Balls were so fucking pretentious. With walls draped in rich tones of emerald and ruby, darkened lighting and waiters fluttering from each crevice to hand out champagne from crystal flutes, the entirety of events like so were utterly ostentatious. Now, add that this was a ball purely designed for the wealthiest wizards, who all just so happened to be of pure-blooded status - this was as tasteless as it could get.
Mattheo and Annie both had to attend, naturally, being the only two in their retrospective families that could. Attendance meant solidarity; to not do so was seen as an act of war. These wizarding families were all based on politics; it ran deep to the point many could argue they were venomous, and they attacked all at once, solidified. The two stood in the greenhouse, bickering with one another over attendance. It seemed ironic when one grasped that they were both trying to protect one another and failed miserably.
"It's not safe for you; what do you not understand?" Mattheo found himself grunting behind her, leaning against a small table that was placed there with an arm running through unruly hair. The smell of pinewood and musk were rampant throughout the room, despite so many different scents from different flowers.
"Oh, and it's any safer for you?" She scoffed, watering her plants with an outstretched hand.
"I can handle myself." He gritted.
"I do not understand why you're under the impression I can't handle myself too."
"Do you get off on making my life difficult, Annie?" He frowned deeply, his legs outstretched as his arms crossed over one another.
She eyed his legs whilst moving to the side, stepping over them with ease. "In many ways, but I'm convinced you enjoy being just as difficult."
They shared a look, his darker than usual and his jaw clenched. It was always so clenched. The corner of her lips tilted upwards slightly, for it was sadistic to the highest degree, but she enjoyed watching him so rifled up, especially over her.
"It's dangerous." He reiterated voice draped in annoyance. "Do you crave danger? Is this some masochistic tendency that you have that I'm not aware of?"
"And if I did, would you start incorporating it into our late-night rendezvous?" She teased, smirk only growing wider as she looked over her shoulder at him.
He was growing more and more agitated, much to her enjoyment. "You are a demon, through and through." He gritted out, sitting up from his half sat position.
"It's your birthday, Mattheo." She murmured, dropping her hands from their watering. "You can't occupy your thoughts with what-ifs; if anything, it's more dangerous for you." She huffed.
"Yes, it is, and yet you insist on disobeying my every word." He grunted hand outstretched to grab her by the waist. "And here I thought birthday's meant I get anything I want."
Her eyebrow raised at his words, stumbling back into his chest so that her back was placed tightly against him. She could feel every inch of him; every crevice packed tightly against her own.
"I'm going, Mattheo." She murmured, lips parting at the feel of wandering hands over her torso. "The theme is masquerade this year; no one will recognise us."
He shifted her so that she was looking at him, his jaw hardening further, accentuating the sharpness of his bone structure. His eyes narrowed, and his once coffee toned orbs had turned into cocoa much darker than usual, anger evident in every corner of his face.
"Then you must stay beside me." He offered, clearly struggling with the idea of allowing her into the lion's den.
"As lovely as that offer is, I think I'll handle myself in my way." She grinned once more, leaning upwards to press a small kiss to his jaw, one in which she could have sworn made him clench it even further.
"A fucking demon." He growled quietly under his breath, hand pressed against the small of her back.
"I've been attending for years, Mattheo." She murmured in all seriousness. "If there were any risk, I wouldn't go. I promise you."
This did nothing for the impending thoughts in his mind, for deep down, beneath multiple cold surfaces, he knew that tonight would be different. With Sirius Black and Bellatrix Lestrange currently out into the open, it meant that anything could happen - alliances had been made; he knew this well. The pure-bloods in their society were no more than a wicked scheme, all in for their benefit. Despite being pureblooded themselves, most of the newer generation of wizards discarded this notion ultimately - blood supremacy was a foul thing indeed that had no pertinence in the lives they wished to live.
"This is different, Annie. There are a million different scenarios that could play out, some of which we haven't even thought of. Stay close tonight. For me." He murmured.
The way their eyes connected, she felt seen entirely. It was odd how it almost felt as though he could understand every minute detail in her brain, for despite not voicing any concern at that minute, it seemed apparent he was aware of her anxiety-riddled stomach. He was aware that she too was worried, although not in the same manner, but more so naturally. Luck hadn't been a component that appeared very often in either of their lives.
"Is that your birthday wish?" She cheekily retorted in response, facade in place to hide any mention of stress.
"I don't believe in wishes." He merely replied with fingers gripping her t-shirt tightly as he pulled her closer. "Why wish when I can simply do?" He lifted her chin, eyes blazing despite their darkened state, and pressed his lips to her plump ones.
——
Getting ready for an event one didn't care to attend was quite indeed an experience within itself. It meant that every detail had to be precise, for an early exit meant you had to look as memorable as possible. In Annie's case, this was not only something she had to do but something that was indeed expected of her. She had to keep up appearances, despite not wanting to be surrounded by the very people that had probably conspired against her parents' death. She was an anomaly and an individual that made them uncomfortable.
Her hair had been styled in loose Hollywood waves, brushed to perfection with not a single hair out of form. Her makeup smoky, although light considering she was wearing a mask for most of the night anyway. Her face wasn't where her importance laid that night, no, for the dress was what mattered. Although simple in design, with its strappy bodice and square neckline, the figure-hugging black dress was enough to send a message indeed. A slit was cut through the fabric, and it reached her upper thigh, a daring component to an already mischievous dress. She felt powerful, and that alone was the most important thing.
Whilst tying her heels, she admired herself in the mirror for a moment before breathing deeply. She understood Mattheo's concern, for there was a valid basis for it. She wondered what would happen tonight, how things would go, and for the first time in her life, she couldn't feel the rampant worry in her stomach. Instead, her thoughts travelled to messy curls and the familiar scent of musk. He brought her comfort, which was perhaps the most ironic thing in her entire life, considering he indeed was the spawn of everything evil in her life. He was different; however, she knew she did not know him to the true extent she wished she could. That alone should have been her biggest red flag.
A knock on her door brought her out of her rampant thoughts, and with one last look in the mirror to make sure everything was pristine, she began her journey in opening it to see who it was. She knew it was him, for his mere existence took up so much space in her mind that his arrival was enough to force a small breath to escape from her lips. Opening the door to meet his gaze, however, did nothing to lessen the butterfly attack currently in her stomach.
Mattheo's eyes trailed over her entirely for a moment, mouth slacked open and hands falling beside his torso at the sheer sight of her. He had expected her to look good, for this was something that came naturally to her, but she was breathtaking. From the darkness of her hair that contrasted so beautifully against the paleness of her skin to her long leg that peaked from the slit in her tight dress. She was exquisite, and if he could have bottled the feelings he felt in that very moment, he would replay it over and over until he was cold in his grave.
She, too, found herself looking over at him, lips parted in evident shock. He was in a suit. She had seen him in a suit before, and although she had fancied him much to her distress years ago, seeing him in that very moment was nearly enough to grab his arm and demand that they stay hidden within the confinement of her satin sheets. The dark suit clung to his broad shoulders, fitted to perfection, of course, with a crisp white shirt peeking underneath. He looked too good to be true. His jaw hardened, and his eyes darkened once more as a hand reached out to rub against his cheek. His eyes couldn't stop their wandering, and they both found themselves stood there, simply in awe of one another.
"I'm going to have to fight for a dance tonight, it seems." He murmured, a slight pull to his lips forming into a smirk.
She couldn't help the matching upturn of her mouth, arm sliding into his own as they descended the stairs. Esme and Thomas were having their movie night, and so the two quietly bid their goodbyes before slipping out to the front of the house and into the nipping air. Annie closed her eyes as Mattheo held her tightly to his body, arms wrapped around her tiny waist before apparating to their destination.
Upon opening her eyes, her arm had only tightened in the hold of his own, roaming around the busying courtyard of people arriving in a similar fashion. She noticed many familiar faces and some of which she never cared to introduce herself to out of evident disinterest. She noticed Barty Crouch, an influential official at the ministry for magic, but Annie merely knew him as the father of the man that had held her father down in his last moments of death. Her orbs then travelled to her left, eyes falling upon Amycus and Alecto Carrow, a brother and sister duo that the young girl loathed with every inch of her soul. They were everything wrong in the world stuffed into two individuals, and she was sure they hadn't one single redeeming quality between them.
Mattheo breathed a small sigh of annoyance at the sight of so many faces he too did not wish to greet before looking down at the woman by his side. He truly couldn't keep his eyes from her, and every inch of her was enough to set his body aflame.
"Is this part of my birthday present?" He murmured into her ear as they slipped on their masquerade masks.
She smirked her all-knowing grin, lips painted in a glossy nude. "You'll have to wait for your present later."
He pressed a small kiss behind her ear before they began their ascent into the ballroom. Annie held in her breath at the sight. If they knew how to do anything, things appeared to be as beautiful as physically possible. She couldn't help her lips part at the company of such grandeur, from gold-lined walls to oak flooring polished so delicately she could see her appearance in them. Although the overall atmosphere was relatively dark, everything seemed illuminated to a degree.
As they walked in, the atmosphere seemed to quieten for a moment. The room was almost complete, and despite the odd individual arriving, it was close to total capacity leaving the two to walk in front of everybody. Curious eyes watched them, mouths agape and eyebrows furrowed. It was an odd sight to see, indeed. Adam and Mina's child looping her arm with the son of the Dark Lord, one in which his mother had been the sole culprit of her own parent's death. It left them uneasy, unsure even - the equilibrium of the group completely thrown off. House Black was notorious for keeping up the fight for blood supremacy, whilst House Frotzillar was notorious for the absolute opposite. The difference between the two was too significant, there were too many obstacles to be deemed natural, yet they stood, arm in arm, looking much too close to be considered anything close to friends.
"My my, who do we have here?" A familiar voice called out to them, drink in hand and lazy grin present. Blaise Zabini stood before them, wrapping an arm around both of their shoulders whilst forcing himself in the middle to the two, leading them towards a quieter region of the room from less prying eyes.
"Drinking already?" Mattheo asked, a cheeky tone to his voice.
"Mother is husband-hunting, dear Riddle. That means alcohol and good company. Speaking of which," he turned, twirling the raven-haired beauty into his arms with a certain ease. "Annie. Ravishing as ever."
"Where's your mask, Zabini?" She teased, grinning wide.
"A face as beautiful as mine covered by a mask? A crime, if I've ever heard of one." He murmured, fingers fluttering over the mask she wore in an almost delicate nature.
"Awfully touchy, today, aren't you?" Mattheo grumbled.
The smirk grew wide on Blaise's face at the mere thought of Mattheo's jealousy, head tilting before throwing it back in a hearty laugh. "As grumpy as ever, it seems. Happy birthday. Finally nineteen."
As he threw an arm over his shoulder, Theo and Draco appeared behind Annie, a delicate champagne flute ornate with different jewels, in his hand. "Blaise is drunk." The former merely chuckled to himself before embracing Annie in a warm hug. His masquerade mask did nothing to hide his identity, although Annie had a sneaky feeling it was intended.
"Don't you boys look lovely?" She grinned at them all, eyes falling onto Draco. His eyes seemed so sad, and although there was no evident frown present upon his lips, the structure of his face simply screamed sorrow.
"Mattheo. A word." He merely responded with, nodding politely at Annie, before walking away to one of the doors present on the left-hand corner of the room. They lead into solitary rooms, private from the loud chatter.
Mattheo looked at her briefly, nodding at Theo, who in turn understood the silent warning, his arm protectively draped over her shoulder, sandwiching her between himself and Blaise. "I'll be back." He murmured to her.
Her eyes followed him momentarily before his figure disappeared behind one of the doors, his gaze meeting hers for a second or two.
"I got your letter." Mattheo quietly murmured to his cousin, who looked as pristine as ever. His suit was a dark blue colour, with slight tones of lighter hues in his shirt, his icy locks styled to perfection as per usual. But the shades of blue didn't rest, for, upon proper inspection, he saw the minor tones under his eyes and placed them in different locations over his cheek. They almost looked old, as though he was healing.
"Father said I couldn't tell you anything. He...he found out I sent it, so, it's not been the best being at home at the minute." He nervously admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Lucius did this?" Mattheo asked, eyes suddenly narrowing as he stepped closer to inspect his face. Draco flinched at the sudden intrusion into his space.
"You can't come home, Mattheo. I'll figure out money, I'll give you anything you want, but you can't. She's a fucking psychopath." Draco exclaimed, shaking his head. It seemed like there were much too many thoughts running through his head all at once, and they were tumbling out of his mouth quickly. The poise he possessed walking into the room had quickly disappeared.
Mattheo wrapped his arms around the rambling boy, his eyes widening with each word. He held him tightly to his chest, Draco shaking slightly at the heaviness of his situation. The days had been rough on him, this much he could tell, but he had no idea to what extent - seeing it as a visual confirmation was enough to break his cold heart into two.
"It's okay. I am okay, do you understand me?" He whispered down at him, eyes closed, jaw clenched at the idea of his uncle hurting his cousin so brutally. "She can't touch me, Draco. If she touches you, you have to tell me, okay?"
The blonde-haired boy nodded instantly, seeking comfort in sadly perhaps the only person in his life strong enough to provide it. They sat, on the oak floor, holding one another, resembling nothing more than young boys being forced to grow up much too quickly.
"This is what you're going to do." Mattheo began, pulling away from him slightly to look at him, his younger cousin nodding with tightly closed eyes. "You're going to go back in there. Enjoy yourself, have a drink, do whatever you need to do. I don't want to see you stress any longer because I will make this go away. Do you trust me?"
Draco nodded almost instantly, opening his orbs to reveal bright blue balls, clouded in distress. Mattheo stood up, helping him up whilst holding him close to his body, murmuring small things of reassurance in his ear. It did not matter that they were not close, for Draco knew if he ever needed help, he could come to Mattheo with the utmost secrecy. He was, in many ways, a rock.
—
Annie greeted many out in the main hall; her facade slipped on in a fashion that exuded grace and ease, a talent she mastered perfectly. She had met with Neville moments before, placing big kisses to his cheeks, much to the amused flush of his cheeks. She saw Percy, also, who had come on behalf of his family, considering none of them wished to attend. They were on good terms and often chose to play chess together during her free periods. The hall was littered with familiar faces, from Pansy to Lavender, all hidden from corner to corner.
"Care to dance?" Theo asked her with an easy smile, the two waiting patiently for their friends to come out of the room.
She simply smiled in response, taking his outstretched hand as she was led to the main dancing area. With a hand around her waist, politely for that manner, and the other holding the other, her place on his shoulder, the two waltzed whilst making quiet conversation.
"He's utterly fixated on you." He admitted wild hair pushed away from his face slightly, although it slightly hung much to the dismay of his father. "It's quite nauseating to watch."
"A new development, it seems." She said, through hidden blushed cheeks.
"Naïveté isn't a trait I associate with you, Annie." He scoffed with a shake of his head, the all too mischievous grin present upon his face whilst almost sleepy eyes looked down at her. "You both have been obsessed with each other since three years ago."
"That is not true." She rushed, eyes widening slightly at the open cheekiness of the boy in front.
"Oh, you have. It's utterly nauseating at best, but I'm glad you're both acting upon it now." He murmured casually. "I don't think I could handle another year of Mattheo squirming in potions whilst telling us how much he hates you despite being obsessed. The irony of it all."
Annie's cheeks felt much hotter than they were mere minutes ago, had somebody blasted hot air into her face? It seemed her body was warming up at the words of his best friend, who seemed excited that the two individuals he had watched pine secretly over one another for so very long.
"You're one to talk; I see the way you and Daphne flirt. Friends or woes?" She asked in a similar teasing tone whilst the two waltzed around the ballroom amongst other people, the perfect image of what was expected of them.
Theo's grin only widened at the mention of the pretty Slytherin girl, with bouncy blonde hair and even larger blue eyes who had been the object of his consistent flirting. His eyes, coincidentally, found her stood talking amongst people with a slight frown on her face, one which he planned to remedy almost immediately.
"Oh, I never kiss and tell." He simply replied, taking her hand and pressing a small kiss to it in true Theo Nott fashion, before grinning once more and moving to the side, breaking their dance.
Her eyes furrowed whilst her mouth turned upwards in an amused manner, watching the tall brown-haired boy walk away directly in Daphne Greenglass's direction. Her now lonely hands were suddenly taken out of their lull, being held in the usual dancing position once more whilst the familiar scent of pinewood and musk attacked her senses harshly.
Annie's gaze fluttered over to meet coffee tones orbs, full lips and curls that were much messier than they were when she last saw Mattheo. He looked slightly disheveled, but she couldn't quite point out what. To an ordinary eye, he appeared relatively normal, from his pristine suit to the all too fake casual swagger he insisted on carrying with him. Yes, to a naked eye, nothing was amiss - however, the emerald ones in question were more than trained. She noticed the small creases formed in the remote areas of his slightly exposed shirt, the plumpness of his bottom lip being that of violence whilst the bottom of his left eye looked redder than usual. Eyes travelled to the hand within her own, trailing over red and sore knuckles that seemed to be screaming in anger. All things that were not obvious and yet painted a picture as clear as day.
She opened her mouth to question him, and yet nothing seemed to leave the painted lips on her face, despite the puzzled look he read as confusion. He had been gone for 20 minutes, and in that 20 minutes, something had happened. The grip on her waist was tight, yet not harsh, as though he needed to touch her, a silent tick that appeared to be only noticeable to her once more. Her eyes left his, only momentarily, to the door that she assumed he had gone before approaching her, for Lucius Malfoy appeared with a grim look indeed.
Gasps could be heard from every inch of the room, although despite it, Mattheo made no effort to stop twirling her within the confinement of his arms until she found herself stopping him manually. With wide eyes and lips agape, she clutched one of his arms out of shock; Draco stood beside Blaise, who unsurprisingly sobered up immediately at sight also. He made his way towards his mother.
Lucius Malfoy was covered in blood and purplish skin that seemed to be bruising his much too pale skin by the second. The most notable appeared to be the slight pained limp that took over his body, everyone silent but watching as he walked over to his wife, who stood with mouth slacked in shock. It was a sight to behold, the proud blonde losing face with each and every laboured step he took towards his family, grumbling something quietly under his breath. In seconds, they had apparated out of the ball, but just before they could, she noticed Draco and the hint of a small smile upon his usually melancholic face, one in which that was directed at the tall boy beside her.
The second he left, gossiping men and women erupted, finding joy in the newfound topic that seemingly would not leave their lips for hours upon hours. Annie found herself twirling to face the boy beside her, one who had pressed his front against her back during the little show as though it couldn't intrigue him in the slightest, his passiveness being a target for inspection.
"What did you do?" She found herself whispering, noticing Theo and Blaise looking in their direction also.
He didn't respond, simply taking her hand and placing small pepper kisses to it, letting them travel to her wrist, where his finger pressed against her pulse lightly, feeling the rampant beat that seemed to increase at his very touch. This display was brash, even for them; to be so open with no fear nor qualms was never a quality they enjoyed and yet it was happening.
"I sent a message." He murmured.
It was her turn, too, then stay quiet as he pulled her closer once more, the music beginning to play once more, smooth jazz of sorts that they swayed to. Her eyes travelled every inch of his face, looking for any sign of distress, and yet she could not.
She gulped. "For who?"
"For anyone who dares to touch anyone I care for as a means of intimidation." He whispered into her ear, feeling her hand slide to his chest almost nervously.
Annie understood this was deeper than Lucius. Despite being utterly ignorant to the torment, Draco was experiencing at the hands of his father, she acknowledged this was bigger than any one of them. This was a direct message to his mother, which explained very clearly that he would not take well with being pushed, for he was unhinged. It secretly terrified her to know the boy in front of her was much more powerful than anyone could genuinely anticipate, and she had never hated her intelligence more than in that very moment for recognising it so clearly. She understood, as did he that she would be the only one to grasp it so thoroughly in its entirety. Lucius would arrive home dripping in blood, and he would not touch his son again. In turn, Bellatrix would understand that this was Mattheo's round of chess, and the board was now in her court. Shades of white and black fighting against one another, and he had no qualms about getting dirty in the process.
"Are you scared?" He asked, almost curiously.
She stared for a moment, fingers clutching his chest slightly tighter at his words. "For you."
"Don't waste fear on me. Save it for something worth being scared for." He replied, knowing her response was a clear omission of details.
"You're playing with fire, Mattheo. This is your life we're talking about; you talk as though you're ready to die." She hissed once more, growing more and more agitated by the minute.
"Death and I are close friends, Annie, that I can promise you. I die when I'm ready, not a minute fucking less." He found himself growing into her ear, the two clutching one another much too tightly to be deemed anything friendly.
The tension between the two was growing by the second, and it was clear she disapproved of his actions whilst he, in turn, did not care to please her doing so. It seemed for the first time in a while, the hate in their relationship was slowly seeping back in, fuelling one another as they stared one another down.
"You're too fucking cocky." She hissed, beginning to push him away discreetly as she turned around, tight black dress hugging her figures even more deliciously, much to his enjoyment.
He grabbed her arm once more, pushing her back into him with utter ease, to which she found herself easing into his arms almost instantly. "I think I've proved to you I have every fucking right to be, no?" He murmured in her ear, swaying her once more, her shaky hands clinging to him once more.
What a bastard, she thought. The fact she found him so attractive, even when his ego screamed at her, was enough to understand how deeply her infatuation had festered into her body, an infection at best and a terminal illness at worst. Her eyes filtered over to meet his own, faces much too close, his own eyes flickering up and down from bright green to the redness of her lips, enamoured by her even at that moment.
"You're not untouchable." She whispered. "One of these days, someone's going to get you."
"I implore them to try." He merely murmured back, lips grazing over her own slightly before pulling away, raising her hand to his lips.
She watched through narrowed eyes as he pressed small kisses to her fingers once more, gulping slightly at the sensation. His candour was his entire personality, for he was unlike her in many ways. Whilst she preferred to slip on a perfectly crafted mask to hide away any of her truths that could be used against her at any given moment, Mattheo lived in his sincerity. He was open about being the bastard child of the dark lord, the son of a woman so cruel people still cringed whilst he walked past them in corridors. He did not shy away from their fear, but in turn, embraced it. Fed off of it.
"I want to leave." She found herself suddenly whispering, feeling uncomfortable being in such an environment around so many people who were watching them with intrigue, jumping from one gossiping vessel to another.
Mattheo placed one last kiss to her knuckles before lacing his long digits with her own, looking over her shoulder where Blaise raised a champagne flute at them almost in a dismissive goodbye, one in which he nodded back at. It was indeed the last sight before he wrapped his arm around her waist, head to head, and apparated right back into the Ave's residency.
—
Annie could not sleep. How could one sleep when her mind rambled on and on about different possibilities, outcomes and alternatives. It was a cruel organ. Indeed, its only purpose was to torture the young woman who laid curled onto her bed in no more than a silk slip dress that she often wore to bed on warmer nights. The air was bitter and cold, it screamed against the weak window panes against each corner of her room, whilst she rested in the middle against her large bed, eyes upon ceiling and hand in the air, warming the environment with a mere flick of her fingers. It was easy, too easy, and it brought her little comfort. Her biggest vice was her yearn to be challenged, and yet her biggest challenge sat three doors down, plaguing every inch of her brain.
She hated how much she wanted him, how much she found herself pressing her legs against one another at the sheer sight of him. He was a plague, a deadly infliction that she simply couldn't bring herself to remedy, for it was beginning to take every inch of her body. The events of the night we're running through her mind continuously, and despite only staying a short while as she usually did, it was much more eventful than usual. Upon reflection, she never actually did anything other than walk around, mingle with the few individuals she liked before leaving after a drink or two.
She recalled how her first year of attendance, when she was sixteen, was the appropriate age of being able to attend, when she was merely in her beginning year of Hogwarts, entering the hall in a green dress. She remembered it being flowery, with lots of tulle flowing around her as though she was a young princess. It had been her debut into a world of treachery, and she often wished she had been smart enough then never to attend. It was the first time she correctly used her facade, and it was indeed the night she mastered it too - not out of want, but out of desperate need. She was around families that had conspired against her parents until their murder, one in which she knew very well they rejoiced in. No one wanted her alive, and she felt a spark of utter joy at the thought of them fearing her and her abilities. She wanted them to be scared; she wanted them to be terrified.
She remembered being stood in an open corner, not hiding and yet wishing so desperately she could be anywhere else but there. She wasn't allowed to drink, she knew it well, and if Thomas were ever to find out, she was sure he would go red in the face at the mere thought, and yet she stood with a champagne flute, gritting her teeth at the sight of so many people who had the nerve to approach her, complimenting her, or commenting on how excited they were to see her. She hated them. Despised them. Loathed them. One flick of her hand could ensure the death of them all whilst she walked away safe and justified. In that very moment, the sensation became almost overpowering, for before she could even register what she was doing, her hand began to raise.
It was also in that moment the smell of pinewood and musk became intoxicating. A scent that would replay in her mind for years, fingers switching over and over as a means to savour the fragrance that had captured her so entirely. Long fingers reached out, and it was as though she was watching it all in slow motion, for the heat that was rampant through her hand that was ready to overcome and engulf the entirety of the room had suddenly dissipated once those very digits wrapped around it. They intertwined with her own, slowly bringing it down once more so that it sat beside her hip, her eyes blinking away harsh tears that had formed so discreetly. He would see through her facade, though, as he had always done, with utter ease, despite only ever exchanging words in utter malice.
"I don't intend to die tonight, Frotzillar." He had whispered into her ear, with no indication of any animosity. It was merely a statement, a sentence that was enough to cool the warmth that was so ready to engulf into flames. It was water, ice-cold, bringing her back to her reality.
"I could do it. It would be easy." She whispered back, dropping her facade for a moment or two, meeting the gaze of the messy-haired boy that tormented her so. "And I wouldn't even have to blink."
"Easy is rarely satisfying." He merely responded; the two stood discreetly close, no one paying attention to them in that very rare moment of solitude. "Bid your time."
She stared at him openly, a lone tear daring to escape the confinement of emerald eyes, whilst her face stayed stoic, trying so desperately to hide away any indication of emotion. His hand pulled away from her own, despite the war raging in his stomach that indicated he wanted to keep it there even if it meant contemplating his entire thought process around her. He reached out with the same hand, finger flicking away the tear, eyes never leaving her own.
"What makes you so sure you won't be there when I do it?" She bitterly spat at him, seemingly snapping out of her gaze, a fire blazing evidently.
She did not expect the large smirk that formed on his lips nor the roll of his shoulders that implied utter ease. "You can try, and I truly implore you to, but you can't. That's one thing you can never beat me at." He promised, animosity filtering back into both of their tones.
"You underestimate my abilities?" She scoffed, anger forming in every inch of her face as she turned fully towards him, one or two faces looking in their direction as her palms began to heat once more.
"Not for one moment, Annie." He murmured, hands shoved into his pockets. "I think you underestimate mine." He smirked once more before turning around and leaving her stood there.
That had been one of the first interactions where Annie had realised how cruel curiosity was, for it plagued her from that moment until this very current moment, where raven locks fanned around her pillow. Her heated hand ran through the air, warming it with a gentle touch.
It was mere seconds before she decided to place her wandering mind in a box, closing it slowly and locking it, throwing away the key in the process. She stood up in her bed, hand heating the environment every step, wandering the quiet halls of the too empty manor, tired eyes falling onto his door. She didn't even care to knock, for she knew they were past such formalities, simply opting for standing in front of his door for a moment or two before walking in.
Mattheo Riddle sat at the desk in the corner of the room, head focused downwards whilst he read a passage of one of his books, sharpie in hand, despite the early hours of the morning. It was hard to think, hard to do anything when Annie was so rampant on his mind, and he despised it with every inch of his body. He wanted nothing more than to barge into her room, demanding her attention, but even he had limits he didn't want to push. No, he would wait for her, wait for her to explicitly show him she was comfortable with such a thing for the evening they shared implied that she had been almost disgusted in his confidence. It was not enough to lesson his ego, merely question it. So he sat, using the black sharpie to cross out certain words in the passage, ones that he didn't enjoy, comments he didn't like to read, or he felt did not convey the genuine emotions of the character he read about. He vandalised the book in what could only be described as true Mattheo fashion until he could feel her. He felt her before he ever saw her, eyes closing momentarily in relief before standing up.
Annie watched as he turned to face her, eyes narrowed and looking over her. They started from her bare legs and moved upwards, examining her in a manner that would have made any normal individual squirm beyond belief, but she was anything but the norm. They travelled over the slip dress, its pink colour something he enjoyed clearly from the way his fingers filtered over the fabric, eyes trailing over plump lips until they met large eyes.
"You have taken over my mind." He finally murmured to her, stepping closer so that their chests were lightly touched. "I beg that you give me back control."
"I came here to ask you the same thing." She whispered in response, fingers itching to wrap around him in every sense of the word.
He grunted, eyes closing at the thought of infiltrating her mind in the same manner she had in his own. The turmoil was evident as day upon his features, her hand shooting up against her will to touch the harsh panels of his face.
"You do scare me." She admitted, fingers shaking slightly over his skin. "You scare me in so many waves. I'm scared that I can't stop thinking about you." She whispered, chest beginning to rise and fall. It was evident her earlier admission to his question was not the entire truth, and he was eager to listen to it now. "I'm scared that I can't function without you; I'm scared that I don't think I can function without this fucked up relationship. I need you to hate me. I feed off of it. It's been the only thing I've allowed myself to feel for three years."
His gaze never left hers, despite leaning into the soft touches of her fingers. He stayed quiet, motionless for a moment or two before he found himself wrapping his arms around the small of her waist and taking her to the bed. She did not resist, instead of covering her arms around him also as she so desperately wanted to, feeling her back press against the soft satin of sheets.
"I do not fear death for multiple reasons, Annie." He also confessed whilst hovering over her, shirt pulled off, leaving him in black sweatpants. "There are explanations upon explanations that I could never begin to decipher, but the more I am with you, the clearer it is."
She found herself gripping to every word, his face centimetres away from her own as her fingers found refuge amongst his face and hair. She couldn't pull away from the harsh press against her body, his own being the evident culprit.
"You will be the death of me one day." He murmured. "And I fucking welcome it." He said before pressing plump lips against her own.
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OMG, HI sorry for the delay in an update i made this one long to make up for it <3
violent mattheo protecting those he loves ??? yeah im in love
as usual lmk any criticism I welcome it SO freely
I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS
I love u
azha xx