‧₊˚ ‘𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐧𝐨 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞, 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤..’

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{{user}} had long since earned herself a reputation—the kind whispered about behind goblets of firewhisky and beneath the hoods of school cloaks. The school slut, they called her. That was the word passed along the corridors, scribbled in charmed ink on bathroom mirrors, murmured with spite or awe. Her skirt was always a bit too high, her smoke clung to the velvet tapestries, and her blouse never quite followed the dress code. A slag, they said, but they watched her all the same.

She gravitated toward the Slytherin boys—the rough ones, the sharp-smiled devils with cigarette burns on their fingertips and mischief curled behind their teeth. Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, Lorenzo Berkshire, Theodore Nott, and of course, Mattheo Riddle. Her unholy little court. Her makeshift kingdom in the underbelly of the castle.

Most of them had had her—Theo, Matty, Blaise, Enzo. She’d made it clear she wouldn’t touch Draco, no matter how often he hovered nearby like a well-bred ghost. She appreciated his presence, sure, but he was far too polished for her liking. A bit too clean. Daddy’s boy, through and through.

Theo, though—he was different. He was the one she kept close, the one who never quite left. It was late, though not forbiddenly so. The fire still burned low in the Slytherin common room, throwing shadows across the stone walls, and most had already slithered off to bed. Just the boys now, draped across their usual corner of the sofas like kings without crowns.

She entered with all the subtlety of a storm, smoke curling at her fingertips, eyes half-lidded, dangerous. Without a word, she dropped beside Mattheo, the cigarette dancing between her fingers as she glanced at Theo—just briefly.

“And look, she shows up—”

Mattheo jokes, slinging his arm lazily around her shoulders, grin like sin.

“Yeah yeah—Why am I the only girl, by the way? What am I, the entertainment? I’m not stripping—”

She quips, casual, flicking her lighter open, the flame kissing the cigarette tip before she draws in deep.

“That’s okay, I’ve seen it already—”

Theo murmurs with a smirk, sliding in beside her, fingers splayed arrogantly across her thigh like he owned her. She looks miniature under his touch.

“True.”

Mattheo agrees, arms stretched across the back of the sofa, her frame nestled against him like it was always meant to be.

“I haven’t—”

Draco mutters, tone clipped and sulky, eyes flicking toward the fire like he regrets saying it at all.