the first time you two have sex, he doesn’t understand why his heart hurts when you tug him by his shoulders to hug him, your bare chests pressed against each other’s. he groans when you rake your nails down his back, but he enjoys it more than he should - he enjoys that you’re marking him up for others to know that he’s taken. he’s never felt like this before. never felt such an intense need to be close to someone, to want to feel their skin against his so desperately that it makes him borderline want to cry. the first time he utters the words “i love you” is when his head is buried between your thighs, this newfound desire of pleasing you overtaking his mind. he doesn’t even notice that he’s saying it, too eager to make sure you’re getting what you need. he watches as your body writhes under him, grabbing at anything you can reach, and that’s when he realizes he doesn’t want anyone else to have you like this, to see you fall apart like he gets to. when he watches you sleep in his arms afterwards, his heart hammers against his ribcage - pure fear coursing through his veins because he loves you. he loves you and he doesn’t know what to do with it.
SUMMARY: You weren't good for each other. Everyone knew it. But some habits are a lot harder to break than others.
WARNINGS: Sex, NSFW
Thank you @theladyriddle, @obsessedwithceleste and @nottendo for proofreading<3
You and Mattheo Riddle had hated each other since first year.
Sharp tongues, cruel insults, constant glaring across the Great Hall. That hatred had burned hot for years — until one drunken night at a Slytherin party when hate somehow turned into him fucking you senseless against a wall in an abandoned corridor.
Now it was months later, and you were stuck in this addictive cycle of enemies with benefits. You hated him. You hated how much you needed him. You were furious.
You’d just watched Mattheo Riddle flirt shamelessly with some Ravenclaw bitch in the common room — smirking, leaning in close, letting her touch his arm like he hadn’t been balls-deep in your cunt just nights ago.
So you stormed back to your dorm. You were pacing your room in nothing but an oversized shirt when the door burst open.
Mattheo stepped inside, locking it with a lazy flick of his wand, eyes dark and dangerous.
“There she is,” he drawled, voice low and mocking. “My pissed-off little slut.”
“Get the fuck out,” you hissed.
He smirked and stalked toward you like a predator.
“Make me, princess.”
You backed up until your legs hit the bed. “I saw you with her. Go fuck her instead if you’re so interested.”
Mattheo grabbed your jaw roughly, forcing you to look at him while his free hand slid up your thigh under the shirt, finding you bare. His fingers brushed against your cunt, already wet, and he let out a low groan.
His fingers slid through your soaked folds instantly.
“You look at me like you hate me,” he growled, pushing two thick fingers deep into your dripping cunt, “but you’re fucking soaking for me, aren’t you, doll?”
You bit back a moan as he curled his fingers perfectly.
“Fuck you,” you hissed.
“Already planning on it.” He pumped his fingers faster, thumb circling your clit, the wet sounds echoing obscenely. “Look at you… so fucking wet for a bastard like me.”
He yanked his fingers out, making you cry out at the emptiness.
In one brutal move, he shoved you onto the bed, flipping you onto your stomach. His hands found your hips, fingers digging into skin as he pulled you to him.
He freed his hard cock from his pants, thick and heavy against your thigh, and rubbed the fat, leaking head up and down your soaked slit, teasing your swollen clit until your thighs were shaking.
“Tell me you want me to stop,” he growled, pressing the tip against your entrance. “Tell me you want me to go away and leave you to your ‘nonsense’. Because if you don’t say it right fucking now, I’m going to make you scream.”
You stayed silent, panting, rutting back against him desperately.
Mattheo’s smirk turned vicious.
“That’s what I fucking thought.”
He slammed into you in one savage thrust, burying himself to the hilt. You cried out, back arching sharply as he stretched you open.
“That’s right,” he groaned, setting a punishing pace, hips snapping against yours. “Say my name while I ruin this pretty cunt.”
He fucked you like he wanted to break you — hard, deep, merciless strokes that made your tits bounce and the bed slam against the wall.
“You’re mine to hate,” he snarled against your throat. “Mine to fuck. Mine to break.”
The wet sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room.
“Acting like you don’t need my cock every fucking night,” he snarled, gripping the back of your neck as he railed you, pushing your face further into the mattress. “Look at you, milking my cock. You’re such a pathetic fucking whore for me.”
He leaned down, biting your neck, sucking marks into your skin like he wanted everyone to know exactly who you belonged to.
You moaned loudly, gripping the sheets under you like a lifeline.
He angled his hips and started hitting that perfect spot over and over, making your eyes roll back.
“I hate you,” you gasped, even as your walls clenched around him.
“Yeah?” he laughed breathlessly, pounding you even harder. “Then cum on the cock you hate so much.”
You shattered with a broken scream, crying out his name as your orgasm ripped through you, pussy gushing and spasming violently around him.
Mattheo groaned and fucked you through it, then buried himself, balls-deep and pumped you full of hot, thick ropes of cum.
He stayed there, buried inside your twitching cunt, panting against your neck.
Still breathing hard, he smirked against your skin.
“Still hate me, doll?”
You could barely speak.
“…Yes.” You mumbled.
Mattheo chuckled lowly and gave one last lazy thrust, pushing his cum deeper.
A few more seconds passed, then:
“…You know I wasn’t interested in her,” he muttered, almost reluctantly.
You turned your head, still breathing hard. “Then stop acting like a dick.”
He chuckled lowly and kissed the corner of your mouth.
“Can’t help it, doll. You make me crazy.”
You hated how much you loved hearing that.
It's been sitting in my drafts for quite some time now so🥲
characters written aged 18+ as always. soft smut. hope it bites.
there is something dangerously addictive about the way you end up in his dorm after class... even though you’ve spent the last three years hating each other with a passion that's bordered obsession.
one heated argument in the corridor after potions on a thursday turns into angry kissing and now you’re straddling his lap on the edge of his bed, grinding down on him like you’re trying to win some unspoken war. your skirt's bunched around your waist - every slow, deliberate roll of your hips dragging your soaked panties along the hard length of his cock straining against his trousers.
mattheo's breathing heavily - flushed and wrecked beneath you. his hands grip at your hips with a bruising force as his dark eyes, tight jaw and hitched breath act like he still can’t believe he wants you this badly.
you keep yourself moving: slow and teasing, feeling him throb against your pussy with every grind. a soft, involuntary moan slips from your lips of his name and it breaks him the way a sirens call would to those men who are lost at sea.
suddenly his grip tightens; voice lowers. it becomes rough, almost angry....
“you sure you wanna keep going like this, princess?”
the question comes out strained and annoyed; like he’s fighting every instinct to rip your panties aside, let his cock free and bury himself inside you. he twitches hard beneath you, betraying just how badly he needs it, wants you; even while he pretends to give you an out.
that kind of mix of restraint and barely contained hunger from the boy who once upon a time used to drive you insane.. well, it sends a rush of heat straight through you, you can't say no to.
you’ve unfortunately met a lot of annoying men in your life. all of them seem to share the same ego and stupidity. unfortunately, you can’t say the same about him. straight A student and on the honor roll, something he loves rubbing on your face.
you’d love to wipe that smirk off his face if he wasn’t mouthing at your pussy right now. maybe if he didn’t feel so fucking good too.
“shit you taste like heaven,” he grunts against your skin. his mouth’s all glossed up and hair messy from your tugging.
he presses a kiss to your inner thigh before licking a stripe down your core. your hips buck into his mouth and he chuckles, “i thought you didn’t like this–“
“shut up, nerd,” you bristle, grinding your hips on his tongue. his slots in one finger to rub at your clit, and a moan slips out your tongue. you can see— feel— his cocky smirk. bastard.
he pulls away and the lost of contact made you bite down on the plush of your lip to stop your whine. his mouth trails kisses up your stomach, he slides in two fingers inside you and you gasp, head thrown back against the headboard.
“fuck, you’re so pretty. might just come at the sight of you,” he breathes out. your eyes flick down to his face– his eyes were blown, face so incredibly wrecked just by giving you head. eyes half-lidded like he was drunk off you.
You’d heard the filthy whispers about your sweet boyfriend long before he ever touched you.
How the girls would stumble back to the dorms with that tell-tale limp, thighs still trembling, biting their swollen lips as they bragged in hushed, giddy voices about the Dark Lord’s son. How impossibly thick he was, stretching them open until they sobbed. How brutal and relentless he fucked, pounding them into the mattress like he hated them, leaving bruises shaped like his fingerprints on their hips and bite marks blooming across their tits.
When you started dating, the curiosity had burned low in your belly like a constant ache. You wondered, constantly, what the real Mattheo Riddle was like when he stopped holding back. Because with you… he never let that side out. Not really.
He was so painfully careful. Every kiss measured, every touch gentle, every thrust slow and deep and almost reverent. Like you were made of glass and he was terrified of shattering you. Those other girls had been nothing but warm, willing holes to use and discard. You were his. The love of his life, the one he worshipped.
But Gods, you didn’t want to be worshipped tonight.
You wanted the monster they all whispered about.
You wanted him mean. You wanted those dark eyes black with lust and cruelty, the ones the girls giggled about in the bathroom stalls while they tried to hide the fresh hickeys on their necks. You wanted him to ruin you the way he’d ruined them — raw, filthy, and without mercy.
In your stupid, desperate little mind, you’d cooked up the most idiotic plan imaginable.
You’d tried everything else.
You’d tried pushing his buttons, deliberately pissing him off just to see that dangerous spark in his eyes, only for him to pull you close and murmur, “I know you didn’t mean that, baby,” while kissing you stupidly soft.
You’d gasped “harder” against the shell of his ear, nails digging into his back, begging for the brutal rhythm the other girls bragged about. But he’d only slow down even more, grinding deep and sweet like he was making love to something breakable.
So tonight you’d done the brattiest, most suicidal thing you could think of.
You’d attacked his ego.
“Is it in yet?” you’d asked, voice dripping with fake boredom, right as he was buried halfway inside you — the most he ever gave, always stopping there with that same infuriating excuse: “You’re not ready for the rest, love.”
The change in him was instant.
His eyes, all dark and wicked, snapped to yours, the warmth vanishing in a heartbeat. The shift was so fast and feral you half-expected him to wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze the life out of you right there.
You’d fucked up. Royally.
Because now he was driving every last thick inch into you with one vicious snap of his hips, stretching your tight cunt open so wide you swore you could feel the fat head of his cock bullying its way into your throat. The burn was delicious, overwhelming, bordering on too much. Your walls fluttered and clenched around the brutal invasion, slick and obscene sounds filling the room as he bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, balls pressed tight to your skin.
And the look on his face… fuck.
That was exactly what you’d been begging for.
“Feel me now, baby?” His voice was low, mocking, as he suddenly stopped moving, shoving your legs up and folding you in half until your knees were nearly beside your ears. The new angle forced every single thick inch of his cock impossibly deeper, the fat head kissing your cervix with brutal pressure. You were so fucking full it hurt, your poor cunt still fluttering and spasming from the endless orgasms he’d already ripped out of you.
“Aw… not much to say now, hm?” he taunted, lips curling into a cruel smirk.
Your puffy, abused clit throbbed as he ground the base of his cock against it in slow, filthy circles, sending sharp sparks of overstimulation shooting up your spine. A broken mewl tore from your throat, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
He pulled out almost completely, just the swollen tip stretching your entrance, then slammed back in with one savage thrust, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing obscenely. The stretch burned, delicious and punishing, forcing your walls to part around his massive length again and again.
“Is this what you wanted?” His voice dropped even lower, dripping with venom as those dark eyes bored into yours, cold and mean and nothing like the boy who used to whisper sweet praise against your lips. “For me to fuck you like I fucked all those other girls? Like a desperate little whore?”
His hand shot up, fingers gripping your jaw roughly, forcing your glassy, tear-filled eyes to stay locked on his. Gone was the gentle Riddle who kissed your forehead and rocked into you slow and loving.
In his place was the monster you’d begged for.
“Ah! I-I’m sorry, Matty—”
Drool slipped shamelessly from the corner of your bratty little mouth, sliding down your chin as your eyes rolled back. For a split second, Mattheo almost felt bad.
Almost.
“Too late for sorry, pretty girl,” he growled, voice low and cruel, but the praise still lit you up like fireworks, making your back arch sharply off the bed. His thick cock carved through your soaked walls with every brutal thrust, bullying your cervix and reshaping your cunt around him.
The lewd, wet shlick-shlick-shlick of your dripping pussy filled the room like filthy music. He’d never admit it out loud, but this — wrecking you, breaking you — was every dirty fantasy he’d ever jerked off to.
“Gonna come again? Already?” he mocked, that mean, gorgeous smile twisting his lips. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto your tits as he pounded into you, hips snapping relentlessly. This was easily the best cardio he’d had all year; he could fuck you like this all night and still want more.
All that pent-up rage he’d been swallowing for months was finally pouring out of him, and it felt like pure fucking therapy. He’d already pumped one thick load deep inside you, and he still had plenty more to give.
He drank in the sight of your mixed cum frothing and dripping out around the base of his cock, creamy white streaks coating his shaft every time he pulled back. With a dark chuckle, he flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing.
No warning. No mercy.
He shoved your legs apart and slammed back inside your abused pussy in one vicious thrust, the new angle making you scream into the sheets. The burn was immediate and delicious, his cock dragging against places that had you clenching helplessly around him.
He’d never taken you like this before, face-down, ass up, your perfect round cheeks spread wide for him. Mattheo gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, yanking you back onto his cock exactly how he wanted. Then, just to watch you squirm, he pressed the pad of his thumb against your tight, puckered little hole, circling it teasingly.
You tensed hard around him, a broken whimper spilling from your lips, and his smirk only grew darker.
“Maybe I’ll take you here too,” Mattheo rasped, voice dark and filthy as he pressed his thumb harder against your tight, puckered hole, circling the sensitive ring while he kept brutally fucking your soaked cunt. “All those girls you’re so jealous of used to beg for it. They’d cry and shake when I shoved my cock up their tight little asses. You want that too, baby? Want me to ruin this pretty virgin hole next?”
You would’ve answered — really, you would’ve — but your brain had melted into complete mush. All that left your lips were broken, drooling babbles muffled into the pillow he had your face shoved down into, your cheek pressed hard against the damp fabric.
He groaned loud and guttural as your orgasm suddenly crashed through you, your walls clamping down around his thick cock like a vice, pulsing and milking him with wet, rhythmic squeezes.
“Oh, you like that, huh?” he laughed, low and cruel, still grinding his thumb against your asshole while he fucked you straight through your climax. “Pretty little thing to be so pathetic.”
Your vision was starting to haze at the edges, the world going soft and blurry as exhaustion crashed over you like a heavy wave. Your body felt boneless, trembling uncontrollably, every brutal thrust sending sparks of overstimulation through your raw, abused cunt.
“Ah ah — you stay right here, baby,” Mattheo growled, yanking your hips back hard when you tried to slump forward. “Not done with you yet.”
He fucked you deeper, harder, chasing his own release with punishing snaps of his hips until, with a broken groan that sounded almost pained, he buried himself to the hilt one last time. His cock pulsed violently inside you as he came, flooding your wrecked pussy with thick, hot ropes of cum so deep you swore you could taste the salt of it at the back of your throat. He kept grinding against your cervix, making sure every last drop stayed buried inside you, marking you from the inside out.
Then his hand slid into your hair, fingers twisting tight as he roughly pulled your head back, forcing your hazy, tear-streaked face to turn toward him. “Look at me,” he ordered, voice rough but softening at the edges.
Your eyes met his — dark, wild, and still flickering with that mean edge — but the moment he saw how wrecked you were, something in his gaze shifted. The cruel smirk melted away. He slowly pulled out of you with a wet pop, a thick trickle of his cum leaking from your swollen, gaping pussy.
Without another word, he flipped you onto your back with surprising gentleness and gathered your limp body into his arms. His lips brushed softly over your forehead, then your damp cheeks, kissing away the tears and drool.
“There’s my good girl,” he murmured, voice low and warm now, nothing like the venom from minutes ago. “You could have just asked, or told me if I wasn't giving you what you needed. You shouldn't be jealous, all those girls wish they were you.”
He stroked your hair with careful fingers, pressing tender kisses along your jaw and down your neck while his other hand gently rubbed slow circles over your trembling stomach. His touch was feather-light now, soothing the bruises already blooming on your hips and the raw ache between your thighs.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered against your skin, pulling the ruined sheets up around both of you and tucking you tight against his chest. “Love you s'much.”
Your eyes fluttered shut, safe and warm in his arms, the mean monster from earlier replaced by the boy who loved you more than anything — the one who would worship every sore, marked-up inch of you for the rest of the night.
↬ maybe it was stupid trying to make theodore nott jealous by going to the yule ball with mattheo. maybe.
↬ sfw; wc: 9.4k; cw: violence, suggestive; theo nott x reader, friends to lovers
( masterlist )
Mattheo Riddle was a genius. At least after today he was. Though it wasn't like he wasn't sharp, it was more so the fact that his desire to punch someone got in the way of his composure that had earned him the reputation of a beater rather than a schemer. Usually, it was Theodore with the observant eyes, perfect composure and the thoroughly thought-out plans. Mattheo would know, as Theo’s quick-witted responses and excuses were likely the only reason he hadn't been kicked out yet. But today, he would turn the tables.
As usual, younger students jumped out of his way as he stormed through the halls, climbing the stairs that led up to Gryffindor tower. A group of his peers that were climbing out of their common room entrance cast him incredulous looks as Mattheo surged forward to hold it open and slip in in their wake. The second he entered the lion’s den, conversations fell silent and a sea of Gryffindors wearing expressions of varying shock stared at him, standing panting before the exit.
With a sweeping glance, Mattheo spotted you, sitting by the fire with your friends and playing chess against Weasley. When he had entered, you had looked up from your game and were now looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He called your name and motioned outside, hoping you'd get the hint. You did and rose from your seat, quelling the nervous remarks of your Gryffindor friends.
In spite of your house, you had been included in Mattheo’s friend group ever since you’d had a charms project with Enzo in fifth year, who had introduced you to them. Against all odds, it had been an instant match, and you hung out with them whenever you could, even though your housemates had been opposing the idea from the start.
Now, you stifled their complaints and slipped past Mattheo out of the portrait hole, who followed in suit, not sorry to leave the room of judging stares behind. When he let the portrait fall back into place, he found you frowning at him. “Did you run all the way up here, Mattheo?”
“Maybe,” he grinned cheekily and you rolled your eyes, though actual annoyance was missing from both your eyes and voice. “Whatever for?”
His appearance was slightly unnerving. Though completely out of breath and heaving heavily, an eager, almost crazed smile tugged at his lips and his eyes glinted dangerously. “I have a proposition for you,” Mattheo grinned and you sighed. Oh Merlin. You were going to get roped into another one of his schemes, weren't you?
“So, here’s the deal,” Mattheo whispered conspicuously and dragged you into a darker part of the corridor. “I think we can both do each other a favor that benefits both of us.” He swatted his hand at your skeptical expression. “I mean, actually benefitting both of us.”
“Let's hear it,” you replied and crossed your arms. You had your doubts wether this wasn't just an elaborate plot advantageous to exactly one person: Mattheo. That wasn't prejudice talking, but experience. Just a few years ago, you would've thought it impossible that you would be friends with Mattheo Riddle one day, but he had turned out to be a genuinely funny and easy to talk to person. But that didn't mean you trusted him when he looked at you like that. Especially because Mattheo had a way of causing trouble that rivaled Harry Potter’s.
“Be my date for the Yule ball,” Mattheo blurted out and your brows only rose higher.
During the last few weeks, nobody had known another topic of interest than the Yule ball that would take place at the end of the week, the hustle and bustle around it had been exhausting. Not to mention the drama resulting from the dating rumors. Secretly, you’d been hoping that Theo would ask you out. You had been crushing on him since even before you were properly introduced, and befriending him had only intensified your feelings for him. But he hadn't made a move. And now this.
“How would that benefit either of us?” you said, stunned. “What use could either of us possibly have to gain from stepping on each other's toes for a whole evening?”
“Well,” Mattheo started, rubbing his neck. “Ya see, I have a lot of … options, but I don't want anyone to become attached and start bugging me or expecting a relationship.” He pulled a disgusted face and you suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. Out of his whole friend group, who were all very sexually active, Mattheo had earned himself the title of the biggest whore, but it looked like that came to beat him in the ass for the first time.
“Why don't you go alone, then?” you asked sensibly. “I'm sure no one is going to doubt your sexual prowess just because you go solo to the Yule ball.”
Mattheo shook his head. “Not an option. I did a bet with Draco and I have to eat a hundred living flubberworms if I don't get a date.” A shudder ran through his body at the thought. “So I’m thinking I'll just ask a friend. But Pansy and Blaise are going and Draco and Daphne have made arrangements and Merlin forgive me for not wanting to go to the ball with Enzo or Theo.”
You couldn't help the snort that escaped you and turned into a laugh at the incredulous look he gave you. “God, Mattheo, I can't believe it. This is absurd.”
Patiently, Mattheo waited for you to come down from your laughing fit. “So, what do you say, angel? I can dance, I promise.”
“What's wrong with going out with Enzo or Theo?” you asked elusively. Though you had become used to the looks and stares that you earned every time your friendship to the Slytherin gang came up, you weren't keen on the attention you’d get for going out with the Dark Lord’s son, even if it was merely platonic.
“Come on,” Mattheo pleaded with you and it was a genuinely curious sight to hear him beg. “Think about what's in it for you!”
“Having to listen to you for hours on end and a public witch hunt?”
“Aha!” he called and sprung up. “That's where part two of my plan comes in.” When you opened your mouth to protest, he waved his hands to stop you. “Listen to this. I get to escape the flubberworms and the nosy girls and you get to make Theo jealous.” Ignoring your spluttered response, he continued. “That boy’s head over heels for you, and with a little luck, seeing you with me will make him explode and confess, and the two of you can ride into the sunset together yada yada yada.”
Luckily, your hidden corner was so dark the blush on your cheeks would not be visible to the eye, but in the deafening silence that followed, you could hear your heart beating faster. Finally, you broke it with a wavering laugh. “You’re ridiculous, Theo doesn't like me like that. He isn't- he wouldn't-” But Mattheo grinned wider the more you stuttered on and you glared at him. “If he likes me, why hasn't he asked me out yet?”
It was impossible. Too good to be true. Theo was stunning, he was smart and just overall great. When you first joined their friend group, he had warmed up to you the fastest, after Enzo of course, even though it was quite unusual of him to be open to strangers. But you had bonded over your shared academic interests, and once you had started recommending each other books and studying together, you were a done deal. But it was a purely platonic deal, at least from his perspective. Right?
“He will,” Mattheo interrupted your train of thought. “And he’ll give you the same spiel as me. He just needs a wake up call to realize he wants to fuck you!” Ignoring your piqued look, he gesticulated wildly. “Come on, are you just going to let him use you when you love him and he can't wrap his head around his feelings for you?”
“Like you are using me?” you reminded him but it couldn't deter Mattheo. “That's different. You don't have feelings for me, do you?”
You avoided his eye as you pondered his proposal. What if it didn't work? Well, at least you'd know and finally be able to let go of your stupid crush. There was, objectively, nothing wrong with going to the ball with Mattheo, you could just say you were helping out a friend.
Mattheo had said Theo had feelings for you- but what did he know? Why would someone as amazing as Theo be interested in you? Then again, there had been those moments, between bookshelves in the library, or in his common room, or out at the lake, shuffling closer to each other because of the cold. Moments when he had said or done something more befitting of a boyfriend rather than a friend. Rare smiles, interlaced fingers, sweet compliments, weirdly romantic Italian nicknames you had researched in a muggle library over the holidays. Was there a chance that Mattheo, who had the emotional intelligence of a tree trunk, was right about Theo’s feelings, or was he simply misinterpreting them?
“He really likes you,” Mattheo added quietly, as if he had read your thoughts. “He just needs a little push. Come on, angel, what could go wrong?”
Angel. That nickname. The first time Mattheo had called you that had been in the Slytherin common room. You had been lounging on the couch next to Theo, a book abandoned in your lap, and tried to cheer them up after a depressing quidditch practice. When Mattheo had called you an angel, Theo’s hand on your thigh had tightened and you had looked up just in time to see him throw a warning glare at Mattheo. Maybe there was something to his words.
But then again, you reminded yourself, Mattheo had an agenda with this, and when had someone else ever been more important for him than he himself? It was ridiculous to think that Theo liked you, but you were so hopeful. What if Mattheo’s stupid plan did work in your favor?
“F-fine,” you spluttered out before you could start to doubt yourself again. “I'll go with you. But it won't work because Theo doesn't like me like that. And you’re just taking advantage of my stupid schoolgirl crush. So, if it doesn't work, which it won't, you’re going to let me test my practice potions on you for a weekend. Deal?”
“Deal,” Mattheo grinned, shaking your outstretched hand. “But I fear you’ll have to find another guinea pig for your potions, because it will work.”
When Mattheo strode into the Slytherin common room fifteen minutes later, he walked in on Pansy beating Blaise at chess maliciously. The light of the flickering green fire made the shadows of their chess figures flicker over the walls in giant dimensions. Both of them looked up when he fell down on the couch with a triumphant grin and exchanged a glance. Usually, Mattheo's good mood could mean one of two things: someone was bleeding or someone was going to bleed.
“So…,” Blaise began when Mattheo made no indication of speaking. “What's got you in such a good mood?” Immediately after, he began to curse bitterly when Pansy took advantage of the distraction to get rid of his Queen.
“I’m not going to eat any flubberworms any time soon,” Mattheo said, satisfied. “y/n just agreed to go to the ball with me.”
The reaction was immediate. Pansy choked on a chocolate frog she had been eating and Blaise was too shocked to pat her back when she began to cough. In the armchair a few feet away, Enzo shot up and stared at Mattheo as if he had just announced he’d take a Hungarian Horntail to the ball. Then, he folded up his edition of the daily prophet he had been reading and sighed. “Mate, Theo’s going to kill you. Like, properly murder you.”
“That's what I'm counting on!” Mattheo retorted enthusiastically, undeterred by the skeptical looks on his friend’s faces. “Hold up, it's actually genius. I go out with y/n, Theo’s jealousy overloads, he explodes, finally confesses to her and stops yapping to us about how great she is.” He had framed his words with dramatic gestures, but they didn't have the planned effect.
“Mattheo, you absolute idiot,” said Pansy, so outraged at this display of foolishness that she didn't catch Blaise sneaking some of his chess pieces back onto the board. “You think jealousy is going to work? Have you met Theo? He’ll just brood in the corner forever.”
“She's got a point,” said Enzo, rolling up his newspaper and staggering over to his friends. “Also, Theo’s not going to confess if he thinks she’s into you!”
“You all underestimate his selfishness,” said Mattheo, still wholly convinced of this plan. The others exchanged looks. “Of course he’ll be broody and torn, but in the end, he’ll choose himself, as much as he loves her. And then he'll finally man up and tell her how he feels, she’ll confess right back and they ride out into the sunset together. Come on, it's guaranteed to work!”
A long silence followed, in which Mattheo smiled to himself giddily and the others contemplated the plan. Then- “this is why no one trusts you with anything emotional, Mattheo,” said Blaise, shaking his head. “Why not just talk to Theo instead of creating this drama? Oh, right, because you’re Mattheo.”
“We’ve tried, haven't we?” Mattheo asked in an exasperated voice. “We’ve told both of them again and again to finally get off their ass and make a move and they never listen, because they are oblivious angsty idiots.” He did have a point. Since the start of term, it had been obvious to the whole friend group how head over heels in love the two of you were for each other. Their attempts to get you together had failed miserably, however. Though the two of you were probably the smartest in your friend group, in this matter, you were wholly oblivious.
Enzo was the first to speak. “I swear, if you ruin this for Theo and y/n, I’m taking you down myself.”
“You can try, Berkshire,” grinned Mattheo, reaching for his wand, but Enzo only rolled his eyes and retreated back to his armchair, unfolding the daily prophet and continuing to read where he had left off.
“Wait,” said Pansy, narrowing her eyes at him. “y/n actually said yes to this? She's either braver than I thought or just as mad as you are.” She groaned exasperatedly and rubbed her temple, giving Blaise the opportunity to wipe a few of her chess pieces off the board without her noticing. “I give it two days before Theo starts plotting your untimely demise. Maybe less.”
“Well, that's the spirit, isn't it?” Said Mattheo, brimming with excitement. “Haven't had an equal fight in months.”
“Oh, that's what this is about,” murmured Pansy under her breath and gave Blaise a sharp look at if to say 'I've done all I can, it's your turn now’. Blaise, who wasn't one to let down his girlfriend, frowned thoughtfully. “Mark my words, this isn’t going to end well- for you, at least. I’ll enjoy watching, though.”
“Watching what?”
All four of them shot around at the sound of a drawled out voice coming from the entrance. It was Draco, covered in mud and shouldering a broom, and in his wake Theo, looking no less in need of a bath. “Why weren't you at practice, mate?” Draco asked Mattheo, who surely didn't regret ditching practice now that he'd gotten a clean shirt and a date out of it.
“I had to make a trip to Gryffindor tower,” he answered honestly, eyes roaming over their dirty forms. “Equally as unpleasant, I figure. Though it did ultimately work in my favor. Because I have a date for the ball now.” His observant eyes rested on Theo, who’s tired ones briefly flickered over and narrowed at him in suspicion.
“You’re taking a lion to the ball?” asked Draco skeptically, he seemed unable to imagine Mattheo having the audacity to ask you out, since, as everyone knew, you were Theo’s girl. “You must be really desperate. Who's the unlucky girl?”
“y/n,” grinned Mattheo simply, but the words had their intended effect nonetheless. A loud clatter silenced the common room when Draco’s broom landed on the floor, having slipped right out of his hands. His face was almost as white as his platinum hair as he gaped at Mattheo and then glanced back at Theo who had frozen mid-motion. Now, he straightened up once more to look at Mattheo. Theo, other than Mattheo, understood it to hide his reactions behind a mask of indifference, but his blue eyes were as hard and cold as ice.
“She said yes?”
“Yeah,” grinned Mattheo, failing to read the room, or he simply said the following out of madness. “She seemed pretty stoked!”
“Did she?” asked Theo tight-lipped and Mattheo only grinned in response. Teasing Theo, prodding him, holding you over his head, waiting for him to snap, for his oh-so-great composure to crack was the definition of fun. Mattheo could almost see it flicker in his eyes, the desire to punch him, to punish him, for taking what was his. And then, Theo’s annoying righteousness when it came to you, how he would remind himself that you didn't belong to him, that you could do whatever you pleased.
Mattheo could imagine both sides battling viciously in Theo’s head as he returned his gaze, it was delicious to have him squirm. He only had to watch his step, not play with the fire too much. Theodore Nott was one of the few people he knew that could actually beat his ass if they got poked too much. But he didn't take his eyes off Theo's who seemed just as determined to hold his. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see his hands tighten around his broom before they relaxed, he spread his fingers like spiders and disciplined his own body into submission.
“So,” said Theo cooly, a certain bitterness tinging his tone that he kept to a minimum. Of course Theo knew Mattheo was trying to provoke him, and he was determined not to give him the satisfaction, or that was what Mattheo himself concluded. “When exactly did you decide you were into her? Before or after you knew I-” Theo paused and clenched his jaw “Never mind.”
“Does that bother you?” Mattheo asked in faux consideration and he could feel his friends holding their breath. Theo's infamous death stare fell upon him and the grin fell off his face, though the daring look in his eyes did not subside.
When Theo answered, his voice was smooth and controlled. “Doesn’t bother me. I just… didn’t think she’d be your type.”
“Why not?” asked Mattheo, his body ready for attack, every nerve tense in excited anticipation of a good fight. “She’s sweet, pretty, smart-”
“She's too good for you,” Theo cut him off with narrowed eyes, but Mattheo only shrugged. “It's the damn Yule ball, mate, I just need a date so I don't have to eat three courses worth of flubberworms, and I could imagine way worse than spending the evening with her. I mean,” a light smirk curled his lips, “she's not your girlfriend, is she?”
Oh, he could just feel Theo’s fury in his fingertips, the way he looked at him as if he wanted to take his head off. How he had to regret not asking you sooner, how confused over his anger he had to feel. Mattheo reveled in the power he had over him. But Theo smoothed out his features and stared at him through a mask of indifference. “Right.” Looking somehow a lot moodier than when he had stepped in, already brooding, he shouldered his broom and left for the boy’s showers.
His absence left behind a tense silence. Blaise was the first to speak. “Mattheo, mate… you're dead.” But Mattheo only laughed, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, unbothered by his pessimistic outlook and still wholly convinced of his plan.
You wondered if Theo had caught wind of the Yule ball arrangement when you caught sight of him the next day in the Great Hall, looking more somber than ever. Even from the Gryffindor table, you could see him staring gloomily down on his porridge as if it had wronged him somehow. You were equally as unable to eat. Gnawing on your lip, you weighed the explanations in your head. Could he be jealous? No, that was too good to be true. It couldn't be.
Maybe he too had made a bet with Draco and had to eat flubberworms if he didn't find a date? Maybe there was some other explanation as to why Theo seemed to be answering all questions directed at him with either a frown or a shrug. Hunched over, his dark locks fell into his eyes as he glowered at his meal, fingers flexing around his fork. It was true, Theo was a grim person, and on bad days, he tended to glower at everyone who crossed his path- could this be just another one of his mood-swings?
“Everything alright?”
Taken aback, you looked at Hermoine who surveyed you with a cautious look in her brown eyes. “You haven't eaten.”
“I'm just not hungry,” you smiled truthfully and discarded the fork. No use pretending, you weren't getting any breakfast down today. Not when Theo looked so distractingly sinister and gorgeous.
But Hermoine didn't look convinced. “What did Riddle want yesterday? When he wanted to talk to you, what did he say?”
Your attention had been captured by Theo giving Mattheo his nastiest death glare, so you only registered the words slowly. “Huh? Oh, he only asked me to be his date for the Yule ball.” you replied, making Hermoine choke on her cereal. “He did what?”
Biting into the sour apple, you decided to come clean. “I said yes.” To escape her unbelieving and quite frankly accusing eyes, you rose from your seat. “See you in Arithmancy, Hermoine,” you said hastily and walked along the Gryffindor table in long strides. When you reached the doorway, however, you turned left and walked along the Slytherin table towards your friends.
Pansy noticed you approaching and waved, making the others look up as well. Mattheo grinned at you and blew you a kiss you rolled your eyes at. When Theo’s eyes fell upon you, however, they softened visibly. He scooted to the side, making space for you to sit down next to him. You smiled at him, albeit intimidated slightly by his bad mood, and moved closer to him. To your immense relief, he returned your smile and grabbed an empty glass to fill it with pumpkin juice and place it before you.
“Decided on a dress yet?” Pansy asked from the other side of the table and you looked at her, therefore missing the slight narrowing of Theo’s eyes at the mention of the ball. You did, however, notice his hand, reaching for yours over the table and interlocking your fingers with his. The Nott family ring on his ring finger burned cold against your skin, the calloused tips of his fingers from all the smoking burns felt even more uneven against your soft skin. You didn't know why you noticed his hands so clearly at this moment. Maybe, you realized, because you had never actually held his hand.
“Uh- yes,” you said, a little flustered, and returned your attention to Pansy who gave you a knowing look. “And you?”
The two of you slipped into a conversation about the ball and your dresses that the other boys participated scarcely in. Blaise asked questions about Pansy’s dress that he had never actually seen before. From time to time, Draco threw in a comment about his dancing skills and Enzo laughed along to Pansy’s teasing. Mattheo made flirty comments towards you when you talked about your dress, glancing at Theo to gauge his reaction.
Only Theo didn't participate in the conversation, though his fingers stayed interlocked with yours. Every now and again, they seemed to tighten, especially when Mattheo directed one of his flirty comments at you. But maybe that was just wishful thinking on your part. When everyone rose to go to class, he tugged you down again by your interwoven hands. His expression was serious. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”
“Uh, sure,” you smiled, waving the others goodbye. Mattheo winked at you and you rolled your eyes at him. You sat back down, but Theo didn't speak immediately. His eyes studied your face, roamed over your features, as if he was seeing you for the first time- really seeing you. Merlin, he was an idiot. He should have asked you before Mattheo would be able to. The thought that you had looked up at Mattheo this sweetly just a day prior, before he had gotten ahead of him and asked you, was gnawing at him.
“You're going to the ball with Mattheo?” he forced the words past his lips, but managed to make them sound casual, as if he was asking about the weather.
“Yes?” you said and immediately scolded yourself for making it sound like a question. Your tone made him lift his brow as his eyes searched yours for any hesitance. “You don't have to go out with him, if you don't want to,” he said.
You could hear your heart beat in your ears. Was he trying to tell you that you had other options? Like him? For one second, you could see yourself, in the dress you had already picked out, side by side with Theo. He had to be a wonderful dancer. But then, you remembered what Mattheo had said. It was a platonic offer, even if he had feelings for you. Which you doubted. The thought of going with him when it was a merely platonic deal for him but meant so much to you, it was almost unbearable.
“I want to,” you replied and your voice sounded steadier than you’d dared to hope. For a second, you thought you saw his expression drop, but you could never trust your eyes with him, his fleeting expressions and flashes of emotions were hard to keep up with, even for you, who could see through him better than most people, by his own admission.
Theo merely nodded and stood up. Before you could, he shouldered your book back as well. Like the gentleman he was, he fended off your protests and held out his arm for you to take, as if you were at a special occasion, when, in truth, it was just another Tuesday in the Great Hall. Both glad and disappointed that nothing had changed, you slipped your arm into his and you left the Hall on your way to the Arithmancy classroom.
The soft hum of chatter filled the entrance hall as students in glittering gowns and sharply tailored dress robes gathered beneath the glowing light of the enchanted candles. The winged doors to the Great Hall were still shut as students who had partners in another house pushed through the crowd in search of them. You, however, didn't have much of a hard time finding your group of Slytherin friends, as any sane student steered clear of them. Before they could make you out in the wave of Gryffindor students that swept over the hall just now, you spotted them in a more secluded corner.
Of course, you noticed Theo first. He looked impossibly handsome in his dress robes. They were black, but with subtle hints of dark green. A dark green that matched the color of your dress. As if you were just meant for each other. Well, in your dreams. You noticed he didn't have a girl on his arm, neither did Enzo. Pansy and Daphne both looked gorgeous in their dresses, and especially Blaise looked hopelessly smitten. Then, there was Mattheo. You were somewhat surprised to see that he was actually wearing something formal. It was already a rarity for him not to be bloody, but to wear something festive was not a sight you ever expected to be subjected to.
Mattheo was the first to spot your approaching frame, a slow grin spreading across his face as he leaned casually against the wall, hands stuffed in his pockets. His gaze seeped over you with an aporoving nod. “Well, aren't you dressed up nicely,” he drawled when you were in earshot, causing the others to take notice of your presence as well. Pansy, ever supportive, let out a low whistle, Blaise wiggled his eyebrows and Enzo gave you a thumbs up. But it was Theo’s reaction that you felt most acutely- a subtle shift in his posture, his jaw tightening ever so slightly as he looked you over. His gaze felt hot on your body and you felt your breath hitch when his stormy eyes locked with yours, a flicker of something unspoken flashing across his face before he quickly glanced away.
Fuck. You were gorgeous. Of course, he'd always known you were pretty, but seeing you in that dress did something to him. That green was the color of his house, of his family, the color of him. You looked like his, even though Mattheo put an arm around your waist and pulled you towards him. He could have killed him, he might have, if you hadn't let out a bright laugh at something he had said that stilled every and all remains of fury in him. Your laugh was disarming, especially when you looked over at him and gifted him one of your sweet smiles. “Hey, Theo.”
He could only nod, unable to take his eyes off you, even when the doors to the great hall opened and the group slowly made their way towards them. His gaze zeroed in on Mattheo's hand on your lower back. That was not Mattheo's spot, that was where his hand lay when he was walking you to class or Hogsmeade. Unable to look anywhere else, he followed the others mechanically, unaware of the glimpses you stole at him to gauge his reaction. But all you could see was indifference.
When you stepped through the doors you were momentarily distracted from Theo. The Great Hall was alight with blue light, decked in ice crystals. The usual four house tables had made way for a multitude of smaller, round tables surrounding the dance floor that took up the better part of the hall. Mattheo led the way to one table in close proximity to the dance floor, which surprised Theo. Usually, Mattheo preferred corners over the center.
Mattheo pulled out your chair for you before Theo had the chance to and - wether by chance or because he was a snarky asshole - sat down in between Theo and you. With a sly grin at Theo, he interlocked your fingers over the table and moved closer to you. In that moment, Theo swore to himself that he would dance with you today. He'd stay up until three in the morning if necessary, but he would hold you in his arms tonight, twirl you around in that damn dress and see the light of the crystals reflected in your eyes. And if he had to hex Mattheo, he would gladly do so.
Your laughter rang in his ears and he cursed himself. Hex Mattheo, and ruin your night? What right did he even have to feel like this? As much as he hated to admit it, Mattheo was right. You weren't his girlfriend, he had no claim over you. His possessiveness was sick, twisted and entirely selfish. You were his friend and he should only want the best for you. What he had masked as ‘the best for you’ was no more than what fulfilled his desires. He was being a horrible friend to you.
“Wanna dance, angel?” Theo couldn't even find it in himself to feel anything but bitterness when Mattheo rose and offered you his outstretched hand. Over his death stare directed at the table, he missed the way you glanced over at him before taking it and allowing Mattheo to eagerly drag you to the dance floor. The music was fairly quick and as Mattheo twirled you around, you let him pull you into him and mirrored his steps. Mattheo was a fairly skilled dancer, but you struggled to keep up with his extravagant style and quick steps.
Mattheo twirled you around so fast you could barely see beyond the flashes of blue that remained of the room. And even when a more slow piece came on, he found a way to keep you on your toes. “He's looking over,” you whispered after daring a glance over your shoulder to see that Theo's brooding gaze was fixed on the two of you.
“You even have eyes in your head?” grinned Mattheo, pulling you closer by your waist. “He's been looking at you the whole evening.” A smirk curled his lip. “Told ya”
You were a little too out of breath to answer, but when Mattheo leaned close to whisper a question in your ear, you nodded, albeit a little hesitant. Your rowdy dancing partner pulled you even closer until there was barely any space between you two. When he said something, anything, you giggled and he laughed along, even though neither of you remembered what he had said. In spite of the dancing, Mattheo managed to dip his head down and trail pecks up your neck to the shell of your ear. The shudder that went through your body was not as much a result of his lips, but a reaction to the way Theo’s fists clenched as you locked eyes.
Worry and stupid excitement coiled in your stomach. The way he was glaring at you through his dark locks, his fists clenching and unclenching, his cerulean eyes so dark, his posture so tense as if he was a predator ready to devour his prey, was so damn attractive that you couldn't help but stare longer than you intended to, before you managed to avert your eyes and focus them back on Mattheo. But you couldn't help but worry what his tense appearance might mean. Had he seen through Mattheo's plan to make him jealous and considered this a betrayal of your friendship?
Meanwhile, Theo had to summon up his last reserves of restraint when his best mate’s hand crept down your back, further than he was supposed to, teetering the edge of inappropriateness. But you looked so happy, laughing along to Mattheo's jokes. Though somehow, he had missed the repeated glances you cast at him all throughout the dance.
When the next number came on, you parted from Mattheo who lifted his brows. “That's enough. If he hasn't done anything by now, I must be right. You were wrong about these supposed feelings, Mattheo.” You sighed and shook your head about your own stupidity. Of course Theo hadn't reacted, you’d been right all along. Still, disappointment stung in your heart. Maybe you had held on to hope. Oh, who were you kidding, a part of you had believed Mattheo, and now you felt way worse than you had before. Before Mattheo could talk, you parted from him and left the dance floor.
Theo slowly, dangerously, lifted his head from his knuckles as his gaze followed your figure, ducking in between dancing couples to make your way back over. Your expression showed disappointment, sadness… you’d always been easy to read for him. When he asked you about it, you said you showed your emotions openly on purpose. Why, he had asked, and you'd laughed and said that you wanted to make people feel at ease and safe when talking to you, so you showed yourself to them to invite them in, make them feel welcome.
Even though he didn't fully understand, he admired you for it, recognized it as a strength when Mattheo had outright laughed at your explanation, earning him a sinister glare. But right now, Theo desperately wished he wouldn't be faced with your sorrow, it would make it easier to keep himself from walking over to Mattheo, drag him out into the hall and finally confront him. A horrible suspicion dawned on him as he locked eyes with Mattheo, who had been watching your retreating figure as well. When they locked eyes, he grinned, winked and disappeared into the crowd of dancing bodies. Had he been using you to make Theo jealous, to tease him for his personal satisfaction?
His sinister thoughts were quelled when you reached the table and sat down next to him, bending over with a groan and slipping out of your heels. But before you could even grab a slice of cake to drown your sorrows in sweets, someone got a hold of your hand. You followed the arm and saw Theo, looking at you with a serious expression. His grip was soft, as if you were fragile, made out of glass, made to look pretty and shatter. But his eyes were hard as stone. “What did he say to you?”
“Huh?” you asked, genuinely perplexed at the growl in his voice. “Who- what- You mean Mattheo?” A curt nod. You understood. Theo must've misinterpreted your bad mood upon leaving the dance floor for hurt at something Mattheo had said. “Nothing,” you said quickly. “Everything's alright.” But your reassurances couldn't wipe the skepticism from his eyes. “Look, it's just my feet that started to hurt, alright? It's not Mattheo's fault.”
Though he still looked doubtful, Theo seemed to accept your explanation and reached over to cut you a large piece of cake. In spite of your expensive dress, you brought your knees to your chest as you started eating, but your sudden appetite quickly subsided. With a long sigh, you leaned your head on Theo’s shoulder and reveled in his warmth. “‘M sorry,” you murmured under your breath, unsure if he would even catch it.
He did, and frowned, you could hear it in his voice though you didn't see his face. “What for, amore?” Amorina. It meant ‘little love’, or that was what the muggle dictionary books said. Those damn Italian nicknames. His accent, barely noticeable in everyday conversation, was thicker when he spoke hushed and you allowed yourself to revel in how it made you feel, just for a moment. Then, you shrugged, hoping it would be enough of an explanation for now. Would you ever be able to tell him why you had gone to the ball with Mattheo or would you sooner die of embarrassment?
This wasn't so bad. Actually, it was quite nice. You rocked slightly in the rhythm of the music and leaned into Theo who, in turn, leaned onto you carefully. Somehow, your hands had found each other. Draco was dancing with Daphne, Blaise and Pansy were making out in a distant corner of the room and Enzo was at the buffet to get seconds. It was quite peaceful, almost like you two were the only thing that mattered and all around you was just noise and light and colors. They would fade, he wouldn't, and you wouldn't either.
Your peace was only disturbed when Mattheo arrived, who, to your not-really surprise, had a giggling girl holding onto his arm. Unbeknownst to you, Mattheo had not given up just yet. If Theo's selfishness wasn't stronger than his desire to see you happy, maybe his knight-in-shining-armor urges would be. He grabbed your plate from in front of you, ignoring Theo's frowns, dug the fork into it and held it out to the giggling girl that was clutching his dress robes.
“You enjoying yourself, darling?” he asked and she nodded, giving him a sultry look. He cast you a deliberately indifferent look. “You don't mind, angel, do you?” Though he didn't dare look at Theo and give himself away, he could practically feel him fuming.
“Knock yourselves out,” you replied with a wave of your hand but Theo was not so quick to dismiss the scene. He rose from his seat, feeling as if all his frustration and resentment of the last week had reached its peak and was ready to boil over. In moments like these, when he allowed his anger to escape, to be felt just for a moment before funneling it towards the intended target with deliberate precision, he could feel himself getting calmer. The rushing in his ears subsided, his heartbeat slowed to a normal pace as he looked down on his best mate.
“What do you think you're doing?”
“Taking a gorgeous girl to dance with me,” Mattheo answered casually, grinning at the girl on his arm. How could he act as if you weren't even there? How dare he run to another when he had taken you to be his date, was he never satisfied?
“You already have a date, scemo,” he growled. By now, a few pairs of eyes had gotten wind of the brewing storm. A few of them stepped closer to observe the scene, others pushed through the crowd to put some space between them and the two boys who now glared at each other. Mattheo was tense, brimming with excitement and pushed away the girl. Theo, on the other hand, seemed almost unnaturally calm, his hand slowly slipping into his robes in search of his wand.
“Theo,” you said quietly, in an ineffectual attempt to avoid more attention. “I really don't mind.” He cast you a quick glance and you knew it hadn't been enough. His eyes were soft all of the sudden, but you knew he wouldn't back down. And you weren't going to lie, it did warm your chest that he was so willing to stand up for you. Though you didn't want the situation to escalate into an actual fight because of your’s and Mattheo’s stupidity.
Mattheo would apologize to you for the following later, but now he had to wound Theo up so much that he’d attack him with bare hands, Mattheo's preferred method of fighting, because he knew he couldn't beat the academic weapon Theo in a wizarding duel. “Yeah, she was kind of a bore so I-” But he didn't get to finish that sentence, because Theo had abandoned the search for his wand, surged forward and tackled Mattheo so they fell to the ground in a heap of robes and fists.
You had rarely seen Theo fight. Well, that was not quite true. You'd seen him hex people, curse fellow students, but never like this. The punches he delivered to Mattheo’s face were less deliberate and full of rage. It was a show of force unlike any you'd ever seen from him. When tackling Matteo, he had discarded his robes and now his white shirt got the first red spots. Mattheo hit and kicked back with the same fervor you already knew from him, and you could see it in his eyes, this was all just a game for him.
Students screamed when a resounding crack echoed through the hall, amplified by the sudden silence that had come over the crowd as everyone formed a circle around the fighting boys. Theo had broken Mattheo's nose, you were sure of it, and for a moment, you thought Mattheo was down, but of course not. Without a sound of pain, he shot up and tackled Theo, who had hesitated for a split second too long, to the ground. Wherever they threatened to crash into the wall of onlookers, the students moved back like a coordinated swarm of fish.
Slowly, Theo seemed to get the upper hand on Mattheo who seemed slightly knocked out from the hit in the face that had broken his nose. But nonetheless, while Theo’s expression was bitter and hard as he brought his fist down on Mattheo's face again and again, the latter laughed, almost crazily, coughing up blood. His laughter was the loudest sound, and for a good minute, you doubted his sanity. In contrast, Theo was eerily silent as he beat Mattheo with the utmost concentration, jaw clenched and eyes full of disdain.
Finally, the headmaster managed to push through the crowd. Some of them were chanting, others were covering their faces with their hands. Dumbledore assessed the situation in one glance, and you thought he even winked at you, before he pulled out his wand. As if pulled apart by invisible hands, Mattheo and Theo were ripped apart and both stumbled a few feet back, making the crowd on either side burst to scramble away.
They were both heaving. Mattheo looked worse than Theo, his nose was visibly broken and his face was littered with cuts and bruises and two black eyes. Theo’s lip and nose were bleeding, dripping crimson upon his stained shirt, as were his fists, and a darkening bruise bloomed above his right jawline. Both of them looked ready to jump back into it, if it hadn't been for a very disgruntled Snape, who stepped in between and sneered at Theo especially. “What a display! You have dishonored your house with your public brawling-”
“Now, now, Severus,” said Dumbledore calmly and smiled in understanding. “Tempers run high at events like these. I can remember, in my youth, there was no ball without a good duel. Of course, some choose the more direct approach.” His eyes twinkled.
Unfortunately, Mattheo chose the exact moment to send you a wink and Theo, who looked just about a hundred percent done with his bullshit, took a step towards him, only to be roughly pushed back by Snape. It couldn't stop the words leaving his mouth through gritted teeth, though. “Sei praticamente mio fratello,” growled Theo with a wild look in his blue eyes. “come hai potuto farmi questo, pezzo di merda?"
Mattheo was still gasping for breath and wincing at every inhale, but he grinned nonetheless. “non parlo italiano, you dumbass,” he sneered with what you could only assume was a heavy British accent, and Theo, still fuming, spit on the ground over Snapes shoulder who was still holding him back.
“Now, now,” said Dumbledore with a level of indulgence you could only admire him for. “I believe, Mr Riddle, you should see Miss Pomphrey. As for you, Mr Nott, how about a walk to, ah- cool off?”
Theo pushed Snape off of him who glared at him, only to be glared at right back. “Twenty points off Slytherin, Nott,” he said with clear disdain in his voice. Before Theo could protest or do something rash (you had never seen him like this, he looked like he was capable of anything), you grabbed his hand and started pulling. To your immense surprise and relief, Theo gave in immediately, following you as you pushed through the students, out of the door, through the entrance hall, and finally, out into the dark grounds where the chilly night air finally cleared your head a little.
You sat down on the stone steps and Theo followed suit, still breathing heavily and flexing his hands. For a few minutes, you didn't dare speak. When you finally managed to work up the words and the courage, it was Theo who spoke first. His voice had lost all temper, all edge, it was full of regret. “I'm sorry, amore.” Taken aback, he turned your head to look at him. His gaze was fixed on his hands, covered in both Mattheo's and his blood, seeping out of his knuckles.
“What for?” you asked and he finally looked at you, albeit as if you were asking a very ridiculous question. “Cazzo, for ruining your night. You deserve better, I was a-” But you didn't let him finish, you reached over to wrap your arms around him and pull him in, needing his warmth more than ever. Immediately, his arms engulfed your form and he pulled you into him so that you were sitting halfway in his lap, but neither of you cared. Maybe even without realizing, he rocked you back and forth lightly and you breathed out, breathed in, let the smell of him consume you whole. Cigarettes had never smelled better.
When Theo reluctantly released you, his gaze trailed over the goosebumps on your arms. Your dress, as wonderful as it was, did not have sleeves. “Let's go,” he said softly. He didn't say where, but you didn't care, you trusted him. So you let him pull you up and back inside, down the staircase to the dungeons. None of you said a word. When you stepped inside, the Slytherin common room was deserted, as everyone was still upstairs, enjoying themselves.
Theo urged you towards the couch, but you had come to a halt. You knew you needed to come clean. Now. Before he had the chance to actually take Mattheo's head off. Mistaking your hesitation for doubt rather than guilt, Theo let his arms engulf you once more. It may have been a trick of your imagination, but you thought you heard him breathe in the scent of your hair. “Maleditelo, that bastard. Merlin, I could have broken his fucking jar if they'd given me one more minute. Curse him for doing that to you. I’d never have-” He fell silent.
You sighed against his chest, silently wishing you'd never taken part in Mattheo's crazy plan. “I didn't mind that,” you murmured into his blood-stained shirt, reveling in the feeling of his thumbs brushing over your shoulder as he held you. But it stopped, and Theo pulled away, face contorted into a bitter smile as he began to pace in front of you. “No, of course you didn't. Sei troppo dannatamente bonario, troppo gentile, troppo perfetto.”
“Theo!” you said loudly and that made him look down on you. Your voice was shaking slightly. “I’m sorry.” He frowned, and then it all spilled out of you. How Mattheo had proposed the idea of making him jealous because he was convinced he liked you, how you had said yes because you were a lovesick idiot, how he had been purposefully riling him up and you had went along with it all. “I'm sorry,” you said shakily, holding back tears. “I was so stupid, this is all my fault, I'm so, so sorry Theo.”
During the whole tale, Theo hadn't moved an inch. Now, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from out of his pocket, ignited one with a bit of wandless magic and took a long drag. Usually, Theo didn't smoke when you were around, because he knew you didn't like it. But desperate times seemed to call for desperate measures. Staring down at the glowing cigarette between his fingers, Theo seemed to gauge the words, weigh them on his tongue, before he spoke. “You like me?”
“I love you,” you confessed, hiding your face in your hands. “God, Theo, I'm so sorry.”
“Why didn't you just talk to me?” You peeked at him through your fingers, but he seemed calm. Sure, he was frowning, but the cigarette seemed to have helped. His gaze was fixed on you as he studied your expression, what little he could catch a glimpse of, anyway.
You let out a helpless sigh, feeling ridiculous. “Because… you know, you’re you.”
At that, his frown deepened and he took another drag of his cigarette, as if to calm himself. Then, he flicked it into an ashtray and approached you slowly. His gentle hands came up to pry your hands from your face. They fell helplessly at your sides. “What's that supposed to mean?” he asked with furrowed brows. “Are you intimidated by me, amorina?”
“N- no!” you stuttered desperately, “it's just…” You let out a long sigh, not daring to look at him. “I was scared it might ruin our friendship, it just… seemed like the best way.” As you spoke them, you realized the stupidity of your words, and Theo, too, raised his brow at you. “You thought going to the ball with Mattheo to make me jealous, letting him kiss you on the dance floor and rile me up all evening was the best way, did you?”
“Yes?” you squeaked, never having felt this abashed in your life.
Theo rolled his eyes, but he leaned down and suddenly he was so close. So close you could feel, hear and smell his breath, still reeking of cigarettes. So close you suddenly realized just how blue his eyes were, a deep cerulean blue. So close your breath hitched. Theo's voice was but a whisper, but he seemed distracted, his eyes darting between your eyes and - could it be? - down to your lips. “Stupid plan.”
“I know,” you breathed, looking at him with wide, teary eyes that Theo wanted to burn into his memory forever. He couldn't find it in him to be mad at you. Not when you looked at him like this, not when he could smell you.
“It worked,” was all he said, and you could barely comprehend the words before his lips crashed onto yours.
You'd imagined many times how it might feel to kiss Theo, too feel those soft lips on yours. Would it be messy? Gentle? Rough? It turned out to be none of those, or perhaps all of those. Kissing Theo was dizzyingly overwhelming. His lips moved in yours in a controlled passion, slow and meticulous, but at the same time, hungry. So, so hungry when he let out a groan and parted your lips with his to slip his tongue into your mouth. To explore, to discover, to make you whimper against him as he pulled you in tighter by the waist.
You suddenly felt impossibly hot and bothered, especially when Theo's lips departed from your mouth to nip at your jaw and travel down the crook of your neck, biting, sucking, caressing, worshipping. When you felt something solid poke against your thigh, you gasped, nervousness coiling in your stomach. “M-maybe,” you stuttered, “now that all is cleared up, we should maybe go look after Mattheo in the-”
You gasped loudly when Theo bit down hard on your neck, silencing you effectively with the growl that escaped his throat. “Don't say his fucking name, amore.” You nodded frantically, biting back moans, and Theo started lapping at the bite, rubbing his tongue over it in soothing circles as his hands travelled down, further down before they reached the slit in your dress and he grabbed a handful of your thigh. “You can scream mine instead.”
Suddenly, the door burst open and you jumped, Theo took a step back from you to glare at your intruders. It was Pansy, and, following right behind, Blaise. She had her brows lifted and grinned. “Holy hell, get a r-”
“Get out, Pansy,” Theo cut her off, fingers digging into your thigh. Though she held Blaise back from standing up for her, she rolled her eyes at his tone and turned to leave. “Lock the door,” Theo called after them and you somehow found yourself giggling. “Theo, you can't just shut your whole house out of the common room.” You felt light headed, slightly dizzy, but you smiled and he managed to return it. “'Course I can.”
He let go of your thigh and walked a few steps, over to what had to be an enchanted record player. With a tip of his wand, it started playing a slow song. Theo looked back at you, extending his arm, offering you his right hand. A small smile played around his lips as he crooked his head to the side. “Dance with me, amorina.” And of course, you took it, let him pull you towards him and closed your eyes as he began to move you to the slow rhythm. Somehow, your head landed on his shoulder, his came to encircle your waist as you moved, barely taking a step.
He would make the stolen night up to you. Every single second.
Ughh taking an edible with Theo in his room late at night. Waiting for it to kick in as a movie plays, and slowly that full body high kicks in. Youre so relaxed and needy, pressing languid kisses against theos neck while he runs his hands under your shirt.
He just loves how wet and pliant you are when youre high. He can split you with his length easily, not having to work nearly as hard to stretch you out comfortably. Everything just feels so damn good while he lazily rocks into you, his bloodshot eyes never leaving yours.
"What's got you pissed off?" Mattheo asked as you entered his dorm, tossing your bag to the side.
"Harry." You said as you sat on the chair at his desk. "Let's just do this stupid project." you sighed.
"What did Harry do?" He asked, pulling your chair closer to him as he sat on the bed.
"He acts all superior because he's 'The Boy Who Lived' and he's starting to treat me like I'm not a priority. I'm not asking for all his attention, just some. And his lack of affection. It's like he's too embarrassed to be seen with me." You looked up at him, he looked really concerned. "I need a better boyfriend."
"I can be a better boyfriend than him." He said.
"You hate me." You looked at him, confused.
"I hate him. I've wanted you since the day we met." He said, placing his hands on your thighs.
"How can you be better than him?" You asked, looking in his eyes.
"I would treat you like a priority. I'd worship you, treat you like a princess." He moved off the bed to kneel in front of you, parting your legs to get closer. "I would never be embarrassed to be seen with you. I know your interests and your favorite things like food, and music, and movies, and books. I'd spoil you, get you anything you want." He looked up at you as he pressed kisses to your thighs. Your breath hitched at the sight and feeling.
"Mattheo." You said softly.
"Let me show you how much better I can be." He said, pressing another kiss on your inner thigh.
"How?" You asked, your voice shaky.
"I can make you feel so good, better than Potter ever could." He pressed another kiss higher up on your other leg.
"I-I don't know. Harry-" Your brain cut off when You felt his finger brush over your clit through your panties.
"Shhh. Just let me make you feel good." He said quietly, softly rubbing over your panties still. You nodded as your mind blanked. He gave you a smile. "That's it." He straightened up and kissed you, pulling you in with a hand on the back of your neck. It was rough and passionate. He bit your lip, using your yelp to slip his tongue into your mouth. You kissed like that for a few moments before he kissed down to your neck, leaving wet kisses there. "Lift up for a second." You lifted your hips up and he slid off your panties, flipping up your skirt as you sat back down. "So pretty." He said before he pressed his thumb to your clit, rubbing slow circles.
"Mattheo." You breathed out his name.
"I could hear you say my name like that for the rest of my life." He said as he looked up at you. He pulled you forward on the chair by your thighs, putting them over his shoulders before licking a stripe up your pussy, earning a moan from you. He focused on your clit, licking and sucking it before he slipped a finger in you without warning.
"Oh, god, Mattheo." You moaned as you gripped his hair. He smiled as he continued licking you.
"You sound so hot." He groaned, slipping another finger in you as he continued pumping them in and out. His thumb found your clit again as he rubbed circles on it.
"That feels so good." You threw your head back as you moaned.
"Eyes on me, baby." Mattheo said as he reached his free hand up to pull your chin down so you looked at him. "God, you look so fucked out and I haven't even stretched you out on my cock yet."
"I'm gonna cum if you don't stop." You warned, your legs shaking over his shoulders.
"I got you, baby. Cum on my fingers." He leaned back down and replaced his thumb with his mouth.
"Oh, fuck." You moaned as he sucked your clit again. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Mattheo." You moaned before your orgasm hit you. You cried out his name as your legs tried closing around him. You kept your eyes on him until they rolled back in pleasure, throwing your head back as well.
"Good girl." He cooed as you came down from your high. He had kept your legs open with his free hand, using the other one to finish out your orgasm. "You look so beautiful when you cum. Gonna need you to do that on my cock." He said as he stood, lifting you up off the chair to move you to his bed, standing between your legs. He quickly slid off his shirt before moving to his pants. You were about to take off your clothes when he stopped you. "That's my job." He pulled your top off and made quick work of your bra. "So fucking beautiful." He said before sliding your skirt off. You felt your face heat up from everything and he cupped your cheeks gently. "I am going to absolutely wreck you and ruin you for anyone else but me."
"Mattheo." You breathed out his name again.
He pressed his thumb to your clit again, You hissed at the contact, sensitive from the last orgasm.
"Too much." You warned, grabbing his wrist.
"It's fine, baby." He said, eyes on your pussy. He grabbed your hand, bringing it to his cock, already hard and leaking precum. You wrapped your hand around it and reveled in the sheer size of it for a moment.
"Oh, god." You muttered. "It's so big."
"You can handle it, sweetheart." He smiled.
"I don't know."
"Am I much bigger than your boyfriend Potter?" He asked with a cocky smile.
"I don't know." You admitted.
"You haven't had sex with him yet?" You shook your head. "With anyone?" You shook your head again. You felt him get harder in your hand. "Oh, I am definitely going to ruin you." He pushed you back gently so you laid down and he lined up at your entrance. He pushed in slowly as you moaned.
"Fuck, you're so big." You moaned as he bottomed out.
"You're so fucking tight. Stop clenching." He groaned.
"Can't help it."
"You're gonna fucking kill me." He said before grabbing your legs to hold around his waist. He slowly started thrusting, dragging out until just his tip was in before thrust back in hard. You moaned loudly with each thrust, feeling him so deep in you. "Your pussy is fucking loving this, desperately sucking me back in to try to keep me inside."
"If you keep talking like that, I'm gonna cum so much quicker." Your hands gripped at the sheets.
"Fuck, Mattheo, so fucking good." You moaned.
"That's the goal, darling." He smiled, speeding up his thrusts. "You look so much better like this than yelling at me."
"You don't like when I yell?"
"I do, it's so hot. You don't know how many times I've pictured just shutting you up with my cock." He groaned.
"Touch your clit." He ordered. You followed and began rubbing at your clit, moaning loudly. "You're so good for me, baby. Tell me, could Potter ever make you feel this good?" You shook your head. "I said tell me, baby."
"Fuck, no, only you can." You cried out at a sharp thrust.
"That's fucking right. Only I can. Whose fucking pussy is this?" He pushed your hand to rub at your clit.
"Yours. All fucking yours, Mattheo."
"Such a quick learner."
"Gonna cum, fuck." Your legs started shaking again.
"Fucking cum on my cock, baby. Wanna feel it. Come on." He urged as he rubbed faster at your clit.
"Fuck." You yelled before cumming, crying out his name as your eyes rolled back.
"That's it, good fucking girl." He rode out your high before pulling out and cumming on your stomach. "You look so fucking good painted with my cum." He smiled as he stared at his cum on you.
"That felt so good." You said as your body relaxed onto the mattress.
"I can make you feel this good whenever you want. You just have to leave Potter." He said, smoothing his hands up and down your thighs.
"And then what?" You asked.
"Date me. Let me take care of you." He said, completely serious.
Your house had won against the Slytherin team in a quidditch match. And Mattheo was seething. He was always so short tempered. Everyone knew that.
But only you knew that he took it out on you. His head between your thighs, lapping at your poor cunt. He had you completely stripped but he was still fully clothed, just eager to get his tongue on your sweet pussy. But he was even more aggressive than usual.
“Please, Matty.” You whined as he denied your orgasm. You were laying on the edge of the bed, propped up on your elbows as you watched him kneeling on the ground in front of you, your thighs over his shoulders.
“Stop being fucking greedy.” He said as he looked into your eyes now. “Be grateful for what I’m giving you.” He said before pushing two fingers into you.
“Please, Matty, need to cum so bad.” You plea, feeling that orgasm build again, hoping he doesn’t deny you again.
“Oh, you need it?” He said as he watched his fingers pumping in and out of you.
“So bad. Please, Matty.” You beg, your hips moving to meet his fingers.
“Do you remember how many times your house scored on us?” He asked, looking back in your eyes again, thumb moving to play with your clit.
“Uh…” You couldn’t remember. You barely remember anything but his fingers and tongue on you at the moment as you watch his hand playing with you.
“Five.” He answered. “So, I’m gonna deny you five times before you can cum. If you complain again, I’ll keep adding to it. Do you understand that?” He asked, using his other hand to tilt your head to look at him.
“Yes.” You say shakily. You were so close again already. He could tell as he felt your walls tighten around him.
He pulled his fingers out as soon as he felt you about to cum, eliciting a whine, but you bit your tongue to keep from saying anything. “How many has that been so far? Count them for me, or did you already get fucked stupid by me?” He asked, a bit condescendingly.
“Two. Two times.” You say, as you watch him.
“So smart. Count them for me.” He said before pushing his fingers back into you, bringing his mouth back on you. He used his free hand to hold you down so you couldn’t move from him. One of your hands went to his hair, gripping it tightly and that made him groan. He pushed you back to that edge quickly before stopping again. You nearly cried at the sudden loss. “How many?” He asked.
“Three.” You said in a near whine, breathing hard.
“You’re almost done. Keep being a good girl and I’ll give you what you want.” He said before starting up again, pushing his fingers against that spot that made your eyes roll back. Your legs were shaking so hard around his head at this point. He watched your face, every reaction, every small movement. His hand holding you down moved up to pinch at your nipples and that almost sent you over the edge and he stopped everything again.
This time, there were desperate tears in your eyes. “Four.”
“You learn so well, princess. One more. Be good.” He said, rubbing over your stomach to soothe you. He started up again, lapping at your sensitive clit and pumping his fingers in you. He played with your nipples again, pinch and pulling slightly. He groaned as you gripped tighter at his hair, watching you as you squirm under his touches, trying your hardest to stay still. Your orgasm was building much faster than before. He could hear your whines getting louder, more desperate and he knew you were right at the edge again before he completely removed himself from you. You whined, practically sobbing, as he stood up and quickly shed his clothes.
“You wanna cum this time, princess?” He asked as he settled between your legs, teasing your folds with his tip.
“Yes, please, Matty, please.” You begged, not even caring how pathetic it might have sounded anymore.
He watched you for a moment before pushing inside of you, earning a relieved moan from you and his own soft moan as he felt your walls wrapping tightly around his cock. He was thrusting relentlessly into you, wanting to see you fall apart on his dick.
“You’re so good for me, baby.” He said as he leaned down to get closer to you, grabbing the hair on the back of your head to pull your head back, biting and sucking at your neck. You tried responding, but couldn’t form a sentence, too fucked out by finally getting his cock in you. He leaned back up and moved his hand from your hair to your throat. His other hand rubbed circled on your clit. “Come on. You whined and begged for this. Cum on my fucking dick.” He said.
“So close, so close, please don’t stop, please.” Your eyes rolled back, his grip on your throat making you all the more sensitive to his touch.
“I won’t. I got you, princess. Let go.” He said, this time more reassuring and you finally came, crying out his name like a prayer as your body trembled beneath him. “You’re so fucking perfect, darling. Gonna fill you up, yeah?” He said more to himself than you as his thrusts became more erratic. His hips stilled as you felt him cum inside you, threatening to spill out of you.
After a moment of catching your breaths, you finally spoke up. “Feel better?”
He looked back into your eyes when you said that. “Absolutely.” He said as he pulled out slowly, making you hiss at the movement. “Sorry.” He muttered quietly. “Let’s clean you up, yeah?” He said softly, moving his hands to help you up gently.
mattheo riddle is the kind of boyfriend who will throw galleons at you and demand you spoil yourself with a spa day and get your nails done; because honestly, all he really wants is for your pretty manicured hand to be wrapped around his cock while you edge him over and over and over again instead of studying..
Haven't really written in a long time, but i'm trying to get back into it, hopefully more to come.
warnings: not to crazy, suggestive themes, language, lust, fluff mdni
~
Matteo is a watcher, notices everything, like how your breathing changes when you realize his eyes are latched on to your like a predator ready to pounce on his prey and swallow you whole:
"your staring" you say as you apply your body lotion in the mirror, in nothing but a bra and panties, his favorite set none the less.
" i'm not staring" he says with a grin plastered on his face "when people say staring it's not always a good thing"
"well, what would you call this then?" you say followed by an effortless giggle, your hair falling around your face creating enough shadow so he can't see you blush.
"ogling maybe, or eye fucking even" he says matter of factly like it's the obvious choice. but then again, when is Matteo riddle not undressing you with his eyes...
~
Your friendship with Matteo Riddle is still new, one night while studying together in your dorm the books become long forgotten about:
"Matteo?" you ask trying to get him to turn his attention to you
"yes" his voice is horse from not speaking for a while after being buried in studies for your potions test tomorrow.
"you don't have a nic name" you say plainly but your brows are furrowed.
"no i do not, it's just Riddle to everyone else" he looks up at you know, trying to figure out were your going with this.
"Your friends call you Matteo"
"they do." he states as if he is bored, but his eyes tell a different story.
"I need something to call you." your voice just above a whisper, not because you're scared, because you find it intimate.
"do you now?" he chuckles
" is matty ok?" you say in a lustful tone, knowing exactly what your doing.
something in his eyes darkens, and he can almost imagine you moaning his new nic name, breathless, bagging for him.
He pauses for a moment and licks his lips, "darling, you can call me whatever you want to as long as i can call you mine..."
His eyes never move away from you, like your locked in a trance your breath hitches and you tilt your head to the side playfully, "matty are you asking me to be your girlfriend?"
"what would you say if i was?" he says matching your playfulness
your nodding breathlessly and blushing, "yes" almost like your body is moving faster then your mind and your reaching out for him.
When he leans in to kiss you it's almost like time stops, your books long forgotten about. Everything around you stands still, nothing outside the door matters anymore. Your lips melt against each other and tongues dance together like they depend on it, because they do. Your hands move to his hair and he groans from your soft pulls. It just feels right, tastes right, he floods your system and all of your senses just feel him, know him.
His cologne, his hands roaming up your sides leaving a trail of fire burning in their wake. Everything is just so entirely him. Like coming home and falling into your bed but instead your falling into his arms.
So when we finally moves his hands to cup your ass and lifts you with ease onto his lap and you gasp, feeling him and how big he is underneath you.
"Matty" your chest rising and falling trying to catch your breath
"you have no idea what your doing to me, you keep saying my name like that you'll be in for a long night darling." he says then dives back into your lips like your everything he could even need.
Forbidden by Fate (Death Eater!Theo x Journalist!Reader) ✿ ✿ ✿
part one; part two; part three; part four; next parts coming soon…
it has been two years since you graduated Hogwarts, one year since the wizarding war began. You were returning from your work when one of your worst nightmares came true.
when you know, you know ♡
inspired by Margaret by Lana Del Rey
Theo had asked you out on a date, and though hesitant at first, you agreed. What began with uncertainty soon unfolded into something quietly profound—an afternoon that made you realise how deeply you longed to be truly seen, and made Theo realise he didn’t want anyone else but you.
following the rules ♡
Between secret smiles, rule-breaking touches, and the way Theo can’t quite hide how much he cares, it’s clear that staying out of trouble might be harder than surviving the campers.
late night talks ♡
after a physically and mentally draining day at the camp, Theo finds you at your secret spot and lets you talk everything out.
Drunk calls and sleep deprivation ♡
Theo calls you drunk at 3AM in the morning to invite you over for drinks and turns your quiet night into a hazy blur of flirtation, worry, and an unexpected connection
starved for your touch ☆
you and Theo had been always something more than friends, teasing one another every chance you got and now Theo took his chance to finally get what he wanted.
one step away (x Muggleborn!Reader) ✿
part one; part two
After your painful and unexpected break up with Theo, he comes in your dorm drunk making your life even messier than before.
why do you care? ✿
part one; part two
Theodore was always distant, reserved and cold, not just with you but with everyone, so when he comforts you at the Astronomy Tower you feel like you get the chance to explore a more vulnerable, more human side of him.
not the man I loved ✿
It was supposed to be the happiest day of your life — the dress, the laughter, the vows. But when he knocks on your door hours before the ceremony, everything shifts.
sweet lies (Toxic!Theodore Nott x Gryffindor!Reader) ✿
when Theodore takes another girl as his date to the Yule Ball you realise that you’re nothing more than a filthy secret of his, but is that enough to make you leave?
𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬
Pleading ✿
Escape ✿
toxic!Theo seeing you cry while arguing ✿
New Beginnings ✿ Reader’s POV ✿
a Cruel new beginning ✿
A true new Beginning ♡
Dating Theo ♡
His Italian Heritage ♡
What if you spoke Italian? ♡
his first encounter with the new girl that happens to understand what he’s saying in italian ♡ (𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤)
Helping reader satisfy her oral fixation ☆
Theo rolling his cigarettes with you riding his thigh ☆
fighting with Theo ends with him fingering you. ☆
dubcon with toxic!Theo ☆
𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬
Death Eater!Theodore Nott
Camp Counsellor!Theodore Nott
All work belongs entirely to me and should not be redistributed without permission neither should be copied, claimed or stolen.
Summary: you and Theo had been always something more than friends, teasing one another every chance you got and now Theo took his chance to finally get what he wanted.
Warnings: smut under the cut, literally no plot just smut, dry humping, fingering, praise, slight degradation and possessiveness (if you squint), unprotected p in v (USE PROTECTION), change of positions.
a/n: I’ve never written smut before but the parasites in me have finally gotten the best of me so here it is😈 Thread lightly I have no idea if this is good or bad:’) Also English is not my first language, sorry for any grammatical errors.
Your relationship with Theo had always danced on the edge of something more—stolen glances across candlelit dinners in the Great Hall, fleeting brushes of hands during potion-making, the soft, teasing lilt in his voice when he called you bella or tesoro, each pet name laced with a promise you were too shy to name. You had spent weeks caught in the ache of anticipation, hearts orbiting closer with each smirk, each flirty comment, each shared moment that lasted just a second too long.
And now, it had finally broken open.
Theo was kissing you like a man starved—not just for touch, but for you. His lips moved hungrily against yours, desperate, as if he needed to make up for all the time he had spent holding back. You were straddling him on his bed, tangled in the messy warmth of his dormitory sheets, your hands threaded into his hair, tugging softly, messing it up in the way he secretly liked. Every time your lips collided, it felt like you were pouring every fantasy, every whispered longing, into that kiss.
You rocked your hips against him, slowly at first, teasing, and his breath hitched, a low groan vibrating in his throat. You could feel how hard he was through the fabric between you, how your movement drove him crazy. His hands were everywhere—roaming up your sides, gripping your waist possessively, as though trying to memorize every curve, every inch of your body. When his fingers slid down to squeeze your ass, the pressure was firm, claiming, and it pulled a sharp, unguarded moan from your throat that vibrated between your joined mouths.
That sound—raw and needy—unraveled something in him.
Theo’s restraint shattered in an instant. His hands gripped you tighter, pulling you flush against him, as though the layers of clothing separating you were unbearable. His kisses turned deeper, sloppier, his mouth tracing the curve of your jaw, then down your neck, leaving a trail of heat behind. Every press of his lips felt like a brand, like he was trying to mark you, to make sure this wasn’t just a dream.
You were both breathless, panting into each other’s mouths, and yet it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Every second mattered, every touch burned, and all you could think—through the haze of want and the way he groaned your name like a prayer—was that this was real. Finally, breathtakingly real.
Your fingers curled tighter into Theo’s hair as his mouth moved lower, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck—slow and deliberate, like he wanted to taste every inch of you. He groaned softly when you tilted your head to give him more access, the sound low and reverent, as if he couldn’t believe he finally had you like this, in his arms, on top of him, warm and willing.
“Fuck,” he whispered against your skin, his accent thick, voice hoarse with want. “You drive me insane, tesoro.”
His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms meeting soft skin, and the touch made you gasp—electric, grounding, and dizzying all at once. He took his time, fingers gliding up your spine, slow and reverent like he was memorizing you by feel. When his thumbs brushed the underside of your breasts, not quite touching where you needed him, your breath caught and your hips rocked against him instinctively.
That did something to him.
With a groan, Theo surged up, flipping you gently onto your back. Now he was above you, hovering, his chest rising and falling like he was holding back a storm. He paused for a moment, eyes locked on yours, giving you a chance to stop him, to breathe—but the look you gave him only pulled him deeper. You wanted him. All of him.
His mouth crashed back onto yours, more urgent now. The kiss was heat and teeth, desperation and unspoken devotion. His hand slipped beneath your bra, cupping you fully, his thumb brushing over your nipple until you whimpered into his mouth. Every sound you made only spurred him on, his hips grinding down into yours, the friction between you unbearable, but addictive.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, anchoring him to you. The heat between your bodies was molten. Your name spilled from his lips like a curse and a prayer as he ground harder against your core, and you felt how much he needed this—how much he needed you.
His lips left yours only to kiss down your throat, dragging teeth and tongue along your collarbone, dipping lower as he tugged your shirt up and off with a smoothness that sent a fresh wave of heat spiraling through you. His eyes darkened when he saw you—flushed, breathless, pupils blown wide with lust.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, voice ragged, reverent, like the words had been caged in his chest for too long, “I want to make you feel everything you deserve.”
And then his mouth was on you again, his hands everywhere—worshipping, exploring, coaxing soft, breathy moans from you that seemed to go straight to his head. Your body arched into him, aching for more, and with every passing second, every drag of his mouth across your skin, it became impossible to think of anything else but him—his touch, his lips, the slow, torturous way he was taking you apart.
This wasn’t just a kiss. This was a confession. A promise. A surrender.
And you were ready to give him everything.
Theo’s mouth was fire—hot, hungry, consuming you like a man who’d waited far too long. And he had. You both had. Weeks of teasing, touches that lingered too long, nights spent alone with aching thoughts of what this moment might feel like. And now that it was finally happening? There was no going slow anymore. No savoring. Only need.
He tore your panties off like they offended him, the fabric giving with a snap that sent a thrill straight to your core. “Fucking hell, you’re soaked,” he rasped, voice rough, primal. His thumb dragged through your folds, spreading the slick, smearing it with reverence and greed. “You’ve been wanting this. Been thinking about me fucking you like this, haven’t you?”
You barely managed a nod before his fingers were on you—in you—two thick digits sliding in with ease from how drenched you were. The stretch was immediate, delicious, and your head fell back, a broken moan spilling from your lips.
Theo swore under his breath, leaning down to kiss your jaw, your neck, whispering filth against your skin. “So fucking tight. You clench around my fingers like your cunt’s been waiting for me.”
He curled them just right, hitting a spot inside you that made your thighs shake. You gasped, hips bucking, eyes closing shut, as desperate moans of pleasure escaped your lips. He groaned low, watching you fall apart under his touch. “Yeah, there it is,” he muttered darkly. “Right there, huh? That the spot that makes you lose it?” you whimpered, small yes’s spilling from your lips uncontrollably.
And then he kept pressing into it, again and again, slow but deliberate, working you open with calculated precision. He knew exactly what he was doing—drawing circles over your clit with his thumb in time with each thrust of his fingers, building the tension until your body was taut with it, like a string about to snap.
Your hands clawed at his forearms, nails digging into the muscle. “Theo—fuck—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he growled, lips brushing your ear. “You’re gonna come for me like this. Gonna drench my fucking fingers.”
He picked up the pace—just a little—fucking you with his hand like he was starving for the way your body reacted. Your walls fluttered around him with every thrust, the squelch of wet heat filling the room, obscene, but neither of you cared. His thumb was relentless, stroking your clit with filthy, practiced pressure, and when he added a third finger, your eyes rolled back.
The stretch was insane—borderline too much—but you loved it, loved how full he made you feel already. Your legs shook. Your moans became cries, high and desperate and raw.
“God, look at you,” he groaned, eyes fixed between your legs like he was entranced. “Taking three fingers like a good little slut. You were made for this. Made for me.”
Your orgasm hit so fast it stole your breath. Your mouth opened in a silent scream as you clamped down around him, legs spasming, body arched as you shattered completely. Theo didn’t stop—he fucked you through it, dragging your climax out until it bordered on too much, until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and your thighs trembled violently.
“That’s it,” he purred, slowing only when you whimpered, his touch suddenly gentle, but still possessive. He slid his soaked fingers out with a slow, wet sound, then held them up between you, dripping with your slick. “You see that? That’s mine.”
And then—fuck—he sucked them into his mouth with a low groan, eyes fluttering shut as he tasted you.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” he said, voice like sin. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”
Your hands scrabbled at his shirt. “Off. Now.” You were desperate, you needed him and you needed him now.
He obeyed instantly, yanking it over his head, muscles flexing, his chest heaving. His mouth crashed down on yours again—sloppy, rough, all teeth and tongue, like he was trying to consume the moans right out of your throat. Then he pulled back just long enough to shove his trousers down, his cock finally springing free, hard and leaking, and fuck, he was big. Thick. Veins bulging. Made for wrecking you.
“Condom,” you gasped, barely able to form words through the haze of lust.
“No,” Theo said, voice low and guttural. “Need to feel you. Every. Fucking. Inch.”
That should have made you hesitate, but it didn’t. You wanted him raw. Real. You wanted everything.
And then he was on top of you again, lining himself up, not even teasing—not anymore. He shoved into you in one brutal, perfect stroke, and the sound you made was filthy, echoing off the walls as your body clenched around him.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, buried to the hilt, his head dropping to your shoulder as he fought for control. “You feel fucking incredible. So tight. So wet. Taking me like you were made for it.”
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He filled you so deep, stretched you so wide it hurt just a little, but you loved it—loved the way he didn’t hold back. His hips started to move, snapping into yours with a pace that was already bruising, unrelenting, feral. He fucked you like he meant it, like he needed it to survive.
You clung to him, nails digging into his back, dragging down his skin hard enough to leave marks. He hissed, then slammed into you harder, like he liked the pain.
“You’re mine,” he growled into your ear as he picked up an unrelenting pace, “You understand me?” you nodded frantically, the pleasure was too much, you could barely form a coherent sentence. “Say it.” he demanded, his voice laced with possessiveness that only made you more desperate.
“I’m yours,” you gasped, over and over like a prayer, like a spell. “Yours, yours, yours—”
His thrusts grew ragged, deeper, rougher, the bedframe slamming into the wall with each one, but neither of you cared. It wasn’t sex anymore—it was madness. Sweat and skin, moans and curses, mouths finding each other only to break apart again with gasps and whimpers. You were choking on the intensity, and you loved it.
Theo sat back on his knees, grabbing your hips and dragging you roughly into his lap as he kept pounding into you, harder now, watching your tits bounce with every thrust. His gaze was feral, mouth parted, a thin sheen of sweat on his chest.
“You’re gonna come again,” he growled. “Gonna come on my cock this time. Gonna milk me.”
And you did.
You shattered around him, screaming his name, body convulsing, vision going white. Your walls clenched so tightly around him it drew a filthy, strangled sound from his throat, and then he was cursing—loud, desperate—as he slammed in one final time and came, hips stuttering, spilling deep inside you with a moan that sounded like your name was the only word he knew.
He didn’t pull out. He stayed buried in you, chest heaving, body trembling from the force of it.
For a moment, the world stilled. All that remained was the sound of your breathing and the heavy beat of two hearts that had finally, completely, collided.
Then Theo leaned in and kissed you—slow, sweet, the opposite of what had just happened—and whispered, “You ruin me.”
Mattheo was falling apart in front of you, just so he could get a taste of you, and he knew it. He didn’t even care how ridiculous he sounded anymore. “Please, babe,” he whined, voice cracking like he was on the verge of tears. “Just a little—just let me, I need to, I can’t stop thinking about it.” His hands were shaking as they clung to your thighs, squeezing like if he held on tight enough you might finally give in.
“You can finish your stupid project later,” he rushed out, the words tumbling over each other, desperate, messy. “I’ll help you, I swear, I’ll do whatever you want—just let me taste you, please.” His forehead pressed to your leg now, his warm breath fanning over your skin as he muttered half-coherent promises.
The sight of him undone like this—brows scrunched, hair falling into his eyes, mouth open as though he was starving—it was almost cruel how much you enjoyed it. He looked at you like you were oxygen and he was drowning. His dark eyes were wide, glistening, practically begging you to take pity on him.
And still, you only gave him that soft smile, brushing your fingers briefly through his hair before pulling away. “No, Mattheo. I told you—I need to finish my work.”
The sound he made was somewhere between a whimper and a growl, frustration and longing tangled together. He flopped back onto your bed with a groan loud enough to shake the walls, dragging both hands down his face. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Actually killing me.” He kicked at the sheets like a sulky child, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, every part of him screaming need.
And yet—you only turned back to your desk, heart racing, lips tugging into a secret smile. You’d never seen him so undone, so whiny, so completely at your mercy. And you couldn’t deny it: keeping him desperate like this was almost sweeter than giving in.
summary: Mattheo loves to tease you for being a “bookworm,” but beneath the smirks and your quiet deflections, something far more dangerous simmers—something neither of you can ignore the moment you find yourselves alone, just beyond the noise of the party.
warnings: smoking, mentions of weed, reader is under the influence of alcohol, suggestive implications (very slight though)
You were perched on the cold concrete floor of the balcony, tucked tightly into the corner where the stone wall met the railing. The chill from the castle’s ancient stone seeped through your clothes, but you didn’t mind it—it grounded you. Anchored you. The night air kissed your flushed cheeks and threaded through your hair, easing the alcohol in your system just enough to help you breathe again. You weren’t a heavy drinker, not usually. But when you did let loose, you made sure to drink enough to feel it—the warmth spreading through your veins, the pleasant fuzziness in your thoughts, the slight stumble in your step.
Tonight had been fun—more fun than you’d expected. You’d laughed too loudly, danced with abandon, and let yourself exist for a while outside the strict routine of your daily life. But eventually, the dizziness crept in. That nauseating kind of drunk that made the floor feel like it was shifting beneath your feet. Before you embarrassed yourself on the dance floor, you’d made a quick exit, murmuring something to your friends before slipping out to the balcony. The beat of the music still pulsed through the castle walls, muffled now, like a distant heartbeat.
The cigarette pack in your coat pocket was wrinkled, half-forgotten. You only ever touched it when you were drunk, and tonight was no exception. Instead of a cigarette, your fingers brushed against a joint—leftover from a previous night like this one. You pressed it to your lips, cupped your hand around the flame as you lit it, and took a long drag. Smoke filled your lungs, warm and heavy, mixing with the alcohol already pulsing through you. The combination grounded you. Slowed your racing thoughts. For a moment, you let yourself exist in stillness.
“Didn’t know you smoked, angel.”
The voice sliced through the silence, rough and familiar. You didn’t even have to look. That nickname alone told you exactly who it was.
Mattheo.
Of course it was him. It was always him.
He was the only person who dared to call you that—“angel”—with that infuriating mixture of amusement and mockery. It wasn’t even subtle. He said it like it was a joke only he was in on, like your existence in this world of chaos and rebellion was something precious, something too pure to touch. It drove you insane. Not only because it wasn’t true—you weren’t the angel he said—but because there was something in the way he said it that made you want it to be true, or false, or anything, as long as he kept noticing you, talking to you, even tease you. And god help you, he was so hot when he made fun of you—that playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips and that challenging glint in his eyes— it made your knees buckle. You hated it, because no one made you feel weak and you couldn’t admit that Mattheo was your weakness, even if it was true.
He teased you endlessly, like it was his favorite pastime. Snide remarks about your glasses. Your tidy handwriting. Your constant studying. The way you always tied your hair up, out of your face. He made fun of you like it was a game—but one he played too well, too often. And you? as attractive as found it, you pretended not to care. You never took the bait. You clung tighter to your books when he passed by. You rolled your eyes. You muttered a dry retort under your breath. But you never talked. Never gave him the satisfaction of a reaction. And that—he later admitted—only made it worse. Because there was something addictive about the dynamic you two had built.
A tension just under the surface.
A spark neither of you would light, but both of you felt.
You took another drag and exhaled slowly, lips curved into a small smirk. “Life’s full of surprises,” you murmured, finally tilting your head to look at him.
Mattheo stood in the doorway, his figure half-lit by the flickering party lights from behind him. His silhouette was sharp—shoulders relaxed, cigarette dangling between his fingers, that familiar look of mischief dancing in his eyes. When your eyes met his, something shifted. Just slightly. A flicker of surprise, maybe. Curiosity. Interest.
He moved closer, not saying a word, and lowered himself beside you. He sat just far enough to avoid touching, but close enough that you felt the heat radiating from him. Close enough to breathe in the scent of smoke, cologne, and something uniquely his. He held the cigarette between his lips, but didn’t light it. Instead, he just… looked at you.
You, in your drunk-and-high daze, hair down, glasses gone, makeup smudged and lipstick staining the joint like a signature. You weren’t the girl he saw in the library, scribbling notes and chewing on pen caps. You weren’t the one who muttered quick answers to professors and disappeared when the bell rang. Not tonight.
Tonight, you were someone else.
And Mattheo couldn’t stop staring.
That realization hit him like a punch to the chest, so he averted his gaze and lit his cigarette with a practiced flick.
The silence between you crackled with tension—comfortable, yet sharp. Like something electric lingered in the air, waiting to be ignited.
“You know I’m not a nerd, right?” you said suddenly, voice low, but steady. The alcohol gave you just enough courage to speak. To confront the label he’d playfully wrapped around you like a ribbon.
You didn’t look at him. Just kept your eyes fixed on the sky, where the stars blinked lazily above the castle towers. “I just wear glasses and put my hair up. Only when I’m studying. It gets in the way.”
Your laugh was soft, self-deprecating. “Guess that makes me a nerd by your standards.”
Mattheo glanced at you, brow raised, intrigued by the shift in your usual silence. This version of you—the one talking back—was unexpected. Different. And yet, he was drawn to it in the same way he’d always been drawn to the mystery of your quiet.
“No way that’s the only reason,” he said, smirking again. “You wear your hair up like you’re hiding something.”
Your laugh deepened, smoky and genuine. “Fine. I wear it up for… special occasions, too.” There was a flicker of something behind your voice. Something suggestive. And though it was subtle, Mattheo caught it. He felt it. But instead of reacting, he leaned into the smirk, playing it cool.
“So tonight’s not a special occasion?” You turned to look at him fully, your eyes glassy but sharp beneath the intoxication. You smiled—small, knowing, tired. “Not that kind of special,” you murmured and he just laughed, amused.
For several moments silence lingered in the night sky, the only sound you could hear was the inhaling and exhaling of smoke.
You didn’t say anything at first. You let the moment stretch thin and electric between you like a taut string—vibrating with something unspoken, something far more fragile than either of you were ready to name. It settled over you both like dust caught in moonlight: soft, silent, impossible to ignore.
Behind you, the party had all but disappeared into insignificance. The muted thump of the bass had faded into a low, irrelevant pulse, like a heartbeat you’d stopped syncing with. Laughter echoed faintly from behind the stone walls of the common room, but it was distant—like the memory of a world that didn’t quite belong to this version of the night. Out here, under the cold breath of the night air, time felt slow. Heavier. Like it belonged only to the two of you.
Mattheo took another drag from his cigarette, head tilted toward the stars, but his body betrayed him. His posture was too tense, too alert. Like his thoughts were turned inward, circling around something just beneath the surface of his skin—and whatever it was, it pointed straight at you. You could feel his restraint as something physical. A wall—not tall, but dense, built brick by brick from sarcasm, deflections, and half-hearted insults. You both had learned to lean against it instead of trying to climb it.
But tonight, that wall was beginning to crack.
You shifted, just slightly, your head resting back against the castle wall as you turned to glance at him—his profile shadowed, cigarette ember glowing like a dying star between his fingers. “You really thought I was that innocent?” you asked, voice light, curious. Almost teasing—but not quite. Mattheo didn’t look at you right away. He flicked ash from the edge of his cigarette, jaw tight, eyes still fixed somewhere up in the velvet sky. And when he did answer, it wasn’t with the smug tone he usually wielded like armor. “You are,” he said simply. Quietly. Like it was an objective fact. Like gravity. You scoffed under your breath, half-amused. “Because I read books and don’t make out in the common room?”
“No,” he said, and finally, finally turned his gaze to meet yours. “Because you don’t let people see you. Not really. Not the parts that matter.” That silenced you. Not because it was wrong—but because it was so unnervingly, uncomfortably right.
His eyes were darker now, less guarded, stripped of that teasing gleam he usually wore like a smirk stretched too wide. There was a quiet intensity in them that made your pulse flutter. Not out of fear. Out of recognition. Because somewhere beneath all the sarcasm and sharp comments, he saw you. And that was terrifying. Because you saw him too.
He looked at you like he wanted to say more. Like he wanted to lay it all down in the space between you—every messed-up thought, every too-soft feeling he didn’t know how to name. But the second the silence thickened into something dangerous, he veered away from it.
Like always.
“I mean,” he added, forcing his voice back into a drawl, “you did spend a whole semester blushing every time I said ‘wand.’”
You exhaled a sharp breath of disbelief, but the laugh escaped you anyway—soft, unwilling, real. “That’s because you always said it like it meant something else.”
“It did mean something else,” he said smugly.
And you laughed again, this time quieter. Something in your chest loosened with the sound. The tension didn’t vanish—but it changed shape. It folded itself into something more vulnerable, more intimate.
He watched you with a subtle kind of fascination—like he didn’t mean to be caught staring, but couldn’t stop himself. And it wasn’t the way he usually looked at you, not laced with flirtation or challenge. It was curious. Gentle. Like he was trying to memorize something he didn’t know he’d need later.
You turned your body towards him slightly, shoulder brushing his, your thigh close enough to his that the warmth bled through. He didn’t shift away. And that in itself said more than words.
“Why do you always do that?” you asked quietly. Mattheo blinked. “Do what?”“Push, tease, then pull away like it’s all a game.”
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. His smirk didn’t reappear. He didn’t deflect.
He just looked at you—long enough for you to start counting the beats between your heart and his breath. Long enough for you to start wondering if this was the moment where everything unraveled.
“It’s exhausting,” you added, voice softer now. “Wanting to punch you or kiss you every time you open your mouth.”
He froze. Like the words had landed in a part of him that hadn’t been touched in a long time.bThe cigarette stilled between his fingers. He swallowed, hard.
“You don’t mean that,” he said finally—but it wasn’t said with confidence. It was spoken like a dare he didn’t want you to take.
You didn’t look away. “Don’t I?” That silence again. But this one was deeper. This was the silence that falls before a storm, before a kiss, before something irreversible.
Mattheo stared at you like you were a puzzle he’d already tried to solve too many times—and hated that he never could. Like he was mad at you for seeing through him. Like he was mad at himself for letting you.
Because he wanted to kiss you. Badly. Not just to taste you—but to know you. To see what you looked like without that composure, without the carefully drawn lines between propriety and desire. He wanted to mess you up. He wanted you.
And he hated that.
So he inhaled, tossed the cigarette over the balcony edge, and stood. Swift and silent. Like he was leaving before he did something he couldn’t take back. But you weren’t letting him off the hook tonight. “You always walk away when it gets real,” you said. He paused. The words hit him square in the back, stopping him like a physical hand pressed against his spine. His knuckles whitened against the stone frame of the doorway. “I don’t walk away,” he said, his voice taut, almost strangled. “Yes, you do,” you said again, more firmly. “You look at me like you want me. Like you’re thinking things you probably shouldn’t be. But the moment it starts to show—really show—you shut it down. You laugh, you tease, you run.”
He still didn’t turn. But his voice came back to you like a whip crack in the cold air. “And what if I am thinking about something I shouldn’t?” Your heart thundered. Not in fear. In anticipation. “Then maybe I am too,” you said. And that broke something in him. He turned. Not fast. Not sharp.
Like gravity pulled him toward you.
His gaze met yours—and for the first time, you didn’t see arrogance or amusement or restraint.
You saw hunger. Real. Raw. Unfiltered. It wasn’t just about lips or bodies or tension anymore. It was about recognition. About seeing yourself in someone who also didn’t know how to love gently, who didn’t trust good things to last, who used sharp words and reckless charm to keep people from getting too close. You were mirrors. But instead of reflecting fear back at each other, you reflected fire. And in that fire, something dangerous—and deeply beautiful—began to flicker to life.
He didn’t speak.
He just stood there, his entire frame still as stone, as though the air between you had thickened, become impossible to move through. His expression was unreadable—blank to anyone else, maybe. But not to you. You saw the flickers underneath—the hesitation, the want, the fear.
And something else too.
He looked at you like he couldn’t decide if you were the worst mistake he was about to make—or the only thing that had made sense in a long, long time.
You stayed exactly where you were, watching him. Not moving forward. Not pulling away. Just… standing in it. In all of it—that unbearable tension between honesty and collapse.
And then, quietly, Mattheo said, “You don’t understand what it’s like.”nYour brow furrowed. “What what’s like?”
“To want something,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “that makes you feel like you’re going to lose control. Like you’ll become someone else entirely if you touch it.” His eyes were on you again, and it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t a line. There was something wounded in it. Something so real you almost had to look away. But you didn’t. You stepped closer, until there was barely a breath between your bodies. His chest rose and fell unevenly, like your nearness had short-circuited him.
“You think I don’t understand that?” you whispered. He clenched his jaw. “I watch you, Mattheo,” you continued. “I see how hard you try to be unreadable. Like if no one really knows you, no one can ever hurt you. But you’re not unreadable. Not to me.” He flinched—just slightly.
“I see the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking. The way your hands twitch when I walk by like you’re barely stopping yourself from reaching out. I see how fast you look away when we lock eyes for too long. Like you’re scared of what I’ll see.”
He swallowed hard, and the motion was tight, like it hurt. “I’m not scared of what you’ll see,” he muttered, barely audible.“No?” you asked. “I’m scared of what I’ll do if you don’t look away,” he snapped. And there it was—laid bare in the cold night between you.
Not lust. Not flirtation. Fear.
Fear of losing the one thing he hadn’t meant to want this badly.
“You’re not going to break me,” you said, softer now. “You don’t have to protect me from this. From you.”
Mattheo looked at you like you’d just spoken a different language—one he’d never been allowed to hear before. His eyes searched your face, like he didn’t know where to land. Your eyes, your lips, your voice—all of it pulling him somewhere dangerous.
“I don’t want to ruin it,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I don’t want to ruin you.” You felt your chest tighten, not in pain—but in something deeper. Something like grief for all the versions of him who’d never been told he was allowed to want good things without breaking them.
“You won’t,” you said, and it wasn’t a promise. It was a knowing.
He closed his eyes. Just for a second. Like he was trying to ground himself. Or gather the pieces of him you’d just cracked wide open. And when he opened them again, he looked different. Stripped. Raw. Like there was nothing left to hide behind.
“You shouldn’t get close to people like me,” he said quietly. “We don’t know how to stay soft. We destroy things when we love them too much.”
You reached up then, slowly, gently, and touched his cheek. Just your fingertips—just enough for him to feel you. To know you weren’t afraid of his edges.
“I’m not asking you to be soft,” you whispered. “I’m asking you to be honest.” He stared at you. And for a moment, he looked like he might actually break. Not from weakness—but from the unbearable weight of finally being seen.
He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t move to.
But his hand—rough and uncertain—reached up slowly, like he was afraid you might vanish if he touched you too quickly. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, barely grazing your skin. It was the softest contact you’d ever felt, and somehow it lit you up more than anything else ever had.
His hand didn’t fall away.
Instead, his knuckles skimmed the side of your jaw, and then—like something magnetic pulled him forward—his forehead lowered until it rested against yours.
Not in the way people do when they’re about to kiss.
But in the way someone does when they’re trying to breathe.
You felt him exhale—one long, shaky breath—and you realized he wasn’t just touching you.
He was grounding himself.
Like the moment was too much. Like you were too much. Like everything he’d kept bottled, all the walls he’d carefully constructed to stay untouched, unbothered, unmoved—were caving in under the weight of you.
And still, neither of you moved.
Not even a fraction.
The silence between you was thick, heady—woven with the pulse of restraint, of everything screaming under the skin. You could feel his heartbeat where your chest almost brushed his, steady but hard, like he was fighting something deep and primal.
“I shouldn’t…” he whispered, but didn’t pull away.
“I know,” you breathed, eyes fluttering closed.
Because you shouldn’t either.
You shouldn’t crave the way his thumb was now absently grazing the curve of your cheekbone. You shouldn’t feel a whole universe stretching between your lips and his, begging to collapse. You shouldn’t be this drawn to someone who made your head spin and your heart ache in the same breath. And yet, here you were. Locked together in the kind of closeness that didn’t need a kiss to break you.
You tilted your face just slightly, and that tiny movement made his breath stutter. His nose brushed yours. A hair’s width from your lips. His hand was still on your jaw, firm now. Trembling.
“Why do you do this to me,” he said, voice hoarse—like it cost him something to ask it out loud.
You didn’t answer. Because the truth was—it wasn’t just him. It was you too. He was the chaos you hated to need. The storm you secretly longed to drown in.
And in this moment, with your forehead pressed against his, your breaths tangled together and his eyes locked on your mouth like it might undo him—you weren’t just on the edge of something dangerous.
You were already falling.
And you knew—when it finally happened, when one of you broke and the space between vanished—it wouldn’t be gentle.
A/N: Ughhhh this felt so good to write! Don’t ask me why I got inspired to write this, listening to this certain song, I just did eheheh. Hope you liked it! I apologise for any mistakes, english is not my first language <3
!Reblogs and Likes are highly appreciated¡
…until next time lovelies 💋
until death @sweetnesslibrary - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
