it's me again!! back with some fucked up adrian smut because of course i am lmao 🫣<3 as always lmk if you like!! comments and reblogs are super appreciated xoxo
adrian chase x reader, dark!adrian chase x reader
cw: WHEW okay, possessive and controlling boyfriend adrian, dubcon bordering on noncon, drink spiking, drug induced somnophilia. smut. please, please read at your discretion. content is obviously 18+, MINORS DNI.
Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware you need to tell him to stop. Your phone on the bedside table keeps vibrating with incoming calls and messages from your friends.
It's late, you're gonna be late.
It's been an hour? maybe two? since you and Adrian finished your dinner, half an hour since he slithered his way inside your room when you had only just begun getting ready for your outing.
Since he wrapped his arms around you from behind and mumbled against your shoulder a single question "hey um- can i have a kiss? just a quick one i swear-"
You should have known it wasn't gonna be a quick one.
They never are with him.
Adrian immediately got handsy, turning you around so he could beg against your slick lips for "one more- just one more babe please?" while managing to walk you backwards and into your bed, crawling on top of you while you tried to keep yourself upright for some semblance of the self control that was already escaping from your grasp.
You need to push him off you, you know that.
But every time you even consider trying to do so Adrian manages to distract you with a needy whine against your lips or an insistent push of his tongue against the roof of your mouth. His hands groping at the skin below your shirt steadily start to wipe out your remaining willpower.
That is, until you start to feel something (of his) poking on your left leg-
“Adrian-" you snap, reluctantly separating from the heated kiss, you have to ignore how your body twinges with want at the sight of his used lips and the heady look in his eyes behind his fogged up glasses.
You already knowing how he'll react when you add- "I need to go get ready”
The groan your boyfriend lets out is hilariously loud and petulant.
“Ugh! seriously? I still can't believe you wanna go to that dumb party" Adrian pouts, dips his brows with worry "Didn't you say you were too tired to go this morning? you made like a whole thing out of it babe!”
You really did.
“I am exhausted” You admit, with a defeated sigh. “But I’ve been thinking about it- and i dont think i can blow them off again baby. I need to make an appearance or they’ll stop inviting me to these things eventually” You laugh it off but theres a hint of actual nervousness hidden in between your words.
For a moment, you think you catch a small quirk of your boyfriend's mouth at your words. Maybe even a glint of sick satisfaction in his eyes.
Does he like the sound of that?
Adrian is quick to change expressions though, in a blink of an eye he's back to his concerned and upset demeanor.
“And is that like- remote possibility more important than you getting some actual fucking rest?" He asks, affronted, like he's insulted that you would ever put yourself second. "Sleep is super essential babe, you know how I’ve slept off some crazy injuries in the past” Adrian ads matter-of-factly, earnestly blinking at you.
Your boyfriend the self healing meta-human who still thinks sleep is the best medicine for gunshot and stabbing wounds.
“Well no, but-“ You concede, knowing he's got a point. But also aware that Adrian hasn't ever been subtle about how he wants you all to himself, like all the time.
So you cant help the smile that fights its way on to your face at his blatant efforts to convince you to stay with him.
Adrian's eyes brighten up at the sight of your grin, his smile widening in return instantaneously. It drives him to lean down once more to capture your mouth with his, successfully distracting you for a few minutes more.
“Baby- Im serious-" You try to say in between giggles when he instead attaches his lips to your collarbone to lick at the skin there and it tickles you. "I need to-" You say, but the words die in your throat when you feel him lick a trail upwards to your neck.
What do you need to do?
The idea of it begins to slip slowly from your mind with each passing second.
Every kiss, every touch, every brush of Adrians hands going up towards your column and then below your waist soothes you, it dumbs you down.
The sheets under you start to feel like clouds, soft, inviting and so so comfortable. The world starts blurring around you.
Your mind starts to empty.
You can only feel warmth, wet and humid warmth. You can only hear your boyfriend's slick mouth morphing against your own.
“Adrian, I feel so- I uh- god I'm so tired-” You say, pathetically, whispered and unsure, but you have to say the words out loud and feel them in your throat to make sure you're not dreaming already.
You dont know what you expect to hear or see in return, but it's not the way Adrian lifts up on his arms or how he smirks when he makes eye contact with your weary eyes.
“You should sleep then” He says, shrugs like it's the most obvious solution in the world. And yeah, it really is. But tonight, you were supposed to...do something?
“Baby- y'know I can't- god-w-whats happening?" The more you talk the more you notice how your words are slurring together.
You try to sit up again but- Why the fuck can't you move?
“It’s okay you dont have to” Adrian answers the question you didn't even realize you had asked out loud. He smiles, bright and giddy.
The corners of your vision start to go black when you hear his voice for one final time.His tone is heated and loving but also severe in a very unsettling way.
“You don't have to do anything babe. You just need to rest okay?" he says, leaning in to press a seemingly innocent and sweet kiss on your forehead "Sweet dreams”
⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎
Adrian cant believe how long you put up a fight for.
He thought after slipping the copious amount of pills into your drink when you were both having dinner that the effects would manifest immediately.
But no, you were stubborn as always. Fighting off the fatigue like your life depended on it.
And for fucking what? Adrian thinks.
Ignoring your health to go drink and stay up until the morning hours and do more damage to your body? Fuck, no.
It's a good thing you have him. Such a doting and devoted boyfriend.
Someone who is willing to make the hard decisions for you.
Someone who will do what is necessary.
Someone who most certainly would have tied you to the bed-frame had you failed to swallow the concentrated dose of what he gave you, if it meant you would stay (with him) and finally get a proper good night sleep.
"I knew you needed this. You'll see- you'll be thanking me in the morning for fucking sure" Adrian says, looking at you with starts in his eyes, his voice giddy, like he's not engaging in conversation with a sleeping body.
Adrian thinks you look so pretty like this. So, so pretty.
He's not fighting the love struck whimpers that spill out from his mouth, seeing you this peaceful, knocked out of your fucking senses, your mouth still puffy and wet from all the kissing, it's driving him to the brink of insanity.
He was already rock hard before you had even started to slip away, so now, having you so vulnerable and under his heel, it's so much worse.
"Fuck me" He curses, "accidentally" egging himself on when he begins to rut against you like he was when you were still awake. Straining against the zipper of his jeans when he starts to grace against the cotton of your underwear.
"Fuck- you're all mine. Right?" He asks as if he's gonna get an answer. And when he doesn't get one in return his eyes roll to the back of his head, he laughs a shaky and thrilled laugh.
"Uh huh" He answers for you. Adrian's head drops carefully on to your chest and he groans wetly against your skin, it's pitiful and so beyond wrecked.
"S-shit I need you so bad. Like- right fucking now actually." Your boyfriend whines against the skin thats rising and falling with your shallow breaths.
His fingers are clumsy, sliding down your body until he hesitates when he reaches below your stomach where the elastic of your underwear is. His gaze lifts up to look at your closed eyes and softly parted mouth.
"Sorry, sorry. M'sorry. I'll make it up to you I promise. I know you would understand if you could see how hard i am right now-" He mumbles while giving you an apologetic grimace while his hands are tugging at the elastic of your underwear with no actual remorse.
He's slurring his apologies against your unmoving mouth when he lets himself in, when he fucks into you and manages to do it with little to no resistance from you.
Was your body responding to him even in your sleep? or were you perhaps already this fucking open and willing before you were knocked out of it?
The thought nearly makes him buckle on top of you, it's a good thing his hands have a solid grip on the pillow bellow your head.
"Holy shit-" Adrian chokes at either or both possibilities. "You really fucking want me in here. You always do, dont you babe? Oh god! I can tell- I can tell you're always thinking about it-"
He doesn't know when the last time he fucked you in your sleep was, its something that gets the both of you off, but he doesn't think its ever felt like this, not when he knows you wont wake up at all- not for a while.
It's making his movements turn all the more frantic, physically unable to pull out from your body, not until he empties himself inside you, now theres a growing need to see you unknowingly drain him for all he's worth. Like you're just a toy for him to play with.
"Do you think they'll stop inviting you after tonight? I really fucking hope they do." He smirks, revealing part of his true intentions only when he knows you cant hear them.
Adrian moans when he notices how you're stirring and making tiny little sounds for him even in your slumber. He thinks he feels you tighten around him. He wonders if you're dreaming of him, and only of him.
"Fuck yeah- they're all boring as all hell anyways, it's much more fun when we stay at home and watch movies or cuddle or kiss or fuck our brains out" He laughs until it turns into a high pitched gargled sound. "Yeaaah- j-just like this, fu-uh-uuck- I'm gonna-"
The thought of you waking up in a few hours to find the evidence of him spilling and drying on your leg is enough to drag him unexpectedly to a mind bending finish. The kind that has him twitching and shaking.
Adrian collapses on top of you, with a giddy and euphoric grin on his face.
He can't wait to see you so well rested tomorrow.
He can't wait for you to realize just how much of a caring and one in a million boyfriend he really is.
okay im shooting my shot here but all i can think about is what would be your interpretation of a modern au!maekar x reader 🤍 i must know!!! because im frothing at the mouth for winterhall even tho starkspeare is my day one!!
OH YOU'RE SHOOTING YOUR SHOT AND I'M CATCHING IT. Okay so assuming this is the verse where the Targaryens make weapons, this is juicy.
You meet Maekar in the worst possible context: cleaning up one of family's messes. Baelor is the face of the company—charming, diplomatic, handles all the PR and humanitarian pivots, but someone needs to actually run things. Someone needs to handle operations, deal with the contracts nobody wants to talk about, make the hard calls that don't photograph well. That's Maekar. He's COO or VP of Operations maybe, doesn't do press, doesn't smile for the cameras, just keeps the machine running while his older brother gets all the glory.
You're brought in because there's a problem, maybe defence contract gone wrong, allegations about weapons ending up in the wrong hands, internal security issues, something that makes you necessary and puts you in close proximity to Maekar specifically. First meeting is in some conference room. You're presenting your findings and recommendations. Maekar is sitting at the head of the table, utterly silent, taking notes, and when you finish he just looks at you with those cold eyes and says, "That's it?" Not dismissive, not even rude. Just unimpressed in a way that makes you want to prove yourself rather than bristle.
"Unless you have better ideas," you say coolly.
"I might." He stands, walks to the board, and proceeds to pick apart your plan with surgical precision. Not wrong, exactly, but incomplete. He's thought three steps ahead of you and it's infuriating because people rarely do. You push back. Hard. Because you're not intimidated by Targaryens, even cold ones, who think they know everything. And something flickers in his expression at that. Not quite a smile, but subtle approval.
"Good," he says finally. "I need someone who won't fold the second I question them. You're hired."
You end up working closely with him and it's all professional tension that slowly, inevitably bleeds personal. Late nights in his office going over security protocols. High-pressure situations where you're both running on coffee and too little sleep, and you realise this man never stops working. He's at the office before everyone else and leaves after everyone's gone. Takes calls at midnight, even reads reports over breakfast. Carries the weight of the entire operation on his shoulders and never complains.
You learn through office gossip that his wife died three years ago. Dyanna. Cancer, someone whispers. Six kids, another adds with a sympathetic headshake. He raised them mostly alone after that, juggling single parenthood with running half a weapons empire. Nobody knows how he manages it.
"Don't you ever take a break?" you ask once, finding him in his office at 11 PM.
"Could ask you the same thing."
"I'm on your schedule."
"Then I guess we're both fucked." He doesn't look up from his screen but there's the ghost of something that might be dark amusement in his voice.
The dynamic is all arguments about strategy, challenging his decisions, him respecting you for it because most people are too intimidated by him to actually push back. You learn to read his moods from the smallest changes in his expression. The way his jaw tightens when he's frustrated, the slight narrowing of his eyes when he's impressed but won't say it, and the rare almost-smile when you've managed to surprise him with your insight. He trusts you with information he doesn't share with anyone else. Asks your opinion on things that matter and actually listens when you disagree with him.
There's this one meeting where some executive tries to talk over you and Maekar just stops mid-sentence and says, ice-cold, "She wasn't finished." And the entire room goes silent. Later, you corner him about it and he just shrugs. "You were making a good point. He was being an asshole." Like it's that simple.
He's gruffer than his brother in every way. Where Baelor is smooth and diplomatic, Maekar is blunt to the point of rudeness. "This is fucking stupid," he'll say about some proposed marketing campaign. "We're not doing that." No softening, no corporate speak, just direct and harsh. People either respect it or hate him for it. You find yourself oddly charmed by it, at least you always know where you stand when it comes to him.
The professional starts cracking into something else during a site visit. Long flight where you're sitting next to each other and he's working as usual but at some point he falls asleep—actually falls asleep, which feels like a small miracle honestly—and his head tips slightly toward your shoulder. You don't move, don't wake him. Just let him rest for once because god knows he needs it. When he wakes up he's embarrassed, stiff, muttering "Fuck, sorry" under his breath. You just hand him coffee and say, "You looked like you needed it." Something in his expression softens before the walls come back up.
Hotel bar after a brutal meeting where you both have too much to drink and talk about things you never talk about sober. His childhood growing up in Baelor's shadow. Your family pressures. The weight of expectations. "Six kids," he says at one point, shaking his head. "I've got six fucking kids and some days I don't know how I'm managing any of it."
"You're doing fine."
"Am I?" He laughs, a bitter sound. "Half the time I feel like I'm failing at everything. Work. Parenting. All of it."
"You're not failing."
"You don't know that."
"I work with you fourteen hours a day. You're not failing." You lean forward. "You're different than I thought you'd be."
"Different how?"
"I thought you'd be colder. More... unapproachable."
"I am unapproachable. Ask anyone."
"I'm not anyone."
"No." And he looks at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. "You're really not."
And that's when you start noticing things you shouldn't. The way his sleeves are rolled up when he's concentrating, strong forearms on display. The rare times he loosens his tie and you can see his throat. The way he moves. Controlled, but there's strength underneath the expensive suits. You catch yourself staring and have to look away before he notices.
But he notices other things. The way his eyes track you when you enter a room. The way his jaw tightens when other men in the office flirt with you. You're in a meeting once and some executive from a partner company is being too friendly, too familiar, and afterward Maekar pulls you aside. "You don't have to tolerate that."
"I can handle it."
"I know you can. Doesn't mean you should have to." And there's something protective in his voice that has nothing to do with professional courtesy.
It builds and builds. Working late and your hands brush reaching for the same file and neither of you moves away immediately. Him standing behind you when you're at the computer showing him something and you can feel the heat of him, smell his cologne, and your focus fractures. Conference calls where you're both remote and you can see him on screen, see the way he looks at you through the camera, and it feels more intimate than it should.
There's a company event, some gala or investor dinner where attendance is mandatory. You've seen Maekar in suits every day but there's something about the formal context, the black and crimson, the way he moves through the crowd with that particular Targaryen authority. Baelor is working the room as usual, all charm and warmth. Maekar is at the bar, alone, and you join him.
"Not a fan of these things?" you ask.
"Fucking hate them." He takes a drink. "Baelor's better at it anyway."
"Baelor's better at performing. You're better at everything else."
He looks at you then, really looks, and there's something guarded and raw in his expression both. "You don't have to say things like that."
"I'm not saying it to be nice. I'm saying it because it's true." You lean against the bar next to him. "You know you're just as essential as he is, right? More, maybe."
"I'm not him. I'm never going to be the charming one, the one people like, the one who makes this all look fucking easy."
"Good."
Silence follows, heavy and charged. The gala continues around you but you're both standing in this bubble of tension that's been building for months.
"What do you want?" His voice is lower now, dangerous in a completely different way.
And that's the question, isn't it? Because somewhere between the arguments and the late nights and the moments of unexpected vulnerability, this stopped being professional. You want to close the distance between you and see what happens when that legendary control finally cracks. Want to know what his hands would feel like, what he'd kiss like when he stops holding back.
"I want..." You hesitate because saying it out loud makes it real. "I want you to stop comparing yourself to someone you're nothing like."
"You don't understand what it's like. Growing up in that shadow."
"No. But I understand what it's like to be underestimated." You turn to face him fully.
Something in his expression cracks. Just slightly. "Fuck." He runs a hand through his pale hair. "You mean that."
"I don't say things I don't mean."
He's still looking at you like he's trying to solve something inside his head. "Fuck."
"I know."
"We work together."
"I know."
"And I've got six kids at home and a dead wife and I'm not—" He stops himself. "This would be a fucking mess."
"I know that too."
But neither of you moves away. The tension is suffocating, electric, this pull between you that gets harder to ignore every day. Someone calls his name from across the room—probably Baelor needing him for something—and the moment breaks. He straightens, that cold professional mask sliding back into place. "I should—"
"Yeah." You step back, put proper distance between you. "Me too."
But as he walks away you catch him looking back once, and the want in that glance nearly undoes you.
It gets worse after that. Or better. Depending on how you look at it. Because now you both know it's not one-sided, this thing between you. And that makes every interaction charged. Every late night working feels like temptation. Every time you're alone in his office the air gets thinner. He's more careful about touching you—no more accidental brushes, no more standing too close—which somehow makes it more obvious that he's trying not to.
You start testing it. First with small things. Leaning over his desk to point at something on his screen when you could just tell him verbally or asking his opinion when you're both in the break room at odd hours and it's just the two of you. Catching his eye across conference rooms and holding it a beat too long. He never breaks first but you see the effort it takes him not to.
There's this one night where you're both working late—actually working, there's a genuine crisis that needs handling. Some security breach that could expose sensitive contracts. You're both running on adrenaline and coffee and at some point around 2 AM he makes a mistake. Just a small one, nothing critical, but he catches it and swears—"Fuck, fucking—"—genuine frustration bleeding through that legendary control.
"Hey." You touch his shoulder without thinking. "We'll fix it. We've got time."
He looks at where your hand is resting on him and something in his face just... gives. "I'm tired."
It's such a simple admission but coming from Maekar it feels like an explosion. You squeeze his shoulder gently. "I know. But we're almost done. And you don't have to do this alone."
"Don't I?" And there's something bitter in his voice, something that speaks to years of carrying things by himself. "Dyanna used to—" He stops, shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."
"It does matter."
"She used to tell me I work too much. That I'd burn out. She was probably right." His hand comes up, covers yours. "Seems like I'm still proving her point."
"You're doing the best you can. Six kids, this job, everything else. that's not nothing."
"Feels like nothing some days." But he hasn't let go of your hand.
"Not to me." You mean the work. You mean everything else, too.
He stands, turning to face you, and suddenly the space between you is minimal. "This is a bad idea."
"You said that already."
"Bears repeating." His hand comes up, cups your face with a gentleness that seems impossible from someone so gruff, so hard-edged, so controlled. "You should go."
"I should," you agree, but you don't move.
"I'm trying to do the right thing here."
"I know."
"Stop making it so fucking difficult."
"I'm not doing anything." But you are. You're standing too close, looking at him too openly, letting him see exactly what you want without shame.
His thumb brushes your cheekbone, a rough caress, all fire, and your eyes close involuntarily at the contact. "Yes, you are. You're making this impossible."
"Maekar—"
And then he's kissing you. Not gently, but desperate and intense and nothing like the controlled man you know. His hand slides into your hair, forcing your head back, and you make this sound against his mouth that would be embarrassing if you weren't too busy fisting your hands in his shirt and pulling him closer. It's months of tension finally catching fire, every professional boundary dissolving, and when your back hits his desk you don't even care.
He breaks away first, breathing hard. "Fuck. Fuck."
"Yeah."
"This is—we can't—"
"I know."
"I've got kids. Six fucking kids who don't need their father getting involved with—" He stops himself but you hear what he's not saying. Getting involved with someone from work, someone younger, someone who isn't their mother.
"I know that too." But you kiss him again anyway because now that you know what this feels like, stopping seems impossible.
It becomes this thing between you. Not a relationship because neither of you will call it that because that would mean admitting something you're not ready to admit. Just stolen moments. Late nights when you're both working that turn into something else. The way he looks at you in meetings now, the heat barely disguised. Learning each other in fragments, the way he kisses like he's starving, the sounds he makes when you touch him certain ways, the surprising gentleness afterward when he thinks you're not paying attention.
But it's complicated because it's Maekar and nothing with him is simple. He pulls away sometimes, goes cold and professional for days because he's trying to do the right thing, trying to maintain boundaries. "I can't do this," he'll say, gruff and final. "I've got too much. The kids, the job, I can't fucking complicate it more." And you let him because you understand that guilt, that sense of duty. But then something will happen—a crisis, a long night, a moment where the walls come down—and you're back in his office or yours, trying to be quiet, trying not to leave marks, trying to pretend this is just physical when you both know it stopped being just physical months ago.
The worst part is how well you work together. How you've become this unit that nobody questions. His second-in-command, the person he trusts with everything that matters and layered underneath is this other thing, this connection that's professional and personal and physical and emotional all tangled up until you can't separate where one ends and another begins.
"I'm not my brother," he says once, after, when you're both catching your breath and trying to get your clothes back in order.
"Thank god for that." You fix his tie, smooth his collar. "I don't want him."
"What do you want?"
And that's the question you can't fully answer because what you want is complicated. You want this: the challenge, the respect, the way he sees you clearly and doesn't flinch. You want the tension and the arguments and the rare moments when that gruff exterior cracks and he's just a man who feels deeper than most. You want the controlled man who falls apart in your hands, who trusts you with his vulnerability, who looks at you like you're something precious even when he's trying to maintain distance. You want the widower with six kids who swears too much and works too hard and carries the weight of everything without complaint.
You want Maekar. All the complicated, difficult, intense parts of him. But saying that feels too big, and too real, so instead you just kiss him again and let it be enough for now.
GUYS IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE WAHH i have a lot of ideas for part 3 and im so excited to write :P
PART 1
Ignoring Mattheo Riddle might be the most difficult thing I have ever done.
Not that I would have any reason to ignore him…
Neither of us have spoken to each other since the Potions incident. That was 2 weeks ago. I caught his eye in the great hall multiple times. I also may or may not walk out without finishing my meals. It's not that I'm actively avoiding him. I am just trying to lessen the capability of him talking to me at all. In all honesty I have got to learn how to be more subtle, I'm afraid I'm worrying Hermione.
“Yes Mione I am perfectly fine, and no I have not taken any potions recently. Who do you think I am?” I eye her with my brows furrowed. Honestly, a potion to ease my nerves might help me drastically these days. However I am more than capable of handling situations like a big girl.
Sometimes.
“That still doesn’t explain why you disappear randomly or leave in the middle of our conversations-” I stop walking and stand directly in front of her, cutting her off. “Look I appreciate the concern but I’m going to be late for Defense and I would not like to spend detention with Lupin again.” I sigh and place a hand on her shoulder. “Look I’m sorry I know I have been avoidant it. It's nothing you did- I just have a lot on my mind. Ill see you during dinner.” With that I turn on my heel and walk towards the dungeons before she can even respond.
My mind has constantly been on alert. Always checking to see who could be lurking behind me where I wouldn’t be able to see. Okay yes I can see how it may look like I am running from my problems but, there was a clear misunderstanding that day in potions. There's honestly no way that Mattheo Riddle is my–
“Sorry.” the mutter leaves my lips the second my body collides with another. I look up once I realize that the other person hasn't responded.
Oh.
Dark brown eyes meet my own. His gaze is intense and… angry? At me? I certainly hope not! I haven’t done anything to the man at-
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He tone direct and his eyes never wavering one bit. I instinctively take a step back. “I- I beg your pardon?” I stammer.
Merlin get a grip!
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about” He takes a step forward. My eyes practically bulge out of my head at his boldness. Not knowing what else to expect I stand there frozen. “You know it's been kind of amusing, seeing how easily I can get you to evacuate my personal vicinity in seconds, well amusing at first now it's just..” He doesn't finish his sentence and holds my gaze.
“I-I don’t know what you're talking about- I have to get to class-” “Defense against the dark arts?” He cuts me off “I’m going the same way so you wouldn’t mind if I walked you there?” He asks. His gaze has shifted now. He's not hostile or direct, he's smiling or is that a smirk? I can’t bring myself to look at his face again so I just nod.
I turn on my heel and walk away trying to walk faster than him. However the man is 6 feet tall and all legs so that is hardly helping my case. “So how long do you plan on keeping this up” He asks. I look over at him briefly before clearing my throat. “Keep what up exactly?” “This whole, I don't know what you're talking about bullshit” He says his voice dark. My face heats up with embarrassment. “Thats just it, I don’t know what-” “Look just save it okay, if I’m such a terrible person that you can’t even bring yourself to admit that you might even possibly have the chance to be my soulmate then fine. But don’t stand there and lie to my face when we have the exact same scar on our wrist.” His words are harsh but the glare he sends my way is worse.
My chest feels tight and I suddenly feel like an awful person. I don’t get a chance to respond before he walks into the classroom and takes a seat with the Slytherins. I swallow hard and smile softly at Harry before lowering myself into the seat next to him. I put my head down and sigh. It's only 9 and I have already made a fool of myself.
“So, Riddle giving you a hard time about being his soulmate?” Harry whispers in my direction. My eyes shoot open and I quickly turn to look at him. “What?” I exclaim. “Oh come on don’t tell me Hermione's right about you being in denial.” “She told you?! She knows?!” I exclaimed, mortified.
“Why’s it such a bad thing? I mean yeah he's… the son of Voldemort but he's long gone. I made sure of that. Aren’t you being a bit too judgemental on his behalf” Harry says looking at me with the look like he knows more than me. A look that makes me so angry.
I let out a cool controlled breath. “This has nothing to do with his father.” I whisper. “Yeah? Then why do you sprint out of a room any time he even looks in your direction."
“Thats not- this is different okay. Matt- Riddle is not someone who should be interested in me” I say. “Thats completely out of your control now” Harry states. I sigh and realize hes right. “OH merlin i’m- oh i messed up” Harry nods in return.
“He was so… upset I brushed him off countless times” I mumble my eyes wondering over to their table. He's sitting next to Lorenzo Berkshire who's talking to a blonde Slytherin girl.
Professor Lupin finally walks in and begins class; however my thoughts are far away from the classroom.
The next hour drags on despite my misery. Every sound, the scrape of a chair, the scratch of a quill, even a Hufflepuff’s sneeze kept averting my eyes back towards the group of Slytherins in the corner. Every whisper or laugh coming from the table makes me wonder if Mattheo is still speaking in the same way he spoke to me earlier.
Merlin. I think I hurt his feelings.
He’s never spoken to anyone the way he spoke to me. Well not that I’ve seen.
My stomach churns in knots at the thought of hurting him. I mean, yes, he had been rude- extremely rude, arrogant and very confrontational! But regards to that. He thought I was ashamed of him. I feel a tightness in my chest at the realization. I mean how can I tell him that I’m not ashamed instead I’m fucking terrified of him.
My empathy for Mattheo’s feelings have clouded my judgement. By the time Lupin dismisses us, I’ve been determined to fix this mess I have caused–and I am fucking terrified.
I swallow hard, gathering my parchment and books and nearly tripping over my bag in the process. Harry snorts, “graceful.” “Quiet” I mutter. “So I can fix this right?” I ask, swinging my bag over my shoulder. Harry pauses, putting his books away. He lets out a sigh and turns to me. “I won’t tell you what to do but just..do what you feel is right” I cross my arms over my chest and give him a grimace. “Some shit philosophy you’ve got, Potter.” He swats me with his parchment, “you asked me!” He calls out behind me as I make my way out the classroom.
I can definitely do this, I mean what's the worst that could happen?
Standing in the far corner of the corridor is the group of Slytherins. Mattheo stands at the center of them, one hand in his pocket. To his left Theodore Nott says something, earning a laugh from Lorenzo.
I don’t get very far before his dark eyes meet mine, unreadable and genuinely petrifying. I clear my throat, interrupting Theodore. “Riddle, may I speak to you?” My voice coming out embarrassingly soft. Lorenzo’s grin widens. “Ooh what do we have here?”
Mattheo doesn’t even spare him a glance. “No.”
I blink.
“No?”
“No, im busy” He shrugs.
The group of Slytherins surrounding us goes silent. My face burns and I nod softly. “Right, sorry to interrupt” I turn swiftly and walk away as fast as possible. Sparing myself more embarrassment as my eyes sting as I round the corner.
Holy shit that was actually so embarrassing. What a dick! But I was mean to him…but that was rude! But I also hurt him too.
My mind spirals and I furiously wipe my cheeks. Angry at myself for crying over a man who's spoken less than 4 sentences to me.
By the time I'm sitting in the great hall for dinner, I’ve determined that I deserve it. Drowning in my own misery I try to focus on what Ron is saying but it's difficult to focus since he’s speaking with his mouthful. “Please chew before you speak Ron” I sip my Pumpkin Juice as he sends me an apologetic smile.
“So guessing from your silence.. and your mood, I suppose your apology didn’t go well” Harry speaks up. I sigh, “I don’t want to talk about it” I grumble into my mashed potatoes. “Can we be shocked that your apology didn’t end well? You practically ran at the sight of him for what? 2 weeks and when he speaks to you, you act like he’s delusional.” Ron speaks absent mindedly as he picks chicken pieces off his drumstick. “RON!” Hermione hisses.
He finally glances up seeing Harry’s panic-stricken expression, Hermione's face of rage, and my own look of misery. “Oh it is as awful as I thought” I exclaim putting my face into my hands.
“Well under a brief explanation– yes, but we know you are… a very anxious girl” Hermione explains slowly. I give them all a look of despair before standing. “Oh give me a break” I grumble before stumbling out of the benches.
While walking to my dorm I decide that the next time I see him I’ll apologize, properly.
Later that evening, I find myself walking towards the dungeons. This is not because I’m desperate to apologize. I am mature and owning my mistakes. There is a difference.
“I was being selfish” I whisper under my breath as I round a corner. I grimace, “No too formal. Okay, I’m sorry for being-”
“You alright there?” I nearly jump out of my bones as I yelp in surprise. Fred Weasley stands leaning against a suit of armor smiling with amusement. “Talking to yourself in these dungeons is generally a bad sign.. given the history.” He raises his brows with a smile plastered on his lips. “I’m fine!” I say too quickly my brows furrowing defensively.
“You look terrified” “I am not terrified” he quirks his head to the side analyzing me. “Constipated?” He asks. My eyes widen and my face heats up “what?”. He bursts into laughter but before I can defend the little self dignity I have left. Something slams against my ribs hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.
I gasp doubling over. In that exact moment a sharp pain erupts across my nose and hand. I tremble as I cup my nose, pulling it back briefly. My fingers and palm are covered in blood. Fred’s expression drops immediately. “What happened?” His frantic voice cuts me from my daze.
Mattheo.
My head immediately turns towards the path to the dungeons. My legs are moving quickly before I even can process the fact that I am running. Gasping and being shot with phantom punches I finally make my way to the Slytherin commonroom. There's a group of students surrounding the entry way. I shove my way through the shouting students and freeze. Mattheo is holding another boy pinned against the stone wall, fist drawn, blood caked on his knuckles. The slytherin 6th year pinned against the wall lunges and punches Mattheo’s ribs. A sharp pulsing pain erupts on my side, choking a gasp from my lips.
“Mattheo!”
His fist stops midair, His head snaps in the direction of my voice. The second his eyes land on the crimson red covering my face his demeanor shifts instantly. The expression of pure rage vanishes from his face and the room falls silent. I feel liquid dripping onto my lips. I raise my hand beneath my nose and am startled by the amount of blood on my fingers.
Mattheo looks murderous again– just not at me. He exhales sharply, stepping back from the slytherin boy who tumbles to the floor. He storms towards me, grabbing my wrist and yanking me forward. “Move.”
He drags me through the crowd, out the corridors, and into an empty classroom. The door slams behind us leaving a beat of silence.
“What were you doing here?” He demands. I stare at him, “are you serious?” my brows furrow. “You’re bleeding.” He steps closer analyzing the injuries on my face that closely mimics my own. “You were fighting!” I exclaim making him take a step back. He pauses, running a hand through his curls. I look down at my bruised and bloody hands as they tremble. “I came to apologize.” I swallow hard. He pauses, “what?”
“I came to apologize for avoiding you. For…lying. For embarrassing you.” I feel my throat constrict, “I was selfish” , my voice soft and wavering. His eyes burn onto my trembling form listening to every word I have to offer. I continue apologizing before I lose courage. “I thought if I ignored it, it would go away, but it didn't. Then, this morning you looked so upset and I realized how awful I’ve been. My face heats up and my eyes sting.
“oh fuck me” I whisper beneath my breath as tears spill down my cheeks. “Sorry,” I mumble, swiping my fingers over my face. “My face hurts.” I mumble. “Don’t apologize for crying” he steps closer. His fingers grip my chin gently tilting my head up. “You’re still bleeding” his breath hitting my face as he inspects my injuries. My eyes lock onto the cuts littering his skin, “I’m aware” I mutter.
He steps back, dropping his hands from my face. “I forgot.” “What?” I ask. “When I was fighting.” His eyes flick from my ribs, then back to my face. “I forgot you’d feel it too.” The guilt in his voice makes my chest ache. “It’s alright” “No– it isn’t” he says, his voice tight. Before I could respond he steps forward and takes my hand, gently this time “Come on.”
I silently follow him, not even bothering to pay attention to where I was being taken. Every step is agonizing pain to my ribs. We enter a doorway and I lift my head meeting Madam Pomfrey’s form. She takes one look at us and closes her eyes, letting out a loud sigh. I’d honestly laugh if I wasn’t in so much pain.
“Shes bleeding.” “Yes, Mr. Riddle I can see that, and you are two. Now take a seat both of you, before I lose my mind quickly, quickly.” Madam Pomfrey fusses, shooing the two of us to a nearby bed. With the wave of her wand the blood is cleaned off my face. She shoves a vial of potion into each of our hands.
“Drink.” We obey in silence. Madam Pomfrey’s hands grip her hips as she glares down at the two of us. “Honestly you two, are you kidding me?!” I glance at Mattheo who's looking at his hands. “I’m sorry Madam Pomfrey” I say looking up at her. She sighs and shakes her head as she cleans up the empty vials. “Children, so young, and so utterly stupid” she mutters under her breath before drawing the curtains around us back and leaving to her office.
The room goes silent. Mattheo sits beside me, elbows on his knees. After a moment he glances up at me. “You came to apologize.” He states, I nod. “And then cried on me.” “My face hurt.” He shakes his head, a smirk tugging his lips. I stare at him, “are you laughing at me?” “Maybe.”
I narrow my eyes, then gently he turns his wrist. The scar that matches mine staring back at me. “Stop running from me.” His voice gruff. I swallow hard, “stop terrifying me.” He turns his head to me with a grin plastered on his face as he leans closer,
Summary: A late night studio session with deadlines on the clock, but Tyriq isn’t worried about time.
Content warnings: 18+ MDNI, Smut/Fluff, Established relationship
Word count: 1.2k
Authors note: Tyriq withers wasn’t under the Christmas tree😔, so here’s a fic to ease the pain🤭
The studio was quiet in a way that only existed after midnight. There was no chatter, no engineers or producers in the way, just you and your instruments.
You were currently sitting on the couch with your notepad open, clicking your pen hoping lyrics would magically appear on the page. Your label had been hounding you about deadlines but you were coming up with nothing.
Your boyfriend sat near the console fidgeting with buttons and scrolling through beats, unaware of how distracting he was being.
“Tyriq stop touchin’ stuff,” you said softly.
He looked back, "I'm not even doing anything.”
“Yes you are,” You replied, with a huff.
“Am not,” He mumbled, facing the console again trying to be more subtle with his quest to touch every button possible.
“I don't know how I'm gonna get anything done with you in here,” You said as you stood abandoning your notepad on the couch crossing the room to him.
You rolled his chair back so you could sit on his lap. Him welcoming you by wrapping his arms around your waist, your back flush with his chest. If lyrics wouldn't come, maybe a sound would. You scrolled through beats looking for something to work on, but nothing sounded even half as good as what your label was looking for.
He started to rub his hands on the side of your waist. “See that's what im talking about you're a distraction.”
“You're the one who sat down.” He chuckled low, leaning back some, his hands still resting on your waist.
“You’re the one in my seat.” You countered, continuing to look for something that sounded right.
He started to bounce his leg slightly beneath you, his fingers kneading the flesh at your waist. It wasn't very obvious, but it was enough to be hard to ignore.
“Tyriq,” You warned, perplexed by his inability to sit still.
“What?” he said innocently leaning forward, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Im not touching anything.”
“You just wont stop will you,” You sighed, glancing at him over your shoulder.
He just smirked , an unbothered look on his face, “Maybe you just need a break.”
“Maybe you need to sit somewhere else.” you said slowly.
“Maybe not,” He countered, his breath now ghosting your neck as he placed a few kisses at the back of your neck.
You laughed under your breath at his antics, he continued his attack on your neck, your eyes closing for a half second. You were caught between wanting to have space to work and not wanting to move away from his touch at all.
He took that laugh as permission, his lips trailing along the curve of your neck leaving opened mouth kisses, and nips across your skin you were sure would mark up later. His hands had found their way under your shirt, covering your stomach.
“Tyriq,” you murmured, but there was no real warning behind it.
Your eyes closed, a sigh escaping your lips and that's all it took, His hands ran back down to your waist grounding you there, you inhaled through your nose, trying to steady yourself but your focus was already gone.
“This is why I can't work” You breathed out, a slight rock in your hips.
“Mm” he hummed, “That just sounds like an excuse.”
The studio had gotten warmer, and it felt smaller. You sighed and smiled despite knowing that there were things probably more important that you should be doing.
“Five minutes and then I'll get back to work,” You declared, your voice low as you spoke.
“You know it won't take that long,” He smirked as he kissed your jaw, slow and deliberate.
His hands moved to the hem of your shorts, starting to pull them down, You lifted your hips helping him the rest of the way.
“Keep those legs open baby,” He said gruffly, you immediately opened your legs to give him better access. He moved his right hand down to cover your center.
He started frustratingly slow circular motions over your clit causing a soft whine to escape from the back of your throat.
“Shit you’re wet already.” He cooed, his chin resting on your shoulder as he looked down at your wetness. Your hips rolled on his lap as you searched for more. He let out a pleased sound, you could feel this length hardening beneath you.
“You were trying to act bothered, look at you now so needy.” he teased in your ear.
“Ty please,” You moaned, your head falling back to rest on his shoulder. “More” You begged your voice desperate and soft.
His hands moved deliberately, the left pulling your shirt and bra up, freeing your tits. Nipples hardening when met with the air in the studio, Tyriq started tweaking your nipple between his fingers, his other hand started to quicken its pace on your clit.
You let out a moan from the stimulation, Your head turned to his, leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss. He was more than welcome to it, his tongue immediately searching yours.
A finger dipped inside your wetness causing you to moan against his lips, He took that as motivation, he added another before ramming them in and out of your pussy. He ravished your lips, swallowing all the sounds you let out. You broke the kiss, your head falling back in pleasure, you could feel your orgasm building. Your breath hitching and body melting into his.
Your legs started to close, the sensation becoming too strong, He tugged at your nipple, and gave a soft bite to your earlobe. “ I thought I said keep your legs open,” he said roughly.
All you could muster as a reply, was a broken sorry between moans, as your legs snapped back open, you opened them wider this time resting a foot on the sound bar, bumping something on the table. You were too in the moment to pay attention to what you had done. Your hands resting on his thighs to keep yourself up.
“Careful” he murmured, a smile on his face from the sound you were producing, they sounded better to him than any song on his playlist.
You let out a rough moan as you clenched around his fingers, Your eyebrows knitted together as you got close. “Fuck Tyriq, just like that, Im gonna cum.” You squealed, your eyes squeezing shut as warmth ran through your body.
Your muscles tensed, your hips jolting involuntarily as you came all over his hand. You felt so high, your body trembling as you tried to come back down to earth. Eyes low but blinked rapidly as you came to.
Tyriq had his head buried in your neck breathing you in, slow movements on your wetness, coaxing you through your orgasm. You were enjoying the after shocks when your eyes flickered up to the blinking red dot at the top of the studio that said “recording.”
Your hands flew to your mouth in shock, a gasp leaving your lips.
Tyriq tensed in concern. “What's wrong?”
Your hands covered your face as you managed to get it out, “We just recorded that.”
His eyes flicked to the light and he relaxed a slow grin covering his face, “Well there's some inspo for your new song.”
“I can't take you anywhere,” You laugh, your forehead resting on his.
“I don't know, I'd say the music we just made was perfect,” He teased, “You sounded great.”
