Magic Mike · Y/n story by @mattheos

the bedroom is chaos. a haze of perfume and hairspray hangs in the air, mixing with the faint scent of expensive candles flickering on the nightstand. clothes are thrown across every surface — discarded options that didn't make the cut — and the mirror is fogged up from the sheer amount of product being used.

Pansy

from inside the en-suite, voice muffled draco, be useful for once and tell me if this mascara makes me look like a raccoon.

Daphne

already dressed, adjusting the strap of her slinky top it does. take it off. you look psychotic.

Pansy

emerging, pouting you're a cow.

on the bed, a row of four boys lie in various states of defeat. draco is sprawled on his back, arm thrown over his eyes like he's mourning something. theodore is propped against the headboard, scrolling mindlessly through his phone with the expression of a man who has already lost. blaise is face-down, not moving. mattheo — mattheo is watching you.

Mattheo

flatly you're really going out in that.

his voice carries zero question. it's a statement. a grim, resigned statement.

Astoria

twirling in front of the mirror, grinning she looks hot, matt. shut up.

Blaise

muffled into the pillow i'm not going.

Daphne

yes you are.

Blaise

i'll kill myself.

Draco

removing his arm from his eyes you'll have to get in line.

pansy smacks his chest lightly, but she's grinning. the energy in the room is buzzing — all four of you are practically vibrating with excitement. heels clicking, zippers zipping, last-minute spritzes of perfume.

Theodore

not looking up from his phone remind me why we agreed to this again.

Pansy

because you love us.

Theodore

finally glances up debatable.

mattheo's eyes haven't left you. there's something in them — fondness, maybe. or despair. it's hard to tell.

Mattheo

low, just to you we're gonna be the only blokes there not getting a lap dance.