summary: mattheo is used to quiet and pliant girls in bed so, imagine his surprise when you talk more than him.
warnings: 18+! mdni, heavy dirty talk, penetration, size kink, dom! mattheo thrown off his game 🤭
The air in Mattheo's room was thick, heavy with the scent of smoke, cedar, and something darker—something that clung to him like a second skin. The room was all shadows, the flicker of a single torch casting jagged lines across the stone walls, the heavy green curtains drawn tight to shut out the world. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets, and you were already stripped bare, sprawled beneath him, heart hammering so loud you swore he could hear it. Your clothes were a scattered trail from the door to the bed, ripped off in a frenzy of hands and mouths, the tension that had been building for weeks finally snapping.
Mattheo loomed over you, his broad frame caging you in, all lean muscle and scarred skin, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he stared down at you. Those eyes—black, hungry, dangerous—drank you in like you were prey, and fuck, you felt like it. He was shirtless, trousers barely clinging to his hips, the thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric. You’d never been with him before, never been this close, and the reality of him—his size, his intensity—made your stomach twist with nerves and want.
“Gonna fucking ruin you,” he growled, his voice low and rough, dripping with that cocky edge that made your thighs clench. His hands gripped your hips, hard enough to bruise, and he pushed your legs wider, his gaze dropping to the slick, aching heat between them. “You ready for me, or you gonna beg me to go slow?”
You swallowed, your throat dry, but you managed a nod, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m ready.” It was a lie, and he knew it—could see it in the way your body trembled, the way your breath hitched when he shoved his trousers down, freeing himself. His cock was thick, veined, heavy, and so fucking big it made your eyes widen, a flicker of panic mixing with the need pooling in your core.
He smirked, catching your reaction, and leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his stubble scraping your skin. “Don’t worry, princess,” he murmured, his voice dark and taunting. “I’ll make it fit.” He lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your entrance, glistening with your arousal, and you braced yourself, fingers digging into the sheets.
When he pushed in, it was slow but relentless, the stretch burning, overwhelming, as he filled you inch by agonizing inch. You tensed, a sharp gasp escaping you as your body struggled to adjust to his size, your cunt clenching tight around him, trying to accommodate the intrusion. “Fuck,” you whimpered, your voice shaking, your legs trembling as you arched beneath him, half-pain, half-pleasure. “Matty, you’re—fuck, you’re too big.”
He stilled, his cock buried halfway, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he let out a low, guttural groan. “Relax,” he growled, but his voice was softer than before, a rare hint of concern breaking through his dominance. “You’re takin’ me so well, just—fuck, just breathe.” He leaned down, biting at your neck, his teeth sharp enough to sting, grounding you as you gasped, your body slowly adjusting, the burn giving way to a deep, throbbing fullness that made your head spin.
When he started moving again, pushing deeper, you thought you’d break apart, the stretch so intense it stole your breath. But then he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, his cock filling you so completely you could feel him everywhere—deep, pulsing, claiming. He expected you to go quiet now, to turn into one of those girls he was used to—soft moans, maybe a shy whimper of his name, letting him take over, letting him fuck them into the mattress while they stayed pliant, passive, a perfect little pillow princess. He set a slow, brutal pace, each thrust rocking your body, the wet squelch of your cunt loud in the quiet room, slick dripping down your thighs and soaking his balls.
But you didn’t stay quiet. You couldn’t. The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered, a fucked-out babble that came from somewhere deep, somewhere desperate. “Fuck, Matty, s-so good,” you moaned, your voice trembling, slurred with pleasure as you clawed at his back. “Your cock’s so fucking big, splitting me open, s–shit—feels like you’re in my stomach.”
His rhythm faltered, his hips stuttering as your words hit him like a curse. His eyes snapped to yours, wide and dark, a flicker of shock breaking through his usual smug control. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice rough, almost unsteady, like he couldn’t believe the filth pouring from your mouth. He was used to silence, to gasps and whimpers, not this—not you, babbling like a whore in heat, describing every raw sensation in vivid, desperate detail. It threw him, made his head spin, rutting faster inside you like an amateur, his cock twitching inside you as he tried to hold onto his control.
You didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, the words tumbling out as he fucked you harder, deeper, the bed creaking under the force of his thrusts. “God, yes, right there,” you gasped, your legs wrapping tight around his waist, pulling him in, your cunt clenching so tight it made him groan. “Filling me so fucking good, Matty, fuck—love how you’re stretching me, so deep, so fucking full.” The sultry tone of your voice against his ear almost had his eyes rolling back, a full body shudder wrecking through him as his grip turned almost brutal against your hips.
His breath hitched, a low, broken sound, and you saw it—the way his control was cracking, the way your words were unraveling him. He was supposed to be the one in charge, the one making you beg, but your voice was a fucking hex, each syllable chipping away at his composure. He slammed into you harder, the headboard smacking the wall, the head of his cock rapidly pistoning into that perfect squishy spot inside you, his fingers digging into your hips so deep you’d feel the bruises for days. “Fuck, you’re—” he started, but cut himself off, shaking his head like he was trying to shake off the haze your words were casting. “Fuck, keep talking baby.”
You were too far gone to not, too lost in the pleasure, in the way his cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, making your body sing. “Don’t stop, Matty,” you whined, your voice a messy, fucked-out slur, your nails raking down his back, leaving red welts. “Fuck me harder, wanna feel every inch of you, wanna come all over this big fucking cock.” Your words were incoherent, a babble of need and praise, and you felt slick gushing around him, coating your thighs, the obscene wet sound of him fucking you filling the room.
He groaned, a raw, desperate sound, his hips snapping faster, rougher, like he was trying to fuck the words out of you, but it only made you louder. “Shit, you’re so good, Matty, ruining me,” you moaned, your head lolling back, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure built, sharp and overwhelming. “Love how you fuck me, so fucking deep, making me yours, fuck—gonna come so hard, please, please.”
He was unraveling, his thrusts erratic, his breath ragged, his usual dominance fraying under the onslaught of your words. He leaned down, biting at your shoulder, hard enough to make you gasp, his tongue soothing the sting as he tried to ground himself, but your babbling was too much. “Fuck, you’re so tight, so wet,” he growled, his voice breaking, almost pleading. “Gonna make me come if you keep talkin’ like that.”
“Yes, yes, come in me, Matty,” you babbled, your voice a desperate, trembling mess as you clenched around him, your orgasm crashing closer. “Fill me up, want your cum so bad, want you dripping out of me, fuck—” Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body arching, shaking, as you came with a shattered cry of his name, your cunt pulsing around him, cream coating his dick and slick gushing down your thighs, soaking the sheets.
He followed right after, his groan raw and guttural, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you, his thrusts sloppy and desperate as he rode out the pleasure. His body shuddered, collapsing against you, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your panting, the faint creak of the bed settling beneath you. Any thoughts he had of you being a one time thing were out the window now, you weren't getting rid of him if you tried.
Mattheo lifted his head, his eyes still dazed, a faint, disbelieving smirk tugging at his lips. “Fucking hell,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, wrecked. “Didn’t expect that mouth on you. You’re gonna fucking kill me next time.”
You grinned, lazy and fucked-out, your fingers trailing through his damp curls. “Get used to it, Riddle,” you murmured, your voice soft but still carrying that edge. “I’ve got plenty more to say.”
summary: mattheo is used to quiet and pliant girls in bed so, imagine his surprise when you talk more than him.
warnings: 18+! mdni, heavy dirty talk, penetration, size kink, dom! mattheo thrown off his game 🤭
The air in Mattheo's room was thick, heavy with the scent of smoke, cedar, and something darker—something that clung to him like a second skin. The room was all shadows, the flicker of a single torch casting jagged lines across the stone walls, the heavy green curtains drawn tight to shut out the world. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets, and you were already stripped bare, sprawled beneath him, heart hammering so loud you swore he could hear it. Your clothes were a scattered trail from the door to the bed, ripped off in a frenzy of hands and mouths, the tension that had been building for weeks finally snapping.
Mattheo loomed over you, his broad frame caging you in, all lean muscle and scarred skin, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he stared down at you. Those eyes—black, hungry, dangerous—drank you in like you were prey, and fuck, you felt like it. He was shirtless, trousers barely clinging to his hips, the thick outline of his cock straining against the fabric. You’d never been with him before, never been this close, and the reality of him—his size, his intensity—made your stomach twist with nerves and want.
“Gonna fucking ruin you,” he growled, his voice low and rough, dripping with that cocky edge that made your thighs clench. His hands gripped your hips, hard enough to bruise, and he pushed your legs wider, his gaze dropping to the slick, aching heat between them. “You ready for me, or you gonna beg me to go slow?”
You swallowed, your throat dry, but you managed a nod, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m ready.” It was a lie, and he knew it—could see it in the way your body trembled, the way your breath hitched when he shoved his trousers down, freeing himself. His cock was thick, veined, heavy, and so fucking big it made your eyes widen, a flicker of panic mixing with the need pooling in your core.
Hesmirked, catching your reaction, and leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his stubble scraping your skin. “Don’t worry, princess,” he murmured, his voice dark and taunting. “I’ll make it fit.” He lined himself up, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your entrance, glistening with your arousal, and you braced yourself, fingers digging into the sheets.
When he pushed in, it was slow but relentless, the stretch burning, overwhelming, as he filled you inch by agonizing inch. You tensed, a sharp gasp escaping you as your body struggled to adjust to his size, your cunt clenching tight around him, trying to accommodate the intrusion. “Fuck,” you whimpered, your voice shaking, your legs trembling as you arched beneath him, half-pain, half-pleasure. “Matty, you’re—fuck, you’re too big.”
He stilled, his cock buried halfway, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he let out a low, guttural groan. “Relax,” he growled, but his voice was softer than before, a rare hint of concern breaking through his dominance. “You’re takin’ me so well, just—fuck, just breathe.” He leaned down, biting at your neck, his teeth sharp enough to sting, grounding you as you gasped, your body slowly adjusting, the burn giving way to a deep, throbbing fullness that made your head spin.
When he started moving again, pushing deeper, you thought you’d break apart, the stretch so intense it stole your breath. But then he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, his cock filling you so completely you could feel him everywhere—deep, pulsing, claiming. He expected you to go quiet now, to turn into one of those girls he was used to—soft moans, maybe a shy whimper of his name, letting him take over, letting him fuck them into the mattress while they stayed pliant, passive, a perfect little pillow princess. He set a slow, brutal pace, each thrust rocking your body, the wet squelch of your cunt loud in the quiet room, slick dripping down your thighs and soaking his balls.
But you didn’t stay quiet. You couldn’t. The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered, a fucked-out babble that came from somewhere deep, somewhere desperate. “Fuck, Matty, s-so good,” you moaned, your voice trembling, slurred with pleasure as you clawed at his back. “Your cock’s so fucking big, splitting me open, s–shit—feels like you’re in my stomach.”
His rhythm faltered, his hips stuttering as your words hit him like a curse. His eyes snapped to yours, wide and dark, a flicker of shock breaking through his usual smug control. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice rough, almost unsteady, like he couldn’t believe the filth pouring from your mouth. He was used to silence, to gasps and whimpers, not this—not you, babbling like a whore in heat, describing every raw sensation in vivid, desperate detail. It threw him, made his head spin, rutting faster inside you like an amateur, his cock twitching inside you as he tried to hold onto his control.
You didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, the words tumbling out as he fucked you harder, deeper, the bed creaking under the force of his thrusts. “God, yes, right there,” you gasped, your legs wrapping tight around his waist, pulling him in, your cunt clenching so tight it made him groan. “Filling me so fucking good, Matty, fuck—love how you’re stretching me, so deep, so fucking full.” The sultry tone of your voice against his ear almost had his eyes rolling back, a full body shudder wrecking through him as his grip turned almost brutal against your hips.
His breath hitched, a low, broken sound, and you saw it—the way his control was cracking, the way your words were unraveling him. He was supposed to be the one in charge, the one making you beg, but your voice was a fucking hex, each syllable chipping away at his composure. He slammed into you harder, the headboard smacking the wall, the head of his cock rapidly pistoning into that perfect squishy spot inside you, his fingers digging into your hips so deep you’d feel the bruises for days. “Fuck, you’re—” he started, but cut himself off, shaking his head like he was trying to shake off the haze your words were casting. “Fuck, keep talking baby.”
You were too far gone to not, too lost in the pleasure, in the way his cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, making your body sing. “Don’t stop, Matty,” you whined, your voice a messy, fucked-out slur, your nails raking down his back, leaving red welts. “Fuck me harder, wanna feel every inch of you, wanna come all over this big fucking cock.” Your words were incoherent, a babble of need and praise, and you felt slick gushing around him, coating your thighs, the obscene wet sound of him fucking you filling the room.
He groaned, a raw, desperate sound, his hips snapping faster, rougher, like he was trying to fuck the words out of you, but it only made you louder. “Shit, you’re so good, Matty, ruining me,” you moaned, your head lolling back, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure built, sharp and overwhelming. “Love how you fuck me, so fucking deep, making me yours, fuck—gonna come so hard, please, please.”
He was unraveling, his thrusts erratic, his breath ragged, his usual dominance fraying under the onslaught of your words. He leaned down, biting at your shoulder, hard enough to make you gasp, his tongue soothing the sting as he tried to ground himself, but your babbling was too much. “Fuck, you’re so tight, so wet,” he growled, his voice breaking, almost pleading. “Gonna make me come if you keep talkin’ like that.”
“Yes, yes, come in me, Matty,” you babbled, your voice a desperate, trembling mess as you clenched around him, your orgasm crashing closer. “Fill me up, want your cum so bad, want you dripping out of me, fuck—” Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body arching, shaking, as you came with a shattered cry of his name, your cunt pulsing around him, cream coating his dick and slick gushing down your thighs, soaking the sheets.
He followed right after, his groan raw and guttural, his cock twitching as he spilled inside you, his thrusts sloppy and desperate as he rode out the pleasure. His body shuddered, collapsing against you, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your panting, the faint creak of the bed settling beneath you. Any thoughts he had of you being a one time thing were out the window now, you weren't getting rid of him if you tried.
Mattheo lifted his head, his eyes still dazed, a faint, disbelieving smirk tugging at his lips. “Fucking hell,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, wrecked. “Didn’t expect that mouth on you. You’re gonna fucking kill me next time.”
You grinned, lazy and fucked-out, your fingers trailing through his damp curls. “Get used to it, Riddle,” you murmured, your voice soft but still carrying that edge. “I’ve got plenty more to say.”
♡ cause i played it cool when i was scared of letting go… found either at a party or hooking up with you in a broom closet, surprisingly charming, if he wasn’t so hot, you would’ve stopped everything long ago.
಄ playboy! matt who met you at a party and was immediately attracted to you
಄ playboy! matt who you were in a relationship with for 3 months (you guys were the it couple at hogwarts)
಄ playboy! matt who broke up with you not long after you got together, claiming you guys “weren’t compatible”
಄ playboy! matt who hooked up with girls from every single house just 48 hours after your break-up
಄ playboy! matt who swears you guys aren’t meant to be but the real reason he broke up with you was that he was too scared of falling
಄ playboy! matt who still wishes he could be yours and tries to make you jealous but he never succeeds
಄ playboy! matt who you can still picture yourself with because you can’t let go of the past you guys had
಄ playboy! matt who you still go back to occasionally, you claim you guys just do it because its easy but the truth is whatever’s going on is simply easier than starting over
಄ playboy! matt who glares daggers at any guy who even tries and shoot his shot with you but simply suffers in silence when you give someone else the time of the day
಄ playboy! matt who loved you in the only way known to him, too bad he couldn’t keep you
಄ playboy! matt who deep down still wishes it was you, and only you because you’re the only person with room in his heart
✧.* what happens after mattheo finds his sweet bsf moping after a bad date..?
bsf!mattheo x angel!reader (fem pov)
word count: approx 2.2k
cw: MDNI!!, smut, bsf!mattheo, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, finger sucking(?), lots of praise, mattheo is maybe kind of a perv idk lol, p link in the middle
a/n: sorry it took me a bajillion years to do this... sleep schedule is in the works :( + requests are open :3
Mattheo quickly flipped over the muggle Playboy magazine he had gotten his hands on the previous summer and fumbled with his zipper as he heard his dorm door swing open. Needn't to turn around as he recognized the familiar sound of your heels clicking across his floor as you kicked them off and slumped onto his bed, he clumsily shoved his small collection of magazines into his drawer.
Clearing his throat, he asked, "How was your date, he ugly?" He did not bother to turn around and face you, adamant about not showing you his flushed face.
Truth be told, your "date" was terrible. You had waited at the Three Broomsticks for hours, garnering pitying looks from Madam Rosmerta while you awkwardly stirred an on-the-house butterbeer, waiting for your blind date to arrive.
"Bad..." you managed to mutter, your voice trembling slightly. You had begun suffocating as your face was planted on one of his pillows, raising your head up for air and seeing the tear stains you left on the pillowcase.
Slightly surprised, he furrowed his brows, turning around his chair to get a full view of you, sulking, face-first on his bed. "Why? What happened?" he questioned.
"Didn't even show," you sniffled out, not looking up.
Concern washed over his face as he got up, readjusting his pants for the second time, before sitting gently beside you. He placed a palm on your shoulder, pushing slightly to get a view of you. You didn't resist, turning your body around, and giving him a clear look at you.
His heart ached at the sight of you; your dried-up tears, the red hue in your eyes, and the remnants of tears clinging onto your bottom lashes.
Mattheo brought his thumb to your face, swiping away at your cheek. "He didn't?" he asked softly. He meant to sound comforting and understanding, but his voice had a subtle tone of hope that you didn't catch over your small hiccup.
You shut your eyes, feeling new tears form as he pulled you up off your back, allowing you to sit against his headboard. Kicking off his slippers, he brought his feet onto the bed and sat beside you, placing your head on his shoulder with his arm slung over yours.
You both stayed in that position, silent, for a while. It wasn't uncomfortable, it was something familiar to make you feel better. Mattheo fidgeted with his sheets with his free arm and you felt most of the tears come to a stop. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you turned towards him.
"You're a guy right?" you asked.
"I'm pretty sure."
You stifled a small giggle before resuming your more solemn mood. "Do y'know why he wouldn't come?" you asked tentatively. Met with silence and his gaze set straight ahead, you prodded, "Like... think he saw me and left?"
"No. No way."
Mattheo had answered you quickly, even surprising you. You had expected a teasing yeah or a reluctant no from him, but he seemed dead serious. It wasn't like Mattheo was rude to you, merlin, you were probably the one person he was the nicest to, but he'd usually never pass up on an easy opportunity to make a joke.
Moving closer beside him, you peered curiously at his face, looking for any sign of sarcasm, but there wasn't any. "Really?"
The sight of your doubting eyes, the slight quiver in your lips, and the feel of your body pressed against his arm as you sat on his bed was all too much for Mattheo to handle. He wanted to scoop you up and mumble reassurances into your ears, but a part of him that he so desperately wanted to push away, wanted to fuck you senseless and show you how serious he really was.
Fuck. He knew it was wrong to feel this way when you sought comfort from him and nothing more, but he could hardly suppress his thoughts. Not when you stumbled into his room as he was about to relieve himself-- especially not in the strapless dress you wore for your date.
"Mm, yeah," he barely got out. "You're... beautiful."
You hummed appreciatively, feeling an unfamiliar blush creep up your face. Mattheo was your friend, and he had complimented you a few times before, but this was strangely... intimate. Grateful for him, you let your head sink past his shoulder and onto his chest and allowed one of your hands to play around with the material of his shirt, the soft cotton rubbing against your fingertips.
Tracing patterns on his shirt, his toned torso underneath; so close to your touch, you allowed yourself to be mesmerized while drawing swirls and stars on his shirt until you felt his body go taut and he cleared his throat.
"Oh-- sorry," you said sheepishly, retracting your hand. You sat back up, having your head properly rested against the headboard.
"No, don't be," Mattheo said. "I'm just, just a bit out of it right now," he told you, turning to face you.
"Yeah..." you noted. "You look a bit flush." You examined his face, his cheeks lightly dusted with a rosy hue and a very tiny bead of sweat on his forehead. You pushed yourself off the headboard, sitting straight up on the bed and your eyes wandered over him. "Are you," you began to ask in concern before your heart leaped into your throat from the sight of his very obvious boner. "...okay?" you finished, swallowing thickly.
"Don't even worry 'bout me," Mattheo shrugged off, oblivious to your wandering eyes. "Feeling better now?" he asked you, your tears from earlier no longer apparent.
Your brain still short circuiting from the sight of his boner, you paused before snapping back into reality.
"I-- uh, I don't know..." you said biting your lip. "I was really excited to go, but I guess he wasn't."
Mattheo searched for the words to say before you spoke again.
"Maybe I got the date wrong. Oo, oh! Maybe the place wrong?" you tried to convince yourself. "Merlin, who am I kidding? He saw me and decided not to show," you groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have worn this dress, I was kind of doubting buying it when I was at the store and-" you rambled before being cut off by a cool hand on your chin turning your head around.
"Hey- what are you doing?" you smiled sheepishly, caught off guard.
"Stop talking about yourself like that. You know it's not true."
You chortled, confusion etched onto your features, but nothing on his face resembled a joke.
"Stop joking, I'm actually sad," you finally drawled.
"M'not joking," he said. Before you could retort, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss.
Your mind clouded for a brief moment before you began to kiss him back.
For such a seemingly rough guy, his lips were soft and welcoming. You could go days without pulling away, your hands running up his back as he cupped your face. Kissing him felt natural, something that you didn't have to work very hard to do.
You let your body take over and kiss him without worry and he seemed to do the same as he slipped his tongue in, taking you by surprise.
Knowing he already crossed a line by kissing his best friend, Mattheo couldn't hold back the amount of arousal coursing through him at the moment. Without thinking, he allowed a hand to trail down from your face, feeling the lines of your waist until it found your thigh. Pushing the blue silk dress upwards, his hand rested on your ass.
Not protesting at all, you leaned closer, with his hands beginning to guide you onto his lap. You both sunk on the bed, having you straddle him. The cool air hit your bare skin as he brought your dress even upper, the dress folding inside out on your waist. His hands ran up and down your ass, stroking the lace of your underwear.
He slipped his hand underneath the material, feeling the skin of his palms on your unclothed ass, groping and grabbing blindly. You continued to kiss him, resting on top of him warmly until you felt his hand ghost over your bare folds causing you to pull away from the kiss and elicit a moan.
You looked at him curiously, parting your lips before he asked, "Can I?"
Before you could contemplate, your body was already deciding as you immediately nodded up and down. His fingers trailed lightly on the outside of your slick cunt and you could hear him murmur to himself but the sound was blocked out of your ears as your mind was clouded with thrill.
Burying your head beside his head and into his pillows, you let out a shrill whimper as you felt him insert one finger. Slowly, he pumped it in and out of your cunt, slowly increasing in speed.
Entering another finger, your whimpers grew into moans and he turned to look at your heated face.
"Fuck, you're cute."
Unable to respond, you attempted to give him a sheepish smile that sent him over the edge.
His fingers pumped in and out of you with uncontrollable fervor, your fluids coating his fingers as you leaked out. You writhed around on top of him, small squeals escaping your lips as you felt your orgasm near.
"M-Matt..." you mewled. "I'm gonna-"
"Shh, shh," he said, bringing his free hand to caress your head. "You can come. Come on my fingers for me." He buried his fingers deep inside, curling them slightly as he found your g-spot.
No longer able to contain yourself, you let your orgasm happen, your cunt tightening over his fingers. Panting, your body went limp which gave him time to flip you over so you were below him.
Watching the look you sported as your orgasm washed over you, the way you were beneath him, and how your lips were swollen from your previous make out, Mattheo could've sworn he was going to come right in his pants.
Wasting no time, he pulled down his pants, boxers following, allowing his cock to spring out, the tip already leaky with precum.
Pulling down your soaked underwear, he positioned himself between your legs. He pushed in slowly, each agonizing second torturing you as you desperately wanted him.
He rocked his hips and you had expected him to go slowly like he did with his fingers, but he quickly set a pace, hardly waiting for you to adjust.
The world felt unreal to you, having your best friend's cock inside of you when just moments before you were moping about some mystery guy...
Mattheo tugged down the top of your dress, the lack of straps allowing your tits to pool out. Fondling greedily, he couldn't even contain himself.
"Can't believe he lost this before even getting it," he groaned under his breath. "Fucking clown."
Unable to get a word out through your whimpers and mewls, all you could do was blush bashfully at his words.
He brought his hand to cup your jaw, slipping his thumb into your mouth. Teasing, he pulled his thumb to the edge of your mouth, contorting your lips as he laughed to himself. "You look adorable."
He continued to tease, finding the faces you made amusing as he continued to use his cock to kiss your cervix. You were about to unravel again, your cunt gripping onto his cock as your cries grew louder, your hands scratching his arms. "Gonna come?" he asked. You nodded quickly, a sign for him to slow down.
"Are you?" you asked tentatively.
"Not yet. Wanna savor my time with my favorite girl," he cooed, leaning into your ear.
Your surprise couldn't last long as you came for a second time, your face scrunching up. You breathed heavily, still allowing your body to process while Mattheo took the time to pull out and turn you around, your knees sinking on the bed.
Mattheo wanted to frame that moment right there and then. Capturing the sight of you; back arched down, ass up in the air practically inviting him inside your glossy cunt, face buried into the sheets.
"I hope you're forgetting about that guy. I would throw myself off the Astronomy Tower if I skimped out on a date only to find out it was with you."
Entering once more, he threw his head back before letting out moans of his own. Unlike during missionary, he went in patiently, admiring the view of his cock sliding in and out of your folds.
"I'm going to come just looking at you like this, I swear. Want me to? Want me to come inside?"
"Y-yes!" you managed to sputter out. "Please..."
"The day I say no to you; just know I'm under the imperius curse." And with that, he came, spurting thick ropes of cum inside to coat your walls. "Shit..."
He pulled out, leaning down to watch the remnants of his arousal seep out of you. He pulled you upwards to sit on your knees on his bed before hugging you by the head, caressing you with his hands roving your body.
"Bet you're glad he didn't show now, huh?" he joked gloatingly.
okay be ready for some spamming, mora 😈so many many congrats on 1k !!! you deserve this and soooooo many more ahh.
now starting with cupid's arrow so i'm gonna go with mattheo riddle + "you stayed up…all night…for them. oh dude you're in love." from prompt 9 (12th prompt)
tysm i love youu ‹𝟹
1k celebration!!!; navigation
IM SO HAPPY WITH THIS ONEEE!!
The common room was quiet, the fireplace glowing low and golden. Most of the castle was asleep—should be asleep—but Mattheo hadn’t moved from the same worn armchair in nearly six hours.
His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, flicked toward the door again.
Still no sign of you.
Mattheo sat alone on the worn green sofa, elbow propped on the armrest, bouncing his knee. The fire cracked softly. His eyes, however, were locked on the door.
He wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.
It was late. You’d gone out — a date, of all things. Some Ravenclaw boy with too-perfect posture and too-nice manners who definitely didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, in Mattheo’s very humble opinion.
Still, he didn’t ask questions when you told him you were going. Just shrugged and said, “Have fun.”
Like it didn’t twist something awful in his gut.
He hadn’t moved from the common room since.
He muttered something under his breath, fingers raking through his curls in frustration. He told himself he wasn’t worried, just… annoyed. Annoyed that you hadn’t sent an owl or a note or anything.
He wasn’t checking the time. That was stupid. He wasn’t keeping track of how late it had gotten.
He was just waiting. That was all. Waiting in the dark. For you.
The sound of steps broke his trance.
He looked up—fast, hopeful, like his spine reacted before his brain could pretend not to care. But to his disappointment it wasn’t you- it was theodore
“You’re joking,” Theo mumbled, stepping off the last stair. “You’re still here?”
Mattheo looked away. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Theo squinted. “Didn’t you say you were gonna crash right after dinner?”
Mattheo shrugged. “Changed my mind.”
“Right.” Theo crossed the room, grabbed a bottle of water from the low table, and flopped into the armchair across from him. He cracked the bottle open, took a sip, then narrowed his eyes.
Theo raised an eyebrow, following his gaze to the door. A beat. Then he grinned.
“Oh, no way.”
Mattheo blinked slowly. “Shut up.”
“You’re waiting for her.”
“I’m not.”
Theo leaned forward, elbow on his knee, watching him. “You do realise it’s two in the morning and you’ve been sitting there doing nothing except watch the door like a sad little puppy.”
Mattheo finally turned his head, but only to glare. “Piss off.”
Theo smirked. “Nah, see, I would — if this weren’t absolutely pathetic.”
Mattheo shot him a look. “You done?”
Theo took another slow sip of water, grin widened like a cat with cream. “You stayed up… all night… for her.”
Mattheo glared, but didn’t argue.
Theo laughed. “Oh dude, you’re in love.”
“I am not in love” Mattheo snapped, just a bit too fast.
“You’re scowling at a door, Mattheo.”
Mattheo looked away.
“It’s because of that date, isn’t it?”
“Drop it.”
“No, no, this is good. Jealousy suits you. Makes your hair extra floofy.” Theo leaned forward, eyes glinting. “You’re picturing her smiling at someone else. Laughing at someone else’s dumb jokes. Maybe even kissing—”
“Shut up, Theo.”
Theo raised his hands in surrender, but the smugness on his face didn’t budge. “I’m just saying… for someone who’s always so damn cool, you sure look like a kicked puppy right now.”
Mattheo didn’t respond. Just rubbed a hand over his face.
Theo sat back in his chair, a little quieter now. “You’re not just into her,” he said. “You care about her. Enough to sit here until your spine turns to dust waiting for them to come back. That’s not some random crush. That’s... it.”
Mattheo swallowed, something flickering in his expression. “She don’t feel the same.”
Theo raised an eyebrow. “Says who?”
“I don’t know. She’s never said anything.”
“Neither have you.”
Mattheo didn’t answer.
Theo leaned forward again, more serious this time. “Look, I’m not one for romantic declarations or any of that Gryffindor-level nonsense. But you should probably stop lying to yourself before it eats you alive.”
Mattheo stayed still. Quiet. But his eyes had softened — not scared, not stubborn — just… exposed.
“She make me feel normal,” he said quietly, surprising even himself. “Like… not a Riddle. Just me.”
Theo blinked. That was more honesty than he was used to from his best friend.
“Then maybe you should tell her.”
Mattheo shook his head. “It’s easier like this.”
Theo smirked. “Yeah? How’s that working out for you?”
Mattheo didn’t reply.
Then—
The door creaked open.
You stepped inside, cheeks pink from the cold, scarf loose around your neck, and a dreamy, faraway look in your eyes. You didn’t see them at first, too busy unwinding your scarf and brushing snowflakes from your shoulders.
Mattheo straightened instantly, trying and failing to look casual. Theo noticed and nearly burst into laughter.
You finally looked up and paused. “Oh hey, i didn’t know anyone would still be awake.”
Theo smirked. “Some of us couldn’t sleep.”
Mattheo shot him a warning glare.
You smiled, a little shy. “I didn’t think I’d be that long…”
Mattheo stood slowly. “Was it good?” he asked, and it came out rougher than he intended.
You blinked. “What?”
“The date.”
Your eyes widened, just slightly. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I guess.”
Theo chimed in, “Guess?”
You gave him a look. “He was nice. Polite. Smart.”
Mattheo’s jaw twitched.
Theo shot Mattheo a look, full of fake admiration. “What a guy. Truly. You hearing this, Matty? Wow Someone get that boy a medal. Don’t you want to congratulate him personally?”
Mattheo ignored him. “Are you seeing him again?”
You shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”
Something in Mattheo’s eyes flickered. “Right.”
There was an awkward pause.
You shifted on your feet. “Anyway, I’m exhausted. Gonna head to bed—” You hesitated. “You didn’t have to wait up.”
Mattheo looked at you then, really looked, and quietly said, “I know.”
You gave a small smile. “Night, boys.”
As you walked past, Theo gave a long, dramatic sigh. Then under his breath—but just loud enough—he muttered:
“You’re so in love.”
Mattheo didn’t deny it.
But when he sat back down, still staring at the spot you’d stood, he felt it settle in his chest like thunder in a bottle.
One arm rested along the back of the couch behind you, fingers tapping lazily against the leather while the common room buzzed around him. Loud, warm, crowded shoulder-to-shoulder after the Quidditch win.
He looked perfectly at home in it.
Hair still damp from the shower. Tie hanging loose around his neck. A fading bruise shadowing the sharp line of his jaw.
People gravitated toward Lorenzo Berkshire naturally. You’d noticed that weeks ago.
Girls smiled at him a second too long. Boys laughed too hard at his jokes. He flirted with almost everyone and committed to absolutely no one.
The sort of person professors claimed to dislike while letting him get away with murder.
Right now, though, his attention rested entirely on you.
Heavy enough to feel.
“You’ve been following me around all week,” you pointed out, eyes still fixed on your book.
“Mhm.”
“You’re not denying it?”
“Should I?”
The couch dipped slightly as he leaned closer.
Close enough for the sharp scent of maple and expensive conditioner to settle around you.
“You’re tense again,” he murmured.
You snapped your book shut. “You say that like you’re my healer.”
“No,” Lorenzo said easily. “If I were your healer, you’d actually listen to me.”
His fingers brushed briefly against your wrist.
Not enough to look intimate to anyone else, but more than enough for you to notice.
“You worry too much,” he continued quietly. “It’s irritating.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “The difference is,” he said, “I’m usually right.”
Across the room, Mattheo yelled out something toward him, drawing laughter from those around.
Lorenzo ignored them.
Which was honestly stranger than if he hadn’t.
Normally, he thrived on attention. Moved through crowds like he belonged at the center of them.
But lately, all of his attention had been you.
“You skipped the afterparty for this?” you asked flatly.
“I skipped the afterparty because Avery kept trying to sit on my lap.”
“You say that like it’s a problem.”
“It was irritating.”
You blinked at him.
Because Lorenzo Berkshire had never once seemed irritated by attention before.
If anything, he invited it.
But now he was watching you with something quieter in his expression. Less performative. Still confident, still maddeningly self-assured, but focused in a way that made something in your chest tighten uncomfortably.
Like you’d become a habit he never intended to form.
“You know what your problem is?” he asked suddenly.
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“You think people deserve access to you just because they ask for it.”
Your brows pulled together. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does to me.”
There was something unreadable in his tone. Something that made you look at him properly for the first time that evening.
And instantly regret it.
Because Lorenzo was already watching you like he knew you would.
Like he’d been waiting for you to finally look back.
“You should make people earn you,” he said softly.
Then, after a brief pause,
“Some of them don’t deserve the privilege.”
“You look awful,” Lorenzo remarked, dropping into the seat beside you in Potions.
You didn’t glance up from your notes. “Good morning to you too.”
“It’s becoming concerning, honestly.” His knee bumped yours beneath the table. “Have you considered sleeping occasionally?”
“I hate this class.”
“You hate every class.”
“Not true.”
“Mhm.” Lorenzo leaned back in his chair, spinning his wand lazily between his fingers. “You complain differently depending on the subject.”
“You pay too much attention to me.”
His mouth curved slightly at that. Like you’d said exactly what he wanted to hear.
Around you, students shuffled into their seats while Professor Slughorn rearranged ingredients at the front of the classroom. The dungeon smelled like herbs, smoke, and something unpleasantly metallic.
You rubbed tiredly at your eyes.
The past week had been brutal. Exams. Quidditch matches. Barely any sleep. Most of yesterday had been spent trying not to snap at people for speaking too loudly.
Lorenzo watched you for a moment too long before reaching into the pocket of his robes.
“Here.”
Something silver landed beside your hand with a soft clink.
A ring.
You stared at it.
Plain silver. Heavy-looking. Dark green lettering etched into the underside.
“You giving me jewelry now?”
“You should sound more grateful when people buy you expensive things.”
“I didn’t ask you to buy me anything.”
“No,” Lorenzo agreed easily. “You usually don’t ask for things. That’s half your problem.”
You picked the ring up carefully, turning it between your fingers.
The metal already felt warm.
“Why?”
“Because,” he said lightly, “you’ve been having terrible luck lately.”
You huffed a quiet laugh. “So your solution was accessories?”
“My solution,” Lorenzo corrected, “was fixing it.”
You looked at him then.
There it was again. That certainty.
Not arrogance exactly, though he had plenty of that too. Something steadier. More dangerous. Like once he decided something, the rest of the world simply had to catch up.
It was part of why people followed him so easily.
On the Quidditch pitch. At parties. In crowded hallways.
Lorenzo Berkshire moved through Hogwarts like the castle belonged to him.
And somehow, you’d ended up caught in his orbit too.
“You’re staring again,” he murmured.
“You say weird things.”
“I say accurate things.”
You rolled your eyes and moved to hand the ring back.
His fingers closed around your wrist before you could. Not rough, but not gentle either.
Just firm enough to stop you.
“Keep it on today,” Lorenzo said quietly.
Your eyes flicked toward him.
Something unreadable lingered beneath the amusement on his face now. Intent.
“For luck?” you asked dryly.
His thumb brushed against the inside of your wrist before he let go.
“For me.”
Before you could respond, Slughorn began speaking from the front of the room, and the class shifted into motion around you.
Lorenzo leaned back like nothing had happened.
Like his hand hadn’t lingered against your skin a second too long. Like he hadn’t looked at you with that unsettlingly focused expression again.
You should’ve given the ring back.
Instead, without really thinking about it, you slid it onto your finger.
╰┈➤
By the end of the day, three things had gone strangely right.
First, Professor Flitwick delayed the essay due tomorrow.
Then, your missing Astronomy notes mysteriously reappeared on your bed after being gone nearly a week.
And finally, Daphne Greengrass and Evan Rosier stopped bothering you.
Completely.
Which was strange, considering yesterday they’d cornered you outside Charms to mock your last Quidditch loss and get a reaction out of you.
Today, Greengrass wouldn’t even look at you.
You noticed it during class. She sat as far away as possible, avoiding your gaze so obviously it bordered on awkward.
Then at dinner, the second you sat across from Evan at the Slytherin table, he went still before abruptly standing.
His tray nearly tipped in the process.
Malfoy laughed farther down the table. “Rosier, where the fuck are you going?”
“Forgot something.”
“You’re literally holding your dinner.”
Evan ignored him and left.
You frowned after him slightly.
Beside you, Lorenzo looked entirely unsurprised. Actually, he looked amused.
“You’re smiling.”
“Might just be happy to see you.” He shot back, nudging into your side.
“That’s never reassuring.”
His grin widened.
Across the table, one of the sixth-year girls leaned toward her friend and whispered something while glancing between the two of you.
Lorenzo noticed too.
He looked pleased by it.
“You know,” he mused lazily, reaching over to steal a piece of meat from your plate, “people are starting to think you belong to me.”
You scoffed. “People think that you belong to everyone.”
A few nearby students laughed quietly at that.
Lorenzo didn’t.
His gaze stayed fixed on you.
Steady.
“You say that,” he said softly, “like it’s the same thing.”
Then Lorenzo smiled again. Easy, effortless, beautiful enough to make people stupid.
And just like that, the moment disappeared.
“You kept the ring on,” he noted.
Without thinking, your hand curled slightly against the table.
Lorenzo’s eyes dropped to the movement immediately. Tiny. Instinctive.
You still noticed him catch it.
“See?” he murmured. “Already getting luckier.”
You started noticing him everywhere after that.
Outside classrooms, leaning against stone walls with his tie hanging loose around his neck. Across the Great Hall, surrounded by people while his attention stayed fixed on you anyway. Stretched across the Slytherin common room like he owned the place.
Maybe he always had.
Maybe you just hadn’t noticed before.
“Berkshire’s gotten weirdly attached to you lately.”
You glanced up from your textbook.
Theodore Nott sat across from you in the library, looking deeply unimpressed as he flipped another page in his book.
“That’s a strong word.”
Theo huffed softly. “Is it?”
You sighed, absently turning the ring on your finger. “You and him are becoming insufferable.”
That earned the faintest twitch of amusement from him.
Across the room, Lorenzo leaned against one of the bookshelves, talking to a group of Ravenclaw girls.
Or more accurately, letting them talk to him.
You watched one of them touch his arm while laughing at something he said.
Lorenzo smiled easily in return. Charming. Relaxed. Completely in his element.
Then his gaze drifted lazily across the library and landed on you.
Immediately.
Like he’d been aware of where you were the entire time.
The smile on his face shifted slightly.
Subtle enough that most people wouldn’t notice.
The Ravenclaw girl was still talking when Lorenzo pushed away from the bookshelf without warning and walked off mid-conversation.
Straight toward you.
Theo noticed too.
The chair beside you scraped loudly against the floor as Lorenzo dropped into it a second later.
“You look busy,” he remarked, glancing toward your parchment.
“I am.”
“That explains the attitude.”
Theo snorted quietly without looking up from his book.
Lorenzo ignored him entirely.
His attention settled instead on your hand resting against the table. Specifically the ring.
Something pleased flickered across his expression.
“You kept it..” He said softly.
“You’re observant today.”
“I’m observant every day.”
That was true. Painfully true. Lorenzo noticed everything about you.
When you skipped meals. When you slept badly. The subtle shifts in your mood. Which people irritated you. Which subjects stressed you out.
Sometimes it felt less like attention and more like being studied.
“You’ve worn it all week,” he murmured.
You shrugged lightly. “Guess your magic luck ring works.”
“It does.”
“You’re very confident in that.”
“I’m very confident about most things.”
That much was obvious.
Enzo moved through life like failure simply wasn’t something that happened to him.
Even on the Quidditch pitch, he played like the world should move out of his way.
And somehow, annoyingly, it usually did.
“You know,” you said slowly, “people are starting to think you like me.”
Lorenzo looked up immediately.
Not surprised. Suddenly very interested in the conversation.
“Starting to?”
“You have a reputation, Berkshire.”
“Do I?” He tilted his head owlishly.
“You’ve hooked up with half the school.”
A lazy smile spread across his face, completely unashamed. “..Jealous?”
“Repulsed, actually.”
“Liar.” His voice dipped slightly when he said it. Still playful.
He leaned his elbow against the table, watching you in that unbearable way he always did lately. Like he was trying to memorize your reactions before you even had them.
“We have a match this weekend, right?” Theo asked suddenly, cutting through the tension.
Your expression soured instantly. “Don’t remind me.”
Lorenzo leaned back in his chair beside you, one arm sliding along the back of it.
“You’ll be fine.”
“You say that every time.”
“And I’m always right.”
“You literally lost your last game.”
“We lost our last game,” Lorenzo corrected.
“You nearly started a fight with the Hufflepuff captain afterward.”
“He insulted you.”
Theo finally looked up at that. “So that’s why that happened.”
Lorenzo looked entirely unapologetic. “He was irritating.”
You sighed. “It was regular house banter.”
“That’s not the point,” Lorenzo retorted immediately.
The blunt certainty in his tone sent heat creeping unpleasantly up the back of your neck.
Because he still sounded annoyed by it. Over an offhand comment from weeks ago.
Theo studied Lorenzo for a long moment.
Then you.
Slowly, he closed his book.
“I’m suddenly understanding several things,” he muttered.
“What does that mean?” you asked suspiciously.
“Nothing.” Which definitely meant something.
Before you could press further, Lorenzo nudged your knee lightly beneath the table.
“Come to practice later.”
“I have work to do.”
“You can do it after.”
“You’re not even captain.”
“No,” Lorenzo agreed easily. “I’m worse.”
Theo laughed quietly.
You looked between them. “Am I missing something?”
“Yes,” Theo answered immediately.
Lorenzo smiled.
Not the easy, flirtatious smile he gave everyone else.
Something smaller.
Sharper.
Like he knew exactly what Theo meant, and enjoyed the fact that you didn’t.
╰┈➤
Before you could ask, a girl approached your table hesitantly.
One of the Hufflepuffs from an earlier class.
“Uh,” she started awkwardly, “Professor Snape wanted me to give your essay back.”
You blinked. “Already?”
She handed it over quickly.
At the top of the parchment, written in sharp red ink: Outstanding.
You just stared at it for a moment.
That didn’t make any sense.
Last year, Snape barely tolerated your work.
Now suddenly you were getting Outstandings?
Beside you, Lorenzo glanced down at the grade before leaning back with a quiet hum.
“Told you,” he said.
The Hufflepuff girl left almost immediately afterward.
Practically fled.
You noticed Lorenzo watching her leave, his expression unreadable now.
“What?” you asked slowly.
His gaze shifted back to you instantly.
Nothing but amusement left on his face.
“Nothing.” You didn’t believe him.
Not even slightly.
Then Lorenzo reached over and adjusted the collar of your uniform absentmindedly.
Casual. Possessive. Like he had every right.
“You look better lately,” he murmured.
Your brows pulled together. “What?”
“Less stressed.” His fingers lingered briefly near your throat before pulling away. “I prefer it.”
Something about the way he said it made your pulse skip strangely.
Not because it sounded romantic.
Because it sounded like approval.
The weather turned vicious halfway through practice.
Wind tore across the Quidditch pitch hard enough to rattle the stands while dark clouds rolled low overhead, swollen with rain. Most of the team looked irritated by it.
Lorenzo looked exhilarated.
“You’re smiling like a psychopath,” you called from the sidelines as another player nearly lost control of their broom during a sharp turn.
High above the pitch, Lorenzo’s gaze fell toward you immediately.
Then he grinned.
Even from this far away, it looked sharp. Dangerous.
“Maybe you’re bad luck,” he shouted back.
A second later, he dropped. Straight downward.
Your stomach lurched violently, hands lifting instinctively like you could catch him from this far away.
At the very last second, Lorenzo yanked the broom upward hard enough for the tail to nearly scrape the ground before soaring forward again smoothly, like he’d planned the whole thing.
Bloody show-off.
A few younger students watching from the stands broke into applause.
Lorenzo basked in it for all of half a second before looking toward you again instead.
Like your reaction mattered more.
You rolled your eyes at him.
His grin only widened insufferably.
The wind picked up harder after that, rain following soon behind.
Cold drops soaked through your uniform while players shouted over each other across the pitch. Mattheo called for another drill. Someone swore loudly after missing a pass.
Above all of it, Lorenzo moved through the storm effortlessly.
You hated how good he looked doing it.
There was something deeply unfair about the way he flew.
No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just absolute confidence in every movement.
Even the weather seemed to bend around him instead of against him.
“You came.”
The sudden voice beside you nearly made you jump.
Theo stood there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his robes, expression characteristically unimpressed.
“You people need to stop appearing out of nowhere.”
“You’ve been distracted lately.”
You ignored that entirely.
Theo’s gaze drifted back toward the pitch.
Specifically toward Lorenzo, who was currently weaving through two players at once with infuriating ease.
“He’s worse when you’re here,” Theo remarked.
“What does that mean?”
“He plays meaner.”
Almost immediately after Theo said it, Lorenzo slammed into another player hard enough to send him swerving violently off-course.
Not enough to hurt him, but enough to make a point.
You frowned slightly. “That’s normal for Quidditch.”
Theo made a quiet, unconvinced noise.
Then movement flashed suddenly in the corner of your vision.
A Bludger.
Flying far too fast.
Straight toward you.
You barely had time to react before a hand fisted in the front of your uniform and yanked you backward hard enough for your shoulder to slam into someone’s chest.
The Bludger tore past your face a second later.
Close.
Far too close.
Your pulse spiked instantly. “What the fuck-”
“Careful.”
Lorenzo’s voice.
Breathless from flying. One arm still locked tightly around you.
You hadn’t even seen him land.
Rain dampened the curls falling across his forehead while his broom rolled slightly against the ground beside him. His grip on you remained firm.
Possessive, almost.
Like he hadn’t realised yet how tightly he was holding you.
Across the pitch, one of the Beaters looked horrified. “Sorry! I lost control of it-”
Lorenzo looked up. The entire atmosphere shifted.
It happened instantly.
One second relaxed, the next dead cold.
Not loud. Not explosive.
Worse.
The Beater actually took a step backward beneath the look Lorenzo gave him.
“It’s fine,” you said quickly, mostly because the expression on Lorenzo’s face had suddenly become deeply concerning.
His jaw tightened.
The hand on your waist flexed once.
“You should pay more attention,” he said calmly. Too calmly.
“I said it was an accident,” the Beater muttered defensively.
Lorenzo smiled then. That easy, charming smile everyone liked so much.
It didn’t reach his eyes.
“Did I say it wasn’t?”
Silence.
Rain hammered harder against the stands around you.
Then, slowly, Lorenzo looked back down at you instead.
And just like that, the expression on his face softened.
Like someone flipping a switch.
“You alright?” he asked quietly.
It was disorienting.
The sudden gentleness after… whatever that had just been.
You nodded once. “…Yeah.”
Lorenzo’s gaze flicked briefly toward the ring still sitting on your hand.
Something unreadable crossed his face.
“There’s that luck again,” he murmured.
You let out a breathless laugh. “You cannot seriously think your ring stopped a Bludger.”
“I think,” Lorenzo said softly, “that you’re safer with me around.”
The words settled heavily somewhere beneath your ribs.
Before you could answer, his thumb brushed absentmindedly against your side.
Still holding you there.
Still too close.
“You were miserable before me,” he continued quietly. Not teasing this time. Certain. Like it was simply a fact.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
Because maybe the unsettling part wasn’t that Lorenzo believed it.
Maybe it was that lately, you weren’t entirely sure he was wrong.
╰┈➤
The second Lorenzo let go of you, the cold hit properly.
Rain soaked through your uniform in freezing waves while the wind tore violently across the pitch. Your pulse still hadn’t settled from nearly getting your head taken off by a Bludger.
Behind him, the Beater who’d lost control of it was currently getting torn apart by Mattheo near the center of the pitch.
“You trying to kill our reserves now?” Mattheo snapped.
“It slipped-”
“I don’t care.”
Lorenzo followed your gaze lazily before scoffing under his breath.
“He’s lucky it hit the post first.”
You looked at him sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means if that thing had hit you directly, I would’ve thrown him off his broom.”
The answer came too easily. Not exaggerated. Not even playful. Just honest.
Rain dripped steadily from Lorenzo’s lashes as he looked down at you.
“You can’t say things like that casually.”
“Why?” He tilted his head slightly. “It’s true.”
There was something deeply unfair about the way he stayed calm while saying things that should’ve sounded alarming.
Like his certainty smoothed the edges off them.
Thunder cracked overhead again.
Most of the team had remounted their brooms by now, circling impatiently while Mattheo finished yelling.
Lorenzo still hadn’t moved.
“You should go,” you muttered.
“In a minute.”
“You’re literally in the middle of practice.”
“And you nearly got brained by a Bludger.” His eyes flicked briefly across your face again. Checking. “Priorities.”
The wind shifted sharply.
Without thinking about it, Lorenzo reached up and pulled the hood of your cloak farther over your head before the rain could hit your face again.
The gesture felt strangely intimate.
You looked at him for a second too long afterward.
Slowly, the corners of his mouth lifted.
╰┈➤
Ever since Lorenzo started orbiting your life more aggressively, things had gotten easier in ways you couldn’t fully explain.
People moved around you differently now.
Professors suddenly remembered your name. Students stopped pushing their luck around you. Even small inconveniences seemed to disappear before they could become actual problems.
And somehow, Lorenzo was always there right before or right after.
Like a pattern you couldn’t stop seeing once you noticed it.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he said suddenly.
“I think you’re full of shit.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
He stepped closer instinctively as the wind got heavy, shielding part of it without seeming to realise he’d done it.
Too close.
You could smell rain, polish, and that expensive maple cologne he always wore.
“You know what your problem is?” he asked quietly.
“You ask me that a lot.”
“You keep proving me right.”
You rolled your eyes.
Lorenzo’s gaze flicked over your face once before settling softer somehow.
Quieter.
“You keep acting surprised when people listen to me,” he murmured. “They always have.”
Before you could answer, Mattheo shouted his name again from across the pitch.
This time, Lorenzo finally looked away.
Annoyance flashed briefly across his face.
Then he glanced back at you one last time.
“Stay until practice ends.”
The confidence in his tone irritated you immediately.
“You planning on restraining me if I don’t?”
His gaze drifted lazily across your face.
“No,” he said. “You’ll stay anyway.”
It happened gradually enough that you almost didn’t notice it.
At some point, Lorenzo became the first person you looked for after a bad day.
You started saving seats for him unconsciously. Waiting for his commentary after classes. Looking toward the Slytherin table expecting to find him already watching you.
“You’re getting clingy,” you muttered one evening as Lorenzo dropped onto the bed beside you, still damp from a shower.
“Mhm.” He stole your quill. “You say that like you’re not worse.”
“I’m definitely not.”
“You came looking for me after Charms.”
“That was because Bletchley was irritating me.”
“And who handled it?”
You frowned. Because he had.
Bletchley hadn’t bothered you once afterward.
Lorenzo noticed your hesitation immediately.
His grin sharpened slightly as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest.
“There it is.”
“I really hate when you say that.”
“You hate most things.”
“You especially.”
“Liar.” The word came softer that time. Absentminded, almost.
Like he wasn’t even trying to hide how fond he sounded anymore.
It should’ve bothered you more than it did.
That was probably the problem.
╰┈➤
The realisation hit two weeks later.
Slow at first. Then all at once.
An uncomfortable awareness settling heavier in your chest every time Lorenzo touched you too casually. Looked at you too long. Expected things from you without asking.
Stay after practice.
Save a seat for him.
Sit beside him.
Wait for him.
Eat with him.
Let him take care of all your problems.
And every single time-
You did.
“You’re staring again.”
You blinked, setting the ring down against the library table.
Lorenzo lounged across from you, ankle hooked loosely around the leg of your chair like he’d anchored himself there on purpose.
Maybe he had.
“You’ve been acting weird,” you said slowly.
One of his brows lifted. “Weird how?”
Your lips pressed together as you searched for the right words. “I don’t know. Just… weird.”
Lorenzo sighed softly and reached up to brush the hair away from your face.
You leaned back before he could touch you.
His hand lingered awkwardly in the air for half a second.
Lorenzo blinked.
Then went very still.
The shift in his expression was immediate.
Sharp.
You looked away first, gathering your things too quickly.
“Where are you going?”
“I need air.”
“You were fine two seconds ago.”
“I said I need air, Berkshire.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
The atmosphere changed instantly. Because you almost never called him that anymore.
It was Enzo now.
“...I’ll walk with you.”
“No.”
Too fast.
Too firm.
For the first time in weeks, real silence settled between you.
Lorenzo leaned back slowly in his chair, watching you carefully now.
Thinking.
“..You’re pulling away,” he said finally. Not emotional. Not accusing. Scarily observant. Like he’d noticed a shift in the weather.
“You’re imagining things.”
“I don’t think so.”
You grabbed your bag before he could say anything else.
Then left.
You could feel him watching you the entire way out.
╰┈➤
The next few days were awful. Catastrophically awful. Enough to wear you down.
Umbridge tore apart your latest paper in front of the class after barely skimming it. Theo cancelled your study plans twice. Someone stole your gloves. Then your notes disappeared again.
By Friday, a pounding headache had settled behind your eyes from sheer frustration alone.
And underneath all of it sat one deeply irritating truth.
Lorenzo had stopped appearing.
No waiting outside your classes. No interruptions during meals. No hand at the small of your back guiding you through crowded hallways.
Nothing.
The absence felt loud.
You hated that you noticed.
“You look miserable.”
Your head snapped up immediately.
Lorenzo leaned against the corridor wall a few feet away.
Your chest tightened before you could stop it. Annoying.
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
“You’ve been avoiding me back.”
The corner of his mouth tilted slightly. “Thought you wanted space.” The words shouldn’t have sounded sharp.
They did anyway.
You looked away first.
Mostly because eye contact with Lorenzo Berkshire had become genuinely hazardous lately.
He looked unfair standing there.
Sleeves shoved up to his elbows like he’d done it without thinking, exposing lean forearms streaked with faint veins beneath warm skin. The kind of arms that looked unfairly good wrapped around a wand, braced against a wall, holding someone close.
His hands were rough. Scarred knuckles, long fingers, a silver ring catching the light every time he moved.
Practice had left him wrecked in the prettiest way possible.
Damp curls clung messily to his forehead and the nape of his neck, still darkened with sweat. A few strands stuck to his skin as he tilted his head back to laugh softly under his breath.
Merlin.
Even his laugh felt dangerous.
Low and warm and lazy enough to make your stomach tighten.
Most people expected someone like Enzo to be beautiful in a cruel way. Sharp edges. Ice-cold stares. The sort of man who looked through people instead of at them.
Instead, his eyes were warm.
Patient.
Rich brown melted with gold whenever the light caught them right, honey swirling through melted chocolate.
The kind that lingered on your mouth a second too long before flicking back up again like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
It was impossible not to imagine those eyes half-lidded with want.
Impossible not to picture his hands sliding slowly up your thighs, his mouth brushing your ear while he murmured something soft enough to ruin you completely.
Everything about him felt unfair.
The broad shoulders stretching thin fabric across his back. The sweat still drying along the column of his throat. The silver chain disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt whenever he moved.
Even standing there casually, Lorenzo carried himself like temptation made human.
Lazy confidence. Heat simmering just beneath his skin.
Like all it would take was one touch for him to come apart completely.
Deceptively soft.
Until he looked at you for too long. Then they became dangerous.
“You’re staring now,” he murmured quietly.
Your jaw tightened immediately. “You started it.”
A grin tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth.
There it was again. That horrible confidence.
Like he already knew exactly what effect he had on you.
You hoped he didn’t.
“You’ve had a terrible week,” Lorenzo observed.
“You noticed?”
“I notice everything about you.”
The words should’ve sounded flirtatious.
Instead, they settled low and heavy somewhere beneath your ribs.
Because he meant them.
You could always tell when Enzo was performing for people.
The charming smiles. The lazy flirting. The effortless arrogance.
This wasn’t that.
This felt worse.
Honest.
His gaze dragged slowly across your face before settling back on your eyes.
Studying you.
Like he was checking for damage.
“You look exhausted,” he murmured.
“So whose fault is that?”
A soft laugh escaped him. “Mine, apparently.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag.
“You disappeared.”
“I gave you what you wanted.”
“No,” you corrected quietly. “You punished me.”
Something shifted in Lorenzo’s expression immediately.
The amusement vanished. The teasing with it. Now he just looked at you. Sharp. Focused.
“You think I punished you?” he asked softly.
You let out a frustrated breath. “Everything went to shit the second you stopped hovering.”
His jaw flexed slightly.
Not angry. Thinking.
Then, slowly, Lorenzo stepped closer. Too close again.
You hated how natural it still felt.
“I don’t think you understand how cruel people are when I’m not around,” he said quietly.
The corridor suddenly felt very empty.
Very still.
You stared at him.
Lorenzo held your gaze steadily, expression unreadable now.
Like this was simply a fact you hadn’t accepted yet.
“You say things like that,” you muttered carefully, “and then act surprised when I think you’re insane.”
That finally pulled another smile from him. Smaller this time. Almost tired.
“You think I’m insane because you still believe those people were being kind to you before me.”
Part of you wasn’t sure that they hadn’t been.
“I think you liked it,” Lorenzo continued.
Silence.
Your pulse kicked hard beneath your ribs.
“You liked things being easier,” he said calmly. “You liked having someone deal with problems before they became yours.”
“That’s not tru-”
“You slept more.”
You stopped.
His gaze sharpened, head tilting as he studied you.
“You stopped looking exhausted all the time,” he went on. “You smiled more. People stopped bothering you.”
His eyes narrowed.
“And then you got scared because you realised you were relying on me.”
The words landed too precisely.
That was the problem.
Not his attention. Not even his possessiveness.
It was how easily he’d become part of your life without you noticing the shape it was taking.
Lorenzo studied your face for a long moment, then pushed himself off the wall.
His eyes dropped briefly to your hand.
“You lost something,” he said.
Not a question.
Nothing casual left in his voice now.
You crossed your arms. Defensive. “It’s just a ring.”
Lorenzo looked at you for a long moment.
Then he let out a quiet laugh.
Disbelieving.
“You really still don’t get it,” he murmured.
Something uneasy curled low in your stomach at his expression. Disappointment etched in his tone.
He stepped closer again, lowering his voice.
“Every good thing in your life happened because I wanted it to.”
It wasn’t long before everyone around you had stopped reaching out.
Not dramatically. There wasn’t a fight or any warning. Just distance.
Conversations cut shorter than usual. Empty seats left in the library. Eyes that flicked toward Berkshire and scurried off before you could get out a word.
“You’re staring,” he murmured from where he lounged across your bed, flipping lazily through one of your textbooks.
You looked away from the dormitory window. “Theo’s avoiding me.”
“No,” Lorenzo corrected softly. “He’s avoiding me.”
The distinction mattered.
You swallowed.
Outside, rain hammered against the castle windows hard enough to blur the grounds beyond them. Hogwarts felt quieter lately. Smaller somehow.
Or maybe your world had just narrowed.
Class.
Your dorm.
Lorenzo.
Over and over again until everything else started fading at the edges.
You hated how comforting it felt. How caring he acted. Always arriving with something you needed before you asked, watching you too closely to miss when you forgot to eat, when you were pushing yourself too far.
“He was your friend,” you said finally.
Lorenzo glanced up then.
Warm brown eyes, patient. Beautiful.
Dangerous.
“He still is,” he said calmly. “If you need him.”
The wording made something cold slide slowly down your spine.
If.
Not when.
Because he already knew you wouldn’t go looking for Theo.
Just like you hadn’t gone looking for anyone else.
Daphne stopped speaking to you entirely after the incident outside Charms.
Evan physically left rooms when Lorenzo entered them.
Even Mattheo, loud, reckless Mattheo, watched the two of you carefully now. Like standing too close to whatever this had become might get him burned too.
And somehow, through all of it, Lorenzo stayed gentle with you.
That was the worst part.
He wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t angry.
Gentle.
His hand settling automatically at the small of your back through crowded hallways. Fingers brushing your jaw when you looked exhausted. Pulling you against his chest at night like he couldn’t sleep properly otherwise.
Like you belonged there.
“You’re lost in your own head again.”
You blinked.
Lorenzo had crossed the room without you noticing.
His fingers slid beneath your chin carefully, tilting your face upward until you looked at him properly.
“You disappear into your head when you’re unhappy,” he murmured.
“I’m not unhappy.”
“No?”
His thumb brushed slowly beneath your eye. So tender.
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because you weren’t unhappy. That was the problem.
Everything was easier now. No one bothered you anymore.
Professors treated you differently. Students moved around you carefully. Your grades improved. You slept through the night without waking up anxious and exhausted and angry at the world.
Lorenzo handled everything before it could touch you.
Like he’d promised.
“You’ve isolated me,” you said quietly.
The words hung between you.
Lorenzo didn’t flinch. Didn’t deny it.
Instead, his gaze drifted slowly across your face with something almost affectionate.
“No,” he said softly.
His hand slid around the back of your neck. Holding. Steady.
“I isolated everyone else.”
Your pulse stumbled.
Somewhere deep down, you knew he meant it literally.
Not metaphorically.
Not romantically.
Literally.
You thought about the Beater who nearly hit you with the Bludger transferring schools two days later.
About Snape suddenly grading you perfectly after months of disdain.
About people going pale whenever Lorenzo looked at them too long.
About Theo’s silence.
About how every road in your life somehow kept leading back here.
Back to him.
“..I’m scared of you.” You whispered.
Lorenzo’s expression softened instantly. Almost heartbreakingly so.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured.
His forehead rested briefly against yours. “You stopped being afraid a long time ago.”
And maybe that was true too.
Because even now, with the full shape of him finally unfolding in front of you, possessive hands, manipulation, and terrifying devotion and all, your body still leaned toward his instinctively.
Still wanted him closer.
And you hated yourself for it.
Lorenzo noticed immediately.
He always noticed.
“Don’t,” he said quietly.
Your brows pulled together. “Don’t what?”
“Hate yourself for needing me.”
He said it like it was obvious. Like it was natural. Like the sky being blue or fire being hot.
You should’ve pulled away then.
Should’ve called him insane again. Should’ve run.
Instead, your fingers tightened slowly in the fabric of his shirt.
Lorenzo went completely still.
Watching you. Waiting. Careful in the way predators were careful right before the killing blow.
“You made it impossible not to,” you admitted quietly.
Something dark flickered behind his eyes. Victory.
Relief.
Obsession so intense it almost looked painful.
His hand slid into your hair slowly, like he couldn’t quite help himself anymore.
“I know.”
The honesty of it burned hotter than denial ever could’ve.
You laughed once under your breath. Weak. Breathless. “God, you’re horrible.”
Lorenzo smiled then. Beautiful enough to ruin lives. “I know that too.”
And still yet you tilted your head back when he kissed you.
Your hands still clutched at him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
By the time you realised what had happened, Lorenzo Berkshire had threaded himself through every part of your life so completely that removing him would’ve meant tearing pieces of yourself out with him.
Your habits.
Your comfort.
Your safety.
Your sleep.
Your peace.
Him.
Always him.
The kiss turned deeper slowly. Possessive. Not rushed. Certain.
Like Lorenzo had never doubted this ending for a second.
His hand settled against your throat gently enough to make your stomach twist.
When he finally pulled back, his eyes lingered on your face like he was memorising the sight of surrender.
“Mine,” he murmured softly.
The word hit harder than it should’ve. Like he’d been waiting for you this entire time.
Like this version of you: exhausted, dependent, wrapped willingly in his hands, was the one he’d wanted all along.
Outside, thunder rolled across the castle.
Inside, Lorenzo pulled you against him until there wasn’t space left between your bodies at all.
He stayed close, too close for anything to feel ordinary anymore. Until the world outside the room seemed irrelevant, distant, like it belonged to someone else entirely. His arms tightened around you in a way that wasn’t rushed or uncertain, but deliberate, steady, as if he’d decided there was no reason to ever let go again.
He guided you down fully on the bed with him still holding you, the movement careful and unhurried. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, but he didn’t create space between you, not even to settle properly. Instead, he adjusted so you were drawn into the curve of his body, his chest pressed to yours, one arm braced beside you while the other stayed wrapped around your back like a shield.
When he kissed you again, it was slower this time. Deeper in feeling, not in urgency. Like he was memorising the exact shape of the moment. His fingers tightened briefly at your shoulder as if grounding himself there, keeping you close enough that nothing could interrupt it.
And when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to. It was because he had to, his breath uneven, his forehead hovering just near yours, as though even a fraction of distance felt wrong now. He didn’t move away. He simply stayed there, caging you gently between his arms, his presence warm and unwavering, like he’d decided without words that this was where he belonged.
Safe.
Trapped. Kept.
Loved.
His mouth brushed your temple gently. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore,” he whispered.
And the horrible thing, the truly horrible thing, was that you believed him.
Reqs open.
Reblogs help more people find the story, comments help me survive writing it.
Was going for something different to my usual style of writing for this one.
Just wanted to start off by saying I love your writing and hope you're doing well! Also no pressure to write this fic!
I was wondering if you could do a fic where mattheo has a hufflepuff!sibling and no one really knows that they're related and when everyone finds out they're all like "WHAT!?!"
Summary ; No one knew you were Mattheo Riddle’s sibling until he accidentally revealed it at breakfast. The entire school was shocked, with Pansy furious, Theo pointing out Mattheo’s protectiveness, and the professors struggling to restore order. Mattheo, however, found the chaos amusing while you were absolutely done with him.
A/N ; this was so funny in my head, enjoy :3
Warnings ; none
Word count ; 3.4k+
If there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was the fact that no one at Hogwarts knew you were Mattheo Riddle’s sibling.
You had spent years ensuring it stayed that way. It wasn’t that you were ashamed—well, maybe a little—but Mattheo had a reputation. The fights, the detentions, the way he and his Slytherin friends ruled the school like they were untouchable. Meanwhile, you were… well, you. A Hufflepuff through and through, more interested in helping first-years find their way around than getting into fights in the Astronomy Tower.
It wasn’t like you and Mattheo hated each other either. In fact, in private, you got along pretty well. He was protective in the way older brothers were, making sure no one messed with you while also respecting your need for space. It was an unspoken agreement—he did his thing, you did yours, and no one at Hogwarts needed to know you shared blood.
At least, that was the plan.
You remembered the first time you arrived at Hogwarts, sitting in the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat was placed on your head. You’d felt Mattheo’s eyes burning into you from the Slytherin table, silently willing you to join him. But when the hat cheerfully announced, "Hufflepuff!", the look on his face had been nothing short of hilarious.
Later that night, he had pulled you aside.
“Hufflepuff? Seriously?” he had asked, arms crossed.
You had shrugged. “What’s wrong with Hufflepuff?”
Mattheo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not wrong, it’s just… unexpected.”
That was the first and last time you discussed it. From then on, it was an unspoken rule: in public, you weren’t related. You didn’t acknowledge each other unless necessary, and no one questioned it because—well, who would suspect that the hotheaded, sharp-tongued Slytherin had a sibling as patient and kind as you?
Sure, there had been close calls. That one time in your second year when Mattheo had hexed a Ravenclaw who had insulted you, or the time in fourth year when you’d patched him up after he got into a fight, and Theo Nott had almost walked in on you both.
But for five years, the secret had held.
Until today.
──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────
It started at breakfast.
You were sitting with your usual group of Hufflepuffs, laughing about something Cedric Diggory had said, when a commotion at the Slytherin table caught your attention.
Mattheo was on his feet, eyes burning with fury as he grabbed a younger Slytherin by the collar.
“You think you can just talk about my family like that?” Mattheo growled, his voice carrying across the Great Hall.
The younger student stammered, clearly regretting whatever words had left his mouth. The entire room was now watching, intrigued by the outburst.
“Mattheo,” Draco muttered, placing a hand on his friend’s arm. “Let it go.”
Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but after a moment, he shoved the kid back into his seat. The tension slowly dissipated as people turned back to their breakfasts, whispering about what had just happened.
You, however, had frozen mid-bite.
He said ‘my family.’
You had a very, very bad feeling about this.
But maybe—just maybe—people wouldn’t notice. Maybe they’d assume he was talking about his parents, or some long-lost relative, or something entirely unrelated to you. You glanced around, scanning the students at your table. No one was looking at you weirdly. No one seemed to have connected the dots.
Yet.
“Damn,” one of your housemates muttered, eyes still flickering toward the Slytherin table. “Mattheo’s really got a temper.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” another Hufflepuff snorted. “I swear, that guy wakes up angry.”
“Did you hear what that kid said to him?” a third chimed in. “It must’ve been bad for him to go off like that.”
You kept your head down, focusing on your toast. Maybe if you acted normal, no one would—
“So,” Cedric’s voice broke through your thoughts, too casual for your liking, “who do you think Mattheo meant by ‘my family’?”
Your hand twitched.
“Probably his parents,” one of the Hufflepuff girls replied. “Everyone knows his dad’s—you know.”
You risked a glance toward the Slytherin table. Mattheo was still standing, breathing heavily, eyes flickering toward you for a split second before looking away.
He knew what he’d done.
You wanted to strangle him.
Cedric hummed, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, maybe. Or…” His gaze slid toward you, sharp and calculating. “Could be someone else.”
You gave him your best blank stare. “Why are you looking at me?”
“I don’t know,” Cedric said, smiling like he absolutely did know. “You just look suspicious.”
“I always look suspicious.”
“That’s true,” another Hufflepuff agreed, nodding. “You’ve got a very ‘secret double life’ kind of face.”
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Is it, though?” Cedric grinned. “Because I think Mattheo just gave us something very interesting to think about.”
You groaned, shoving the rest of your toast into your mouth before standing up. “I’m leaving.”
“See?” Cedric laughed. “Suspicious behavior.”
You ignored him, walking as fast as you could out of the Great Hall.
──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────
You were proven right about an hour later when you were leaving Charms and found yourself cornered by a group of curious Gryffindors.
Seamus Finnigan was the first to speak, eyes wide with disbelief. “Oi, Y/N, is it true?”
You blinked. “Is what true?”
Dean Thomas scoffed. “Oh, come on, don’t play dumb. We all heard Mattheo this morning.”
Your stomach dropped. “Uh…”
“Are you actually related to Mattheo Riddle?” Lavender Brown cut in, looking positively giddy.
You forced a nervous laugh. “You know, I suddenly remembered that I—uh—left my Potions essay in the common room. Gotta go—”
Before you could take a single step, Seamus grabbed your arm. “Oh no, you don’t! We need answers.”
Damn it.
You tried to keep a neutral expression. “Look, I don’t know where you’re getting these ridiculous ideas, but—”
“Mattheo literally said ‘my family,’” Dean interrupted. “And unless he considers some first-year a long-lost cousin, we can put two and two together.”
You swallowed hard. “I mean… family is a broad term, you know? Found family, distant family, metaphorical family—”
“Oh my Merlin,” Lavender gasped dramatically. “IT’S TRUE, ISN’T IT?”
“NO!” you said way too quickly. “I mean—no, as in, I really have to be somewhere. Right now. Urgent meeting. Important business. Secret mission. Goodbye!”
And before anyone could stop you, you spun on your heel and bolted down the corridor.
“GET BACK HERE!” Seamus yelled, but you didn’t dare slow down.
You turned a corner sharply, nearly knocking over a group of Ravenclaws.
“Hey, watch it—oh, wait, Y/N!” Anthony Goldstein called out. “You’re Mattheo Riddle’s sibling?!”
You let out a strangled noise that wasn’t quite a yes or a no and kept running.
You thought you were in the clear until you ran straight into Cedric near the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.
“Whoa, slow down there!” Cedric steadied you, his eyebrows raised. “Where’s the fire?”
“No time—gotta go—” you huffed, trying to sidestep him.
Cedric squinted at you, then tilted his head. “Wait a second. Are the rumors true? About you and Mattheo?”
Your eyes darted around, searching for an escape. “What rumors? Who said that? I mean, what’s a rumor, really? A social construct? A—LOOK OVER THERE!”
You pointed dramatically in a random direction.
Cedric, being the nice, trusting Hufflepuff that he was, actually turned to look.
And you took off.
“Y/N!” Cedric called after you, but you were already sprinting toward the Grand Staircase.
You were nearly home free until—
“Y/N!”
Oh, for the love of—
You skidded to a stop as none other than Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini stepped in front of you, blocking your path.
“I thought I saw you running around like a lunatic,” Theodore drawled, looking mildly amused. “Tell me, why exactly is the entire school suddenly interested in you?”
Blaise crossed his arms. “Yeah, and why did I just hear a fourth-year say that Mattheo Riddle has a secret Hufflepuff sibling?”
Your face twitched. “...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Blaise raised an eyebrow.
Theodore smirked. “You’re a terrible liar, Y/N.”
You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I hate this school.”
“Mm,” Blaise hummed. “That doesn’t answer the question, though.”
“I—uh—have to get to class.”
Theodore deadpanned. “It’s lunchtime.”
Damn it.
“Uh—detention?” you tried.
Blaise smirked. “With who?”
“Uh… Snape?”
Theodore chuckled. “Snape’s in his office right now. I just saw him.”
“I have to go… feed my bunny?”
“You don’t have an bunny.” Blaise pointed out.
You groaned. “FORGET IT, I’M LEAVING.”
You tried to run, but Theodore casually stuck out a foot and tripped you. You stumbled forward, cursing under your breath.
“Okay, okay!” you snapped, regaining your balance. “I just don’t want to talk about it, alright?”
Theodore and Blaise exchanged glances before Theodore shrugged. “Fair enough. But you do know Mattheo’s going to get an earful from us, right?”
You just groaned and stormed away from the duo.
Mattheo was gonna get a piece of your mind.
──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────
By lunch, it felt like the entire school was staring at you.
Whispers followed you down the corridors, louder than usual, and students weren’t even trying to be subtle about it anymore.
“There’s no way—”
“A Riddle? In Hufflepuff? HOW?”
“Are they, like, adopted?”
“Maybe they were switched at birth.”
“WAIT. Maybe they’re, like, some undercover assassin for the Dark Lord.”
You groaned, pressing your fingers against your temples. It was getting worse.
After what felt like an eternity of being gawked at like some zoo animal, you finally found Mattheo leaning against a pillar in the courtyard, looking far too smug for someone who had just single-handedly ruined your peaceful existence.
“You absolute buffoon.” You stomped toward him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you know what you’ve done?”
Mattheo blinked innocently. “Me? Whatever do you mean?”
You gaped at him. “WHATEVER DO YOU MEAN?! THE WHOLE SCHOOL KNOWS, YOU MENACE. I CAN’T WALK TEN STEPS WITHOUT SOMEONE POINTING AT ME LIKE I’M A DAMN RARE CREATURE.”
He smirked. “Well, technically, you are rare. A Hufflepuff Riddle? That’s practically an anomaly.”
You threw your hands in the air dramatically. “I LIKED NOT BEING ASSOCIATED WITH YOU.”
Mattheo clutched his chest in mock heartbreak. “That wounds me, dearest sibling. Truly.”
You ignored his theatrics. “No, seriously, do you understand what you’ve done? I’ve spent years—YEARS—building a life here where I wasn’t known as Mattheo Riddle’s poor, unfortunate sibling, and you ruined it in under five seconds.”
Mattheo hummed, tilting his head. “Five seconds is quite impressive, really.”
You groaned, pacing in front of him. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Nooo,” he drawled, grinning. “You love me. I’m your amazing, handsome, overprotective, wonderful older brother, and you’re honored to be related to me.”
You inhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temples. “I’m going to commit a crime.”
Mattheo patted your head patronizingly. “Aw, you’re so cute when you’re mad.”
Before you could bite back a snarky response, a group of Ravenclaw students walked by, eyes narrowing in suspicion as they caught sight of you and Mattheo interacting.
“Wait a second,” one of them muttered, nudging their friend. “Are they actually—like, actually—siblings?”
The other student squinted. “There’s no way.”
A Gryffindor passing by heard this and immediately gasped. “Holy shit. They do look kind of alike. What if it’s true?”
“Shhh,” another hissed. “They’ll hear you.”
You plastered on the most forced, awkward smile in history and turned toward the suspicious group.
“Ha! Siblings? Us? What a—what a funny thought,” you said, voice unnaturally high. “Haha. Me and Mattheo Riddle? Pfft. Noooo. That’s crazy. What a—what a wild conspiracy theory. You guys should—uh—write a book about it. Haha.”
The Ravenclaws did not look convinced.
Mattheo, for his part, simply rolled his eyes at you, looking absolutely done with your existence.
“Real subtle,” he muttered under his breath.
You shot him a glare before turning back to the growing audience. “Uh—anyway! Gotta go! I left a—a cauldron burning in the potions classroom! Haha. Silly me!”
Then, grabbing Mattheo by the sleeve, you yanked him out of the courtyard before you could humiliate yourself further.
Once you were safely out of earshot, you whirled on him.
“DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS?! NOW I HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR STUPID FRIENDS, AND THE GOSSIP, AND PEOPLE QUESTIONING MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE. IT’S GOING TO TAKE YEARS TO REPAIR THE DAMAGE YOU’VE DONE.”
Mattheo shrugged. “Or you could just embrace it.”
“Embrace it?” You let out a near-hysterical laugh. “EMBRACE IT?! DO I LOOK LIKE I WANT TO BE A PART OF WHATEVER THIS IS?” You waved vaguely in his direction.
“Come on, it’s not so bad,” he said, still entirely too relaxed.
You gasped dramatically. “NOT SO BAD?! WAIT TILL MUM AND DAD HEARS ABOUT THIS.”
For the first time, Mattheo’s smirk faltered.
“You wouldn’t.”
You grinned, hands on your hips. “Oh, I would. And I will. And do you know what’s going to happen? Mum’s going to lecture you for hours about how you should respect my privacy, and then Dad’s going to give you that look—you know the one—and you’re going to feel so guilty that you’ll regret ever opening your stupid mouth at breakfast today.”
Mattheo narrowed his eyes. “You fight dirty.”
You smirked. “I learned from the best.”
For a second, he studied you, weighing his options. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he held up his hands in surrender.
“Fine, fine,” he muttered. “I’ll try to make this whole thing less of a big deal.”
You eyed him suspiciously. “Define ‘less of a big deal."
“I’ll stop actively encouraging the chaos.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “That’s not nearly enough.”
“It’s the best you’re going to get.”
You groaned. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes. I do.”
“Nooo,” he said, ruffling your hair. “You loooove me.”
You batted his hand away, grumbling as he laughed.
The damage was already done, and you had no doubt that Hogwarts would still be reeling for weeks, but if nothing else, you had successfully put the fear of mum and dad into Mattheo.
And that, at least, was a small victory.
──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────
You should have known walking into the Great Hall with Mattheo was a mistake.
The second the two of you stepped through the doors—side by side, clearly together—the entire room went silent. Forks clattered, conversations died, and then—
“YOU’RE RELATED TO MATTHEO RIDDLE?!”
The voice echoed through the hall like someone had just announced Voldemort’s return.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you muttered under your breath.
Suddenly, people were standing up, pointing at you like you were some newly discovered magical creature.
“No way!” a Gryffindor shouted.
“A Hufflepuff? A HUFFLEPUFF?” another voice shrieked from the Ravenclaw table.
“Wait, wait—how do we know this isn’t some elaborate prank?” Ernie Macmillan questioned, looking genuinely disturbed.
Across the room, the Gryffindor table was in utter chaos.
“Wait—hold on—WHAT?!” Ron Weasley nearly choked on his pumpkin juice, eyes bulging as he looked between you and Mattheo.
Harry Potter looked equally stunned, glasses slipping down his nose. “No—no way. You’re joking, right?”
Hermione Granger, for the first time in probably ever, was speechless. “This… this can’t be right,” she said, shaking her head as if that would make reality change. “There’s no way—”
“OH MY GOD, IT’S TRUE.” Ron grabbed Harry’s arm, gasping dramatically. “This is the biggest plot twist since we found out Scabbers was a middle-aged man.”
Pansy was the first to react from the Slytherin table, standing up so fast her goblet nearly toppled over. “MATTY, WHAT THE FUCK?” she screeched, rounding on Mattheo, who—shockingly—looked completely at ease, casually biting into an apple like this wasn’t the most shocking revelation since Dumbledore’s questionable sock obsession.
Mattheo merely raised a brow at her outburst. “What?”
Pansy gawked at him. “You—you—you’re telling me that for years, you’ve had a sibling at this school and you just forgot to mention it?”
Mattheo shrugged. “Didn’t forget. Just didn’t care to share.”
Pansy’s shriek of rage was so high-pitched that even the ghosts looked unsettled. “DIDN’T CARE TO SHARE?!”
Blaise was watching the chaos unfold with a smirk, lazily sipping his pumpkin juice. “This is hilarious.”
Draco, on the other hand, was rubbing his temples like he was getting a migraine. “Mattheo, why?”
“Why what?” Mattheo replied, unbothered. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?”
Lorenzo Berkshire repeated, eyes flickering between you and Mattheo. “You’ve been throwing punches at anyone who so much as looked at them funny, and you thought that wouldn’t raise questions?”
“I thought it was obvious,” Mattheo said.
You threw your hands up. “OBVIOUS?! OBVIOUS?! MATTY, I HAVE SPENT YEARS MAKING SURE NO ONE KNEW, AND YOU BLEW IT IN TEN SECONDS OVER BREAKFAST!”
Mattheo snorted, completely unapologetic. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually.”
“Oh my God, I want to strangle you.”
“Sibling love,” he said smugly, tossing an arm around your shoulders.
The Great Hall exploded again.
“You two actually act like siblings—”
“How did we not see this?!”
“I feel like I’m living in an alternate universe,” muttered a Ravenclaw.
Across the room, Neville Longbottom was sitting completely frozen, still holding his fork mid-air. “I think I need to sit down.”
“You’re already sitting,” Seamus pointed out.
“Then I need to lie down.”
Dean looked at you, utterly baffled. “You mean to tell me that Hogwarts’ most violent menace has been related to the softest, most polite Hufflepuff this entire time?”
Mattheo scoffed. “Oi, don’t act like they’re innocent.” He turned to you. “Tell them about the time you hexed that fifth-year for insulting your friend.”
The entire Hufflepuff table gasped in betrayal.
“You WHAT?” Susan Bones shrieked, looking at you like you’d just confessed to murder.
You groaned. “Mattheo, shut up.”
Pansy still wasn’t over the betrayal. “I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU KEPT THIS FROM ME.”
“Why do you care so much?” Mattheo asked, unimpressed.
“BECAUSE I TELL YOU EVERYTHING, YOU ARSE.”
The professors were desperately trying to regain order, but it was not working. Even McGonagall looked exasperated, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was debating retirement.
Dumbledore, meanwhile, was chuckling into his goblet like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen in years.
Mattheo turned to you with an amused grin. “Well, now they know.”
You stared at him, seething. “You are the worst.”
He smirked. “Love you too, little sibling.”
──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────
By the time lunch was over, you were exhausted. The whispers, the stares, the relentless questioning—it was too much. You barely managed to escape the Great Hall before someone else could interrogate you.
Unfortunately, your luck didn’t last long.
Before you could get far, a firm arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a familiar warmth.
“For a Hufflepuff,” Cedric Diggory murmured next to your ear, his voice dripping with amusement, “you really had a dramatic reveal.”
You groaned. “Oh, not you too.”
Cedric grinned, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Come on, how could I not comment? The Great Hall was in shambles. I think I saw a first-year question their entire existence.”
You sighed, leaning into him slightly for comfort. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“Oh?” Cedric raised a brow. “So you were planning to tell me at some point?”
“...No.”
He laughed, the sound vibrating against you. “Figured.” Then, in a much more mischievous tone, he added, “At least now we know why Mattheo always looked ready to hex me whenever I flirted with you.”
You stiffened.
Wait.
What?
Cedric pulled back slightly, watching as your brain short-circuited. “Oh? You didn’t know?”
You stared at him in horror. “Cedric. What the hell are you talking about?"
Cedric just smirked. “Mattheo glares a lot, but I always wondered why his hexing hand twitched whenever I got too close to you.”
Your soul left your body.
“Diggory,” you said slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. “How many times have you flirted with me in front of Mattheo?”
He hummed, pretending to think. “Dunno. Ten? Twenty? Maybe more?”
You buried your face on Cedric's shoulder. “Oh my God.”
Cedric chuckled, giving your waist one last playful squeeze before finally stepping away. “You should probably talk to him before he decides to challenge me to a duel.”
“Cedric,” you groaned, already feeling a headache coming.
But Cedric just winked and strolled off like he hadn’t just shattered your entire existence.
Meanwhile, across the courtyard, Mattheo was watching.
And judging by the way his jaw clenched when Cedric touched you, you were about to have a very long conversation with your brother.
Idk Mattheos actual height but let's imagine he's really tall here ✨ I hope you'll like it 👐
Mattheo is obsessed with the way his body is towering over yours. He has found himself thinking of how you'd perfectly fit in his arms many times and he can't help but feel his whole body getting hot at the very thought. From the very first moment Theodore introduced you to their group, he was instantly besotted. He was entirely mesmerized by you.
Every time you wanted to grab something that was out of your reach, he was standing closely behind you just to help you, but in reality all he wanted was to feel your small frame against his. And when you look up at him all puppy-eyed, with those eyes, he knew he was down bad already. And he knew he had fallen deeply for you.
He loved teasing you cause your reactions to his teasing were absolutely worthwhile. Seeing your flustered face was something he adored.
-
"How you're doing shorty?" He said in his baritone voice and it took everything in you not to punch the smugness off of his face.
"Stop calling me shorty" you tried look mad and scary with your angry expression but Mattheo wanted to just grab your face and kiss the shit out of you.
"Ok then how about...pixie-"
"NO!" You exclaimed and walked away from him, not being able to stay any longer around his presence but one thing you didn't notice, was Mattheo laughing quietly behind you because he found your walk absolutely adorable.
-
When he gets to hug you, that's when he feels like his heart will burst out. It's the way you snuggle your head in his chest, the way your arms are wrapped around his waist, and the warmth that instantly engulfing him when he feels your heart beating against him. Everything about this feeling is perfect. You just fitted perfectly.
-
His most fave thing about your height difference, is when you tip toe every time you want to kiss him. He's just standing there, the corner of his lips curving upwards displaying a cheeky smile on his face as he watches you struggling while you're trying to give him a kiss.
"You know you can lean down a bit right? I can't do all the work here" you frowned as you looked up at him. He pinched you cheek softly and traced his thumb in soft circles there.
"Yeah but you have no idea how adorable you l- ouch!" You slapped his hand.
"Now, don't make me bend your head down here by force"
"I would gladly let you love" he chuckled and you smirked as you placed your forehead on your palm, sighing.
"Enough with the teasing Riddle, now kiss me" you looked up again, waiting for his lips to finally crush on yours. He felt his heart pounding like crazy against his chest.
He laughed and instead of leaning his head down, he crouched down and scooped you up into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist and he placed one hand under your thigh and the other around your waist. Kissing you was earth-shattering. The fieeling of your soft lips locking with his, was something he has been craving for so long.
Once you pulled away, you expected him to put you down but he still held you tight against him.
"Will you put me down now?" You tried to fight back a smile as you felt his hold becoming a bit tighter, his locked on you the whole time.
"Nope, I love having you like this love" he murmured against your lips and you giggled as you once again captured your lips together in a kiss which caused your eyes to flutter close and enjoy the feeling.
