oneshots. Hogwarts edition

💚ᴘᴏᴠ: ᴅʀᴜɴᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀᴏᴜꜱ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴘᴛ.2

In a shy, hesitant manner, she managed to muster a greeting, stammering out a timid, "H-Hi." Despite the evident traces of intoxication and her wobbly stance, she adamantly refused to break eye contact with Mattheo. Perhaps it was the effect of her inebriated state, but she found an unusual allure in the sight of him, adorned in blood with a loosely held knife. Mattheo, in response, couldn't contain the laughter that had been building up within him, a mirthful release that shook his entire frame. To him, the girl was inadvertently adding an unexpected layer of entertainment to the unfolding spectacle.

Observing keenly, Mattheo noted that it wasn't just his ominous appearance that caused her to shudder. It was the resonant depth of his laughter that seemed to send a shiver down her spine. A mere chuckle had prompted her to whimper, reflexively closing her legs together. In Mattheo's twisted perspective, her reactions only heightened the amusement he derived from the situation.

As he continued to size up the inebriated girl before him, Mattheo couldn't help but bite his lips, a subtle expression of both contemplation and satisfaction. The combination of her drunken vulnerability and the grim reality of his blood-stained presence seemed to create an odd, magnetic pull between them. The stage was set for a peculiar encounter, and Mattheo reveled in the anticipation of what the inebriated girl might bring to this macabre performance.

A minute passed, and somewhere within the girl concluded that Mattheo's eyes were commanding her to come closer. Getting on her knees, she crawls her way to him. So slow, so sensual, and with a purpose as she maintains eye contact with him. Whatever spell she put on him it was working, as Mattheo spread his leg, an invitation for her to come closer.

Despite the gravity of the situation and the clear danger in the air, the girl's fascination with Mattheo persisted. His laughter, a blend of malevolence and amusement, served as an odd catalyst, intensifying her intoxicated infatuation. Mattheo, sensing the peculiar dynamic at play, decided to indulge in the bizarre dance between predator and intrigued prey.

As she reached Mattheo's legs, a peculiar mixture of determination and inebriation etched across her face, she placed her unsteady hands upon them. It was evident that her legs weren't functioning as she intended, perhaps a consequence of the alcohol coursing through her veins. Mattheo closed the distance between them, the plastic-covered couch creaking as he leans down, closer to her. The girl's eyes widened, a mixture of fear and fascination swirling in their depths. Mattheo, knife still in hand, examined her closely, savoring the unease that hung in the air.

"So, do you know me?" he mused, his voice a low, taunting whisper. The girl, caught between terror and a strange allure, nodded hesitantly. "You're a... pretty guy," she slurred, her words barely coherent. Mattheo's smirk widened as he continued to play this twisted game of cat and mouse.

The wounded man, forgotten in the corner, seized the opportunity to crawl towards the door, hoping to escape this surreal nightmare. His movements, however, were not unnoticed by Mattheo, who turned his attention briefly toward the desperate attempts to flee. With a flick of his wrist, the knife flew through the air, embedding itself in the wooden floor just inches from the man's trembling form. The intended message was clear – there was no escape.

Returning his focus to the intoxicated girl, Mattheo leaned in, their lips just inches apart, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "You've got quite the courage to invite a stranger into your home," he remarked, a sinister edge to his tone. The girl, a cocktail of emotions, managed a weak smile, her inhibitions blurred by the effects of alcohol.

The girl let out a whimper, almost a whine for something. Her attention was only on his lips and touch as she squeezed his thigh, begging him. Mattheo smirks, loving how submissive she is for him, "What do you want, love?"

"M-More..." As Mattheo leaned in, closing the remaining distance, the scent of alcohol and the metallic tang of blood hung in the air.

Just as their lips were about to meet, a sudden commotion echoed from the corner of the room. The wounded man, disregarding the clear message Mattheo had sent with the knife, mustered a desperate plea. "Please, don't! Spare me!" he cried, his voice strained with agony and fear. Mattheo, irritated by the interruption, turned his attention to the wounded man with a cold, calculating gaze.

Mattheo watches how her eyes turn dark, no longer from lust or want. But in annoyance as she glimpses over her shoulder at the victim. "You're still here?" She stated boldly, this caused Mattheo to laugh as he leaned back on the couch, the plastic making a horrible noise.

"Not for long," In a swift, deliberate motion, Mattheo stood up to retrieve the knife, its gleaming blade catching the dim light. He twirled it casually in his hand, the metallic glint reflecting in his eyes. In a chilling pause, Mattheo halted his predatory circling of the victim. His attention shifted, and he turned to the girl with a genuine question in his eyes. "Should we?" he inquired as if her response held the power to dictate the man's fate.

The victim, keenly aware of this unexpected turn, intensified his pleading, tears streaming down his face, and snot staining his nose.

The girl, seemingly unfazed by the gravity of the situation, glanced at Mattheo for a brief moment before leisurely crawling up on the couch, her movements revealing a glimpse of lace underwear that elicited a growl from Mattheo. The two men in the room, each consumed by different emotions, watched her with a curious mix of fascination and uncertainty.

Casually reaching for her wine, the girl lay back on the couch, seemingly indifferent to the victim's plight. Whether it was an apathetic disregard or a consequence of her inebriation remained unclear. Mattheo, interpreting her actions with a predatory gleam in his eyes, concluded, "Seems not."

A sinister laughter escaped Mattheo's lips as he pulled the collar of the victim further into the room. As he passed the girl, he couldn't resist planting a quick peck on the corner of her lips. "I'll handle him, and we can continue in the bedroom, love," he remarked with a hint of sadistic pleasure. The girl responded with a soft giggle, clearly satisfied with the unfolding chaos.

"Please," she murmured, a single word that hung in the air, laden with a chilling sense of complicity.