw that on your hand or something? How the fuck has it not smudged?"
"Want a closer look? I can bring my knuckles real close to your face." Mattheo snarks.
Before some real bickering can begin, they're interrupted by a squeal.
"You're back!" The sound of heels clicking against the floor increases, it sounds like a drum roll.
A lazy grin tugs at Mattheo's face, one he barely bothers to conceal, when you practically leap into his arms. You wrap your arms around him, tucking your head on his shoulder.
"Hi." You say with a smile as you blink up at him. He readjusts his posture so that he's sitting up against the back of the couch, arms slung over your shoulders.
"Hi baby." He says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He leans his head down lower and places quick kisses across your face, you laugh and squirm in his arms.
You don't know if you'll ever get used to having Mattheo like this — soft and affectionate — no matter how long the two of you have been together. It's deeply unsettling, honestly. So far from the violent and cold-hearted boy you feared years ago.
Theo is sure he'll never get used to it, though. He pretends to gag, drawing your attention to him. You roll your eyes at him.
"Hello, Theo." You say.
"What? No 'hi baby' for me?" He teases, just to get a rise out of you and Mattheo. It works.
"Watch it." Mattheo quips, but it's absentminded as his attention is solely on you. He watches you smoothen out your skirt before you rest your legs on his lap, he tugs the hem of your skirt down and rests his head on yours.
"M'just teasing, principessa" He drawls, Mattheo glares at him.
"Hey, we talked about the italian nicknames." He says.
You soothe your hand over his arm. "No but, Matty, I like that one."
Theo smirks. "See." Mattheo rolls his eyes.
"What principessa wants, she gets." Theo continues, "Besides, I can start calling you principe."
"I'll slit your throat." Mattheo deadpans, you open your mouth to add a retort but opt to close your mouth instead, shaking your head.
Whatever snarky comment Theo was going to retort back with dies in his throat when he watches your hand interlock with Mattheo's. Like puzzle pieces, the tips of your fingers align perfectly with the stars on his hand.
"Holy shit." Theo says, stunned — not for the first time in the long span of you and Mattheo's relationship.
"What?" You tilt your head, giving him a quizzing look. Mattheo sighs, knowing what's coming.
"You got a tattoo for her?"
You blink before you realise what he's so surprised by, you glance down at your interlocked hands and smile when you see the tattoo.
"Oh, that tattoo." You say casually, playing with your hair with your free hand.
"Oh? Oh? That's all you have to say?" Theo says in disbelief, "You two are barely eighteen, how did this happen?"
"I'm older than you." Mattheo says.
Theo rolls his eyes. "Obviously not my point."
"Okay, calm down." You say with a laugh. "We got a little drunk last week and decided to do it, it's not a big deal."
"Not a big deal? It's perma— hang on." Theo narrows his eyes at the two of you. "Did you say 'we'?"
You simply slide your hand away from Mattheo — much to his dismay — and show off your own hand.
On the back of your hand are identical stars, though smaller and more intricate.
"Cute right?" You say, Theo gapes. You shrug. "I think it's really cute."
Without waiting for him to snap out of his shock, you simply interlock your hand with Mattheo's again before settling against his chest, closing your eyes. Theo looks over at Mattheo and gives him an incredulous look.
Mattheo is Theo's longest friend, he knows him. While everyone might think this little impulsive act of devotion is on brand for Mattheo Riddle, he knows him better than that. By permanently marking himself for you, he might as well be carving out a permanent space in his heart just for you to rest in for ever.
Theo raises his eyebrows. Damn. He mouths. You're serious.
Mattheo looks down at you and a faint smile appears on his lips, he looks back at Theo.
I've been serious. He mouths back and Theo knows it's true. Even when you and Mattheo were just friends, way before you two started dating, he knew his friend was gone for you.
Those little stars are nothing but proof of a kind of love most people only get once in a lifetime. It's the kind of love that softens Theo's normally very scary friend as he clings onto his girlfriend in the common room.
It's the kind of love that makes Theo want to throw up (from jealousy or genuine disgust, who's to say?)
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 wasn’t the fact that Theodore had gotten hurt in Dueling Club. It was the fact that you had to hear it from Lavender Brown — three days later — that he’d 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 didn’t even let him speak first.
“You got hurt,” you said flatly, arms crossed. “And you didn’t tell me.”
Theo sighed, running a hand through his messy brown hair. “It wasn’t serious. I handled it.”
“That’s not the point, Theodore.” You used his full name like a weapon.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“I’m your girlfriend. You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle. You don’t get to keep me in the dark ‘for my own good.’”
“I was protecting you,” he said quietly, jaw tight. “You already worry enough.”
“I’m not a child,” you snapped. “If you can’t trust me with the truth, then what are we even doing?”
The argument ended in a tense stalemate. Theo tried to reach for you, but you stepped back and left him standing there.
And that’s 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 — 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.
Theo’s eyes flicked to the broken pasta, then back to your face. He said nothing.
Pansy’s 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.
“Communication is so important in relationships, don’t you think, Pansy?” you asked.
Pansy nearly lost it. “Oh my god.”
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.
“Do you actually listen when people talk to you, Mattheo? Or do you also decide what people can and can’t handle?”
Mattheo laughed, raising his hands slightly. “I’m not getting involved in this.”
Theo finally spoke, voice low.
“Can we talk?”
You blinked at him, feigning innocence. “About what, Theodore?”
Blaise muttered under his breath, “She’s evil. I respect it.”
Later that night, you “accidentally” moved Theo’s 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.
“Ten galleons says she wins,” Enzo whispered.
“I’m not betting against her,” Pansy replied. “She’s unhinged right now.”
Theo eventually cornered you near the fireplace when most people had gone to bed.
He looked exhausted.
“Are you done?” he asked.
You crossed your arms. “Are you going to stop hiding things from me?”
He stepped closer, voice softening.
“I thought I was protecting you. I hate worrying you. I hate seeing you scared because of me.”
“I’m more scared when I find out from other people that you’re hurt,” you said, voice cracking just a little. “I’m your girlfriend, Theo. Let me be there for you. Even when it’s ugly.”
Theo stared at you for a long moment, then pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I’ll tell you next time. Even if it’s stupid and small.”
You hugged him back, tension finally draining from your shoulders.
“…You’re still Theodore for the rest of the week though,” you mumbled against his chest.
He let out a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling through him.
“Fair enough.”
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.
hii i love sweetheart!reader & mattheo! idk if you’re 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 won’t be as good and he comforts her 🥹🥹
sweetheart!reader is insecure about mattheo’s playboy past
he's so gentle with her i'm crying
cw: heavily implies + talks of sex but no real depictions — brief mention of their “first time” + fade to black at the end. sweetheart!reader & mattheo are definitely a little older in this one.
masterlist
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 “playboy past” — anything that he did before he met you is none of your business, you’ve 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. It’s a peaceful moment of post-bliss — too bad you can’t 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. “How 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?” 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 but—"
"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 — remembering the time you winced when the sharp edges dug into your skin and he soothed the spot with his mouth — 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.
“I thought you said you had to get dressed to meet your friends.” Your voice comes out breathlessly.
“They can wait five minutes.” He murmurs low in your ear before pressing kisses down your neck.
Your eyes flutter shut. “Someone’s cocky.”
He raises an eyebrow, lifting his head to meet your eye. He smirks.
“My record with you is two and a half.” You open your mouth to argue but he cuts you off. “What? You said I was experienced remember.”
You want to talk back, you really do. But you can’t 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 don’t 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
“Absolutely not.”
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 weren’t 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.
Your Quidditch playing beater boyfriend was going to be the death of you.
“But what’s wrong with this one?” 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. “I’m running out of options, and you said you liked this one.”
Mattheo’s grin widened and his eyes drifted down your body lazily, drinking in the strappy heels you’d 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.
“I never said I didn’t like it,” 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. “Quite the opposite, actually. Your arse looks phenomenal…”
“Mattheo.” You whined, arms slapping down at your sides, shooting him a withering stare to scold his lewdness. “You promised you’d help me choose.”
“I am helping.” 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. “C’mon pretty girl, spin for me.”
It was impossible to stay angry at him. The tight lipped scowl you’d 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.
“Pretty please,” he coaxed, tilting his head at the smile that was beginning to bloom on your lips, knowing you couldn’t 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 bottoms— it was all too much. He’d 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.
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.
“Salazar’s bloody ballsack,” he murmured, head dropping back to stare at the ceiling for a moment, collecting himself. “You’re not wearing that anywhere.”
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. “You’re my boyfriend, you know, not my father.”
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.
“You… are not… wearing that… anywhere.” He repeated slowly, as though you might’ve misheard him the first time. “Especially not around the rest of the Quidditch team. Otherwise I might just have to permanently blind the lot of them.”
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.
“Oh really?” you hummed, knowing full well he’d never really tell you that you couldn’t wear something. You tugged softly at his hair, pulling his head back just that bit farther and gazing into his eyes.
“Mhm, really.” 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.
“Think of the team, Slytherin are close to winning the Cup,” he murmured in a deeply dramatic tone that had your eyes rolling, “What use is Malfoy in catching the snitch without any eyes?”
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.
“Exactly,” you grinned, cupping his cheek and stroking your thumb across his cheekbone, “Think of the team. They deserve a morale boost.”
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.
“They do not deserve that kind of privilege.”
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 he’d heard all day.
“Besides, you're my girlfriend, not theirs.” he muttered with a pout.
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.
“You know,” you mused lightly, “most boyfriends would just say their girlfriends look nice.”
“I did say you looked nice.”
“You said my arse looked phenomenal.”
“It does.”
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.
“Fine,” he sighed heavily. Relenting though he sounded bitter about it, “You can wear the dress tonight.”
Your brows lifted in surprise, pausing your fingers that had begun to scratch at his scalp.
“Wait, really?” Your face lit up, peering down at him with a puzzled look.
“No.” he replied almost instantly, grip tightening around your hips, “Absolutely not. I just wanted to see your face.”
a/n: for my darling @nottendo , the fluffy mattheo content I promised ;)
Summary: A bright, stubborn Hufflepuff refuses to stay away from the cold, guarded Mattheo Riddle.
Slow burn. Tension. Hidden softness.
9.9k words sheesh I don’t know when to stop :’)
—————————————————————————
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 don’t give a fuck, and an expression that could freeze fire.
He hadn’t looked your way once. He never did, not really.
You didn’t 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 “again?” but you just smiled brightly and kept going. You weren’t afraid of him. Never had been. There was something beneath that cold exterior, something sharp and broken and real.
“Morning, Mattheo,” 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. “They had the good ones today. Thought you might want it before Theo hogs them all.”
Mattheo didn’t even glance up from his plate. “Didn’t ask for it, Hufflepuff.”
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. “You didn’t have to. You skipped dinner yesterday. Figured you might be hungry.”
He finally looked at you then, dark eyes narrowing. “Stalking my eating habits now? Cute.” The sarcasm dripped like venom, but you just beamed at him, biting into your own toast.
Across the table, Pansy snorted. “Merlin, she’s at it again. Give it a rest, sweetheart. He’s not going to suddenly turn into Prince Charming because you bring him fruit.”
“I’m not expecting charming,” you replied lightly, defending yourself with a small laugh. “Just making sure he doesn’t starve while plotting world domination or whatever it is you lot do before Potions.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. “Bold for a Puff. Most of your house would’ve run by now.”
You met his gaze steadily. “Most of my house doesn’t see the point in running from someone who hasn’t actually done anything to them.” Your eyes flicked back to Mattheo. “Besides, I like sitting here.”
Mattheo’s 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 “annoying cheerfulness.”
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 “Death Eater spawn” loud enough for the hall to hear.
His friends had started teasing you mercilessly at first.
“Another lap around the Riddle fan club?” Blaise had drawled one evening in the Slytherin common room after you’d somehow ended up there (Theo had dragged you along, claiming you were “funny” and “harmless”).
“Careful, love,” Pansy had added with a wicked grin. “He bites.”
You’d just shrugged and settled onto the couch like you belonged. “I’m not scared of teeth.”
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 wasn’t completely abysmal.
You became part of the group, almost by accident. They got used to your presence. Mattheo… tolerated it.
Or at least, that’s 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.
“Saved you the last treacle tart,” you whispered, sliding the plate over. “I know they’re your favorite.”
Mattheo exhaled sharply through his nose. “You keeping a bloody list or something?”
“Maybe.” You grinned, unbothered. “Someone has to notice these things.”
Theo kicked Mattheo under the table. “Mate, she’s literally handing you desserts on a silver platter and you’re acting like she hexed you.”
“Shut it, Nott.” Mattheo’s 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 you’d 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 “How was Arithmancy?” even when he brushed past you with a muttered “Don’t you have badgers to hug?”
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 you’d left (having fixed a rip in Mattheo’s robes with a quick charm and a cheerful “See you tomorrow!”), Theo finally snapped.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Riddle.”
Mattheo leaned back in his chair by the fire, nursing a glass of firewhisky. “Problem?”
Blaise chuckled. “She 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 you’re in one of your moods”
“I don’t have moods,” Mattheo cut in coldly.
Mattheo’s eyes darkened. “She’s just another girl hovering. They all do it eventually. Looking for the thrill of the ‘dark’ prince or whatever bollocks they tell themselves.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “She’s not looking for thrill, you dense git. She likes you. Properly. And she’s not scared off by your award winning personality.”
“She’s a Hufflepuff,” Mattheo said dismissively, though his grip on the glass tightened. “Too soft. Too… good. She’ll get tired of it.”
Theo laughed. “She’s 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.”
He was possessive by nature, territorial. But admitting she mattered? That was weakness. And Mattheo Riddle didn’t do weakness.
“She’s nothing,” he said finally, voice low and sharp. “Just background noise.”
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. He’d eaten the tart. He’d let you sit there. Progress, in your book.
You weren’t naive. You knew he was cold, conflicted, carrying shadows most people couldn’t imagine. But you saw the good, buried, fighting to surface. You weren’t afraid. And you weren’t going anywhere.
Mattheo could pretend to tolerate you all he wanted.
You’d keep showing up until he couldn’t pretend anymore.
———
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 he’d “forgotten” 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.
“Don’t,” 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. “It’s pouring. You’ll catch a cold and then complain about it for a week.”
“I don’t complain.” His voice was clipped. “And I don’t need a bloody babysitter.”
“Too bad. I’m self appointed.” You smiled up at him, rain pattering loudly against the fabric. He didn’t take the umbrella from you, but he also didn’t speed up to leave you behind. Small victories.
Theo and Blaise caught up, grinning like idiots.
“Look at that,” Theo drawled. “Domestic already. Riddle, you gonna let her carry your books next?”
Mattheo shot him a withering glare. “Fuck off.”
You laughed softly. “I already did his Arithmancy notes last week when he was… occupied.” You didn’t mention the detention he’d earned for hexing a seventh year who’d called him a monster in the corridor. You’d simply copied the notes in your neatest handwriting and left them on his usual spot in the library.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “See? She’s useful. Unlike you when you’re brooding.”
Mattheo’s jaw flexed. He said nothing the rest of the walk.
Dinner that evening brought new company.
A tall Gryffindor boy, Cedric’s 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.
“Hey, I’ve seen you around. You’re the Hufflepuff who talks to this lot without running. Impressive.” His eyes lingered. “We’re having a study group in the library tomorrow. Potions theory. You seem like you know your stuff. Want to join?”
You felt Mattheo stiffen beside you before you even answered.
“That’s sweet,” you said politely, “but I usually study with these guys. Thanks though.”
Marcus didn’t take the hint immediately. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Less… intense.” He glanced at Mattheo meaningfully.
You opened your mouth to respond, but Mattheo beat you to it.
“She said no.” His voice was low, dangerous, laced with that dark charisma that made people listen. He didn’t even look up from his plate, but the temperature around the table seemed to drop. “Run along, Gryffindor.”
Marcus hesitated, then shrugged with a nervous laugh. “Alright, Riddle. Didn’t mean to step on toes.” He left.
Silence fell for half a second before Pansy cackled. “Territorial much?”
“I’m eating,” Mattheo muttered. “Don’t need distractions.”
You turned to him, heart doing a small flip at the possessiveness he’d just shown, even if it was wrapped in irritation. “You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it.”
“Clearly.” His sarcasm was sharp. “You were about to agree.”
“I wasn’t.” You poked his arm lightly. He didn’t pull away. “I like sitting with you lot. Even when you’re grumpy.”
Draco snorted into his goblet. “Grumpy. That’s one word for it.”
The real crack appeared two days later.
It was late evening in the Slytherin common room. You’d 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. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You looked cold.” You sat back down beside him, closer than usual. “And you always steal the good blanket when we’re down here.”
“I don’t steal…..” He stopped, exhaling through his nose. For once, he didn’t 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.
“You know she’s in love with you, right? Properly. Not the silly crush shit.”
Mattheo’s eyes flicked toward your retreating figure. “She’s delusional.”
“Or you’re blind,” Blaise added quietly. “She defends you to teachers, to randoms in the hall, even to her own housemates who think she’s lost her mind. Brings you food, fixes your shit, sits with you even when you’re a complete bastard to her. And you still act like she’s nothing.”
“Because she is nothing,” Mattheo snapped, voice low and venomous. But his eyes betrayed him,they followed you as you laughed at something Pansy said across the room.
“She’ll wise up eventually. Get tired of playing saint to the villain.”
Draco shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that, mate. But the way you nearly hexed that Gryffindor for just talking to her? That wasn’t nothing.”
Mattheo didn’t reply. Inside, the conflict raged. You made things easier, yes. Mornings were less bleak with your stupid cheerful “good morning” and perfectly ripe apples. His robes didn’t fall apart. He hadn’t 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 he’d come to expect your presence, then you became leverage.
A weakness.
And people like him didn’t 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 wasn’t fair. He knew that. He just didn’t care.
Or so he told himself.
The next morning you were there again, sliding into your usual seat with a bright, “Good morning, Mattheo,” and placing a small vial beside his plate.
“Pepperup Potion,” you explained before he could sneer. “Just in case. You sounded a bit off last night.”
He stared at the vial, then at you. Something in his chest twisted uncomfortably, warm, annoying.
“You’re exhausting,” he said flatly. But he took the vial. Tucked it into his robe pocket like it was nothing.
You just grinned. “You’re welcome.”
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 he’d built.
And when that happened… well. Even he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.
———
Slytherin party,
The common room pulsed with music and low green light, the party in full swing after Slytherin’s 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.
You’d shown up with Pansy, who had insisted on you wearing a simple but flattering black dress she’d “borrowed” from somewhere.
“Blend in for once, Puff,” she’d teased. You’d 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 hadn’t even said.
“Mattheo,” she purred, loud enough for you to hear over the music, “you really are the most interesting one here. All that mystery… I bet I could make you smile if you let me try.”
She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear.
Mattheo didn’t push her away. He also didn’t 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.
“Hey, Theo,” you said brightly, walking over and bumping his shoulder. “Think we’ll see another Exploding Snap disaster tonight, or has Lorenzo learned his lesson?”
Theo grinned down at you, glad for the distraction. “Doubt it. He’s already three drinks in and eyeing that pack of cards like an idiot. You good?” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the couch.
You shrugged, leaning beside him. “I’m fine. She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Think she’ll last longer than the last one who tried?”
Theo chuckled. “Nah. He’s not even pretending tonight. Look at his face, pure ice. Poor girl doesn’t realize she’s talking to a statue.”
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 you’d read.
“I was going to ask Mattheo if he wanted to dance later, but… maybe not. He looks like he’d rather hex the music.”
Theo raised an eyebrow, studying you. “You’re really not bothered by that?” He nodded toward the girl, who was now tracing patterns on Mattheo’s arm while he stared into the fire.
You took a sip of your butterbeer. “Bothered? A little. But I’m not going to compete by climbing all over him. That’s not me.” Your voice stayed calm, sweet but honest. “He knows I’m here. If he wants me to leave, he can say it. He never does.”
Theo shook his head, half laughing. “You’re something else, you know that? Most girls would be over there hexing her by now. Or crying in the corner.”
You smiled, eyes drifting back to Mattheo despite yourself. “I’m not scared of him, or of this.” You gestured vaguely at the party. “Besides, I like talking to you lot. Even when he’s being… himself.”
Mattheo’s 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 girl’s hand slid higher on his thigh and he shifted away just slightly but didn’t stop her. His fingers flexed around his glass until his knuckles paled.
He didn’t 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 didn’t even watch her leave.
You eventually wandered back, sliding onto the couch beside him now that the seat was free. Your shoulder brushed his.
“Enjoying the party?” you asked lightly, offering him a fresh drink you’d grabbed on the way.
Mattheo took it without thanks, setting his empty one aside. “It’s loud,” he said flatly. His eyes flicked to you, scanning your face like he was searching for cracks. “You and Nott seemed cozy.”
There it was the sharp edge. Not quite jealousy admitted, but close.
You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Theo’s funny. We were just talking about how terrible Lorenzo is at cards.” You paused, then added, “You could’ve joined us. Or told that girl to give you space if she was bothering you.”
He scoffed, leaning back. “Didn’t need to. Not interested.” His voice dropped, sarcastic and low. “Unlike some people, I don’t need constant attention to feel important, Hufflepuff.”
You didn’t flinch. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on giving her any competition.” You reached over and straightened his already loose tie with gentle fingers, a small habitual gesture.
“You looked bored. Thought maybe you’d want actual company instead of… whatever that was.”
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.
“You’re too much,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away from your touch.
———
Weekend ends, and the new week already started badly for Mattheo.
A letter from his father’s old circle had arrived that morning cryptic, demanding, laced with expectations he wanted nothing to do with but couldn’t 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.
“Morning, Mattheo,” you said softly. “Rough night? I brought you….”
“Enough.”
His voice cracked like a whip. Louder and sharper than he’d ever been with you. The entire Slytherin table went quiet.
You blinked, hand still hovering near the cup. “I just thought….”
Mattheo turned to you fully, eyes blazing with barely contained fury and exhaustion. “You 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?”
The words cut deep. His friends froze.
“Mattheo…” Theo started quietly.
“No.” Mattheo didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed locked on you, cold and unrelenting.
“I’m done with this. Done with you hovering, done with the apples and the notes and the stupid blankets and the defending me like I’m some broken charity case. Leave me and my group alone. Go back to your Hufflepuff flowers and mind your own business for once.”
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.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, voice small but steady. “I’ll leave.”
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 didn’t look back.
Mattheo didn’t 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, you’d 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 Lorenzo’s terrible jokes or argue Quidditch with Draco. No soft voice reminding them about upcoming assignments.
By day two, Pansy was scowling at everything. “This is ridiculous. The table feels empty.”
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: “She’s makes this lot tolerable. Can we bring her back”
Mattheo was there, slouched in his usual chair by the fire, pretending not to listen.
He hadn’t spoken much in three days. His mood hadn’t improved, in fact, it had soured further. The little things you used to handle were piling up. His bag strap had broken again. He’d 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.
“You’re coming with us,” Pansy declared, linking her arm through yours.
You blinked in surprise. “Pansy, I can’t. He said…”
“He’s an idiot,” Theo cut in. “A miserable idiot. The common room has been dead without you. Draco’s even more unbearable. Lorenzo keeps losing at cards because no one’s betting against him properly. Come on. Just for a bit.”
You hesitated, biting your lip. “I don’t want to make things worse.”
Blaise appeared behind them, smirking. “Too late for that. Mattheo’s been brooding like the Dark Lord himself since you left. We miss you, love. Properly.”
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.
“Look who we found,” Theo announced lightly. “Our favorite Hufflepuff.”
You stood awkwardly for a moment, offering a small, uncertain smile to the group. “Hi.”
Draco nodded at you, almost relieved. “About time. The silence was getting pathetic.”
You sat down carefully, not beside Mattheo this time, but on the opposite end of the large couch, giving him the space he’d demanded. Your hands twisted in your lap. You didn’t 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 Theo’s 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 you’d always seen, only sharper now. He’d 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 didn’t 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 Pansy’s 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 didn’t slide closer like you used to. You didn’t offer him the fresh drink Blaise had passed around. You didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 he’d barely touched. His dark eyes followed your every movement. The way you laughed freely with Theo. The way you leaned into Pansy’s side comfortably. The way you existed in his space without orbiting him like before.
It irritated him more than he wanted to admit.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Pansy murmured to you at one point, low enough that only you could hear. Her eyes flicked toward Mattheo. “Still sore about what the idiot said?”
You shrugged lightly, tracing a pattern on the couch leather with your finger. “I’m here for you guys. Not… not to push anything. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want the extra stuff from me. I’m respecting that.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “He’s a dramatic prick. He didn’t mean half of it.”
“Maybe.” You offered her a small smile. “But I’m not risking it again. Not right now.”
Mattheo’s grip tightened on his glass. He’d heard enough.
When Theo stood up to grab more drinks and you naturally followed to help him carry them back, Mattheo’s voice cut through the air sharp, sarcastic, aimed straight at you.
“Careful, Hufflepuff. Wouldn’t want you overexerting yourself playing servant again.”
You paused, holding two glasses steadily. The group quieted a little. You met his gaze evenly this time, no flinch, but no smile either.
“I’m just helping a friend, Mattheo,” you said softly. Calm. Not defensive. “No big gestures. No hovering.”
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. “Smooth, mate. Really winning her back with that one.”
“Shut up, Nott.” Mattheo’s 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 arm’s 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.
“Pass the salt, please?” you’d asked at dinner the next evening, voice neutral when your eyes met his.
He’d slid it over without a word, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Later in the common room, when you’d laughed at one of Draco’s 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.
“You’re an absolute bellend,” Blaise told him bluntly one night after you’d left for curfew (earlier than usual, another new habit). “She’s giving you exactly what you asked for and you look like you want to burn the castle down.”
Mattheo leaned back, staring at the dying fire. “She’s acting like I’m a stranger.”
Draco snorted. “You told her to leave you alone. Loudly. In front of the entire hall. What did you expect? Eternal devotion on command?”
“I expected….” Mattheo stopped himself, running a hand through his messy curls.
He didn’t know what he expected. He’d wanted space, wanted the annoying persistence gone. But now the absence of her specific light left everything feeling flat. The little comforts he’d 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 didn’t waver.
You offered a small, cautious smile. “Need help with anything? The essay’s brutal this week.”
Mattheo’s response was instinct sharp-tongued and defensive. “Don’t start that again.”
You closed your ink bottle slowly, expression softening but staying reserved. “I’m not starting anything. Just offering as a friend. Like I do for the others.”
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. You’d 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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. “Theo, pass me that book on curses? I want to check something for Pansy’s essay.”
Theo raised an eyebrow but tossed it over with a knowing smirk.
As you settled back, your shoulder brushed Mattheo’s. You felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.
He lasted maybe thirty seconds.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The words came out harsher than he probably intended, laced with that unwilling venom. “Decided to test how much shit I’ll take before I snap again, Hufflepuff?”
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.
“I’m just sitting here,” you said softly, voice even and sweet. “Like I used to. You haven’t told me to move.”
Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. He tried again, the meanness spilling out despite himself, like a defense mechanism he couldn’t turn off.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have to. Thought I made it clear you’re exhausting. Always there, always fixing things no one asked you to fix. Find someone else to play hero for.”
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 wasn’t pushing you away physically. He wasn’t standing up.
He was just… lashing out, the same way a wounded animal snaps at the hand trying to help.
You smiled. Small. Knowing. “You don’t mean that.”
He scoffed, looking away into the fire. “Don’t tell me what I mean.”
But he still didn’t 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 would’ve fixed without thinking weeks ago. He froze under your touch but didn’t pull back.
“Mattheo,” you murmured, low enough that the others pretended not to hear, “you can keep saying mean things if it makes you feel better. I’m not leaving this time unless you really want me to. And I don’t think you do.”
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.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, sharper, still failing at kindness “You’re going to regret sticking around when I inevitably ruin whatever this is.”
You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder for just a second, testing, pushing, offering. “Maybe. But I’m still here.”
He didn’t shrug you off. Didn’t stand up. Didn’t 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 didn’t even bother hiding his smirk as he moved a chess piece.
Mattheo still hadn’t spoken to you nicely. Not really.
But he wasn’t 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 hadn’t caught up to that truth yet.
You’d 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 Theo’s eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod. The plan they made that morning was in motion.
“Truth or Dare,” Pansy announced suddenly, clapping her hands. “I’m bored out of my mind and someone needs to entertain me.”
Lorenzo perked up immediately. Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t 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. “I’m in.”
The game started innocently enough. Lorenzo admitted to stealing Pansy’s 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.
“Truth or Dare, darling?”
You felt the shift in the air. Mattheo’s posture stiffened beside you.
“Dare,” you said, because backing down in front of this group had never been your style.
Pansy’s smile turned wicked. “I dare you to kiss Theo. Proper kiss. Ten seconds.”
The room went still.
Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly in on it, but kept his expression playful. “Only if she wants to. I’m not above being used for a good cause.”
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 didn’t. 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.
“Not bad, Puff,” he teased, winking.
You sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, heart racing for an entirely different reason. You didn’t 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.
“Enough,” he said sharply, voice dripping with venom. “This game is fucking stupid.”
Pansy feigned innocence. “Jealous, Riddle?”
“I’m not jealous of Nott getting pity kisses,” he snapped, the words unwilling and too quick.
His eyes finally met yours raw, territorial, and something deeper. “She can kiss whoever the hell she wants.”
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 wouldn’t 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 you’d stepped away to grab water.
“Close,” Theo muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Did you see his face? He nearly lost it.”
“Not enough,” Draco said. “He’s still too stubborn. One little kiss isn’t cracking that reinforced concrete he calls emotional walls.”
Pansy crossed her arms. “New plan then. We need to push harder. Something that forces him to choose publicly. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend. We get her to ‘casually’ 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.”
Blaise chuckled darkly. “Or we make him think she’s actually moving on. He’s possessive as hell. If he believes he might lose her for real…”
Theo glanced over at Mattheo, who was now staring into the fire like it had personally betrayed him. “He’s already regretting everything. We just need one more push and that restraint of his is dead.”
They all looked toward you as you walked back, none the wiser to their scheming.
Mattheo’s 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.
———
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. “Stick close to me at first,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Then ‘accidentally’ wander off with Theo or Blaise when we reach the village. We’ll make it look natural.”
You glanced at her, then at Mattheo walking a few steps ahead, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable. “You’re really doing this?”
Theo fell into step beside you, grinning. “He needs it. The kiss barely made him twitch. Time to light a proper fire under his arse.”
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.
“Just… don’t go too far. I don’t actually want to hurt him.”
“Too late for that,” Blaise murmured from behind. “He’s been hurting himself plenty.”
Mattheo slowed slightly, eyes flicking back toward you. You offered him a small, neutral smile the same careful one you’d been giving him since returning to the group. He didn’t return it, but his gaze lingered.
The village was bustling. Honeydukes was packed, Zonko’s 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 didn’t 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.
“I need to check out that new robe shop,” she announced, standing up. “Come with me, Draco? I want a second opinion.”
Draco sighed but followed, shooting the rest of you a knowing look. Lorenzo tagged along “for snacks.” That left you, Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise.
You took a slow sip of butterbeer, then turned to Theo with a bright, deliberate smile. “Theo, didn’t you say there’s a new shipment of cursed artifacts at Dervish and Banges? I’ve been wanting to see that silver dagger you mentioned last week.”
Theo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Absolutely. Let’s go before the good stuff disappears.” 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. “Mattheo, Blaise, we’ll be back soon,” you said casually, like it was nothing.
Mattheo’s entire body went rigid. His glass hit the table harder than needed. “Since when do you give a fuck about cursed artifacts?”
You shrugged, still holding Theo’s hand. “Since Theo told me they’re fascinating. You know I like shiny, dangerous things.” Your tone was light, playful the same sweetness you used to direct only at him.
Theo tugged you gently toward the door. “We won’t be long, mate.”
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 didn’t 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.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you muttered, cheeks pink from the cold and the performance.
Theo grinned down at you. “It’s for the greater good. Look behind us, don’t turn too obviously.”
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. “Smile at me like you mean it,” he whispered.
You did, soft, warm, the kind of smile that used to be reserved for Mattheo’s rare good moments. Theo laughed like you’d said something brilliant.
That was when Mattheo snapped.
“Having fun?” His voice cut through the snowy street like a blade. He stopped right beside you, eyes locked on where Theo’s hand still rested near your shoulder. The possessiveness rolled off him in waves, dark and electric. “Didn’t realize you two were suddenly so fucking cozy.”
Theo raised an innocent eyebrow. “Just showing her the artifacts, like she asked. Problem?”
Mattheo’s 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.
“You’re really doing this?” he said to you, voice low and sharp. “Parading around with Nott after everything? Thought you were supposed to be the one who saw ‘good’ in people. Not throwing yourself at the first idiot who smiles at you.”
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. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone, Mattheo. I’m just… spending time with friends. Like you told me to do. Remember? Stop hovering. Stop fixing things for you.”
Mattheo’s 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.
“We’re going back to the group,” he growled. “Now.”
Theo smirked. “Whatever you say, Riddle.”
You let Mattheo pull you along, his grip staying locked around your wrist the entire walk back to the Three Broomsticks.
He didn’t let go even when you reached the booth. He sat down and tugged you into the seat directly beside him closer than you’d 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 wasn’t 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 didn’t 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 didn’t 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 wasn’t done yet.
As the sun began to dip and snow started falling heavier, they all gathered outside, Pansy with a calculated sigh “It’s 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?”
Theo caught on instantly. “Yeah, and I could use help carrying stuff.” He looked straight at you. “Come with me? You’ve got better taste in sweets than these lot.”
You felt Mattheo’s body coil like a spring beside you.
Before you could answer, you turned to him with that same soft, testing smile you’d been using. “Do you mind? I’ll be quick.”
His dark eyes flashed. The crack was widening dangerously. “Yes, I fucking mind,” he bit out, the words escaping before he could stop them. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”
They went quiet. Even Draco raised an eyebrow.
You tilted your head, pushing just a little more. “Why not? You’ve made it very clear I’m exhausting. That I should stop hovering around you. I’m just hanging out with friends, Mattheo. Like you wanted.”
That struck hard. Mattheo’s hand slid from the to your waist, gripping firmly. Territorial. Needy in a way he’d never allowed himself to show.
“You know that’s not ” 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. “Ready when you are, love.”
Pushing further Theo says “It’s just sweets, mate. Unless you’ve got a problem with that?”
Mattheo’s 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.
“Yeah. I’ve got a fucking problem with it.” He glared at Theo, then looked down at you, jaw tight. “You win, alright? Happy now?”
You tilted your head, staying close but testing him one last time. “Win what?”
Mattheo let out a sharp, sarcastic breath, his breath visible in the cold air.
“This. You. The constant hovering and fixing and defending my sorry arse like I’m worth the effort.” His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it became more territorial.
“I told you to fuck off because it was easier. Because you make shit… simpler. And I hate how much I’ve gotten used to it.”
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.
“I don’t want you orbiting anyone else. Not Theo. Not some Gryffindor prick. No one. You’re annoying as hell and far too soft for someone like me, but I want you next to me. Where you’ve been. Stop with the careful polite bullshit you’ve been doing since I snapped at you. Just… be there again. Like before.”
It wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t 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. “And if Nott tries to hold your hand again, I’ll break his fingers. Clear enough for you, Hufflepuff?”
You smiled softly, reaching up to fix the collar of his coat like you used to. He didn’t stop you.
“Crystal clear,” you murmured.
Mattheo huffed, but he didn’t 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.
“Fucking finally,” Blaise muttered.
Mattheo shot them all a sharp look. “Say another word and I’ll hex every single one of you.”
But his hand stayed on your shoulder the entire walk back. No more pushing you away. No more pretending he didn’t care. He still wasn’t 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.
———
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 hadn’t 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 you’d 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 he’d already been running his hands through it. His dark eyes softened a fraction when they landed on you.
“Essay,” you mumbled, holding it out. “I know you hate this topic, so I made notes on the side.”
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.
“Sorry, goodnight,” 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. “Mattheo, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to push, I just”
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.
“Do it again,” he ordered, voice low and rough.
You blinked up at him, still flustered. “I… what?”
“Kiss me again,” he repeated, leaning closer until his breath brushed your lips. “Properly this time. Don’t run.”
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 he’d 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.
“You’re still an idiot for thinking I’d let you run after that,” he muttered, sharp tongued as ever, but his thumb stroked your cheek. “Told you earlier, you’re mine. That means you don’t get to kiss me and bolt, Hufflepuff.”
You laughed breathlessly, the last of the nerves dissolving. “I was scared you’d regret it tomorrow morning.”
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.
“I regret a lot of things,” he admitted gruffly. “But not this. Not you.” He pressed another kiss to your temple, almost absentmindedly. “You make my life easier. Better. Even when I’m a moody bastard. So stay.”
You nestled into his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” His voice dropped, that dark charisma curling around the words. “Because I’m territorial as hell, and I’ve decided you’re stuck with me now.”
From outside the door, you both heard Theo’s muffled voice “Finally! Can we come in yet or are you two still snogging?”
Mattheo didn’t even look up. “Fuck off, Nott!” 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.
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 fact—spending 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 Teddy—"
"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 Cups—signifies 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 different—of course it would be—but no matter how much you had prepared yourself for all the changes, it just hadn't been enough. Like really, they let a ratty, old—albeit sentient—hat 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 professor—a ghost you notice dryly—begins 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 finish—The Gargoyle Strike of 1911—the 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 awkwardly—chin gesturing towards the rest of the class—and 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 gargoyles—"
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 that—despite the unbothered front he put on—Theo'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 desires—pull together every single physical trait that Theo could possibly fantasize about—and 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 assume—Why 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 least—" 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 door—a 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 now—you 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 getting—sorry 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 joke—Theo 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 bold—albeit correct—observation.
"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 axe—" 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 Axe—problems overcome
The Butterfly—success and pleasure
Wonderful. More nonsense. That was the problem with divination—the 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 other—just 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 reading—Divination Through the Ages: A Skeptics Guide—your 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 met—that 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, so—" 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 🫶🏽
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
Masterlist
xoxo!
-------
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. You’d 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.
So, imagine your lover’s 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 aren’t already awake and waiting to devour him.
There’s a faint shift in the room, like the air itself has changed, warmer somehow, closer. You’re wrapped in blankets and half-buried in a dream purely psychedelic, when something nudges at the edges of your awareness. It’s not loud, nor urgent, not a bit. It’s just...there, a presence that definitely wasn’t there when you closed your eyes.
“Hey… hey, bella mia…”
From a distance, the voice is even more shushed, dragging you upward through the layers of sleep. It’s familiar, so so familiar. The voice that lived in the margins of your mind all damn day.
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.
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.
“…you’re kidding me,” he mutters under his breath, softer now, like he’s talking more to himself than to you.
There’s 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. He’s done this before.
You’re still asleep. Well, you’re 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.
“Hey,” he tries again, a little firmer this time, his fingers giving you a gentle shake that makes your head roll lazily on the pillow. “Wake up.”
You don’t. 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 you’ve maintained for some forty-five minutes now.
He sucks his teeth in a tsk, letting his stocky shoulders slump just a taste. Too bad you’re asleep, you miss the way his eyes sexily roll to the ceiling in his light frustration.
“Unbelievable,” he murmurs, and you can hear the weary tilt in his voice. “I risk my damn life sneaking into your dorm and you’re dead asleep?” 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. “‘Dodged like three wards.”
There’s 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.
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.
He hovers over your form, so close you can smell the sandalwood and the wintry bite of the outdoors clinging to his robes.
“…guess you really are asleep.” 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 there’s 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. He’s making himself quite at home.
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 they’ve been sealed shut with lead in your exhaustion. You know damn well you’re not alone. But you also know it’s undoubtedly Theo based on his weight alone. You’ve 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 he’s 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. You’ll make him work to see your irises.
So, you do as any other sensible girl would do when there’s 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.
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.
“…yeah,” he murmurs quietly, his accent thick with familiarity. “Out cold.”
He gives your leg a tiny teasing shake, his fingers hooking slightly into the soft muscle of your calf. You don’t budge, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you’re surprised you haven't drawn blood.
His fingers begin to trace the faintest line along the curve of your leg, like he’s mapping the geography of you out, testing boundaries he’d 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 he’s satisfied. Maybe he’ll 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.
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. You’re 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.
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 Theo’s scrutiny, it might as well have been a neon sign. You hold your breath hoping he didn’t see it, but you’d honestly be more surprised if he hadn’t.
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. “Mmm,” he hums quietly, “Funny.” From your ankle to your shin he climbs, taking his sweet time.
“You always sleep like this?” 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. There’s 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.
“Oh… okay,” he murmurs, a light chuckle coming from his chest in response to you. “Good to know.”
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.
And you’re very, very aware of the fact that you’re pantsless. You’d 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, you’d 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.
“Guess I gotta pull these higher. You should probably stop me.”
He pauses for another short moment, almost expectedly. He’s waiting for you to crack– you can almost see the way he’s likely smirking right now, that stupid sharp self assurity. But bratty, bratty you. You’d never give him the satisfaction so easily.
He huffs, annoyed with an undertone of endearment. The blanket moves again, sliding up until it was bunched at your waist.
“Dio m’aiuti,” he breathes out in a rough exhale that ghosts over your cheek. Lord, help me. “Damn…” he curses under his breath, mumbling your name, the syllables catching in his now dry throat.
You feel his shadow loom larger. He’s looking at you, really looking, in a way he’d never dare if your eyes were open to catch him. He takes his lower lip between his teeth, his intentions with you abundantly clear.
“Those look so good on you,” 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.
“You had to have worn this for me,” he says, his smile wryly returning, though it’s strained now. “No way you floss your ass every night with these. You’re too practical for that.”
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.
“So, so sleepy…” he coos, very obviously mocking you.
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. He’s waking up the familiar ache between your thighs, drawing all your blood to your throbbing center.
“E se…” What if…he murmurs, trailing off into a contemplative hum. He nudges your thighs apart just the slightest bit. Even in this state, he’s careful, wanting you comfortable as he settles his weight.
From his vantage, he can see how the thin scrap of lace barely contains you—the 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 he’s 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.
“Oh, man,” he whispers, gravelly and overwhelmed.
He sits back for a second, dragging a hand roughly down his face, his fingers dragging over his features the way someone does when they’re 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. “You’re so puffy here, pretty girl.” his voice nearly cracks.
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.
You’re 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 he’s been building up.
His eyes are fixed on the way the lace is buried deep between your lips, lost in the heat he’s stoked.
“Look at you. Sopping wet for a piece of string.”
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. “My cock would fit better there,” he muses. “But whatever. If you want to keep playing pretend, I suppose I’ll just have to make do with this.” The mental image of that makes you throb in a brand-new way, imaging him nestled in your crevice.
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 he’s generating.
“Poor thing,” he coos, the mockery in his voice thick and honeyed. “Tossing and turning in your sleep because you’re so needy. I suppose I’ve gotta play with your pussy just to get her to calm down, haven’t I?”
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 that’s almost a demand for a reaction.
“Mhmm...”
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.
“Oh, mhmm?” he asks, mirroring the sound back to you with a low hum. He knows he won, the smugness practically radiating off him.
“Did you say something, stellina?” he whispers, his voice dripping with honeyed mock-innocence. “I could’ve sworn I heard a sound. But... no. Not from someone so deeply, deeply asleep.”
"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. I’ve 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 can’t exactly get your consent while you’re off in dreamland, can I? Much too bad.” You feel the coolness of his breath retreating. “I guess I’ll just have to wait…or leave."
He stays perfectly still, his hand just resting there, depriving you of the friction he’s been teasing you with for the last ten minutes. The sudden lack of movement is agonizing.
No way in hell you’re letting that happen. Your eyes flutter open, blinking against the dim light of the dorm. Putting on your best ‘I just woke up’ 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.
Now that your eyes were finally open, you feasted on the sight of him. He wasn’t in his usual, stiffly tailored school robes. He’d 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.
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. You’d always scold him for drinking coffee late, yet you watched as he gulped down a mug at dinner, hours earlier. No wonder he couldn’t sleep.
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.
"Sei una furbetta," he mumbled, the Italian sounding like an approval. "Must’ve been the wind, darling, ‘didn’t say a thing. Since you’re 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.
"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 didn’t waste a minute of time, positioning himself over you, his knees framing your hips. "Merlin, you’re so bossy when you're awake," he muttered, trying to convince himself that he’s the one with all the control here.
“And asleep too. You did exactly what I wanted.” you look up at him, batting those lashes triumphantly.
He groans, shaking his head, hair messily falling into his eyes as he looks down at you. “Yeah, well, you were faking it,” he countered without any bite. “Brilliant performance by the way, truly.”
“Not the whole time I wasn’t.” 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.
“I missed you, mamma.” he admits, almost as if it were a secret.
Goshhh. That nickname. You feel like literal putty, your face parting in a toothy smile.”Theo, I just saw you like, nine hours ago.”
He humphs. “Sì, certo, pero. I was tossing and turning. Without you. Nine hours is a small eternity when my bed feels that empty.”
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 doesn’t hesitate for a second, he meets you halfway, his mouth devouring yours with a hunger that’s 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.
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. “Okay,” you whisper, unable to mask the laugh in your voice. “Now, my other lips.”
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.
“Pardon?” he asked in disbelief, not sure he heard you correctly.
“I don’t know...” you tease, your eyes dropping to his mouth and then back to his. “I just think my other lips need some serious attention. They’re feeling a bit neglected.”
Theo lets out a short, incredulous laugh, his chest heaving against yours. “You’re such a... a deviant,” he accuses, shaking his head. He settles back on his haunches, even though he keeps his hand firmly planted on your thigh. “Is that what this is? Are you just using me for my mouth? Is that all I am to you? A tool for your pleasure?”
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 you’ve ever seen. With his sharp corners of his eyes, it looks like he’s trying to use telekinesis to scramble your brain.
“Yes!” 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. “Yes, absolutely. It would be a waste not to put your talent to work”
He stares at you for a beat, his jaw tightening as he looks at the flush on your cheeks. He knows damn well it isn’t 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 ‘Good morning.’ He knows you’re just as addicted to the soul of him as you are to his hands.
“Wow,” 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 can’t bear it when he looks at you like that, like you are the only thing in the entire castle worth seeing, like he’s 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.
“I’ll remember that,” he muses against your skin as he begins to trail a line of nipping, open-mouthed kisses down your torso. “Treating a guest like this. After I risked a midnight run-in with Mrs. Norris just to see you. Truly heartless.”
“A guest who happens to be very, very hungry,” he whispers.
You let out a breathy, frantic little laugh, trying to keep your head above water as his hands squeeze your thighs. “You literally finished my plate at dinner, Theo. I watched you eat my last three potatoes.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you, his messy waves falling over his forehead, “A man can’t want dessert? I’m a growing boy, I have requirements.”
“That is more than okay with me,” 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. “So what's the plan? Are you gonna eat me like a cannoli?”
He freezes. Like, actually stops moving, his hands hovering over your thighs as he stares at you in dead silence. “No way,” he says, his voice flat. “No way you just said that. Absolutely not.”
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. He’s looking genuinely upset at your choice of pastry, and you could’ve sworn he even scoffed. You can’t 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. “Absolutely, Nott!”, you chirp, giving him a cheeky, lopsided grin.
The corner of his mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile he’s 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.
“Ugh, baby, no. No, no,” he groans, shaking his head and leaning back over you, his expression suddenly very serious, though his eyes are dancing with tell-tale amusement. “You need to know this. You have to understand the geography of what’s about to happen to you. Cannoli? That’s Sicily, that’s the South.”
He rolls his eyes, and only then do you realize he’s being partly facetious, playing up his heritage just to tease you back.
“You know I’m from the North. My family is from Venice and Milan. We don't do cannoli like that. We eat tiramisu.”
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.
“Well,” you start, tiptoeing around your ask. “Could you..could you fill me up like a cannoli? Later?”
The words hang heavy in the air of your dorm, and you can almost see behind his eyes. Clearly his internal monologue’s a mess of good-natured disbelief.’what is this girl’s problem?’But 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. ”For you, I think I can arrange that. Actually, I’m certain of it.”
He can’t 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. “You’re going to be the death of me,” 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 it’s revealed, his breath picking up when the lace finally clears your ankles and gets tossed somewhere toward the foot of the bed.
“What a treat,” 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.
“You want your pussy eaten?” he asks, uncharacteristically crude for him.
A breathless, shaky laugh bubbles up in your chest, trying to gain some of your footing.“I think,” you pant, your fingers curling into the silk of the duvet, “you mean my tiramisu, Theo.”
He smiles lightly, but doesn’t laugh this time, pressing a slow, soft kiss on the meaty part of your thigh. “Tell me, silly girl,” he murmurs, the words almost commanding.“I don’t joke about consent. I need to hear it. Is that what you want?”
You swallow hard, your voice coming out as a small, desperate thread of a sound. “Please... please can you?”
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 it’s 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 you’re 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.
“You okay?” he asks, pulling back just enough to check your face.
Inwardly, he is absolutely stoked. The sight of you already reacting so strongly while he’s hardly even started is a massive stroke to his ego.
“Mhmm,” 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 couldn’t retreat from what was coming.
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.
“Yes, Theo.” 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. “Like this?” 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. He’s 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. “So loud, baby.” he sighs against you, praise disguised as a complaint. “Take what you asked for.” he continues, his thumbs rubbing circles over your waist. He’s 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.
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. “Atleast, slow d-..slow down.” you stumble deliriously, the tension in your thighs coiling slink.
“Yes ma’am.” 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.
“Theo-” you gasp, ripped from your lungs, legs shifting involuntarily against his shoulders.
He pulls back just a fraction, the cool air hitting the wet mark he’s left behind. He looks up at you through the messy locks falling into his eyes.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, a half assed apology. “I missed.”
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 peak—but 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 he’s 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 you’re a goner. Your legs are shaking violently against his shoulders, your breath coming in short panicked hitches that you can't control.
“Theo—I’m... I’m coming,” you mewl, torso twisting instinctively in an attempt to gather yourself.
He’s 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 feeling’s 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.
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. “‘Tastes so good.” he murmurs against your thigh. “You did so well for me.” he tilts his chin down to meet your eyes, a boyish grin on his lips. “Better than any dessert.”
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 pj’s 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. “What about you?” you whisper, your fingers reaching out to ghost over the waistband of his pants.
Theo’s 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 he’s 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.
“I suppose,” he starts, letting his hand dip in to cup himself, pumping a few times just to push your buttons. “I can cut my losses and make a cannoli for once.”
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 “dying” 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 she’s 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
i’m 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 you’re 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 can’t see it.
princess <3
pls
mattheo
go take a nap first
i’ll 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 he’ll be here soon.
But when the ten minutes it should've taken for him to get from his dorm to yours pass by and he’s still not here, you open your phone to check for a message saying he’s on his way.
You don’t see any new notifications and you frown. You decide you’ll just wait a little longer.
Eventually, the pain in your abdomen and the waiting become too much and you drift off to sleep.
It’s 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 you’re 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.
You’re not one to jump to conclusions — well, you are, but you trust Mattheo enough by now to give him the benefit of the doubt — 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.
It’s a Saturday, which means he doesn’t have quidditch. It’s not a special holiday by any means and, since it’s a weekend, he probably had his whole day clear to see you anyway — 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 he’s grown tired of you — no matter how irrational the thought is, you rationalise it in your head — 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.
“Where were you?” 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.
“I had to get some stuff, baby, sorry I took so long.” He murmurs, walking over to you almost like a dutiful nurse. “How’re you holding up?"
You keep your head turned away, ignoring him.
He sits on your edge of your bed. “We don't have to talk if you're—”
“You’re such a bad boyfriend.” 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 can’t 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 you’re in and knowing he has to tread gently.
He gently rubs your shoulder and you can’t 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.
“You’re so cute.” He says, kissing your forehead and nose just to make you laugh — it doesn't work and the pout stays on your face.
“Stop it.” You say, swatting at his hand. “I’m still upset, what the fuck else was so important? What were you getting?”
He gently lifts the plastic bag he had dropped on your bedside table. He takes out the contents one by one.
“Heat pad, dark chocolate bars — with the little raspberry bits you love, pain killers.” He lists each item as he takes them out, “I brought my DVD player, too — we can watch those shitty chick flicks you love.”
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 — how could you be so mean to him? You had promised yourself that you’d start being the sweet girlfriend he deserved. How could you ever think he wouldn’t prioritise you?
You feel awful and you feel a rush of self hatred return.
“Also, I got you food from that taco place we like because I know you haven’t eaten — oh, princess, why’re you crying?” He says softly, cupping your face in his hands.
“Because I’m such a bitch!” You cry, sobbing harder at the touch of his hand.
“You’re not a bitch.” 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 thought—" 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. “It’s my fault; you're right, you’re in pain and I should’ve told you I wasn’t coming immediately.” He says, looking down at you tenderly.
He’s being so patient with you, so understanding — 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. “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, sweetheart.”
He soothes his hand over your head for what feels like hours until you’ve finally calmed down.
“You felt bad being mean to me.” He says after a long lull of silence, grinning from ear to ear, “You love me.”
You scowl. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m hormonal and my emotions are all fucked up. A commercial for dog food could make me cry, in fact, it has—"
He’s not listening, he lowers his head to kiss you softly. You allow yourself to melt into the kiss.
“You love me.” 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."
“I know, I’m sorry.” 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?” He asks.
“Just hold me, please.” You say, sounding embarrassingly like a small child. He doesn’t 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 — 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
