siren!reader & nerd!mattheo meet
for everyone asking for more nerd!mattheo… this one’s just for you <3 1.8k words hehe
cw: reader referred to as a "bimbo" (not by mattheo though of course)
You've learnt from a young age that if you wanted something, it was yours. You just had to take it.
Maybe it's because you're wearing brand new shoes that make you four inches taller or because your hair turned out perfectly — a good omen — but you're feeling extra brave today.
That's why you're practically floating across the cafeteria, with your usual air of magnetic confidence. You don't even need to weave around any crowds, people just move for you — you're practically brand new to Hogwarts and you've already cemented yourself as an untouchable teenage dream.
You float all the way to the very back where one lonely lunch table remains.
Meanwhile, Mattheo Riddle can barely see anything over the thick frame of his glasses, let alone the even thicker book he’s reading. He doesn't notice you walking over but his head lifts cautiously when he smells the powdery floral of your perfume.
He slowly lowers his book and looks at you, furrowing his eyebrows.
"Um, hello?" He says, you give him a big smile.
"Hi." You say, voice smooth and syrupy. "May I sit?"
He blinks, maybe to confirm that he isn't dreaming.
"Sure." He says skeptically.
He brings his hands down to his lap so you don't notice him anxiously wringing them together.
You introduce yourself and your name sounds like honey coming out of your mouth. He rushes to do the same.
He braces himself for the insult or the pitying gaze but it doesn't come, instead you smile wider. He thinks briefly to himself that if this were a cartoon, you'd have sparkles and flowers drawn around you; a halo hovering above your head and angel wings sprouting from behind your back. He shakes the juvenile thought away immediately.
"You're valedictorian and head prefect, of course I know your name." You say with a smile. “Plus you spoke at new student orientation.”
That and the week you've spent staring at him across classrooms and auditoriums.
"Oh, right." He says, nodding slowly.
"What're you reading?" You say, pointing to the book he's discarded next to him. You can see a silver metal bookmark poking out in the middle.
He looks down at the book, as if he's forgotten anything that happened before you came over, before snapping his head back to you.
"It's Crime and Punishment." He clears his throat. "By Fyodor Dostoevsky, it's actually really, really interesting. You've probably heard of it— the copy I have is in its original Russian, though, so it's a little different from the translated version. Like some notable differences I counted include..."
His eyes light up as he speaks and you're obsessed. He continues to talk about Russian mistranslations and the debates surrounding the morality of murder before he becomes painfully aware of you staring at him, he presses his mouth closed.
"Sorry." He says, you shake your head.
"Don't be." You say. "You can read Russian?"
"That's really cool." You murmur, he smiles but it's tense.
You can tell he wants to ask you what you're doing here but he can't seem to figure out how to word it. You beat him to the punch.
“I came over here because, well, I wanted to ask you for a favour.” You say, reading his mind. You rest your head in your palm as you blink up at him. You cut right to the chase, it seems.
Oh, there it is. He crumples inwardly a little, disappointment filling him. You're here because you need to cheat off of a test or copy his homework or get out of detention...
"Would you ever tutor me?" You say.
He blinks, he opens his mouth to speak but he's so caught off guard, nothing comes out.
He settles his excitement. He knows what "tutoring" means: the two of you in a library — you looking at your phone while he finishes your homework for you. That's if he's lucky, more likely would be you not even bothering to show up, leaving him to do it for you in the library anyway.
The problem is, he can see himself agreeing to whatever you ask of him anyway. You're really pretty and he has this pathetic, clawing need to please you.
So, he lets you put your number into his phone as you make him promise to please carve out some time for you, since you’re — in your words — a hopeless case only he can solve.
“I need some serious help with potions.” You say with a dramatic shake of your head. "I'm really so terrible at school."
“You are?” He says dumbly.
You laugh like the answer is obvious and he frowns. Why would he think that of you? He notices a twinge of discomfort flashing over your face before you recover and quickly move to change the subject.
Come to think of it, he remembers Theo telling him about a "bimbo new party girl" just a week ago.
“That’s not grammatically correct, you can’t order adjectives that way.” Mattheo had said in a bored tone, refusing to look up from his textbook.
“She’s been here a week and I’ve already seen her at about eight parties.” Theo said, unbothered by Mattheo’s remark.
“I think the real concern should be why you were at eight parties in your first week back, you really need to start focusing on your academics, this is our final year."
“Lighten up, you’re so tense.”
“Everyone’s so obsessed with this new girl.” He says, once again ignoring Mattheo. “I mean, I get it. She's really hot and there's no way she doesn't know it. She’s like a… a... fucking mermaid.”
Mattheo looked up at that. “Mermaid?” He deadpanned.
“You know, she lures in pirates with her beauty and her voice and shit and then eats them or whatever.”
Mattheo sighed. “Do you mean a siren?”
Theo snapped his hands, a grin playing on his face. “That’s it.”
“I will never understand why girls are attracted to you.” Mattheo said with a shake of his head, turning his attention back to his work.
“It's mostly for my body.” Theo said with a proud grin, Mattheo rolled his eyes, continuing to ignore him.
Theo suddenly looked very serious. Though, Mattheo highly doubted he was.
“Look, I’m just warning you." Theo said pointing at Mattheo. "Don’t fall all over yourself for this new girl when you see her, she’s totally your type.”
Mattheo raised his eyebrow. “How would you know what my type is?”
Theo smirked. “She’s everyone’s type.”
Mattheo really hates when Theo is right — no matter how rare it is. His metaphor was very accurate, it seems. He truly does feel like one of your helpless, pirate victims being lured in by your sweet voice and pretty eyes.
He barely registers what you’re saying, too distracted. It's unlike him.
“I’m sorry?” He says, forcing himself to look you in the eye.
"I said I liked your opening adress on the first day of school." You say with a small smile.
"You were awake?" He says, he means to say it genuinely but it comes out so dry that you mistake it for a joke and laugh.
He watches you tilt your head back with a look of wonder.
"Of course I was, you're a really good speaker, did you know that?" You say, he searches your face for signs that you're making fun of him but instead his brain just keeps getting caught on your pretty features.
You eyes have a certain glimmer in them, it matches the sparkly blue eyeshadow on your eyelids. You hair falls so perfectly to frame your face. He's feeling lightheaded.
"I'm really not, I have terrible stage fright." He tells you honestly.
"I had no idea, you conceal it well." You smile.
There's a little lull of silence, you're sitting there pleasantly, unbothered by how awkward it's getting — unlike him.
"I like your eyeshadow." He clears his throat when his voice comes out rougher than he wanted, you look up at him and bat your eyelashes.
"Thank you, you're so sweet." You say, placing your hand over his. Your skin barely grazes over his and yet his whole body goes stiff before it warms. It's so utterly pathetic, he thinks, that one little brush of your skin has the ability to make his whole body an inferno.
"Did you know that blue eyeshadow originates from ancient Greece?" He blurts out and immediately wants to bury his head in his hands.
"Really?" You say and you don't look put off, more so interested.
He nods and continues to explain the deep-rooted history of blue eyeshadow. He should stop really stop talking but he can’t seem to, it seems he’ll do anything to keep your attention on him.
His self consciousness gets the better of him again and the ends of his sentence dwindles off. "It's… yeah, it’s pretty.”
You smile at him and he feels that desperate need to make you laugh come full force.
“I, uh, I hope it doesn't make you feel blue." Mattheo pairs his sad attempt at a joke with an awkward smile that probably reads more like a grimace.
Holy hell, Mattheo. He thinks to himself, genuinely appalled by his "lack of game", as Theo would put it.
You blink once, twice and Mattheo knows this is it. Whatever fleeting interest you may have had in him is most certainly gone now.
Just as he's about to hang his head in shame, awaiting your departure from his table, you burst into a fit of giggles, covering your mouth. He can see your eyes squeeze closed as you laugh. The pretty sight and sweet sound of you laughing might be his new favourite thing on earth.
Mattheo knows what his weekend plans are now — holing up in his room, researching stupid jokes on the internet just to see and hear you laugh like this again.
"God, that was so terrible." You say, not unkindly as you're still laughing. "I think I hate myself for laughing."
He smiles, letting out a stiff chuckle.
"You shouldn't, I like your laugh." It truly slips out before he can stop himself. Your laughter fades away.
This is exactly why he doesn't talk to girls, let alone pretty girls like you.
He looks at you and you have a very soft expression on his face, one he's not entirely sure you're faking — if you are, then you're surely worthy of an Oscar.
"Thank you." You say, with a smile. The tension leaves his body as his face probably mirrors a similar soft expression as you. God, how are you real?
Just as he's about to open his mouth to say something ("I love you, marry me, blah blah blah"), the bell rings.
"Well, I guess that's our cue." You muse, lifting your lunch tray with you when you stand. "I've got to get to potions or Snape will kill me."
You lean in like you're about to tell him a secret, you tell him in a fauz whisper. "He hates me."
"I find that hard to believe." Mattheo says quietly.
"No, really." You sigh, "I bet he adores you, though, you're a dream student."
“I… guess we’ll find out. I have potions next too.” He says.
You fake a delighted expression — of course, you already knew this. “Great, you can walk with me!”
Mattheo nods, taking his lunch tray and his book in his hands before grabbing your lunch tray as well, you smile and your approval makes something warm spread over his chest. He hopes his knees don’t buckle when he stands.
When Theo see’s the two of you sitting together in class later — with you leaning in a little too close to him and Mattheo's cheeks crimson red — he shakes his head with a smug grin on his face.
Mattheo has fallen victim to the siren but Theo decides to leave him alone, anyway. It seems like he’s right where he wants to be.
he's SUCH a loser... i want him so bad.
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