I love personalization. I love stickers on water bottles and on laptops. I love shitty marker drawing on the toes of converse. I love hand embroidered doodles on jeans. I love posters on walls. I love knick knacks on shelves. I love jewelry with goofy charms. I love when people take things and make them theirs.
✧[Summary]✧ It had been months since you two divorced. A moment your life stopped living. It was all painfully tolerable until one night you completely lost yourself and called your ex husband while alcohol was erasing every intelligible bit of your system, including your memories of separating with him.
✧[Content]✧ Angst, ex-husband!mattheo, fem!reader, use of alcohol, modern au.
✧[A/N]✧ These mood swings will kill me one day.
It was a loud friday night. Atleast that was what your foggy mind was replaying over and over again as your unsteady high heels clacked in the quiet pathway leading to your once shared house. Club music still ghostly blaring in your ringing ears as you lift your drunken self straight. Legs weighting more each step, occasionally tripping over nothing.
You haven't been drunk since Mattheo. Restraint over powered the need to drink because there wasn't anybody to take care of you. Except tonight when you stepped foot at the club, resistance wasn't a competition to the strong captivating smell of alcohol.
Just one drink.
Although as time passes by, you couldn't really tell if the bartender refills without command or it was your mouth without it. Either way, you were too busy blabbering incoherent complaints under your breath about how the stools at the bar should be adjustable and had cushions instead of hard wood.
The dance floor was even more irresistible. You loved to dance. This night though, the club didn't seem any different than when you were here with Mattheo, but there wasn't any courage in you to move. Your body was still, staring into the abyss, the music then suddenly blurred in your ears. Vision slowly made out what looked like dark brown eyes.
His eyes.
The same ones that squinted when he smiled and always reassured you everything was okay. The ones that made you believe that was true, and it was, just not anymore. You saw tears in those eyes, and you would wipe them away.
But as you looked straight into those same pupils at this exact moment, you thought you'd see the same version that was in the past.
No.
Those eyes were his, but behind them was lifeless. It wasn't reassuring, neither it was anger or sadness. You couldn't help but find it worse that those eyes that once made you feel everything had now made you feel nothing.
No, he's not actually there. But you couldn't help but yearn for his presence in the slightest way, even if it meant digging deep into the core of your skull just to vaguely remember.
Once the front door of your house creaked opened, the torturous heels were kicked off to the side and tapping of feet was heard around the place.
Where is he?
Reaching into your small purse for a phone, you dialed a number that was still pinned at the top of your messages.
The ringing phone vibrated in Mattheo's pocket as he clicked his apartment door shut. He just came home from work. Still in his work attire, tired eyes and messy hair, he confusingly reached down his pockets to answer whoever at this hour was calling him.
Much to his surprise, your name was the one on the screen. All these months without his ex wife were hell to him. Instinct was to press the glowing red button so he can move on like what was supposed to happen, but his heart ached at the thought of getting one more chance and leaving you once more like he did last time. Mattheo's heart hammered against his chest. Hesitantly, his thumb swipes to answer.
"Where are you? You didn't pick me up and now you're not here!" You slurred, clearly out of your senses.
"I'm sorry?" He already had an idea you were drunk, but not this drunk. He curses himself for caring. Even then, he can't admit he absolutely misses hearing your voice.
"My Mattheo.." You giggle, "You always work too much, when will you come back?"
My Mattheo.
My Mattheo.
My Mattheo.
That's what you always used to call him. It ringed in his ears as everything else you said was in consistent blabbering and mumbling. His mind dissolves into a cloud of memories.
"Helloo??" You pout. Mattheo registered your soft soothing voice and his grip on the phone tightened, blinking a few times.
"I can't come home." He strained, he knew your memories struggled to catch up when intoxicated, but he didn't have the heart to tell. "Something came up, don't wait up for me."
"Okayyy." You dragged, "I'll leave the porch light on, turn it off when you come back."
"I need to go." Mattheo forced out, grinding his teeth shut to hold back.
"Whennn?" You blurt out.
"Now." He hurried. He was holding boulders up on his shoulders just to not come over there and bring you back to him like he failed to do the first time.
"Do you have anything else you wanna say?" You asked, like you used to do before hanging up.
If you pushed a little harder, he might of sobbed. "No." He responded quietly, if he went a little louder you probably could've hear the way his heart breaks through his words, "Do you?"
"Hmm?" You hummed drunkenly.
"Do you have anything else to tell me?" His voice stern once more, but the tears pooling his vision said otherwise.
"I love you."
Your voice soft, though landing harsh. Mattheo closed his eyes as a tear slipped and a lump in his throat prevented him from responding. It was a phrase he knew all too well coming from your tongue, not on his. And it hurts him knowing that because it's so simple, yet he couldn't bring himself to say it. It made him feel vulnerable, but everyday since he got a taste of what it was like without hearing it, he wished he said it more times than you did.
His fingers trembled against the phone, "I.." His voice shook. He bit down on his bottom lip hard, restricting his sobs.
Just fucking say it.
He covered his mouth with a free hand, not wanting you to hear him. His knees buckled before landing a thud to the wooden floor, why can't he just say it?
Everytime he tried parting his lips to respond, an audible sob that came in chains emerged painfully instead.
I love you too.
Mattheo knew you were drunk. Maybe if he just hanged up you'll forget about it tomorrow.
But..
Part of him really needed to say it. Not because he wants to lead you on if you ever remember, not because he needs to get off his chest, not because he has to, but because he means it.
He still does.
"Fucking hell—" Mattheo muttered under his breath when he got a boost of strength and before restrained pulled him back in chains,
"I love you too."
Work written by me. Some dividers aren't mine and credits go to those who owns them. Please do not copy, translate, or feed my work to AI.
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
all bite and no bark is the definition of theodore nott. he simply does stuff and never talks about it. you find your favourite lotion that you’ve just run out of restocked? it’s him. a quill lands on your desk in the middle of class right when you realized you forgot yours? him again, sitting there nonchalantly, with nothing indicating that it was him who has just levitated it to you, but you know. and if you ask? he just shrugs and gives your hand a squeeze. actions don’t need words in his book.
Mattheo should be furious. He knows he should be. But the thought dissolves the second he feels the slick, velvet heat of your cunt swallowing another inch of his thick cock. Every slow roll of your hips parts your tight walls around him with obscene, wet sounds that echo in the dimly lit room—filthy little noises that make his abs clench and his wrists strain uselessly against the enchanted binds.
He looks devastating like this, dark curls damp with sweat, full lips parted, those big brown eyes blown wide with lust as he stares up at you. His gaze is locked on the place where your bodies meet, watching in helpless fascination as your glistening pussy stretches around his girth, taking him so fucking deep.
“Are you sorry now, baby?” you purr, voice dripping with mock sweetness.
Sorry?
The word barely registers through the fog of pleasure. Mattheo’s hips twitch upward, chasing the tight, dripping friction, but you lift yourself just enough to deny him. A low, guttural groan rips from his chest as your soaked walls drag torturously along every veined inch of him.
Right. The fight. The sharp words that had led to you pushing him down, tying his wrists to the headboard while he was still half-hard and lazy from the shower.
He tugs hard against the magical restraints, the ache in his shoulders nothing compared to the throbbing need pulsing between his legs. “No,” he growls, voice rough and stubborn, eyes narrowing even as his cock twitches hard inside you.
Your movements slow to a maddening crawl—barely rocking now, just enough to keep his fat cock nestled deep, kissing your cervix with every teasing shift. The denial makes his jaw clench, a frustrated snarl curling his lips.
The argument had been your fault—at least that’s what he kept telling himself. You’d convinced yourself he was staring too long at the pretty bartender in Hogsmeade, the way his dark eyes had dragged slowly up and down her body while you were mid-sentence. Never mind the ridiculous sparklers glittering in her hair or the crowded pub. He’d looked. And that had been enough.
But none of that mattered now.
Mattheo had already been denied his third orgasm, and he was falling apart beneath you. Sweat glistened across his forehead and chest, a few salty drops sliding down the sharp cut of his jaw. Every frustrated roll of his hips made his abs flex hard under glistening skin, the defined ridges tightening and rippling in a way that made you want to sink your teeth into him.
“If you say so, pretty boy,” you whispered, voice sweet and cruel.
A broken, pathetic moan tore from his throat at the pet name. His thick cock throbbed violently inside your soaked, creamy cunt, stretching you open with every desperate twitch. He bucked up hard, trying to bury himself deeper into that slick, velvety heat, but you kept control—hovering just enough to deny him the friction he craved.
“Ah—fuck!” His teeth clenched so hard the muscle in his jaw jumped. “Just fucking move already.”
His tone was raw anger, edged with frustration, but his big brown eyes told a different story—dark, glassy, and pleading like a desperate, needy dog. His wrists strained violently against the enchanted binds, veins standing out along his forearms as another bead of sweat rolled down his temple. The wet, obscene sound of your dripping pussy sliding lazily along his swollen cock filled the room, teasing him mercilessly with every slow grind.
“You think that pretty bartender would fuck you good?” You rolled your hips in a slow, deliberate circle, letting him feel every inch of your dripping cunt squeezing around his thick cock. “Think her pussy would feel better than mine, baby?”
“You’re fucking crazy,” Mattheo whined, the words cracking into a desperate moan. His hands twitched violently against the enchanted binds, fingers flexing uselessly as he fought to touch you.
You wanted to snap back, but your second orgasm was already building fast and hot, electric pressure coiling low in your belly. Mattheo’s dark eyes watched with raw envy as your hand slid down your sweat-slicked body to rub tight, messy circles over your swollen, puffy clit.
“Please—no, please,” he begged pathetically, voice breaking. “I’m sorry! Okay? I’m fucking sorry. I’ll wear a blindfold in public, I’ll do whatever you want—just please don’t cum again. Don’t make me hold it, baby, please—”
That admission should have been enough. But mercy wasn’t on your mind tonight.
You sank down hard, taking every thick inch of him until your ass met his hips and the fat head of his cock pressed brutally against your cervix. A visible bulge swelled in your lower stomach. You pressed your palm over it, feeling the hard, throbbing shape of him so deep inside your guts.
Mattheo’s eyes rolled back, a wrecked groan tearing from his throat as overwhelming pleasure short-circuited his brain. His toes curled tightly, thighs trembling beneath you.
“Princess—baby, please, I-I can’t—”
“You can hold it for me, can’t you?” you whispered hotly against his ear, lips brushing the sensitive shell. Your breath made him shiver hard, goosebumps racing down his sweat-drenched chest and arms. His cock pulsed angrily inside you, dangerously close to the edge.
Tears pricked the corners of his big brown eyes, making them glassy and desperate. He’d let you ruin him all night if you’d just let him touch you.
“I-I’ll do anything, sweetheart—nngh, please!”
“Sweetheart?” You laughed softly, cruelly. “I thought I was crazy?”
“You’re both—fuck—I love you, please—!”
You started bouncing.
Lewd, wet squelching sounds filled the room every time you lifted up and slammed back down, your creamy pussy stretching obscenely around his thick, veined cock. Mattheo could see it all—how your slick folds dragged along his glistening shaft, how your stomach bulged with every brutal drop. Your breath came faster, sharper, your walls fluttering and milking him with rhythmic pulses as your orgasm drew dangerously close.
A loud, broken moan tore from Mattheo’s throat, raw and guttural enough to echo through the stone walls and probably wake half the castle. His hips jerked violently upward as his vision whited out completely. Thick, hot ropes of his cum flooded your womb in heavy, pulsing spurts, filling you until you felt impossibly full. So much of it that it frothed and leaked out around where your stretched pussy clenched greedily around his throbbing cock, mixing with your own earlier releases in a messy, creamy puddle that dripped down his balls and soaked the sheets beneath him.
You frowned disapprovingly, refusing to let him ride out the high in peace. Instead, you ground down harder, rolling your hips in tight, deliberate circles so the sensitive head of his cock dragged against your cervix.
“Ah—! No, no, no—fuck, please!” Mattheo gasped sharply, his voice cracking into a high-pitched whine. His spent cock twitched and jerked inside you with painful overstimulation, every tiny movement sending electric shocks through his overworked nerves. His abs were locked tight, thighs trembling uncontrollably beneath you, sweat pouring down his heaving chest.
“Aww, that’s okay baby,” you cooed sweetly, still grinding slow and deep on his hypersensitive length. “You’d hate for me to be unsatisfied, wouldn’t you?”
“Untie me—fuck, I’ll make you cum all night, I just— I can’t—ah! Please!” His words dissolved into another pathetic, broken moan as you clenched around him deliberately. Fresh tears glistened in the corners of his glassy brown eyes, one finally slipping free and sliding down his flushed cheek.
“Oh baby,” you purred, leaning down to lick the salty tear from his skin, “you’re making me cum all night anyway. That’s what bad boys get, hm?”
Mattheo’s head fell back against the pillow, dark curls plastered to his forehead with sweat. His chest rose and fell in ragged pants, every breath shaky as his oversensitive cock continued to pulse weakly inside your soaked, cum-filled heat. The overstimulation was bordering on too much his body twitching and jolting with every shift of your hips, soft, desperate whimpers slipping from his swollen lips despite how hard he tried to bite them back.
Finally, you reached up and released the enchanted binds with a whispered word. The moment his wrists were free, Mattheo’s arms wrapped around you with desperate strength, fingers digging almost bruisingly into your hips and lower back as he pulled you flush against his overheated, trembling body. Another tear slipped from the corner of his eye as he buried his face in your neck, breathing you in like a drowning man.
“Fuck… I hate you,” he rasped against your skin, voice hoarse and wrecked, even as his hips gave one weak, involuntary thrust up into your messy cunt. “Love you so fucking much… just—please let me touch you now.”
summary: every year on the spring equinox, pureblooded parents begin plotting their newly adult children's marriage, and on the summer solstice, the engagements are announced. finally 18, you and your friends begin panicking, hoping for bearable fiancés. but those who have the power to turn the court in their favour decide to pull a few strings.
wc: 3.7k
cw: discussions of arranged marriages, discussions of power imbalances, Tom Riddle is alive but not in the voldemort way - no war au, mentions of r! coming from an important family.
The spring equinox marked a dreadful time of year for purebloods across the globe. Parents engaged with each other to arrange marriages between their children, only newly turned adults. Those who weren’t deemed worthy of marrying anyone faced the shameful consequences from their parents and were encouraged to find a partner for their own. It was a dream. It was also a nightmare. Grateful not to be married so young; horrified that no one had entertained the idea of betrothing their children.
As the earth did its last turn around the sun, you were all brought to your final year of freedom, the cages of marriage awaiting you after graduation. This spring, you and your friends were all wrenched away from the throes of freedom, thrown into the games known as family affairs, each of the sacred 28 fighting to have the purest, most successful bloodline.
It was easy to say that finally at the legal age to get married, you were all beginning to panic.
For years, your friend group had gathered together on the spring equinox, discussing every candidate you thought may be brought together as a result of wealthy parents’ business tactics, discussing who was right for which suitor. Three months of thrilling build-up, watching as heirs of successful families were flirted with by women they’d never spoken to before. Observing closely as daughters of powerful purebloods were approached by potential husbands for clandestine encounters in the corners of the castle.
It was funny to watch — women never had a choice in who they would marry, unlike their male counterparts, so unlike the businessmen, most of them had fun. You and Pansy had caught the discussions in the bathrooms from older students, exchanging details about the men who'd made moves on them. Good kisser, not enough for me to want to marry him though, someone would say.
Then, on the summer solstice, when all the engagements were officially announced, you would sit with your jaws on the floor at the odd pairings these parents had come up with. It was never too surprising once you thought about it – success never wandered too far off. You were grateful for that to a certain degree; at least your family status would ensure you didn’t end up with disappointments – with men you hadn’t met before at galas and countless events.
Now, as the winds around you collided to form masses of tension that followed you across the castle, into the common room, you had no choice but to stress until the announcements were made on the morning of the summer solstice, just over six fortnights away. Blaise kept you company in the empty common room, the tormenting thoughts roaming your disturbed minds gracing you with their strangling presence. Neither of you were ready to be betrothed to anyone you’d only made polite conversation with, turning away from the painful exchange to forget their names on the spot.
“This is utterly ridiculous. I can’t marry anyone but Pansy, I don’t know what I’d do.” Your loud laugh cut Blaise off, and he turned to glare at you furiously, a rage of heartbreak and betrayal gathering in his gut. “What, you think it’s funny? I’m in love with her! She’s your best friend, how could-”
“Blaise. I’m not laughing because you and Pansy are in love. Jesus, she’s my best friend. If I had to watch her get married to anyone else, I’d probably kill someone. I’m laughing because you’re stupid.”
Turning momentarily to stare into the fire, you sighed, the flames dancing in the irises of your eyes. Your voice was quiet, and despite the equality between you and Blaise, the fairness and challenge that had formed your friendship, your words still spoke volumes of where you stood in the social hierarchy.
“Blaise, you’re a man.”
Silence.
“You get a say in things. You could walk up to your mother and tell her you want to make a request to marry Pansy - and done! You guys are engaged!” Blaise’s mouth open and shut at the realisation that you were in fact right. He felt his face go hot at the prospect that he may actually get to marry the love of his life, but his joy was short lived. He was aware of what that meant for you.
“I’m not a man.” You continued, hugging your knees closer to you. “My parents can go talk me up to families and give them the idea that I would be the perfect wife, but that wouldn’t matter. If my name doesn’t strike attention, or my reputation isn’t strong enough, I will not be a candidate for anyone. But if my family is important enough and I’ve lived up to everything my parents have ever said of me, requests for my hand in marriage will be piling up from all sorts of families and I… I don’t know what would be worse, having to marry a man I hate or not being asked for my hand in marriage at all!”
Blaise put a hand on your shoulder, tugging you in closer to him so you could rest on your head on his shoulder. He knew the first option was out of the question; he’d seen the way parents huddled in corners of galas, trying not to point you out as you made conversation with others, laughing where polite, your manners impeccable. And your name? Well, it spoke for itself. But Blaise knew the second option scared you even more, so he opted away from trying to comfort you.
“It’ll be okay. As long as you don’t marry Pucey. Imagine having that last name.”
Over the next couple of weeks, the tensions in the friend group only increased. Even Pansy — who already had an invisible band encircling her ring with Zabini’s name on it — was stressing. What if the deal between their families didn’t work out? But while Theo, Draco and Mattheo let their parents take their marriages into their hands for them, occasionally discussing potential wives, you had to sit down in complete cluelessness, unaware of any details that would tie your future together.
Not a single owl kept you in the loop of your own life.
Boys in your year group whom you’d never spoken to came up and made small talk, and while you prayed none of them would be your future husbands, you smiled at them sweetly and took part in their conversations, placing a gentle hand on their arm, aware of the effect it had on them. But eyes lingered on you as you entertained conversations with these boys, none of which were worthy enough of marrying you.
At least, that’s what it seemed to the man who busied himself by studying you, keeping an eye on how you averted your gaze to your lap every time this same discussion was brought up again. How your throat bobbed slightly when the conversation became too difficult for you to bear, but you forced an unbothered expression on your face.
Mattheo Riddle couldn’t stop analysing you, whether he could help it or not. He just seemed to care too much about his friends. At least, that’s what he told those around him.
Unbeknown to you, one late night in their dorm, Mattheo told Theo, Draco and Blaise “I’m thinking of asking my father to put in a betrothal request to y/n’s parents.” The boys all stopped what they were doing at the confession, a silence overtaking the dark room as three pairs of eyes turned to stare at their friend. “Even if she doesn’t have a romantic interest in me, she’s one of my best friends, and I think we’d be happier married to each other than to random strangers.”
Theo pushed himself off on his bed, adding “Also, you have a massive crush on her.” Mattheo ignored his best friend’s comment, well aware that his repetitive excuses had never convinced Theo, so he averted his attention to his other two dorm mates. “Are you going to tell her, or just do it without saying anything?” Asked Draco, putting his book down on the bed beside him as he squinted his eyes in suspiciously.
“I’d tell her first. Well, ask her. If she doesn’t like the idea, I obviously won’t go along with it.”
“I think it’s a good idea.” Spoke Blaise, fingers twitching next to him to write to Pansy about the conversation. He had to tell her, but Mattheo would hate him if the information got to you from anyone other than him. Mattheo’s stare was desperate, eager, hopeful for Blaise to give him more information. “She was telling me how scared she was to marry someone she doesn’t know well. And that she’s worried that she can’t to anything about it. I think she’d be happy to be engaged to a friend. Someone she trusts.”
Mattheo nodded silently, trying to hide his smile by turning the attention back to Blaise. “So has the arrangement with Pansy been sorted?”
“Yeah. She doesn’t know yet though. I’m going to properly propose to her before the announcements are out. Y/n’s going to help me find a ring.”
Theo groaned in a mix of jealousy and frustration, digging his head into his pillow. “I can’t get married! I’m in my prime!” And the silence that greeted him told him exactly what he needed to know. Everyone agreed. They were all too young, they were all in their prime. None of them wanted to get married.
Well, aside from Blaise.
When Mattheo found you in the common room the next day, your essay was laid out on the table in front of you, left untouched. It was clear to him that you were stressing again, and he felt a pang of hurt in his chest for you. Mattheo stilled by the stairs to the dormitories, legs defying his will to move closer to you. He didn’t know why he was suddenly nervous to do this. Just twenty minutes ago, this had seemed like the most logical explanation. An offer you’d say yes to in a heartbeat. But now? Mattheo wasn’t so sure.
Mattheo Riddle was not one to handle rejection well, even in the guise of a plan to save yourselves from an unwritten prophecy. But Mattheo had made his decision, and he wouldn’t back down from the opportunity.
He made himself known by sitting down next to you on the rug, a dangerous silence only he could muster alerting you of his presence. You glanced at him, smiling softly. “Can I talk to you about something?” Nodding, you dropped your quill onto the blank parchment and closed your bottle of ink. At least now you had an excuse for not getting any work done.
“Are you okay?” Mattheo almost laughed at your question. If anyone should have been asked this question, it was you. “I’m okay, are you?” You gaze followed his arm, watching as he reached out to gently place it on your arm, caressing your soft skin.
“Yeah, considering.” Mattheo distracted himself by looking around, at the friends chattering in corners or even new couples, mingling at their parents’ demand. He glanced over at where the rest of your friend group stood hidden under a staircase whilst sharing a cigarette, pretending not to be staring at you. Well, apart from Pansy, who did so shamelessly.
“Uh, so I was thinking.” He began, and you raised your eyebrows at him with a teasing smile. His hand curled over your shoulder, just resting there, and he sighed, shutting his eyes momentarily to ready himself for rejection.
A quiet call of his name had him clearing his throat, looking back up at you. You reached out to cup his cheek, caressing his face with your thumb. His eyes threatened to close, and he leaned into your touch, trying to push out the thought that this interaction may destroy your friendship forever. “You may not like this idea,” He added, looking deeply into your eyes. “But I was thinking of telling my father I’m interested in marrying you.” With the hand Mattheo had on your shoulder, you were sure that he felt the way your breath hitched if he hadn’t already heard it.
“You know,” He continued, swallowing thickly. “You’re one of my best friends, and I know I’d rather marry you than anyone else. You obviously don’t have mmph-” Mattheo was interrupted by the breath being knocked out of his chest as you launched yourself onto him to wrap your arms over his shoulders. His shoulders tensed slightly before sagging in relief, bringing his arms around you to return your hug.
“You’d do that?” You asked weakly, finally finding your voice again. He nodded, hands resting on your lower back, his heart fluttering at you grateful you sounded. “Of course.” His voice suddenly shifted from the caring tone he had as he added a snide remark.
“I’m not doing this for you, you know.”
You dismissed his words as you dug your face into his neck, knowing he was getting defensive at the prospect of being thought of as kind, even to his best friend. Mattheo prayed you didn’t feel the way his pulse raced at the proximity between you, but he didn’t dare break away from the hug just yet, longing to keep you close even for one brief moment.
When you pulled away, staring at Mattheo with a relieved smile, you finally regained bits of your personality as you added teasingly “So what I’m hearing is you’ve just asked me to marry you.” Mattheo scoffed, pushing you away from him by the shoulder. He held himself back from making a comment that it might not happen anyway, but you both knew the truth; Riddles were the most reputable family in wizarding history. Anyone would jump at the opportunity to marry their daughters off to the heir of the Riddle empire. So instead, he smiled, pressing a friendly kiss to your forehead before leaving you alone in the common room.
From across the room, three boys broke away from their smoking session to follow Mattheo up the stairs, leaving Pansy to approach you until she took the spot on the couch behind you. When you finally found the courage to tell a knowing Pansy what had happened, she only responded with “Plus you’ve liked him forever, so...”
“I have not!” But she only rolled her eyes. “Well you better start, because you’re going to be marrying him.”
And start, you did.
Or, if Pansy was correct, you had already started a while ago. Nonetheless, it seemed that ever since you and Mattheo had agreed to marry each other, your dynamic had changed. Following every playful insult, or friendly banter, a silence overtook you, shy glances exchanged between you before one of you made a joke to break the silence. It continued for painful weeks, both of you unaware of the life changing day Tom Riddle approached your father, slipping his son’s name in conversation.
Blissfully blind that behind the scenes, your parents scrambled to get ready for a dinner with the Riddles, putting their best impression to talk you up to the Dark Lord. The most powerful man in the wizarding world. They weren’t aware that Tom Riddle had already made his choice, nor that he would slide an envelope across the table at the end of dinner, a rare smirk playing on his lips as your parents realised he had made his decision long before inviting them for dinner.
“We’ll find out tomorrow,” Started Draco on the night before the spring equinox, “If everything went to plan.”
He stared blankly at Pansy and Blaise, who were cuddled up on a love seat. Pansy already had beautiful ring around her finger, and she hummed mindlessly as she spun it around her finger with a small smile. She didn’t have a single worry in the world. She was already engaged. But for the rest of you?
Nothing was guaranteed.
Draco didn’t know if he would marry Astoria, the friendly, intelligent woman who shared most of his classes — the woman he had caught feelings for. Theo didn’t know if his parents would choose an attractive woman who would get along with you and Pansy, his best female friends. If they hadn't, he would refuse to marry her.
No one knew anything.
Mattheo squeezed your hand in his, and you let your head fall on his shoulder. You didn’t miss the pointed looks your friends shot you, but you ignored them, staring straight into the fire in front of you. The smitten boy beside you didn’t notice their expressions, too busy staring at you with hope in his eyes. He trusted his father, but he couldn’t help the worry that engulfed him.
Mattheo didn’t notice when their discussions and manifestations ended, nor that your friends filtered out of the common room, leaving you alone with him in a deafening silence. “Mattheo?” You finally spoke, many minutes later, causing the curly haired boy to turn his attention to you. His gaze flickered around, and only then did he notice the absence of your friends. That explained the lack of chatter around you.
Mattheo’s face was drowned in concern, worries that the arrangement between you may not work out reflecting on his face clearly. It seemed that his genetic Riddle arrogance was fading away at the possibility of you being stolen away from him to a cruel fate.
“Um, I want you to know that even if we end up betrothed to different people, I’ve-” Mattheo was staring at you so intensely that you had to gulp, taking a long pause between your words. He leaned in closer to hear you better, whispering so quietly in fear of the words that were coming out of your mouth. “I think I like you more than a friend. I think I have for a while.”
Mattheo cupped your face in one large hard, his other brushing stray stands of hair away from your face. He observed you for a long moment, taking his time to put himself together. His heart raced, and Mattheo had to inhale deeply before speaking so his words didn’t come out shaky. “I didn’t just ask you to marry me because you’re my best friend. I asked you because I wanted to marry someone I had romantic feelings for.”
You placed a hand over the one Mattheo had on your face, leaning into his touch as you inhaled deeply, eyes almost watering in relief. “I’m going to kiss you now.” He said confidently, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his lips against yours, a satisfied sigh falling from your lips. Leaning in closer to Mattheo, you parted your lips, licking at his bottom lip desperately. Mattheo broke apart from the kiss, a smug smile on his face. The Riddle ego had come flooding back. You felt heat rush to your face in humiliation.
“I’ll give you a proper kiss when you’re guaranteed to be my wife.”
And somehow, that made you feel better. As though you were definitely getting married.
You and Mattheo sat in the same position the next morning in the great hall, hands clasped together underneath the table. The hall was tense with a sense of dread radiating off students, most of whom were sat alongside you at the slytherin table. Mattheo bumped his knee against yours as owls flew into the hall, envelopes of all colours representing each pureblooded family with their crest engraved in wax seal at its front.
You stared at your friends as envelopes dropped in front of all of you, an inexplicable sense of dread overwhelming you. Blaise nonchalantly opened his letter, Pansy looking over his shoulder as her cheek rested on her fiancé’s shoulder. At the subtle nod of Blaise’s head as he discarded the letter, you knew everything had gone to plan. But would that be the case for you? For all your friends?
“Are you going to open it?” Whispered Mattheo, looking at you intensely. Nodding, you lifted your shaky hands to open the envelope in front of you, chewing on your lip nervously. Mattheo mimicked your movements, reaching for his. You hadn’t told Pansy about the kiss you and Mattheo shared last night, in hopes not to jinx your chances. In some wild belief that everything would suddenly fall into place.
You glanced towards Mattheo once last night before averting your eyes to the long letter in front of you. Reading through the message from your parents, you let out a heavy sigh at the name revealed on the thick parchment, clasping one hand on your chest as you dropped the thick parchment into the plate in front of you.
‘Welcome to the Riddle family, the letter had been signed at the bottom.
Tom Riddle’
Mattheo’s reaction wasn’t as elaborate as yours, a soft smile tugging his lips upward, as though he already new this would happen. After all, who could say no to Riddles, the most powerful family in the wizarding world? A hand grasped your cheeks, quickly turning your face sharply to face Mattheo as he slammed his lips against yours. You squeaked quietly at the sudden movement, shutting your eyes and relaxing against him as he moved his arm to support your back, the other one resting on your cheek.
He kept his promise, forcing his tongue into your mouth and gliding it against yours in a prominent display of affection that had your cheeks going hot. When he parted from you, your eyes were wide and you were panting softly, eyes immediately drawn to the letter on the table, averting your gaze from any of the students around you who were clearly complaining about the affection at the breakfast table.
The rest of your friends seemed happy enough with their decisions, because the second Mattheo turned to look at them with a proud smile, he was met with wide grins and unhindered chuckles. When you gathered the courage to glance upwards, Pansy smiled cheekily, giving you a wink, and you assumed that somehow she already knew that you had both kissed last night. Clearing your throat, you watched as Mattheo shoved a parcel into his pocket, the size of a small, square box, nodding towards a girl at the end of the table who ran out of the great hall clutching a red envelope in her hand to distract you.
“Red,” Theo stated, grimacing, “That’s the Pucey colour.”
Summary: After waking up before your boyfriend during a rainy morning at Hogwarts, you quietly admire him while he pretends to sleep beside you.
The rain had started sometime before dawn.
You could hear it tapping softly against the tall windows of the dormitory apartment, gentle enough to sound almost comforting instead of cold. The green silk curtains swayed every now and then from the draft sneaking through the cracked window, carrying the scent of wet stone and old parchment into the room.
You woke slowly beneath heavy blankets tangled around your legs.
For a moment, you forgot where you were.
Then you felt him.
Tom’s arm was draped loosely over your waist beneath the covers, warm and possessive even in sleep. Your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat slow beneath your ear.
The room was dim silver from the storm outside. Candles on the bedside table had long since melted into puddles of wax during the night, leaving only the fireplace glowing faintly across the room.
You tilted your head carefully to look at him.
Merlin.
It should’ve been illegal for someone to look that perfect first thing in the morning.
His dark curls were messy against the pillow, softer than usual without all the careful composure he wore around everyone else. One strand fell across his forehead, nearly touching his closed eyes. His face looked calmer asleep—less sharp edges, less calculation.
Just Tom.
Your Tom.
You studied every detail shamelessly.
The faint shadows beneath his eyes from staying awake too late in the library with you yesterday. The small scar near his jaw you’d traced a hundred times before. The way his lips were slightly parted against the pillow.
You smiled to yourself.
Outside the bedroom, the castle was probably already awake. Students rushing to breakfast. Owls flying through the rafters. Professors preparing lessons.
But in here, the world felt far away.
You carefully shifted onto your elbow, trying not to wake him.
The mattress dipped slightly.
Tom didn’t move.
You relaxed again, gaze wandering over him once more.
It wasn’t fair, honestly.
Even asleep, he somehow looked elegant. His Slytherin tie from yesterday hung half-off the chair near the fireplace beside your cardigan, abandoned carelessly sometime during the night. One of his rings sat on the bedside table next to an open book neither of you had finished reading.
You remembered trying to study.
That had lasted maybe twenty minutes before he started distracting you on purpose.
A small smile pulled at your lips at the memory.
Your fingers hovered near his face before gently brushing that curl away from his forehead.
Still nothing.
You leaned closer, studying him carefully.
“You’re pretty,” you whispered absentmindedly.
No response.
You bit back a laugh.
It felt strangely intimate, getting to admire him like this when nobody else ever saw him softened. Everyone at Hogwarts knew Tom Riddle as clever and intimidating and untouchable.
Nobody saw the boy who slept with one hand curled around your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear.
Nobody saw the boy who quietly warmed your hands under the table during late-night studying because you always forgot gloves.
Nobody saw this.
You let your fingertips drift lightly down his arm where it rested over the blanket.
His skin was warm.
The rain grew heavier outside.
Perfect weather for staying in bed all day.
You sighed contentedly and settled closer against him again, resting your chin against his chest.
“You know,” you murmured softly, “you’re much less terrifying unconscious.”
A pause.
Then, very calmly—
“Am I?”
You froze.
Your eyes widened instantly.
Tom’s mouth twitched upward before his eyes even opened.
“Oh my God,” you whispered, horrified.
His eyes slowly opened, dark and amused.
“You’ve been awake?”
“Yes.”
Your jaw dropped.
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
You buried your face in his chest immediately with a groan. “That is so embarrassing.”
A quiet laugh rumbled beneath you.
Tom tightened his arm around your waist slightly, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“You called me pretty.”
“You were supposed to be asleep.”
“And yet,” he said smoothly, “here we are.”
You refused to look at him.
He chuckled softly again, one hand sliding up your back lazily beneath the blanket.
“I was enjoying the compliments,” he admitted.
“You’re horrible.”
“Mhm.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“And ruin the moment?” His voice was still rough with sleep. “Not a chance.”
Heat burned in your face as you finally looked up at him again.
He was fully awake now, eyes fixed on you with lazy amusement.
“You’re smug,” you accused.
“You were staring at me like I hung the stars.”
“I was not.”
“You touched my hair and called me pretty.”
You groaned again, pulling the blanket over your head this time.
Tom laughed quietly before peeling the blanket back just enough to see your face.
“You’re adorable when embarrassed.”
“I’m leaving.”
“No, you aren’t.”
He was right.
Neither of you moved.
The rain continued against the windows while the fireplace crackled softly nearby, warming the room with amber light. Somewhere far below, thunder rolled through the castle.
Tom brushed his thumb lazily against your hip beneath the blanket.
“Stay in bed with me today.”
You blinked at him.
“You? Skipping classes?”
“I didn’t say skipping.”
“You absolutely implied it.”
A faint smirk appeared on his lips.
“Maybe I simply value your company more than Advanced Potions.”
You stared dramatically. “Who are you and what have you done with Tom Riddle?”
“I’m serious.”
You softened a little at that.
Truthfully, staying here sounded perfect.
No crowded corridors. No essays. No pretending the two of you weren’t completely obsessed with each other.
Just this.
Rain.
Warm blankets.
Tom’s fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes against your side.
You shifted closer automatically, and his expression changed slightly—something softer, quieter.
“You’re cold,” he murmured.
“A little.”
Without another word, he tugged you practically on top of him beneath the blankets, wrapping both arms around you securely.
“There.”
You laughed quietly against his chest. “That’s excessive.”
“You complain constantly about being cold.”
“I do not.”
“You stole my sweater three days ago.”
“It smelled like you.”
Tom actually looked pleased by that.
Dangerously pleased.
“You’re cute in the mornings,” you mumbled.
“So are you.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “That sounded suspiciously genuine.”
“It was.”
You touched his forehead dramatically. “Do you have a fever?”
He caught your wrist easily, pressing a kiss against the inside of it before letting your hand rest against his chest.
The gesture made your stomach flip stupidly.
Outside, lightning flashed silver across the room for half a second.
You watched the storm through the window quietly for a while, listening to the rain and the distant rumble of thunder.
Tom’s fingers kept moving against your back absentmindedly.
“You know,” you said eventually, “I think this might be the first peaceful morning we’ve had all semester.”
“We’ve had peaceful mornings before.”
“Not really. Usually you’re threatening someone before breakfast.”
“They usually deserve it.”
You snorted.
He tilted his head slightly to look at you better. “What?”
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet you adore me.”
Unfortunately true.
You hid your smile against his shoulder.
Tom noticed anyway.
He always noticed.
A comfortable silence settled between you after that.
At some point, he reached for the wand on the bedside table without letting go of you, muttering a lazy spell toward the fireplace. The flames brightened instantly.
Warmth spread through the room.
You watched him with sleepy admiration.
Even half-awake, he looked effortlessly elegant performing magic.
“You’re staring again,” he murmured without opening his eyes.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re still doing it.”
You huffed quietly and pinched his side beneath the blanket.
Tom actually flinched.
“You little menace—”
You laughed as he immediately pulled you closer so you couldn’t escape, burying his face briefly against your neck while you squirmed.
“Tom—”
“Consequences.”
“You’re literally imprisoning me.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“So are you.”
You finally relaxed against him again, both of you smiling faintly.
The hours passed lazily after that.
Neither of you bothered getting dressed.
At one point, you read beside him while rainstorm light filled the room silver-blue. Later, he played absentmindedly with your fingers while explaining something ridiculously complicated about dark magic theory that you barely listened to because his voice kept making you sleepy.
Eventually, you ended up curled against him again beneath the blankets while thunder echoed outside.
Half-asleep, you felt his hand brushing gently through your hair.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I liked waking up to you staring at me.”
You cracked one eye open. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“Never.”
You smiled tiredly.
“Good,” he murmured.
Then he pulled you impossibly closer, the storm raging softly outside while the two of you stayed tangled together in warmth and green velvet and flickering firelight, perfectly content to let the rest of the castle wait.
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