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(i have tag list open for mattheo riddle in general but not for specific series)
♬⋆.˚ mailbox is always open for requests/asks, just please be kind !!
— named anon list here <3
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ requests open for mattheo riddle (sweetheart!reader, bitchy!reader, siren!reader x nerd!mattheo), clark kent, bucky barnes & jess mariano
note that this is a side blog, so i can't send asks/follow back :(
pushing soft dom!clark kent to take control a little more ♡
very very suggestive but no real smut, mdni !! (it’s very pg-13, though)
Clark’s a sweetheart, that’s established. He’s 235 pounds of pure sugar.
You love that about him, you really do. You can’t help but look at him with dreamy eyes when he holds the door open for you, pulls out your chair, shyly presents you with a handful of freshly picked daisies or proves that classic chivalry isn't dead.
Sometimes you’re looking up at him with wide eyes that slowly flutter shut as he takes his time taking care of you, slowly dragging out the softest feelings of pleasure from you over and over. He loves to murmur sweet nothings low in your ear in times like those.
Sometimes you’re looking at him with half-lidded eyes as he writhes underneath you, his pretty face twisting in pleasure, sensitive to even the softest of your touch — this may just be your favourite.
All of this to say how much you love him and all his softness.
Sometimes, though, you need more. Sometimes you need him to not put you on a careful pedestal when he could easily fold you in half instead.
“Clark?” you murmur, voice thick with need. You’ve been making out on the couch for the better part of an hour and he still hasn’t touched you more than cradling the back of your head.
“Yes, angel?” he rasps back. Just as desperate, it seems.
“I want you to touch me,” you say, because sometimes he needs it laid out for him real clear. Especially when his head is as fuzzy as it is now.
“Really?” he mutters back dumbly, eyes locked on yours.
You blink at him, glancing down at where your hands have trailed so far up his thigh you’re practically sitting on his lap.
“Yes, honey,” you say patiently, though you’re feeling anything but patient right now.
He searches your eyes for discomfort, finding only lust and very dilated pupils. He’s afraid he’s looking at you the same way.
He swallows hard, knuckles almost turning white from the way he’s gripping the couch. He’s tense with restraint.
You pity his poor shirt as it strains against his bulging muscles. You’re sure the buttons of his nice work shirt are bound to pop off at any moment. Though, you really wouldn’t be angry about it.
“Do I,” he gulps again, Adam’s apple bobbing. You lean down to kiss his throat. It takes longer for him to speak again. “Do I have your consent?”
You nod rapidly, leaning back on your heel to look him in the eye.
“Can you say it out—”
“Yes, yes, you have my consent, Clark,” you say.
He lifts his hands to brush your hair back and you’re practically shaking with anticipation.
His hands fly back down to the couch, eyes wide and earnest. He looks down at his lap, where his pants have gotten much tighter.
“Are you sure?” he asks, voice strained.
You groan and throw your head back — not in pleasure, unfortunately — before gripping his face so that he’s looking you straight in the eye.
“Clark, I need you to fuck me right now and rough,” you say urgently, emphasising the last word. You scrunch your nose up when you catch his wide-eyed look, suddenly feeling apologetic at your crude wording.
“Please,” you add politely with a pout. It pushes the last bit of his politeness off the edge.
He wastes no more time before giving you what you want. He pushes you down onto the couch until you’re laying on your back. You’re sure you’re radiating pure glee under the delicious weight of him, even if he’s holding most of it on his forearms.
“Will you,” he pants in between the kisses he places on your neck. “Will you tell me if it’s too much, if it…”
He squeezes his eye shut when you grind your hips up and whine, your hands desperately fiddling to unbutton his shirt.
“Will you tell me if it hurts?” He barely gets it out.
“Yes, Clark,” you soothe his worry, sliding his shirt off his broad shoulders before your hands make its way to the back of his head to tug on his hair. “I promise I’ll tell you, please, please just touch me.”
Some men just need a little push in the right direction and you’re happy to give it to him.
Because when, finally, he’s pushed to the edge, all his careful restraint gone — when he finally, finally puts his big, soft hands on you — you can’t do anything but grin and roll your eyes back in pleasure.
All you have to do is chant “yes, yes, yes” over and over again as an answer to his endless, kind questions as he does some very unkind things to you.
oh sorry i didnt know 🎀 was already an anon i just picked a random emoji mwhehee. if u end up doing it could u put the 🐧 emoji so that 🎀 doesnt think im stealing their identity
hello ♡ i'll be flying tomorrow to go on vacation which means i can't post for a little bit — please send requests/ideas though!! since i'll most likely still be writing in my notes app hehe
in the meantime, you can read my newest (& new favourite) fic ♡
sab I'm kissing you on the mouth that day in a life is so YUMMY OUGHHHHHH I love her I love him I love them together they're so cutie… nothing but love to you always your writing is so scrumptious
<3,
🎀
OMG kissing u right back <3 thank you lovely !!! i'm so glad you liked it <3 <3
a day in the life of sweetheart!reader (with mattheo <3)
— a one year special ♡ 4k words ♡ masterlist
very slice of life, very fluffy ! reader is depicted wearing makeup & hair rollers !!
♡ 7:00 - wake up
You wake up to the soft (you wish, more like blaring) alarm of yours that Mattheo has learned to sleep through by now. You stretch your arms and slowly sit up from your bed, careful not to wake Mattheo who stayed the night.
You peer down at him. It’s rare to see him so unguarded like he is around you. His curls are tousled and untamed. You pull gently at a strand, watching it straighten before it bounces back into a curl as soon as you release it. You smile and kiss the corner of his mouth before going to your bathroom.
You gingerly take your hair out of your rollers and spend the next half an hour getting ready.
It's pointless, you know. No one else in your school really cares to doll up like you do. Regardless, you believe in look good feel good (Elle Woods has always been an inspiration for you); so you spend extra time every morning curling your lashes and applying your favourite sparkly lip gloss.
Just as you're about to start setting your makeup base, Mattheo strolls into the bathroom with his tie loosely hanging around his neck with a lazy half-grin on his face.
“Morning, baby,” he drawls, wrapping his large arms around your torso. “Ready to go?”
You whip around, facing him with wide panicked eyes, more than half of your makeup still incomplete.
He laughs at your expression. “It’s fine, baby, take your time."
"It's only 7:20,” he reassures you, kissing the side of your head before reaching down for his toothbrush.
You sigh in relief, shifting slightly to the side so that you and Mattheo can share the sink.
"What's your first class, baby?" he asks, though it's muffled by the toothpaste in his mouth so it sounds more like: was’ yo firz clas, bavi?
You laugh, glancing at his reflection through the mirror.
"DADA," you answer as he rinses out his mouth. "Without you, unfortunately."
He sighs. "Shame."
He attempts to tame his hair slightly and you stop what you're doing to watch him adoringly, he catches you staring and grins at you.
He turns to face you properly when you reach up expectantly. He bends down slightly while you tiptoe so you can reach his hair, you gently detangle some of his curls.
"Cute!" you compliment when you’re done, he laughs and stands to his full height again.
"Thanks, baby,” he says, before kissing your nose as to not smudge the lipgloss you just applied. “I’ll go get us a seat first, join me when you're done?”
You nod, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.
“Careful not to get caught sneaking out!” you call out when he’s about to leave your room.
“Please, who do you think you’re talking to?" he calls back smugly.
The door shuts and you shake your head, smiling to yourself.
♡ 8:00 - breakfast
Breakfast opens at 7:30, so the great hall is already crowded and lively when you enter at 8.
Luckily, there’s a seat and a plate saved for you at the Slytherin table.
Your friends greet you when you approach the table. Although they all seem half asleep (and half dead), they try their best to smile and greet you very nicely. You greet them with a bright smile and a cheerful "hello!"
Your energy this early in the morning will never not astonish them.
You take your seat next to Mattheo and he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you closer.
“Sweetheart, settle this debate for us will you?” Enzo calls.
Besides you, Mattheo rolls his eyes at the nickname — he coined it for you first — but turns to look at you in anticipation nonetheless. You turn to Enzo. “What is it?”
Pansy rolls her eyes. “Nothing, just their stupid dick measuring contests.”
Your eyes widen.
“Not actually!" Enzo says quickly. "Holy shit, it’s a figure of speech.”
You relax, sighing in relief.
“Alright, then,” you say. “What’s the debate?”
“We want to know who you think would win in a fight between all of us.” Theo says.
“Like, a five-way fight between all of you?" you let out a soft laugh, furrowing your brows. “I don’t know if I’m the best person to ask, I’m really biased—”
Mattheo smirks.
“Hang on, it’s Blaise, Enzo, Mattheo and I.” Theo says, confused. “Who’s the fifth person?”
“Pansy.”
Mattheo laughs at your statement, understanding immediately where your loyalties and bias lie.
“She’s not a part of this.” Theo says. Pansy rolls her eyes.
“Why not?” you say innocently, picking at your fruit cup. “My money’s on her.”
♡ 9:00 - first classes
Defence Against the Dark Arts (a double lesson!), charms & potions. It would be absolute hell if you didn’t have Mattheo next to you for the latter two classes.
You spend the classes drawing hearts on his hand, playing tic tac toe on the corner of your class assignment worksheet & occasionally listening to the professor, definitely!
You doze off somewhere in the middle of Snape's lecture, head resting on Mattheo's arm. He knows that his arm will be numb after the class but he really can't find it in himself to care.
You blink, waking up slowly. You stare, with bleary eyes, at Mattheo’s wrist watch.
"20 more minutes, angel," he murmurs, low enough so you can hear it, an amused smile on his face.
You pout, sitting up straight. You try your best to make sense of the blackboard, narrowing your eyes at the unfamiliar words.
Mattheo nudges his notebook in your direction.
"You wrote notes?" you ask incredulously.
He smirks. "Figured you'd need them, Sleepy.”
You roll your eyes at the teasing nickname, but catch up on the lesson through the familiar handwriting. You notice a small “hi sweetheart i love you ♡” written on the top corner of the page.
His hand inches closer to your free hand on your lap, interlacing your fingers as his eyes stay trained on the board.
♡ 12:00 - lunch
Per your idea, Mattheo's entire friend group (and now yours, too, really) eats their lunches outside in the grass area — like a makeshift picnic.
"The weather's so lovely, I'm surprised more people don't eat outside," you hum as the group spreads your blanket underneath a shaded area.
"Yeah, who wouldn't want to eat with bugs?" Enzo says sarcastically before wincing when Theo smacks the back of his head over his comment. Your mood is undisrupted, though, as you cheerfully wave to a bird a few inches away from you before it flies away.
Mattheo puts a bowl of freshly washed (by him, of course) strawberries in front of you. Enzo grins and reaches a hand out, it's slapped away by Mattheo.
"What the fuck, Mattheo?" he whines.
"They're for her," he says with a flat look, gesturing to you.
"I don't mind sharing," you say placatingly, ever the peacekeeper. Pansy snorts.
"Bad idea sharing food with Enzo, you turn around for half a second and it's all gone," she says.
Mattheo nods his head. "Exactly."
"Everyone's protecting her and no one's protecting me," he grumbles under his breath, but he decidedly keeps his hands to his own food for the rest of the picnic.
You laugh, grabbing a strawberry and lifting it to Mattheo's mouth.
He raises his eyebrow at the gesture, you laugh and push the strawberry closer to his mouth. He rolls his eyes but parts his lips for you anyway.
You smile, pleased, before squealing when his tongue makes contact with your finger.
"Gross, Mattheo!" you laugh, wiping your finger on his shirt.
He smirks and tugs you closer to him. You pretend to fight him out of his grasp before relaxing on his lap.
♡ 1:30 - back to class
The next few classes are harder to get through as they very much lack Mattheo. At least you have Pansy right next to you as you dutifully finish the classwork assigned to you, despite her insistence on distracting you.
“This girl is just so delusional,” Pansy says, twirling her pen.
“That’s mean,” you say, unfocused, eyes still darting back and forth across the page as you try your best to complete the equation.
She raises her eyebrows.
“She spread a rumour about me and called me a ‘slut’ who wanted her ugly ass boyfriend,” she says.
“Oh,” you say, pursing your lips. “Carry on then.”
She smiles, self-satisfied. You turn to her.
“What’d you get for question 5?”
She looks down at her paper before looking back up at you.
“America?” she says, you frown.
“Pans, this is math.” She shrugs in response.
You huff and put down your pen, deciding you’ve done the best you can do and it’s time for a break.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you bite back a smile. There’s only a few people you haven't silenced notifications from.
matty <3
— sleep over tonight? (15:05)
— i’ve got a surprise for you after quidditch (15:06)
You bite your cheek, texting back under the table as discreetly as you can.
sweetheart ♡
— yes please!!!! <3 <3 (15:08)
Pansy gives you a knowing smirk, spotting the giddiness of your body language.
“I know exactly who you’re texting,” she teases.
“Shut up!” you laugh, shoving at her.
♡ 4:00 - afterschool
Your energy is almost completely depleted by the time you make it back to your dorm room, so you slip into more comfortable clothes and nestle yourself under the covers to take a quick nap.
When you wake up half an hour later, your groggy vision is half covered by ginger fur. You smile, reaching to curl your arm around your (and Mattheo’s) newly rescued and adopted kitten. You figure Mattheo must have dropped her off at your dorm before he went to Quidditch.
“Hi Honey,” you coo her name, petting her fur. She purrs responsively, nuzzling her face against your palm.
Originally, you had named her Sweetheart. But after you turned your head every time Mattheo called her name, you had to change it to something you were not called. Well, frequently called.
“I’m glad you’re here,” you say before teasing. “You like my dorm more than Mattheo’s, don’t you?”
Honey says (or meows) nothing in response. You sigh dramatically.
“I get it, you don’t want to hurt Mattheo’s feelings.”
She meows which you take as a response, you laugh, petting her. “It’s okay, Honey, I think Mattheo likes my dorm more, too.”
You spend the rest of your late afternoon reading your new book, placing post-it notes on the top of one of the pages as a reminder to yourself to tell Mattheo how the love interest reminds you of him.
♡ 6:00 - dinner
You balance two stacked plates on one hand while scooping excessive amounts of food on top with the other. A girl across the dining table from you gives you an odd look, you smile unabashedly at her.
You sit back down in your seat and begin to separate the portions of food onto the two plates.
“Babe, that’s so sad,” Pansy snorts from across from you. “It’s like no one’s feeding you and you have to ration your food.”
You roll your eyes. “It’s for Mattheo.”
“Well, of course I know that,” Pansy says.
Finally, the Slytherin boys trudge through the door — freshly showered after training and still loud and rowdy with boisterous energy. They make their way over to your table.
“Hi baby, miss me?” Mattheo says, placing a haste kiss on the side of your head before sitting next to you.
“Sure,” you say teasingly to him, before turning to the whole group. “How was quidditch?”
“Killer,” Theo says, “Flint was pissed today, so, apparently, we all have to suffer.”
You cautiously eye the brunette a few tables away.
“Yikes,” you say, sliding the plate over to Mattheo. He digs in immediately before pausing to look up at you. He swallows his food.
“Thank you,” he says politely, you laugh and bump his shoulder with yours.
You frown when you realise your bite of food contains something you hate, you look over at Mattheo, scrunching up your face.
He laughs and signals for you to give it to him, so you happily pile it onto his plate.
♡ 7:00 - movie night with mattheo
After dinner, the two of you sneak your way into his dorm. You change out of your robes and into a pair of shorts you left in his room and one of his muggle band t-shirts. It hits just above your knee and it smells like him.
Not for the first time, his scent clinging onto the t-shirt brings you back to the first time you met. Who knew that the scent wafting from that cauldron of amorentia potion would be the same one that would cling to everything you own all this time later.
You lie back in his bed while he gets changed himself, you let your eyes close.
"I'm glad you've made yourself comfortable," his teasing voice rings out. You open your eyes to smile at him, not bothering to get up. He walks over to you and the mattress dips.
"Hi," he says.
"Hi," you say back smiling, you sit up and lean against his headboard. Suddenly remembering the text message he sent you what feels like ages ago. "What's the surprise?"
He grins at the reminder.
"Remember that old muggle movie you wanted to watch last week... what was it called?” he asks as you try your best to recall. “It starred that actress you love."
You frown in thought before your eyes light up in realisation.
"Oh! Audrey Hepburn," you say.
A week ago, during one of your Muggle Movie Nights (as you call it), Mattheo had admitted that he’d never seen an Audrey Hepburn film and you proclaimed that he absolutely had to start with Roman Holiday. Determined to culture your boyfriend and desperate to rewatch it yourself, the two of you scoured every streaming site to find it — to no avail.
"Did you finally find a way to pirate it?" you ask gleefully, he shakes his head softly before moving to his desk.
"Not exactly."
He opens his desk drawer, pulling out a DVD with the familiar title on the cover. You gasp, reaching to grab it. You trace the red letters on the cover.
"How did you find this? Where did you find this?” you ask in disbelief, looking up at him. “When did you even have time to look for this?"
His grin is soft with affection for you.
"I found it in a store in Hogsmeade,” he shrugs. “No big deal."
Total lie. In reality, he had dragged Theo and Enzo through the entire village, stopping at every CD/DVD store just to browse the titles. Eventually, after the sky had turned dark and his friends were ready to abandon him on his impossible search, he found a copy.
Not that you had to know any of that. Besides, the huge smile on your face made it all worth it to him.
"Shall we watch it?" he asks, already slipping it into the DVD player connected to his laptop.
You nod, curling into his side. “I can’t believe you have a DVD player, you’re such an old man.”
“Hey, this old man is your knight in shining armour, princess,” he argues, wrapping his arms around you.
“You’re right, you are,” you murmur, while the black and white title card of Roman Holiday displays on his laptop.
♡ 9:00 - getting unready for bed
After the movie (and after he consoles you, while trying hard to suppress his laughter, when you cry over the ending), he sits on your bed while you swipe makeup wipes across your face.
As much as Mattheo adores watching you get ready, there’s something he loves so much about watching you get unready.
There’s something so intimate in getting to see you completely bare and completely yourself.
You gently rub moisturiser onto your face and catch him staring at you through the mirror, you breathe out a laugh.
“What?” you ask.
A year ago, you’d be slightly mortified if he saw you like this. You’re confident enough without makeup but you still like that extra boost a good eyelash day or lipgloss can give you.
Now, you finish your routine and walk closer to him. Stepping in between his thighs.
His hands come up to rest on your hips, smiling up at you.
“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just the prettiest thing on earth.”
You laugh and roll your eyes at his hyperbole, but it's not enough for him. He’s certain you’re the most beautiful being in the universe.
♡ 10:00 - late night talking with mattheo
You’re lying on your stomach, half of your upper body lying on his chest. Your pointer finger traces his arm slowly, like his veins are braille and his scars are stars.
“Would you ever get a tattoo?” you murmur.
“I’ve thought about it,” he smiles lazily, eyes half closed.
“Yeah? Tattoos would suit you,” you hum. "What would you get?"
“What do you think I should get?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” you say, deep in thought. “I could see you with one of those barbed wire designs or your initials or—"
“Your name?” he interrupts with a smirk.
You huff out a laugh and roll your eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m not kidding. I'd do it right now,” he says, only half joking.
“Mattheo!” you scold, though the effect is ruined by your giggle. “You’re way too young and that is also a horrible idea.”
“First of all, I’m older than you.”
“By, like, a few months.”
“And I would totally do it, in a heartbeat,” he promises. “No matter what happens, I’m yours forever. You already know.”
You smile. “That’s a little romantic.”
"I'm very romantic, thank you very much," he huffs.
"Yeah, you are."
He glances down at you before looking up at the ceiling again.
“Besides, before you know it, we’ll be eighteen,” he says.
There’s a short lull of silence as you process his words.
“That’s crazy to think about,” you say, leaning your head into his chest again.
“Yeah.”
“I still feel like I'm sixteen years old and six and eight and thirteen,” you admit, hoping he understands what you mean. “I don’t know if I ever won’t.”
“I get that,” he says with a small nod. "I can't imagine you're much different now than when you were six, though."
You gasp half-heartedly. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's not an insult," he chuckles. "I just can't imagine you ever being anything but yourself."
You look at him properly now, tilting your head up.
“I know what you mean,” you say. “That’s kind of sweet.”
You scrunch your nose when you imagine your younger self.
“When I was younger, I wanted to be a princess—”
“Very on brand,” he quips.
“I also wanted to be a teacher at some point,” you say. “An English teacher, I think?”
“You’d make a good teacher,” he says.
“Really?” he nods.
“Thanks,” you yawn. “Did you have a dream job when you were younger?”
He answers after a small beat of silence.
“I wanted to be a great sorcerer.” It’s only partly a lie.
He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that when he was younger, the concept of “dreams” and aspirations were foreign to him. Instead, there were expectations. Heavy expectations placed on him by his parents or Death Eaters.
Though, meeting you when he was sixteen has taught him to dream. Maybe one day he’ll tell you that and thank you for it.
Instead, he adds. “Or a professor — a charms professor, probably.”
“You’d be so good at that,” you say genuinely.
His arm curls around your shoulders, pulling you in closer.
You play with the watch on his wrist, counting the watch hands and realising that it’s almost eleven.
“You never take anything off when you sleep,” you murmur.
He looks down at his hand — at the watch around his wrist, the bracelet you made him, a silver band ring he wears on his middle finger and his signet ring carved with his initials. You fiddle with that last ring.
Mattheo wordlessly slips off his signet before bringing your hand up. He slips the ring onto your thumb.
He kisses the ring on your hand and you let out a breathy laugh. He locks eyes with you for a moment before shifting so that you’re underneath him.
He places the mass of his body weight on his elbows, but you can still feel him pressing close as he plants kisses down your neck.
Your eyes become half lidded as you melt under him. You fight to suppress a yawn, hoping he doesn’t notice. You want him to touch you like this forever.
He chuckles. “Sweetheart.”
"Yeah?" you murmur, fighting to keep your heavy eyelids open. He lifts his head to look at you.
“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?” he says.
You shake your head quickly, looking at him with wide eyes. “No, no.”
He laughs. “M’just teasing, baby. We should sleep, it’s getting late.”
“But I want to talk to you longer,” you frown, your lips forming a pout.
"We have all of tomorrow," he says warmly. "We've got time."
♡ 11:00 - goodnight, sweetheart
By 11, you’re tucked into his side fast asleep. Your hair rollers poke into his chest ever so slightly but he's used to it by now, it's familiar.
He keeps his phone brightness on the lowest setting as he reads to pass the time. His insomnia keeps him from sleeping most nights and, though sleeping next to you helps him significantly, it’s still always there hindering him.
He doesn’t tell you, though. Because he knows you’d pry your eyes open to keep yourself from falling asleep, just to keep him company. Instead, you get to fall asleep quickly beside him.
He feels his heart swell when he looks down at you. Your lips part as you snore and he laughs, shaking his head fondly.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”
Mattheo puts down his phone before carefully flicking off your bedside lamp. He prays sleep will come soon as he lets his body relax close to yours.
♡ 1:00 - goodnight, mattheo
In his younger years, Mattheo often misunderstood violence for love.
Growing up in that castle, within those cold walls, he learnt that love was pain. Naturally, he wanted to flee from it.
Throughout his teen years, he feared the day he'd fall in love because he believed it would only give a person the opportunity to hurt him.
Now, he understands he had it all wrong. Love is not loud and frightening like heavy shoes storming through rooms and rough hands slamming doors, love is not the piercing silence between two people.
Love is his rough hand in your soft one, it’s his ring on your finger like a promise he hasn’t made yet, it’s the music the two of you love, it’s the movies you watch, it’s strawberries on a picnic, it's the sound of your heartbeat syncing to his, it’s sleeping beside you — it’s a comfortable thing.
As it turns out, love is a quiet thing that hums louder than real noise. He can feel — more than hear — it everywhere, thrumming through his veins or in his head when he looks at you.
No matter how fleeting, he knows now that loving someone, even at the cost of pain, is always worth it just for this feeling.
But he knows you’ll stay. Maybe forever, if he gets his way. If not? He doesn’t feel that sickening urge to leave claw marks on you to keep you in his grasp, he just wants to be close to you now while he can.
There’s no place close enough to you, though. So, for now, he sleeps with his arms tight around you and hopes it’s enough to mould your souls together for eternity.
thank you to all my readers — whether you've been here since the first fic, the last one or any in between <3. i hope you caught some of the references and callbacks in this fic & i hope you liked it !! know that you can always send in requests for sweetheart!reader & mattheo because i'll probably continue writing for them as long as this blog is alive ♡
