#mattheo riddle imagine

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

bloodlines (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 13.2k (wow)

Summary: When a centuries-old vow comes into fruition, you're bound to the boy who once swore he'd never love anyone �� especially not you.

A/N: I actually hate this😭

Week 3 of @acourtofchaos's Festival of AUs

@obsessedwithceleste hope u like it pookie <3

The crackling of the fire in the hearth was the sole sound that stirred the stillness, each pop and hiss echoing through the chamber like a whisper of fate. Draped in heavy maroon velvets, the man in the high-backed chair let out a weary sigh, his gaze sharp as steel as it settled upon the figure opposite him.

"How am I to know you’ll keep your word, Salazar?" He asked, "You've never been one to turn away from glory — especially when it's for your own name."

His companion, cloaked in darker hues, paused. A slow, sly smile crept across his face — thin, deliberate, and far too familiar. Godric couldn't help but think of his companion’s namesake — all that was missing was a forked tongue singing sweet lies.

"Then let us bind our names as one," Salazar said at last, his tone smooth as still water, "What glory comes to Slytherin shall then be glory to Gryffindor as well."

Godric narrowed his eyes, fingers running through his beard. A humorless breath escaped him, half laugh, half warning, "You’ve no daughter, Salazar."

"Not yet, that much is true," The other replied calmly, "Yet that is the very point — a safeguard. Let us seal the pact with magic: when our descendants are come of age, they shall wed. Should they fail to do so… then let their bloodline be forfeit."

Godric regarded him in silence, the fire casting shifting shadows across his face. After a long pause, he stood.

"Very well," He said, "You have a deal, old friend."

***

Potions was hardly the class you needed to attend when you were this sleep-deprived. Snape gave out instructions quick and fast and one after the other — and it was difficult enough to catch all of them while wide awake. In your current state, it was a blessing you were understanding every second word.

You’d been plagued by nightmares all night — visions of a dark room barely touched by light, the hiss and rattle of a snake’s tail, and a searing golden thread weaving itself through your chest, leaving a burning trail in its wake as it tied a tight knot around your heart. You woke up feeling like something ancient had looked directly into your soul.

The classroom buzzed with low murmurs and the occasional clink of glass as students moved about, carefully preparing their assignments. You stood at your workstation with Hermione, watching your cauldron bubble gently as she measured out powdered moonstone.

“Careful,” She muttered, “Snape said too much will make it foam—”

Before you could respond, there was a loud laugh from the back of the room.

“Oi, Nott — your stirring looks like a troll having a fit!” Blaise teased, shoving Theo lightly from behind.

Theo rolled his eyes, scoffing, “You wish your potion looked half as decent, Zabini—”

But Blaise gave him another nudge — harder this time, more of a shove.

Theo stumbled back, and before you could react, his shoulder slammed into yours with full force.

You gasped and staggered forward, crashing into the classmate standing in front of you. You hit Mattheo Riddle square in the chest — hard.

And then — everything went wrong.

The moment his skin brushed yours, the room exploded in light. A brilliant, blinding pulse of gold erupted between you — not fire, not lightning, but magic, raw and ancient and alive. The light burst outward in a shockwave that swept through the room.

Every cauldron detonated at once.

Glass shattered. Potions hissed and spilled across the floor. Shrill screams echoed off the stone walls. Smoke and sparks filled the air.

You and Mattheo stumbled apart, dazed and breathless — and yet, the golden thread of light still shimmered faintly between your fingertips.

Everyone in the classroom froze.

Hermione had her wand half-raised, eyes wide. Ron was crouched behind the table, shielding his potion-splattered notes. Harry looked between you and Mattheo like he’d just witnessed the first sign of the apocalypse.

“What the hell was that?” Malfoy demanded from across the room, brushing sludge off his robes.

“Did you see that light?” “She cursed him—” “No, he cursed her—!”

“Enough!” Snape bellowed, storming out of the smoke cloud, looking more furious than you’d ever seen him.

But before he could speak further, another voice cut clean through the chaos like a blade.

“Miss (L/N). Mr. Riddle. You will come with me. Now.”

Professor McGonagall stood in the doorway, as if the castle itself had summoned her the second it happened. Her eyes were sharp as steel behind her spectacles, and the look on her face made your stomach twist with dread.

Mattheo didn’t say a word. He just shot you a glare — like this was somehow your fault — and stepped past the wreckage toward the door.

You followed in stunned silence, the echo of that magic still buzzing in your bones.

You had no idea what had just happened. But it had changed something. And you could feel it — whatever this was… it would never be the same again.

***

The heavy oak doors to the Headmaster’s office creaked open on their own, and you stepped inside behind McGonagall, your nerves fraying with every step. Mattheo Riddle trailed a few paces behind you, shoulders squared, jaw clenched like he was ready to bite someone’s head off.

Professor Snape was already inside, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He didn’t even blink when you walked in — just tilted his head like he was mentally cataloguing your sins.

But it was Dumbledore who drew your attention. He stood in front of his desk, hands clasped, that same maddeningly calm expression on his face.

"Ah. Miss (L/N)," He said warmly, "And Mr. Riddle. Good. You're both here."

You barely had time to open your mouth before he added, with a small twinkle in his eye:

“And… a very happy birthday, (Y/N).”

You blinked, “Um… thank you, Professor?”

The silence that followed was thick. Heavy. It wasn't the usual eccentric kindness you were used to from him. There was something off about it. Something purposeful.

You glanced nervously at McGonagall, who was avoiding your eyes for once, lips pressed into a thin line. Snape still hadn’t moved.

“…Did I do something wrong?” You asked, voice quiet, “Because I didn’t—”

“You didn’t,” Dumbledore cut in gently, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

You exhaled — a brief flicker of relief — before his next words sent your stomach plunging.

“But you have… reached a rather important day. One that has long been awaited.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “What are you talking about?”

Dumbledore turned, walked behind his desk, and drew out a drawer. From it, he retrieved a scroll of ancient parchment — so old and brittle that it looked like it might crumble if you breathed too hard. Strange runes glowed faintly along the edges in gold and green ink.

“It may surprise you,” Dumbledore said slowly, unrolling the scroll with care, “to learn that you are not the first in your family to attend Hogwarts. In fact… you are of a very old line. One that traces directly back to Godric Gryffindor himself.”

Your mouth parted slightly, “Wait—what?”

“And Mr. Riddle,” Dumbledore continued, without looking at Mattheo, “descends from another of our founders — Salazar Slytherin.”

Mattheo scoffed, crossing his arms, “Yeah? So what?”

Dumbledore’s eyes lifted, suddenly sharper — older, “So… a pact made a thousand years ago, in secrecy and desperation, has finally come to pass.”

“A pact?” You echoed, staring at the glowing scroll, “What kind of pact?”

McGonagall’s voice cut through the silence — tight and grave, “A magically binding agreement. Between the founders themselves. A vow that, should descendants of their lines be born in the same generation… they would be joined. In marriage.”

The word hit the room like a curse.

“A marriage,” Dumbledore confirmed, “Written into the fabric of their magic itself. Designed to activate when the conditions were… finally right.”

You stared at him.

“No. That’s — that’s insane.”

“I would be inclined to agree.” Snape muttered dryly.

Dumbledore continued, unshaken, “The spell lay dormant for centuries. Until today.”

“Because we — because I touched him?” You asked, turning toward Mattheo, who now looked two seconds from spontaneous combustion.

“Because you are now of age,” Dumbledore said gently, “and the pact recognizes you both. When your magic met his — it awakened.”

Snape finally spoke, voice cold, “You both witnessed the first sign today. The flare. The bond. Arcane magic, woven into your blood, has reawakened. You can no longer deny it.”

You stumbled back a step, hand pressing over your chest like you could still feel the thread of it under your skin — humming, burning.

Mattheo was the first to break the silence. His voice came out low, sharp, “So that’s it? I’m supposed to marry her because two dead men thought it was a good idea a thousand years ago?”

He scoffed, disgusted. “Are you all completely mad?”

Dumbledore held up a hand, “For now, I only ask that you both take this seriously. This magic is older than all of us — and it is already in motion.”

You swallowed hard, your voice shaking, “…And what happens if we don’t?”

Dumbledore hesitated — and that alone made your heart stop.

“It is my belief,” he said quietly, looking straight at you, “that if the vow is not fulfilled…you may lose your magic. Possibly… even your life.”

Your breath caught.

No. No, no, no—

Your stomach dropped so hard it felt like you might vomit. Your lungs refused to expand. You barely heard McGonagall calling your name as your knees gave slightly.

Mattheo let out a humorless laugh, “Then let her die for all I care. I’m not marrying her. I don’t care if the whole castle burns down.”

And then he stormed out, slamming the door so hard that several portraits shouted in protest.

You stood frozen, tears burning your eyes. Even though you hadn’t wanted this marriage either, something about his words — how easily he said it — made something inside you crack.

“Am I really going to lose my magic?” you asked in a whisper, “Am I going to die?”

McGonagall was at your side instantly, her hand warm on your back as you began to sob, trying and failing to breathe through the panic.

Your first day as an adult. And already… you’d been sentenced to death.

***

The entrance to the Slytherin common room slithered open with a hiss, the chill of the dungeons seeping into Mattheo’s skin as he stepped inside. The low greenish light cast shadows across the stone walls, the usual scent of damp earth and smoke curling in the air.

“Oi, there he is — the man of the hour,” Blaise called from the corner, lounging on a leather sofa with Theo and a few others scattered around, “Thought you'd get stuck in detention for the rest of your life. Was worth it though — we got to leave class early.”

Mattheo forced a scoff, striding toward them with the practiced swagger he wore like armor, “The old crones are all senile.”

Theo snorted, “What happened anyway? She bumped into you and you lost your mind ‘cause her filthy hands doth not touch the pure skin of Mattheo Riddle?”

A few of the others laughed. Mattheo didn’t. He just dropped into the seat next to Blaise, jaw tight.

“I bumped into her. That’s all.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, “Bumped into her and what, set off a bloody fireworks show? Draco took four showers to get the Bubotuber pus out of his hair.”

Mattheo’s fingers tightened around his wand, “I said it was nothing.”

But even as the words left his mouth, he could feel it again — a dull tingling in his head, a sharp kind of pain right behind his eyes that made him screw them shut.

He raised his wand, needing a drink of water.

“Accio.” He muttered, aiming at a glass across the room.

A spark of light flickered. The glass wobbled. Then nothing.

Theo blinked, “Mate, what the hell was that? You losing your touch?”

Mattheo frowned, “I’m just tired. Had one of the most bizarre conversations of my life.”

He gripped the wand tighter — too tight — and tried again.

“Accio.”

A more violent spark this time — and then CRACK. The glass shot across the room like a bullet and slammed into the stone wall behind them, shattering into a million pieces. A few people flinched. Someone swore.

Mattheo didn’t look at the shards of glass.

He was staring at his hand.

It was shaking. Barely — just a tremor in his fingers, almost imperceptible — but it was there.

“Mattheo?” Blaise’s voice was cautious now, “You alright?”

Mattheo’s lips parted, but no sound came out.

Something was wrong. It was the way his magic felt. Like it wasn’t entirely his anymore. Like something was tugging on it — pulling threads loose in places he couldn’t see.

He stood abruptly.

“I’m going to bed.”

And without another word, he stalked off toward the dorms, leaving the others exchanging uneasy looks behind him.

***

The warm glow of the Gryffindor common room wrapped around you like a fragile shield as you pushed open the portrait hole. The chatter and laughter of your friends filled the air — Ron sitting cross-legged by the fire, Hermione quietly reading a book, and Harry leaning against the armrest, eyes lifting as you entered.

“(Y/N)!” Hermione’s smile faltered the moment she saw your face, “Are you—?”

But before she could finish, something inside you broke loose. The tight control you’d clung to shattered, and tears spilled unbidden down your cheeks.

You stumbled forward, unable to stop yourself, and Harry was instantly at your side, arms wrapping around you with steady strength. You leaned into him, your body shaking as sobs wracked your frame.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Harry murmured softly, his voice gentle as the warmth of the fire, “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. You let the tears fall, the hurt and fear and confusion pooling in your chest and spilling out at last.

Ron and Hermione watched quietly, giving you space, their eyes full of concern but never pressing for answers.

***

The first light of dawn crept faintly through the narrow, green-tinted windows of the Slytherin dormitory, casting long shadows across the cold stone walls. Blaise sat up on the edge of his bed, nudging Mattheo’s shoulder with a lazy, “Oi, Mattheo, time to get up.”

There was no response.

He frowned and gave the shoulder another shove, “Wake up, you bloody tosser, or we’re gonna leave you here.”

Still nothing.

Theo, pulling on his uniform, raised an eyebrow, “He’s out cold or something?”

Blaise frowned deeper, reached out, and gently rolled Mattheo onto his back.

They both froze.

Mattheo’s face was ghostly pale — the usual sharp lines softened, drained of color. His eyes remained shut tight, breathing shallow and uneven.

But it was the dark crimson stains that stole Blaise’s breath — blood soaked the pillow beneath Mattheo’s head, seeping into the white sheets, splattered around the bed like a grim painting. Fresh, vivid, unmistakable.

Blaise’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Fuck… is that blood?”

They leaned closer, horror rising as trickles of dried blood traced haunting paths from his ears, nose, and the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly, Mattheo began to cough — a wet, painful hack that shook his whole body. He tried to sit up but couldn’t. His coughing turned into choking, a gargling, desperate sound as he struggled against the blood flooding his throat.

“Get a professor!” Blaise yelled, panic sharpening his voice.

Theo didn’t hesitate — he bolted from the room, racing through the dungeons to find help.

***

You pushed open the doors to the hospital wing, your heart thudding hard in your chest. Professor McGonagall’s owl had found you at dinner— a curt summons with no explanation, only urgency in the hurried scrawl of her handwriting.

The room was quiet. Too quiet. The soft clinks of vials and the distant rustle of linens were the only sounds as you stepped inside. The smell of antiseptic and iron hit you all at once — sharp, metallic, unmistakable.

Your pace slowed as you spotted them.

McGonagall. Dumbledore. Snape. And Madam Pomfrey.

All gathered around a single hospital bed.

The pit in your stomach grew deeper with every step as you approached.

It wasn’t until you rounded the bed that you saw who lay in it.

Mattheo.

Your breath caught.

He was barely recognizable. Pale — deathly pale — with dark shadows under his eyes and dried blood flaked around his mouth and nose. His usually sharp, arrogant features were slack with exhaustion. Soaked cloths were piled on the table beside him, stained deep crimson. A silver basin sat on the floor, half full with water and flecks of blood.

You stared, frozen, mouth parting in disbelief.

“…What—” Your voice cracked, the word barely a whisper, “What happened to him?”

No one answered at first. Madam Pomfrey wrung out another bloodied cloth and dabbed gently at the side of Mattheo’s mouth. He flinched but didn’t stir.

You looked at McGonagall, your voice harder now, “Professor?”

McGonagall exchanged a glance with Dumbledore, then stepped forward.

Dumbledore sighed quietly, folding his hands before him, “The effects began soon after the vow was unfulfilled.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

“When Mr. Riddle rejected the vow — forcefully — the binding magic retaliated. Violently.” McGonagall said, her voice tight with strain.

You blinked, “Wait — so this is because he said no?”

Snape nodded, eyes cold and grim, “The pact is ancient, arcane, and sentient in its own way. It punishes defiance.”

“And if… if we don’t go through with it?” You asked quietly, the words sticking to your throat like ash, “He’s going to die?”

No one spoke at first.

Then Dumbledore nodded, solemn, “Yes.”

You stared at them, waiting for someone to laugh. To say it was a test or a joke or some horrible misunderstanding.

But they just stood there, faces lined with worry and exhaustion.

Your hands curled into fists.

“So let me get this straight,” You said slowly, your voice rising, “He tells me to drop dead — literally — storms out, acts like I’m some sort of plague, and now I’m supposed to what? Save him? Marry him? Because he decided to spit in the face of something he didn’t understand?”

Snape arched a brow, about to respond, but you cut him off with a sharp shake of your head.

“No. I’m not doing this. He made his choice. He wanted me to die instead. He said it himself — let her die for all I care. So where’s that bravado now, Riddle? Hm?” You looked at him again, still unmoving, still barely clinging to life, “You wanted me gone. So why the hell should I save you?”

No one tried to stop you when you turned and stormed out of the room, fury choking your throat.

But as you stepped into the corridor, just before the doors swung shut behind you, you heard voices behind you — low, urgent.

“…his breath is getting fainter.”

“At this rate, I’m not sure he’ll make it through the night.”

Your steps faltered.

And for a moment — just one — the triumph you thought you’d feel turned into something much heavier.

Like guilt.

Like dread.

But you walked away anyway.

***

The Gryffindor common room was quiet, the fire long since reduced to embers. You sat curled up on the armchair closest to the hearth, knees to your chest, the hem of your pajama pants twisting around your ankles. You hadn't moved in hours.

You couldn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Mattheo — pale, barely breathing, the blood, the stillness, the weight of it all pressing in around you like a vice.

You told yourself he deserved it.

You told yourself you were right.

But then you remembered the way his lips were tinged blue. The way Madam Pomfrey’s hands shook when she dabbed the blood from his face. The way no one — not even Dumbledore — had been able to hide the fear in their eyes.

And then there was the way your heart had twisted in your chest when you heard them say he might not make it to morning.

It was past midnight now. The castle was silent.

You stood before you could think, arms wrapping around yourself for warmth as you padded barefoot through the corridors, the stone cold beneath your feet. You didn’t even bring a robe. Just your pajama pants and an old sweater. You didn’t care.

You just… had to see him.

The doors to the hospital wing groaned softly as you slipped inside. The lamps had been dimmed, casting long shadows across the rows of beds. Only one of them was occupied.

Mattheo.

“Miss (L/N)?” Came a voice from beside him, but you couldn’t even make eye contact with your professor — your eyes were locked onto the boy lying in the bed, on the verge of death.

He hadn’t moved.

His skin was even paler now, his breathing barely visible beneath the thin blanket draped across his chest. The basin beside the bed had been cleaned, but the faint scent of blood still lingered in the air.

You stood there for a long moment, arms still crossed tightly over your chest.

“I’ll do it.”

The words came out quieter than you expected. Like a secret. Like a surrender.

Your voice trembled as you took a step closer, “I’ll marry him.”

You looked over at McGonagall, throat tight, and nodded.

“I’ll do it,” You said again, “If it’ll stop this. If it’ll save him.”

Dumbledore appeared from the adjoining room, his eyes tired but gentle, “Are you sure, my dear?”

You looked down at Mattheo — at the stubborn furrow in his brow, still etched there even now. At the way he looked like a ghost in his own body.

“No,” You whispered, “But I’d never forgive myself if he died and I knew there was something I could’ve done to stop it.”

“You’re going to have to cast the spell yourself, Miss (L/N),” McGonagall said softly.

You nodded, eyes still locked on Mattheo.

You sat in the chair beside his bed and reached out — slowly, hesitantly — to take his hand.

It was cold.

But you held it anyway.

The silence in the hospital wing was thick — like the room itself was holding its breath.

Mattheo didn’t stir as you sat beside him, his hand heavy and cold in yours. Madam Pomfrey stepped back, her hands clasped tightly. Dumbledore watched you with a strange sorrow in his eyes. McGonagall stood beside him, her expression unreadable. And Snape... Snape looked like he already knew how this would end.

You looked down at Mattheo’s face — pale, drawn, lips parted ever so slightly as he struggled to breathe. If someone had told you a week ago that you’d be holding his hand like this, whispering a marriage vow to save his life, you would’ve laughed in their face.

But now…

You swallowed hard, lifting your wand with your free hand. It shook.

“What do I say?” You whispered.

Dumbledore stepped forward. “Repeat after me. Word for word. The spell will bind your magic, your life force, and your future to his — should he survive the bonding.”

You nodded, your grip tightening around Mattheo’s fingers.

Dumbledore spoke first, slowly and clearly, “I offer my name, my will, my magic, and my blood…”

You repeated it softly, every word a thread stitching itself into the air, “I offer my name, my will, my magic, and my blood…”

“…to be bound in life and fate to the heir of Slytherin…”

Your chest ached as the words left you, “…to be bound in life and fate to the heir of Slytherin…”

“…until death unbinds us, or destiny releases us.”

You could barely breathe as you whispered the last line, your throat tight with tears, “…until death unbinds us, or destiny releases us.”

Your wand pulsed with heat.

The tip glowed softly — a deep crimson — and then dimmed as the magic released into Mattheo’s chest in a slow, golden ripple, like sunlight spilling through water.

You felt it then — not a physical tug, but something… inward. A lurch in your core. A sudden pull between your body and his. Like your magic had reached out and fastened itself to his, anchoring to something inside him you couldn’t see.

A soft gasp escaped his lips.

You froze.

Mattheo’s hand twitched.

Then — a cough. Wet. Weak. Painful. His eyes cracked open, red-rimmed and glassy, and they locked onto yours.

“…You?”

His voice was barely a breath. But you heard it. Felt it. And then he passed out again — but this time, his chest rose just a little easier. The color returned, faintly, to his cheeks. The trembling in his hand stilled.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your wand falling to your lap.

It was done.

The pact was sealed.

You were married.

You dropped his hand, a sob racking through your body, “What have I done?”

McGonagall’s hand rested gently on your shoulder, her voice low but steady as she tried to ground you.

“You did something extraordinary tonight,” she said softly, “You saved a life, Miss (L/N). And that is never something to be taken lightly — no matter the circumstances.”

You nodded numbly, eyes fixed on the folds of your pajama sleeve. Your fingers were clenched, digging into the fabric, trying to stop the tremor still moving through you.

You hadn’t let go of the weight of what you’d done — not yet. The spell still lingered in your veins like fire and ice, like a tether. You hadn’t spoken since.

Not until a low, ragged breath tore through the silence.

And then a voice — hoarse, furious:

“What the fuck did you do?”

You froze.

Mattheo.

You turned slowly toward the bed, where he was now sitting upright — or trying to, at least. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his breathing was still shallow, but his eyes were wide and dark with realization. With rage.

He was staring straight at you.

“No,” He muttered, shaking his head like he could undo it just by refusing to believe it, “Tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t go through with it.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You just sat there, stunned, heart pounding like a war drum in your throat.

“I—” You tried to speak, but your voice caught.

He swung his legs off the bed, swaying with the effort. His skin was ghostly pale, but the venom in his voice was unmistakable.

“You had no fucking right,” He spat, “You just wanted to play the hero — and now I’m the one chained to a decision I didn’t make.”

“Mr. Riddle,” Snape said coolly from across the room, “had she not acted, you would be dead. Is that what you would’ve preferred? That we stand by and let you bleed out?”

Mattheo didn’t even glance at him. His eyes stayed locked on you — like you’d cast the killing curse instead of saving his life.

“You think I should thank you?” He snapped, “You think shackling me to you makes you noble? It doesn’t. It makes you soft. Weak. All of you are fucking insane.”

You flinched like he’d struck you.

The silence that followed stretched taut — unbearable.

And then, barely above a whisper, your voice broke through.

“You’re right.”

Mattheo blinked.

Your hands clenched tighter in your lap, nails digging into your palms, carving crescent moons into your skin.

“I shouldn’t have done anything,” You said, louder now — your voice rising with every word, like something was building, choking you, “I should’ve turned around and walked out of this damn hospital wing. I should’ve let you bleed out, just like you wanted. Would’ve saved us both a lifetime of regret.”

McGonagall called your name — gentle, warning — but you didn’t stop.

“You think it makes me weak?” You hissed, tears blurring your vision, “Fine. Be grateful someone so weak was destined for you. Because no one else would’ve ever willingly bound themselves to you. No one else would’ve looked at what you are — the person you are — and still chosen to save you.”

Mattheo’s glare deepened. His jaw was clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack. His hands trembled at his sides — too weak to ball into fists, though you could see him trying.

But you weren’t finished.

“I’m cursing my ancestors for tying me to a monster like you,” You said, standing as you wiped at your face, trying to chase away the tears that refused to stop, “You hate this so much? Then do something about it. Go throw yourself off the Astronomy Tower.”

You paused — your voice cold as ice.

“Then maybe you’ll finally be good for something.”

The room went deathly still.

You didn’t wait for a response. You turned and walked out, each footstep pounding like thunder down the hall, your hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the sobs clawing their way out of you — fury burning in your chest.

And behind you, no one said a word.

***

The next few weeks at Hogwarts felt like walking on glass.

Despite the long list of grievances — the near-lethal bickering, the glares that could freeze hell over, and the occasional hex cast under the table — there was one thing you and Mattheo Riddle agreed on:

The marriage bond was to remain a secret. Or so help you, you’d Obliviate the entire school.

But silence didn’t mean peace.

In fact, ever since the night in the hospital wing, things had gotten worse.

You’d gone from mutual avoidance to open warfare. The moment your sleeves so much as brushed in a corridor, the air would shift — like the castle itself was bracing for impact. Even the portraits had learned to duck when you passed.

Your professors were at their absolute limit.

McGonagall had nearly taken her hat off in frustration during Transfiguration, and Snape — who normally relished assigning detentions — looked ready to swallow an entire cauldron of Felix Felicis just to avoid your next row.

The problem was: detention didn’t help.

You and Mattheo would just end up arguing behind closed doors. Or worse — he wouldn’t even show up. And if he didn’t show, why the hell should you?

Snape had tried to separate you. McGonagall had tried silent partnering spells. Flitwick had attempted a rotation chart. None of it worked.

Because the truth was simple: You two weren’t combustible. You were already on fire.

And the next explosion was only a matter of time.

It was supposed to be a simple lesson.

“Today, we’ll be practicing small-to-medium object-to-animal transfigurations,” McGonagall announced crisply, the chalk behind her scribbling across the board on its own, “The object must retain its original mass, and the animal must be fully functional.”

You weren’t even looking at Mattheo.

A single brush of shoulders in the corridor was enough to spark full-blown arguments. The professors had resorted to full-on assigned seating just to keep you apart.

Naturally, your desk was at the very front of the room.

And Mattheo’s?

Two rows behind and off to the right.

Far enough to ignore. Close enough to still feel him.

You gritted your teeth and raised your wand.

The matchbox on your desk trembled once — then, with a small pop, sprouted whiskers and legs, fur rippling across the surface like ink in water. It let out a high-pitched squeak and bolted.

Right off your desk.

The mouse-thing tore across the floor, weaving between desks like a heat-seeking missile until—

It launched itself onto Mattheo’s parchment, knocking over his inkpot and scrabbling up his sleeve.

His reaction was instant.

Mattheo shot to his feet, chair crashing backward with a loud bang, “Are you fucking serious?”

You stood too, wand half-raised, “It was an accident!”

“Every spell you cast ends up ruining lives,” He snapped, voice like shattered glass, “Why should today be any different?”

The class froze, eyes darting between the two of you.

Blaise’s jaw tightened. Hermione’s lips pressed into a thin line. Even Ron glanced nervously toward McGonagall, who remained impassive but clearly tense.

Your throat tightened like a vice.

“You’re one to talk about ruining lives,” You spat, stepping forward, heat flashing under your skin, “Next time I’ll let your skull hit the floor and see how noble I feel.”

“Oh, I’m the mess?” He scoffed, closing the distance, “I’m not the one who decided to play God—”

“You’re right. You’re not capable of caring about anyone but yourself.”

His eyes flashed, “I’d rather Avada myself than give a shit about you.”

“Do us both a favour and go ahead, Riddle!”

Your wand was in your hand before you even realized it.

“I swear to Merlin—”

Mattheo’s wand was already raised, aimed directly at you, “Do it. Go on. Every Gryffindor dreams of taking out a Riddle. Let’s see if you’ve got the nerve. Put me out of my fucking misery.”

“ENOUGH!”

McGonagall’s voice cracked through the room like lightning.

With a single flick of her wand, both of yours went flying — clattering across the stone floor.

She strode forward, every inch of her trembling with fury.

Neither of you said a word.

“Outside. Now.”

You turned first, jaw clenched tight. Mattheo followed a beat later, shoulders stiff with rage.

And as the door slammed shut behind you, you both stormed off in opposite directions, breaths ragged — not looking at each other. Not speaking.

But the silence buzzed louder than any scream.

Because neither of you said it aloud. But in that moment, you both knew: Something was going to break soon.

And it wouldn’t be the bond.

It would be you.

***

Snape had been more successful than usual at keeping you both apart during lessons. Your workbenches were set far, far away from each other, and all the tools and ingredients you’d need were already placed before class began. While it was completely unlike him, Snape had gone through the painstaking effort of making sure you’d never have to leave your bench—and thus wouldn’t run into each other.

Mattheo was halfway through slicing the stubborn boomslang skin when the knife slipped from his fingers. A curse barely whispered under his breath. He glanced down at the thin line of blood trickling from a cut on his palm.

“Are you bleeding?” Lorenzo’s voice cut through the quiet classroom, unexpectedly loud.

The noise struck you like a jolt to the chest. Your heart hammered in your ribs, and without thinking, you whipped your head around, eyes scanning the room in sudden panic.

For a moment, your breath caught in your throat. Was he sick again? Coughing up blood like last time? Was he hurt worse than before? Why? You had cast the spell, fulfilled the vow. Why was he bleeding? Was it because your magic was wearing off? Were you losing your magic?

Mattheo caught your frantic gaze from across the room. His brow furrowed as he watched the flicker of worry on your pale face—completely out of place among the usual sharp barbs you threw his way.

Why are you looking at me like that? his eyes seemed to ask.

You looked away quickly, biting the inside of your cheek. Your gaze flicked over his form, lingering briefly on the wound in his hand. Slowly, you sank back onto your stool, exhaling shakily when Harry leaned toward you with a concerned, “Are you okay?”

You just shook your head, forcing a faint smile. Nothing worth mentioning.

Mattheo’s confusion deepened.

He glanced once more at his bleeding palm, then back at you, narrowing his eyes.

The same person who tells me to throw myself off the Astronomy Tower is worried when I bleed?

A sardonic smirk tugged at his lips—bitter and cold. Pathetic, he thought. She’s weaker than I thought.

He shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Hilarious.”

***

The dormitory was quiet, the other girls already asleep — or pretending to be. You lay motionless in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the moonlight tracing pale lines across your blanket.

It was the stillness that made it unbearable. No shouting, no clashing wands, no chaos to hide behind — just the raw, aching silence where your thoughts had nowhere to go but inward.

Your fingers curled in the sheets, heart leaden in your chest.

You’d read about soulbonds. You’d studied the magic. You understood the implications.

But knowing something intellectually wasn’t the same as feeling it. It wasn't the same as feeling that familiar tug in your soul whenever he was around. Not even affection, just recognition. Because deep down, his soul was yours now, and yours belonged to him.

Your husband.

Could you ever fall in love with someone else? Could you be touched, kissed, adored by anyone else without this bond protesting? Could you ever stand before another person in a white dress and vow yourself to them, when somewhere, in the deepest part of your soul, you were already tied to Mattheo Riddle?

Was this all your life was going to amount to? Would you ever be able to have children? A family?

Your chest tightened, a quiet grief building behind your ribs — not because you wanted him, but because now you might never get to choose.

Not really.

Not freely.

You turned to face the wall, eyes burning.

You hadn’t even wanted this. You had only done what was necessary. You’d cast the spell. You’d saved his life. You’d paid the price. And now the rest of your life might not be yours to live.

***

Mattheo slammed the door behind him hard enough to rattle the frame. His dorm was dim and cool, shadows sprawling over the stone walls like claws. He paced across the room like a caged animal, rage simmering just beneath his skin.

Every time he closed his eyes, he felt his soul reach out of his body, looking for his other half. His magic was writhing in protest—one part of him aching to return to his wife, the other wishing the bond had never been forged at all."

He grabbed a book off his desk and hurled it at the wall. It hit with a loud thud, scattering parchment.

No.

He wasn’t going to be tied to this. He wasn’t going to be one of those cursed bastards in old fairy tales, shackled to a girl because of some ancient, romanticised magic.

It wasn’t fair.

You weren't fair. Always so self-righteous. Always so brave, so noble. Like you were above it all. Like saving him meant you got to own his future.

He sneered, dragging a hand through his hair.

He’d go out with someone else tomorrow — hell, two people, maybe. Just to prove it meant nothing. Just to remind himself that he still had a choice. That no invisible string could dictate who he was or who he wanted to touch.

And if some part of his chest felt heavy beneath that anger — if his stomach clenched at the memory of you going pale with concern, like you cared about him — well, he wasn’t going to fucking think about that.

Mattheo pulled off his school robes with more force than necessary and threw himself onto his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling.

This was just magic.

He didn’t believe in fate.

***

The greenhouse was muggy and buzzing with low conversation, the scent of damp moss and pollen thick in the air. You were partnered with Hermione — thankfully — while Mattheo was stationed several tables away, buried in a hushed conversation with Theodore and Lorenzo.

It should’ve made you feel safe — that distance — but your skin still prickled every time someone said his name. Every time he laughed like nothing between you had cracked wide open.

Professor Sprout bustled through the rows of tables, cheerfully guiding everyone toward the trays of unmarked magical plants, “Careful, class — some of these are… temperamental. I want you to handle them gently. We provoke nothing, understood?”

You nodded absently. Beside you, Hermione was flipping through her textbook, muttering classifications under her breath. Somewhere behind you, Mattheo’s voice filtered through the noise — low, unmistakable. Like smoke curling through your awareness.

You didn’t look. You didn’t need to.

Your soul already knew he was there. You could feel him. Feel his magic.

And it was driving you insane.

Your eyes scanned your workstation, landing on a thick-stemmed plant with curling, faintly shimmering leaves. It looked harmless. Almost pretty. Distracted, your hand reached toward it—

“Wait—!” Hermione started, too late.

The plant struck fast. Its leaves snapped open like jaws, revealing rows of tiny, sharp teeth.

You flinched back—

But not fast enough.

A hand caught your wrist and yanked.

Mattheo’s grip was unrelenting as he dragged you away from the plant’s snapping maw. The force of it knocked you into him, your chest colliding with his shoulder.

The scent of mint, smoke, and fresh grass hit you like a punch to the gut.

You froze.

Mattheo didn’t look at you. His hand stayed firm around your wrist, holding it up like it had personally offended him. His eyes were locked on the plant, jaw tight.

“For fuck’s sake,” He muttered, low and sharp, “Fancy losing an arm, do you?”

Your jaw clenched, “I didn’t ask you to—”

But your voice faltered.

Because your skin was touching.

And the moment it did, the air around you pulsed.

Raw magic cracked through the greenhouse like thunder. The floor trembled beneath your feet. Pots exploded. Vines twisted violently from their containers. One of the plants let out a shriek that made your bones vibrate.

Professor Sprout spun around, eyes wide, “What in Merlin’s name—?!”

Students shouted and scrambled back, clutching their wands as chaos erupted.

“Bloody hell,” Theo muttered somewhere to your right.

The plant that had nearly taken your hand shattered its entire pot in a final, violent explosion — soil and ceramic fragments flying.

And in the middle of it all, Mattheo did the last thing anyone would’ve expected.

He didn’t let go.

He pulled you closer.

One arm locked tight around your waist as he turned into you, shielding your body with his own like it was instinct. His back took the brunt of it — shards of ceramic and clumps of dirt pelting his robes and shoulders as the pot burst behind you.

You couldn’t breathe.

For one suspended second, the rest of the world vanished — the screaming vines, the spells, the panic. All you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Mattheo’s jaw was clenched, his eyes still fixed forward.

But his grip told you everything you didn’t want to understand.

Then, almost as if realizing what caused the chaos — who caused it — his body tensed even more. And suddenly, he let go like he’d touched flame.

You stepped back just as quickly, as though the heat between you hadn’t seared itself into your skin.

The distance snapped back into place.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t even glance at you. Just turned on his heel, stalking back to his workstation with his robes covered in dirt, hair mussed, and jaw tight — like nothing had happened.

But something had.

You watched him go, eyes falling to the soil on his back from where he’d pulled you close.

Then you looked away.

Neither of you spoke of it — not to each other, not to anyone else. But under your breath, the bond whispered what you both refused to say:

Husband. Wife.

And the magic remembered.

***

The steps up to the Astronomy Tower were slick with night dew, the stone worn smooth beneath Mattheo’s boots. The sky was a deep navy above them, scattered with stars, and the wind tugged at their robes as he and his friends climbed — Theo, Blaise, Draco, and Lorenzo trailing behind, their laughter low and easy.

“If we get caught, I’m throwing you all under the bus,” Draco huffed, “Making me leave my silk sheets for a smoke. I don’t even smoke! We’re not girlfriends going to the toilets together — why do I have to be here?”

Mattheo barely heard him.

They were nearing the final bend of the stairwell when he stopped short, his hand shooting out to halt Blaise mid-step.

“What—?” Blaise started, frowning.

Mattheo didn’t answer. His head tilted, brows drawing tight.

A voice floated down the stairs.

Yours.

The wind nipped at your cheeks, but you didn’t mind. It was quiet up here — calm — and that was rare these days.

You sat cross-legged on the ledge, a Chocolate Frog wrapper fluttering beside you. Harry leaned nearby, arms folded against the cold, chewing on a Bertie Bott’s bean with an expression like he’d swallowed a lemon.

He spat the offending thing over the ledge.

“Haz!” You exclaimed, grinning, “Was that dirt-flavored?”

“Vomit!” He cried, chugging his hot chocolate — and immediately burning his tongue, “Oh Merlin—hell—it was vomit-flavored!”

You burst into laughter — a belly-deep kind of laugh, bright and contagious, ringing through the tower like wind chimes in summer. And something about it hit Mattheo like a punch to the ribs. It flared through him like wildfire, warm and sickening and wrong. He didn’t know why it mattered. He didn’t care.

He shouldn’t care.

Harry blinked, turning to look at you — really look, “There’s that smile.”

You tilted your head.

He smiled, “Haven’t seen you smile like that in weeks.”

You grinned, “Really says something about your joke-telling, doesn’t it, Haz?”

He scoffed, bumping your shoulder, “You only laugh when I’m in pain.”

“Seriously though,” He said, softer this time, “What’s going on with you lately?”

You tried to play innocent, “What do you mean?”

He gave you a look, “Don’t do that. You know what I mean. What’s going on with you and Riddle?”

Mattheo’s lungs went tight.

“It’s very hard for you to hate someone, (Y/N),” Harry continued, “I should know. Despite everything those snakes do, you still manage to stay cordial with Berkshire and Zabini.”

“But you,” Harry said, nodding at you, “you’re practically on the verge of murder when Riddle walks into a room. What did he do to piss you off that badly?”

You sighed, shoulders sagging, “He’s an ass.”

Harry didn’t argue.

“He’s rude, arrogant, violent… thinks the world owes him something.” You paused, chewing your lip, “But the more I think about it… the more I feel like I owe him an apology.”

Mattheo’s pulse stuttered. His jaw clenched. He didn’t know why he was still standing there. Why hadn’t he turned around? Why were his feet not moving?

But his heart was pounding.

Harry blinked, “You? Apologize to Mattheo Riddle?”

“I know,” You groaned, resting your head against Harry’s shoulder, sipping your hot chocolate, “It sounds insane. And he’s still awful. He says the nastiest things and looks at me like I’ve ruined his life.”

“I hope there’s a but coming or I’m taking you to St. Mungo’s for a psych evaluation.”

You laughed softly.

“But,” You admitted, “I think I was wrong too. I didn’t ask for any of this… but neither did he.”

Silence. Just the wind and the sound of distant owls.

“He’d be lucky to get an apology from you,” Harry said finally, “But if he throws it in your face, I’ll hex his eyebrows off.”

From the stairwell, Mattheo turned without a word, brushing past the others. His expression unreadable. His hands clenched.

“Mate?” Lorenzo whispered.

Mattheo didn’t respond.

He lit a cigarette with a flick of his wand, the smoke curling from his lips as his eyes fixed on nothing.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” he muttered. “This spot’s taken.”

***

The courtyard was cold and quiet, moonlight catching in puddles across the cobblestones. Mattheo walked fast, hands buried in his coat pockets, cigarette burning low between his fingers. His friends trailed behind, boots scuffing against wet stone, all of them exchanging looks like they were watching a wounded animal pace in circles.

“So,” Blaise drawled, jogging to catch up, “you gonna tell us why you just froze like you saw a bloody Dementor?”

Mattheo didn’t look at him, “Didn’t.”

“You did,” Theo said, grinning, “I thought you’d been Petrified for a second. And then just stood there. Listening.”

Mattheo exhaled through his nose, jaw ticking.

“Oh, come on,” Draco groaned, dragging his feet, “You stopped us cold like you’d been hit with a Stunning Spell. And then just stood there listening to Potter, of all people, like he was singing you a bloody lullaby.”

Mattheo scowled, “He was being loud.”

“Oh yeah, loud enough to make your heart stop apparently,” Blaise said, his grin growing, “Or—oh, wait—was it her voice that got you all twitchy?”

They all knew it was you that had him pausing. It was obvious, but they wanted to stretch this out as long as possible.

Draco made a scandalized noise, “Was that what it was? Is little Matty catching feelings?”

Mattheo shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel, “Don’t call me that.”

“She said she owed him an apology,” Lorenzo sang, clutching his heart, making the others guffaw, “Oh, their lovers’ tiff finally coming to an end.”

“She also called him an ass, arrogant, violent, and someone who thinks the world owes him something,” Blaise added helpfully.

“Sounds like foreplay to me.” Theo commented.

Mattheo didn’t dignify that with a response. He took another drag off his cigarette and kept walking.

“You’re acting weird.” Theo called after him.

“You’re acting like she matters.” Lorenzo added.

“She doesn’t.” Mattheo said coolly.

Blaise snorted, “You stood there for ten minutes listening to a private conversation. Be serious.”

“She was loud." Mattheo repeated.

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m leaving.”

Mattheo threw a middle finger over his shoulder without turning around.

***

Your conversation with Harry had left you with one undeniable truth: you owed Mattheo a long-overdue apology.

The more you thought about it, the more you realized how ambushed he must’ve felt—going from dying to waking up magically bound to a girl he didn’t even like. If you were in his position, you would’ve been upset too.

'I probably wouldn’t have said he should’ve died… and I definitely would’ve reacted differently after learning he saved my life, but I digress.' You thought, gathering up your books as you prepared to leave the library.

It was almost curfew, and you didn’t need another reason to land yourself in detention. At the rate you were going, expulsion was starting to feel like a real possibility. Yet another reason to apologize to Mattheo and smooth things over.

The only issue? You couldn’t seem to actually apologize.

Not for lack of trying—you’d made several attempts—but every time, you froze. Mattheo was always surrounded by his friends, who, you were fairly sure, still didn’t know about your secret. And even when he was alone, you’d chicken out—whether out of pride or the fear that another argument would explode before you got the words out.

As you made your way toward the exit, your eyes caught on a familiar figure hunched over a table.

Mattheo Riddle. Asleep, head down on his Charms essay.

He was alone. Relaxed.

This was probably the best time to say something, you thought. But just as you reached out to touch his shoulder, you paused. Would he be the type to bite your head off for waking him?

Instead, you slowly sank into the seat beside him and decided to wait until he woke up.

So this is my husband, you thought, eyes scanning his face. His dark curls fell over his forehead, brushing his nose and making him scrunch it every few seconds with an unconscious little sniffle. You almost reached out to brush them away before stopping yourself, opting to lean your cheek against the table instead, so you could get a better look.

He was handsome—no denying that. Of course, that was only when his face wasn’t twisted in a scowl or a sneer aimed at you.

Thick lashes fluttered against his cheeks. A scar ran across his nose—one he’d gotten during a fight back in fourth year. You still remembered the chaos of that week, how everyone buzzed with gossip, applauding his opponent for landing a permanent mark on the Slytherin prince.

Your heart clenched at the memory. People had cheered over him getting hurt?

That didn’t seem right. Then again, he wasn’t exactly known for his kindness either. Maybe that was why.

You sighed, letting your eyes drift closed, lulled by the soft scratching of quills and the low crackle of the fireplace. Your breathing began to slow, your body relaxing next to his.

A few minutes later, Mattheo stirred.

His eyes opened slowly—and the first thing he saw was you. Sleeping beside him. Peaceful. Your face mere inches from his own.

He didn’t move at first, just stared.

You looked so calm… so soft. Your lips slightly parted, lashes brushing your cheeks. His gaze moved to where your hands nearly touched on the table. His pinky brushed against yours, and at the contact, something warm bloomed inside him—like drinking something hot and sweet on a cold day.

Then, from the spot where your skin touched, golden butterflies began to shimmer and rise. They floated gently up, delicate and radiant, then dissolved into glittering dust that rained over the two of you like pixie dust.

It was in that moment your eyes began to flutter open, the warmth rushing through you, tugging you gently back to consciousness.

You met his gaze—those deep, stormy eyes lit with gold, reflecting the butterflies as they danced around you.

Silence fell over the moment, thick and delicate like a spun sugar spell.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, your voice barely audible, “For everything.”

His eyes softened, “I know. I’m sorry too.”

You slowly pushed your hand closer, not quite holding his, just letting your fingers rest against his—craving his touch a little longer.

***

The corridors were bathed in shadows as you crept beside Mattheo, the glow of torches casting golden light across the stone walls. It was past curfew—well past—and your shoes squeaked louder than you wanted with every step.

Your hand still tingled from where it had touched his. You tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about the butterflies, or the way his voice had softened when he told you he was sorry, too.

Mattheo was walking close—too close—but neither of you said anything. His shoulder brushed yours once, and both of you stiffened like you’d been hit with a jolt of electricity.

“This is such a bad idea,” You whispered, glancing behind you, “We’re going to get caught.”

“Then move quicker.” Mattheo muttered, though you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You rounded a corner—and froze.

Footsteps.

You both ducked into the nearest alcove, pressing into the shadows. Filch’s voice echoed down the hallway, muttering about rule-breakers and “ruffling Mrs. Norris’ feathers”—which didn’t even make sense, because she was a cat.

You were both holding your breath, your back against the wall, Mattheo right in front of you. Too close again. His hand twitched, like he was going to reach for you, steady you—

You shuffled back with a hissed whisper, “Don’t touch me!”

His brows rose, and you could see his smirk even in the dark, “Why? Scared I’ll bite?”

“No,” You snapped, “I’m scared if you touch me, this entire corridor is going to light up like a bloody fireworks show.”

His grin faltered. A flicker of remembrance crossed his face—the butterflies, the sparkles, the magic. That same electricity was crackling between you now, humming beneath your skin like the promise of a storm.

“…Right.” He muttered, glancing away.

You both fell silent, pressed against your opposing walls, hands braced against the stone, breaths so shallow so that your chests wouldn't brush. Filch’s footsteps faded down another corridor.

When it was safe, you stepped out of the alcove. Mattheo followed—quieter now.

As you reached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, you paused, blinking. Mattheo had followed you all the way there—even though the Slytherin common room was in the opposite direction. He clearly knew that, with the way he was now standing still, waiting as you whispered your password and the portrait swung open.

You turned around to find him watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Goodnight, Mattheo.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

“Get back safe, yeah?”

He chuckled, “Should be easy without you jumping at every bloody sound.”

You let out a soft huff of a laugh, offering him a small smile before stepping through the portrait hole. It closed behind you with a gentle thud.

The Fat Lady raised an eyebrow and smiled down at Mattheo, “Someone’s in love.”

He scoffed, “Don’t be daft.”

“Tell that to the lovesick grin on your face.”

It was only then he realised he was smiling. And that his heart hadn’t quite stopped racing.

Fuck.

***

The Astronomy Tower was quieter than usual, the moonlight casting soft shadows across the stone floor. You’d come up for some air, textbook in hand, hoping the cool night would lull you into drowsiness. It hadn’t.

You didn’t expect company—not at this hour, anyway.

“Merlin’s sake,” A voice drawled from the stairs, “why are you always here?”

You looked up to find Mattheo Riddle squinting at you, cigarette already between his lips, brows raised like you were the one interrupting him.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You shot back.

“I asked first.”

“And I’m ignoring you first.”

He scoffed, “Hilarious. You think you’re so clever.”

You shrugged, eyes drifting back to your book, “You can smoke here if you want. I don’t mind.”

You expected him to roll his eyes and leave—maybe mutter something smug under his breath. But he surprised you by stepping forward instead.

He moved to sit on your right, but you quickly lifted your hand and waved him off, “Not there. Sit on my left.”

He blinked, “What? Why?”

You gestured lazily at the breeze wafting through the open arches, “Wind’s blowing that way. I’d rather not get a face full of your lung rot.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes but, to your mild surprise, moved without argument, settling beside you with a muttered, “Bossy.”

You ignored that, flipping a page in your book.

He caught sight of the title and groaned, “Please tell me you’re not actually doing homework at midnight.”

You gave him a small smile, “Can’t sleep. Figured reading this would bore me enough to pass out.”

He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly, “Suppose that’s one way to do it.”

Silence fell for a moment—not uncomfortable, just quiet. Then, casually, you said, “I didn’t expect to see you in the library the other day. Didn't think you knew where it was.”

He smirked, “Charms essay’s due Monday. Figured I’d get it out of the way early.”

“That’s… surprisingly responsible of you.”

“Well,” He shrugged, “I’m going to that Hufflepuff thing by the Black Lake on Sunday. Didn’t fancy writing it hungover.”

You nodded, “Right. Forgot that was happening.”

Mattheo glanced at you, curious, “You’re not going?”

You shook your head, “Nah. Can’t swim. Bit pointless standing around while everyone else is diving in.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then, quietly—almost too quietly—he said, “You should go anyway.”

You turned to look at him.

The moonlight lit up the edge of his face, the glow catching in his curls and the smoke curling from his lips. His eyes were on the sky now, not on you.

"Maybe I will."

***

The party at the Black Lake was in full swing by the time you arrived with your friends. You wore a hoodie over your swimsuit, sleeves pushed up, sunglasses perched on your nose, and your hair pulled back into a lazy bun that still somehow looked effortlessly good.

You hadn’t even planned on swimming—you just wanted to be out, feel the sun, maybe dip your feet into the water. You hadn’t thought twice about who else might be there.

Until you saw him.

Mattheo.

He was already waist-deep in the lake, surrounded by a cluster of Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws, laughing at something Theo said, water glistening on his shoulders. You weren’t looking at him. Not really.

You were looking in his direction.

At least that's what you told yourself.

You peeled off your hoodie as you neared the shore, tying it loosely around your waist before sitting at the rocky edge. Your legs dipped into the cool water, toes wiggling beneath the surface. You laughed at Ron and Harry as they cannonballed into the lake, sending up twin waves that splashed a few nearby Hufflepuffs. Hermione plopped down beside you with a fond eye roll, choosing to keep you company rather than swim—knowing full well you couldn’t.

And that was when Mattheo noticed you.

It was subtle—just a pause in his sentence, the flick of his eyes toward the shoreline. His laughter dimmed, something warm rushing through him despite the chill of the lake. Like sunlight breaking through glass.

Theo cracked another joke that made the group laugh again, but Mattheo didn’t join in. His eyes flicked back to you. Not obviously—just every few seconds. Like he couldn’t help it.

Like he was trying to figure out when the hell he started noticing the curve of your hips, the way your skin shimmered slightly from sun lotion, or how the sunlight kissed the top of your cheekbones.

And you?

You didn’t look at him once.

At one point, you stretched your arms back behind you, tilted your head toward the sun, letting it soak into your skin. Just for a moment. And when you sat back up, your eyes flickering over the lake to find him again.

Mattheo was gone.

Underwater.

Fully disappeared.

He resurfaced a few seconds later, farther out now—like he’d needed to cool off, or distract himself, or maybe just stop thinking.

You pulled your legs out of the water and wandered off with Hermione to get something to drink, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you left.

He watched the whole time.

*

You had just stepped away from Hermione to grab another drink, the sun warm on your skin, the breeze tugging at the hem of your hoodie where it clung to your still-damp legs. You didn’t even register the footsteps behind you until it was too late.

“Come on!” Someone called—a Hufflepuff boy you vaguely recognized from Charms, “You haven’t even been in the water yet!”

Your eyes widened, “Wait—”

And then you were airborne.

You hit the lake with a splash, the cold shocking through your bones, clamping around your lungs. Panic seized your chest like a vice.

Your arms flailed, legs kicking uselessly. You bobbed to the surface once—twice—each time barely catching breath before slipping under again. Your hands slapped helplessly at the water’s surface.

And then—

Strong arms. A chest against your back. That comfort and warmth that spread through you almost immediately that made you want to melt.

Mattheo.

You realized it only as you were pulled above water again, his arms locked around your waist as he powered you toward the shore. He dragged you up onto the rocks like you weighed nothing, water cascading off both of you.

You collapsed to the stone, coughing violently, lake water pouring from your mouth as your lungs fought to breathe.

Mattheo was crouched beside you, one arm bracing your back to keep you upright.

But there were no butterflies. No sparks. No golden shimmer between you.

Just him. You. And that familiar warmth pulsing in your chest.

Someone stepped forward, reaching to help—maybe the boy who’d thrown you in.

Mattheo saw red.

He grabbed the outstretched hand and shoved it away, his voice sharp and venomous, “Get your fucking hands off my wife.”

The guy froze mid-step.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Mattheo snarled.

“It—it was just a joke! She wasn’t even that far out—”

“She can’t fucking swim, you twat!”

Silence rippled across the party. Heads turned. All eyes on you.

Mattheo glared at the boy like he wanted to throw him in and hold him down. He hadn’t moved his arm from your back. “Watch your back.” He growled.

You reached up with a shaking hand and pressed your palm to his chest.

“Mattheo—hey—” You rasped, still hoarse, lungs raw, “Calm down. It was an accident.”

His eyes dropped to yours, his jaw clenched tight. Slowly, his expression softened.

He brushed a soaked strand of hair from your cheek, voice lower now, “You alright? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey?”

You shook your head, “Don’t be such a worrywart. I’ll be fine.”

He let out a slow breath, something cracking open in his chest at the sight of you like that—drenched, shivering, eyes still wide with shock.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered.

And that’s when it hit you.

There was no magic reacting between you. No sparks. No glow. No reminder of your bond.

Maybe it was because you felt the pull without it. The weight of his hand on your back, the panic in his voice, the fury in his eyes when you were in danger.

Before, the magic needed to show you. To remind you your souls were tied together.

Now?

You already knew.

You stared your hand on his chest for a second. “There’s no spark.” You murmured.

Mattheo just looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes, “We don’t need one.”

***

You were wrapped in a blanket by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, a warm mug in your hands, now fresh out of the shower and in warm clothing, when Hermione sat beside you with a look. Ron and Harry flanked your other side like they were forming an intervention.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, “Alright. Spill.”

You blinked innocently, “Spill what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Ron said, “You nearly drowned and he pulled you out like bloody Prince Charming—”

“—and then threatened to murder a Hufflepuff on your behalf.” Hermione added.

Harry leaned forward, “You two have been fighting for weeks and now he’s—what? Your personal lifeguard?”

You shrugged, sipping your cocoa, “He was there. It’s not that deep.”

“Not that deep?” Hermione echoed, “He carried you out of the lake like it was a scene from Pride and Prejudice.”

Ron frowned, “You were holding his hand. Voluntarily.”

You pulled the blanket tighter, “I almost died, Ronald. Excuse me for not being picky about which hands I grabbed.”

Hermione still looked skeptical, “(Y/N) he literally called you his wife. There's something you're not telling us. Next we're going to find out that you're married and have 3 kids.”

You choked on your drink, “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me,” She repeated, smug now, “You’re blushing.”

“Because I'm cold! Because an idiot threw me in the lake and I almost died!” You declared, indignant.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Harry muttered.

***

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dungeons, Mattheo was toweling off his hair, clearly having just changed out of his soaked clothes, when Theo, Draco, Enzo, and Blaise all rounded on him.

“So,” Draco said casually, “You gonna explain why you went full bloody Gryffindor with that dive and rescue?”

Mattheo didn’t look up, “She can’t swim.”

“Yeah, we gathered that,” Blaise said, “but most people don’t growl at the guy who pushed her in like they’re about to duel him at dawn.”

Enzo snorted, “You literally threatened the bloke who threw her in. I reckon he started crying because he doesn’t want the infamous Mattheo Riddle to rearrange his face.”

Mattheo tossed his towel aside and flopped onto his bed, “He’s lucky I didn’t drown him.”

“Oh, he’s in deep,” Theo laughed, “Pun intended.”

“Funny.” Mattheo muttered.

“Look,” Blaise said, “if you like her—”

“I don’t.”

All four blinked at him.

Mattheo sat up, “I said I don’t like her. End of.”

Enzo raised a brow, smirking, “Right. Because you just protect every girl and call her your wife like it’s nothing.”

Mattheo’s jaw clenched, “It was a slip of the tongue. Nothing more.”

Theo added, “Didn’t even flirt with anyone at the party.”

“I wasn’t in the mood.”

Draco smirked, “He didn’t want to flirt with anyone else besides his wife, guys. This is adorable.”

But Mattheo had already stopped listening to them.

He stared at his hand.

No magic.

But definitely a spark.

***

Hogsmeade looked completely different when you were on your own, with no distractions from friends pulling you along. Your eyes wandered over the little town, taking in all the unusual shops you’d never visited before.

A familiar voice cut through your thoughts.

“Wow, wandering Hogsmeade alone, huh? That’s kinda sad, (L/N).”

You frowned, “Well, Hermione and Ron are on a date, Harry and Ginny are on a date, so I have no one else to keep me company. I would’ve been on a date myself, if someone hadn’t declared me his wife in front of the entire student body.”

That was true. You’d planned to go out with a cute Ravenclaw from your year—but he’d bailed last minute. Didn’t say why, but you knew. It was because of Mattheo’s declaration, and how he’d practically threatened the boy who’d thrown you in the lake. Not just that, girls kept coming up to you, apologizing for flirting with Mattheo, not knowing you were—something. You had to firmly deny it. You weren’t dating Mattheo Riddle. Not at all. You were secretly married, bound eternally by your ancestors. But dating? No way.

Mattheo’s brow raised as he stepped beside you, “You had a date?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Is that a problem now? You didn’t seem to mind chasing after anyone in a skirt before.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?” You pressed.

He hesitated. A beat passed.

Then another.

“Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

Your brows furrowed, “Sounds like it matters to me.”

His throat bobbed, “Does it?”

Your breath caught. This was the moment. Say it. Say you care. Say you feel it too.

“…I don’t know,” You whispered, “Does it? To you?”

Mattheo looked at you, really looked at you—and for a split second, the truth shone in his eyes. The thing he wanted to say.

“Forget it.”

Your chest sank.

“Right.”

You let out a small breath, softer now, “Thanks, by the way, for saving me that day. I meant to say it sooner.”

Without waiting for a reply, you leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Then you turned and walked away, heart pounding, leaving the words hanging between you.

***

You stepped nervously into the office, the heavy door clicking softly shut behind you. Professor McGonagall sat poised behind her desk, her expression unreadable—but not unkind. Dumbledore reclined slightly in his chair, hands folded, his twinkling eyes settling on you both with quiet intent.

“Please, have a seat.” McGonagall said crisply.

You obeyed, heart hammering, and slid into the chair beside Mattheo.

“We’ve noticed a... shift between the two of you,” Dumbledore began, his voice gentle and measured, “From frequent discord to something far more... cooperative.”

McGonagall nodded, “It appears you’re managing your circumstances with considerably more maturity than when this began.”

You swallowed, “Yes, Professor. We’re trying.”

I’m actually falling in love with the person who tried to curse me to death not too long ago, if that’s what you mean by maturity.

Mattheo shifted beside you—silent but steady. His presence grounded you, even as tension lingered in the air. You kept your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

“As you're aware,” Dumbledore continued, “this bond you share is highly unusual, and it will require careful thought and handling. We wanted to begin a conversation about what the future might look like.”

McGonagall leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady, “We’re speaking not only of the magical implications, but also the emotional and academic ones. Your lives are going to be affected by this, one way or another.”

Dumbledore offered a soft chuckle, “But know this—you’re not alone. We’re here to support you both, in any way we can. That is why we asked you here.”

McGonagall added, “Think of this as the beginning of an open conversation. A safe space to ask questions or raise concerns—without judgment.”

You glanced at Mattheo. His brow was furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, but he met your gaze.

Then McGonagall continued, carefully, “It’s important to consider all possibilities. Including how you might feel about the idea of... other partners.”

Your breath hitched. Your gaze flicked to Mattheo.

He didn’t speak. But his jaw clenched. His shoulders stiffened.

Other partners?

When this began, you’d imagined—hoped, maybe—that someday you could fall in love with someone else. That the bond wouldn’t define your life. That maybe this could just be something you learned to live with... and move on from.

But it had never occurred to you that Mattheo might have thought the same.

Your stomach twisted. The idea of him with someone else—smiling at them the way he sometimes looked at you when he didn’t think you were watching—sent a sharp pang through your chest. Laughing with someone else. Touching them. Loving them.

No. You didn’t want that.

Dumbledore’s gaze softened. “Unfortunately, despite our efforts to investigate the depth of your bond, we still don’t fully understand all the implications. Which is why it’s best to be prepared. Bonds like yours... they can be complex.”

You nodded mutely, eyes fixed on your hands. A heavy ache bloomed in your chest—low and insistent. You weren’t ready to imagine a future where he wasn’t yours.

Even if you were never truly his.

***

You left the office in silence.

Neither of you spoke as you walked down the spiraling staircase, the echo of your footsteps louder than anything else. The corridor was quiet, dim with late-afternoon shadows filtering through tall windows. But the silence between you was deafening.

Mattheo’s hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw tight. You kept your eyes ahead, refusing to let him see the storm behind yours.

Other partners.

The words echoed like a curse. The ache in your chest hadn’t faded—it had only sunk deeper. You didn’t know what was worse: the idea of loving someone who didn’t feel the same… or the thought of watching him fall for someone else.

Then, just as you turned a corner, Mattheo stopped walking.

“So,” He said stiffly, gaze still fixed on the stone floor, “you ever think about it?”

You blinked, “Think about what?”

He didn’t look at you. His voice was low, carefully neutral, “Moving on. Being with someone else.”

Your heart skipped. You stared at him, caught off guard, “I—I don’t know. I did… at the beginning. When all of this felt like a curse.”

He nodded, slow and almost imperceptible.

You hesitated, “What about you? Have you thought about being with someone else?”

A pause. Longer than it needed to be.

His jaw flexed, “I don’t know.”

You nodded too, trying to mirror his indifference even though your stomach had begun to twist into knots, “It’s okay if you have, Mattheo. I mean... it’s only natural, right? We didn’t choose this.”

“You’re right,” He said quietly, “We didn’t.”

You stopped in front of the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady eyed you curiously from her portrait, but didn’t say a word.

Mattheo offered you a small, hollow smile—the kind people give when they’re pretending not to bleed—and turned to leave.

You watched his retreating back. You knew you were going to cry the moment you were alone, so what did it matter?

“But,” You said loudly.

He stopped. Turned.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, forcing the words out before you lost your nerve, “But I think I’d still choose you… if I had the choice now.”

Silence.

It blanketed the space between you, thick and charged.

Mattheo didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But something in his eyes fractured—like a crack through glass, sudden and sharp.

He stepped back toward you, slow at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to. His voice, when it came, was quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

You shook your head, “I mean it.”

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize you—like he didn’t quite believe it, but desperately wanted to.

His throat worked as he swallowed hard. “You make me crazy,” He said, almost helplessly, “You drive me up the fucking wall, and half the time I want to strangle you.”

A faint laugh escaped you—wet and shaky.

“But the thought of you with someone else,” He whispered, “Makes me feel like I can’t breathe.”

Your heart stuttered.

He stepped even closer now, “So no. I haven’t thought about being with anyone else. Not really. Not since you.”

The air was thick between you. Charged. Magnetic.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, “Mattheo…”

He raised a hand, hesitated—then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers brushed your cheek, lingering just a moment too long.

“If I had the choice,” he said, “I’d still choose you too.”

Neither of you moved.

And then, slowly, cautiously, you leaned into him—your forehead brushing his, your breath mingling with his in the narrow space between you.

His eyes dropped to your lips.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

His hand slid from the back of your neck to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing softly against your cheek. You tilted your face toward him, heart thudding so loudly it drowned out everything else.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rough or rushed like you thought it might be. It was slow. Gentle. Like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too fast.

You melted into him, fingers curling into the front of his robes as he pulled you just a little closer—close enough to feel the shudder in his chest when you exhaled.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his again, both of you catching your breath in the quiet.

He didn’t let go.

Neither did you.

And in that small, stolen moment outside the common room, the world felt… still.

Like maybe—for the first time since the bond was formed—you weren’t fighting fate anymore.

You were choosing it. You were choosing him.

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

Mattheo Riddle Taglist:

@redeemingvillains

[riddlesrizzler]

I'm Going to Marry You

summary: “It’s always been you. Mermaid stories and all.” characters: camp counselor! mattheo. camp counselor! reader warnings: none! word count: 1k

The sun hung heavy above Camp Serpent Lake, draping everything in a golden haze that shimmered across the surface of the water. The lake sparkled like a sheet of scattered diamonds, rippling with the movement of campers diving in, shrieking with delight. Somewhere, a whistle blew. Distant music drifted from the mess hall. But here on the dock, time felt slower-lazier, like the heat.

You stood at the edge with your arms loosely crossed, sunglasses perched on your nose, the hem of your camp shirt knotted at your waist to fight the suffocating warmth. Your eyes scanned the water, counting familiar heads as they bobbed above the lake’s surface. One, two, three-Kiera’s braids trailing behind her, Jackson’s neon green goggles, Ellie climbing onto the raft to jump again.

A shadow passed behind you.

“You look like you’re calculating the physics of drowning,” a low voice murmured.

You didn’t flinch. “That’s because I am.”

Mattheo Riddle strolled up beside you, the scent of lake water and cedar trailing behind him like a memory. His curls were soaked and wild, water still dripping down the side of his neck. His shirt clung to him in all the right places, like it had given up trying to hang loose in this heat. His towel hung forgotten around his neck, and that smug, half-lidded smirk played on his lips.

He glanced sideways at you, eyes dark and teasing. “At least if I go under, you’ll be watching.”

You rolled your eyes, but your mouth twitched. “I’d let you struggle for a bit. Build character.”

“Harsh,” he murmured, stepping just a little closer so your arms brushed. “But I bet you would enjoy seeing me struggle.”

The flirtation between you had been building all summer-stolen glances over bonfires, shoulder bumps during hikes, whispered sarcasm in the craft cabin. There was always this pull between you, this delicious tension neither of you dared define. Not yet.

A sudden sniffle cut through the noise.

You turned toward the dock and spotted Mason-small, round-faced, one of your youngest campers-shuffling toward you in soaked swim trunks, lower lip trembling, his plastic goggles hanging from one hand like a forgotten toy.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, voice softening instantly. “Mason, what’s wrong, honey?”

He blinked, trying to be brave, but his voice came out broken and watery. “I dropped my rock… the special one I found this morning. It fell in the lake. Now it’s gone forever.”

Your heart ached at the pure devastation in his voice. You tucked a damp curl from his forehead and cupped his cheek with a gentle hand.

“Oh, sweetheart,” you whispered. “You know what I think? I think the lake is a treasure keeper. Sometimes it takes things so they can go on adventures.”

His sniffles slowed. You smiled, brushing a tear from his cheek with your thumb.

“Your rock is probably sinking down to meet a mermaid right now,” you said, eyes wide like it was the most magical truth. “She’ll keep it safe. Maybe even bring it back to you one day.”

Mason blinked, his expression caught between wonder and disbelief. “A mermaid?”

You nodded solemnly. “A sparkly one. Pink hair. Shell earrings. Very fashionable.”

He giggled through the last of his tears. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

“Love it,” you said, ruffling his hair. “I bet it’s already in her treasure chest.”

Mason beamed-then, with a joyful shout, darted back toward the lake, shouting to the other kids about his rock’s new underwater life.

You stood slowly, brushing off your knees.

Mattheo hadn’t moved. He was staring at you like you’d just stepped out of a dream.

“What?” you asked, glancing down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have sand on my face or something?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just… looked at you. And for once, there was no teasing in his expression. Just something raw. Honest. Like he was seeing you completely and all at once.

“I’m going to marry you,” he said softly.

Your heart skipped. “Wait-what?”

Mattheo blinked slowly, as if he hadn’t even realized he’d said it out loud. But he didn’t take it back.

“I’m going to marry you,” he repeated, voice firmer now, like a vow. “By the end of this summer… you’re going to be mine.”

You stared at him, stunned, the wind catching the edge of your shirt and flipping your ponytail over your shoulder.

“You’re insane,” you breathed.

He stepped forward, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know exactly what I want.”

“And that’s me?” you challenged, heart thudding.

He grinned again-that stupid, devastating smirk-and tilted his head. “It’s always been you. Mermaid stories and all.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. The lake shimmered beside you, the sun hot above, and your heart stuttered in your chest.

You didn’t know what to say.

So instead, you smiled-small, shy, and entirely too hopeful-and said, “We’ll see if you survive till August first.”

Mattheo’s grin widened like he’d already won.

“Challenge accepted.”

[drcomttheo]

Hi, first of all I really like your work <3

Could I ask for a short story with Matteo and hufflepuff reader in a hogwarts setting (but more college style). The reader is shy and awkward in social situations in general, and is oblivious of any romantic instances. I would love to read something soft and fun where Matteo is trying to actually flirt with the reader, but they think it is just friendly banter. Maybe some of the Slythering gang is nearby and are just enjoying the show and betting on the outcome XD Even better if there are books involved or simply a bookish setting.

Thank you :)

MATTHEO RIDDLE x YN

summary: You are a reserved Hufflepuff just trying to study. warnings: Fluff words: 1418 a/n: Hope you enjoy, anon! Slytherin Boy oneshots—ML Slytherin Boy oneshots—AO3

𝙱𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍

Hogwarts had now offered higher education; after the seventh year, you could continue education for university—still within your assorted house—and you were a Hufflepuff.

You were in your third period of the day, which happened to be private study, so naturally, as the bookish reader you are, you found yourself within the confines of the library, trying to catch up on your studies.

This changed when a sudden influx of noise caught your attention, prompting you to shift your gaze to the tall double doors, where you saw Mattheo accompanied by the rest of the Slytherin gang.

The resonant thuds of their footsteps echoed through the air as they made their way into the library. Mattheo, the ringleader of the group, drifted a bit from his companions, meandering through the aisles of books. He plucked a few volumes from the shelves, his face betraying a disinterest as he skimmed their pages.

Your eyes flickered toward him at intervals, each moment drawing him nearer and nearer.

After a brief interlude, Mattheo discovered himself positioned directly before you, where you sat.

Little did you know, he was already well-acquainted with you, having noticed your wandering gaze every few seconds, prompting him to gradually draw nearer.

At that moment, he stood above you, a commanding presence, and he released a deep, deliberate sound from his throat.

“Busy studying?” Mattheo's gaze pierced through the pages of the book, his intense dark orbs flickering up to meet yours. A brow arched in playful curiosity, an amused smirk danced across his lips, hinting at secrets only he knew.

"Yes... I have an exam next period..." You said, your voice warm and inviting, a friendly smile gracing your lips.

Before you could utter another word, he had settled into the chair beside you, an eager glint in his eyes. He laughed a little because he thought you were shy yet nice. Then he leaned back in the chair and put his hand on the armrest next to you.

"An exam, huh? I don't care about those; they're all a bunch of rubbish to me." He answered with a sleepy smile on his face.

"Well," you began with a laugh, "I care about my grades, and I also like the subject. But what are you doing here if you're not studying?" You questioned yourself as you cast your eyes around the library, and once you did, your gaze came into contact with some of the other Slytherins that sat on the opposite end of the library.

"Eh, just a bit bored." Mattheo lied, glancing over to where his friends sat a few tables away. He could tell they were trying to discreetly look over at you and him.

He sighed before diverting his gaze back towards you, a smirk spreading across his face. "Besides, I saw you sitting here all alone... figured I'd keep you company."

"Okay... that's fine then..."

Mattheo let out a soft chuckle, his arms folding across his broad chest as he reclined once more in the chair.

"I must say, I'm surprised I've never really noticed you until now," he admitted while his eyes continued to wander over your body.

"That's okay! I tend to keep my head down and mind my studies!"

"Ahh, a studious one, huh? I like it." He mused, his smirk growing wider. "Cute and a nerd."

He leaned closer to you, a mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes, and lowered his voice so that only you could hear him. "I have to admit, I've always had a bit of a thing for the smart ones."

Your brows knitted together ever so slightly, warmth creeping into your cheeks, and a small smile tugged at your lips—he was merely being friendly; surely, he extended his kindness to all. However, the moment felt different when you locked eyes with Draco Malfoy, who was playfully nudging Theo Nott while they snickered in their small group.

Mattheo caught the direction of your gaze as it wandered towards his friends, and with a subtle roll of his eyes, he released a soft scoff. "Ignore them... they're just being idiots." 

“I see that,” you murmured, your gaze drifting back to the pages of your book, yet in that moment, Mattheo leaned in closer and quietly closed it, interrupting your thoughts. 

He wore a sly smile, his eyes locked onto yours. "Now there's no need for that... I prefer your attention to me, not your book." He playfully teased, his other hand gently coming to rest upon your knee.

You glanced at him and then went down to your knee, and within a matter of seconds, you quickly picked his hand up and placed it back on the table.

"I don't know what you are talking about..."

Mattheo's smirk deepened, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes as he observed your swift reflexes, intrigued by your valiant effort to silence him. 

"Playing hard to get, are we?" He chuckled, his voice low and smooth. "No need to be so uptight, love. I just want a bit of your attention, is all."

Your cheeks flushed with warmth as you gathered your books, clutching them tightly to your chest. Rising from the table, you felt a mix of anticipation and nervousness swirl within you.

"I need to study! I'm sorry! I don't mean to be rude..." You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a fleeting moment, Mattheo's expression softened, and a gentle chuckle escaped his lips as he observed your bashful demeanor. He couldn't help but find your bashfulness endearing.

"Ah, no need to apologize." He uttered those words, reclining once more in his chair. "I'll back off for now. Wouldn't want to get in the way of your studies."

Your smile lit up his face, and then your gaze shifted to his companions, who seemed to be amusing themselves.

"What are they laughing at?"

Mattheo's eyes flicked to his friends, a fleeting hardness crossing his features. "Like I said, they're just a bunch of idiots. They're probably just amused by the fact that a smart person like you isn't falling for my charm." With a scoff, he rolled his eyes, a gesture laden with disdain.

His charms? You thought to yourself, was that what he was doing? Flirting?

Mattheo let out a soft chuckle, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he observed the dawning realization that spread across your face.

"Ah, I see you are beginning to understand. Took you long enough." He leaned forward on the table once more, a playful glint in his eyes as he teased. "You must know people usually fall at my feet, right?"

"I'm sorry? I'm not sure what you are talking about."

Mattheo's lips curled into a smirk, a glimmer of delight dancing in his eyes as he reveled in the playful exchange.

"Let me clear it up for you then." He said, his tone bordering on cocky. “Want to go out with me?" He inquired, casting a fleeting glance at his friends.

They were silently forming words you couldn't decipher, their attempts to conceal their broad smiles failing miserably, and as Mattheo turned back to you, a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "I guess my friends are anticipating your answer as well."

"Me? What? I—sure?"

Mattheo's smirk blossomed into a genuine smile at the warmth of your acceptance. "Great." He said, his expression softening momentarily. "How about this weekend, then? I'll meet you by the Black Lake after dinner on Saturday."

"That's fine..." you murmured softly, cradling your books against your chest, striving to quell the warmth rising to your cheeks and to regain your composure.

Mattheo caught sight of your flustered expression, a grin spreading across his face as he reveled in the delightful way you were behaving. "Looks like I've got you all flustered." He playfully taunted. "Don't worry, I won't bite... unless you want me to."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips in response to his words, and in that fleeting moment, he returned your expression with a brief yet warm smile of his own.

"I'll see you then, then," you said quickly as he rushed out of the library past his friends; we were clapping slightly.

Mattheo let out a soft chuckle, a smirk lingering on his lips as he watched your hasty retreat. As he turned to look at his friends, they gave him a sly grin in response.

"Looks like you scored a date, mate." Blaise playfully nudged his arm, a mischievous glint in his eye.

[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.

[nottswitch]

bodyguard!mattheo + nsfw 9

i am on my knees for all your mattys 🙏🏻

9. what’s a risqué place you’d like to have sex at?

mattheo’s eyebrow goes up at the question – he’s sure it’s meant to rile him up, and it’s kind of working, though he’d never admit it out loud. though it does make him think, and the answer that comes to his mind makes the corner of his mouth twitch up a little; he quickly pulls it back down and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“the gym,” he says, his voice not betraying a single hint of what’s actually swirling inside his head – the image of you seeing him all sweaty, disheveled, so different from his usually stoic and composed demeanor; the image he’s certain would at the very least fluster you.

get to know my aus.

[reading-the-stars]

I am on my knees!!! I love this man!!!😫

whipped m. riddle headcannons

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: some cute headcannons about mattheo being whipped for you ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

warnings: none?? super fluffy :)

a/n: dedicated to the delusional ladies (aka me) imagine having THE mattheo riddle wrapped around your finger.. life goals😓

he will break his neck to look if someone mentions your name! even just the first few syllables and they have his full attention.

he looks to see your reaction at every joke he tells. he feels so accomplished if he even gets a slight grin out of you ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

somehow he’ll always find a way to make the convo about you. “i bought some cauldron cakes in hogsmead today.” “…..y/n likes cauldron cakes-” “STOP.”

hand on you at all times. sitting in the common room with your friends? arm wrapped around your back. eating dinner at the great hall? interlocked pinkies underneath the table.

this man is having withdrawals during summer break or if you go home for the holidays. you better believe you’re receiving letters daily with messily sketched hearts.

if he hears anyone saying shit behind your back..? sending prayers!

if he had a little too much fire whiskey at a party, he will not stop looking for you until he finds you. “where’s y/n?” “you’ve asked me this five times mattheo. I DONT KNOW.”

treasures home-made gifts. you crocheted him a little plushie? will keep it on his bed always. doesn’t care if his friends laugh at him for it. (god forbid it goes missing.)

this man could sit and watch you do the simplest tasks for hours. doing makeup? on your bed watching. reading? head rested on your stomach as he forces you to read to him. you literally walk him like a dog.

if your mad at him and ignoring him, he’s on his knees ready to BEG for forgiveness.

truth be told, i think mattheo would be hard to crack but once you do, you aren’t getting away ever. ⋆ ★

[cloveswifey]

Clingy

Dad!Tom riddle X Fem!Reader

Fluff

"Mommy is mine!" Mattheo, your spirited three-year-old, shouted, pushing Tom's face away from you.

"Excuse me?" Tom feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. "She is married to me, little buddy." He proudly displayed your ring on his finger, causing Mattheo to cry in despair. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at your husband's playful antics.

Mattheo had definitely entered that clingy phase. He only wanted you to feed him, hug him, play with him, and put him to sleep. He absolutely despised when Tom even gave you a little peck on the lips, and oh, was Tom having fun teasing your little one.

In the past few days, Mattheo's clinginess seemed to escalate. Not that he wasn't clingy before, but now it had become even more intense. As you tried to cook, his little hands would constantly explore your body, causing him to become upset when Tom was around. In an attempt to scare Tom away, Mattheo would even throw his food at him, which only made Tom laugh even harder.

You gave Tom a knowing look and remarked, "I wonder where he got his bad temper from."

Tom affectionately placed a hand on your growing stomach and whispered against your head, "Let's hope this little one isn't as jealous as his brother."

[muntitled]

COULD U DO MATTHEO X F READER DURING HER OVULATION WEEK AND SHES SUPER NEEDY AND HORNY? (Pls I’m ovulating and craving ur fics so bad babe😭🙏🧎🏼‍♀️)

I love how feral this is lmfao -

𝐍𝐨 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐬 | 𝐌.𝐑.

Mattheo Riddle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, Dark Fic, Violence, Language, Mention of drugs and alcohol, Slight fluff, Public Affections, Possessiveness, Smut (+18), Dirty Talk, Touch starvation, Fingering, Humping, Grinding, Whining, Sub/Dom Undertones, Blood Kink, Fighting Kink?, Squirting, Major Degradation, Praise Kink, Breeding Kink, Slight Humiliation Kink

The night is deep, and the dungeon is dim as a few sunken eyes peer curiously at you while you make your way through the crowd. Seeing you emerge from within the walls of your private dorm room was a rare and curious sight for everyone involved. It was especially rare for you to embed yourself amongst your fellow pupils shenanigans, seeing yourself as above such baseless devilment.

You were not here for them.

You were scanning the crowd for him because an unfamiliar warmth had been festering inside your stomach and it had propelled your feet forward, until you reached the very centre of the Slytherin soiree commencing in the common room.

Your core is still aching with the after affects of your fingers as you manoeuvre your way through the party. You were touching yourself under satin sheets only moments ago-spurred on by the imaginings of his bloodied fingers slipping inside you, stabbing your cunt until you mewled like a useless whore and he affirmed you as such. His recklessness and delinquency cracked something vital in your brain and you felt yourself get wetter as you pushed through the crowd. You needed him to touch you, your body practically burned for him to absolutely ruin you, and you set out to do just that.

Although you had turned down a concoction of Firewhiskey from an already inebriated Ravenclaw student, your stomach burns with the anticipation of seeing him.

Feeling him.

Smelling his near constant fragrance of Firewhiskey along his lips. You were never clingy but you wished for nothing more than to be in the presence of your insufferable and clingy boyfriend.

A month into your courtship, and you had failed to bring up how much of his habits bypass all sensibilities in your brain. If only he knew how much his recklessness brought about an unmistakable moisture in between your thighs. That,coupled with his bruised and bloody knuckles, spurred on your need, especially during this time of the month.

It had been easy to maintain your composure throughout the rest of the month, effortless, even. Detachment and independence was a by-product of your personality, showing up in the way you shied away from Mattheo's public affections and always appearing uninterested in any of his verbal charms.

One such occasion; you had found him taking up purchase on your bed after an incredibly tiresome day as a Slytherin prefect.

"Make yourself scarce, Riddle. I'm not in the mood," He, of course, was delighted in your indifference- truthfully, he basked in it. Mattheo was somewhat of a masochist, craving the attention of someone so emotionally detached. The very second he noticed how unaffected you appeared with his shenanigans. He might as well have transfigured into a mermaid, because he was hooked.

"How easy you are to repel my affections," He said, letting a bandaged hand fall on his chest as he lay supine like a starfish on your Satin sheets, "How swiftly you deny my companionship-"

"Dont you have any orphans to torture?"

You mourn the past you... how indifferent she had been.

How utterly in control!

The bed dipped as he slithered closer, letting a hand rest on your shoulders as he began to knead the tense muscle there.

"Don't I get a 'How was your day, Riddle?' How did you sleep, Riddle? How did you acquire these bruises, Riddle, and I hope you looked hot doing it, Riddle" it was then that you glanced at the hand on your shoulder. Busted knuckles bred bloodied and broken skin. Riddle's hand was a smorgasbord of cuts and bruises that disappeared up his black, cotton sleeve shirt. You ignored the useless warmth knotting in your core as you continued to undo your shoelaces.

"I needn't ask you because I know you were in the centre of yet another degenerate fight," you had said, burying all the feelings of need amongst your usual, scholarly distractions.

"You love it"

"I hate it actually. It makes me question my affiliation with you.

"You say that princess, but you secretly love it"

You did love it, and right now, distracting yourself is not an option. You watch with bated breath as the object of your affections walks into the Slytherin common rooms. There are plenty of bodies swaying in the dungeons illuminated by various Ravenclaws who have casted Lumos

You see Riddle across the room, head thrown back while he nursed a cup of Firewhiskey. When his head comes back, he sees you too, he raises his cup and he pushes himself off the wall to lessen the distance between you. Your legs certainly achieve a quicker gait as you push past the swaying bodies and soon enough you're bombarded by firewhiskey, with an undercurrent of sweat and leather.

The second you’re close, Riddle lowers his cup on the desk, already having his explanations ready for the impending combat. "If you think I'm gonna let you take my freedom away again, you’re fucking crazy. I'm barely buzzed and I'm getting drunk, or high by the end of this night and there's nothing you-" But your fist is already digging into the softness of his button up shirt and your lips are open as you force them onto his.

Right there, in the open.

Mattheo is naturally stunned, possibly discombobulated.

Had he really gotten higher than he thought?

Did that fucking Hufflepuff make him a stepped on joint?

Frankly, he couldn't care less, and as the shock of it all wore down, and he could feel you begin to slip away, Mattheo slithers his battered hand around your waist and pulls you impossibly close. He smirks into the kiss, as he brings his hand up, fingers gliding across your collarbone, while the other hand lingers around your waist.

"What happened to your hand?" It is a question that threatens to burst the bubble established between the two of you. Why would you ask him this? Why would you bring him back to the events of earlier today when you were so prettily malleable in his hands right now?

"Nothing,"

"Matt..." You say, clouding your words with innuendo, which has him looking up at you with furrowed brows.

"Nott," Is all he says before he buries himself in the crook of your neck. His proximity awakens something animalistic inside of you, it pushes you to the depths of your lascivious desires and has you melting right there on the dance floor. All around you, fellow Slytherins continue to sway to the beat, letting the thrum of the enchanted muggle music speak for them. You throw your head back, gasping at the overwhelming need pooling in your core as Riddle begins to send reckless kisses down your collarbone, all while you imagine beating another guy silly. You blame your cycle. You blame your body. You blame every single hormone responsible for allowing you to emit such a wanton moan so openly in the very centre of a crowd.

"Who do I have to kill in order to get this reaction out of you everyday?" Mattheo is panting, with his hazel eyes dilated (whether from pleasure or substance, you might never know). Who do I have to curse in order to get you to be this slutty for me every single day?" His breathing is shallow and audible, even through all the noise. Mattheo's mind is foggy and the party guests are reduced to a memory. The only image he's able to conjure up is his lips between your wet folds - his tongue eager to find the source of your need while you moaned above him and kneaded your own breasts in a slutty haze.

"I need you, Mattheo," it was fucking infuriating to admit but the wetness has completely soaked through your underwear and a fresh scar is present in the corner of Mattheo's eye. There's a slight red smudge under his nose, and his knuckles are red and angry at the best of your neck, cradling your head close to his.

"Say that again-"

"What? No, I will not fucking-"

Mattheo's grip on your neck immediately unhooks and he detangles your limbs but before he ventures any furthers you're pulling him down to you and with your lips to Mattheo's greedy ears you angrily mutter, "I fucking need you. I need you really badly,"

He stares in your desperate, dark eyes with wonder and awe before letting your wrist be enclosed by his iron grip. Soon, you're being dragged through a Slytherin party with a boy adjusting the front lf his pants and barking orders at the drunken strangers to move before they fucking died.

Just as you succeed in cutting through the crowd a voice stops both of you in your tracks.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Riddle," the voice booms from over the thumping bass of whatever muggle music was enchanted over the dungeon. Mattheo's gaze cuts away from you, but before he turns completely away, a slow Cheshire cat grin curls at the ends of his lips.

"That threat has grown so unimaginably tedious after years of overuse, Theo but I can't do this right now-" His sentence has already been cut short by an audible blow to his lower jaw. Theo Nott blocked your path towards the darkened hallway, leading to your dorm room and you're left wholly unsatisfied as Mattheo is sent barreling backwards. He lets go of your hand, stopping to wipe the wetness at the corners of his lips and checking to see if it's blood. It is. And something scratches inside of you.

The Prefect inside you wants to intervene but an even darker part of you tells you not to.

Theo is livid, and his wide chest rises and falls as he descends on Mattheo,

"Why the fuck am I being told by Draco of all people, that I can't play Keeper because I'm stuck in the hospital wing-"

"Theo, I really don't have the time for this-" Mattheo begins, but Theo cuts him short,

"Are you trying to steal my fucking place, Riddle?"

Mattheo's voice is leveled as he raises his fingers and says, "Okay, first off, yeah, I am. Obviously I'm trying to take your place. You're a shit Keeper and secondly, I've got somewhere to be," Theo's barreling towards Mattheo once more.

A silly, borderline maniacal smirk explodes on Riddle's face before he makes the shotgun decision to charge and lands a punch at Theo's jaw, allowing for the taller boy to stagger backwards. Your shoulders jump, and you flinch at the sickening sound as you watch with a wide gaze as Mattheo nurses his hurt hand. Theo is a raging bull, but Draco appears from the crowd, with a firm grip on Theo's shoulder. A stern, quiet reprimand.

At the exact same moment, Mattheo's hand finds yours and he smirks as he stalks past Nott, wiping away at his chin as he leads you towards your dorm.

The quietness within is almost jarring compared to the noise out there and as soon as the door closes, Mattheo's lips descend on your neck, "I know, I know," He sighs heavily, as he brings his hand up to your shoulder, "I’m sorry. I just hope I haven't ruined the vibe-"

"I want your fingers inside me, Riddle." He stills at your quiet command, and you leave him standing by the door as you pad over to your bed. "I don't know why, but I just need you, okay? And my own fingers aren't quite doing the trick and I keep thinking about how fucking crazy you are and-", You sigh as you sit at the foot of the bed. Lifting the skirt of your dress, Mattheo watches in the dimness of your room as you venture your fingers under your dress and hook them into your panties. He walks towards you, propelling the wings of the butterflies in your stomach.

All he says is, "Which hand?" He doesn't know why he asks, but he does and his voice is barely above a whisper as he hopes you pick the right answer. His cock twitches in his underwear at the thought of seeing his blood on your skin.

Mattheo stops in between your legs, causing the fabric of the dress to rise while a breeze drifts over your soaked pussy. You bend forward and reach for his bloodied hand.

"I want your fingers inside me,"

Mattheo's resolve immediately snaps and his hands grip tightly at your hips, pushing you backwards and exposing your wet core to him.

"You're fucking dripping through the sheets like a slut- you're a fucking slut,"

Excitement. It rushes through you like a wave of magma at the neediness in his own voice.

Matheo rushes to rid both of you of the excess fabric, casting Evansco, until all he can see is your warm, glistening skin.

"Oh my fuck-" Mattheo's voice cracks as he stares down at your aching cunt, his fingers almost instinctively rubbing over the wetness.

"Touch your breasts," He commands, "I wanna see you do it,"

Your eyes pierce into his dark ones as you bring a shaky hand up towards your puckered nipples. The smallest brush elicits a violent streak of pleasure which would have occupied your entire mind were it not for Mattheo's long fingers already stabbing into your dripping cunt.

"Fuck, you're so wet," He whines, unconsciously burying his hips into the sheets at the foot of your bed as he watches. He is utterly transfixed by his middle and ring finger disappearing into your cunt. Every time they sink deeper your mind gets filled with images of Riddle's unrest and violence. You're utterly wrecked with the thought of his bloodied fingers being inside you, touching the most private parts of you.

"Pick up the pace, Riddle,"

"Shut the fuck up," He mumbles as he takes his time in exploring the very depths of you. Your voice soars to higher octaves as you feel your first orgasm cresting quite literally against your will. How utterly embarrassing, to cum so quickly.

"You're fucking squeezing my fingers- fuck-" You're desperately humping at his hand, hoping your hips might achieve the feat of sinking his fingers further into you. "You're humping my hand so fucking well." His cock aches as he continues to grind it into the sheets, in tandem with your swollen cunt taking his fingers.

"Are you seriously going to cum so soon? Are you that desperate to get fucked-" Your cunt spasms around his fingers and you're moaning as you squeeze your sensitive breasts, already soaring to the heights of your orgasm. Your screams rival the music outside but Riddle never tells you to keep quiet, instead he watches with hungry eyes as your body melts into its orgasm.

"Look at what the fuck you've done," Mattheo's words have you slowly coming back to earth, but not quite... his voice is heavy with lust as you raise yourself by your elbows. Your stomach sinks as you watch Mattheo, he's frozen in front of you, with his head lowered and his gaze on his palm.

"I-I'm sorry-" Your sheets were soaked with your release, leaving a visible damp spot. You squirted everywhere.

"You're gonna do that on my cock," before you can comprehend your words Mattheo already has his cock positioned at your wet folds.

"I'm going to fucking cum inside you and you're going to take it, yeah?" The serious shadow in his darkened eyes hold no room for negotiation, you'd never seen Mattheo quite this serious because seriousness just didn't run in his bloodstream. However, he's utterly ruined by your neediness, needing to take advantage of your compliance before it slipped through his fingers.

"Oh my fuck- Mattheo!"He pulls your hips towards the edge of the bed and his cock forces itself through your folds, until Mattheo is quite literally fucking you with reckless abandon.

"Matt- I can't-'' You're still riding on the sensitivity of your previous high and you think Mattheo could be a little mindful of this but his goal, it seems, is to leave you overstimulated.

"You can," he mumbles, with his eyes squeezing shut before he quickly opens them, wanting to see every emotion flowing over your face.

"You're a slut but you're not a useless slut, are you?" You tits bounce with every movement of Mattheo's hips, and you're shaking your head despite the fog. Your cunt is squeezing the life out of his cock and you feel him pushing at a very sensitive part of you.

Your head is buried in the pillows as your back arches and you swallow him deeper.

Mattheo bends forward, his hips quickening into a needy, restless rut as his teeth sink into the skin around your nipples.

"FUCK-" The pain bleeds into pleasure which streams into your next orgasm. Riddle moans around your skin, suckling at your nipple while he fucked you like he is as touch starved as you are.

"I'm cumming, Matt-" The fact that you're still able to form words is a complete and utter mystery because, not a second later, you're exploding around his cock. A gushing, clear liquid rushes through you while your lips chant his name like a prayer.

"I'm going to fucking breed you, baby- oh fuck, you're so pretty squirting around my cock-" the cracks in his voice; the desperation laced on every word has him cumming inside you, pushing his hips with every spurt of warmth.

You're still shuddering when Mattheo slumps over you. You're both huffing and puffing and basking in each other's release with his cock still very much inside you. "You're getting a contraception potion from Madame Pomfrey tomorrow," you can do nothing except nod as your satisfaction settles.

"I'll come with you," He says.

[rafesslxt]

𝐬𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐩! 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐

nsfw | slytherin boys; mattheo, enzo, theo | pxrn links

part 1 | masterlist

do not open in public!

you have to be logged in into twitter! Or else it will tell you there is no post.

Mattheo:

Mattheo’s ego is bruised after you tell him your ex was so good at eating you out, so he has to show you what he can do with his mouth

Mattheo fucks you and slaps your face after you were a tease all day long.

Mattheo eating you out after a long day at work

Mattheo fucks you on the common room couch after Cedric flirted with you at a quidditch game Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin

Mattheo let‘s you tease him after you tell him you won‘t let him put it inside. Friends don‘t do that.

Theodore:

Theo sending you a teasing video after you told him you can‘t come over because you have to study

Theo and you skip class together so you can slowly and undercover ride him on a bench. What a good day to wear a skirt.

Theo fucking you stupid, spitting on your face and slapping your ass after you tell him "oh I bet there are gonna be so many hot guys in Italy" right before your vacation [favorite]

Theo showing you how he uses his fav instrument after you showed him how you played the piano

Enzo:

Enzo thrusting hard after he heard you talking to your friends that he always fucks you so soft

Enzo is such a good best friend. After you tell him you‘re sexually frustrated, he tells you that you can ride him until you come. Friends help each other.

Enzo using you just how he wants to

Enzo letting you slowly suck his cock for your of account while he games

Enzo‘s so happy when you finally let him fuck you even tho it‘s just the tip allowed. Friends don‘t fuck.

credit goes to all of the owners of the videos

If you don‘t like posts like this keep scrolling :) <3

xoxo sarah <3

[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?"

[yua0ra]

𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧: 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞™

(𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲-𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐒𝐥𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

WARNINGS: downbad!mattheo x slytherin!fem!reader, SFW, english is not my first language. not proofread | fluff ☏

SUMMARY: Mattheo Riddle has a full-system shutdown when you shyly wave at him in the Three Broomsticks. After mumbling something about the weather (??), the Slytherin boys decide intervention is absolutely necessary. Thus, Operation: Matty Falls in Love™ is born.

Spoiler: it’s already working. Spoiler 2: Mattheo wants to vanish into his scarf.

WC: 1.4K AN: Just a silly little draft of an idea I had a few months ago. sorry for the super late post! I've been extremely busy with uni.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind that practically begged for butterbeer and questionable decisions. The Three Broomsticks was packed with Hogwarts students trying to escape the miserable February wind, their chatter clashing with the clink of mugs and the occasional crash from behind the bar.

Mattheo Riddle was crammed into a booth with Enzo, Theo, Blaise, and Draco, and for once, he wasn’t scowling at the world. He had this far-off, half-smile thing going on—cheeks faintly flushed, fingers tapping a lazy rhythm on the rim of his mug.

And that was all the invitation Enzo needed.

“You’ve got that look again,” Enzo said, stretching his legs out under the table and smirking. “Like you're composing love poetry in your head. Something tragic. Probably rhymes with her name.”

Mattheo didn’t even bother glaring. He just took a long sip of his butterbeer and muttered, “Piss off.”

“Oh no, no—don’t go shy now,” Theo jumped in, eyes gleaming. “Our brooding prince has fallen. Hard. Honestly, at this point I’m expecting you to carve her name into the desk in the Slytherin common room like some medieval madman.”

“Swear he was humming in the shower yesterday,” Blaise added, grinning wide. “Humming. We’re witnessing history.”

Draco leaned in like he was about to deliver the final blow. “He flinched when she said hi last week. And then stared at the spot she stood in for a full minute like it owed him rent.”

Mattheo’s ears betrayed him. Flaming. Absolutely on fire. The kind of red that made it look like they’d been hexed. “You lot are all insufferable,” he muttered, sinking deeper into his seat.

And then—just to prove the universe had no chill—the bell over the door jingled. You walked in with your Slytherin girl gang, all laughing like you owned the damn world. The wind tugged at your scarf, your cheeks were rosy from the cold, and your smile? Devastating. Mattheo tried to pretend he wasn’t looking, but everyone at the table could feel the tension radiating off him like heat.

Blaise leaned out of the booth and squinted toward the door. “Merlin. She really is so fit, though.”

“Ridiculously fit,” Enzo agreed.

Draco let out a low whistle. “Unfair, honestly.”

Mattheo’s smile vanished. Completely gone. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing just slightly. “Can you not?” he muttered, voice low and tense.

Theo smirked. “What? You don’t like us noticing that your little crush is objectively hot?”

Mattheo didn’t answer—his glare kind of said it all.

You, meanwhile, had spotted their table and gave a small, hesitant wave, a little shy but still sweet. Mattheo blinked like he couldn’t believe you were actually waving at him. His heart thumped. Hard.

Astoria winked at you. “Go on. Say hi. They’re all here.”

“I don’t know…” you murmured. “They’re probably busy—”

“They’re never busy,” Pansy cut in. “They just sit there being dramatic and drinking warm butterbeer like it’s a coping mechanism.”

“They are dramatic,” Daphne agreed, already nudging you forward.

With an encouraging nudge from Daphne, you walked over, your fingers fidgeting slightly with your scarf. “Hi, boys,” you said, soft but clear.

The effect was instant.

Theo grinned so wide it looked borderline painful and Blaise—because Blaise always had to be that guy—winked slowly like you were starring in your own dramatic black-and-white romance film.

Mattheo looked like someone had hit pause on his entire body.

“Hi,” he finally said, voice rough. “You look... uh. Cold. I mean—you’re here. Hello.”

You giggled quietly. “Hi, Mattheo.”

Enzo leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You joining us, love?”

You looked at Mattheo, just briefly, before glancing away again. “Oh—no. Just saying hi.”

Theo tilted his head. “Did you know Mattheo writes sonnets about you in his sleep?”

Mattheo groaned audibly. “I do not.”

“Oh, come on,” Blaise said. “We were just talking about how—”

Mattheo cut him off with a sharp look, something dark flickering in his eyes. “Don’t.”

The table went quiet for a beat.

You blinked, clearly sensing the shift. “Is… everything alright?”

“Fine,” Mattheo said a bit too quickly. Then softer, glancing at you: “You look really nice today.”

You ducked your head, hiding the smile blooming on your lips. “Thanks, Matty.”

His ears burned again. Bright red. You didn’t see it, but the rest of the table absolutely did.

As you walked away, practically glowing with shyness and the cutest little smile on your lips, Mattheo sat there—utterly motionless, hands still covering half his face like he could physically hide from the moment that just happened.

No one spoke for a full five seconds. And then—

“I have never,” Enzo said, slamming his mug down, “seen a man malfunction so violently over a single word.”

Theo leaned in, eyes wide. “She called you Matty, mate. Matty. That’s endgame-level intimacy.”

Draco pointed his spoon at him like a wand. “You can’t come back from that. That’s a nickname you get married under.”

Blaise drummed his fingers against the table thoughtfully. “Gentlemen,” he said, voice low and scheming, “I propose a mission.”

Mattheo finally peeked through his fingers. “No. Whatever it is. Absolutely not.”

“Operation: Matty Falls in Love,” Blaise continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Phase one: awareness. You’re already smitten. Step one, complete. Congrats.”

“I hate you all,” Mattheo muttered.

Theo nodded solemnly. “Step two: contact. We increase natural exposure. Sit closer in class. Walk next to her in the corridors. Offer to carry her books.”

Enzo perked up. “Leave little gifts! Like, a chocolate frog on her desk. Maybe a note. Something simple and mysterious. But not creepy. We’re flirting, not hexing.”

Draco snapped his fingers. “Or! Casual compliments. Subtle. Like, ‘That’s a nice ink color.’ Boom. Romantic and scholarly.”

Mattheo was just staring at the ceiling now. “I’m begging you to stop.”

“Step three,” Theo said, now narrating with his butterbeer like it was a microphone. “The accidental study session. You, her, one quiet corner of the library. You pretend to struggle with a concept you’ve already mastered. Boom. Bonding.”

“Step four,” Blaise added, “emotional vulnerability. Get her to talk about her family, childhood dreams, favorite sweets. Then tell her a story about your tragic, misunderstood past.”

“You want me to trauma dump in the library?” Mattheo asked flatly.

Enzo shrugged. “It works on me.”

Theo clapped his hands. “Step five: The Grand Gesture.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Mattheo groaned.

“Nothing crazy,” Theo said. “Just like… serenade her under the Astronomy Tower. Or enchant the hallway to rain rose petals. Maybe a confession in the middle of breakfast? That’s dramatic and unforgettable.”

Draco tapped his quill against the table like a general approving war strategy. “You know, we could do a slow burn angle. Play the long game. Make her fall in love with the idea of you before she even realizes it’s happening.”

“I’m already in love with the idea of him,” Blaise mockingly said, sipping his drink. “And I live with him.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Mattheo said, finally dragging his hands down his face. His entire neck was still pink. “I’m not doing any of that. I’ll just… talk to her. Like a normal person.”

All four of them stared.

“You?” Enzo said slowly. “Talk to her?”

“You just said ‘you’re here, it’s cold’ like you were casting a memory charm with your mouth full,” Theo pointed out.

Mattheo reached for his butterbeer. “I panicked.”

“And now you need structure,” Blaise said. “A plan. A mission.”

“A team,” Draco added.

“Please stop—”

“Operation: Matty Falls in Love is officially a go,” Theo declared, raising his mug like a toast. “By the end of term, you’ll be holding her hand, stargazing, maybe even—dare I say—kissing.”

“I hate every single one of you,” Mattheo mumbled into his drink.

“That's the spirit,” Enzo grinned. “Now. Do you think she likes owls? Because I have a quill set and no self-control.”

And somewhere across the pub, you laughed at something Pansy said—and Mattheo couldn’t help it. He looked over.

Yeah. He was doomed.

And Operation: Matty Falls in Love? Already working.

[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. 

[riddlesrizzler]

Sparkles and Eyeliner

summary: It started with a box. characters: teen dad! mattheo. toddler daughter. mentions of blaise and draco. warnings: none! just fluff word count: 610

It started with a box.

A sparkly, plastic, slightly cracked pink box she’d gotten from Theo last Christmas-filled with child-safe makeup in colors no adult would ever willingly wear. Neon blue eyeshadow. Lip gloss that smelled like watermelon gum. Blush with enough glitter to blind a man.

And it was treasure to her.

She had it spread across the floor, legs crossed, tiny fingers sorting through sparkly tubes with intense concentration. Mattheo had just sat down on the floor with her after a long day, stretching out his legs and reaching for one of her books when she looked up at him with that face.

Wide eyes. Head tilted. A hopeful little smile.

“Daddy.”

“Yeah, bug?”

“Can I do your makeup?”

Mattheo blinked.

“I dunno…” he started slowly.

“Please?” she said, dragging it out like a song. “I’ll make you so pretty.”

He smirked. “I’m already pretty.”

She giggled. “You’ll be sparkly pretty.”

Mattheo sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the rug like she’d just defeated him in battle.

“Fine. Make me beautiful.”

She squealed.

He sat patiently while she got to work, kneeling over him with her tiny brow furrowed like a professional. She pressed blush onto his cheeks with an oversized cotton ball, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration.

“Hold still,” she muttered as she smeared shimmery eyeshadow across one of his lids.

Mattheo winced. “What color is that?”

“Blueberry sparkle.”

“Terrifying.”

“Shhh.”

She switched to lip gloss next-applying an alarming amount and somehow getting it just above his lips and all the way to his chin. Then she leaned back, hands on her hips.

Mattheo blinked at her, glittery and dazed.

“Well?”

She grinned. “You look fabulous.”

“Do I look like a fairy princess or a villain in a soap opera?”

“You look like Daddy. But like...a shiny version.”

He laughed, pulling her into his lap, careful not to smudge the masterpiece. “You did great, bug.”

She touched his cheek, serious all of a sudden. “You always let me do fun stuff.”

Mattheo’s heart tugged.

“Of course I do,” he whispered. “That’s part of the job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re the best job-daddy.”

He had no idea what that meant, but he’d never felt prouder in his life.

Later, when Blaise and Draco showed up to drop off some groceries and caught sight of Mattheo in blueberry sparkle and watermelon gloss, they stared.

Mattheo, completely unfazed, pointed to the proud little girl at his side and said, “She’s accepting clients. You want in, or are you cowards?”

Draco turned around and walked out.

Blaise sat down and said, “Only if I can have the gold glitter.”

[moscatosin]

🖤 lists. mattheo riddle 🖤 oral. studying. fem!reader self insert. tongue in cheek. thank you to @nottscherry for reading this & confirming my idea was sane and @voidofsunlight for her bot that inspired the idea. mdni. raspberry vodka recommended (2.1k)

It was painstakingly obvious that Mattheo's curiosity had clearly gotten the best of him. Slipping down into a seat beside you in the back of the library, he smirked; honey tinted eyes washing over you with a trail of unspoken questions he’d stop at nothing to get answers for. Reaching out, with careful fingers, Mattheo tucked some loose hair which had fallen down in front of your face behind your ear, using the gesture as an excuse to let his fingertips linger beneath your chin and turn your head to face him.

“You know, you really should be more discreet with what you keep in your dorm..”

For a few moments, an array of impulsive thoughts and taunting images raced through your mind. When he had asked earlier in the day about borrowing a textbook you had on ancient runes for a class he wasn't all that committed to, you hadn't thought much about lending it to him. He just wanted to pass - you were nice enough to extend the offer to a friend - end of story. Right? Nope.

That little shit had taken it upon himself to snoop around your dorm as if he owned the place rather than just walking in and walking out the way you'd expected, like a thief in the middle of the night. You'd told him exactly where the book he was after was - top shelf in the bookcase beside your bed in between a stack of parchments you vaguely could refer to as homework and the novelty coffee mug of a dog he'd brought you years ago in Hogsmeade after you mentioned you thought it was cute.

Mind racing; you wondered what he'd stumbled on. Ever so surely, you began to flicker through the mental catalogue of everything you kept in your dorm. Perhaps the lucky red lace bra you always wore on first dates? The novelty candy G-string Pansy bought for your birthday last month? The handcuffs your ex had far too many ideas for? The bullet vibrator you kept in your bedside top drawer shaped like a golden snitch? No, let's be real - all these things were far too safe for someone with the last name Riddle; far too vanilla. Yet whilst you tried so desperately hard to think, your mind just couldn't quite pinpoint what he was hinting at.

“I’m sorry”, you murmured out with a raised brow, half tilting your head to the side to act partially naive and yet to also shift away from his touch. “You'll have to be more specific, Mattheo. I don't quite have the gift of legilimency like you do..”

“The list, sweetheart.”

For a moment you froze as time seemed to stop still. A single blink is what it took for your brain to kick-start back into motion after going offline oh so temporarily at his simple statement. The list. The god forsaken list. A stupid piece of parchment you'd hidden well, you initially thought, between ties and mismatched socks in your trunk which he'd had to have gone digging through to find. What a little shit –

“So you've been snooping?”, you sigh, hands raking through your hair roughly as the breath that escapes you burns raw against your lips. “Mattheo, we're friends - I trusted you to walk into my dorm, get what you needed and get out. Something that really, should not have been that difficult of a task for a wizard like yourself..”

He cuts you off by placing a finger firmly against your lips and scoots the seat he's on a few inches closer towards yours; wooden legs of the chair scraping harshly like nails on a chalkboard against the floor. With his free hand, he plucks the folded parchment out from his robe pocket and sets it out in front of you; his eyes dancing towards it, daring you to open it. You do - with shy, trembling hands; trying so, so hard to keep yourself afloat in this sudden drowning chaos you're finding yourself trapped within. It's okay, the waters only ankle deep - you can still get yourself out of this without needing to swim.

At the top of the list in handwriting which is clearly your own - that perfect cursive that has witches jealous of your quill skills, is Mattheo's name. Beneath it; listed in no particular order, a few dozen reasons girls think he'd be a decent fuck along with their signatures beside the comment. You swallow; the feeling rather uncomfortable and intense which hurts your throat as you listen to him begin to read it.

“Would definitely let me call him Daddy - A. Greengrass. Has 99 problems but that cock sure ain't one - L. Brown. Hands that could choke me into place with ease - H. Abbott. Are you girls bloody mental? Who writes shit like this?”

Would you answer him? Eh… The whole idea of lists had started out as a joke a few weeks ago at a party. Sober thoughts meeting drunken confidence when you'd suggested a list be written about all the boys you knew. Not necessarily sexual in nature but at least suggestive to some degree Somehow, rather unexpectedly; someone brought up Mattheo's name in conversation after commenting on how damn good he looked wearing all black, sipping on firewhiskey like it was nobodies business and bang - the ‘I would fuck him’ list was born.

“Riddle, it was just a little harmless fun. Like you can honestly tell me that you and your mates don't talk about or rank girls you'd like to hook up with or date or –.”

“Your name’s not on it.”

The sound of the library fell into a deep and unexpected silence you could hear a feather drop within. Your posture straightened upright; both brows rising as the faintest shade of rosy peach colouring skimmed across your cheeks. Coughing to clear your throat, you let out a semi-soulless chuckle.

“Yeah, because we're friends and I don't exactly see you in that way Mattheo.”

“But what would you write?”

“Nothing”, you confirmed with a confused stare at him, “We're friends.”

“But if you had to..”

Oh, he was getting desperate for an answer. How interesting. Had the names and comments already listed not been enough to stroke his rather expansive ego. You glance at the list before looking back at him; licking your tongue over your bottom lip to buy a little time to further think.

“You're not being serious?”

“Dead right I am.”

“Matt - almost three quarters of the bloody castle have signed a parchment that declares they'd willingly want to fuck you, and you're caught up on the fact that I, one of your best friends, hasn't signed it?”

The puppy dog look he shot you without warning made it feel like you'd just kicked him. You were well aware that there'd be only one way to suffice him, so picking up your quill you scribbled the first thing that came to mind and signed the bottom of the list. Mattheo had shifted to be staring over your shoulder intently as you scribbled away neatly; the gasp that from deep within his chest sounding like he may or may not have just experienced a minor heart attack.

“Might know how to use that tongue? Might? What the fuck? You think I'd suck at eating a girl out? Are you insane? I'm the best—.”

“Mattheo, seriously - shut up! We're in a library and I'm trying to study and yeah, as a matter of fact, you seem like a guy who wouldn't want to get messy and doesn't have the patience to go down on a girl long enough to please her, so yes. Might - know - how to use that tongue. Take it or leave it.”

Your heart is racing at this point. It was a joke. This whole thing. The list, your comment, the fact the two of you were even having this conversation. He slaps a hand down hard against the desk causing your ink bottle to shake and lets out a gruff sounding growl making your thighs tremble and quake. No. No. No…

“You're a wicked little witch.”

The sentence comes out with a hiss and a little sprinkle of threat and before you know it, Mattheo has slid his chair back, not caring to glance around and see if the two of you have company before dropping to the floor and crawling beneath the desk. Your brain short circuits again, this time; involuntarily as you feel his hands spread your knees apart; lips pressing hot, slow kisses that burn up the inside of your thighs deliciously. God it had been so fucking long since you'd been touched.

“W-what are you doing?”

*Proving that statement of yours fucking wrong.”

His curls tickling against your skin, your hands grasped at the edge of the desk you sat at, knuckles whitening as his teeth sank in to nip sultry at your skin. Your body tensed for a split second before sinking into the seat, his lips continuing to pepper kisses up your thighs before planting a final teasing kiss over your panties against your core that had you seeing stars.

“Hell.. Mattheo - we need to sto-...”

Like he was about to listen. Honestly. Tugging your panties to one side, you felt him chuckle against your clit before pressing the softest of kisses against it; your nerves endings bursting into an electric craze. Tip of his tongue sliding neatly in between your folds, you bit a knuckle painfully between your teeth to stifle a moan and felt your body grow warm.

“Oh my god..”

The words are nothing more than an uttered whisper of submission as Mattheo's tongue flickered teasingly over your entrance, slipping in shallow to torment you as his hands wrap around your thighs in an attempt at keeping you still. Your head tilts back; eyes clamped shut, your own hands tearing your skirt up to find his curls and knot through them, keeping Mattheo's head and mouth exactly where you need it.

“Mhmm.. you taste so fucking good.”

Compliments? Ugh. Your toes curl as his tongue continues to slide between your wet folds, sucking at your clit before diving back into you again. Your hips rock to help fuck yourself against his tongue to which he doesn't object to; devouring you like a feral animal who hasn't had a feed in weeks. You can feel your thighs becoming wet; your arousal evident as it paints his chin, the seat, your legs slick. You try to control it; the coil of heat burning in the pit of your stomach but when he shakes his head, tongue flickering over every inch of you on offer, your mind loses it.

Clamping your thighs tightly around him, Mattheo continues to let his tongue work magic; sucking at your folds before one final hit at your clit that has you not only seeing stars but almost seeing the whites and sparkle of what you can only guess are the pearly gates of heaven. Breathing heavily, you feel your legs lose tension as you unknown your fingers from his curls; face flushed and body quivering as you struggle to regain your breath.

“Holy fuck that was -..”

“Amazing?”, Mattheo asks, picking himself up off the floor to take the seat beside you again.

You blush a little harder; struggling to pick up your quill, yet you manage to, crossing out on the list what you wrote to reconfirm what you'd doubted. Mattheo's gaze turns from hungry to soft as you correct your admittance.

A tongue that belongs to me.

He can't help but gloat; chest puffed out, chin still glistening as he smirks your way. Leaning across, Mattheo presses a kiss to your temple, slinking an arm around your shoulders almost possessively.

“I'll admit baby girl, I'm kind of impressed I was able to change your mind so quickly. Tell me though - are there other lists or am I the only boy oh so fortunate?”

“Oh”, you chuckle, shifting your tie around your neck to adjust it for some breathing room, “There's another list.”

“Another?”, Mattheo spits out immediately. The way you've suggested it and he's said it, making it clear that apart from his laying on the desk in front of you, there's only one other in existence.

“Mhmm”, you mumble in confirmation.

“So who's the guy?”

Oh this is fun - he got to tease you, and now the tables have turned in your favour for you to tease him. Twirling your quill between your fingertips, you reach out to dip the tip into your ink pot and smirk.

“Theodore”, you explain with nothing more than his best friend's name.

“...and is his ‘list’ as extensive as mine?”

“Oh it's longer..”, you giggle, trying to focus back on your studies, “..and before you ask, yeah - I've signed it.”

[aur0ral1ghts]

Jealously, Jealously.

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ғɪɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴛᴛʜᴇᴏ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ɢɪʀʟ, sᴏ.ʜᴇ ᴇᴀᴛs ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇᴇʟ ʙᴇᴛᴛᴇʀ.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs; ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs ᴡɪᴛʜ ʙᴇɴɪғᴇᴛs. ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴏᴜᴛ.

Requested.

Mattheo leaned back on the wall, the sunlight from a nearby window casting a subtle glow on him. He was chatting with someone, a girl. And even worse? She had a reputation for snogging guys, then ghosting them after a day. She batted her eyelashes at him, looking up at him. I mean, mattheo surely wasn't into a girl like that, right...I mean sure..she was pretty, but would Mattheo actually like her? Maybe she-

You froze.

You felt like hexing that girl. You felt an unsure feeling rushing through you. Was it..jealously? No. It couldn't be. I mean, sure you guys fucked on the occasion, but you were simply just friends. Friends with benefits. That's all it would ever be.

"Your hair is sooo soft! What conditioner do you use?" The girl says, touching Mattheos curls, toying with them, her voice high pitched. You felt another sudden urge to punch her face. "Oh, uh. I dunno, I got it as a birthday gift." He shurgs. "Well, Riddle, I'll see you tomorrow?" She chuckles, poking a finger on his chest. "Mhm." He nods. She walks away as she tries to impress Mattheo by flipping her hair as she struts away. You cringed at the second-hand embarrassment from her.

You clenched your fists at the sight. Mattheo looked to his left, and that's when he saw you, just standing there, barley hidden behind a pillar. He opened his mouth to talk, but you quickly turned on your heel and sprinted off.

"Y/n - wait!" You heard him yell out, you heard him running towards you.

Shit, this was embrassing.

You thought.

"Y/n, I swear to Merlin!" He mutters under his breath, finally catching up to you. You stopped, eyeing him. He placed his hands on his knees, catching his breath. "It's not what it looks like." He murmured. "Oh sure, talking to the girl who fucks a guy every day." You rolled your eyes. "She's just trying to get in your pants, Riddle."

"Y/n, we have a project together. I promise you I wouldn't even touch her with a ten foot pole!" He explained. You felt your heart drop. Were you that stupid..? "I-im sorry, i didn't know. Shit." You replied back, facing your back to him. You felt his hands snake around your waist. "Let me make it up to you?" He whispers. "Fine." You agreed as he took your hand.

He walked you to his dorm as you laid down on this bed. His lips instantly met yours. He positioned his head right above your pussy as he pulled down your skirt. "Can I, sweetheart?" He asked. "Yes, yes, please, Mattheo!" You begged. And with that he drove into your cunt, like a starved animal. The way his tounge swirled on your clit, you could tell you were already close. "Taste so good-" he mumbled, the vibration of his voice echoing in your pussy. He coutined to eat you out.

"Mattheo - fuck! - I have to come!" He smirked. "Go ahead, come all over my face, baby." And so you did. You looked down to see him licking his lips, trying to get as much of your juices in his mouth as possible. He used his thumb to clean up some access cum. He brought it to your lips. "Suck." He commanded, allowing you to taste yourself. "You taste so good." He smirks. "Now," he begins. "You learned your lesson." He smirked.

-

A/n: lowkey sick of writing smut

[nottswitch]

꒰ bodyguard!mattheo, rich girl!reader & jealousy issues (on vacation) ft. instagram ꒱

au. more.