#mattheo x reader

[sweetiechichi]

mattheo getting babydoll!reader ready for bed

“arms up.”

she blinks at him slowly, curled up on the edge of his bed in her tights and cardigan, mascara smudged at the corners of her eyes.

“why?”

“because you said you were tired ten minutes ago, and you haven’t moved since.”

she yawns, rubbing her cheek with the back of her hand. “i was going to.”

he crouches in front of her, lifting the hem of her cardigan to pull it over her head. she raises her arms, sleepy and slow, letting him tug it off gently.

“you could help instead of bossing me around,” she mumbles.

“i am helping, baby.”

he grabs the oversized t-shirt from the foot of the bed--one of his--and pulls it over her head without asking. she doesn’t complain. she leans into him slightly, warm and soft, her hair falling forward as she wriggles into the shirt.

he smooths her hair back, quick and practiced, and brushes a few strands behind her ear.

“lie down,” he says, voice lower now. “i’ll take your tights off.”

“that’s very forward,” she mutters, but she’s already sliding down into the sheets.

he rolls his eyes “you say that like i haven’t already seen you here, just like this.”

“that was different,” she says, letting her eyes close as he pulls the blanket up over her. “i wasn’t wearing tights then.”

“not the part i noticed.”

she hums, content, and tucks herself into the pillow.

he dims the lamp and slips into bed a minute later, cigarette low between his lips, one hand trailing along her back, the other holding a book steady across his legs.

neither of them says anything after that.

she’s asleep before he can.

[simp-for-love]

Mattheo being a distracting boyfriend

A/N: I decided to post some of my thoughts and scenes that I picture in my head more often. Sooo, enjoy ♡

Warnings: brief swearing, suggestive thoughts/memories, make-out-ish, pet names, mild teasing, academic neglect (oops), a hot boyfriend (yay)

Word count: ~850

Your boyfriend was so distracting. If you look up 'hot mess' in the dictionary, you're sure there would be a detailed description of Mattheo.

You were trying to get your Charm's essay done in his dorm room, panting over the parchment when he wandered after the Quidditch practice. He had been really good at leaving you alone for most of the day, to give you some space to work on your important assignment — but the absence of him made you feel even more needy for his attention and presence than usual.

And now he was here. All tall, flushed, and practically glowing under the dim dorm lighting. Mattheo wasn't just handsome. Handsome didn't cover it. He was unfair, the kind of beautiful that made your chest ache because he didn't even try.

His dark curls were damp from the steam of his post-practice shower, and his cheeks were flushed with exertion. The green Slytherin jersey clung to him like a second skin, outlining every sharp angle of his shoulders, the cut of his chest, the way his lean muscle moved when he stripped off his gloves with lazy fingers. His collar was loose, exposing a teasing glimpse of his collarbone and the strong line of his throat, flushed from the wind and adrenaline. His trousers sat low on his hips, streaked with mud, and Merlin help you, you could see the veins along his forearms as he flexed his hands.

You swallowed hard, but your mind was already spiraling. It wasn't just how he looked — it was what you knew already as well. You'd felt those strong thighs before, bracketing your hips. You'd felt those big hands gripping your waist firmly and gently, pinning you down like you weighed nothing. You knew the exact heat of his skin when he pressed up against you, the way his abs tightened when he groaned your name into your mouth. Your mind wandered to the way those muscles felt under your palms last time he pulled you against him after a match, his hands gripping your thighs as if they belonged there. The way his voice dropped when he whispered your name against your neck, smug and satisfied — both with his victory and having you cheering him on. And now, sitting there pretending to care about this stupid essay, all you could think about was every single time he'd used that body to completely ruin you. The memory alone had your thighs pressing together under the desk.

He didn't even have to try. He just existed and your brain turned to useless, lovesick mush.

You didn't realize you were shamelessly staring until his voice slid into the quiet room like silk.

"Y'know," he murmured, putting his gloves in the closet slowly, "for someone who begged me not to distract her today, you're looking at me like I'm your next meal."

You felt your cheeks burn, and immediately tried to duck your head back into your essay, pretending you hadn't just been full-on eye-fucking him from across the room. "I wasn't," you mumbled, utterly unconvincing.

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, crossing the room to drop onto the seat beside you. "Liar," he whispered, brushing his knuckles across your jaw before leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "You miss me, love?"

You nodded before you could stop yourself, and he grinned — lazy, wicked, and so stupidly pretty it should be illegal.

"I knew it," he said, voice low and warm, brushing his nose lightly against yours. "Could feel you missing me all the way on the pitch."

"You're so full of yourself," you whispered, but your voice lacked any real bite. Especially when he looked at you like that, like you were the only thing in the world he wanted to look at all his life.

"Mhm," he hummed, dropping his forehead gently to yours. "Only because you keep feeding my ego, sweetheart."

His fingers found the edge of your parchment, sliding it away like it was nothing more than an inconvenient barrier between him and you. "You've been working too hard," he murmured, mouth so close you could feel the heat of it against your skin. "Time for a little break."

You barely had time to protest before his lips were on yours. Soft at first. Just the press of familiarity, comfort and home.

Then deeper, slower, more intent. Like he had all the time in the world to kiss you properly and planned on using every second of it. His hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin like he was memorizing the feel of you.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his jersey, pulling him closer on instinct, desperate for more. He smiled against your lips when he felt it.

"There she is," he breathed out with a smile. "My sweet needy girl."

You made a sound in the back of your throat — half indignation, half want — but it dissolved the second he kissed you again, open-mouthed and warm, with just the barest scrape of teeth.

Your essay was definitely doomed.

[theosbaby]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ casually thinking about...

flashing mattheo during an argument

NSFW content ahead, +18

one second, he's shouting some unintelligible shit at you, and the next one, he's almost drooling at the sight of your pretty tits, naked just for him to see. he's falling silent in fucking milliseconds. but god, they're so bloody perfect... how could he not stare at them?

It's not fair, you know he loves them, and you use that knowledge against him. every. fucking. time.

he can't even remember what you were fighting about in the first place, not that he cares anymore, anyways. your full, round tits have him fucking mesmerised, the only thing in his mind at the moment being his feral need to bury his face in them and never come out again, not even for air.

"baby," he would growl, eyes not able to look away from your boobs.

you swear you can see a faint blush appear on his cheeks as you tell him, "i don't wanna fight anymore." you pout cutely at him while you're still tugging your top over your breasts, the piece of clothing it's so small that mattheo wonders how they were fitting inside it in the first place.

"me neither," he replies quietly, starting to walk towards you, not being able to stay away for a second more. "i'm sorry, a'ight?"

"it's okay... 'm sorry too," you also apologise, a little smile tugging at the corner of your plump lips as you watch him leaning forward to wrap his strong arms around you, lifting you up so your tits are right on his face.

and when he finally gets to bury his face in your glorious tits, he's not letting go. he's dragging you to his bed and dropping you in it without pulling an inch away. he lays on top of you, between your spread thighs, lips kissing your soft, pillowy flesh.

"fuck, i love these," he'd mumble against your chest, his hands squeezing your sides tightly. "so fucking perfect."

you chuckle softly at that, which makes your tits bounce slightly, and god, the sight makes him hard in seconds. he hums contently against the supple flesh of your boobs as he teasingly starts sucking and licking your tits everywhere but your nipples, alternating between the two as if he can't decide which one he wants to focus on.

his hands are roaming over your body, groping and caressing your curves as if he's re-learning them. he's squeezing your thighs, your ass, and occasionally, going up to your soft tummy, rough finger pads making goosebumps erupt in your skin.

you don't disturb him, letting him play with your boobs as he pleases while you run your slender fingers through his unruly curly hair. sometimes, you caress his face tenderly, watching with heavy lidded eyes while he worships your body. you find it cute, how much he loves your breasts. he's always wanting to touch them, lick them, kiss them... and it fucking turns you on so much, because you're so sensitive there.

you moan when finally settles on one nipple, sucking on it hard while his hand kneads the other breast. he'd push both boobs together, his mouth dropping the already hard peak he was sucking on to lick at the other. his hips are bucking against you the whole time, grinding his hard on against your drenched core.

he's definitely leaving marks, which you complain about, but he just looks up at you, pupils blown, and says, "they're mine, aren't they? i'll mark 'em if i want to."

after that, he slips his hand inside your shorts and panties, finding you completely soaked for him and that fact makes him groan as he returns to suck on your perky, reddened nipples. his fingers rub your swollen, little clit, making you whimper and squirm beneath him, but he uses his free hand to grab you and keep you still while he stuffs you full of his fingers, burying them knuckles deep. he's making you cum in minutes, orgasm so good that feels like fireworks exploding inside your tummy.

and then, once he's satisfied you, he rips both of your clothes off and makes you ride him. he'd be such a mess beneath you as he watches you jump on top of him, little whimpers escaping his lips against his will. the sight of your perfect tits bouncing right on his face while your tight little pussy squeezes his cock makes him cum so fucking fast that he's almost embarrassed... almost.

more.

[riddlesrizzler]

outerbanks: paradise on earth

It’s the sort of place where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island.

pogue! mattheo

Sun-bleached curls and salt-stained tank tops. A true Pogue to the core, he’s the kind of reckless that laughs in the face of danger, sprinting barefoot across boat decks with a bottle in one hand and a half-baked plan in the other. He’s got bruised knuckles from too many fights, a wicked smirk that hides the ache of betrayal, and loyalty that burns hotter than the Carolina sun. Mattheo lives like he’s got nothing to lose-he knows-he knows-he’s not the kind of boy girls like her are supposed to fall for. But when she looks at him like he’s not broken, like he’s not some lost cause from the Cut, Mattheo starts to believe, just a little, that maybe even storms have something worth saving.

kook! reader

She’s the kind of girl who makes the world feel softer just by being in it-sweet, sunlit, and impossibly untouched by the rough edges of life. Raised in the manicured perfection of Figure Eight, she’s all pastel sundresses, delicate laughter, and wide-eyed wonder, with a heart so kind it borders on naive. She says “please” and “thank you” without thinking, waves at every passerby, and believes the best in people-even when they don’t deserve it. There’s something almost storybook about her, like she was made of sugar and starlight, sheltered from the storms that rage beyond her gated world. But beneath all that softness is a quiet curiosity, a longing for something real-something wild. And that’s what draws her to Mattheo Riddle like gravity.

works

[allurearia]

"Is the lady alright?"

Where Mattheo tries to ask you if you're alright again.

Mattheo riddle x reader fluff!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡. (Part 1)

It was now Sunday, usually you would spend them holed up in Pansys dorm, sometimes accompanied by Astoria or Daphne, but that's all you've done the past two days. The crisp autumn air bit lightly at your skin as you were dragged towards the quidditch grounds, Pansy had dragged you out here, insisting that you both needed some “fresh air” after your shared lazy days inside her dorm. The two of you sat side by side, wrapped in light sweaters, and scarfs watching a few players fly around the pitch, half actually practicing for upcoming matches and the other half messing around.

"You can't stay holed up in my dorm all day," Pansy had said, tugging you by the wrist. "Come on, it'll be fun. Maybe we'll even catch Malfoy falling off his broom."  

You chuckled softly at the thought, now comfortably settled on the wooden benches, chatting with Pansy about anything that came to mind. She leaned back, clearly bored, but you found some peace in the quiet hum of the wind and the sound of distant broomsticks cutting through the air.  

Then, without warning, you spotted it 

a rogue bludger.  

It was spinning wildly, speeding right toward you with dangerous intents. Your breath caught as your mind went blank, your body too stunned to react in time. Just as it was about to collide with you—  

*BAM!*  

The bludger was knocked away at the last second by a flash of black, gray and green jersey and a perfectly timed swing. Mattheo Riddle was there, hovering on his broom with ease, the beater’s bat still raised from the powerful hit. The bludger sailed across the pitch, where Lorenzo fumbled to dodge it.  

“Sorry!* Lorenzo’s voice echoed loudly from across the field, followed by his laugh drifting through the wind.  

Mattheo, unfazed, turned his broom sharply and looked right at you. His dark curls were tousled from flying around.

“Is the lady alright?” he asked smoothly, his voice carrying a newfound confidence which wasn't the case when you last saw him,  as he gave you the faintest, knowing smile.  

Unlike the last time, he didn’t stutter or fumble. No awkward pauses. Just confidence like he had been waiting for this exact moment.  

Before you could even answer, Pansy crossed her arms and leaned back on the bench with a snort. “Hold on a second. Which one of us are you asking, Riddle?”

Mattheo didn’t miss a beat, his lips curling into a wicked grin. He turned his broom slightly toward Pansy, his curls shifting slightly in the breeze. “You?” he scoffed. “A lady? Please.”

Pansy gasped lightly, placing a hand over her chest like she’d been morally offended. “Excuse me?”

Mattheo smirked, tilting his head toward her with a mocking grin. “You’re no lady, Parkinson. I grew up with you. You once tried to rip my curls out because I beat you at a game of exploding snap.”

“That game was rigged and you know it,” Pansy shot back, her eyes narrowing.

You blinked up at him, a little stunned. Pansy nudged you with her elbow, grinning knowingly. “Your knight in shining leather,” she whispered under her breath, making you stifle a laugh.  

“I’m alright,” you replied, smiling back at Mattheo.  

For a moment, his gaze lingered on you, a faint smirk curling at the corner of his lips. With a casual nod, he took off, leaving you behind to wonder if either of you would ever muster the courage to ask where this was all really headed.

The sun was slowly starting to set, Half an hour had passed and you still couldnt keep your eyes off of Mattheo. you and Pansy were sitting on the edge of the stands, legs dangling lazily over the side as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. The chatter of students winding down from practice filled the air.

Pansy nudged your arm lightly with hers, giving you a longing glance. “You ever wonder what his deal is?”

You glanced at her, confused. “Whose deal?”

She gave you a look that said, Don’t play dumb. “Riddle. One second, he’s out harassing half the student body of Hogwarts or punching out someone's face. The next he’s pulling off the brooding, mysterious act like he’s starring in a romance novel.”

You snorted, though you knew exactly what she meant. “He’s probably just bored. That’s all it is.”

Pansy let out a soft hum, like she didn’t quite believe you. “Sure, if ‘bored’ looks like looking your way every time you breathe.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the fact that her words stirred the fantasies in your mind. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” she mused, grinning like she knew something you didn’t.

Just as you were about to say something else, the sound of footsteps on wood made you glance up. Mattheo was walking toward you, broom slung lazily over his shoulder, curls still windswept from flying.  

Pansy smirked knowingly, then stood up and dusted off her skirt. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” she said with a wink. “Good luck, love.”  

Before you could question her, she left, leaving you sitting there, suddenly all too aware of Mattheo’s presence.  

He stopped a few steps away, his usual smugness softened just a little like he was still figuring out how to navigate this new, vulnerable territory.  

“Hey,” he said, rocking slightly on the back of his feet, the broom tapping lightly against his shoulder.  

“Hey,” you replied, your voice sounding a little quieter than you’d intended.  

He scratched the back of his neck, looking unusually hesitant for someone so infamous for his confidence. But then he met your gaze again. 

“So,” he started, his tone casual but deliberate. “What do you say to Hogsmeade this weekend? Just us.”  

The words hung in the air between you, unexpected yet somehow perfect.  

For a moment, you could only blink, processing the fact that Mattheo Riddle, the same one who always deflected his feelings with sarcasm, had just.

Asked

You

Out??

A smile crept onto your face, and his gaze stayed locked on yours, watching carefully for your answer.  

“Sure,” you said, your heart fluttering. “I’d like that.”  

His smirk deepened, the sight of it making your stomach do a little flip. “Good,” he said, his voice low but satisfied, like he had just won the house cup. “I’ll see you Saturday, then.?”  

You were still seated as you watched him quickly turn away and start walking back towards the changing rooms, Not even waiting for your answer almost as if he was scared that you wouldn't be free that day, what you knew that even if you weren't free on saturday you know you would have cancelled any plan for this. 

What you didn’t know was the truth.  

Back in the Slytherin dorms, Mattheo had spent days standing in front of the mirror, practicing those exact words. He’d scowled at himself, muttering the line over and over, determined to make you forget the flustered mess he had become the first time.  

“Is the lady alright?” he repeated, glaring at his reflection as if sheer willpower would stop him from screwing it up again. “No, smoother. *Smoother, Mattheo.*”

When he finally got it just right, he enlisted Lorenzo to help. Pansy being there just to piss off Mattheo more.  

“Lorenzo, throw a bloody bludger at her. Just once don’t miss.”  

Lorenzo had laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch when Mattheo told him the plan. "You’re insane, you know that?”  

“Just do it,” Mattheo had muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "And make sure you dont fuck up like Nott had."  

So when Lorenzo launched the bludger today, yes, deliberately Mattheo was ready. And judging by the way you smiled at him from the stands, it had all been worth it.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[shakespearean-simp]

deatheater!mattheo finally meets deatheater!reader at a meeting...

m: *trying to use legilimency on r, only to meet a solid mental wall*

r: *looks up, making direct eye contact...and smirking*

m: *cocks an eyebrow* ...huh.

[ur-local-wizard]

A Birthday Special

A birthday gift to myself!

intox, fluff, bartender!mattheo x fem!reader

w/c: 878

a/n: based the bsf off two of my irl ones. also threw in some stuff specific to me hehe

nav masterlist au list

The night started with a dress. Nothing fancy. Just something new. Something that made you feel beautiful. It hugged your curves in all the right places. Was the perfect color on you – the one everyone compliments you on when you wear it. 

Your best friend insisted on it. She said it was perfect, that, “you only turn 20 once!” Tugged you into a cab before you could argue, insisting that you wouldn’t spend this milestone in pajamas rewatching The Princess Bride, The Conjuring, or any other of your favorite titles that you threw at her. 

So, you relented.  

The destination she chose? The most expensive cocktail bar in the city. Of course. “Only the best for you!” she had exclaimed after giving the cab driver the address. “It’s on me.”

The place was nicer than you expected. The booths were clad in velvet, a marble countertop adorned the bar, half the menu consisted of expensive drinks you weren’t sure you were able to pronounce, and of course the most handsome man you’ve ever seen as the bartender. 

Gossip in this city was inescapable, so you’ve heard about him. The guy who flipped bottles behind his back without spilling a single drop. The one who didn’t just mix cocktails, but juggled the shakers. The bartender who apparently made you feel like the only person in the room when he flashed a smile at you. 

You didn’t expect the gossip to be accurate, and you certainly didn’t expect him to be watching you so intently as you took a seat on a leather barstool. 

“Birthday girl!” your best friend shouted in a sing-song voice as she slid onto the stool beside you. You let your purse drop to your lap as the bartender strolled toward you. According to the sleek nameplate clipped to his chest, his name was Mattheo Riddle. He sported an all black shirt, sleeves rolled up, rings glinting when he rested his hands on the counter, leaning closer to you. 

“What do we have here?” His voice was warm, welcoming. “Someone’s celebrating.”

Your friend slung her arm around your shoulder. “It’s her birthday! She deserves something special for surviving two whole decades of life.” Her words were accompanied by a giggle.  

Mattheo raised an eyebrow at that, his eyes locking with yours. “Quite the accomplishment indeed.”

Straightening up, he didn’t bother to ask what you wanted, able to tell just by looking at you. You’d be a vodka cranberry or mojito type of girl – sweet, maybe tart, definitely tangy. With this in mind, he got to work, making stuff up as he went.

Liquids shimmered in a fancy glass. A bit of citrus. A flame. Some herb he gently hit against the counter to make more fragrant. His movements were precise, efficient, like he’d done this a thousand times. 

After a bit, he set a colorful drink in front of you with a smirk. “Happy Birthday, beautiful.”

You took a sip. Then another. Your taste buds exploded, taking in the sweetness, berries, and something floral. It was smooth, sweet, every flavor coexisting peacefully with the others. You could barely taste the liquor. Dangerous. 

⫘⫘⫘

You weren’t not sure how much time had passed. Two hours, maybe three. Music hummed low, mixing with the surrounding laughter and clink of glasses. You’re somewhat buzzed, a pleasant warmth creeping through your bones, turning everything slightly fuzzy. 

Mattheo kept showing up, somehow knowing every time your drink ran low. Another refill, accompanied by a smirk and a compliment that made your stomach flip. Apparently he’s named the drink after you.

At some point, he stopped adding alcohol. You didn’t notice at first. After all, the drinks still tasted amazing. But you’d noticed less of a bite in the last two. They were softer, going down without a burn – all flavor, fizz, and Mattheo’s careful touch.

So, you leaned forward when he delivered your next refill. “Is this one a birthday special too?”

He chuckled. “Nah, this one’s called ‘Watered Down To Keep You From Falling Off That Stool.’”

You narrowed your eyes and pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You’re cutting me off.”

“Slowing you down,” he corrected, unfazed. “You’ve got the kind of giggle and silly smile people regret not remembering.” 

That earned a surprised stare from you. “Weirdly poetic for a bartender.”

He grinned. “You love it.” 

He wasn’t wrong.

⫘⫘⫘

Before you were about to leave, your best friend ran to the bathroom and returned carrying a smug look on her face. You didn’t realize what the cause of that expression was until you saw Mattheo tucking something into his pocket, a boyish grin on his face. A carefully folded white napkin, decorated with scrawled numbers. 

You whirled around as your friend ushered you out the door. “Did you just give him your number?” 

She cheekily grinned. “Yours.”

⫘⫘⫘

The next morning, you wake up with smudged makeup, and only a singular heel still on. Your phone buzzed beside you, and when you picked it up, you saw a text from an unknown number. 

Drink some water and take some advil. Hope your hangover isn’t too bad. -Mattheo

You smile lightly before replying, You always text customers the morning after?

His response is immediate. Only the pretty ones.

Hope you enjoyed!!! Had this idea for MONTHS so I'm so excited to get this out there eeeee!!

tag list: @mattyriddlesbitch @sturniolover13 @thereeallink @voidangxls @viperify @winnie1emon @i-await @yuunarii-arii

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

[slytherin-princess-x]

Switch?

Mattheo x reader

Smutty, sub Mattheo

Her pov:

Only the crackle of his dying fire and the rhythmic beat of my own heart filled the silence, amplified by the heavy press of Mattheo Riddle against me. We were tucked away in his dorm and the air around us practically thrummed with a raw, undeniable energy.

His lips were a familiar drug, intoxicating and demanding. They devoured mine, urgent and possessive, tasting of rebellion and something uniquely him. My fingers were tangled in the dark silk of his hair, gripping with an intensity that matched his kisses. His hands, usually so precise and controlled, were wild on my back, tracing the curve of my spine before slipping lower, pulling me flush against his hard frame. I could feel the heat radiating from him, a furnace that threatened to consume me whole.

Every gasp, every moan that escaped my throat was swallowed by him, fueling the inferno. My body was singing, responding to his every touch, every thrust of his hips that promised more. He was a force of nature, and I was usually content to be swept away, lost in the storm he created.

Then his hand, warm and firm, slipped under the hem of my shirt. A shiver, not entirely of pleasure, ran through me as his fingers ghosted over my skin, inching upwards. This was the usual progression. Mattheo would take, and I would give. He’d push, and I’d yield. It was a dance we knew well, a power dynamic that had always seemed etched in stone between us.

But tonight, something shifted. As his thumb brushed against the lace of my bra, poised to make his next, inevitable move, a spark of defiance ignited within me. An unexpected surge of clarity, of control. Why did it always have to be him? Why did I always have to follow his lead?

My hands, which had been clutching his hair, moved. One slipped down to his chest, pushing gently, creating just an inch of space. His lips paused, pulling back slightly, eyes dark and questioning in the dim light. I met his gaze, a slow, deliberate smile curving my lips.

Then, I moved.

Instead of letting him take, I gave, but on my own terms. I tightened my thighs around his, angling my hips. Slowly, deliberately, I ground down.

The sensation was electric. The hard swell of him against the thin fabric of my jeans, the friction, the undeniable proof of his arousal beneath me. I held his gaze as I did it again, a little deeper this time, letting my hips roll.

A sound, raw and utterly unexpected, ripped from his throat. Not a sigh, not a groan. A soft, guttural whimper. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated need, of exquisite vulnerability, a sound I had never, ever heard him make.

The effect on me was instantaneous, breathtaking. A shockwave of pure, unadulterated power surged through my veins, making my knees tremble and my breath hitch. Mattheo, the dominant, the unyielding, the one who always had the upper hand, had just whimpered under my touch.

His eyes were wide, blown out, reflecting a mixture of shock and desperate pleasure. His grip on my waist tightened almost painfully, as if he were trying to anchor himself, to hold onto sanity in the face of this unexpected assault on his control. His body was rigid, a testament to the effort it took for him not to buck into me.

And I, for the first time, felt truly, utterly in charge. The whimper was a siren song, luring me deeper into a territory I hadn't known I craved. It was a hunger, newly awakened, to hear that sound again, to unravel him further, to see just how much control I could wrest from the boy who thought he had all of it.

I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear, my voice a low, teasing whisper, "Did you like that, Mattheo?"

His entire body shuddered against mine, his breath hitched, and for a long, taut moment, he said nothing. He couldn't. Only a strained, desperate gasp escaped him as I slowly, deliberately, began to grind against him again. This time, I arched my back slightly, putting more pressure, feeling the full, undeniable proof of his rigid arousal pressing into me through the denim. The friction was exquisite, for both of us.

Another sound, closer to a strangled groan than a whimper, tore from his throat. His head, which had been resting against my shoulder, tipped back, exposing the pale column of his throat, a vein pulsing frantically. His eyes, fixed on some unseen point above us, were wide, cloudy with a desperate pleasure that bordered on pain. His hands, still clamped around my waist, tightened further, almost bruising, but I welcomed the pressure. It was no longer a possessive grip; it was a desperate hold, as if he were trying to anchor himself to me, as if I were the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly tilted on its axis for him.

"Mattheo?" I whispered, my voice laced with a dangerous curiosity, the thrill of this new, intoxicating power making my own heart pound. I shifted again, just a fraction, a micro-movement that seemed to send another jolt through him, making his body arc into mine without conscious thought.

His eyes snapped to mine, wild and pleading. He couldn't speak, his jaw tight, but his gaze was a raw, naked plea. It was a silent, desperate question, a begging for more, a begging for release, a begging for anything I might offer. His usual impenetrable mask was shattered, revealing a vulnerability I’d only ever dreamed of.

"You want more, don't you?" I murmured, my thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His Adam's apple bobbed convulsively as he swallowed hard. His lips parted, but no sound emerged. He just stared at me, his eyes wide and dark, mirroring the depth of his sudden, overwhelming need. A single bead of sweat traced a path down his temple.

His hands, still locked on my waist, began to tremble uncontrollably, and he pulled me closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling sharply as if my scent was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. "Please," he rasped, the word barely audible, broken, utterly un-Mattheo. "Please... you... I need..."

It was the most beautiful sound I had ever heard. The mighty Mattheo Riddle, reduced to a desperate plea, his control shattered, his need laid bare. And he was begging me. The power surged through me, electric and potent. I could give him what he craved, or I could make him beg harder. For the first time, the choice was entirely mine. And seeing him so utterly undone, I knew I was only just beginning to play. His entire focus was on me, his body trembling, waiting for my next move, utterly at my mercy. It was intoxicating.

Taglist: @yootvi @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy @redeemingvillains @nodoubtily @voidofsunlight

[aur0ral1ghts]

Sex with Mattheo Riddle.

ɴsғᴡ.

ʜᴇᴀᴅ ᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴs ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜᴏᴡ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ sᴇx ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ɪs ʟɪᴋᴇ.

• Either hates or loves foreplay. It just depends on his mood. When he is in the mood for it, he makes sure to kiss and worship every part of your body. When he isn't, the second you walk into his room, with your hand in his, he basically shoves you onto his bed, kissing you like a starved man, his hand toying with the hem of your tiny skirt.

• This man is turned on by literally anything. Like you could accidentally touch his hand, and he would go feral. In the bedroom, he would go rock hard from anything. Biting his lip during a kiss? Instantly Hard. Lifting off his shirt? Hard. Seeing you in your pretty lingerie set? Hard.

• He could be either dominant or submissive. It just depends on his mood. Or the girl he's with. With you, he could be the most submissive thing ever. He loves it when you tie him up, sucking his cock until he's sweating profusely. He also loves having control over you, he loves when your underneath him, screaming his name.

• His kinks would probably be tying you up. Seeing you underneath him makes this guy go absolutely crazy. Another kink of his is choking. He would love to choke you during spicy times.

• He loves the feeling of excitement of fucking you in a public place, like an empty classroom, knowing anyone could walk in and catch you guys in the act. His favorite place would definitely be the common room at night. He would shove a thumb in your mouth as he whispers, "Dont want to be too loud. You don't want people to catch us, doll?"

• He's either the most gentle or most roughest person you'll ever meet. Again, it just depends on his mood and the person. One day he can fuck your brains out, making you scream his name. And the next day he'll fuck you so gently, you'll feel so safe with him.

[theosang3ls]

Crawling back to you

inspired by Hozier’s version of “Do I wanna know?”

pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

summary: Mattheo is your new neighbour who quickly becomes obsessed with you and finds rather creative ways to talk to you

warnings: mentions of blood, fluff

A/N: in my mind every single song by Hozier is Mattheo coded. I had so much fun writing this! English is not my first language! Hope you enjoy reading this!

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You stood quietly over Mattheo, his left palm bloodied and trembling ever so slightly beneath your touch. The harsh scent of disinfectant clung to the air between you as you dabbed at his wound with a cotton pad, each movement slow, deliberate, and tender. Your fingers moved carefully, reserved in their precision, as though he were made of fragile porcelain and might shatter under the weight of anything more. The sting of the antiseptic hitting his torn skin made Mattheo hiss under his breath, his jaw tightening—but the pain barely registered compared to the storm of emotion twisting in his chest.

He couldn't take his eyes off you. There you were: utterly focused, lips pressed into a firm, concentrated line, your brow slightly furrowed as you worked. Your hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, a few loose strands falling across your cheeks, catching the light in a way that made you seem almost otherworldly. You were breathtaking, ethereal, and completely unaware of just how beautiful you looked like that—lost in the task of patching him up with a quiet determination that made his heart ache.

Since the moment Mattheo had first seen you, since his gaze had landed on your soft, unassuming figure in the hallway of your apartment block, something inside him had shifted. You had smiled at him— just a polite, neighborly smile—but it had been enough to snare his thoughts entirely. He hadn't believed in fate, not until the day he realized he'd moved into the unit just two doors down from yours. And now, sitting on your worn-in couch, his injured hand in yours, it felt like the universe had led him here with purpose. You were kind, graceful, quietly radiant— a walking contradiction to the chaos that often lived inside him. And he wanted to stay in this moment for as long as you'd let him.

"You're all patched up," you murmured, voice soft as you smoothed the final fold of the bandage over his palm. Your touch lingered for a moment longer than necessary, gentle and warm. Then you looked up at him, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Can I get you anything else?"

Mattheo's heart stuttered. That smile—god, that smile—was enough to make him weak. He felt something in his chest unravel. "Just a glass of water," he replied, offering a smile of his own, the kind he didn't give to many. It felt unfamiliar on his face, but it bloomed easily in your presence. You nodded and rose from the couch, heading toward the kitchen, your silhouette briefly disappearing into the dim light.

As you turned the tap and filled the glass, you finally summoned the question that had been sitting on your tongue since he first stepped into your apartment. "You want to tell me how you got that?" you asked, voice casual, but laced with curiosity as you leaned your back against the counter, arms crossed.

Mattheo hesitated. His mind spun quickly through the easiest lie, one that wouldn't spark more questions. "I broke a jar," he said finally, tracing absent circles over the bandage you had so gently applied just minutes before. "Tried to pick up the glass, tripped a little. Guess I wasn't being careful."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, and offered him a look that made him simultaneously want to laugh and squirm. "Nice story," you said, chuckling slightly. "Now tell me what actually happened."

Mattheo pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense, his features twisting into a playful expression. "Are you implying that I'm lying to you?" he asked, tone exaggeratedly wounded, though there was amusement glinting behind his eyes.

"That's exactly what I'm doing," you shot back, your smirk deepening, your eyes dancing with the challenge.

And just like that, something unspoken passed between you—a shift in the air, a charge that neither of you fully understood, but both of you felt.

"What makes you think I'm lying, hmm?" Mattheo asked, his voice smooth and low, edged with amusement. He cocked a brow, a smug little smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth—a smirk you'd seen far too many times in the hallways, in the elevator, in passing glimpses at your mailbox. You hated that it affected you the way it did. Hated how your pulse picked up every time you caught sight of him. How your breath always stalled for just a second too long.

There was something about him—something magnetic and consuming. Maybe it was his unwavering confidence, or the lazy way he always seemed to lean against doorframes like he had nowhere to be, like he had all the time in the world just to look at you. Maybe it was those dark curls, often tousled like he'd just rolled out of bed, or those impossibly deep brown eyes that made it hard to look away. Or maybe it was the small scar on the bridge of his nose—a subtle imperfection that made him all the more perfect. Whatever it was, he left you flustered in a way you hadn't been in years. You weren't the type to get distracted by someone so easily—but Mattheo was an exception, and your thoughts betrayed you constantly because of it.

You pushed yourself off the edge of the counter where you'd been leaning, suddenly aware of how close he still was, and walked over to hand him the glass of water. As you did, your fingers brushed his, sending an uninvited jolt of electricity through your veins. "One," you began, coolly, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I didn't find a single shard of glass when I was cleaning your hand. Two, that cut's far too straight to have come from a broken jar. And three..." you looked up at him, your gaze unwavering, "we live close enough that I would've heard something shatter in your apartment. But I didn't."

Mattheo's eyebrows rose, genuinely impressed. He hadn't expected you to pay such close attention—to every sound, every detail, every flicker of inconsistency in his words. God, it only made you more irresistible. The way your voice held firm, the way that one loose strand of hair curved down your cheek—he was hopelessly enamored. "Aren't you a bright one," he teased, the words curling out of his mouth like a purr. His gaze locked onto yours, heated and steady.

You tried to hold it, really, you did—but the intensity in his eyes was unbearable. It made your stomach flip, made your throat tighten. You hummed in response, barely audible, before quickly turning away and heading back toward the kitchen. You didn't need anything from there—not really. But the nearness of him, the way your skin still tingled where his hand had touched yours—it was too much. You needed distance. Space to think. Space to breathe. Because if you stayed too close, for even a moment longer, you might do something stupid— like lean in and kiss him.

"Care to explain how it really happened?" you asked, your voice a little quieter now as you fiddled absentmindedly with a spoon left out on the counter.

Silence.

You glanced over your shoulder, expecting a response—but he was still watching you, like he was drinking you in. Your heart jumped at the intensity of his stare, and something twisted in your chest. You narrowed your eyes slightly, thinking through the details. That kind of wound—clean, precise—it hadn't come from glass. It looked like the kind of cut a blade would make. But... how the hell did someone slice the inside of their palm like that?

And then it hit you.

"Oh my god..." you whispered, eyes widening slightly as you turned to face him fully. "Did you... cut yourself, Mattheo?"

Your voice softened on his name, barely more than a breath—but it stopped him cold. The way you said it, laced with concern and a quiet, blooming anger, made something primal shift in him. He could barely handle how it made him feel.

He grinned, far too casually for what he was admitting to. "Only so I could be taken care of by my favorite neighbor," he replied with a shrug, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks flushed instantly. Heat rose to the surface of your skin, betraying your every effort to remain composed. You hated how easily he disarmed you—hated even more how much you liked it.

You didn't respond. Couldn't. Your body betrayed you with silence, and that was all the confirmation Mattheo needed.

"Are you turned on?" he asked, letting out a quiet, breathy chuckle that wrapped around your spine like silk. "What? No!" you blurted, your voice too quick, too defensive.

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk growing. "Now look who's lying."

And then he stood up.

You should have stepped back—your mind screamed at you to create space, to run before it got worse—but your body stayed rooted in place as he crossed the room in long, confident strides. Each step toward you made the room feel smaller, warmer, heavier with unspoken tension.

His hand came up gently, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing a featherlight path across your skin. Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded. You looked up into his eyes—god, those eyes—and felt like you might melt right there.

"Tell me," he murmured, leaning in closer, his voice dipping into something low and intoxicating. "What is it that turns you on, hmm?" Your gaze faltered again, flicking downward in a futile attempt to escape the intensity. But his other hand rose, cradling the other side of your face, holding you in place with a kind of softness that made your knees weaken. "Don't shy away from me now," he whispered, eyes searching yours.

And for a moment —just a moment— the world stopped spinning. You couldn't breathe. Or maybe you were just too aware of every breath, every inch of space between your bodies—what little was left of it. His hands framed your face with such reverent gentleness, as if you were something sacred, something fragile. His thumbs moved slowly across your cheeks, tracing invisible paths that left your skin tingling in their wake. And his eyes... god, his eyes were devouring you—full of heat and curiosity and something deeper, something almost tender.

He leaned in just slightly, just enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your lips, and it took everything in you not to close the distance.

"I mean it," he said softly, voice low and husky, as though the air between you wasn't already heavy enough. "Don't look away."

You didn't. You couldn't.

Your heart thundered against your ribs, your lips parted ever so slightly, and time stilled around you. The kitchen disappeared. The world fell silent. All you could feel was his touch and his gaze and the way every part of you leaned toward him like a tide being pulled by the moon.

"Say something," he whispered, his lips barely inches from yours.

But you didn't need to. Because in the next heartbeat, you closed the space between you.

Your lips met his—tentative at first, like a question you didn't know how to ask—but the moment they touched, everything else unraveled. His hands tightened ever so slightly on your cheeks, pulling you closer, grounding you in the softness of his mouth against yours. He kissed you like he'd been waiting forever—slow, deep, savoring every second like he never wanted it to end. You felt his breath hitch, the way he exhaled into the kiss, like you'd stolen the air from his lungs and he didn't mind one bit.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto. And maybe you did—because kissing Mattheo felt like falling. Like diving headfirst into something dangerous and beautiful and completely out of your control.

He kissed you like he meant it. Like he'd thought about this a thousand times and none of those daydreams came close to the real thing. His hands slid down, one settling lightly on your waist, the other brushing the small of your back, anchoring you to him.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your foreheads touched, and your noses brushed. His eyes were still closed for a moment, as though committing every second of the kiss to memory.

You didn't say anything right away. Neither did he. You just stood there—hearts pounding, breathing each other in. "I knew it," he murmured finally, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "You were turned on." You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. "You're insufferable."

"And yet," he whispered, tilting his head slightly, brushing his lips against yours again in a teasing ghost of a kiss, "you kissed me."

You didn't argue.

Because you already knew you'd do it again.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A/N: this was so cute I loved writing it! Hope you loved reading it as well!

!Reblogs, Likes and Comments are highly appreciated¡

masterlist

…until next time lovelies💋

[riddlesbunny]

drunk on jealousy

summary: Trying to get back at Matty for making you jealous, you end up in a predicament none of you saw coming.

pairing: Mattheo Riddle & Theo Nott x Reader

word count: 1.8k words

warnings: Explicit smut, jealousy, alcohol consumption, grinding in public, threesome, oral (f and m receiving), p in v sex, cuck mattheo if you squint, creampie, 18+ MDNI

note: send me Matty requests!!

The common room is buzzing as it usually does after the boys win against Gryffindor. Excitement lingers in the air, along with the scent of something stronger, that you can only assume was snuggled in by a group of rowdy seventh years. 

Laughter and cheers echo through the room, drowning out the crackling fireplace, where a few players lounge.  But none of that matters because all you can focus on is Mattheo’s hand on another girl’s waist, lips brushing against her ear as she giggles. Fucking bastard. 

Your rage and jealousy have to marching over towards Mattheo, but suddenly your path is blocked.

“He’s not worth the trouble, bella.” 

“Get outta my way, Theo!” you snarl, trying to shove past him but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he pulls you closer into him, “Why don’t you give me your attention tonight instead, mi amor?” 

Your eyes narrow, searching his emerald irises for any hint of insincerity. 

“What do you mean?” 

He hands you a glass of firewhisky and pulls you towards one of the couches. He pats his thighs as he sits, motioning for you to sit on his lap. 

“Really?” 

“Do you want to make him jealous or not?” 

It doesn’t take long for the firewhisky to hit and after a few minutes, you find yourself basically grinding on Theo. 

His hands grasp your hips possessively, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he steers you in slow, tortuous circles on his lap. 

As you make eye contact with Matty from across the room you can instantly tell he’s jealous. 

The way his fingers tighten around his glass. The sharp flicker of his gaze as it snaps to you, burning, jaw clenching. 

“Anddd he’s still looking,” Theo muses, voice low, lips barely ghosting your skin. 

You press down harder on his lap, your pussy involuntarily getting wetter at the contact, and a moan escapes your lips. 

Matty moves— and in an instant, he’s towering over you and Theo, looking murderous. Before you can even smirk in satisfaction, his hand is gripping your wrist, tugging you off of Theo’s lap with little effort. 

“I think that’s enough,” Matty growls, his voice laced with something dark. His grip tightens, not exactly painful, but firm, leaving no room for you to argue. 

“Didn’t take you to be the jealous type,” Theo says casually. 

Mattheo doesn’t dignify him with a response. Instead, he drags you though the sea of students, out of the common room and straight to his dorm. 

The door slams behind you and Mattheo’s hands are all over you. 

“What the hell was that, huh?” He asks, pulling your shirt down over your bra before his hands grip your ass harshly. But before you can say anything, there is a knock at the door followed by Theo’s voice, smug as ever. 

“Hai lasciato cadere questo, principessa.” 

 You forgot this, Princess.

When Mattheo opens the door, Theo is dangling your silver bracelet in the air.  It must have slid off your wrist while you were dancing on him. 

“Thank you,” you say as your grab the jewelry from him. Mattheo stands impatiently, waiting for him to leave. But instead, Theo enters the room. 

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt, do continue whatever it was you were planning to do to her.” 

It is now extremely clear to you that Theo still has a raging hard-on from when you were dancing on him.

“Not with you in here… out!” Mattheo all but shouts at Theo. 

Theo’s eyes darken, “we’ve done it before.”

At this, you give Mattheo a look of bewilderment.

“Not with her.”

You swallow hard, gripping the bracelet in your palm. "What does he mean, ‘done it before'?"

Mattheo hesitates and you feel your pulse quicken. 

 "Mattheo."

His gaze meets yours.

 "It's complicated,” he says and you take a step back. 

"That's not an answer."

A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“He likes to get under my skin, baby. That's all it is."

You shake your head, "I don't believe you."

Mattheo steps forward, reaching for you, but you pull away and his eyes darken. 

"Don't let him mess with your head, baby. He's playing a game."

You bite your lip, watching him closely. 

“And what if I want to play?”

Mattheo’s gaze sharpens, his frustration morphing into something else—something dangerous.

“You don’t,” he says, voice low, possessive, but the way he looks at you says otherwise.

Theo grins widely now, taking another step towards you. 

"It seems your boy doesn’t want to share you,” he states as you glance at Mattheo, “but you have the power here, bella.”

“Oh, this is bullshit!” Mattheo groans. 

“I think you want to,” Theo muses, motioning to the wet patch you left on his pants earlier, causing you to blush. You’re afraid to even look at Mattheo now.

Theo reaches out to cup your chin, tilting your head back so you look up at him. "If you asked him right now to watch while I fuck you senseless, I bet he'd do it."

Your heart hammers in your chest, but now you’re horny, and your decide to take a risk. 

"Would you, Matty?" you ask, turning your head slightly to break Theo's hold. Your heart races as you meet Mattheo's eyes again, searching for any sign that this might not end in disaster.

All of you know that Mattheo could never deny you anything. 

Mattheo's eyes flicker from Theo to you, then back again. His jaw clenches and unclenches, a muscle twitching there. 

"Yes," he finally growls and your pussy pulses in response, wetness soaking through your panties.

With a smug smile, Theo leans down to press his lips against yours. Before you can deepen the kiss, Mattheo's hands are on your waist, pulling you away, “not yet," he commands. Theo smirks, backing off for now.

Mattheo leads you over to his bed, pushing you gently onto your back.His eyes never leave yours as he joins you on the mattress, lying beside you.

"Lift your hips, darling," Mattheo orders, sliding his hands under the hem of your skirt. You comply, lifting your ass so he can slide your drenched panties down your legs and toss them aside.

Theo watches, licking his lips as Mattheo parts your thighs and lowers his head between them. His tongue delves into your slick folds, stroking through your slick heat before circling around your swollen clit.

Your breath catches as Mattheo sucks your clit into his mouth, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Theo watches greedily, one hand stroking himself through his pants.

Mattheo's fingers slide inside you, curling upwards as they press against that spot only he knows how to find.

Your moans fill the room as Mattheo devours you, fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, driving you closer to climax. Theo yanks his pants and boxers down so his cock springs free.

Theo fists his shaft, working it furiously as he watches Mattheo feast on you. His other hand grips your breasts roughly, squeezing and kneading you through your shirt.

As you writhe beneath him, you feel yourself begin to peak, Mattheo stops suddenly, raising his head to look at you. Your core aches, yearning for release. "What….. why did you stop?"

"Because, baby," Mattheo breathes, a cruel twist to his lips. "I thought you wanted me to watch him fuck you senseless?” 

You whimper in protest as your cheeks burn, your pussy pulsing with unsatisfied need. But before you can utter a word, Theo is there, positioning himself between your spread legs.

Theo's rough hands grip your ass, tilting your hips as he rubs his cock along your slit. Every inch of your skin tingles as he drags his length through your wetness, not entering you, teasing you further.

"You're torturing me," you moan, hips bucking in a pathetic attempt to impale yourself on Theo's cock. He smirks, enjoying this game too much.

Theo's hips flex, pressing just an inch of his thick cock into you. "Ohhh fuck”, you moan, feeling the tight fit as you stretch to accommodate him. He pushes a little deeper, making you gasp.

Your nails dig into the sheets as Theo slides in further, a delicious ache spreading through your core. Mattheo leans down, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss.

Theo pumps into you, his hips meeting yours with forceful thrusts.

Your lips still tangled with Mattheo's, moaning into his mouth, your fingernails now dig into his chest. 

Breaking the kiss, Mattheo trails his mouth down your neck, nipping and sucking as he moves lower. Theo slams into you harder, hitting that sweet spot with each thrust.

"Let me taste you now, baby," you say to Mattheo.

 "Yeah?" He asks, eyes darting wildly between yours.

“Mhm," you all but moan as you bite down on your lip so hard you swear you could draw blood.

Within seconds Mattheo's pants are down and his erect cock is level with your face.

Taking Mattheo's thick cock in your hands, you guide it to your eager mouth, wrapping your lips around its tip. Your tongue swirls around the head, tasting precum and saltiness, encouraging more.

Moaning around Mattheo's cock, you take more of him into your mouth as Theo increases his pace, hammering into your wet cunt as Mattheo pushes deeper into your throat.

Your jaw aches with the effort to accommodate Mattheo's girth, saliva pools at the corners of your mouth as you take him deep. 

Theo slams into you harder, driven wild by the sight of you sucking Mattheo's cock. Sweat beads on his brow as he pounds you relentlessly, adding the occasional twist of his hips to grind against your clit.

"Such a dirty little slut you are for us, bella" Theo notes, causing your pussy to flutter

Your walls clutch tightly around Theo's cock, your orgasm building with each thrust. 

"That's it, baby," Mattheo groans, his fingers tangling in your hair as he face-fucks you, “take every inch of that big cock."

"Mmm," you babble around Mattheo's cock, suction increasing as Theo's strokes become more aggressive. Your body tightens like a bowstring ready to snap, pleasure coiling in your belly.

You raise your eyes to Mattheo's, pleading silently. Theo slaps your ass, punctuating each of his words with a forceful thrust. "Cum. for. us., Bella," he demands.

You’re over the edge as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. 

Your climax triggers Theo's, his cock throbbing as he erupts deep inside you. The sound of Mattheo's ragged breaths fill the air as he grips your hair tighter. "Fuck yeah, baby. Cum all over his cock. That's it, that's a good girl," he praises before erupting down your throat in hot spurts.

As Theo pulls out, ropes of cum spill from your spasming hole, coating the sensitive folds of your pussy. Mattheo drags you upright, locking his mouth onto yours.

Mattheo kisses you ferociously, the salty tang of his cum still on your tongue mingling with Theo's musk lingering on your lips.

“I guess we’ll have to win all of our matches from now on, if it’ll lead to this,” Theo smirks.

“Okay, you’ve overstayed your welcome! Get out!” Mattheo yells as the three of you erupt into a fit of laughter. 

[drcomttheo]

MATTHEO RIDDLE x YN

summary: You want a label for your relationship and he wants you. warnings: Fluff, established relationship words: 934 a/n: Excerpt from my fic "Black Cats and Broken Mirrors"

Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML

Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐒

“I told you!” Pansy exclaimed, her voice triumphant as she delivered a lighthearted hit to Theo, while he sat there, shaking his head in bewilderment, caught off guard.

“I know, I didn’t believe you at first. So, it’s true then, you two really are, huh?”

“Are… what?” You stammered, confusion flickering in your eyes.

“Together…?” Theo's voice cut through the tension, while your cheeks bloomed with a pink hue, and Mattheo’s posture became firm.

“Honestly, I’m not really sure what we are,” You said, your arms crossed tightly as you fixed your gaze on Mattheo.

He shifted back on his heel, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

“I thought it was implied when you moved your belongings into my home, Y/LN,” he remarked, his voice carrying an enigmatic quality, while you let out a scoff and muttered something inaudibly.

He rolled his eyes, and Theo broke the tension once more.

“Didn’t mean to cause relationship discourse…” Theo teased, which elicited a soft chuckle from Pansy, her amusement barely contained.

“It’s alright; Mattheo and I will talk about that in a minute. It was nice meeting with you guys, let's do it again and more often,” you said, your voice soft yet resolute as you stepped towards the front door. “Now, let’s go, Riddle…” You said as you pulled Mattheo into your home, leaving Theo and Pansy walking away towards their own, their laughter echoing in the air, amused by your eagerness.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind the two of you, your voice rang out in the entryway.

“Implied!” Your voice echoed as you strode purposefully toward your bedroom, while Mattheo hurried behind you, the sound of his heels clicking against the floor as he struggled to match your swift pace.

“It was most certainly not implied!” You exclaimed as you approached your room.

In one swift motion, you threw the door open, stepping inside with purpose. You turned to face the entrance, ready to greet him the moment he crossed the threshold.

“I'm sorry? Wasn't the saying “I love you” and the conversation about having my children clear enough to suggest that we are in a relationship?" With a swift motion, Mattheo burst into the room, the door slamming shut with a resounding thud that echoed his frustration.

“What do you want? Please, Y/N, tell me!” Mattheo's voice cut through the air, steady yet tinged with an intensity that was unmistakably heightened as he approached you.

“Would you like a label?” Mattheo inquired, his presence drawing closer to you, prompting you to instinctively retreat a step.

“I simply wish to understand what we are—if that requires a label, so be it, I want a label!” You retorted as you met his gaze, and Mattheo took a moment to appraise you from head to toe.

After a brief moment of contemplation, he paused to gather his thoughts.

“You want a label, huh?” Mattheo leaned closer, his body brushing against yours as he whispered, “Are you wanting me to say you can be my girlfriend?” Mattheo's voice lingered on each word with a measured cadence as he imbued them with weight and significance.

“It feels like a step back, doesn’t it? Almost as if we’re retracing our steps.” Mattheo pressed on, and you felt a wave of anxiety wash over you, your heart racing as nerves coursed through your body.

“You see, in a typical scenario, you would be my girlfriend, and we would share those sweet words, ‘I love you.’ From there, our conversations would naturally drift towards dreams of the future, envisioning marriage and even the idea of children.” Mattheo's voice dripped with a calculated calmness and you shuddered at the mere mention of marriage.

It wasn't that the thought of marrying him frightened you; rather, it was the unsettling realization that you hadn't even defined their relationship yet.

Typically, dating would be the first step, but Mattheo had confidently asserted that it was all implied. Perhaps it had been, especially after you had confessed your love for him and with all your belongings now nestled in his home, they were living together, yet a lingering desire for certainty tugged at your heart—a yearning to know and be assured of your forever. 

“Marriage… That's forever,” You spoke, and Mattheo responded with a subtle nod.

“It is.”

“I don’t think I’m ready—”

“I know and that's why I’m waiting…” Mattheo stated quietly, “But you want a label.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, ensnared in a tangled web of complexities. Though you yearned for a label, your desire for him eclipsed all else, leading you to ponder if perhaps they could forgo that chapter altogether. Maybe being his girlfriend was silly, and when you could finally decide—when you could have forever—then you could just skip to being his wife. 

“I have one condition if it's too late for labels.”

“And what's that?” He questioned with a smile.

“You'll—you'll make me a Riddle.”

Mattheo felt his heart leap out of his chest as if he had been waiting for this moment, and now that it was here, everything felt electric.

“Not now, but—”

“I've been wanting to make you a Riddle since the moment I first laid eyes on you. I will have you forever—when you're ready, I'll make you a Riddle, you’d be damn good wife,” Mattheo confessed, his voice low and earnest as he cradled your face in his hands and gave you a long and passionate kiss that spoke of promises and a future intertwined.

“No labels, just your last name.”

[peachigummi]

is that right? ☏ mattheo riddle.

summary: both your parents had set up an arranged marriage. you both simply tolerated it for the most part, as it really was in the best interest for your respective families. over the year, you started to really develop feelings for each other - especially in wanting to expand the family name.

pairing: mattheo x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ jealousy, smut like literal major baby making so there is unprotected p in v and creampie, so breeding!kink, oral sex (giving and receiving), fingering, choking, gagging, slight bondage, almost public but not really?, cock warming... maybe slight daddy/mommy stuff naturally?. i think that's pretty much it fluff at the end. he is rough but talks you through it, praise!kink.

note: this is my first time ever writing smut...omg i almost didnt finish writing this LOL i had to stop midway then I had the post clarity and that shameful feeling HAHAHAH

word count: 7.5k

(slightly not really proofread...again)

reblogs & comments are appreciated! i hope you have fun!! tell me what you think!

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Both your parents had set up an arranged marriage for after you and Mattheo graduated from Hogwarts. You've been married for over a year now, living in a manor that housed both families. There was definitely some tension occurring, recently you’ve both started to further develop feelings. At first you tolerated your union as his family wanted to continue with a strong and pure bloodline, and your family simply wanted protection. 

You were sitting at your vanity, brushing your hair when Mattheo walked out of the bathroom with wet hair and a towel around his waist. He gave you a smug look, heading to the walk-in closet, dropping the towel and slipping on his underwear, his back turned to you. You wouldn’t help but press your thighs together at the sight of him, you quickly return to brush the knots from your hair. 

From the vanity mirror you look at his chiseled back muscles. He still looks as good as the first day you met him. You had the luck on your side for that, at least the partner in your arranged marriage was good looking…yet you craved having a chance to fall in love organically. You could count on a single hand how many times you and Mattheo had been physically intimate. 

Mattheo put on a shirt and grey sweats, shit, before walking out of the closet to approach you. “I’ve heard from your parents that you’ve been talking to another guy at work?” he says calmly but firmly.

You thought about it for a second, “Charlie? Yeah, he’s in training.” After graduating Hogwarts you were able to quickly land a job with the M.O.M. while mattheo stuck with DAD…aka the family…business. I moved on to rub body oil on my legs and arms, not looking at him.

He tried to not pay any attention to you as you moved your hands in tight little circles. Mattheo would love a good massage right about now too, he took a step back and sat on his side of the massive bed, “and what do you talk to him about?”

“I mean,” you scoff at him, “Mattheo, it’s just training protocols. Showing him around the work area, how to do things, where things are at. Not much else to it than that.”

He clenched his jaw, he couldn’t deny that he had an attraction to you, but he always told himself to ignore it, “that’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it.” You stood up from the vanity, clicking closed the boy oil. Setting it down where it belonged, you enjoyed having a tidy space. You sat on your side of the bed.

He looked at the way your hips swayed in your night dress as you walked to your side. You turned your head to look back at him. He looked so tense, “I hope you’re not lying.”

You stayed quiet, of course he wouldn’t trust me. You had never given him a reason not to even before the start of this arrangement, so it annoyed you when he doubted you. That might just be his nature though. You slid into the satin bed sheets, they were nice and cool to the touch, much needed after a long day at work. You turned your bedside lamp off, encasing your both in darkness. Mattheo laid beside you, he usually took to his side, but tonight he was feeling a bit off so he wanted to be close to you. Not making physical contact but enough to where you notice his warm body. 

You kept your eyes open, your back turned away from him, what was he doing? He never slept so close to you. After a long period of silence you spoke up, feeling brave because it was dark. You wouldn’t see his expression and he wouldn’t see yours, “are you jealous, Mattheo?”

He sneered at the question, as if the idea of him being jealous was a crime, “of course not. I’m just concerned that you’re doing something you shouldn’t be.” There was a small hint of jealousy in his voice, he hated to admit it but he didn’t like the idea of you with another man.

“I might have not had a choice, but I don’t plan to step out of this marriage. You have nothing to worry about.” You tried to scoot closer to the edge of the bed, trying to build distance from him, “I wish I could say the same with you…and your assistant.”

His face looked offended, but you couldn't see it, you could hear it in his voice, trying to keep it cool. “My assistant? You’re the only one that is allowed in my office.”

“That’s not what Draco told me.” Mattheo was able to recruit Draco back into the business. Draco was nice to you, he was like a brother figure. Your families were close. They would have arranged a marriage with him instead, but his mother decided against it. She believed in falling in love, and making the choice Draco’s. “He warned me to never let you go on any work trips or work late over time. He doesn’t trust your assistant. Draco told me she wants to take any opportunity to have you alone, where no one can see you two.”

Mattheo gritted his teeth as he listened to you. He didn’t appreciate that Draco was telling you things about him, in fact was pissed. He sat up in bed, turning on his bedside lamp. He looked at you with furious eyes, “Draco has no idea what he’s talking about. My work assistant wouldn’t do such things!” That was a lie and he knew it.

“I trust Draco. Don’t you speak ill of him. Why are you defending her?! YOU’RE the one who should be telling me that you wouldn’t do such things with her!” You couldn’t help your own jealousy come forth, you nearly fell off the bed.

He grabbed your arm to pull you back on the bed. Mattheo spoke with a calm and firm voice, “you have my word that I have never, nor will i ever, do such things with my assistant. No other woman can have me the way you do.” He admitted with a smirk, grabbing your chin and lifting it up so your gaze would be on him only.

You didn’t thank him for catching you, but you were glad he did. You lost your concentration for a split second at his admission. You regained yourself, “fire her then.”

He laughed at your demand, “fire my assistant?” A wicked thought passed through it. He could use this to his advantage to make you feel jealous, test the water on how you felt about him, “Why would I do that? She helps me.”

You crossed your arms, “you have three choices.” You count up with your fingers, “You either fire her. Let me choose an assistant for yourself. Or you hire me to be your new assistant.”

He raised his eyebrow at your offers, but still kept his cool, He didn’t want to show how turned on he was by how demanding you were being at the moment, “you’re giving me an ultimatum…” he smirked slightly, “and you think I’ll just do as you demand?”

“You better mattheo. If you don’t want to take it for purely my sake, do it for your bloodline.” I rolled my eyes. Fighting back the blush, thinking one day I will carry his child. 

He groaned at the mention of the family purity, “is that right?” he said in a frustrated tone, “you know as well as I do that this marriage is a duty to our families.” He sighed. “Very well, i’ll take you up on your offer, be my new assistant.”

Your eyes grew wide. You didn’t actually expect him to take that choice, far as you could tell he enjoyed being away from you even if it was at work. “I’ll call my work in the morning. See? Not so bad that I was training Charlie, he can take my place.” You tried to read his face before laying back down, this time closer to the center of the bed.

He turned off his lamp again, “let it be done. But remember, as my new assistant, I won't go easy on you.” He teased, there was a small smile on his face he couldn’t straighten out.

You reached out to pinch his ear, “don’t let it get to your head. I’m still your equal as your wife. Don’t forget about that.” You turned your back to him once again, closing your eyes.

His smile only got bigger at how fierce you were being, he must have struck a chord. He has never seen you so jealous. “Yes, yes… of course my love.” he mocked in a quiet voice as he inched closer to you, laying by your side. Not making much contact, but enough to tease you. You rolled your eyes, he only ever used pet names to tease you. You wanted them to mean something. You remembered the way he came out of the shower, you thought about his wide shoulders, his collar bones.. You scoot your ass closer to his hips. Two can play at that game.

Mattheo’s breath hitched, “what do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m trying to sleep. Goodnight.”

He was so close to snapping at you, but he didn’t want to take the bait, “night.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The next morning you woke up early to call and explain why you were leaving the ministry. You had to come up with a solid unsuspecting excuse. Mattheo’s family would not be too happy with it, being their spy and all, but if it meant my marriage could be successful, so be it. 

You were at the dining room table, it was empty. Everyone in the manor wouldn’t wake up for another half hour or so. Yet there was Mattheo in his black suit, “morning.” He found it amusing you were already ready for the day. He looked you up and down, a wave of lust surged through him. He thought you looked quite lovely, he almost said it outloud but resisted the urge.

“Good morning Mr. Riddle, sir.” You stood up, pulling his seat out. You rolled my eyes, but smiled sweetly at him, “I’m ready for my first day.”

He chuckled softly at how polite you were being, “are you now? And what are you looking forward to most today?”

One of the maids came by to set mattheo’s breakfast down. I smiled at her and waited until she left before continuing, “Sir, I'm looking forward to you firing your current assistant… in front of me.” You batted your lashes at him. Knowing you were going to meet her for the first and last time, you took extra care in how you looked.

“You really want to witness her losing her job, don't you?” He bit the corner of his mouth. 

“She should have watched the way she was acting with you, if she really cared about her job security.” Our blended family began to slowly trickle into the dining room, you laid a hand on Mattheo’s shoulder. you kissed his head. We made the appearance of a blissful marriage around them, not wanting a rift to occur between the families, “I'll meet you at the car in 15, darling.”

He tried his hardest to maintain his facade as you kissed him and left. He again watched you walk away, your perfect figure made his body tingle with desire once more. He excused himself from the table.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Mattheo turned the car off and unbuckled his seatbelt first to get out so he could open your door, “are you ready, my dear?” he questioned though he knew the answer. He didn’t think there would be any hesitation from you in regards to what was about to happen.

You nodded, straightening out your skirt. You followed him into the building. You felt uneasy to be around so many people who have caused harm and were plotting to do more. At least your family was safe, as long as you were with the Riddles.

Mattheo noticed and held your hand as he led you to his office, “Nothing is going to happen to you.” He offered you a chair in front of his desk before going around to sit at the main chair.

You couldn’t help but smile, you let it drop just as quick too. It’s all just part of the agreement. If something were to happen to you, poof~ there goes the bloodline. 

“Good morning, Mattheo.” A woman with a sickly sweet, sickly high pitched voice said with the entry.

He gave her a brief glimpse, he could already tell he would get a headache. His assistant was wearing a tight fitting top with a ridiculously short skirt, she was pouring him a cup of coffee.

You watched as his eyes followed her, gripping tightly at the chair’s arm. Draco was right, no one in their right mind would think of dressing that skimpy for work, if they were truly just there to get shit done. “It’s Mr. Riddle to you.” You said taking your left hand to your chin, making sure your wedding ring was up and front ready to gawk at.

Mattheo looked at you, he loved the way your demeanor was changing. He could see the jealous and possessive energy oozing off of you. He found it quite intriguing, a part of him wanted to test your limits. He reached out to accept the cup of coffee from his assistant, “is it just like how I like it?” “Yes Mr. Riddle. Just how you like it” she said, leaning over to him, finishing the stir. This made her skirt even tighter and her breasts were there to peep into.

You stared at Mattheo hard, expecting him to say something to the woman. He felt you, he had to admit he also was quite displeased at how his assistant behaved around him, but it was all fun and game.

“Now, what do I have scheduled for today?”

Before the woman could answer you interrupted. “I know one thing you have scheduled, Mattheo.” You tapped your foot. You needed her gone. Now. Draco - you’ll have to thank him at the next dinner party. You should have done something sooner. You can’t believe your husband was letting this slut work around him, dictating what he did by the hour.

Mattheo’s eyebrows slightly rose in surprise, he was a bit caught off guard at your interruption. He was so amused by how impatient you had become.

“Well we do have a meeting to go with the Boyles in an hour, can this wait?” His assistant said puffing her chest out to make it appear larger. You hated that she said we instead of you. That bitch. You got up from your seat, going around the desk to stand behind Mattheo. You snaked both arms over his shoulders and down his chest.

He held back a groan as your soft touch distracted his thoughts for a moment. He loved that you were making it clear he was yours. He snapped out of it when he remembered he was still in the presence of his assistant so he looked back at her, all the mock gone from his voice, “i’ll be quick… You’re fired. You're no longer needed here.”

The blood drained out of the woman’s face, her shoulder’s immediately fell. You gave her a fake condolences look.

“W-wuh why? What did I do? Is this because of the office party last week? It won’t happen again, it was wildly inappropriate.” She composed herself, taking a stab at you with the last portion. You brought your hands to Mattheo’s shoulders and squeezed hard slowly, as to not bring attention to the action.

His eyes darkened, “You knew the rules. My father specifically told you when you started not to try anything with me. But even after making it clear, you still chose to try and make a move on me at my own party.” His voice was deep, hiding the amusement that lay underneath.

Even though you hated the confession, you couldn't help but appreciate Mattheo’s honesty. You lessened the grip on his shoulders, rubbing out the part you dug in your nails as a way of saying thank you.

“I was so drunk Mr. Riddle. I’m terribly sorry. I really need this job. I thought you were needing something else…I thought you weren’t getting pleased right. Mattheo, I'm sorry don’t fire me.” You wanted to scream as she pleaded. You can hear the poison off the back of her tongue. Seriously, that Bitch! With that comment you returned to dig your nails into Mattheo.

“My needs are none of your concern.” Mattheo spat at her, but she was right. He has been craving a certain kind of touch for far too long now. He did enjoy a good begging, no matter who it came from, but he wasn’t going to go against his marriage. 

You felt him hold your left hand, flipping it so that both the back of your hands were facing the woman, he was showing your matching rings, “I am perfectly happy in my marriage.” You couldn’t help but wonder if he meant that, or if it was just for show. I was happy too wasn’t I?

The woman looked at your hands that were pressed together, despite her disappointment, she knew there was nothing she could do so she bit her tongue and nodded in response. You watched her every movement, as she collected herself. She still didn’t bother pulling down her skirt or buttoning up her shirt, it was as if she still wanted Mattheo to see what he would have missed out on. To leave this image with him as a parting gift.

He simply stared at the clock, “you have three minutes to collect your things before security arrives to escort you out of the building. Do not leave anything behind because it will be incinerated. My father will deal with your severance…if he gives you anything. Especially after I tell him why I had to fire you.”

She turned to the door, stole a glance back at Mattheo, and left the room. You stayed put behind Mattheo. You didn’t want him to see your face just yet. You needed to cool down. 

He groaned loudly and leaned back into your touch, rubbing a hand over his face, “I don’t even know why I kept her for so long. She wasn’t even that good at her job” he smirked, still wanting to test you.

“Don’t play stupid, I know I won't. Clearly there was something going on!” You scoffed, “to think you were getting so mad at Draco for warning me!”

He took your hand pulling you over to sit on his lap, “there was absolutely nothing going on. I didn’t ask her for anything outside of work related things. I would have never let her touch me, she thought I was unhappy in our marriage.”

“Why would she think you were unhappy hmm? Why was she assuming, let’s be honest, she assumed correctly that you weren’t getting needs met. How were you acting with her, tell me now.” You couldn’t help but feel like a little girl on his lap, a little girl who was throwing a tantrum for not wanting to share a beloved stuffed animal.

He rested his chin on your shoulder as he spoke into your ear, “it was probably because I was often short tempered with her, but I promise it was mostly due to her not doing her job correctly.” His lips brushed against your neck.

Yeah that kind of sounds like Mattheo, he liked things done a certain way, and he didn’t like when it veered off the track. But then again, even in school he was a massive flirt. So how much was the tension between the two due to his short temper and how much was his charm? 

“She’s not worth even a moment of your thought.” He mumbled against your ear, sending a shiver down to your core. He placed a gentle kiss right under your jaw. His hands ran down your thighs, squeezing ever so lightly.

You let out a faint moan, “Mattheo…” You couldn’t remember exactly the last time you were like this, it was very rare. While in school, you remembered how everyone wanted him. He allowed them to play games with him, he loved to toy with them too. But the girls knew, they ultimately knew they had no chance ending up with him. Our arranged marriage wasn’t a secret. 

He continued to press kisses over your neck, occasionally nipping and sucking gently on your skin, enjoying the way your body responded to his touch. He grabbed one leg and forced you to face him, your knees now on either side of his thighs, straddling him. He then wordlessly cast a spell on the door with his wand, so it wouldn’t be opened. He didn’t even look at the door, he didn’t need to carefully aim. You could feel your core getting embarrassingly wet at the simple gesture. “Mattheo, we shouldn’t..” you panted. 

“Maybe you’re right…” He responded, though he didn’t stop his ministrations. He captured your lips with his, kissing you hungrily as he pressed his body against yours. His hands exploring over your body. 

You let your hands go up the back of his neck, tugging at his dark curls. They were so soft and velvety. Fuck. He felt so good, you could feel him press against yourself. You forgot how big he was, you wanted to just dry hump him to feel satisfied with yourself right now. You couldn’t bring yourself to it, you tried to speak between his hasty sloppy kisses, “Matty…you do have a meeting soon.”

He loosened his grip ever so slightly, “then do your job. and cancel. it.” He said through gritted teeth, planting kisses on your collarbone. Without looking he pulled his phone closer to you. He hoped you would make the right choice.

You nodded shifting in his lap, earning a groan. What a start to my new job. “What’s the extension to Boyle’s assistant?” You grabbed the receiver trying to hold it and keep your breath steady. Mattheo whispered it against your ear lobe. You grew impatient once more as you continued to hear it ring on the other end. C’mon answer.

“Hello, how may I direct your call?”

“Hi um” you looked down at Mattheo’s sweet brown eyes that were following you, pleading with yours, you tried to get him to pause with his lip exploration for a second, “I’m Mr. Riddles’ new assistant - we..I..we..sorry he needs to” damn ..girl I NEED TO! Mattheo muffled his own giggle with his hand. Enjoying how you kept messing up, obviously your mind has started to get clouded.

“Y/N/N?” The woman on the other receiver said, your old nickname from school.

“Oh my god, Daphne? Hey! I didn’t recognize your voice…!”

He watched you with slight amusement.

Daphne started to ramble on about how she started at this job, on any other day you would have totally loved to entertain her and catch up. You got along very well, but you cut her off as she explained, “um Daphne, we should go out for some coffee soon, we can talk then. It’s just that Mattheo needs the meeting with the Boyles rescheduled.”

“Oh..okay..is everything alright? It was an important meeting…”

Not as important as this.

“Everything is fine, is there a different time we can meet? Push it back a couple more hours?” You looked over at his schedule that his previous slut of an assistant left. You both ended up agreeing on a later time, you quickly thanked her and said goodbye. You clicked the receiver down, putting the do not disturb on for good measure too. 

“Where were we?” you shyly said, looking at his eyes that were gleaming with desire and excitement.

“I was thinking we could restart from here..” He readjusted you back on his lap, slipping a hand under your skirt skimming along the line of your panty. 

You missed his touch, his hands could sometimes be so cold to the touch that they felt like they left a burning trail. He pulled back slightly, picking you up by your ass to set you down on the edge of his desk. He used his hands to open your legs wider, ever so gently “Is it okay if I touch you right here?” you were already nodding before he finished, “Use your words with me. Do you want me to touch you here?” He padded his thumb against your core, still over your panties. “Yes Mattheo, please please touch me.” 

“That’s my girl.” He smiled proudly, he could already feel the want and need pouring off of you, and it was driving him equally if not more insane. He pushed your skirt up higher, revealing yourself to him. Ran his hands over your hips massaging them as you had done the night before. They felt so soft and squishy. 

You couldn’t help but throw your head back, leaning on your forearms. You moved your head forward to look at him when he retracted his hands. He had sat back down in his chair, admiring how he had you. You felt like you were under a microscope, to be so exposed. You tried pressing your legs back together.

Tsk, tsk, tsk, “don’t hide. Let me see you.” he pushed your knees back apart to regain his view. He pulled your dominant hand forward, he also leaned forward so you could touch the side of his face, “show me how you please yourself.” He watched with a hungry expression, clearly enjoying how you blushed and got flustered. Mattheo gently rubbed his thumb along your burning cheek softly, then traced it against your bottom lip asking for entry, “there’s no need to be shy with me, my love.” His voice was sweet and soft, “I promise I wont judge you, you are my wife after all.”

You let his thumb go into your mouth. You sucked on it, not once breaking eye contact, “shit y/n, that’s my pretty princess.” with his free hand he slid underneath his own pants and readjusted himself into a comfortable position. He took your dominant hand once more, putting it over your core. “Show me.”

You hesitated again to make a move on yourself, Mattheo pulled his thumb out of your mouth so he could wrap his hand around your neck, “don’t make me say it again.”

Oh my shit. “Sorry” you managed to choke out through his alternating grip intensity. You went over your panties to play yourself. You were so wet. Your hand was shaking with nerves as you rubbed over your entrance, letting your slick arousal coat them before moving them between your folds and finally at your clit. Mattheo was looking down at your movements. The hand that wasn’t around your neck, he helped by holding your panties out of the way, “so pretty, you’re glistening.”

“You..you have this effect on me Matty. This is all for you.”

“Good, you’re mine.” He choked you hard then lessened it once more, “and i'm yours.” He kissed you again before watching you play with yourself. You kept rubbing your clit for him. He let go of your neck, you felt your blood rush back to your brain. Mattheo unbuttoned your top, unclasped your bra and started to play with your breasts. Alternating and teasing each nipple. “So perfect.” He grinned against your nipples, biting it and blowing cool air on it. You yelped and he covered your mouth, “shhh.” He unlatched himself from you and sat down. He rubbed himself through his pants before undoing his belt. His eyes never left your wet core, it was purring for him.

He let out a small sign, laughing. You felt insecure for a split second, “what?”

“Nothing..you’re just doing..it wrong”

“Huh?”

“Here let me help you, princess. I’ll show you how I'd do it.” he moved his chair closer, moving your hand away. He just rubbed the middle and ring finger along your heat, it grant him a moan, “y/n, as much as I love hearing you like this. You’ve gotta stay quiet.”

You bit your lip hard, “I’ll try Mattheo but..”

“None of that, you must do as I say.” he gently inserted one finger inside you, curling it up against your wall. You moaned louder. He whipped his single digit out, “you’re so needy, even with a single finger? Sweet Salazar, what am I going to do with you? You’re hopeless.” He let out a haughty laugh.

“Baby..please.” You watched him stand up, taking his belt off the loops of his pants. You thought he was finally doing to give you what you wanted most, but instead he just wrapped it around your head, tightening it around your mouth, closing it.

“I’m really sorry I have to do this baby girl, but you just wont keep your mouth shut.” He wasn’t a bit sorry, you can tell by how he looked down at the sight of you. He was actually quite pleased. He gave you a kiss on the forehead, it was a sharp contrast to the leather belt wrapped around your mouth. Seeing you like this was beyond his wildest dreams, gagged before him. Mattheo sat back down continuing where he left off, but this time he inserted two of his fingers. He didn’t allow you to adjust to them. The belt indeed muted your cry. It hurt, you didn’t dare use two of your own fingers on yourself, and here he was with hands that were twice the size of yours.

“You’re doing so well for me, princess.” He whispered, inserting his fingers all the way and pulling them out the same. You felt a tear running down your cheek. He began to rhythmically curve them when they were inside you. The pain was quickly subdued with pleasure. You laid back on the desk arching yourself so he could go in deeper, “so now you want more huh?”

Still fingering you, he went back to suck on your nipples. He towered over you, you shook your head, “what is it?” He looked at your concern. You looked at his fully clothed body, wrapping your hand around his tie. You were naked, apart from your skirt, but it was so bunched up at your hips it didn’t matter. You couldn’t  be the only one bare right now, you want to see his body, “how are you still bossy with your mouth shut?” He laughed, pushing your hand away, “news flash, I’m your boss now. You don’t tell me what to do.”

Despite his words, he did take off his tie first, wrapping it around your wrists, goddammit, before taking off his suit jacket and unbuttoning his shirt only half way. You could look at his chest that was peaking. You felt yourself drool against the belt.

He sat back down and continued to finger you relentlessly. He pulled out and tasted his fingers, “too bad you’re gagged. I would have liked you to taste yourself. At least I have your cunt to myself.” he welcomed himself into you again. He slowly ran his warm tongue up your slit, stopping at your clit. He did this a couple of times. It was so agonizing. Your eyes were bobbing around unable to stay open. With your hands tied you were still able to hold his head down to stop and focus on your clit.

Mattheo would have swatted your hands away, but he needed your touch as well. He wanted to make you feel amazing, he wanted you to forget your name and only respond to “wife”. But god did he also just want to already bury his cock deep inside you to feel some relief. He needed to be patient.

Your breath began to get shallow and unsteady. He groaned against your clit, your pussy was repeatedly clenching around his fingers, indicating you were close. 

His lips curled devilishly, he was thinking about denying your orgasm. He only wanted you to cum on his cock and nothing else. The only reason why he didn’t is because he loved the taste of you too much to stop, “you can do it, doll. Come for me let me taste it.”

You began to shake and grab a fist full of curls as you came. He gradually slowed down, helping you ride out your orgasm. You felt so relaxed.

He looked so full of himself. He pulled his face away from you, his lips were red and swollen from his own work. Mattheo held up his right hand, the one that was fingering you, you could see the wetness on it. 

With his clean hand he pulled down his pants and underwear in one quick motion. Rubbing his cock with his right hand, letting your cum wet it. He used two fingers to beacon you over, before he realized you couldn’t move.  He left your wrists still tied, and pulled you forward onto your feet. “Look me in the eye, princess. Do you promise to be quiet now?” 

You could only nod. That was enough for him, because he had other plans to occupy your mouth. He removed the belt around your mouth. With your still bonded hands you wiped the spit around your mouth, “God, damn.”

He laughed, “I don't remember being called God before, but you can't continue with its use.” 

Before you could reply with something snarky, he pushed you down onto your knees and had the tip of his cock at your lips, “Sorry, I can’t actually trust you to be quiet, so open wide and take it.”

You obeyed. Though you could only take nearly half of it before it started your gag reflex, “i love that sound baby,” he signed, “is it too big for you?” He didn’t really care for an answer, of course it was. It would have just inflated his ego more. 

“C’mon and let me in more.” slobber just kept going down your chin and onto your breasts. He bucked his hips at the sight, “you’re so fucking pretty.” Mattheo gathered your hair into two bunches, using them as handlebars. He was straight throat fucking you at this point. You began to feel faint, and he saw it too, so he pulled his cock all the way out allowing you to breathe. “You’re doing so good.” He kissed you on the lips, using his shirt to help clean your chin.

You were just about to say thank you when he reinserted his cock into your mouth. You pull your head back and he actually allows you. With your bound hands you stroke the portion of his cock that you couldn’t take in, pumping it. Admiring the veins running down it . You wrap your lips around his lip, swirling your tongue around. His precum was like a classified drug to you, it was so delicious. You kept at your pace wanting more to come out, “you’re obsessed” Mattheo pointed out thrilled.

“Talk to me, love” He touched your ear lobe. 

You spoke to him with his cock still in your mouth, so it slurred your speech, “yob ase s’ gob.” 

He chuckled but groaned with the vibrations your voice made, “what was that?”

You stopped sucking, “you taste so good!” you smile at him. This brought him to his knees, literally he kneeled beside you, he removed the tie around your wrists rubbing them for you. Both your eyes are on the same level now.

“You really are beautiful.” He said causing you to blush. “Don’t turn all shy on me now, princess.” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear in a soft gesture. “We’re far from being shy with each other right now.” Mattheo kissed you.

“I just like hearing you say that, my king.”

With a voice filled with affectionate warmth, “when you call me that it makes me want to keep you by my side forever, my precious princess.” He began to kiss you harder, “I want to keep you forever.” He pushed his soft side out of the way and pushed you onto your knees in front of him You arched your back so your ass was in the air, “this is what you fucking teased me with last night.”

You laughed, “yeah I know.”

“So you wanted this bad huh?”

“Yess Matty I want you.” 

He admired the scene in front of him. He kneaded your ass, biting it and making your cry again. “Don’t make me use the belt again.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be quiet now.” You cupped your own mouth. You saw his jacket on the floor and took it under your head.

“You’re so obedient, it's very good. How haven’t I bred you sooner? I want you pregnant with the next Riddle heir.” He ran a hand slowly over your back, gently but possessively.

“I have actually been thinking the same thing. My body is ready for your seed, im..im ready for it.”

When you agreed with his wish it only made something in him pop, something shifted in Mattheo’s eyes. The hunger and desire growing. 

He spat out at your spread exposed pussy, as if it wasn’t already sopping wet. He just liked the idea of having his bodily fluids in you. He rubbed his full length on the outside of your slit, teasing you, “you think your tiny pussy can take my cock better than your mouth?”

Shit…actually that was an honest question. The few times you tried already, you were only able to take in 3/4th of his length before tearing and asking him to stop. Plus you both haven’t fucked in a long while, “Matty, I’ll try by best…” you sounded a little uneased. 

He pulls on your arm turning you to look behind at him, “We don't have to rush this. But I promise i’ll make it good for you if you let me. You’re my wife and you will be the mother of my children soon enough.” He let go of you, bending over to kiss your shoulder blades, biting them roughly before going to your ear, “I’ll try to take it slow, but I really need you to take all of me in, darling. I need my seed to make it directly into your womb. I don’t want it to possibly drip out. You can do it.”

You moaned at his words of encouragement, you will try your best. He continued to stroke your hair, “listen to me: you’re my everything. And I won't let you get hurt, okay?” He kissed your temple, “if it is too unbearable, just tell me and I'll stop. Nothing is more important to me than your comfort and trust…but I do want you to give me a baby. A couple of them.” He laughed like his usual self, “so please try hard to take me like a good girl.” 

You pulled at his hair harshly, “just fuck me Riddle.” with that he slapped your ass leaving a red welt in the shape of his hand and squeezing it to lengthen the pain, “atta girl”. He finger fucked you a little bit more before realigning the tip of his dick to your hole. 

You closed your eyes, and he began to press into you. It wasn't so bad, actually it already felt amaz - -- okay nevermind. He felt you squeeze around him, and he stopped to reassess the situation, “please princess, let me in.”

“Matty I don’t…I dont think I can” you gripped onto his jacket for dear life.

“You can and you will.” He reached over to rub your clit, it helped relax you and he kept sinking deeper and deeper in you. You bit the jacket. It was a crazy mix of pain and pleasure.

“There we go.” he was satisfied, he was finally balls deep inside you, “see I knew you could do it.” He stayed still trying to let your pussy try to adjust around him, “you’re so fucking tight. Actually, I was having second thoughts, but here we are.” He said proudly kissing your neck from behind.

“You’re so fucking huge Mattheo, you’re too good to me.” 

“I adore you” he whispered, “there’s no one else like you. You’re…you’re the love of my life. Both our parents saw that before we did. They knew we were meant for each other when they arranged our marriage.” He groaned as you squeezed him purposefully this time.

“I love you Mattheo. I do.” You manage, your words felt true to each other. With a tender grip he starts  to move his hips slowly away from you only to slam back in. Watching your face for any sign you wanted him to stop but all he got was a smile and, “I’ll give you as many children as you want.”

Without proper warning he quickened his pace holding you face down to the floor. You closed your eyes tightly, locking your jaw. You inhaled his smell through his jacket. Pain was being replaced with a pleasurable numbness. Your brain was going utterly stupid, “make me pregnant Mattheo. Let me make you into a proper daddy.” 

He chuckled at that, “fucking take my dick then. I’ll make you the most beautiful mommy there is. You're such a good wife and I know you’ll be the best mother to my children.”

Mattheo pressed his hand just under your belly button, he took one of your hands and pressed it there with you, “can you feel my cock, darling? You can feel it through your tummy.”

“Yes I can. I feel so full.” You moan.

His grunt and thrusts began to get sloppy, his balls slapping against your clit. It made you roll your eyes behind your head, “princess, I think��” 

“Me too, let's cum together. Let's mix ourselves more.” You raised your ass higher, tilting it ignoring the back pain you were getting.

“I’m going to fill you up even more,” he whimpered, his voice faltering as if he was about to cry, “don't let anything drip out. Take it all in okay?” You nodded, holding your head up and twisting it so uncomfortably around to the side so you can watch him release himself into you. What a sight for sore eyes. 

His curls were plastered onto his forehead with sweat, his cheeks were flushed. Mattheo’s eyes looked back at your eyes with a longing you haven't seen before, “I love you Y/N. thank you thank you thank you.” He began to repeat, as he shot a large load into you. He was right, you could feel your tummy grow already. You followed shortly after, squeezing and milking his cock out more.

His breath was coming out in ragged gasps as he came down from his climax. His body was trembling, but he held you tightly. His face buried in the crook of your neck, “that was incredible.” He looked at you with adoration and contentment, “you’ve given me everything i’ve ever wanted. Thank you.”

“Thank you for choosing me after all.”

Mattheo was about to pull out, but you didn’t allow him. You pulled at his shirt, making him spoon you on the floor. You wanted to warm his cock, but also use it to continue plugging in his cum inside of you, to be marinated. You told him this too, and he flushed, “hey you said we wouldn’t be getting shy with each other, it’s too late for that.” He laughed making his dick still twitch inside you, you let out a moan. He grinned mischievously. You gave him an uncertain look.

Mattheo looked at the clock “yeah we should probably just move the meeting to a different day.”

“Do I really have to call it in again?”

“Yes yes you do, you’re my new assistant remember?” 

“Yeah and soon to be the mother of your children too.”

He wrapped his arms around you in a loving embrace. “I promise to take care of you and our little ones,” he said with sincerity, “You’ll be the most beautiful, loving mother, and I'll support you every step of the way.”

He tugged on the phone’s cord, pulling it so that it drops on the floor beside the two of you, “go on call again. Move it for next week.” He starts kissing your jaw again, moving his hips and slithering his hand back to your clit, “I hope you didn’t think we were finished, I think I can give you more of my cum to hold.”

“Mattheo…” 

[riddlesrizzler]

Lessons on the Green

summary: “This is better than a hole-in-one,” characters: golf! pro mattheo. reader warnings: slight smut? fingering? word count: 1.3k

The sun was warm against your shoulders as you stood on the driving range, blinking up at the endless blue sky stretching over rolling green hills. The late afternoon light turned the grass almost gold at the edges, and the only sounds were the quiet chirping of birds and the gentle rustle of the breeze tugging at the hem of your skirt.

You shifted awkwardly with the golf club in your hands, its polished metal reflecting light back into your eyes.

“I still don’t understand how people call this relaxing,” you muttered under your breath, squinting at the bucket of balls in front of you.

“That’s because no one’s ever taught you properly,” came a smooth voice behind you.

You turned-already smiling without meaning to-and there he was.

Mattheo Riddle, the club’s star golf pro. Tall. Tanned. Hair tousled like he just strolled out of a magazine cover shoot. His collared black shirt clung to his frame like it had been tailored for him, and those dark eyes of his-deep, unreadable, but always watching-were locked on you with a gleam of amusement.

“Your grip is tragic,” he said lightly, stepping closer. “And your stance... well, let’s say I’ve seen better posture from the club’s golden retriever.”

You gave him a mock glare. “Then by all means, show me how it’s done, Mr. Professional.”

He grinned-and god help you, it was the kind of grin that could melt glaciers. “With pleasure.”

He moved behind you slowly, deliberately. There was no rush. No shame in how close he stood, as if teaching you golf was a thin excuse to feel your body fit against his. His presence wrapped around you before he even touched you.

His fingers brushed yours as he adjusted your grip on the club. You tried not to react, but the contact sent a spark up your spine.

“Hands a little lower,” he murmured, his voice velvet-smooth and maddeningly close to your ear. “Relax your shoulders. You’re not preparing for battle.”

“Says you,” you mumbled. “This thing could definitely be used as a weapon.”

His chuckle was low and rich, and you could feel it-vibrating softly where his chest hovered near your back. You held your breath when his hands slid down your arms, ghosting over your skin until they rested lightly on your hips.

“Feet shoulder-width apart,” he murmured, his thumbs pressing gently against your waist as he guided your stance. “There. Now lean forward, but not too much. Keep your eyes on the ball. And breathe, darling.”

You exhaled shakily, realizing you’d been holding your breath since he touched you.

“That’s better,” he said, clearly pleased. “Now swing. Don’t worry about the ball-just follow through.”

You did.

The club swooshed through the air-and the ball skidded a measly few feet before rolling into the grass like a sad little marble.

There was a moment of silence.

Then Mattheo burst into laughter, arms still lightly circling you. “Okay,” he gasped. “That was honestly worse than I expected.”

You turned in his arms, mock-offended. “I’m sorry, who’s the teacher here?”

He grinned down at you, eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Me. Obviously. Which means I’m also qualified to say-this might be a lost cause.”

You narrowed your eyes, stepping out of his hold only to spin the club around and prod him gently in the stomach with the handle. “You’re infuriating.”

“And yet here you are.” He took a lazy step toward you, crowding your space again. “Learning from me.”

“Barely,” you muttered, but your smile gave you away.

Mattheo leaned in a little more, the air between you buzzing with tension. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your cheek, and your breath hitched as his thumb lingered there.

“I think you’re doing great,” he said softly. “But if we’re being honest... I’m not entirely sure I want you to get better.”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

“Because then you wouldn’t need me to wrap my arms around you,” he said, eyes flicking to your lips. “And I happen to enjoy that part.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, and your voice came out barely above a whisper. “So you’re saying your help is conditional?”

He leaned in just a fraction more, noses nearly touching, voice a husky murmur. “I’m saying I’ll teach you everything I know... but I might take my time.”

You stood there, heart pounding, your fingers tightening on the golf club just to keep steady.

Then you glanced at the grass. “Alright then, Coach,” you teased, voice wobbling slightly. “Show me again.”

His grin returned, slow and wolfish. “As many times as it takes.”

And as he stepped behind you again-hands firm on your waist, his body molding to yours with infuriating ease-you wondered if this lesson was about golf at all… or if it had always been about something else entirely.

-

Later as the sun was dipping low over the driving range, casting a soft orange glow across the perfectly manicured green. The course was empty now-just the two of you, the hum of summer bugs, and the distant whir of sprinklers starting up for the night.

Mattheo was still in his golf polo, the top two buttons undone, revealing the edge of a tan that dipped far too low for your sanity. His forearms flexed as he leaned on the cart's steering wheel, eyes scanning the empty fairway before cutting back to you-hungry.

You sat in the passenger seat, shifting under the weight of his stare. Your cheeks still burned from the last "lesson" he gave you-hands guiding yours on the club, chest flush to your back, his voice in your ear low and full of innuendo.

“You did so well today,” he said, his tone deceptively calm as he put the cart in park, pulling it slightly off the gravel path into a shady grove near the 8th hole. “Learned to keep your grip tight. Bend your knees.”

His eyes dropped, slow and deliberate. “Arch your back.”

You swallowed. “You said that was for balance.”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “It was.”

He shifted in the seat to face you fully now, one hand on the wheel, the other ghosting over your bare thigh. “But you’ve got me wondering something else now.”

You blinked, already breathless from the heat in his voice. “What?”

Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing your jaw, his voice thick with intent. “You were such a good student out there on the course… I’m wondering if you’ll be a good student here too.”

Your breath hitched.

He didn’t wait for a verbal answer-your parted lips and wide eyes were enough. He reached down and yanked the parking brake up with one hand, the click loud in the quiet. Then he slid over to your seat, his leg pressing between yours, spreading them slowly as his hand trailed up higher.

“I’ve taught you how to hold a club,” he murmured, his mouth grazing your neck. “How to aim. How to follow through.”

His fingers toyed with the waistband of your skirt. “Now I want to teach you something else.”

You bit your lip, hips shifting toward his touch. “Mattheo…”

He pulled back just slightly, eyes dark. “I want to hear yes, sir.”

Your heart pounded. You swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

His jaw flexed. “Good girl.”

In one swift motion, he had you turned toward him in the seat, one leg thrown over his lap as he tugged your skirt up. The leather of the seat was warm against your thighs, but his hand was hotter, sliding up your inner leg until-

“Already wet,” he muttered, voice like gravel. “Knew you liked it when I got bossy.”

You whimpered, and his other hand gripped your jaw, angling your face up.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered. “You don’t look away. Not until I say.”

The first press of his fingers made your back arch, breath catching on your tongue. He worked you open with practiced patience, all while whispering the filthiest things in your ear-about how good you felt, how proud he was, how pretty you looked falling apart just for him.

“This is better than a hole-in-one,” he said with a dark chuckle. “But don’t worry, baby-I’ll still let you practice your technique. Just… on me. instead.”

[allurearia]

Are you ladies alright?

Where Mattheo certainty didn't expect you of all people to open the door.

Mattheo riddle x reader. Fluff!!

 It was a typical Friday evening at Hogwarts, Marking the end of a busy week for everyone. Mattheo, Theodore, and Lorenzo were lounging in the Slytherin common room, bored out of their minds.

“Alright, I’ve got an idea,” Mattheo said with a smirk.

“What are you scheming now? Mattheo” Theodore asked, already suspicious.

Mattheo chuckled, tossing a ball of paper  he had folded up after fucking up his notes in charms and spilling ink over it. “You know that Muggle TikTok thing? Where a guy stands in front of a girl’s door, knocks, and someone throws a ball just in time for him to catch it and be all suave? I say we do it.”

Lorenzo laughed, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Come on, you can’t tell me this won’t be fun. Besides, it’s not like we’ve got anything better to do.”

Theodore sighed but couldn’t hide his grin. “Alright, I’m in. Who’s the target?”

Mattheo’s eyes gleamed. “Let’s just start with Pansy’s dorm.”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “You're sure about that?”

Mattheo just shrugged, unbothered. “What could go wrong?”

The three of them made their way to the girls' dormitory, carefully slipping past a prefect who knew better than to stop them at this point. They reached Pansy’s door, and Mattheo took his place in front of it. Theodore held the ball, and Lorenzo stood a little to the side, ready to jump in if the ball Theo throws suddenly changed paths.

Mattheo knocked on the door, face completely calm as if this was the most normal thing in the world. They could hear what they assumed to be Pansy’s footsteps approaching, the door creaking open just a crack.

But instead of Pansy, you stood there.

You had been hanging out in Pansy's dorm, just chatting and relaxing after the hectic week you all had, completely unaware of the chaos awaiting you on the other side of the door. The moment you appeared, everything froze.

Theo, ready to throw, panicked slightly spotting you first. His throw went way off course and slammed directly into Mattheo's chest instead of near his head where his hands were cupped to catch. Mattheo winced, muttering a low "bloody hell" under his breath as the ball rolled off his chest. He quickly scrambled to grab it, hoping to salvage the moment.

Despite the mishap, Mattheo was determined to play it cool. He turned around, ball in hand, and prepared to deliver the line but then he saw you.

His breath caught in his throat. Instead of Pansy’s usual sarcastic smirk or dismissive eye roll, he was greeted by your soft, curious expression. For a moment, Mattheo’s mind went blank. You stood there, looking effortlessly radiant in the dim hallway light, and all of his usual confidence seemed to fade away.

You blinked at him, clearly confused but amused. A small, awkward smile played on your lips, as if you were trying to figure out what exactly was going on but found the whole thing oddly funny.

Mattheo stared for a moment too long, the ball still clutched in his hand as he tried to remember what he was supposed to say. His heart pounded in his chest, not because of the ball that had just hit him, but because he wasn’t expecting you to be the one opening the door.

Finally, he managed to find his voice, but it wasn’t the smooth, cocky tone he was aiming for. “Uh… are you ladies alright?”

It came out awkwardly, almost like a question he wasn’t even sure of himself.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, biting your lip to hold back more giggles. Your reaction made the whole situation even more endearing, and Mattheo felt his cheeks heat up, though he'd never admit it.

After a brief moment of awkward silence, you gave him a warm, amused smile, nodding slightly. “Yeah… we’re alright,” you replied with a chuckle, not really knowing what else to say. You shot a final glance at the trio behind him and then gently closed the door.

As soon as the door clicked shut, there was a beat of silence before Lorenzo and Theo erupted into laughter. Lorenzo clutched his stomach, practically howling. “Oh, Merlin Mattheo, you were speechless! Absolutely speechless!”

Theo wiped a fake tear from his eye, grinning wickedly. “You should’ve seen your face! All that attitude gone the moment you saw her. You looked like a lost puppy.”

Mattheo’s ears turned red as he glared at his two friends. “Shut up,” he muttered darkly, still gripping the ball in his hand as if it were Theo’s head he wanted to crush. “You’re the one who can’t throw for shit.”

“Oh, blame it on the throw, sure. But we all saw what really happened,” Theo teased, nudging Lorenzo. “Man gets taken down by a pretty girl. Never thought I’d see the day.”

Mattheo clenched his jaw, trying to shake off the flustered feeling creeping up his stoamch. “I’d worry about your Quidditch skills if I were you, Theo. Chaser with an arm like that? Surprised you haven’t been benched.”

Theo only laughed harder. “Mate, I don’t think Quidditch is the real problem here.”

Lorenzo, still grinning from ear to ear, slapped Mattheo on the back. “Hey, don’t worry, Riddle. It seems like you've finally met someone who knows how to make you shut the fuck up for once”  

Mattheo glowered at both of them, but deep down, his mind was still replaying the way you had smiled at him before closing the door.

Even if he’d never admit it out loud, he knew he was in trouble.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

Pt - 2 "is the lady alright?"

[cherrixpie]

DINNER AND DIATRIBES

double feature: part a - part b

-> not only is mattheo too late to ask you out to the yule ball, you're going with harry potter of all people. now, his best friend is going to the ball with his nemesis and he has some feelings about it.

-> mattheo riddle x bsf! reader; part a; sfw; wc: 13k; cw: suggestive, mentions of violence; tags: friends to lovers, yule ball setup; again I wasn't able to tag everyone, sorry :(

( masterlist )

There were many who would call Mattheo Riddle crazy. A bloodthirsty maniac, who couldn’t be bothered to feel attachment, or fear, or any normal human emotion for that matter. A psychopath who would snap on a whim and held an iron grip on the school when he wanted to.

But you had never been able to see him the way other people did, never could relate the picture the whispers and rumors painted to the man who was currently breathing down your neck. His nose ran down your skin and you could feel his boredom on your fingertips as he leaned his forehead against the back of your neck. His knee rocked unsteadily under you, making the thigh you had slung over his bounce up and down almost indiscernibly in return.

“Have you heard that Susan Bones is going with one of our house?” asked Pansy through the chatter surrounding you, widening her eyes dramatically. “Susan Bones. And a Slytherin. Merlin, I didn’t think I’d see the day, they must have the same freaky kinks or something to make that match work.”

Blaise’s laughter echoed off the stone walls of the dungeons. The Slytherin common room was painted in its usual emerald glow. It flickered across the tapestry showing scenes of a medieval wedding tonight. Only after spending more time with Pansy and the boys in your fifth year, and after weeks of hanging around with them in their common room, had you noticed that the tapestry kept changing its motif and scenery. Low chatter and conversation filled the space as groups of students were huddled around couches or desks, studying or talking, some of them reading by themselves. It wasn’t as busy as your common room, nor was it as loud, and you quite enjoyed the calmer atmosphere.

You sat comfortably on Mattheo’s lap, his arm draped lazily around your waist, fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on the fabric of your uniform skirt. It wasn’t unusual- your friendship with you-know-who’s son was quite affectionate, filled with easy touches and stolen warmth, a silent understanding of physical proximity neither of you ever questioned. But tonight, something felt different. His grip was a little tighter, his body a little tenser beneath yours, his usual sharp, sarcastic remarks replaced with a brooding silence as the others discussed the upcoming Yule Ball.

“I think I’d say yes to Diggory, if he asked,” Pansy mused, twirling a strand of dark hair between her fingers and quirking an evil little smirk at Blaise’s frown. “He’s got that whole golden-boy thing going on.”

Mattheo scoffed under his breath and you felt the brush of puffed-out air tingling the skin of your neck, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. “Golden-boy thing is just another way of saying boring.” His tone was clipped, disinterested, but you could still feel the way his legs bounced slightly beneath you, a tell-tale sign of his agitation. He’d been in a foul mood all day, propelling anyone near him or passing him in the corridors into a constant state of nervousness and vigilance.

As you thought back, you guessed his bad mood must have started back when Professor McGonnagall had announced the ball, halfway into december, and you felt your lips twitch at the thought that Mattheo Riddle might shy away from a dance. You shifted slightly in his lap, turning to look at him with a raised brow. “What’s got your robes in a twist?” you teased brazenly, delivering a playful nudge to his shoulder.

But instead of smirking back at you like he usually would, he simply huffed, gaze flickering away. “I just don’t see why any of you care so much,” he muttered. “It’s just a bloody dance.”

“And you call me a spoilsport,” huffed Theo next to the two of you, balancing a book in his lap. His eyes met yours and his lips curled into a mocking smile as they flickered back to Mattheo. Theo and you were probably his best friends- as well as the only ones who would ever tell him off for something. For good reason. Because the two of you were also, with high probability, the only ones Mattheo would never seriously hurt.

“Shut it, Nott,” mumbled Mattheo warningly and Theo shrugged, turning a page in his book.

Your body was still turned to Mattheo when Draco’s drawling voice spoke up. He was lounging in the best seat by the fire with an air of superiority. “I don’t know about you all,” he said uppishly, “But I already have a date for the Ball.”

“Really?” Pansy asked in surprise and shot up from where she was leaning against Blaise. Her eyes glinted at the prospect of being the first one to receive the newest gossip. Half the reason she was so excited for the Yule Ball had to be watching all the drama unfold. Having a front-row seat and sipping her red wine when the screaming matches and tearful breakups would start.

“Who are you going with?” asked Enzo, interested, from his place at the far end of the couch. He himself had already gotten three invitations to the Ball that day, all from very flustered looking, younger girls, and had to decline all of them with an apologetic smile, later complaining about it to his friends. And of course, you had all diligently listened to his woes before smacking him over the head with a pillow for being such a damn loverboy. And watching him shuffle his curls back into place.

“Daphne,” revealed Draco in a superior tone, watching his nails in feigned disinterest.

But Pansy sucked a loud breath in through her lips and gripped Blaises thigh so hard he let out a low noise of complaint. She ignored him, a predatory smile on his face. “Did you ask her or did she ask you?”

“Does that matter?” scoffed Draco lazily, but there was a very faint tint of pink on his pale cheeks. His displeased frown flickered over Pansy, Enzo, Blaise and you as you all started laughing. Mumbling something indiscernible, he pretended to be interested in the tapestry above, making Pansy bend forward with giggles.

“What about you, Pans?” you asked when she had calmed down and slumped back into Blaise, your eyes wandering back and forth between them. “Do you already know who you’re going with?”

With a secretive smile, Pansy shrugged but splayed a thigh over Blaise’s leg. Her manicured nails traced a line up his knee as she winked at you. “Who knows?” Her eyes flickered between you and the disgruntled looking Mattheo currently resting his chin on your shoulder and glaring into the emerald fire. “What about you?”

At the question, Mattheo’s hold on your waist stiffened. His fingers, that had been drawing lazy circles on your hip, suddenly stilled, pressing just a fraction harder into the fabric of your skirt. On your shoulder, you felt his jaw tense, a muscle ticking as he shifted slightly beneath you, his leg bouncing once more before he forced it to stop. Though he kept his gaze trained on the fire, his grip on you didn’t falter.

Normally, he held you like this when he had to somehow ground himself, threatening to lose himself in a whirlwind of anger and stress, moments before either jumping another student or being dragged off by you or Theo. But there was no one here that might have attracted his hate, and your brows scrunched up in a frown he couldn’t see. Anyone else might’ve missed the way his fingers flexed or how his breath grew just slightly uneven, but you felt it- every small, quiet reaction that betrayed his indifference.

Something about this Ball seemed to agitate him, and you placed a warm hand on his thigh to draw careful circles on it, in the hopes of appeasing whatever it was that fueled his bitter temperament.

“No plans,” you answered, as casually as possible. In truth, you had been hoping for Mattheo to ask you ever since the announcement. You had had a giant crush on him for months now, one that you sometimes thought he reciprocated, when his touch would grow a little to intimate, his face inch a little too close, his dark promises a little too sincere to be considered platonic. This was the downside to your rather touchy friendship, the fact that there was no clear line to cross, that you could never be sure.

Holding onto hope, you’d declined Harry’s invitation a few days before, still dreaming that he could feel the same about you, as Pansy constantly assured you. But if he didn’t ask you today… Glancing back at him carefully, you only caught half his face in your field of vision, but it showed no emotion. It was still hardened with the earlier tension, not a muscle twitching, not even a small look back at you.

Enzo leaned forwards slightly, propping his arms up on his knees and giving you a sly grin. “I heard Pucey’s thinking about asking you,” he insinuated, brows wiggling suggestively.

Before you could answer, Mattheo’s voices sounded against your neck, his chin still propped up on your shoulder. “Pucey can go fuck himself.” It was a low, dangerous sound and the group fell silent for a few seconds.

Something like excitement curled into your stomach, until you realized with a pang of disappointment that Mattheo’s disapproval of Pucey reached far deeper than some Ball. He was always raving and raging about him when he returned from his Quidditch practices, and made you card your hands through his curls until he considered himself appeased. Naturally, he wouldn’t want one of his best friends going out with his least favorite housemate. Naturally. Platonically. Disappointingly.

Pansy was the first one to speak again, the grin had found its way back onto her face as she turned to you once more. “So, that’s the verdict then, love? No secret admirers to swipe you away to the night of your life?”

She jiggled her brows suggestively, biting down on her bottom lip in a not so subtle way that made you chuckle and shake your head at her. Raising your hands in mock surrender, you leaned back into Mattheo whose chest seemed to be rising and falling a bit faster as he glared at Pansy. “No secret admirers that I know of.”

A low scoff sounded behind you, as Mattheo seemed much more eager to join the conversation than during the last half hour. “They wouldn’t be very secret if they knew what was good for them.”

Merlin, sometimes you wished he would talk more like your friend and less like… well, whatever this was. But his brows were furrowed so beautifully you could barely think about the implications of his words, or the way Pansy shrunk back instinctively at the look he was giving her, fingers curling around your thigh. Otherwise, you’d surely have scolded him for scowling at her like that.

Blaise hummed, rubbing circles on Pansy’s back and giving you a sly look. “You should go with someone … unexpected,” he suggested, mocking a thoughtful tone and expression, “Shake things up, y’know? Maybe you could release Enzo from his misery. Gryffindor Miss perfect with a Slytherin pureblood, story writes itself, doesn’t it?” You could hear his voice was meant to provoke, just who you weren’t sure. Because you merely laughed at the clearly unserious idea.

But over the amused look you shared with Pansy, you missed the way Enzo widened panicked eyes at Blaise as if he’d just thrown him under the bus, as well as the way Mattheo pulled you depper into his lap. You followed the urge subconsciously and leaned your head against his, still grinning. “Someone shocking, you say?” you picked up his statement, careful not to be too obvious, “Like who? Apart from poor Enzo, I mean.”

“Not fucking Pucey, that’s for sure,” said Mattheo under his breath and you bit down on your tongue, swallowing your disappointment. Pansy threw you a knowing look that you pretended not to see. You were being absolutely ridiculous.

A long, dramatically exasperated sigh came from the armchair near the fire were Draco was still sprawled out, toying with a loose strand of the leather cushions. “You could always go with Mattheo,” he suggested what you hadn’t had the guts to- quite ironic though it was; and ran his eyes over your intertwined figures. “Since you two can’t seem to spend five minutes apart anyway.”

In an attempt to overplay your flusteredness that he had brought it up, just said it out loud, while you were seated in Mattheo’s lap no less and one of his hands dipped under your shirt to bury itself in the meat of your tummy, you chuckled and scratched the back of your neck. Craning your head around, you smiled humorously at your friend. “What, and boost his ego even more?”

For the first time in a while, an actual grin finally played around his lips again as he kneaded the flesh of your belly, throwing you a challenging look. “You love my ego.”

Because one couldn’t simply lie to Mattheo without him knowing, you turned away with a laugh instead of answering his question. Joining in, Pansy watched the outline of Mattheo’s fingers against your shirt and smirked. Her glance back up at him was a silent promise not to let the topic go so easily, and he rolled his eyes at her behind your back.

“You do have standards, right?” asked Blaise lazily, passing around a bar of dark chocolate and shuffling around on the sofa to put his head in Pansy’s lap, who raised her brow but didn’t throw him off. Instead, she returned her attention to you.

“You should definitely go with someone who can actually dance,” she said, smirking.

You nudged Mattheo in the side, not catching the look in his eyes as they snapped up to your bright face. “So, not Mattheo then?”

Suddenly, his body seemed on alert again, no longer leaning against the cushions as his lips seemed to hover somewhere near your ear. If it was any indication, his breath fanned your earlobe and you had to suppress a shiver as his voice sounded low, next to your ear. “You don’t even know what I can do, sweetheart.”

Ah. Sweetheart. Damn the way your insides were curling with the way the nickname rolled off his tongue so smoothly. Mattheo had tried out many of those before settling on sweetheart, for some reason. You had loved every single one, from doll to darling to princess, but for some reason, Mattheo had decided that sweetheart was around to stay. So, now you were his sweetheart. In any sense but the literal one.

“Well,” said Enzo, carefully examining Mattheo, as if gauging if he was in a mood to be reasoned with. Not that he had to worry, Enzo was probably the fastest runner out of your friend group, always the least likely to get in trouble for a brawl or altercation because he was the first who disappeared from the scene of the crime, even before the teachers showed up, keeping him his prefect’s badge. “I heard something through the grapevine the other day-”

You believed to know what was coming now and your eyes widened as you shook your head at him. But Pansy leaned forwards eagerly, ignoring Blaise’s protests. “Go on!”

“Ah,” said Enzo, clearly deriving some sort of pleasure from having everyone hang onto his every word. “You see, some little birdie told me you had been asked out by Potter.”

Closing your eyes, you let the round of jeers and whistles that swept the others wash over you and buried your face in your hands, burning with embarrassment. When you looked up again, you met the eyes of five attentive listeners, eager to hear your side of the story. Even Theo had marked his page with an index finger and raised a brow at you expectantly. Only Mattheo was eerily still beneath you, his fingers having halted all movement.

“How do you get all this information?” you asked Enzo incredulously, rubbing the back of your neck again and trying to deflect from the fact he had just dropped- knowing nothing would fulfill your friends’ curiosity but your explanation.

“I have my sources,” said Enzo secretively and tapped his fingers against each other, watching you over them. “And it seems like they’re reliable.”

“You’re not- you know- going with him?” asked Pansy in an almost disgusted voice and you frowned at her. “I declined. But even if I didn’t, what would be wrong with that? He’s my friend after all.”

Your friends fell silent, probably swallowing down a round of insult they would gladly chat about once you were gone. Thinking of which, your eyes snapped to the clock above the fireplace and you jolted a bit when you saw the time. Before Pansy could open her mouth to ask you another question, you interrupted her. “Alright, this has been fun, but I’m leaving before this conversation gets worse- or before Filch starts patrolling the corridors.”

As you shifted to get up from his lap, Mattheo’s arm around your waist tightened instinctively, his fingers pressing into your side just enough to make you hesitate. You pushed against his chest lightly, but he didn’t budge, his grip lazy yet firm- like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go. Or, perhaps, punishing you, for being asked out by Harry.

“Mattheo,” you murmured, half amused, half embarrassed because all your friends were watching with teasing eyes and matching grins.

But he only smirked, his dark eyes flickering up to yours with a glint of something unreadable. “What?” he drawled, feigning innocence even as his hold on you lingered, burning against your skin. It took another small shove- this time with a bit more force behind it- for him to finally release you, his hands dragging down your sides as you slipped free, leaving behind a warmth that made your skin tingle even long after you stood.

“Yeah,” said Theo slowly, tapping his fingers against the back of his book as his eyes lingered on Mattheo, who was now looking at you in a way that made it quite difficult for you to move your feet in the right direction- and steadily at that. “You better go before Mattheo combusts.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes at Theo, though his gaze was still firmly locked on you. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to ruin the fun.”

With a light-hearted giggle, you pushed past the sofas and armchairs and waved them goodbye, earning a round of “Good night”s and “Have fun with the lions” in return. As your figure disappeared in the common room entrance, Mattheo's eyes lingered on the wall sealing itself again, as if you were still standing there.

“Well, that was painful,” commented Theo, leaning back against the cushions and glancing over at his best mate. “Watching you struggling not to show how much you care who she goes with.”

“I don’t,” the other lied, knowing it was in vain when he saw the devilish smirk spread on Pansy’s face. “You know, for someone who doesn’t care,” she emphasized the last words sarcastically, “you sure grabbed her like she was yours.”

You were. Feeling annoyed at the lot of them and knowing he would be subjected to a great deal of teasing until Theo’s desire for a smoke reached the level of his, Mattheo leaned back against the couch and rolled his eyes, trying not to focus his mind on the memory of you flush against him- right where he liked you best. “She was already sitting there. What, you wanted me to throw her off?,” he snarled back, glaring at one of the portraits to avoid Pansy’s raised brows. When it came to affairs of romance, she was surprisingly sharp. No wonder she seemed to know how much he fucking adored you.

Next to him, Theo coughed a false, ironic cough and Mattheo knew he couldn’t expect any support from that side either. “Mate, your hand was on her hip like you were staking a claim,” Theo drawled, giving him a smug look that Mattheo returned, unimpressed. “You want me to put my hand on your hip instead?”

“Dios mio, no,” replied Theo under his breath, reopening his book but still actively listening to the conversation unfolding.

Again, it was Pansy who broke the silence with a daring grin, crooking her head at Mattheo. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re mad she hasn’t asked you to the ball yet.”

Mattheo deadpanned, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, yeah, Pans. I’m devastated.”

“You know,” Enzo piqued up now, smiling casually in the knowledge that he was on the winning side in this. “If you asked her nicely, maybe she’d go out with you.”

Leaning forwards, Mattheo gave him a sardonic smile, sneering, “Oh right.” His tone was mocking, exaggerated. “‘Please, love of my life, light of my existence, will you attend the stupidest event of the year with me?'” He did his best to sound nonchalant, as if the mere idea of asking you out on a date was absurd and not the subject of his more innocent daydreams.

But irony could only do so much to conceal how much he really meant the words, how they opened the door to a path to his deepest, darkest desires that he would rather not open right now. No, he preferred to visit those darker corridors of his sacreligious existence when he was alone, in his dorm, shame and excitement curling in his chest as he imagined you how he could never have you. Where nobody could see just how much you meant to him.

Draco let out a scoff from his place by the fire and everyone turned towards him instead. “Imagine if she said yes to Potter,” he said, expression morphing into one of disgust. “Imagine them slow dancing.” Mattheo, who knew exactly what purpose hid behind those carefully chosen words, couldn’t help but tightening his jaw at the idea, the image. If he hadn’t hated Potter enough already, the idea itself would have done it.

“Imagine me hexing you into next week,” he growled at Malfoym who fell silent immediately, but earned himself an appraising nod from Pansy.

“What if she actually did go with Potter though?” Blaise pried further, smirking up at him from where his head rested in Pansy’s lap.

Mattheo felt his patience undeniably tested, fingers flexing against his tense legs as one of them started to bounce restlessly. Merlin, how he could have smashed Blaise’s stupid, grinning face into this stupid, grinning portrait to make them both stop mocking him. But that would prove all of them right, and maybe he didn’t even want to admit to himself how much the image bothered him, how much it made him want to storm up to Gryffindor tower to eliminate the threat himself. “Then Hogwarts would need a new chosen one,” he gruffed out, voice low as his fingers itched for a cigarette.

The topic of you and your friendship had been one of great interest these past few months, ever since it had become normal for you to rest on each other's lap, run your fingers through each other's hair or sleep over in each other’s dorm. It had raised more than a few eyebrows, but Mattheo had always smirked them away, relishing in showing you off. This loose but ever-present claim he had on you, that made him feel perfectly entitled to stare down any boy you crossed when walking through the halls with him, it had been enough for him.

Up until now, it seemed. When they had gotten brazen enough to think that they could dare ask out his girl. Only that you weren’t, he had to remind himself. No matter how often he touched you, it wouldn’t make you his, properly, until he worked up the courage to ask you. But there was just one problem: himself. And the danger he put you in by making you something more than a friend.

“What makes you think I even want to go out with her?” he asked roughly, brows scrunched up in a bitter frown and aching for something to soothe his nerves. You would have been ideal, but alas, you were gone and he needed another, a lesser fix. When he glanced up, he was met with four pairs of raised brows, as his friends all stared at him incredulously.

“Mate,” said Enzo in a voice that suggested he was trying to reason with him. “You just had her in your lap. You glare at any guy who even looks at her. You beat up Zacharias Smith when he stood her up so bad he had to spend the holiday in St. Mungos, and the only reason you weren’t charged with something was because you literally threatened to kill him if he spoke to someone about it.”

Mattheo glowered at the ground, conflicting emotions clawing at his chest, desperate for release. He felt it again. The whirlwind of his own self, all-consuming, unstoppable, but by the your touch, the sound of your voice. When he felt like he was hovering with one foot over the abyss, threatening to be swept up by the confusing storm raging against the confines of his body, you were the only one able to reach him, reach out to him, calm his whirling thoughts, his flaring temper.

No wonder Enzo always ran for you whenever it looked like he was about to start a fight. He knew how utterly disarmed he was when you looked at him with those pretty wide eyes of yours. How your worry extinguished any and all rage inside him, making something else entirely pulse in his chest.

“Can’t I be a good friend?” he asked, sarcastically. But he knew the charade wasn’t fooling anyone anymore. Hell, it was not even fooling himself.

Pansy’s voice sounded surprisingly genuine, the teasing, though still present, taking a backseat to a hesitant reaching out. “Well, I think she would like you better as her boyfriend.”

Not wanting to even acknowledge the sincerity of the words, allow himself to think of the real possibility, get his damn hopes up only to get them squashed down again, he sniggered mockingly at her, a contemptuous smile dancing around his lips. Detached. “Well, I think she would have given some sort of indicator or signal if she felt that way.”

A stunned silence followed as all of them, even Theo, seemed completely taken aback. Pansy and Blaise shared an is he actually being serious right now sort of look and Enzo blinked, perplexedly, at his friend. All of them, completely stupefied with the blatant ignorance of the both of you. They had taken you to be oblivious because of some vague romantic insecurity, but Mattheo could usually be trusted to be quite observant, especially when it came down to you. His friends tended to tease him for being so much of a guard dog, having developed some kind of sixth sense for boys looking at you with greedy eyes and how he would press a quick goodbye kiss to your temple before excusing himself to go and sort them out.

But here he was, being so utterly oblivious to the way you clearly reciprocated his affections- how you would barely manage to conceal your blushing, how your eyes would linger on him, how you would stare at him lovingly when lost in thought, how he would always be your very first priority, how you would drop everything you were doing to come help him, even if it was about something some would consider utterly meaningless.

But alas, his ignorance seemed to match yours, and they had to sit and watch, growing ever more frustrated with the way you pined and yearned for each other without ever getting a fucking move on.

Theo was the first to break the silence, brow raised at Mattheo who still stubbornly glared at te ground. “So, what’s the plan? Keep glaring at every guy who looks at her until she magically realizes you’re in love with her?”

He had dropped the magic word. the l-word, that would never make it past Mattheo’s lips and could barely enter his thoughts, as if it was a trigger. Any time he heard it, he cringed involuntarily. But he was too tired of this day and this damn converssation to correct him. “Worked out so far,” he shrugged.

Theo rolled his eyes at him, and from the way his fingers twitched agitatedly against the bookcase, Mattheo knew he was just as eager for a smoke as him, meaning he would provide him with a way out of this fucking therapy session in under five minutes. The guy was just as addicted to nicotine as he was. “And how would you feel about it if someone asks her out tomorrow who she wouldn't be so quick to decline. How would you feel about it when she turns up to the ball with someone other than you?”

Nothing, was what he meant to say. But the words didn’t make it past his lips. They were chocked by the image of you, hanging onto another guy’s arm, laughing for another guy, dancing with another guy. Something dangerous coiled in his stomach, like a snake, ready to attack but with no one to sink its teeth into but himself.

“Fucking hell,” he cursed darkly, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles were plain white, close to cracking, or so it seemed to him.

Theo nodded appreciatively, rising from his seat as Mattheo followed, running a calloused and shaky hand over his face. “You know what to do then.”

When you pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady, you were greeted with a warmth both the Slytherin common room and the halls of Hogwarts had been missing. Loud chattering and laughter filled the room, the figures of many Gryffindor students in the golden hue of the cackling fireplaces. Where Slytherin’s common room was undeniably more stylish and sophisticated, your common room was just cozy.

You spotted your friends sitting by the fire, having snatched the best sofa for themselves. Hermoine seemed to be working on an essay, Ginny’s nose was buried in her book, and over the rim of the worn out cushions, you spotted the heads of Harry and Ron, setting on the carpeted floor between sofa and fireplace. Walking over to them, you let your bag down with a thud that made some of them turn their heads and smile in greeting, though you could see the light frowns on some of their faces.

They were equally as unpleased about your friendship with their Slytherin peers as they were about your Gryffindor housemates. Really, it was only natural, seeing as the two groups had a history of picking petty fights with each other and landing the others in the hospital wing. At least some of them held their frustration with the others back for the quidditch pitch, but the same couldn’t be said for all of them.

But your friends’ disapproival of your Slytherin friendgroup was nothing compared to their objection to your attachment to Mattheo Riddle, son of Lord Voldemort himslef and Harry’s personal nemesis since first grade. Not only were they among the students whispering about his reputation and dark legacy behind his back, Harry (and Ron) had also been on the receiving end of Mattheo's fists before- and hit back.

As you sat down between Hermoine and Ginny on the couch, you saw that Harry and Ron were sitting on the carpet, facing each other, a board of wizard chess in between them. The game seemed to have been going on for a while already, as a larger pile of defeated white figures and a smaller one of black figures lay by the side of the board. Harry seemed to be losing, as anyone would, against Ron. Watching Ron make a clever move against him, you lamented that you would love to see him play with Theo- it would certainly be a battle for the ages.

Ron looked up from the game when you got comfortable in the squishy cushions of the worn-out sofa and his eyes ran over you for a second, as if checking for injuries. “How was the snakepit?” he asked, and though it was humorous, his voice held an underlying tension.

“Anyone bite you?” asked Ginny from behind the shitty romance book she was currently hate-reading, a teasing tone evident in her voice. Out of all of them, Ginny was probably the most chill about your ties to the Slytherins, as she herself didn’t give much of a shit about house rivalries. “Anyone you’d want to bite you?” she added, making you huff out a small laugh under your breath.

“I am unharmed, thank you,” you said, a bit curtly at the condescending tone of Ron’s question. Just as it was with your Slytherin friends, you’d always defend your ties to the other group when they talked shit about each other- in the full knowledge that it would never change anything, and they would just keep hating each other.

When Mattheo had suggested you shouldn't waste your breath trying to stand up for your friends when their hostility ran too deep to ever be dismantled, you had asked if he’d say that about you defending him in front of your friends too. Thinking back to his taken-aback expression, you had to suppress a smile. Mattheo had never again tried to convince you not to stick up for your friends, but when you'd slept over at his dorm a few nights later, he’d asked you if you had been serious about defending him to your friends. He hadn’t looked at you, but you had heard the vulnerability in every gruff grumble of his tone.

Hermoine’s matter of fact voice drew your attention back to the situation at hand. “Did he finally ask you?” she inquired, scratching a loudly purring crokshanks behind the ear.

You knew what she was talking about, of course, and averted your eyes. Concealing your disappointment, you pretended to be interested in Harry's and Ron's game, where Ron now checkmated Harry, making him groan loudly. “No,” you answered in your best impression of indifference.

Harry, who had not been paying attention to the conversation due to his humiliating defeat, finally admitted his loss and turned his attention to the couch. “y/n?” he addressed you, chiming in, and you raised your brows at him inquiringly. Wringing his hands, he seemed a little embarrassed. “So… remember when I asked you about being my date for the Yule Ball?”

“Vividly,” you answered, nodding.

In fact, you did. In this very same common room, at about one in the morning, he’d called back to you when you’d made your way back up the stairs to the girl's dormitories. Due to procrastinating your homework of the last week, you had been staying up to complete several essays, with only him as your company. Being the Quidditch team captain and assigned the duties coming along with the position, he’d been behind his course work as well until the last embers of the fire had burned down. In the total darkness, he’d asked you to come with him to the yule ball- as a friend, of course. But you had declined the offer, still foolishly hoping that Mattheo might put his money where his mouth was and ask you out instead.

Harry rubbed his neck, sounding just as embarrassed as that night. “Yeah, well, I still kind of don’t really have a date yet ...”

General laughter took over the group at his red-faced confession. Next to you, Ginny giggled, shifting her concentration back onto her book, as Hermoine shook her head with a little smile. “Absolutely pathetic, mate,” commented Ron, collecting the chess figures and board to store them back in one of the shelves beside the fireplace.

“Hey,” said Harry indignantly, raising his brows at him, “you had to get asked by Hermoine because you didn’t have the balls to ask her herself!” More laughter followed his words and you clutched your sides, glancing over at Hermoine who was chuckling to herself as her eyes skimmed the parchment for any errors she might have missed. “He does have a point," she smiled.

Ron groaned at her, as if she had just delivered a brutal stab to his back, and let himself fall back onto the carpet as the laughter subsided. When he was done grinning at Ron’s humiliation, Harry turned back to you in a business-like manner. “Alright, I’ll be asking you one last time before i accept my fate as the sad, date-less guy for the night.”

His words reminded you that you, too, were among the last people to not have a date for the night, probably in the entire school. Pretty much all of your friends already had partners, and really, it wasn’t only true that you were Harry’s last resort, he was also yours, since Mattheo didn’t seem remotely interested in the idea of taking you out for the ball.

“And that would be different from the usual how?” Ginny asked with raised brows, still not looking up from her book.

“You’re not helping, Ginny,” Harry deadpanned at her before turning back to you, a pleading look in his eyes. “Look. You don’t have a date. I don’t have a date. And, speaking for myself here, if I don’t find one, McGonnagall might force me to take Mrs. Norris out of pity.”

The thought made you break out into a fit of giggles, picturing Harry dancing with the caretaker’s grumpy cat. Ron, who seemed to feel a similar way, grinned. “Now that’s a mental image I didn’t need.”

“Mrs. Norris in a tiny gown…,” said Ginny dreamily, turning a page in her book and making Harry roll his eyes at his friends’ antics.

Feigneing support, you patted his shoulder and offered empathetic, constructive advice. “Why not take Filch himself while you’re at it? I’m sure he’s a great dancer.”

Harry rubbed at his temples and shook his head at the round of laughter that followed your words. “Okay, so, moving on-,” he turned his gaze back to you, serious once more. “You are my best option.”

“Flattering, Harry,” you joked, “And they say chivalry is dead.” Smiling, you averted your eyes to think properly and instead focused them upon crookshanks who was striding towards you on the couch. You started to pet him, earning a mechanical sort of purr from the old cat, as you contemplated the situation.

“Listen,” said Harry, dragging himself on the carpet in your direction. “It’s a good pitch. We’ll go as friends, no pressure, no drama, no expectations- just two people avoiding being total losers together.”

Crookshanks began purring with more enthusiasm as you scratched him behind the ears, hesitating. “I mean… I guess?” It wasn’t like he didn’t have a point. Turning up alone would be less than favorable, especially since all your friends had dates for the night, except Harry. Honestly, you’d probably spend most of the night with him anyway, due to that fact. Might as well make it official.

The scratching of Hermpoine’s quill next to you had stopped as she looked at you over the rim of her parchment. “You guess?” she asked, eyes narrowed. You shrugged, instead of relaying the lengthy explanation for your hesitation. In spite of what Pansy constantly tried to convince you off, you were quite sure by now that Mattheo wasn’t going to ask you- which was fine. Really. It was absolutely fine with you. Except for the part where it wasn’t at all.

Maybe it was because Pansy had gotten your hopes up about this. Any time you had expressed your doubts about your friendship with Mattheo to her, she’d roll her eyes at you and tell you all sorts of things: how he’d been responsible for McLaggen’s unlucky incident that sent him to St Mungos after he had stood you up, how he would look at you with, as she put it, ‘a disgustingly lovesick stare’, how he would always find ways to bring you up in conversation when you weren’t around, his mind floating back to you regardless of the context, either stating or guessing what your opinion might be on the matter.

‘Honestly,’ she’d say, ‘That boy is so in love with you it’s embarrassing to sit next to. Like, truly appalling. And even worse to sit by while he always cops out of asking you out officially.’

But either way, whether what she was saying was true or a misguided guess, or a kind lie, you were quite sure he wouldn’t be making a move before Christmas. Did you really want to turn up without a date and watch him spend the night with some other girl dangling from his arm? He had enough of them at his disposal, in spite of his parentage or reputation. And, really, if he was doing these things in spite of your blatant signaling, in spite of being so weirdly territorial over you, you might as well go out with a guy that would tickle his nerves. See how he felt about that. As his arch-nemesis, Harry would certainly be ideal in that regard.

“You wanted Riddle to ask you, didn't you?” Hermoine’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, her gaze knowing as it rested on you.

You felt caught and sat up a little straighter. “...no.” Curse your denial to come out so hesitantly. But really, she was right. There had been nothing you had been more excited for than the possibility of going out with your best friend, back when the yule ball had been announced. And now, this.

Ron pointed an accusatory finger at you, frowning. “That was the least convincing no I’ve ever heard.”

Meanwhile, Ginny was giggling away at your side. “You so did,” she called your bluff and patted your leg in false pity.

With a long, desperate groan, you buried your face in your hands. “Ugh, shut up, please!”

But Ginny, still laughing, only marked her page with a bookmark and threw it aside onto a nearby table to turn her whole attention to you. “Merlin, this is so much better than my book!”

To quell all of their teasing at once - you could see Ron opening his mouth to add to your embarrassment and even Hermoine seemed to have something to say as she put away her parchment - you lifted your head from the palms of your hands and raised them to bring about silence. However, only your next words could get their attention. “Alright, alright, sure!” you called, face burning, “I’ll go with you, Harry.”

Whistling loudly, Ron earned himself a stern glare from Hermoine. When she had silenced his appreciative teasing, she turned to you, slightly frowning now. Meanwhile, Harry fisted the air, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “You won’t regret it, I promise. I’ll be the best fake date you’ve ever had.”

These words did manage to make your lips twitch into a small smile. “That is not a very high bar, Harry.”

Still frowning worriedly, Hermoine, ever the voice of reason, leaned towards you and placed a hand on your leg. “You don’t have to say yes just because Harry is desperate, you know that, right?”

“Wow, thanks, Hermoine,” said Harry sarcastically from the side, but she ignored him. Hoping to calm her worries, you smiled at her.

If you were being truthful, you would admit that this wasn’t a purely altruistic move on your part. Actually, you were hoping for some benefit to come out of this arrangement for you, as well. Maybe you could finally figure out if Mattheo felt anything more for you than friendship, if you forced his hand by going with his biggest rival. But you would rather have Harry and the others think you were just doing your friend a favor, a far more noble motivation than these darker intentions.

But Ginny seemed to see right through you. “Oh, come on. We all know you’re just saying yes to make Riddle jealous,” she blatantly called you out, earning herself a round of chuckles as the blood rushed to your face.

“That’s not-” you lied, a blushing and embarrassed mess and probably very obvious. You had never been that good at lying, and at least Mattheo said that he appreciated it, being surrounded with a group of friends who were just as good at lying as seeing through the lies of others. That he felt less like he had to watch his every step with you. He liked your openness, and he found your blushing adorable, always pinching your cheeks when you did and only worsening your situation most of the time.

Ginny curled with laughter at your feeble attempts to hide your true attention. “It totally is, who are you trying to convince here?” she asked, amusedly and you breathed a long sigh. Why did all this have to be so complicated? Feelings and people and dances.

But at least Harry seemed to take mercy on you, which was the least he could do after you’d given into his desperate pleas. “Alright, it’s settled then,” he sounded over Ginny’s laughter, giving you a trusted smile, “You and me- two best mates, going to the ball together. No weirdness.”

“No weirdness,” you repeated, quite thankful.

But Ginny quirked a teasing brow at you. “Except for when Riddle inevitably loses his mind over it." The idea ignited a spark of hope in you that you immediately felt bad for. Of course you didn’t want to make Harry a pawn in your game- but it may have been a sacrifice you were willing to make. However, you certainly didn’t want to put him at risk of spending time in the hospital wing or anything. Which was not that far-fetched of a worry.

“Not my problem,” shrugged Harry at Ginny’s words and you bit down on your lip. “It might be.”

Your words had been but a quiet mutter, but Ginny picked up on them and grinned at you with an expression that eerily reminded you of Pansy at the prospect of some juicy new drama. “On a scale of one to absolute insanity, how bad do you think he’s gonna take it?”

Sighing deeply and wringing your hands in your lap, you gave her a sheepish look, trying not to glance at Harry when you said, “I’m hoping for mild irritation.”

Ginny’s eyebrows shot up until they almost reached her hairline. Harry, too, seemed quite skeptical, as he leaned against the couch and frowned up at you. “And expecting?”

A small smile tugged at your lips, but you weren’t in a mood for joking. “...Something between homicide and setting the entire venue on fire,” you replied, hesitantly but probably as a more realistic estimation of the prospects. Regardless of whether or not Mattheo liked you, he surely didn’t take kindly to any boy getting, in his opinion, too close to you-especially not the Chosen One, whom he’d been pitted against since the first time he’d set foot on the doorstep of the castle.

“So, about a nine?” asked Ron, chuckling, and making the rest of you laugh again. It resoilved some of the tension that had been lingering in the air, the knowledge of a looming confrontation. Leaning over to you with faux secrecy, Ron said, “Just don’t come crying to us when he inevitably drags you into some dark corridor for a dramatic argument.”

“She’s hoping for that,” smirked Ginny, rolling her eyes- if at you or at her brother, you weren’t sure. Honestly, both of you deserved it.

Suddenly, Harry stood up from the carpet and straightened out his shirt, grinning dowm at you. Again, he had a business-like air about him. “Alright, if we’re doing this. we’re doing it properly.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, chuckling at his sudden enthusiasm.

Harry tipped an imaginary hat. “If i have to face the wrath of Mattheo Riddle, I at least want to look good while doing it” All of you chuckled at his determination and Ginny whistled. “Now, that’s the spirit.”

The first day of the holidays brought the first proper snow of the winter. Overnight, the snowflakes had danced quietly onto the earth and had turned the castle grounds into a fairytale landscape. The dark forest was no longer a black but a white mass, somehow less threatening and more inviting. But who would have felt the desire to disappear into the trees when the castle was buzzing with warmth and christmas joy?

The excitement for the yule ball especially was apparent everywhere, as students stood in the courtyard, huddled together in groups against the cold, and discussed dress robes and hairstyles for the next day's evening. A blanket of snow lay thick upon the stone gargoyles as you passed them, trotting behind Harry and Ron with Hermoine by your side. Your crunching steps left footprints in the white, glistening layer as you listened to Harry and Ron how much cake they would need for the afterparty in the common room.

Reaching the protection of the castle wall, you stood together, shielded against the sharp winter winds, as Ron started to change the topic to the amounts of firewhiskey they could smuggle in. “The thing is,” he said with a fervor you could rarely spot with him in class-related situations. “The Slytherins have the best connections to the hogshead, so we had a bit of trouble even finding someone who would give us hard liquor. We tried pretending to be McGonnagall to trick Madam Rosmerta into sending some up to the castle, but I don’t think it worked because she didn’t answer our owl.”

“Have you considered to pass yourself off as a teacher a bit more… relaxed than Professor McGonnagall?,” you suggested, looking from Harry to Ron with an amused expression.

“She’s the only professor who’s writing I could mimic,” said Harry, shrugging. “You have connections in Slytherin, right? Maybe you could get us some firewhiskey.” Hermoine murmured something like a reasonable objection into her scarf, but there was a lenient glinting in her eyes when she looked at Ron, who suddenly seemed hopeful at the idea. For once, not overly critical of your other friendships.

“Nah,” you said, deriving a certain satisfaction from seeing their hopeful expressions crumble. “Get your own connections. I’m not catching shit from McGonnagall for being responsible for your alcoholism.”

“Says the one with the nicotine addicted whatever he is to you,” said Hermoine, arms crossed tightly over her chest for warmth, with a smile and you huffed out an amused chuckle, your breath swirling in transcendent forms in the air before mingling with theirs and fading.

“But you bring up a good point,” said Harry, “The real question is: how would we even get all of it past McGonnagall and up to Gryffindor tower? I mean, we could use the invisibility cloak, but-”

Abruptly, he fell silent, and just the split of a second later did you realize the reason why, when the familiar smell of cigarettes and leather alerted you, with pin-point accuracy, who the culprit of Harry’s sudden discontinuation was. A shadow loomed over the four of you, huddled into your corner, and the easy atmosphere shattered like glass. You did not need him to speak to know who it was.

“Mind if I steal her for a moment?”

Mattheo’s voice was low, edged with amusement, but laced with something else as well, something unreadable. Ron and Hermoine whipped around, sharply, at the sound of his voice, Ron stepping in front of her slightly, as if on instinct. However, you turned only reluctantly, already aware who you’d find standing there, but not knowing whether you were keen on talking to him and revealing the inevitable bomb that might set him off.

Mattheo was leaning against the castle wall, mere feet from you. His dark eyes flickered over your friends with a lazy kind of scrutiny, lips twitching when he caught the way Hermoine’s posture stiffened and Ron’s expression darkened. His gaze lingered on Harry for half a second longer than necessary. Harry straightened slightly, shoulders squaring, and shifted as if to protest, but before he could speak, Mattheo cut him off with an easy smirk and a tilt of his head. “Relax, Potter, I won’t bite.” His gaze flickered back to you, locking onto yours as his smirk shifted into something more… deliberate. “Unless you ask nicely.”

He extended a hand- not touching you, just gesturing you forward, but the implication was clear. The moment seemed to stretch, a thick tension settling in the chilly air, before you stepped away from the wall, brushing a bit of snow off your sleeve. Behind you, Hermoine let out a barely audible sound of disapproval, Ron muttered something, in all likelihood, rude under his breath and Harry shifted slightly in your field of vision, as if he wanted to step in. But you threw them a pleading look not to make a thing out of it and walked over to Mattheo’s side, raising your brows at him in silent inquiry.

His eyes studied your expression, before he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you away. With a last little smile to your friends, you told them goodbye and walked away with him, not registering the slow, smug glance Mattheo gave them over his shoulder as he turned with you towards the entrance.

But the castle didn’t seem to be his desired destination. Instead, he led you down the flight of stairs connecting the courtyard and the greenhouses, all the while silent. You stocked it up to his bad mood. In truth, it was nervosity.

Mattheo had been rolling it around in his head all night, ever since he’d watched you leave the common room last night, Theo's dark suggestion still ringing in his ears, the cursed images of you with Potter, of all people, still haunting him. He’d already given Pucey his piece of mind about him considering to ask you out, but he knew you would mind - a lot - if he had a go at Harry that was so clearly provocated by himself. Knowing you wouldn’t forgive him too easily if he rearranged Potter’s face just a few days before christmas, and considering the massive truthbomb that was the fact that he, in actuality, held no claim over you. Yet.

Finally, after staring at the ceiling stubbornly for a good few hours, making his way through what was left of his last pack of cigarettes and not getting a minute of sleep, he’d finally not only worked up the courage, but also the words to finally, finally ask. But now, as he led you down the icy stairs, vigilant you wouldn’t trip, both the nerve and the ability to articulate himself seemed to have left him. Maybe he should have gotten some sleep before this after all. Or consumed anything other than black coffee and nicotine before approaching you to ask you- possibly the only question that really mattered.

When you reached the greenhouses, he leaned against one of the glass walls, fogged up against the cold, hands buried in his coat pockets. Feeling nervous, you moved to stand on the bit of snow-covered grass in front of him, sneaking glances up at him, his furrowed brows, his clenched jaw. “So,” he said slowly, as if weighing every word, “About the ball.”

“Oh,” you made, swallowing. With a nervous little nod, you wrung your frost-bitten hands and looked up into his brown eyes, so beautiful against the cold white sky. They were surprisingly calm, given the news you thought would enrage him. Maybe it didn’t matter to him after all. “So you heard, then?”

But Mattheo tilted his head, incredulously. “Heard what, exactly?” Oh shit. Perplexedly, you blinked up at him, having assumed he would have heard by now through Enzo’s miraculous grapevines, and that that was the reason he had wanted a chat. “...that I’m going with Harry.”

Mattheo stilled, expression faltering for just a second before his jaw clenched- tight. His eyes, usually gleanming with lazy humour, darkened as they locked onto yours, the look in them almost making you take a step back before you could get your instincts back under control. “Potter?” he said, his voice deceptively calm, but you could see the way his fingers flexed, as if suppressing a sudden urge to clench them into fists. His tongue ran over his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose like he was trying to reel himself in.

Mattheo felt the words hit im like a slap, over and over again. That I’m going with Harry. I’m going with Harry. I’m going with Harry. They twisted something inside him, and it hurt, though he’d rather die than let it show. Potter. Out of all the people in this godforsaken castle, it had to be him. His jaw was locked as he forced himself to keep his expression neutral, but he could feel the tightness in his chest, the way his fingers flexed and twitched with the urge to grab you- to shake some sense into you.

You tilted your head and looked up at him with those nervous, pretty eyes of yours, an unsure, hesitant smile playing around your lips. “What other Harrys could I possibly be referring to?” you asked, in a feeble attempt to bring some humour into the situation, light up his face that was grim and tight, as if in shadow.

Mattheo wanted to laugh, to show you how utterly unaffected he was by this news, and at the same time, he burned to throw out some sharp, cutting remark about how predictable it was, how you must have lost your damn mind. But the words felt heavy in his throat. Because it was a perfectly sane decision. Going out with Potter was probably way more sensible than going out with him.

Instead, he leaned back slightly, rolling his shoulders as if the news didn't settle like lead in his stomach. “Didn’t know you were into charity work now,” he drawled, voice deceptively smooth, but there was a cutting edge to it, a sharpness that wasn’t usually there- or rather, was usually directed at everyone but you.

“You’re really going with that bastard?” he asked, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. Not even looking into your eyes could calm the storm raging inside him now, as it spread through every fibre of his body, balled in his chest, reached the tips of his fingers as they almost shook with suppressed rage. Now, they were just a reminder of what he couldn’t have.

Of course you’d go with Potter, why would you have even considered him? When people were already whispering behind your back about you and your friendship with him, calling you names and giving you looks, calling you a house traitor and shallow or two-faced, the irony not even occurring to them. But Merlin, how he hated, how he detested, how he loathed that Harry was, sensibly, a better option for you than he would ever be.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. He shouldn't even care. Since when had he let people get to him like this? But you weren't just anyone. You were you. You were his. And then again, you weren’t. And he shouldn’t be feeling this burning frustration curling in his chest, shouldn’t feel the itch in his fingers to grab your wrist and tell you to drop the whole fucking thing. But he did. And that pissed him off even more.

“He asked me as a friend,” you said, feeling the need to clarify. Why you had thought it would calm the storm raging in his eyes, you didn’t know, as a dry, sarcastic laugh fell from his lips, missing his usual casual teasing tone. “Oh, of course. Just friends.”

Your clueless frown only fueled his anger and he clicked his tongue impatient at you, taking some sick enjoyment in the way his glare made you recoil slightly. “Never taken you as naive before, sweetheart.” When he usually whispered the nickname, it was a flirty drawl, and accompanied by a teasing smirk, or just a casual, rare smile. Now, he spat it out, barely containing his frustration. But he wasn’t the only one irked by the other.

“Mattheo, I adore you,” you said firmly, frowning up at him, “But just because you’ve got a hidden motive behind everything doesn’t mean he has.” Trying to think of the right words, you bit down on your lower lip. “He just…”

“...didn’t find anyone as nice as you to take pity on him?” Mattheo finished your sentence, his brows raised with dry humor. You could tell he was trying to push your buttons now, deflecting from his own emotions by trying to get yours up, in an attempt to get the upper hand. Because with him, everything had to be a fight, a struggle, a confrontation.

Refusing to let him get to you, you crossed your arms over your chest and looked at him coolly. “Maybe I said yes because he actually asked me.”

Unexpectedly, his detached demeanor seemed to crack for just a second. Something shifted in his expression, flickering -or falling- before he got his features back under control. “Huh,” he made, and you were treated to the rare sight of Mattheo Riddle running out of words. His lips twitched grimly, brows furrowed.

Trying to stop him thinking of some sarcastic, meticulous provocation, you took a step towards him, your breath puffing in the air. “Yeah. Huh.”

Finally, an ironic smile forced itself upon his face, it almost seemed to pain him, as the way his nails dug into his palms had to. “So, you’re gonna spend the whole night batting your eyelashes at Mr. Gryffindor Golden Boy then?”

“Why do you care?” you asked quickly, trying to catch him off guard. Your eyes zeroed in on every twitch of his expression, looking for tell-tale signs- as he surely was, too. Was it platonic protectiveness and his disdain for his rival, Harry, or could it be jealousy? His eyes met yours, fiercely, his intense stare piercing you, and though your heart skipped a beat, you held his gaze, determined not to back down.

Mattheo leaned in slightly, getting close to your face with a mocking smile dancing around his lips. “I don’t,” he said with biting sarcasm. “I wish you the best of times with Potter.”

Scoffing, you averted your eyes. His proximity was suffocating, it was confusing, a round of sparks dancing in the pit of your stomach, so unlike the butterflies people always talked about. No, your love for him was explosive, it was brimming with glimmering tension, threatening to turn into a wildwire, expanding until it consumed you whole. And you’d burn gladly as long as you burned in his hold. “No, you don’t” you contered, looking back up to find him looking at you with such hunger in his brown eyes.

Mattheo grinned grimly, clicking his tongue in a way that could have drove you into a craze. “You’re right. Hope you trip in those ridiculous heels Pansy will make you wear.”

Pretending to be annoyed, you huffed out a long breath, caught somewhere in between amusement and exasperation. “You have no right to be mad, Mattheo.”

For a moment, the only sound between you was the distant howl of the wind in the courtyard archways above, the faint echo of laughter carried down to the greenhouses by the breeze as the truth of your words hung in the tense air between you. Mattheo was watching you, his jaw tight, his lips curved into that infuriating smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You could see it- how his amusement was forced, how something far more volatile simmered beneath the surface. His words from a second ago still hung between you, sharp-edged and taunting. “Who says I’m mad?”

Without thinking, you reached up, fingers curling around his jaw, your palm warm against the biting cold of his skin. His breath hitched- so soft, so fleeting you almost missed it- but his entire body went rigid, as if the contact had struck him like a spell. His dark eyes, always so unreadable, widened just slightly, caught between surprise and something else. You tilted his chin up just enough to meet his gaze fully, your thumb brushing over the sharp edge of his jaw, and then, with a voice quiet but unwavering, you murmured, “Your face.”

With a whiplash-inducing speed, his demeanor changed, his smirk turning seductive as he leaned into your touch, a disarming glint in his chocolate brown eyes. “And you’d no all about that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

It was unfair. He knew exactly how to tickle your nerves, and just when you’d thought you’d won the struggle for the upper hand, he flipped a card like this, completely taking you aback. The heat of your stomach seemed to rush into your cheeks and you glared at him, at the knowing look in his eyes. There was a reason he was in Slytherin. But there was also a reason you were in Gryffindor.

“I'll see you tomorrow at the ball,” you scoffed, frustrated, let go of his face and took a step back. You knew looking at him might make you turn back to either kiss or slap him, so you turned around sharply and stormed up the stairs back to the courtyard. He didn't follow you, but you could feel the burning piercing of his stare resting on your back.

Pansy’s dorm was alive with the flicker of enchanted candlelight, the air thick with the mingling scents of your perfumes, hairspray and the faintest trace of Pansy’s expensive vanilla-sandalwood lotion. You stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing your hands over the flowing green fabric of your dress as Pansy, perched on the edge of the bed, tilted her head in assessment. “Honey, you look absolutely gorgeous,” she concluded, rising from the bed to walk over to you and arrange the dress in areas.

Her's was already wrapped around her figure, complementing her curves. You tugged at the neckline of yours, unsure of how much cleavage you were showing. In the shop, it had somehow seemed less risque, though it had still been more than you would usually be comfortable with. “Are you sure?”

Halting her prodding movements and tugs, Pansy straightened up and rested her head on your shoulder, smirking at you through the mirror with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Am I sure you look gorgeous or that Mattheo will like it?”

The blush that shot up into your cheeks would have made any rouge unnecessary. “Pansy!” you hissed, glaring at her, but she only laughed and lifted her head from your shoulder to turn you away from the mirror and to her, for further inspection.

“Don’t worry,” she said, for once with a sincere look on her face and a warm smile gracing her lips. “He will fall in love with you all over again and beat Potter to death before he can even get a hand onto your waist.” Her eyes glinted. “At least after I’m done with your hair.”

In spite of her reassuring words, you let your critical eyes wander over your figure in the mirror as Pansy sat you down on a chair. Her fingers carded into your hair, brushing it out and parting it into sections as she got to work on pinning it up in elegant ways. Brows furrowed in concentration, her fingers worked as if she’d done it a million times before. You scanned her frowning face in the mirror's reflection, rolling her words over in your mind. Pansy was one of your best friends, she wouldn’t lie to you, but-

“Pans?” you asked into the quiet, making her hum in response and raise her brows at you. You opened your mouth, lips parted to beg for further reassurance- but you closed them again, swallowing. It wasn’t like they would convince you, not after having heard her constant encourages for months and never truly having believed them. Or had you? Was it the reason you were so disappointed about Mattheo not asking you out, like you felt you could expect it of him after all Pansy had told you? “Thanks,” you finally said.

Your defeated tone seemed to catch her attention as her eyes snapped up to meet yours in the mirror’s reflection. She frowned. “You know, for someone who’s got a date tonight, you don’t look very excited.”

“I am excited,” you lied, giving her a tense little smile she saw right through.

With raised brows, she got back to putting your hair up with a mix of barrettes, hairspray, and magic. “Mhm, try saying that again without sounding like you’re in mourning.” With a promising little smile, she nudged your shoulder. “I promise you the evening will still get rather exciting for you, even if Potter’s a bore.”

You sighed, unable to hold onto the words any longer as your hands clasped in your lap. “You always try to convince me that he likes me,” you said, without saying the name you were trying to avoid, because it was such a sinful pleasure to let it flow off your tongue, like a kid mumbling a curse word under the protection of its blanket, just to try out the sound of it. A forbidden sound, the promise of freedom. Why was it so hard to say his name, after you’d said it so many times these past few months? In scolding tones, in warning tones, in teasing tones, in affectionate tones. Most of the times, it was the latter- most of the time, he returned your name in the same way.

As you thought of the right way to express the confusion you felt over his actions, Pansy waited, sielntly, and delivered the last, finishing touches to your hair. “If he likes me, why didn’t he ask me?” you finally asked, simple enough.

The question made her sigh and roll her eyes as her perfectly manicured hands clasped down on your thinly clad shoulders. “Because he’s an idiot and a coward. Just like you. Don’t tell him I said that.” You returned her encouraging smile, though still feeling rather pessimistic. Pansy patted your shoulder. “Honestly, since when has Mattheo known to handle his feelings?”

“Fair point,” you sighed, as she released you and walked over to her desk, to her other mirror, displaying her makeup on the surface. As she started to put hers on, you opened your bag as well and got out what you needed, making sure to get none on your dress. For a few minutes, you worked in silent concentration, the quiet only broken by laughter and shouts from the Slytherin common room.

Because she’d insisted on helping you with your hair, you’d agreed to get ready with Pansy in her dorm on the big evening. You had been here for an hour, chatting, trying on each other’s dresses, flipping through magazines for hair and makeup inspiration. Now, it was only an hour until the start of the ball, and the excitement that brimmed in the whole castle even reached the Slytherin dorms in the dungeons. When you’d hurried through it with Pansy, the common room had been devoid of its usual calm and had rather reminded you of the Gryffindor common room on a rowdy saturday, with students mingling and mixing, chatting in excited voices, their anticipation barely contained behind their Slytherin coolness.

Pansy’s voice cut through your meandering thoughts, snapping you back to reality as you started to apply mascara. “When did you tell him, anyway? That you’re going with Potter?”

“Yesterday,” you answered, leaning forward to examine your work in detail. “Why?”

Even through her distant reflection in the mirror, you could distinctly make out her sudden smirk, pulling at her now full and red looking lips. “Oh, nothing,” she warbled innocently, though she looked as if she’d just unraveled a particularly thrilling christmas present. Her glinting eyes locking on your expression as she closed the lid on her lipstick was like a mouse trap snapping shut. “Just… Have I mentioned Mattheo has been a complete nightmare since yesterday?”

You paused mid lipgloss application to meet her eyes through the mirror, her words sinking in and coiling in the pit of your stomach. “...What?” you asked, trying not to sound too eager for her to expand on these seductive words.

Pansy grinned, turning to her mirror to deliver some last finishing touches to her face. “Oh, darling. He’s livid.”

“Why would he be livid?” you asked, frowning, getting back to your lipgloss. “It’s not like he cares.”

Pansy’s mock gasp told you she was not at all convinced by your reasoning- nor fooled by the false indifference in your voice. But she gave into your silent need for answers anyway, a knowing smile on her lips. “Oh, sure, that’s why he nearly hexed Enzo for breathing too loudly this morning.” She corrected the blend of her eyeshadow, enjoying the effect her words had on you. “Honestly, I should be mad at you for causing such an unbearable mood in our common room, but it’s just too entertaining.”

“I didn’t cause anything,” you deflected grumpily, glaring at your own reflection as if it were him, trying to convince yourself, trying not to let Pansy get your hopes up again and, at the same time, yearning for something to grasp onto. “Whatever’s got to him, I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with me.”

Making an unconvinced sound, Pans angled her face differently to admire it in different lighting. “Tell that to the poor first-year who had a nervous breakdown yesterday when Mattheo snapped at him for existing.”

“What?” you snapped sharply, frown deepening. Unfazed, Pansy rose from her seat and walked over to you, swaying her hips as she met your eyes in the mirror. You sighed at the grin on her face, getting back to applying your makeup. “He can be mad all he wants, it doesn’t change the facts.” Right. It changed nothing. You shouldn’t even care.

Pansy raised her perfectly lined brows at your attempts to seem indifferent. “Then why are you applying your lipgloss for the third time?” Before you could answer, she grabbed the lipgloss out of your hands, closed it and threw it back into your back. With a pull that left no room for protest, she tugged you up and towards the door. “You look fantastic. Come on, let’s get you out and about so you can meet your Chosen One up at Gryffindor tower.”

As you walked down the steps and stepped into the common room, your heart began to thrum in your chest at the realization that he’d probably be there. That he’d see you. In this dress. For a moment, you wished you’d gotten one with a more modest neckline, but then again, you burned to see his reaction.

It was as if you already felt it on the bottom step, as Pansy urged you into the common room. His presence, and then, the weight of his stare as you spotted him leaning against one of the leather couches beside Theo, dressed in, for once, unsullied dress robes. His gaze locked and you, your figure, and the tension in the air seemed thick enough to choke on.

Mattheo hadn’t even been looking, let alone waiting for you. At least that was what he told himself. But the moment the sound of heels clicking against the stone steps echoed through the common room, his body betrayed him. His fingers, lazily spinning a silver ring around his knuckle, stilled. His jaw clenched. And when he finally glanced up, just like he swore he wouldn’t, it was like taking a hit straight to the ribs.

You were stunning. Not just in the way that made his breath catch, but in the way that made his stomach twist, made something dark coil in his chest. Because you weren’t dressed for him. And yet, his first thought was that you should’ve been. His expression didn’t change, smirk perfectly in place, body draped in his usual lazy confidence- but his grip on his ring tightened, his throat felt dry, and he had to physically stop himself from shifting toward you. He knew the moment your eyes met his, you’d notice something in his stare, something raw, something dangerous. So he looked away first. Just for a second. Just long enough to breathe.

A thrill ran through you when your eyes met his, sharp and electric. He was still lounging in that infuriatingly effortless way, all cocky smirks and feigned disinterest, but you knew better. You saw it—the clench in his jaw, the way his fingers had gone stiff around that damn silver ring. The way his gaze flickered, just barely, before snapping back to you like he hadn’t meant to look away at all.

The other boys had now taken notice of your presence as well. Charming compliments rolling off his lips like the finest vinegar, Blaise made his way towards Pansy, who smirked him off and locked her arm with yours, telling him something about just having perfected her look and getting you out of here before someone choked on their own spit. But your eyes were still locked on Mattheo, as if there was a magnetic pull attracting them that rendered you unable to avert your gaze.

Only Pansy’s gentle nudges and tugging moved your feet towards the entrance wall, as if on autopilot, and only her whispered voice as she leaned in could cut through the rushing in your ears. “Alright, what’s the plan for tonight when Mattheo inevitably corners you at the ball?”

Anxious for none of the boys to overhear you, you leaned in closer, muttering, “... Ignore him?”

Pansy scoffed at your suggestion, rolling her eyes with a little smirk. Gently, she nudged your side and lifted her brows at you. “Adorable. Wrong, but adorable.”

You sighed, reaching the entrance to the common room and turning to her for a brief goodbye. You had to physically restrain yourself from looking back at Mattheo, who’s gaze you could feel burning into your skin, a silent dare to look back, walk back, to him. But you wouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter,” you tried to convince yourself more than you tried to convince Pansy. “I’m with Harry tonight. End of story.”

But Pansy seemed unimpressed by your stubborn conviction. A promising smirk graced her lips as she tilted her head towards Mattheo subtly. “Oh, honey. This story is just getting started.”

a/n: stay tuned for part b 🫶 | if anyone would like to get tagged for part b who isn't already in the general or mattheo tag list, leave a comment!

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