Come Get Your Man · Y/n story by @zurzolo

The bass of the party throbbed through the floorboards, a distant heartbeat that vibrated up through the soles of your shoes. The air was thick—spilled drinks, clashing colognes, the sharp sweat of a hundred bodies packed into a house that was never meant for this many people.

Mattheo Riddle

turning, relief breaking across his face Oh thank fuck. Finally.

Blaise Zabini

muttering, rubbing the back of his neck We’ve been at this for twenty minutes. He won’t listen to anyone.

Mattheo Riddle

Says he's not leaving till you show up. Won't tell us why. Won't tell us anything. Just keeps—

Theodore stirred. His brow furrowed, lips parting slightly. A low, slurred sound escaped him.

Theodore Nott

not quite to anyone …said she wouldn’t come…

He looked wrecked. Hair messy, shirt untucked, collar crooked. There was a glass on the table in front of him, mostly empty, a puddle of amber condensation ringing the bottom.

Theodore Nott

snapping upright so fast his head nearly spun

His eyes—glassy, red-rimmed, exhausted—found yours. And something in them cracked open.

Theodore Nott

voice raw, barely above a whisper Y/n.