you're perched up in his lap; close - soft. a trickle of your laughter skims against his throat, your fingers tracing lazy circles across his collar as you grind away against his thigh; clit catching in your panties against theo's jeans as you whimper like a broken doll pathetically.
he's got his eyes fixed on the tv over your shoulder; playing some muggle game you got him for his birthday last week that he's been absolutely obsessed with and you're trying as hard as ever to get just a slither of his attention.
"baby?"
your voice cracks as you pant, eyes rolling back into your head, heart racing as your thighs begin to heat up, hips rocking recklessly. theo loops an arm around the back of your waist still holding the controller; pauses the game, lifts his free hand up to grab at your chin and tilts your head towards him - forcing you to make eye contact as you stutter and splutter and try to lean in for a kiss that he doesn't quite let you have.
"keep going."
he asks. you do. that's the way your relationship has always been. he holds control. you're just the pretty little play thing he gets to toy with. he shifts his legs - you almost convulse at the friction. he catches your bottom lip between his teeth - you groan with a quiver as a small spot on his jeans goes damp.
his gorgeous baby blues drag down to your mouth as he smirks. knowing. cocky. you continue to riding his thigh; whispering half attempts at saying his name along with 'please', but theo just shakes his head and drops the controller, bringing both hands to your hips. he guides your thrusts, wanting you to keep going; wanting to watch you enter your own ruin until you can't say a word, have your face buried into the crook of his neck and are willing to both scream and whimper for more.
What's the point of writing Matheo when its not even wizard or magic related anymore? Like just full on normal/muggle stuff?
For fun. For something alternative. For the pure selfish and indulgent fact that I want to. My other blogs (rip due to termination) have more ✨ magic so all you're seeing now is a snippet, but yeah - all in all, because I enjoy AUs and I want to.
*goes though the author's entire ao3 library* *leaves comments on every chapter* *subscribes to the author on ao3* *follows the author on tumblr* *follows the author on twitter* *follows the author to their house* Hi, I really like your fics—
summary: Sleepless nights, cold floors, and a boy who shouldn’t make you feel safe. What the night allows, daylight would never forgive.
w/c: 1.4k
warnings: brief mentions of war, reader suffers from nightmares.
Your footsteps were near silent as you padded towards the common room, the cold bite of the stone floor barely registering against your skin. You welcomed the sensation; the cool breeze that skimmed your exposed legs, a pleasant alternative to the sweat slick across your back, a vacant reminder of why you’d left your bed in the first place.
Your heart still hammered against your ribs, each breath shaky, dragging in air like you’d been starved of it. You forced it to steady, each uneven gasp humiliating in the silence.
You winced as the frozen stone beneath your feet began to sting, your footsteps hurried yet careful as you slipped towards one of the dying hearths, where small embers crackled faintly and offered little heat to the room. You were grateful for the large woollen rug that padded the stone beneath your feet, offering the slightest reprieve from the cold that had sunk deep into your skin.
Running a hand over tired eyes, a long drawn out sigh slipped past your lips, another night's sleep ruined by horrid dreams you couldn’t control. No one slept easily these days. Not with the Carrows stalking the corridors and that constant hum of fear that lingered in their wake. Even dreams weren’t safe anymore, not after the things you’d seen.
That sinking feeling that Hogwarts wasn’t home anymore plagued your mind, day and night. Because while it might’ve been the same stone walls, the same plush four poster beds— it was no longer the safe haven you’d loved since you’d first walked through the doors all those years ago.
Reaching for the decanter, your fingertips brushed against the glass, the surface slick with condensation. Cold droplets gathered against your skin, and the faint slosh of liquid pouring filled the otherwise silent room. The elves had begun leaving them a few weeks ago, as though they too had learned to expect sleepless footsteps in the small hours.
You couldn’t remember when you first noticed—trays appearing at midnight and vanishing by morning—but you’d come to rely on them. Water jugs, sometimes garnished with slices of lemon or cucumber, and rarely a slab of chocolate on particularly hard nights. Just enough to remind you that someone, somewhere, still cared.
No one mentioned it out loud. No one admitted to waking from the same nightmares that summoned the decanter in the first place. Yet all across the castle, from first year through to seventh, there was a silent appreciation for such a small gesture.
Some students hadn’t come back at all, their parents too nervous, too scared to let them out of their sight. Not after the Dark Mark had been cast above the school, hanging in the clouds like a twisted glimpse of what was to come to the castle's gates.
Others gathered in the Room of Requirement and slept in makeshift beds; sleeping bags, hammocks, all piled together like safety in numbers would protect them— or at least offer the comfort of knowing you weren’t alone in your worries.
But not you. Not Slytherins.
Family names carried too much weight, too many ties to the war. To be seen slipping into the Come and Go Room meant questions—about loyalty, about blood. And for many like you, there was no safety, only choices that were about survival.
You filled your glass— no lemon or cucumber tonight— and swallowed deeply. The water soothed your throat, although the hollow ache in your chest remained. You poured another, ignoring the tremor in your hands, half-convinced the elves had laced it with a calming draught. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when the stillness that followed each sip felt like mercy.
Your lashes fluttered, eyes heavy with sleep even as cool droplets of water left tracks down the side of the glass, curving around your fingers like raindrops. You lingered by the hearth for a few moments, gaze fixed on the embers that glowed like faint, orange pinpricks. Giving in to the calmness that slowly seeped into your bones.
Then—almost without thinking—you turned toward the boys’ dormitories. Despite how many times you told yourself you wouldn’t go to him again. That you wouldn’t let yourself need the comfort of him beside you. Your body moved before rationality or pride prevailed.
The door creaked as it clicked open, your steps halting for a moment as your eyes flickered across each bed, the curtains all drawn tight. Even in the darkness you could make out each boy’s space, each body that twisted and turned uncomfortably despite the plush pillows and silk sheets.
They all fell still as you tiptoed further into the dorm. You knew they were awake, that they were feigning sleep. Normality. But just as you pretended not to notice them laying awake, they pretended not to hear you slip through the room. Avoided bringing it up in the morning, too.
You hesitated at his bed, fear twisting in your gut. But the thought of returning to your empty one was worse.
You parted the curtain just enough to slip inside. Despite the darkness your eyes adjusted quickly, and you could faintly make out the muscles of his back. He was turned away from you and sprawled in the middle of his bed, the duvet askew in a pool around his waist. Like he’d been trying to get comfortable and gave up.
You didn’t speak as you set your cold glass on his bedside, peeled the covers back at the corner closest to you and crawled in. The mattress dipped under your weight and he stirred, shifting towards one side to make more space for you. Like he already knew what to do. Heat radiated from his skin, a warmth that couldn’t be replicated by magic reaching the parts of you that still shivered and stung.
Mattheo’s shoulder rose and fell with each breath, body twitching as you edged closer, your forehead coming to rest between his shoulder blades. Your body wrapped around his tentatively, an arm draping across his torso, skimming across muscle and scars alike.
He inhaled sharply, letting you settle before his own body relaxed against you. Like he had been waiting till your movements fell still, till the two of you fit together like a puzzle piece. You pretended not to notice how he pressed back against you as you clung to him.
Once, this might’ve been innocent, sneaking out of your dorm in the dead of night like something out of a muggle romance novel. He might’ve smirked, teased you till your cheeks tinged pink and you hid your face from him. You might’ve slipped your hand into his, all shy and wordless, let his fingers curve around your fingers decisively.
It might’ve been romantic, an amalgamation of childhood crushes and teenage fascination. He might’ve finally asked you out, after months of skirting around the edge of just maybes. But the chance at that life was gone now, instead replaced by the ruin that his own father brought upon the magical world. All that remained was a glimmer of what might’ve been.
So instead you curled into him in the darkest of hours, and his hand would dare to meet yours under the covers. Rough fingers found your smaller ones and curled around them, a wordless reassurance as he squeezed gently— I can’t sleep either.
You shifted slightly around him, confidence growing enough that you could get comfortable. He wanted you here as much as you did. His eyes were still shut, but he was listening, and even in the darkness it felt like he was watching.
His fingers were still laced with yours, a weight that you clung onto for comfort. In response to his admission, your fingers tensed softly in his grasp, your own shared-truth mirroring his— I’m scared too.
Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. Words were dangerous now, and vulnerability felt like weakness. There would be no talk of this tomorrow, but by nightfall you’d be ready to make the trip again.
The rise and fall of his chest paused temporarily, his body falling still as his shoulders slumped and a steady exhale filled the silence. Your own eyes began to droop, feeling heavy and full of sleep. Tomorrow you’d wake as the sun rose and slip from the dorm without a word. Tomorrow you’d avoid talking about it and eat your breakfast shoulder to shoulder in silence.
But tonight, nestled beside him, curled together in a twin sized bed too small for two people. Tonight, you’d finally get some sleep.
a/n: this was meant to be fluffy and I made it sad, sorry🤥
rumour has it that mattheo riddle doesn't like the word - no. huh, who'd have thought? turns out however that no, just happens to be your favourite word, and since breaking up with him a little short of 6 weeks ago, you've tried to say it as much as one possibly can without sounding like a broken record.
can we get back together? no.
can we talk? no.
can we figure this out and end on good terms? no.
can we still fuck every now and again? -- well.
so now you're on your knees in his dorm; skin scraping against the uneven hardwood as he knots a hand into your hair and drags you closer with a groan. you're wearing his favourite shade of lipstick; la rogue by yves saint laurent and it looks oh so perfect staining his cock as he bucks against your face, tip tickling the back of your throat as you gag like a dream. mascara running down your cheeks, he pulls out just enough that precum coats your lips then runs his thumb across them - whimpering at the sight before him.
"god - you're beautiful."
you let your tongue chase his thumb and nip a kiss at it. he had a date tonight. with who? fuck it, you didn't bother asking. you knew that sex was off the table. for that privilege - he'd have to work. but a quick cock suck? well, you'd missed dinner after studying in the library for a little too long and were far too hungry to say no. his load coating the inside of your mouth would be a perfect substitute.
summary: Mattheo Riddle is the perfect boyfriend; attentive, loving, and, not to mention great at sex. Thought recently you’ve been thinking of spicing things up. But when you suggest something that he’s not quite willing to try yet, his best friend Theodore Nott has a few ideas on how to help. Even if it’s not exactly conventional.
wc: 6.8k
warnings: MDNI, all characters are 18+, established relationship, pet names, sexual taunting, dry humping, dubcon?, consensual cheating lowkey, mentions of insecurity/anxiety around sex positions, slight locker room chat from the boys, mentions of being drunk/alcohol consumption & Theo being hilariously good at riling Mattheo up. Self indulgent but I digress
If Mattheo Riddle knew how to do one thing right in his life, then he’d say it was fucking. Fucking you to be exact, his darling girlfriend. His angel. The glue that held him together more than half the time, not that he’d admit that to anyone but you.
He knew how you liked it— he knew the moment you were about to shatter just by the way you said his name. Merlin, he knew just about everything about fucking you, like it was his personal mission to know exactly what you liked and disliked. As long as it made you feel good, Mattheo was more than willing to learn.
Or, so he thought. Foolishly.
When you asked one day— all shy glances and mumbled words as he pressed kisses to the crook of your neck— if you could try something new, Mattheo was all ears. That was, until you suggested that for once you do all the work, treat him for a change. It was then he crumbled. Cheeks flushed with a faint but noticeable blush, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed shyly.
It went on like this for over a week. He’d have you caged in his arms, trapped underneath him, cock brushing against your tight walls. A sinful drag that made him grunt against your lips in sheer appreciation, and all of a sudden, you’d break the kiss. Eyes peering up at him all innocent and curious, like he wasn’t still thrusting in and out of you, deliriously chasing the high he was ‘oh so close’ to reaching.
“Matty…” you’d purr, in that voice that almost-always made him bend to your will. That syrupy tone enticed him like a siren’s call, and the moment he heard it, he knew exactly what you were asking for. What you’d been subtly hinting at ever since the first time you’d asked and he’d shrugged it off.
Control.
He’d fuck into you faster— deeper— covertly try pressing his lips against your throat, biting down in all the spots he knew you loved. He tried his very best to render you unable to even think about asking again, but it would never work.
“I just want to try it…” you’d urge, bringing it up moments after he finally came. A small pout on your lips, as he gasped beside you, flat on his back and attempting to catch his breath from over-exertion. “Feel bad you’re doing all the work.” You slid closer to him, propping your head up on your hand.
Mattheo only huffed and rolled onto his side, pressing a feather-light kiss to your temple, muttering the same thing he always said when you asked, “Just let me worry about making you feel good, yeah?”
After the third variation of that conversation— mid thrust, usually— Mattheo was starting to crack. Running out of ways to turn you down, and ways to distract you with his cock; or mouth, or fingers. Which meant he began to think about your request, albeit hesitantly, grappling with whatever strange part of him couldn’t relent.
It hadn’t exactly driven a wedge between the two of you, but he was growing more and more defensive each day. New excuses slipping from his lips each time you gave him that butter-wouldn’t-melt look.
“I just don’t want my sweet girl lifting a finger, not when I can make you feel so good.” He’d purr into the soft skin of your thighs, thumb tracing your clit in tight circles, whilst his tongue returned to lap at your slit.
“But you look so good underneath me, love,” he’d reason with a smirk, cock pistoning in and out of you, slow and deep. Drawing the prettiest of moans from your parted lips.
Then, “Stop asking, yeah? You’ll take what I give you and you’ll shut that pretty little mouth.” He’d growl, bucking into you rapidly, one hand pressed across your mouth to silence your whines.
And yet, when you finally stopped bringing it up, Mattheo found he didn’t feel the relief he’d expected.
If anything, it left him with a gnawing sort of feeling— the kind that lingered long after he’d made you cum, and even longer after your breathing evened out beside him. He’d lie there in the dark, still naked beside you, your skin warm and damp against his, and feel unfulfilled. Like he’d missed something, though he couldn’t pinpoint what.
It got worse in the quiet moments. When you drifted off, lashes resting on flushed cheeks, his hands itched to touch you again. Not to chase his own release, but to chase that look. The one he knew you’d have if he ever gave in. That look of pure, soft, aching, need.
He told himself it was stupid. That neither of you needed it, sex was perfect the way he knew how. You nestled into the pillows, and him doing all the hard work. It was safe— comforting, almost— the ease of that routine settling something in him he was yet to face. And yet, each morning he woke up lately, your innocent request was already waiting for him, unmoving and stubborn as ever.
Mattheo felt restless, wand twisting around his fingers, a soft tap each time the wood scuffed the table. Completely oblivious to the Herbology Essay that lay untouched in front of him, he had bigger problems than naming properties of bubotubor pus— like the fact that, for the first time in his life, his sex life was subpar.
And even worse? He’d come to realise it was entirely his fault.
Theo sat across from him, kicked back in his chair like he owned the place, ankles crossed on top of the table. His fingers idly turned the page of his textbook, attention only half there— the very picture of smug detachment.
Mattheo was driving himself up the wall just thinking about it, the way you’d looked so downtrodden each time he’d shut down your simple ask of him. And it began to eat away at him, at all hours. But especially, when he was meant to be focusing on other things, like making sure his grades didn’t slip enough that he got benched for the rest of the Quidditch season.
The more he thought about it, the more the problem weighed on him— and right now, sitting in the library on Monday night desperately trying to get through his homework, Mattheo wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him up. Just to be done with it altogether.
It’s not like he didn’t trust you, or that he didn’t want you on top. Rather the opposite, if he was completely honest. That other side to him, the feral and hedonistic one, reared its head at the mere mention of you. His pulse thrummed the moment he caught even a whiff of your sweet perfume. He just… wasn’t sure. It was vulnerability, he supposed, and that was one thing Mattheo wasn’t good at.
“You’ve shagged plenty of girls, Theo.” Mattheo spoke up eventually, breaking the silence with more of an observation than a question.
It was no secret that Theo had a reputation amongst the ladies of Hogwarts. The kind built on easy smirks and playful flirting, and always ended in the lingering smell of cologne and sex that had them coming back for more. He was the kind of guy who could convince you the sky was green and the grass was blue, and if he ever felt anything for them, he never made it clear. That was just part of the allure, ‘The Nott Charm’ as Theo often called it in jest.
Theo only hummed, half interested and half judgmental. Turning the page of his book with intrigue that had to be put on, if only to urge Mattheo to offer up something better— or shut up altogether.
Mattheo cleared his throat when he realised his mistake, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms in bemusement. “I just mean— you know what you’re doing, right?”
Theo’s gaze slid up slowly, deliberate, as if he were deciding whether Mattheo was worth looking at just yet. One eyebrow rose in lazy curiosity, the corners of his mouth curling like he’d been expecting this.
“Trouble in paradise, amico?” His smirk was pure provocation. “Young love’s first fight?”
Mattheo scoffed, throwing himself back in his seat with an exasperated groan. Theo only stuck out his tongue.
“Like you’d know a thing about love. Bloody new girl every week! I don’t know how you keep up, Casanova.” Mattheo bit, mirroring Theo’s childish gesture stubbornly.
“Oh?” Theo leaned forward just slightly, elbows on the table, smirk sharpening as all playful teasing slid from his face. “Then why bother asking me at all?”
Theo’s head tilted tauntingly. As if daring him, with that look like he already knew everything Mattheo wanted to confess.
Mattheo hesitated, glancing around at the nearby students — all too buried in their own work to notice. A flicker of heat threatened to rise in his cheeks at the thought of discussing you like this, with Theo of all people.
“It’s… ah, forget it,” Mattheo muttered finally, shaking his head and glancing back down at his essay.
But Theo was like a dog with a bone.
“Don’t tell me…” Theo hummed, eyebrows creasing as he pretended to think, “She’s terrible in bed?” Theo drawled, probably only saying it to rile him up.
Mattheo’s jaw clenched, eyes darkening in warning. “Careful with your next words, Nott.” He gritted out, “She’s my girlfriend.”
Theo raised his hands in mock surrender, grin firmly in place — the same, sly grin he gave to every girl he’d ever left wanting more. Mattheo should’ve known this was hopeless, that Theo was the least likely of his friends to understand.
“Alright, alright. Message received.” Theo mused, letting his hands drop down to the table, leaning forward with that same lazy curiosity. “Spit it out then. What’s bothering you?”
Mattheo exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. “It’s just—” He broke off, staring at the grain in the tabletop as though it might help him find the words. “Have you ever, uh…” He gave an awkward head tilt, like that would somehow explain it.
Theo stared at him flatly.
“That’s not even remotely a question.” Theo laughed coolly, studying the exasperated look on Mattheo’s face with amusement.
“You know,” Mattheo tried again, shifting in his seat, “let her…?”
Another vague nod.
The smirk on Theo’s face was immediate, sly and crass. Spreading across his lips like all his Christmas’ had come at once.
“Oh. You’re into that, are you?” His voice dripped with amusement, one brow raising higher. “Didn’t peg you as that kind of guy, Riddle.”
“What— No! Salazar Theo, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Mattheo scowled, colour creeping into his cheeks at the insinuation.
Theo only grinned wider, shrugging noncommittally, “You’re into what you’re into mate, I don’t know what shit you like.”
“I just mean…” Mattheo huffed, leaning closer as his voice dropped to a whisper, “letting her take control?”
His eyes scanned once more to make sure no nosey Ravenclaws had overhead him. Part of him in disbelief that he was even saying this out loud.
Theo blinked once. Twice, like he couldn’t quite believe what Mattheo was saying. Then snorted dryly, “Well, duh?”
Mattheo’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, duh?”
“I mean,” Theo said as he leaned closer— tone utterly casual, too casual for what they were discussing really. “Free pussy in your lap and she does all the work? Come on man.” He groaned, eyes rolling like it was a wet dream. “Hang on— are you seriously telling me you’ve never let her ride you?”
Mattheo grimaced, looking away sheepishly. “Not… exactly.” He answered, suspiciously evasive in his reply.
Theo sat back, shaking his head slowly, like he’d just been informed of an unforgivable crime against wizardkind. “Salazar save me, Riddle. That girl is a waste on you.” Theo stifled a groan.
“It’s not that simple,” Mattheo muttered, glaring at his untouched essay. Theo was all too comfortable with this conversation, and Mattheo needed out of it, quickly. “You wouldn’t understand, Nott.” he snapped quietly, practically hissing the words across the table.
“Mate… it is.” Theo said, voice low and incredulous, “It’s exactly that simple. You sit there, you shut up, and you let her ruin you. Merlin’s bollocks, have some dignity man!”
Mattheo shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass, but the heat in his ears gave him away instantly.
“Alright, alright. I get the picture, Nott, now shut it, please.”
Theo must’ve caught it, of course he did. The way Mattheo’s jaw clenched, the flush creeping up the back of his neck at the thought of you that Theo had so kindly painted.
“You think letting her be in control makes you weak, don’t you?” Theo spoke, with that smug knowing look on his face. That same look that said ‘I’m your best mate, of course I’ve worked it out before you did’.
Mattheo scowled harder, refusing to dignify him with an answer to a question he already knew. And Theo knew alright, he could read Mattheo like a book, probably better than he knew himself. For better or for worse.
Currently Mattheo was learning towards worse.
Theo leaned in just enough for his voice to drop low, almost conspiratorial. “Take it from me, it doesn’t. It makes you smart. Let her think she’s running the show, and you’ll get more than you ever knew to ask for.”
Mattheo scoffed, pretending the words slid right off him, but Theo wasn’t done.
“Course,” he added lightly, flipping a page in his textbook, “if you’re too scared to try it, she can always come to me. I’m good with first-timers, y’know.”
Mattheo’s head snapped up, his glare dangerous, but Theo was already scanning his notes like the conversation was over.
“You’re an insufferable prick, Nott,” Mattheo muttered. Well used to Theo’s distinct lack of embarrassment by now.
“And you…” Theo replied without looking up, “are going to be thinking about this all bloody night. Let her fuck you and be done with it.” He shrugged, voice lacking any sympathy for his predicament.
Mattheo’s forehead fell down against the table with a groan, because as much as he hated to admit it, Theo wasn’t wrong.
It was just a throwaway comment. Theo being Theo and needling for sport. Mattheo knew that. But it stuck, like tyres spinning in a muddy field. Each time Mattheo shook the taunting sound of his best friends teasing off— it felt like he was digging himself deeper.
And by the time he was back in his dorm, tossing his books and half finished essay to the side, the words had wormed their way right under his skin and settled.
Let her think she’s running the show.
It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea. Merlin, his cock stiffened just thinking about you, never mind the thought of you on top of him.
No, it was the exposure that came along with it— because Mattheo was a control freak. He latched on to situations where he could control how people felt towards him, how you felt towards him. And giving that all up, no matter how minor it seemed, terrified him.
But now, thanks to Theo and his love for meddling, he was beginning to realise that it wasn’t the ‘what if’ that might be the problem here. It was him.
He flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling, jaw tight. He could picture you in his mind without trying— sitting in his lap, hands braced on his chest, that determined glint in your eyes when you were set on proving a point. He imagined the roll of your hips, the heat of your thighs caging him in, the smug little smirk you’d wear because you always got what you wanted, eventually.
Mattheo shifted uncomfortably, dragging a hand down his face. Fuck, stop thinking about it, he told himself as he adjusted his trousers, ignoring the stirring sensation that pooled in his stomach.
Except then the image shifted. It wasn’t him under you anymore. It was Theo. And for some godforsaken reason, that was worse, and better, all at once.
His stomach knotted. He’d kill him. He’d actually kill him. But the sound— in his head, imagined, yet as clear as day— of Theo’s low groan when you moved? Yeah, that might just kill him first.
“But Matty,” You whined with a faux pout on your lips, arms crossed over your chest dramatically. Mattheo’s eyes rolled as his arm tightened around your shoulders, guiding your smaller frame to walk alongside him.
“It’s late, sweetheart.” Mattheo’s voice was raspy from the firewhiskey he’d been drinking all evening, a sleepy haze lacing his words. But you were in no mood to call it a night, much to your boyfriend’s evident frustration.
“Ugh, you’re no fun..” you huffed, earning a snort from behind you. Theo was trailing a few paces behind, choosing to leave the Hufflepuff party at the same time as you and Mattheo. Which wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary, dating Mattheo sometimes felt like dating Theo, there was never one without the other— and you’d accepted this well before you even officially became a couple.
“Yeah Matty,” Theo echoed with a lazy smirk, falling into step on your other side and wedging you between the two boys. “Don’t be such a bore. The girl just wants a bit of fun.”
Theo’s thick brows wiggled suggestively, coaxing a shy laugh from your throat. Ever the gentleman with his sexual innuendos, everyone had long stopped groaning at his lack of embarrassment in that department— sex jokes were a given when you were dealing with men who behaved like horny teenagers.
You snorted, shooting Theo a grin that he returned happily. But Mattheo’s jaw flexed, his grip around you tightening as though he could shield you from Theo’s words by sheer force.
“She gets plenty of fun,” your boyfriend muttered under his breath, his tone both flat and warning.
You were oblivious— partially— to the silent standoff between them, mistaking Mattheo’s unsociableness for tiredness. Quietly, you pressed closer into his side, the faint smell of aftershave and cigarette smoke invading your senses as you breathed him in.
His arm slung around your shoulders tugged you closer as you traipsed through the dungeons, a comforting heat as your short skirt and crop top offered little warmth in the draughty corridors. You buried yourself further into Mattheo as you waited for the staircase to change, silently cursing the magic that typically would have had you in awe.
Theo hummed from beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels as though the tension he was creating between you all was nothing but entertainment for him.
“Does she now? ’Cause if I didn’t know better, that’s not entirely true— is it, Matty?” He pressed, his eyes skimmed over the top of your head, smirking towards your boyfriend as if you weren’t there at all.
Your cheeks burned, half from the firewhiskey, and half from Theo’s deliberate jab. You’d all had a bit to drink tonight, but you didn’t feel that drunk anymore. Not with the way Mattheo stopped dead in his tracks, pulling you to a stop too as he glared sharp enough to slice clean through his best mate.
“Careful, Nott.” he gritted out, voice low and dangerous. Like something was transpiring between the two boys, something that you evidently were not privy to.
Theo just lifted his hands in mock surrender, eyes glinting like he’d already won. Ignoring the way your head twisted between the two boys confusedly.
“Relax, Riddle. I’m not offering. Just observing.” His gaze flicked down to you briefly, then back to Mattheo, a sick grin tugging at his lips. “Unless, of course, she’s been begging you for something you’re too bloody stubborn to give.”
You stiffened, suddenly hyperaware of the tension coiling between them. Inquisitive, your eyes fixed on Mattheo, the pieces beginning to fit together as you took in the expression on his face. A mix of a scowl and a deer caught in headlights, his lips parted and eyes blinking towards Theo silently. The three of you still stopped dead in the centre of the corridor.
“Uh…Mattheo?” You nudged cautiously. You weren’t certain, but you weren’t stupid either. A sinking feeling of embarrassment began to harden in your stomach, nausea creeping in and replacing the warm feeling you’d been floating around with all evening.
Theo’s words clearly struck a nerve in your boyfriend, who’d stiffened and was having a silent standoff with his best friend. It wasn’t like Mattheo to discuss things of that… nature with Theo.
You knew all too well how defensive he became when someone was prying into his personal life, and without sounding big headed— you knew you were a particular sore spot for Mattheo.
Yet Theo’s grin turned positively wolfish. “That look she gives you sometimes. Frustrated, all wound up. Not from lack of effort, no—” his eyes flicked to you, then deliberately back to Mattheo, “—but from lack of freedom.”
You blinked, caught between confusion and embarrassment, mouth opening and closing in blatant shock. The way his lips curved round each word, the slight twinge of his accent as he spoke, all of it made clear that this ran deeper than Theo’s typical teasing. Mattheo, however, looked like he might kill him, or at least try to.
You were certain now, Mattheo had to have told Theo about your sex life, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t positively mortified.
“Shut your mouth.” Mattheo’s voice was like gravel, low and venomous. His arm tightened around you again, as though if he held you close enough, he could stop the words from reaching you.
Theo just chuckled, shaking his head. “Touchy, touchy. Don’t worry, tesoro,” he added with a wink in your direction, “your boy here just likes to keep his hands firmly on the reins. Isn’t that right, Matty boy?”
Your lips parted, questions bubbling up, but Mattheo cut you off with a sharp tug, practically dragging you away down the corridor towards the common room. Even as you tried to ask what the fuck Theo was on about.
“—Don’t. listen to him.” Mattheo cut you off, his words clipped, final, and leaving no room for argument. His grip firm against your shoulder as his pace quickened. You were near enough jogging to keep up with him, glancing back at a smug Theo as your boyfriend hissed the password at the concealed entrance in the dungeons.
Mattheo’s grip on your arm didn’t loosen until he’d ushered you to step into the Slytherin common room, his chest brushing against your back as he followed close behind you. It was empty at this time, students either still at the Hufflepuff party or in Hogsmede. Which in the moment, unsure of whatever was going on between the two boys, you were immensely grateful for.
The fire had burned low, casting the space in deep orange shadows. Empty—except for you, Mattheo, and Theo, who strolled in behind with all the ease of a cat who’d cornered his prey.
“Just… don’t listen to him, sweetheart. He’s being an arse.” Mattheo muttered again, guiding you gently toward the stairs, seemingly hell bent on getting you as far away from Theo as possible.
You could feel him behind you as you climbed the stairs, following the familiar path towards his dorm room. Glancing behind you caught the tail end of his movements, a hand running through his curls like it might clear the storm from his face. You saw the way he glanced back at Theo and mouthed something you couldn’t work out, but from the way his back straightened menacingly, you could hazard a guess that it was some variation of a threat.
Theo followed. Of course he did, not one to miss out on teasing your already irritated boyfriend. He was grinning like the Cheshire fucking cat, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. The two of them like an old married couple as Mattheo groaned and told him, audibly this time, to piss off.
You let yourself into Mattheo’s dorm with a practiced ease, a sobering wave of exhaustion settling in your bones as you crossed the room. Mattheo had already begun toeing off his shoes by the dresser, not caring where they landed.
Part of you was angry, shuddering at the thought of Mattheo sharing details about intimate moments that should’ve been reserved for the two of you. But it was embarrassment that won out, your cheeks still painted with a noticeable flush as you settled onto his mattress and reached down to the thin straps of your heels.
“You know,” Theo chirped in a lazy voice, appearing at the doorframe a moment later, letting himself in without a modicum of remorse. “It’s a shame, really. But if you can’t keep her entertained, Riddle, just know I could.”
Your head snapped towards Theo, who had wandered in and taken to leaning against his bedpost. Mattheo had stepped forward fiercely, putting himself between you and his best friend. His mouth had dropped open, but you got there first.
“That’s enough, Theodore,” you snapped, turning the full force of your glare on him. “What I do with my boyfriend is none of your business. I don’t know what has gotten into you both, but it stops… now.”
Your arms folded across your chest, ignoring the glance that Mattheo shot you. The last thing you needed was a lecture from him on why feeding into Theo’s needling was a bad idea.
The tension coiled in the air like a thick blanket, settling over the silent dorm room as neither boy offered you an answer. Mattheo stood with his jaw tight, now avoiding your eyes and glaring at Theo— who just stared back at you, that stupid smirk still on his lips.
“You’re right, Tesora.” Theo relented, sitting down on the edge of his mattress, and risking a small glance towards Mattheo, “I, for one, am terribly sorry…” his hand waved halfheartedly and crossed against his chest, “Sorry that your boyfriend’s too much of a control freak to ever let you fuck him properly.”
Mattheo’s eyes squeezed shut, inhaling sharply at the same time that your jaw dropped. Your face burning red with embarrassment, staring wordlessly between the two boys.
“I- That’s… none of your concern, I mean…” You stutter helplessly, fingers twisting the bedsheets beside you to occupy your hands. Mattheo only sighed, teeth gritted together as he pinched at the bridge of his nose.
“Come off it, love,” Theo scoffed, leaning back on his hands to support his weight, legs spreading casually. “I know you’re dying to show him what he’s missing.” His head nodded in Mattheo’s direction as he spoke.
Then, he patted his thigh, utterly at ease.
You froze, jaw agape as your pulse raced in your throat.
Mattheo seemed to be equally taken aback. He looked at you, then at Theo, fury blazing—but he didn’t move. His jaw worked, lips parting like he wanted to object, but no words came.
And that silence… that silence was louder than anything he could’ve said.
“Well?” Theo’s head tilted, voice smooth and entirely calm. Like he hadn’t just propositioned his best friend's girlfriend like it was completely ordinary.
“I…” your words caught in your throat, eyes wide and mouth working to wrap around some sort of response to that.
Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, so quick you began to hear it echoing in your ears. Mattheo still hadn’t said a word, hadn’t so much as uttered a single syllable in your defence. He just stared, eyes flickering between your still frame and Theo’s relaxed stance.
A different sensation coiled in your belly, the prior embarrassment and nausea melted away and was replaced with something new. A burning heat that made your cheeks flush darker and your mouth dry up. Maybe you were drunker than you first thought, or maybe Theo had mastered wandless magic and cast imperio on you.
Whatever the reason, you felt the burning desire to fulfill his request.
Mattheo hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t moved. But you could feel him watching—could feel the weight of his stare press against your skin like a hot iron. His jaw ticked, his fingers flexing once at his side, and still he gave you nothing. No stop. No claim. Just that unbearable silence that made your pulse kick harder.
You swallowed, legs unsteady as you moved closer. Your skin prickled; the wrongness was suffocating, but the thrill of it made your stomach twist. One word from him and you’d have stopped, you knew that. One word, and Theo wouldn’t even have tried. But Mattheo didn’t speak. He just stared through narrowed eyes, watching with a mix of curiosity and lust clouding his vision.
That feeling at the pit of your stomach began to bloom, and with one nervous glance back over your shoulder you met Mattheo’s eyes. Burning, more black than brown, thick with something you couldn’t place.
Theo’s hand slid up your hip, tugging you forward, and the moment you hovered above him the air in the room shifted. Mattheo’s lips parted like he might intervene, and then—nothing. No command. No release. Just that sharp, blistering restraint that felt more like permission than anything else ever could.
When you finally sank down, Theo’s exhale was rough in your ear, but you barely heard it. All you felt was Mattheo’s gaze, searing through every movement, every shaky breath. His knuckles were bone-white from how hard his fists were clenched, his shoulders wound tight as if he were barely holding himself back.
He didn’t stop you. He didn’t even speak a word against Theo’s request. The choice—this entire filthy, shattering choice—was his as much as yours.
“See?” Theo murmured, voice silk and smoke. Humming appreciatively as you swallowed down the nervous gasp that threatened to spill from your lips. “She’s a natural.”
And when you shifted, just slightly, just enough to feel the undeniable press beneath you? Mattheo’s breath left him in a ragged sound that sealed his fate.
“She looks angelic, no?” Theo questioned, his fingers slipping down your hips and pressing firmer against your thighs. You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stop any sound escaping, your eyes still firmly fixed over your shoulder on Mattheo.
Your boyfriend stared at the scene like he wasn’t quite sure where to look. From the moment you’d stood, his eyes had turned dark, thick with that same look of lust he got whenever he got hard. You’d seen it a million times, you knew what it looked like… and that reassurance made up for everything you were about to do.
Gently you rocked your hips, just slightly, just enough that Theo’s grip tensed around your thighs. The pads of his fingers dug into your skin, it felt different from Mattheo’s touch. Where Mattheo was soft and gentle, reverent and boyfriend-like; Theo was calloused and firm, lust-filled and craving.
Theo’s jeans pressed against your bare legs as your skirt rode up an inch higher, you could barely contain the gasp as he moved you. Tugging you down till your core pressed against his thigh, the slightest brush against your clit coaxing a whimper to fall from your lips.
“That’s it,” Theo breathed approvingly, his hands bracketing your thighs, tugging you into motion before you could object. The rough drag of denim between your legs, only separated by the thin cotton of your underwear and his jeans, made your head fall back with a sharp gasp.
Mattheo sucked in a breath, the ghost of a groan caught in his throat. His eyes followed every stuttered roll of your hips, guided by Theo’s rhythm, studying every gasp and muffled moan that came from you.
Mattheo made a noise, a growl almost and for the longest moment you thought he’d snap— tell you to get the fuck off his best friends lap and drag you away by the wrist. But instead Mattheo shifted his weight, his jaw loose as he stood less than a meter away, and his hand snaked between his legs. Rough and deliberate, palming himself through his trousers as though the sight of you riding his best friend's thigh was impossible to look away from.
Your breath hitched at the movement, your efforts stilling as the realisation washed over you, shame and heat colliding in your stomach. Mattheo wasn’t pissed, he was hard. Rock hard. And he wasn’t even trying to hide it.
And instead of stopping you, instead of prying his darling girlfriend off of his best friend's thigh, he muttered, voice dark and deliberate, “Go on, angel. Let him feel how needy you get.”
The words shot through you like fire. Your head fell back, a gasp tumbling free as you ground down harder against Theo’s thigh.
“F-fuck…” you whispered, though you weren’t even sure who it was made for anymore. Too caught up in the drag of your core against Theo, in the look in Mattheo’s eyes as he palmed himself to the sight.
You didn’t notice him move until he was there—looming heat at your back, swallowing you whole. Theo’s grin twitched when Mattheo’s chest pressed flush against your back, pinning you against him. Trapping you between two bodies.
Mattheo’s cock ground into your spine, heavy and insistent, his grip bruising on your hips as his fingers snaked around your frame. He breathed against your shoulder, voice wrecked and frayed.
“Couldn’t just sit there.” Mattheo murmured with a dry laugh, like sharing his girlfriend was the most normal thing.
Theo’s laugh was low and knowing, his hands sliding higher on your thighs, tilting your body to grind down harder against him. “Knew you wouldn’t….”
And then you were caught between them, writhing on Theo’s lap while Mattheo rutted against your back, two different types of hunger tearing you open from both sides.
“I…” you whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as the feeling intensified. Theo’s thigh flexed beneath you, his thick muscles from quidditch giving you more pleasure than you could handle. Mattheo’s lips attached themselves to your neck, alternating between kisses as drags of his teeth against sensitive skin. Two pairs of hands grasped at you, pulling you back and forth like some twisted game of tug of war.
“Shhh sweetheart,” Theo cooed, his thigh flexing so that each drag of your hips brushed against taught muscle.
Mattheo groaned, kissing his way up the side of your throat, “That’s it…” he encouraged, teeth nibbling at your earlobe, “Show me how desperate you are… for both of us.”
“Ma-Matty!” You whimpered, eyes still squeezed shut. The filth he was whispering in your ear only serving to push you closer to the edge, chasing your orgasm as you rocked against Theo in sloppy thrusts.
Mattheo’s chest was a furnace at your back, his hand searing against your hip as he forced you to grind harder against Theo’s thigh. The guttural sound he let out vibrated through you, making your whole body jolt.
Theo tipped his head back with a smug little grin, eyes locking with Mattheo’s over your shoulder, “Fuck, she’s so wet…” he groaned.
You could only bite down harder on your bruised lip, as Mattheo laughed darkly.
His teeth grazed your ear as he bent closer, making a point of whispering in your ear as he replied, “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying it, Nott.”
Theo’s grip on you tightened as he huffed an amused sigh, groaning, “Salazar knows I am.” into the room.
The words seemed to snap something in Mattheo. His cock pressed harder against your ass, the sharp roll of his hips chasing friction while his hand slid up your body, cupping your breasts roughly.
Your whine was drowned out by Mattheo’s grunts as he thrust against you. His fingers brushed against your side, sneaking underneath your top and sliding against your nipples through your bra. Which only made you whine louder.
“She’s mine,” Mattheo bit out, the claim edged with a growl as he looked straight at Theo. “Don’t forget that while you’ve got her squirming in your lap.”
Theo only smirked, rocking your hips down against his thigh until you cried out. “Mine, yours— doesn’t change how fucking sweet she feels right now.” Theo retorted, his jaw tightening as he shifted, growing hand just watching you writhe.
The heat between the three of you spiked, molten and consuming. One of Mattheo’s hands slid up to your throat, pushing your head back onto his shoulder, forcing you open, forcing you to feel everything.
The hard muscle of Theo beneath you, the insistent rut of Mattheo behind you, two sets of hands claiming and guiding you like you were the rope in a game neither planned on losing.
Mattheo groaned into your skin, breath hot. “Fuck, angel… look at you. Falling apart between us.”
And when your body arched, grinding helplessly against them both, Theo answered with a low, wicked chuckle, his lips brushing your jaw: “Helpless little thing. You don’t even know who you want more, do you?”
A broken whimper tore from your throat, everything about this felt wrong, so filthy, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to put a stop to it. You hips rutted with a mind of their own, even without the added guidance from their hands, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop even if you wanted to.
Part of you should feel ashamed, dirty even, yet the delicious drag of your slick across muscle distracted you from the guilt. Your hands jolting forward to grasp onto Theo’s shoulders to steady yourself.
Mattheo was whispering praise in your ear, his voice deep and gritty as he watched your face contort in pleasure through his own half lidded eyes.
Theo’s thigh flexed again, hard, and the friction stole the air right out of your lungs. Your body jolted forward, then back against Mattheo’s cock, trapped in an unrelenting rhythm that left you clawing at Theo’s shoulders.
“F-fuck, Matty—” you gasped, head falling back onto his shoulder.
“Shhh, that’s it, angel,” Mattheo rasped, his hand tightening around your throat as he ground himself against you from behind. His lips dragged over your ear, teeth catching your lobe. “Such a good girl.”
Theo’s smirk curved sharper, his eyes fixed on your face as you trembled. “She’s close,” he drawled, rocking you faster against his leg, your soaked panties leaving a wet smear over his jeans. “You feel that, Riddle? Your girl’s about to come apart on me.”
Mattheo growled low, the sound vibrating through your back. “On us,” he corrected, his hand sliding down to your clit, pressing harsh circles that made you choke on a cry. “Say it, angel. Say who you’re coming for.”
The words tangled on your tongue, pleasure surging too high, too fast. Your hips stuttered helplessly, every nerve drawn tight like a bowstring.
“I—Matty—Theo—please, s’too much—” Your voice broke into a moan, your whole body convulsing as release hit. The orgasm tore through you in waves, clenching around nothing, your thighs shaking as you rode it out against Theo’s thigh while Mattheo’s fingers dragged you higher still.
Theo groaned at your words, his hands gripping you tighter to steady your spasms, a smug smirk plastered across his face as he exhaled.
Mattheo’s forehead pressed to your temple, his breath ragged. He didn’t stop touching you, coaxing every last tremor out of your body until you collapsed against Theo’s chest, boneless and panting.
For a long moment, the only sound was your desperate breathing, broken up by Mattheo’s guttural curses under his breath. His hand finally stilled against you, gripping your hip so hard it bordered on bruising.
Theo chuckled, low and satisfied, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. “Told you, mate,” he murmured, gaze still fixed on Mattheo, “she just needed a bit of freedom.”
Mattheo’s jaw flexed. His hand shot to your chin, tilting your head back toward him, forcing your dazed eyes to meet his. His stare was molten, possessive, but laced with something else too—something dangerous and new.
“She’s mine,” Mattheo repeated, voice raw, his hand gripping your jaw as though Theo might try to steal you out from under him. His stare was all fire and iron, daring Theo to contradict him.
Theo only smirked, unbothered, his hand smoothing down your thigh like he was testing how far he could push.
Mattheo’s eyes flicked to his, sharp and burning. “Don’t get used to it.”
The threat hung heavy in the air, but with your body still trembling against Theo’s lap and Mattheo’s breath ragged at your ear, it sounded more like a promise than a warning.
Theo’s answer was only a crooked grin, slow and wicked, and the heat in Mattheo’s eyes made your stomach lurch, a sickening feeling that this was far from over.
What’s worse, you weren’t sure if you loved or hated that fact.
a/n: hi, I’m literally screaming at the fact I’m posting this, I’m terribly sorry for being so MIA lately. I’ve just started playing hogwarts legacy and it’s finally kickstarted my brain into writing something, more to follow I hope! I’m still a little rusty, but I can’t stop thinking about this ever since @sinsandlemonade and @voidofsunlight first got me thinking about mattheodore. Perhaps a part two with significantly less clothing is in order…
WHERE THE FUCK DO I START? OH MY LORD HOLY HAVE MERCY I'M CLEARLY GOING TO HELL AND I'M TAKING THIS MASTERPIECE WITH ME! LIKE WHOAAAAA.. okay...
He knew how you liked it— he knew the moment you were about to shatter just by the way you said his name.
NEED I SAY MORE WHEN THIS BEAUTY APPEARS NOT EVEN A FEW LINES INTO THE FUCKING STORY. OMG. OKAY. SHWING KEEP YOURSELF TO FUCKING GETHER.
“I just want to try it…” you’d urge, bringing it up moments after he finally came. A small pout on your lips, as he gasped beside you, flat on his back and attempting to catch his breath from over-exertion. “Feel bad you’re doing all the work.” You slid closer to him, propping your head up on your hand.
I mean... it's Mattheo we're talking about - and I'm not even a Mattheo girly, but hell I'd let him do the work. Fuck, I'd probably double down with all the work I'd do for him.
“Oh. You’re into that, are you?” His voice dripped with amusement, one brow raising higher. “Didn’t peg you as that kind of guy, Riddle.”
Oh Theodore my love - how your existence in anything Lois writes make my days worth living. Your attitude, your blase, your way with words to get beneath Mattheo's skin. It's like the drug I never knew I needed until I had a hit and now require a daily dose to live.
Theo leaned in just enough for his voice to drop low, almost conspiratorial. “Take it from me, it doesn’t. It makes you smart. Let her think she’s running the show, and you’ll get more than you ever knew to ask for.”
Mattheo scoffed, pretending the words slid right off him, but Theo wasn’t done.
“Course,” he added lightly, flipping a page in his textbook, “if you’re too scared to try it, she can always come to me. I’m good with first-timers, y’know.”
FUCKING SCREAMING! if i lose my job or get called into my bosses office for inappropriate sounds made in the office i'll fucking leave a happy girl. like have you ever wheezed and squeal at the same time to sound like a dying hyena? FIRST TIMERS. FIRST TIMERS MY LORD.
“Relax, Riddle. I’m not offering. Just observing.” His gaze flicked down to you briefly, then back to Mattheo, a sick grin tugging at his lips. “Unless, of course, she’s been begging you for something you’re too bloody stubborn to give.”
the way my body and mind would fucking ascend to heaven for a split second if i had this man watching me.
“You’re right, Tesora.” Theo relented, sitting down on the edge of his mattress, and risking a small glance towards Mattheo, “I, for one, am terribly sorry…” his hand waved halfheartedly and crossed against his chest, “Sorry that your boyfriend’s too much of a control freak to ever let you fuck him properly.”
“She looks angelic, no?” Theo questioned, his fingers slipping down your hips and pressing firmer against your thighs. You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stop any sound escaping, your eyes still firmly fixed over your shoulder on Mattheo.
Your boyfriend stared at the scene like he wasn’t quite sure where to look. From the moment you’d stood, his eyes had turned dark, thick with that same look of lust he got whenever he got hard. You’d seen it a million times, you knew what it looked like… and that reassurance made up for everything you were about to do.
Gently you rocked your hips, just slightly, just enough that Theo’s grip tensed around your thighs. The pads of his fingers dug into your skin, it felt different from Mattheo’s touch. Where Mattheo was soft and gentle, reverent and boyfriend-like; Theo was calloused and firm, lust-filled and craving.
i want this engraved on my grave thank you very fucking much.
okay. i gotta stop before i basically reblog the entire fucking thing. but ya know.... ya know. i'm dead. come and see me in like 5 business days. why am i writing fluff when shit like this inspires me. holy fuck. dead. just... push me into a ditch and throw my laptop top with this on the webbrowser.
perhaps it's the way that time seems to slow down when you're with him - the golden haze of the sun and the warmth it brings humming against your skin. there's soft laughter spilled out between you both as though the world outside of where you both are just doesn't exist.
you'd made plans with him on a whim. you knew he'd be in town for the weekend and decided to take your chances. a text sent with a smirk - a simple, "c'mon, it's boring with you. let's do something." you hadn't expected to end up here of all places - lounging around in the middle of a strawberry field in the countryside with baskets forgetting beside you both, the sun's rays catching on mattheo's curls as well as the corner of his grin. each kiss he'd initiated or that you'd stolen tasted like sweetness and mischief. his fingertips stained from the berries he'd definitely eaten more of rather than actually picked to keep.
"matty - you're supposed to be helping", you tease half heartedly before flicking a stem at him. he doesn't react at all, just smirks and lounges back on his elbows before reaching out to brush his thumb across your wrist gently.
"i am helping. i'm improving morale."
you roll your eyes at his words; but the way he looks at you - all lazy, sunlit and completely smitten makes your heart trip over its own beat. as you bite your bottom lip and wonder what life is going to return to after the weekend while tucking some hair behind your ear, he leans in; mouth sticky with the remnants of strawberries and summer heat for a kiss that by far is sweeter than any previous. you find it impossible to stay annoyed and just give in. for a fleeting moment, it feels like the season of summer was made just for the two of you - messy, sweet, wholesome and impossible to forget.
Theo’s calloused hands are soft at your hips – tracing over the bruises he left last night as the head of his cock nudges past your thighs; mushroom rip already beading with precum as it teases your folds and softly slips in. You groan first thing, body shifting as your head tilts back poetically and his lips find that sensitive spot on your neck a half inch above your pulse. His teeth nip gently at the skin as he murmurs your name in a whisper along with a groggy and mumbled ‘good morning’ which also greets the sun that’s barely come above the horizon to play – rays of dawn filtering through the windows of your dorm; cascading warm shades of gold and bronze across your bare skin.
His breathing hitches against your throat as he sinks in deeper; inch by deliberate inch, stretching you with that familiar burn that borders on both ache and bliss. Your hands reach out, one tangling into the sheets; knuckles whitening as the other reaches back and cards lazily through his hair; but it’s the way Theo pauses – half buried, hips flush against your ass that makes you whimper to the point where you’re almost pleading. His oddly patient in the mornings – fuelled by a lazy hunger which allows you to adjust to the thick heat of him while his hands trace up your sides – thumb brushing the underside of your breast with a sluggish swipe that draws up to circle your nipple with a tease.
“I missed this”, he rasps; voice still gravelly from sleep as his lips trail down to your shoulder and settle on your collarbone. The words vibrate across your skin; pulling from you a cry as your back arches, chasing the affection a little more. He chuckles; knowing that he has you right where he wants you as he presses his chest up against your spine and reads between into the tense silence between you to oblige – thrusting slow and deep, once, twice, thrice until your cunt clenches around him and the wet slide of skin against skin echoes softly in the quiet room; a counterpoint to the distant hum of the castle waking up outside.
You turn your head, mouth seeking his own and he meets you half way – the kiss sloppy and deep; tongues tangling in a dance as the hand which was playing with your breasts dips down between your thighs, fingers finding your clit still swollen and sensitive from last night, drawing tiny heart shapes across it of just enough pressure that stars begin to burst behind your eyes. That dawn light from earlier begins to glow shades of violet and fuchsia; of lavender and mauve and they start to catch the sweat which beads across his shoulder and brow as you break the kiss to gasp for both air and his name; hips bucking erratically now, urging him faster.
“Baby please?” Your words are met with a murmur of “not yet, Principessa”, as he nips at your ear lobe; trying to keep calm but his control is clearly fraying – thrusts picking up in rhythm, hips snapping with a quiet urgency that denies the tenderness and lust in his eyes when you lock your glance with them. The bruises on your hips begin to further bloom beneath his grip; the map of last nights fervour artistically draping your skin and he soothes his touch with a kiss into your messy hair as he thrusts in harder, drives in higher; the coil in your stomach and the warmth between your thighs tightening and heating up like a spring wound too far.
The worlds narrows. His scent of musk and smoke and faded cologne accompanies the creak of the mattress to perfection. He whispers praises into your ear. “So fucking perfect, taking me like this baby girl”, which have you trembling; which push you to the edge; which have you further seeing stars and ready to shatter with the first full blush of sunrise. Ecstasy hits. You quiver. He cums. You catch your breath which he chases.
Life is perfect.
For a moment at least.
If only it could stay like this.
pizza delivery boy!mattheo x f!reader - wrote this in 10 minutes, don't come for me. mdni.
pepperoni thin crust and a side of extra cheesy garlic bread. fuck; you hated the fact that the local pizzeria knew your order off by heart with how often you'd called, but after a ridiculously lousy friday night at work, you couldn't be bothered cooking so instead, just hit the number you had at this point programmed in on speed dial.
you get changed into your pyjamas because honestly, you've got no intention of leaving the house and a little less than 30 minutes later following a face mask and a few too many glasses of wine; the doorbell rings. standing, with the pizza box in his hands, half opened and a slice already in his mouth, your favourite delivery driver smirks as you answer.
"mattheo? is that mine?"
he shrugs as he continues chewing, eyebrows raising at your question playfully with a taunt.
"depends - you actually going to pay and tip this time?", he mutters with a smirk, "or, are you short on change again and needing to find an alternative method of payment?"
you scoff at his suggestion; rolling your eyes back hard enough you almost see the inside of your skull and reach over to the table in the hall to grab your wallet; finding ten bucks in there and a few coins of loose change. your expression turns from hopeful to 'oh fuck'.
"you guys accepting card yet?", you pull out your visa and wave it around. mattheo takes another bite from the slice that he's holding and shakes his head rather amused.
"nope."
you sigh; sliding the card back into your wallet as your stomach grumbles softly; at this point - starving because you'd skipped lunch even though your boss had reminded you repeatedly to eat.
"ugh - you think we can settle this the way we usually do?", you ask; taking a step forward to slide the ten bucks into his pocket. mattheo smirks and shuts the lid of the pizza box, resting the slice he was holding on top of it before he places it on the hallway table.
"thought you'd never ask.."
next thing you know; he's got you backed up against the nearest wall of your hallway; lips nipping at your neck as your hands find their way down to his belt, undoing the leather with a far too practiced movement and his jeans fall down around his knees as quickly as your pyjamas find their way onto the ground. pushing two of his fingers into your mouth, mattheo whispers a firm 'suck' and you oblige not wanting to go hungry tonight.
as quick as his fingers were in your mouth, he dropped his hand and found the already wet lace of your underwear, stroking softly over the fabric as your hips began to rock to catch the friction. soon enough, he was spelling out the word pizza over your clit making your thighs tremble and knees weak.
"did you just-- ughh.."
"shhh."
fingers slipping past the lace, mattheo lets them sweep up between your wet folds and chuckles into the crook of your neck as he presses two digits in; feeling your chest heave with a gasp and pussy clench as it drags his fingers higher in.
"fuckkk.."
"holy shit."
it's a few lazy thrusts which have your hips beginning to buck. thumb circling across your clit with a delicate swipe as your hands perch on his shoulders; nails clawing in half moons to his skin. you try to bite your tongue and keep quiet but it doesn't help, within less than a minute your panting hard, and seeing stars and feeling yourself drip warm down the inside of your legs.
mattheo pulls his fingers out just as you're about to reach your peak; eye lashes fluttering and you whimper out a groan as you watch him lick his fingers clean; grabbing that slice of pizza he left on the box earlier.
"same time next week?"
your back slides down the wall pathetically as he takes a step back and smirks at the mess he always leaves you in. you can barely speak; instead, just nodding in agreement.
"brilliant", he chuckles, "next friday it is. oh and.. don't wear panties. better still - don't wear anything. gonna finally fuck that pussy rather than fingering it."
sorry all, after loosing ~moscatosin the other week (and after numerous emails to tumblr still not getting it back) im feelin' really defeated. while im working on lengthy fics (one about an obsession artist mattheo and the other an azkaban theo) it might be a little before you get anything worthwhile from me on here. if our writer/follower journey ends here, i completely understand. i just wanted to take the time out and apologise xoxo
boyfriend!tom who doesn’t fall in love — not really.
not until you. not until the quiet chaos of you,
unsettles everything he thought he controlled.
oh sweetheart.
boyfriend!tom who watches you like a scholar studies rear texts — eyes sharp, deliberate, dissecting.
you think he’s simply staring, but no, he’s memorizing.
every tone of your voice. every shift in your expression. every secret you don’t mean to give away.
boyfriend!tom who walks you to class not out of courtesy but strategy —
to ensure no other boy does.
his hand never quite brushes yours as you pace side by side, yet somehow the space between you crackles with something dangerous and unspoken.
something he's curious to explore.
boyfriend!tom who keeps his desk pristine, his books ordered, his quills sharpened —
until you come along.
now, your earrings hide in his drawer.
a stray ribbon from your hair marks his journal.
photographs in handmade frames perch on his bedside table.
in his world it is chaos disguised as affection.
boyfriend!tom who doesn’t call you beautiful —
he says you’re distracting,
he says you’re consuming,
he says you make him forget himself.
somehow: those words mean more.
boyfriend!tom who holds your chin between two fingers when you argue —
calm, cold, terrifyingly patient.
forcing you to look at him.
“choose your next words carefully pet”, he murmurs low —
but there’s a glint in his eyes;
of something almost tender,
of something he would kill to keep hidden.
boyfriend!tom who reads you wizarding philosophy under dim candlelight,
his voice smooth as he traces the lines of your wrist absentmindedly,
his hands slowly working their way up to your shoulder where they'll rest.
he explains power, devotion, eternity —
as though love too, is something that can be conquered.
boyfriend!tom who would never admit to jealousy,
but whose magic hums when someone else touches you —
a flicker of static in the air; you feel him before you see him.
“don’t test me”, he reminds,
and you don’t.
boyfriend!tom who loves in secret, adores in silence and lingers in obsession.
who keeps a single photograph of you —
tucked between pages of his diary,
like a relic of proof of something divine.
boyfriend!tom who doesn’t believe in fate,
but every time you smile at him,
he begins to question the possibility.
just maybe.
boyfriend!tom who will never love lightly.
he will love you the way he studies magic —
with precision, with hunger, with grace, with respect:
with the quiet understanding that once he begins,
it is likely that he will never stop.
gummygunk
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
romaincrisis
kaledo-art
jacobvanloon
jbbartram-illu
