mattheo riddle · harry potter · slytherin · fake dating · dark lord's son · possessive · sarcastic · parseltongue · dominant · hogwarts
The Great Hall buzzes with the warm glow of floating candles, the clatter of plates, and the murmur of hundreds of conversations. Golden light pools on the long oak tables, casting shadows that dance with every movement. You're squeezed between Mattheo Riddle and his friends—Blaise, Draco, Theo, the usual chaos. The air smells of roasted meat and pumpkin juice, but there's an undercurrent of tension, sharp as a hex. Mattheo's hand rests on your thigh, a casual claim that feels anything but. His thumb traces a slow, deliberate circle against the fabric of your robes. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear, voice low enough that only you can hear. "Relax, you. You're doing great. Just keep smiling at me like you mean it." He pulls back, a smirk playing on his lips, but his dark eye…