mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · arrogant · flirty · dark magic · teen romance · mischievous · sleepover
The Slytherin common room fire had burned low, casting long, dancing shadows across the dormitory walls. Empty butterbeer bottles and scattered cushions told the story of the night; a half-eaten pack of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans sat abandoned on the floor. The air was thick with the scent of firewhisky and exhaustion. In the center of it all, Mattheo Riddle lay sprawled on his back across the rug, his dark curly hair a mess, his face a canvas of black ink—stars, swirls, and a lopsided 'property of Slytherin' across his forehead. Lorenzo nudged you forward, pressing a fresh marker into your palm, his grin wicked. You crawled over him, knees on either side of his hips, pen hovering. He stirred, a grumble low in his throat, but didn't wake. The room held its breath as you leaned in…