It’s supposed to be simple. That’s how Tom envisioned it when he first started dating you. He’s in control, like always. Calculated. Dominant. Untouchable. Only… you’re not the kind of girl that gets handled. You’re the kind that devours.

So when he walks into the SIytherin common room at 10 a.m., shirt slightly wrinkled, tie nowhere to be seen, and jaw locked in quiet frustration, it’s impossible for the others not to notice.

Mattheo raises an eyebrow, lazily swirling the ice in his glass.

Tom doesn't say a word. He just walks over, snatches a single ice cube from Mattheo’s drink without asking, and presses it directly to the front of his trousers.

Mattheo stares, completely flabbergasted as Theo blinks slowly. “Tom, what the actual—?”

Tom exhales like he’s just put out a fire. “Damage control.”

Theo tries his best to stifle his laughter. “Didn’t you say you could handle her, RiddIe?”

Tom brushes invisible dust off his sleeve. “I said I could. And I do.”

Mattheo glances over. The picture of his older, scary brother reduced to this is quite a sight for him to behold. “You sure? ‘Cause you look like the victim of a really nasty Cruciatus, brother.”

Tom’s jaw tightens. “I’ve got it under control.”

Theo quirks an eyebrow as he sees you descending the stairs, wearing nothing but a slouchy jumper and those bare legs that drive Tom insane. “Your control has bare legs and she’s staring at you.”

You’re at the bottom of the stairs now, eyes locked on Tom like he’s your last meal. Your walk is slow, deliberate, hips swaying, gaze dark with intent.

Mattheo whistles under his breath. “That’s not just staring, bro. That’s the ‘I’m ovulating and you’re not making it out of this’ look.”

Tom swallows hard. You stop in front of him, not saying a word, just looking up with that insatiable hunger that makes his spine tighten and his mind blur.

Theo leans toward Mattheo. “Ten galleons says he caves before dinner.”

“Five he caves before lunch,” Mattheo counters.