✧[Summary]✧ You have an enormous crush on Mattheo Riddle. Although, you're way too busy pushing your nose into books and being an angel for such a popular guy to look your way. That never stopped you though, your little 'harmless' ways to stalk him around hogwarts has gotten way more ridiculous than ever, as if your eyes lingering on him for way too long wasn't enough. But as time passes by, you slowly notice his figure disappearing within your sight. That's when you realize.. With how frequent you observe his presence in front of you, you never acknowledged watching behind you.
✧[Content]✧ Mature Content, nerd!reader, stalker!reader, fem!reader, stalker!mattheo, obsessive!mattheo, jealous!mattheo, pervert!mattheo, size difference, masturbation, oral sex, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, praising, swearing, teasing, smut with plot, no use of y/n, mattheo loves to tease you because you're always such a goody two shoes, but little does he know what he's about to find out..
✧[A/N]✧ Y'all need to speak up my inbox feeling real lonely 😔 Anyways, my second fic with a different guest, I hope it hits all the right buttons in your complicated brains. Luvlubs, cherubs!
✧[WC]✧ 4.4k
"He looks so ethereal." A random girl practically moaned out 'whispering' to her friends in the quiet library while pointing a long manicured nail at Mattheo Riddle leaning at a bookshelf laughing with his friends. Fuck these girls, why is he so damn popular?
Not that you don't agree with them. Ethereal? Hell yeah he is. He was carved by the finest sculptor of all time, it seems. His effect being on level with the past, present, and future. The image of him lingering with failed restraint and the presence of his name fluttering your heart, but the thoughts of Riddle scattering the inner walls of your brain was expertly masked by a sharp minded perfectionist every academic achiever fears.
Ironed uniform, ends of the white button up neatly tucked underneath your dark pleated skirt, tie securely wrapped below the collar, black robes folded somewhere in your dorm—the summer heat really got to every student, including him, seeing as you weren't the only one without it. Riddle had his black robes off long before he strode in the library—the fabric hanging on his shoulder. His tie loose, top few buttons were undone, shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, both hands in his pockets, looking fine as ever.
You didn't bother to lower your shameless stare as you sat a few tables before him, books stacked left and right, a couple laid opened in front. To be fair, you were actually studying, but that was until he had to disturb your peaceful study session and decided to walk in. Why is he here anyway? Especially around this hour when he just chatters and jokes around with his group of friends. The hallways are dead silent, why not be there like he always does?
Whatever—you study at this specific table daily right after classes, surely it's fine if you finish a little early and take a break. And when you mean break, you mean staring a little more. You know his whole week schedule like the back of your hand, as if it was yours, but lately he's been missing a few classes, rarely shows up at the great hall to eat, and doesn't go on little smoking trips at night that much anymore. You hate how you notice—it's ridiculous. Your eyes trail as he takes a look at the expensive watch wrapped around his wrist and exits the room—perfect. The clock near the doorway signals that it was time for his quidditch practice (and when your study session ends).
When you arrive at the quidditch stands, there's no greater thing to have than a good guy friend that plays quidditch in the same team as Riddle—Graham Montague, whom you were partnered with once in class. Which also meant you get to watch them especially Riddle every single practice at fridays. It was known by everyone that Graham obviously had interest in you, but being too much of a 'goody two shoes', you were too oblivious to see and ended up pushing him into friend zone more than a couple of times. He was a known heart breaker anyways, he doesn't have any right to deserve you in any way, but you were always too nice to everybody, unknowingly spiked his hopes up with your kindness.
You sat with a book and two water bottles beside you—one for you and one for Graham. He always insists you bring it to him after the practice, but you bring it during just in case anyway. Being the good friend that you are, you occasionally give the sweetest smile man has seen and wave your hands at Graham every time you make eye contact—missing the way Riddle's stare flickering between you and your little friend who is smiling back a little too happily for his liking. His glare was firm, yet behind it, he couldn't hide the jealous storm rumbling within.
"Montague!" He yelled out from a distance, broom flying closer—your eyes switch from Graham's to his. "I chose you to be on this team to play, not to magnet attention. Back on track, c'mon." He patted Graham's back, leaving behind slightly before flashing you a grin with teeth before trailing back to the team. Your heart stuttered violently, thankfully you were sitting down because your knees weakened, as if coordination itself abandoned you.
It went on for couple minutes, and while sipping on your water, you couldn't help but glance more than just a few times at Riddle's focused face as they practice. His brows slightly furrowed, sweat slicked skin, and messy hair. You also noticed him being a little rougher when it comes to giving Montague directions.
Right after the last whistle at sunset—which indicates that their time on the pitch was done, you stood up and rushed down the creaky stairs to give Graham his water that was still ice cold (thanks to magic).
"Thanks, I really owe you one." Graham smiles while panting before he chugs his water down in seconds, some dripping on the sides of his mouth to his neck. You respond with a small smile back, "It's no problem really—"
"May I?" Riddle signals to your bottle that's half full, breathing heavily. Your eyes widened slightly, eyebrows lifting. "Uh—sure!" You squeeked out, blood rushing to your face—he thinks it's absolutely adorable.
"Thank you, sweetheart." He grins at your reaction at the nickname—thighs visibly clenched together. He takes it and twists off the bottle cap, the veins in his hands slightly flexing. You gulp as you quietly observe him tilting his head back, adam's apple bobbing as he drinks the given water, your bottle seeming a lot smaller squeezed in his large hand. After he was done, he licked his lips and wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand, handing you back the empty bottle—fingers brushing a little longer than intended.
To be honest, your neck ached a little looking up at him, but anything for that eye contact. His gaze moving up and down to your small frame. "Hey beautiful," Graham jumped in, causing you to take one tiny step backwards. You hummed in response, completely different to how Riddle reacted—his demeanor seemed like he wanted to rip the guy in half—kind of scary, oh well. "Come with me." Graham continued before capturing your wrist and dragging you with him to the changing rooms.
You struggled to keep up with his long strides and was in the process of protesting before you two came to a sudden stop. "Wait for me, okay?" He pants, sitting you down on one of the benches right outside the showers before entering in one of the shower stalls. Oh. It's this again. Dragging you all the way here just to make you wait for him to shower. He only did this once before when Riddle was in detention and couldn't monitor, now twice. You had no clue why, but considering you weren't familiar with his infatuation with you, it was no wonder you keep up with this shit.
He does it so you can see his bare torso, with just a towel wrapped around his waist. It honestly isn't even worth it. It takes him about an hour to shower, probably doing everything but taking a proper shower. Fidgeting with the hem of your skirt and ignoring a few other teammates other than Riddle roaming around, half an hour passed—only Graham's shower stall still running water. You hear a snicker and looked up, seeing Riddle leaning against the doorway. Shirtless. He only had a pair of grey sweatpants on, hanging low right where his v line ends, hair still damp from showering. Muscles flexed as his arms were crossed. Your cheeks burned at the way his eyes playfully narrowed at you as he caught your eyes wandering a little too low—he didn't mind at all.
He stepped closer, leaning down until you could feel his minty breath on your face. You tried to scoot backwards in your seat—heart beating faster when your back meets the wall and his face gets even more closer. Just when he's only centimeters away is when he stays still—eyes forcefully burning into yours, down all the way to your thighs that are clenched shut, then back to your flushed face, to which you can see that his pupils had dilated.
"What's a such good girl like you doing in the men's changing rooms, hm?" He spoke lowly, but clear enough so you could hear. You parted your lips to respond, but he cut you off, "Or maybe you're troublesome unlike what everyone portrays you to be." He teases, smirking.
"I'm just waiting for Graham." You huff, voice betraying strength. "Well, Graham can wait for himself." He knew Montague's tricks all too well—it wasn't the first time he's used it on someone. He softly grabbed your wrist, bringing you outside.
As soon as your face hit fresh night air, you sighed, relieved. "See what I mean?" He chuckles softly, "Montague isn't worth your time."
You give him a cheeky smile—cute. Moments of comfortable silence and occasional jokes and giggles passed before you both hear Montague's distant voice.
"Guys?"
⏤͟͟͞͞☆
After you both separated at the dorms, offering each other goodnights and doing your before sleep routine, your mind went crazy and your heart threatened to jump out of your chest as soon as your back hit the bed. Although your brain is absolutely about to burst out of excitement, your body can't help but slump against the bed as it's exhausted. It's Friday, understandable. You flutter your eyes closed, sending you to dream world where all dreams happen.
Next thing you know it's morning. Despite it being summer, you've been met with the very cold morning breeze. Rubbing your eyes, it regains focus specifically on a window that's ajar. So that's where the cold wind came from. You stretch for a good second before standing up to shut the window properly—your owl out of sight, it probably escaped, wasn't the first time that happened. Checking the small clock on your nightstand, you should probably dress for—
Oh.
It's Saturday. Damn it. Whatever, you always go to hogsmeade on Saturdays anyway. Whether its to buy clothes, food, read books on a really cold or really hot metal bench, or just walk around, it's basically a part of your weekly shit.
Rummaging through your clothes, you couldn't find single pair of one of your favorite underwear. You swear the number of it is decreasing by day. Finally deciding on a good pair with decent clothes, you took a quick shower, brushed your teeth, changed, and went out for breakfast.
As you passed by the great hall doors, you took some steps back for a sneak peek to check if Riddle was at breakfast.
Dang it—he's not there.
You wonder where he might be during his times of disappearing. Actually, you didn't have to as you walk in a straight line to smash your face right against his chest—thump!
You almost fell, but the image of embarrassing yourself this early in the morning makes you mentally retort and immediately take small steps backwards to balance.
"Looking for someone?" Riddle smirks down at you, "You should at least know by now that Montague sleeps in at Saturday breakfast, no?" His smirk fades away, blinking when he realized that you were probably checking up on your friend after leaving him unresponded yesterday.
"I wasn't—" You closed your lips shut, if you had said that you were totally not peeking through to check up on Graham, all your efforts of being 'sneaky' down the drain. "Mhm, yeah right." Riddle mutters and walks right past you like he never said a word.
What's his problem?
One minute he's taking long heavy strides down the halls, then leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette. He stills for a bit, thinking, you were on your way to hogsmeade by now. Maybe if he runs fast enough he could catch up like he always failed to do.
He shakes his head as if saying no to the voices in his mind. He thinks it's ridiculous, but really he shouldn't be saying anything when he stole a handful of underwear right next to your sleeping self and shoved it down his pockets last night. He shuts his eyes at the thought. He should really give those back, but he didn't—actually he found doing that pathetic, you're not getting those back.
He couldn't care less as he jerked himself off with it. He was absolutely fond of the idea of your underwear covering your cunt all day, the way the fabric fits in all the right places. His dirty fantasies doesn't stop there. Just a glimpse of your big curious eyes looking up at him has him crazily aroused. Oh and that smart mouth of yours has him wondering what other stuff it can do other than speak about complicated potion recipes, how warm your soft lips probably feels when it wraps around his—okay maybe he should stop there. He snaps himself awake from his little imaginations and walks straight to his dorm before he gets caught red handed with a boner.
Later that evening you had a hard time sleeping than usual. Just flipping and tossing around in your bed, eventually giving up and laying limp with your eyes focused on the ceiling. Tomorrow's Sunday, then after that it's Monday, then Tues—ugh—time flies fast. Since sleep neglected you now, you reach out deep into your thoughts looking for something that might help the boredom.
Ah, perfect—Mattheo Riddle.
You remember the way he stared in a specific way at you in potions, the way you made eye contact with him during his practices, the way his veiny hands were buckling his belt when you were peeking in his window while he was getting ready for school, the way his face was so close to yours yesterday at the shower rooms—what if you just leaned in?
His soft lips against yours, that would've felt heavenly. You sigh, this wasn't really the worst thing you've done, so why not? You decide as your hand reaches down to your clothed heat and pressing down on the sensitive area.
You push off your shorts and panties in one go, fingers dragging the dripping arousal right on your little bundle of nerves. Hair disheveled, eyes closed, lips parted as soft moans and whimpers escape, your fingers deliberately circling on your clit. Despite your perverse doings, you looked like a fucking angel.
That's exactly what Riddle thinks—as he shamelessly watches you masturbate and occasionally whisper moan his name through that same window he came in and out of last night.
Fucking hell—his mouth literally waters at the sight. He never knew such a sweetheart like you could ever be touching herself to someone that he thought you had no interest in.
Such a naughty girl, fuck—the way you squirm under your own touch. Such a cute little pussy too, just like how he imagined. Who knew his night could turn around like this just because he wanted to return your stolen underwear while you were—what he thought was sleeping.
As much as how badly he wanted to climb in and help, knowing he's exactly your target, it was wrong of him to do so. That doesn't mean it won't happen, now that he found this little secret of yours, it won't be the last time he gets to see you like this.
While your eyes were shut, desperate to chase that coiling feeling at the pit of your core, Riddle took a ripped piece of paper from your desk with the use of magic and burnt it with the tip of his wand to write on it. With a precise flick of his wand, the stolen relic was returned, neatly placed on your bedside drawer along with the paper.
Although his initial task was done, he didn't leave. From all the way over here, he could tell you were close. He also wishes you would call him Mattheo more often. Maybe then he'll remember this valuable piece of memory as if he would ever forget about it.
Staring intently into your fingers that had graduately sped up, he keeps on watching until at you reach your high and at the brink of gaining consciousness, he's already walking outside like he never passed by.
Fluttering your eyes open and breathing heavily, you cleaned yourself up in the bathroom and came back with a lingering sense that something changed.
Gaze darting across the room until it lands sharply on the bedside drawer. Isn't that your underwear?
How considerate—Riddle had the courage to give you one of the four panties that he stole.
"Where have you been hiding, hm?" You inspect the garment, it seems clean. As you picked it up, something slipped from the drawer and onto the floor. A paper. You picked it up.
Troublesome and naughty too? Who would've thought..? Other than me ;)
Oh fuck.
You read it for about a hundred times before throwing it across the room. You lay slump on your bed, palms covering your eyes. You just wanna fucking sleep, but how can you do that when you know there was definitely someone that saw you masturbating to someone you definitely shouldn't have been masturbating to?
Whatever this shit was, it was a dream. Yeah, a dream.
...
Please fucking wake up right now.
You didn't wake up.
Fuck fuckity fuck.
You curled up in a ball and hid under the covers. Eventually you did fell asleep, but not without having to stress yourself to death. Whoever saw you did what you did, you'll deal with it tomorrow.
Minutes later.. You found yourself wide awake under the moon. Staring at the ceiling. Troublesome? Sounds quite familiar, no? There was only one person who could've gave you that paper—and the missing underwear.
Mattheo fuckass Riddle.
What in the actual fuck was he doing in your room? And more importantly, why the fuck did he steal your stuff? Your heart thumping, you soon realized that you eventually have to confront him, now that he knows it's his name you're moaning when you touch yourself.
But at the same time, it kind of excites you. He literally stole your undergarment(s). What else did he do with them?
Only one way to find out.
After getting ready and changing into appropriate (or not) clothes, you hesitantly went down to the corridor leading straight into an ongoing party, if there was one thing to know about Riddle, it's that he never misses one.
Music blaring in your ears as you enter, glancing from person to person right until one of those eyes were staring right back at you. He gets closer till he was standing in front of you, ears blurred out the music, filling it with the quickening beat of your heart.
"That was you?" Your voice confronting, yet weak as he stepped even closer. He narrows at you, "Knew you're a smart girl, wasn't expecting you to figure it out so easily, huh?" He thinks for a bit, "Don't you think you shouldn't be the only one doing the confronting?" He smirks.
"Riddle." You gulp while looking up at him.
"It's Mattheo." He counters.
"Mattheo." You respond, the name tastes familiar on your tongue, but you never used it to actually address him.
His vision lowered down to your attire. You didn't think much of it as it was rushed, but clearly it made him think a lot more than just a short dress that barely covers anything. You never wore it out before, oh but it hugged your figure perfectly, showing the flesh of your thighs and cleavage that you swore to cover. He audibly groaned at the sight, hands finding the curve of your waist.
Even with all the bright party lights in his eyes, you knew in that moment, whatever he wanted, his eyes told you it was real.
And then it happened. Before any thought could resurface, before restrained unleashed, his lips found yours.
Raw, aching, and claiming. Both hearts thundered, a kiss that burned and drowned in chaos. It took strength to pull away, even to breathe. And once you did, it left you gasping.
His glare was harmless, but it meant something—desperate. His heavy grip, unfaltering, not ready to let go just yet. But then, he loosened his hold.
Instead, his fingers wrapped around your wrist in one swift move and leads you straight to his dorm. Except, he halted right at the door.
"I want you to tell me you need this as much as I do." He breathes, gaze softening.
"I want you." You didn't hesitate one bit.
His palms slide under your thighs and carries you into his dorm as his lips captures yours once more. You gasp into his mouth in surprise when he closes his door by pinning your back onto it.
Fingers grasping and curling against his scalp earns you a groan into your mouth that sends jolts to your core. His lips fierce, but his fingers were gently as it's securely under your thighs supporting your whole weight. He can feel warmth radiating from your body.
Still deep into the kiss, he walks you over to the bed and sits you on his lap. Removing his shirt, it cuts off the kiss. While your at it, you kneeled down on the ground in level to the unmistakable tent in his pants.
His eyes widened, "Darling, you don't have to—" You cut him off with a peck.
"I want to taste you, please..?" You beg and give your best puppy eyes, though you didn't have to, you on your knees for him was already more enough.
"Fuck, baby.." How could he ever resist you?
You watch him unbuckle his belt in full view, in all honesty, it just makes you pool even more. You impatiently pull down his pants and boxers at the same time.
He chuckles while you gawk at his size before reaching down to the ends of your dress and pulls it off as well, leaving you bare with just in a bra and panties. Slowly, your hand reaches to wrap around his length.
My goodness.
Your thumb does not reach the rest of your fingers around him. You mentally prepare your jaw before spitting to lubricate, then wrapping your warm soft lips around it. He groans, perfect.
You lower at least halfway in and do the rest of the job with your both of your hands.
"So good f'me." He rasps.
He slightly jolts in pleasure and whimpers as you swirl your tongue around his tip before bobbing your head up and down again.
You look up at him while he tilts his head back, eyes shut. He's undeniably close, but he hasn't even fucked you yet. Once you pull away to breathe, he takes his chance and throws you onto the bed.
While kissing and trailing hickeys on your neck, he slides a hand under and unclips your bra. A whine escapes past your lips as he latches a nipple into his mouth, sucking and licking and doing the same to the other.
He gradually moves down while the tip of his nose is firmly dragging tingling sensations all over your lower half. He halts right above your pulsating cunt and takes off the final piece of undergarment.
Your breath hitches as his tongue goes contact to your entrance and drags up to your clit, wasting no time. It was his dirtiest fantasy coming to life. His cock throbbing to replace his tongue, a competition, a test to Mattheo's resistance. Although his greediness won over in an instant, as he already planned out to do both.
The pulsating bud begging for air under his tongue makes him no less hungry. "Mmgh—Mattheo!" Your voice struggling to keep up with how much he's lapping you up.
One last lick before his warm lips suck on your clit. "Oh—shit..!!" You tremble as a tight rope inside you just snapped. Warmth gushing your lower half, Mattheo never stopped.
Your mind burns into flames as your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Hands gripped onto his hair, not knowing whether to pull him closer or push him away. Vision blurring, he eventually stops.
He claims your lips in a kiss and positions his tip right to your soaked entrance, collecting arousal. His head drops to your shoulder, placing light kisses as he sinks in. The stretch burning so satisfyingly.
"So perfect 'round me.." He holds your head to his chest when he bottoms out, groaning.
"Yeah—please, mhhm." You choke out eagerly, your pussy swallowing him whole.
"I know, baby.." He groans, holding his high so he can make you feel good first. The first few thrusts had you moaning so heavenly for him. He wasn't quiet either—moans so pornographic it should be illegal.
Speeding up, his cock flush deep inside, skin slapping. He supports his weight on one arm above your head, the other had a soothing thumb grinding deliciously right on your sensitive clit.
Tears brimmed, you looked at him with all your might. His eyes glued at the way his dick slides in and out of your greedy pussy that's securely around him, then up to your teary eyes.
"Yeah that's it, baby. You're doing so good." He forces his words out of his throat. You cry out his name, his steady pace getting harder each thrust.
The tight rope that broke earlier had tied itself, tighter and tighter, until it snapped, hard. Your walls rippled around him, clenching while your legs quivered.
His thrusts finally had it's moment and stutters. He groans and splutters his warm cum inside you, filling you up to the brim. Panting, he pulls out. In awe of his cum dripping out of your pussy.
"No one else ever gets to see you like this ever again." He was tired, but his words were sharp and sure.
"What does that even mean?" You pout, unsure if he's gonna keep you in the dark to have you to himself or well, nothing else.
"You'll find out."
What have you put yourself into?
Although you can't really hide that a part of you doesn't give a flying shit as long as you're in his hands.
I wonder how Graham would feel after finding out his captain fucked his girl(in reservation) 😛
Work written by me. Some dividers aren't mine and credits go to those who owns them. Please do not copy, translate, or feed my work to AI.
Summary: A bright, stubborn Hufflepuff refuses to stay away from the cold, guarded Mattheo Riddle.
Slow burn. Tension. Hidden softness.
9.9k words sheesh I don’t know when to stop :’)
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The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chaos, owls swooping low over tables, the clatter of silverware, and the low hum of gossip that never quite died down at Hogwarts.
Sunlight filtered through the enchanted ceiling, casting a soft golden glow over the Hufflepuff table where you sat, though your eyes were already drifting toward the Slytherin side.
Mattheo Riddle was there, as always, lounging in his seat like the hall belonged to him.
Dark curls slightly tousled, uniform tie loose in that deliberate way that screamed I don’t give a fuck, and an expression that could freeze fire.
He hadn’t looked your way once. He never did, not really.
You didn’t care.
Grabbing a fresh apple from the bowl, you wove through the crowd with the easy confidence of someone who had done this a hundred times.
A few Hufflepuffs shot you curious glances, saying “again?” but you just smiled brightly and kept going. You weren’t afraid of him. Never had been. There was something beneath that cold exterior, something sharp and broken and real.
“Morning, Mattheo,” you said cheerfully, sliding into the empty seat beside him without waiting for an invitation. You placed the apple in front of him, perfectly polished. “They had the good ones today. Thought you might want it before Theo hogs them all.”
Mattheo didn’t even glance up from his plate. “Didn’t ask for it, Hufflepuff.”
His voice was low, edged with that familiar bite. Sharp tongued as ever.
Around you, his friends, Draco, Blaise, Theo, and Pansy exchanged looks. Theo smirked into his pumpkin juice.
You shrugged, undeterred, and reached for some toast. “You didn’t have to. You skipped dinner yesterday. Figured you might be hungry.”
He finally looked at you then, dark eyes narrowing. “Stalking my eating habits now? Cute.” The sarcasm dripped like venom, but you just beamed at him, biting into your own toast.
Across the table, Pansy snorted. “Merlin, she’s at it again. Give it a rest, sweetheart. He’s not going to suddenly turn into Prince Charming because you bring him fruit.”
“I’m not expecting charming,” you replied lightly, defending yourself with a small laugh. “Just making sure he doesn’t starve while plotting world domination or whatever it is you lot do before Potions.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself. “Bold for a Puff. Most of your house would’ve run by now.”
You met his gaze steadily. “Most of my house doesn’t see the point in running from someone who hasn’t actually done anything to them.” Your eyes flicked back to Mattheo. “Besides, I like sitting here.”
Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He took the apple though after a long pause and bit into it with more force than necessary.
You counted that as a win.
This had become routine. Weeks, maybe months now, of you orbiting him like a persistent moon.
Good mornings in the corridors, even when he responded with nothing but a grunt or a cutting remark about your “annoying cheerfulness.”
Little things: fixing the strap on his bag when it broke during Transfiguration, saving him a seat in the library (which he ignored and sat somewhere else, only for you to move anyway), defending him when some Gryffindor idiot muttered “Death Eater spawn” loud enough for the hall to hear.
His friends had started teasing you mercilessly at first.
“Another lap around the Riddle fan club?” Blaise had drawled one evening in the Slytherin common room after you’d somehow ended up there (Theo had dragged you along, claiming you were “funny” and “harmless”).
“Careful, love,” Pansy had added with a wicked grin. “He bites.”
You’d just shrugged and settled onto the couch like you belonged. “I’m not scared of teeth.”
Over time, the teasing softened. You laughed at their jokes, bantered back, helped Theo with Charms homework, and even managed to get Draco to admit your taste in Quidditch teams wasn’t completely abysmal.
You became part of the group, almost by accident. They got used to your presence. Mattheo… tolerated it.
Or at least, that’s what he showed.
Lunch was more of the same. You slipped into the seat beside him again, ignoring the way Lorenzo Berkshire raised his eyebrows across the table.
“Saved you the last treacle tart,” you whispered, sliding the plate over. “I know they’re your favorite.”
Mattheo exhaled sharply through his nose. “You keeping a bloody list or something?”
“Maybe.” You grinned, unbothered. “Someone has to notice these things.”
Theo kicked Mattheo under the table. “Mate, she’s literally handing you desserts on a silver platter and you’re acting like she hexed you.”
“Shut it, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, dangerous. But his hand closed around the fork anyway.
You chatted easily with the others, Pansy about the latest fashion disaster in the common room, Blaise about the upcoming match, Draco about some pureblood nonsense you mostly tuned out.
Every so often you’d glance at Mattheo, offering a comment or a small smile. He rarely responded with more than a grunt or a sarcastic jab.
He never spoke to you nicely. Not once.
Yet you kept showing up. After classes, in the corridors “How was Arithmancy?” even when he brushed past you with a muttered “Don’t you have badgers to hug?”
You sat with the Slytherins at dinner, laughing when they roasted each other, fitting in like a bright patch on dark fabric.
His friends noticed.
One evening in the Slytherin dungeons, after you’d left (having fixed a rip in Mattheo’s robes with a quick charm and a cheerful “See you tomorrow!”), Theo finally snapped.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Riddle.”
Mattheo leaned back in his chair by the fire, nursing a glass of firewhisky. “Problem?”
Blaise chuckled. “She does more for you in a day than half the girls throwing themselves at you ever have. Brings you food, defends your sorry arse, actually listens when you’re in one of your moods”
“I don’t have moods,” Mattheo cut in coldly.
Mattheo’s eyes darkened. “She’s just another girl hovering. They all do it eventually. Looking for the thrill of the ‘dark’ prince or whatever bollocks they tell themselves.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “She’s not looking for thrill, you dense git. She likes you. Properly. And she’s not scared off by your award winning personality.”
“She’s a Hufflepuff,” Mattheo said dismissively, though his grip on the glass tightened. “Too soft. Too… good. She’ll get tired of it.”
Theo laughed. “She’s been at it for months. Sat through your worst days. Defended you to McGonagall when you got detention for that stunt with the Gryffindors. And you still treat her like dirt.”
He was possessive by nature, territorial. But admitting she mattered? That was weakness. And Mattheo Riddle didn’t do weakness.
“She’s nothing,” he said finally, voice low and sharp. “Just background noise.”
His friends exchanged glances. They knew better. They saw the way his eyes followed her when she left the room, the subtle shift when she sat beside him. The hidden softness he buried under sarcasm and ice.
You, meanwhile, walked back toward the Hufflepuff basement with a small, satisfied smile. He’d eaten the tart. He’d let you sit there. Progress, in your book.
You weren’t naive. You knew he was cold, conflicted, carrying shadows most people couldn’t imagine. But you saw the good, buried, fighting to surface. You weren’t afraid. And you weren’t going anywhere.
Mattheo could pretend to tolerate you all he wanted.
You’d keep showing up until he couldn’t pretend anymore.
———
It was a rainy Thursday when things shifted, just a little.
You were waiting outside the Potions dungeon after class, two umbrellas tucked under your arm (one borrowed from the Hufflepuff common room because you knew he’d “forgotten” his again).
Students streamed past, giving you odd looks. A group of Ravenclaws whispered behind their hands.
Mattheo emerged last, collar up, expression stormy. His eyes landed on you and narrowed.
“Don’t,” he said before you could speak, brushing past.
You fell into step beside him anyway, unfurling one umbrella and holding it over both of you. “It’s pouring. You’ll catch a cold and then complain about it for a week.”
“I don’t complain.” His voice was clipped. “And I don’t need a bloody babysitter.”
“Too bad. I’m self appointed.” You smiled up at him, rain pattering loudly against the fabric. He didn’t take the umbrella from you, but he also didn’t speed up to leave you behind. Small victories.
Theo and Blaise caught up, grinning like idiots.
“Look at that,” Theo drawled. “Domestic already. Riddle, you gonna let her carry your books next?”
Mattheo shot him a withering glare. “Fuck off.”
You laughed softly. “I already did his Arithmancy notes last week when he was… occupied.” You didn’t mention the detention he’d earned for hexing a seventh year who’d called him a monster in the corridor. You’d simply copied the notes in your neatest handwriting and left them on his usual spot in the library.
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “See? She’s useful. Unlike you when you’re brooding.”
Mattheo’s jaw flexed. He said nothing the rest of the walk.
Dinner that evening brought new company.
A tall Gryffindor boy, Cedric’s old friend, Marcus something, had wandered over to the Slytherin table, apparently on some inter house project nonsense. He stopped right beside you, flashing a bright, easy smile.
“Hey, I’ve seen you around. You’re the Hufflepuff who talks to this lot without running. Impressive.” His eyes lingered. “We’re having a study group in the library tomorrow. Potions theory. You seem like you know your stuff. Want to join?”
You felt Mattheo stiffen beside you before you even answered.
“That’s sweet,” you said politely, “but I usually study with these guys. Thanks though.”
Marcus didn’t take the hint immediately. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Less… intense.” He glanced at Mattheo meaningfully.
You opened your mouth to respond, but Mattheo beat you to it.
“She said no.” His voice was low, dangerous, laced with that dark charisma that made people listen. He didn’t even look up from his plate, but the temperature around the table seemed to drop. “Run along, Gryffindor.”
Marcus hesitated, then shrugged with a nervous laugh. “Alright, Riddle. Didn’t mean to step on toes.” He left.
Silence fell for half a second before Pansy cackled. “Territorial much?”
“I’m eating,” Mattheo muttered. “Don’t need distractions.”
You turned to him, heart doing a small flip at the possessiveness he’d just shown, even if it was wrapped in irritation. “You didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it.”
“Clearly.” His sarcasm was sharp. “You were about to agree.”
“I wasn’t.” You poked his arm lightly. He didn’t pull away. “I like sitting with you lot. Even when you’re grumpy.”
Draco snorted into his goblet. “Grumpy. That’s one word for it.”
The real crack appeared two days later.
It was late evening in the Slytherin common room. You’d been dragged there again, this time by Pansy, who wanted your opinion on a dress for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend.
You ended up staying, curled up on the couch with a book while the boys played a lazy game of Exploding Snap nearby.
Mattheo was in one of his moods. Silent, sharp edged, staring into the fire like it had personally offended him. You knew the signs by now something from his past, or a letter from home, or just the weight of his own name pressing down.
You stood up quietly and disappeared toward the dorms corridor (Pansy had shown you where the spare blankets were kept weeks ago). When you returned, you draped a slightly warmer one over his shoulders without a word.
He tensed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You looked cold.” You sat back down beside him, closer than usual. “And you always steal the good blanket when we’re down here.”
“I don’t steal…..” He stopped, exhaling through his nose. For once, he didn’t shrug the blanket off. His fingers curled into the fabric anyway.
Theo watched the exchange with open amusement. Later, when you stepped away to grab drinks for everyone, he leaned toward Mattheo.
“You know she’s in love with you, right? Properly. Not the silly crush shit.”
Mattheo’s eyes flicked toward your retreating figure. “She’s delusional.”
“Or you’re blind,” Blaise added quietly. “She defends you to teachers, to randoms in the hall, even to her own housemates who think she’s lost her mind. Brings you food, fixes your shit, sits with you even when you’re a complete bastard to her. And you still act like she’s nothing.”
“Because she is nothing,” Mattheo snapped, voice low and venomous. But his eyes betrayed him,they followed you as you laughed at something Pansy said across the room.
“She’ll wise up eventually. Get tired of playing saint to the villain.”
Draco shook his head. “You keep telling yourself that, mate. But the way you nearly hexed that Gryffindor for just talking to her? That wasn’t nothing.”
Mattheo didn’t reply. Inside, the conflict raged. You made things easier, yes. Mornings were less bleak with your stupid cheerful “good morning” and perfectly ripe apples. His robes didn’t fall apart. He hadn’t missed meals. And the way you looked at him… like he was worth saving… it terrified him. Because if he let you in, if he admitted how much he’d come to expect your presence, then you became leverage.
A weakness.
And people like him didn’t get to keep soft, bright things without breaking them.
He was possessive. The thought of you smiling at someone else like you smiled at him made magic crackle at his fingertips. Territorial. He wanted you close but he refused to give you anything back. It wasn’t fair. He knew that. He just didn’t care.
Or so he told himself.
The next morning you were there again, sliding into your usual seat with a bright, “Good morning, Mattheo,” and placing a small vial beside his plate.
“Pepperup Potion,” you explained before he could sneer. “Just in case. You sounded a bit off last night.”
He stared at the vial, then at you. Something in his chest twisted uncomfortably, warm, annoying.
“You’re exhausting,” he said flatly. But he took the vial. Tucked it into his robe pocket like it was nothing.
You just grinned. “You’re welcome.”
Across the table, his friends shared knowing looks. They were done watching him self destruct in slow motion.
One of these days, Mattheo Riddle was going to have to face the fact that the persistent Hufflepuff had already wormed her way past every wall he’d built.
And when that happened… well. Even he wouldn’t be able to pretend anymore.
———
Slytherin party,
The common room pulsed with music and low green light, the party in full swing after Slytherin’s narrow win over Ravenclaw.
Music thrummed from enchanted speakers, firewhisky flowed freely, and clusters of students laughed too loudly, danced too close, and forgot for one night about OWLs, NEWTs, and the shadows hanging over the wizarding world.
You’d shown up with Pansy, who had insisted on you wearing a simple but flattering black dress she’d “borrowed” from somewhere.
“Blend in for once, Puff,” she’d teased. You’d laughed and gone along with it. By now, no one batted an eye when you appeared in Slytherin territory. You were one of them. Sort of.
Mattheo sat in his usual spot on the large leather couch near the fireplace, legs spread, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.
A glass of firewhisky dangled from his fingers. His expression was the same half bored, half dangerous mask he wore most days.
You had claimed the spot beside him earlier, but the crowd had shifted. Now a Slytherin girl, sixth year, long dark hair, sharp cheekbones and sharper ambition had taken your place.
Literally. She was practically in his lap, one hand trailing down his chest, laughing breathily at something he hadn’t even said.
“Mattheo,” she purred, loud enough for you to hear over the music, “you really are the most interesting one here. All that mystery… I bet I could make you smile if you let me try.”
She leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear.
Mattheo didn’t push her away. He also didn’t pull her closer. He simply took a slow sip of his drink, eyes distant, like she was background noise. No smirk, no flirtation, no interest. Just cold tolerance.
You stood a few feet away, watching for a moment. A small sigh escaped you, not dramatic, not heartbroken, just… tired.
You knew this game. Girls threw themselves at him constantly. The dark aura, the dangerous reputation, the undeniable charisma, he attracted them like moths to a cursed flame. And he usually let them hover until they got bored.
You turned away and spotted Theo leaning against a stone pillar, nursing his own drink and watching the scene with clear amusement.
“Hey, Theo,” you said brightly, walking over and bumping his shoulder. “Think we’ll see another Exploding Snap disaster tonight, or has Lorenzo learned his lesson?”
Theo grinned down at you, glad for the distraction. “Doubt it. He’s already three drinks in and eyeing that pack of cards like an idiot. You good?” His eyes flicked meaningfully toward the couch.
You shrugged, leaning beside him. “I’m fine. She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Think she’ll last longer than the last one who tried?”
Theo chuckled. “Nah. He’s not even pretending tonight. Look at his face, pure ice. Poor girl doesn’t realize she’s talking to a statue.”
You laughed softly, genuine and light. Talking with Theo was easy. He had become a real friend over the past weeks, someone who actually listened when you rambled about Herbology or the latest book you’d read.
“I was going to ask Mattheo if he wanted to dance later, but… maybe not. He looks like he’d rather hex the music.”
Theo raised an eyebrow, studying you. “You’re really not bothered by that?” He nodded toward the girl, who was now tracing patterns on Mattheo’s arm while he stared into the fire.
You took a sip of your butterbeer. “Bothered? A little. But I’m not going to compete by climbing all over him. That’s not me.” Your voice stayed calm, sweet but honest. “He knows I’m here. If he wants me to leave, he can say it. He never does.”
Theo shook his head, half laughing. “You’re something else, you know that? Most girls would be over there hexing her by now. Or crying in the corner.”
You smiled, eyes drifting back to Mattheo despite yourself. “I’m not scared of him, or of this.” You gestured vaguely at the party. “Besides, I like talking to you lot. Even when he’s being… himself.”
Mattheo’s gaze had found you.
Even from across the room, even while the dark-haired girl whispered something in his ear, his eyes locked onto you and Theo. His jaw tightened. The girl’s hand slid higher on his thigh and he shifted away just slightly but didn’t stop her. His fingers flexed around his glass until his knuckles paled.
He didn’t like it.
Not the girl. Her touch felt like nothing, irrelevant, annoying. But you standing there, laughing with Theo, looking perfectly at ease in his common room, in his world… that twisted something ugly and possessive in his chest.
You were supposed to be orbiting him. Not chatting and smiling at Nott like it was the most natural thing.
Yet he said nothing. Did nothing. Just watched, brooding.
Later, the girl finally gave up with a dramatic huff and stalked off to find easier prey. Mattheo didn’t even watch her leave.
You eventually wandered back, sliding onto the couch beside him now that the seat was free. Your shoulder brushed his.
“Enjoying the party?” you asked lightly, offering him a fresh drink you’d grabbed on the way.
Mattheo took it without thanks, setting his empty one aside. “It’s loud,” he said flatly. His eyes flicked to you, scanning your face like he was searching for cracks. “You and Nott seemed cozy.”
There it was the sharp edge. Not quite jealousy admitted, but close.
You tilted your head, smiling softly. “Theo’s funny. We were just talking about how terrible Lorenzo is at cards.” You paused, then added, “You could’ve joined us. Or told that girl to give you space if she was bothering you.”
He scoffed, leaning back. “Didn’t need to. Not interested.” His voice dropped, sarcastic and low. “Unlike some people, I don’t need constant attention to feel important, Hufflepuff.”
You didn’t flinch. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning on giving her any competition.” You reached over and straightened his already loose tie with gentle fingers, a small habitual gesture.
“You looked bored. Thought maybe you’d want actual company instead of… whatever that was.”
Mattheo stared at your hands on his tie, then at your face. The conflict raged behind his eyes, wanting to snap at you, push you away, and simultaneously wanting to pull you closer so no one else could even look at you the wrong way. He settled for his usual defense.
“You’re too much,” he muttered, but he didn’t move away from your touch.
———
Weekend ends, and the new week already started badly for Mattheo.
A letter from his father’s old circle had arrived that morning cryptic, demanding, laced with expectations he wanted nothing to do with but couldn’t fully escape. Combined with a brutal detention from Snape and losing a Quidditch strategy argument to Draco, his mood was blacker than the dungeons.
The kind of day where the shadows around him felt heavier, and everyone with sense stayed out of his way.
Everyone except you.
You had noticed immediately during breakfast. His shoulders were tense, jaw locked, eyes darker than usual.
Still, you slid into your usual seat beside him with a gentle smile, placing a steaming cup of his favorite black coffee (extra strong) in front of him.
“Morning, Mattheo,” you said softly. “Rough night? I brought you….”
“Enough.”
His voice cracked like a whip. Louder and sharper than he’d ever been with you. The entire Slytherin table went quiet.
You blinked, hand still hovering near the cup. “I just thought….”
Mattheo turned to you fully, eyes blazing with barely contained fury and exhaustion. “You thought what? That your pathetic little acts of kindness would fix anything? That I want you here every single fucking day breathing down my neck like some lovesick puppy?”
The words cut deep. His friends froze.
“Mattheo…” Theo started quietly.
“No.” Mattheo didn’t even look at him. His gaze stayed locked on you, cold and unrelenting.
“I’m done with this. Done with you hovering, done with the apples and the notes and the stupid blankets and the defending me like I’m some broken charity case. Leave me and my group alone. Go back to your Hufflepuff flowers and mind your own business for once.”
The silence was suffocating.
You stared at him for a long second, heart twisting painfully in your chest. Your eyes stung, but you refused to cry in front of them. Not here. Instead, you swallowed hard and stood up slowly.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, voice small but steady. “I’ll leave.”
You turned and walked away without another word, head high even as your hands trembled at your sides. The Great Hall felt endless. A few people whispered, but you didn’t look back.
Mattheo didn’t watch you go. He gripped his fork until it bent, then shoved his plate away and stormed out. His friends exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing to him. Not yet.
Three days passed.
You kept your word. No more good mornings in the corridor. No more saving seats. No more sitting at the Slytherin table.
You ate with your housemates, smiled politely when people asked what happened, and threw yourself into Herbology and helping in the kitchens, anything to stay busy.
You missed them. You missed him. But you respected his wishes. If he wanted space, you’d give it to him, even if it hurt.
The Slytherin group felt the absence immediately.
Lunch on day one was too quiet. No one to laugh at Lorenzo’s terrible jokes or argue Quidditch with Draco. No soft voice reminding them about upcoming assignments.
By day two, Pansy was scowling at everything. “This is ridiculous. The table feels empty.”
Theo kept glancing toward the Hufflepuff table where you sat, surrounded by your housemates but somehow looking… dimmer. Less bright.
Day three, Blaise finally said it out loud in the common room: “She’s makes this lot tolerable. Can we bring her back”
Mattheo was there, slouched in his usual chair by the fire, pretending not to listen.
He hadn’t spoken much in three days. His mood hadn’t improved, in fact, it had soured further. The little things you used to handle were piling up. His bag strap had broken again. He’d missed dinner once because no one reminded him. The common room felt colder without your occasional presence.
He told himself it was better this way. Cleaner. No weaknesses.
His friends disagreed.
On the evening of the fourth day, the group made their move.
Pansy and Theo cornered you after Charms class, blocking your path to the Hufflepuff basement with determined expressions.
“You’re coming with us,” Pansy declared, linking her arm through yours.
You blinked in surprise. “Pansy, I can’t. He said…”
“He’s an idiot,” Theo cut in. “A miserable idiot. The common room has been dead without you. Draco’s even more unbearable. Lorenzo keeps losing at cards because no one’s betting against him properly. Come on. Just for a bit.”
You hesitated, biting your lip. “I don’t want to make things worse.”
Blaise appeared behind them, smirking. “Too late for that. Mattheo’s been brooding like the Dark Lord himself since you left. We miss you, love. Properly.”
After a few more minutes of gentle insistence (and Pansy threatening to drag you), you gave in. You let them lead you down to the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering the entire way.
And there, in his usual spot by the fireplace, sat Mattheo.
He looked up when the portrait hole opened. His eyes landed on you immediately, widening for half a second before the guarded mask slammed back into place. He said nothing.
The others moved casually, like this was normal. Pansy pulled you toward the couch. Theo dropped into the seat across from Mattheo with a pointed look.
“Look who we found,” Theo announced lightly. “Our favorite Hufflepuff.”
You stood awkwardly for a moment, offering a small, uncertain smile to the group. “Hi.”
Draco nodded at you, almost relieved. “About time. The silence was getting pathetic.”
You sat down carefully, not beside Mattheo this time, but on the opposite end of the large couch, giving him the space he’d demanded. Your hands twisted in your lap. You didn’t look directly at him, but you could feel his stare burning into the side of your face.
The conversation started slowly, Pansy complaining about homework, Blaise teasing Lorenzo, but it gradually warmed up. You laughed softly at one of Theo’s jokes, the sound familiar and bright again. For the first time in days, the common room felt alive.
Mattheo remained silent, watching you from the shadows of his seat. His jaw was tight, fingers drumming restlessly on the armrest. The conflict was clear in his eyes, the same storm you’d always seen, only sharper now. He’d told you to leave. You had. And now that you were back (because of them), the relief mixing with his anger and possessiveness was making his chest feel too tight.
He still didn’t speak to you.
Laughter echoed off the stone walls as Lorenzo dramatically retold his latest failed attempt at asking out a Ravenclaw, complete with sound effects.
Pansy was curled up beside you on the couch, showing you fabric swatches for some upcoming event, while Theo kept sliding in clever quips that made everyone groan or laugh.
You smiled and participated. You really did. You complimented Pansy’s choices, teased Lorenzo right back, and even debated Quidditch tactics with Draco when he dragged you into it. It felt good to be back among them.
They had become real friends, and their obvious relief at having you there eased some of the ache in your chest.
But with Mattheo… it was different now.
You stayed on the far end of the couch. You didn’t slide closer like you used to. You didn’t offer him the fresh drink Blaise had passed around. You didn’t reach over to fix the cuff of his sleeve when it rode up.
Every time your eyes accidentally met his, you gave a small, polite nod and looked away again. Careful. Guarded. Not cold, you couldn’t quite manage that but no longer shining that bright, effortless warmth directly at him.
Mattheo noticed.
He sat in his usual chair, legs stretched out, nursing the same glass of firewhisky he’d barely touched. His dark eyes followed your every movement. The way you laughed freely with Theo. The way you leaned into Pansy’s side comfortably. The way you existed in his space without orbiting him like before.
It irritated him more than he wanted to admit.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Pansy murmured to you at one point, low enough that only you could hear. Her eyes flicked toward Mattheo. “Still sore about what the idiot said?”
You shrugged lightly, tracing a pattern on the couch leather with your finger. “I’m here for you guys. Not… not to push anything. He made it pretty clear he doesn’t want the extra stuff from me. I’m respecting that.”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “He’s a dramatic prick. He didn’t mean half of it.”
“Maybe.” You offered her a small smile. “But I’m not risking it again. Not right now.”
Mattheo’s grip tightened on his glass. He’d heard enough.
When Theo stood up to grab more drinks and you naturally followed to help him carry them back, Mattheo’s voice cut through the air sharp, sarcastic, aimed straight at you.
“Careful, Hufflepuff. Wouldn’t want you overexerting yourself playing servant again.”
You paused, holding two glasses steadily. The group quieted a little. You met his gaze evenly this time, no flinch, but no smile either.
“I’m just helping a friend, Mattheo,” you said softly. Calm. Not defensive. “No big gestures. No hovering.”
You set the drinks down and returned to your spot without another word. No apple. No blanket. No gentle check in about his clearly still terrible mood.
The silence stretched for a beat too long.
Theo cleared his throat. “Smooth, mate. Really winning her back with that one.”
“Shut up, Nott.” Mattheo’s tone was flat, but his eyes stayed on you. That possessive streak was flaring hot under his skin. You were here, in his common room, surrounded by his friends, yet you were keeping him at arm’s length. It felt wrong.
The next few days followed the same careful pattern.
You sat with the group at meals again, but not directly beside Mattheo. You chose seats between Pansy and Blaise, or across from Theo.
You still defended the group when outsiders made snide comments, your Hufflepuff loyalty ran deep but you no longer singled Mattheo out.
No more personal good mornings whispered just to him. No more saving his favorite desserts. You were warm with everyone else, bright and kind like always.
With him, you were… polite.
“Pass the salt, please?” you’d asked at dinner the next evening, voice neutral when your eyes met his.
He’d slid it over without a word, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Later in the common room, when you’d laughed at one of Draco’s rare jokes and bumped knees with Theo accidentally, Mattheo had snapped at Lorenzo over nothing, magic crackling faintly at his fingertips.
His friends saw it all.
“You’re an absolute bellend,” Blaise told him bluntly one night after you’d left for curfew (earlier than usual, another new habit). “She’s giving you exactly what you asked for and you look like you want to burn the castle down.”
Mattheo leaned back, staring at the dying fire. “She’s acting like I’m a stranger.”
Draco snorted. “You told her to leave you alone. Loudly. In front of the entire hall. What did you expect? Eternal devotion on command?”
“I expected….” Mattheo stopped himself, running a hand through his messy curls.
He didn’t know what he expected. He’d wanted space, wanted the annoying persistence gone. But now the absence of her specific light left everything feeling flat. The little comforts he’d pretended not to notice were glaringly missing. And worse, seeing her still smiling, still caring, but redirecting all of it away from him… it stirred something ugly and jealous and needy he refused to name.
He was emotionally conflicted on the best of days. This was torture.
A few nights later, the group was studying (or pretending to) in the common room. You were helping Pansy with her Transfiguration essay, heads bent together, your neat handwriting filling the page. Mattheo sat nearby, book open but unread.
You felt his stare again. Heavy. Burning.
When Pansy got up to fetch another book, leaving the two of you momentarily semi-alone, you glanced up. His eyes didn’t waver.
You offered a small, cautious smile. “Need help with anything? The essay’s brutal this week.”
Mattheo’s response was instinct sharp-tongued and defensive. “Don’t start that again.”
You closed your ink bottle slowly, expression softening but staying reserved. “I’m not starting anything. Just offering as a friend. Like I do for the others.”
The distinction stung more than he cared to admit.
He wanted to snap again. Push harder. But the words caught in his throat when he saw the careful walls behind your eyes the way you were protecting yourself now, even while sitting in his world.
You waited a beat longer, then turned back to your own work when he stayed silent.
Mattheo Riddle watched you, the same storm raging behind his guarded expression. He was possessive. Territorial. And right now, the girl who had always chosen him was choosing distance, even while staying close to everyone else.
It was driving him mad.
The common room was quieter tonight, the fire crackling softly as most students had retreated to dorms or the library for last minute revisions. Only the core group remained scattered across the couches and armchairs, Pansy flipping through a magazine, Theo and Blaise arguing over chess moves, Draco reading with a bored expression, and Lorenzo half asleep.
You had been sitting with Pansy again, but something had shifted in you. You’d watched Mattheo. Really watched him. The way his eyes tracked you when he thought no one noticed.
The tighter set of his jaw whenever you laughed with the others. The restless tapping of his fingers. He was regretting it. You could see it, the conflict, the stubborn pride warring with whatever softer thing lived under all that armor. He wanted you close again. He just didn’t know how to say it.
Time to test the theory.
You stood up casually, stretching, and moved across the room. Instead of your careful distance, you dropped down on the couch right beside Mattheo, close enough that your thigh pressed lightly against his. The same spot you used to claim every night before the blow up.
Mattheo tensed instantly, dark eyes snapping to you.
You didn’t look at him right away. You simply leaned forward, grabbing a spare quill from the low table and twirling it between your fingers like nothing had changed. “Theo, pass me that book on curses? I want to check something for Pansy’s essay.”
Theo raised an eyebrow but tossed it over with a knowing smirk.
As you settled back, your shoulder brushed Mattheo’s. You felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.
He lasted maybe thirty seconds.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The words came out harsher than he probably intended, laced with that unwilling venom. “Decided to test how much shit I’ll take before I snap again, Hufflepuff?”
You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze. There was no flinch in your eyes, only quiet understanding.
You saw it: the regret flickering behind the ice, the way his hand twitched like he wanted to reach out but refused to let himself.
“I’m just sitting here,” you said softly, voice even and sweet. “Like I used to. You haven’t told me to move.”
Mattheo’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. He tried again, the meanness spilling out despite himself, like a defense mechanism he couldn’t turn off.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have to. Thought I made it clear you’re exhausting. Always there, always fixing things no one asked you to fix. Find someone else to play hero for.”
The words stung, but you saw straight through them. His eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your hair fell over your shoulder, on your hand resting near his leg. He wasn’t pushing you away physically. He wasn’t standing up.
He was just… lashing out, the same way a wounded animal snaps at the hand trying to help.
You smiled. Small. Knowing. “You don’t mean that.”
He scoffed, looking away into the fire. “Don’t tell me what I mean.”
But he still didn’t move.
Emboldened, you shifted even closer, tucking your legs under you so your knee rested against his thigh. You reached over and gently tugged the loose thread on his sleeve that had been bothering you for days, something you would’ve fixed without thinking weeks ago. He froze under your touch but didn’t pull back.
“Mattheo,” you murmured, low enough that the others pretended not to hear, “you can keep saying mean things if it makes you feel better. I’m not leaving this time unless you really want me to. And I don’t think you do.”
His breathing hitched. For a moment, the guarded mask cracked completely. Something raw and conflicted flashed across his face, possessiveness, relief, anger at himself, that hidden softness he buried so deep.
His hand lifted halfway, like he might touch your arm, then dropped back down.
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Then louder, sharper, still failing at kindness “You’re going to regret sticking around when I inevitably ruin whatever this is.”
You leaned your head lightly against his shoulder for just a second, testing, pushing, offering. “Maybe. But I’m still here.”
He didn’t shrug you off. Didn’t stand up. Didn’t tell the group to kick you out.
Instead, after a long, heavy silence, his body relaxed, just a fraction, against yours. His arm stayed draped along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. Territorial. Close. Accepting.
Pansy caught your eye across the room and hid a triumphant grin behind her magazine. Theo didn’t even bother hiding his smirk as he moved a chess piece.
Mattheo still hadn’t spoken to you nicely. Not really.
But he wasn’t pushing you away anymore.
Your theory had been right. He regretted it. He wanted you back in his orbit closer than before, even if his sharp tongue hadn’t caught up to that truth yet.
You’d rest your head against his shoulder for a moment here, brush his hand while passing a drink there. He tolerated it all with his usual gruff silence and occasional sharp remark, but the tension rolling off him was palpable.
His friends had had enough.
Pansy caught Theo’s eye across the room and gave the tiniest nod. The plan they made that morning was in motion.
“Truth or Dare,” Pansy announced suddenly, clapping her hands. “I’m bored out of my mind and someone needs to entertain me.”
Lorenzo perked up immediately. Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. Blaise smirked like he already knew where this was going.
Mattheo narrowed his eyes but said nothing, he rarely backed down from a challenge, even a stupid one.
You smiled softly. “I’m in.”
The game started innocently enough. Lorenzo admitted to stealing Pansy’s favourite lipstick.
Draco chose dare and had to charm his eyebrows pink for the next ten minutes.
Theo got asked about his latest failed hookup and laughed it off.
Then Pansy turned her sharp gaze on you.
“Truth or Dare, darling?”
You felt the shift in the air. Mattheo’s posture stiffened beside you.
“Dare,” you said, because backing down in front of this group had never been your style.
Pansy’s smile turned wicked. “I dare you to kiss Theo. Proper kiss. Ten seconds.”
The room went still.
Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly in on it, but kept his expression playful. “Only if she wants to. I’m not above being used for a good cause.”
You glanced sideways at Mattheo. His hand had curled into a fist on the armrest, knuckles white. His jaw was locked so tightly it looked painful. Dark eyes burned holes into Theo, then flicked to you, possessive, stormy, conflicted.
Your theory had been right. He was cracking.
You leaned forward slowly, giving Mattheo every chance to say something. He didn’t. He just watched, breathing shallow.
You turned to Theo, cupped his cheek lightly, and pressed your lips to his. It was soft, brief, exactly ten seconds. Theo kissed back gently, more performative than anything, and pulled away with a dramatic sigh.
“Not bad, Puff,” he teased, winking.
You sat back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, heart racing for an entirely different reason. You didn’t look at Mattheo immediately.
The crack appeared.
Mattheo let out a low, dangerous sound, almost a growl. Magic crackled faintly around him, making the fire flare for a second.
“Enough,” he said sharply, voice dripping with venom. “This game is fucking stupid.”
Pansy feigned innocence. “Jealous, Riddle?”
“I’m not jealous of Nott getting pity kisses,” he snapped, the words unwilling and too quick.
His eyes finally met yours raw, territorial, and something deeper. “She can kiss whoever the hell she wants.”
But he looked like he wanted to hex Theo into next week.
You saw the tiny fracture in his restraint. The way his hand twitched like he wanted to pull you into his lap and erase what just happened. The hidden softness bleeding through the anger. He cared. Deeply. He just wouldn’t admit it yet.
The game continued awkwardly for a few more rounds before dying out.
As people started heading to bed or pretending to study, the group quietly regrouped near the fireplace once you’d stepped away to grab water.
“Close,” Theo muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Did you see his face? He nearly lost it.”
“Not enough,” Draco said. “He’s still too stubborn. One little kiss isn’t cracking that reinforced concrete he calls emotional walls.”
Pansy crossed her arms. “New plan then. We need to push harder. Something that forces him to choose publicly. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend. We get her to ‘casually’ flirt with someone else. Or we set up a situation where she has to be alone with one of us and see how long it takes before he drags her back.”
Blaise chuckled darkly. “Or we make him think she’s actually moving on. He’s possessive as hell. If he believes he might lose her for real…”
Theo glanced over at Mattheo, who was now staring into the fire like it had personally betrayed him. “He’s already regretting everything. We just need one more push and that restraint of his is dead.”
They all looked toward you as you walked back, none the wiser to their scheming.
Mattheo’s eyes followed you the entire way, dark and intense. The crack was there. Now they just had to widen it until he had no choice but to admit what everyone else already knew.
———
The Hogsmeade weekend arrived under a crisp, clear sky the first proper snow dusting the rooftops like powdered sugar.
Students poured out of the castle gates in excited clusters, scarves wrapped high and pockets jingling with allowance money.
The Slytherin group had claimed their usual spot near the Shrieking Shack path for pre butterbeer strategy, but today their energy was sharper, purposeful.
The new plan was simple and ruthless : push Mattheo until his restraint shattered completely.
Pansy had looped her arm through yours as you all walked down the snowy path. “Stick close to me at first,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Then ‘accidentally’ wander off with Theo or Blaise when we reach the village. We’ll make it look natural.”
You glanced at her, then at Mattheo walking a few steps ahead, hands in his coat pockets, expression unreadable. “You’re really doing this?”
Theo fell into step beside you, grinning. “He needs it. The kiss barely made him twitch. Time to light a proper fire under his arse.”
You exhaled, a mix of nerves and reluctant amusement fluttering in your chest.
Part of you still felt the sting from his harsh words days ago, but another part, the one that saw every hidden crack in his armor, wanted him to finally admit what was so obvious to everyone else.
“Just… don’t go too far. I don’t actually want to hurt him.”
“Too late for that,” Blaise murmured from behind. “He’s been hurting himself plenty.”
Mattheo slowed slightly, eyes flicking back toward you. You offered him a small, neutral smile the same careful one you’d been giving him since returning to the group. He didn’t return it, but his gaze lingered.
The village was bustling. Honeydukes was packed, Zonko’s even louder. The group moved as one at first, weaving through the crowd.
You stayed near Mattheo out of habit, your shoulder occasionally brushing his in the narrow street. He didn’t pull away.
Inside the Three Broomsticks, you all claimed a large corner booth. Firewhisky for the boys, butterbeers for everyone. Conversation flowed easily until Pansy executed the first move.
“I need to check out that new robe shop,” she announced, standing up. “Come with me, Draco? I want a second opinion.”
Draco sighed but followed, shooting the rest of you a knowing look. Lorenzo tagged along “for snacks.” That left you, Mattheo, Theo, and Blaise.
You took a slow sip of butterbeer, then turned to Theo with a bright, deliberate smile. “Theo, didn’t you say there’s a new shipment of cursed artifacts at Dervish and Banges? I’ve been wanting to see that silver dagger you mentioned last week.”
Theo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Absolutely. Let’s go before the good stuff disappears.” He stood and offered you his hand.
You took it without hesitation, letting him help you out of the booth. Your fingers lingered in his just a second longer than necessary. “Mattheo, Blaise, we’ll be back soon,” you said casually, like it was nothing.
Mattheo’s entire body went rigid. His glass hit the table harder than needed. “Since when do you give a fuck about cursed artifacts?”
You shrugged, still holding Theo’s hand. “Since Theo told me they’re fascinating. You know I like shiny, dangerous things.” Your tone was light, playful the same sweetness you used to direct only at him.
Theo tugged you gently toward the door. “We won’t be long, mate.”
Blaise stayed behind, nursing his drink and watching Mattheo like a hawk.
The snow crunched under your boots as you and Theo walked down the high street.
You didn’t go straight to Dervish and Banges. Instead, Theo led you on a slow, meandering route stopping at a stall selling enchanted jewelry, laughing loudly at your jokes, standing a little too close when showing you a necklace with a tiny snake charm.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you muttered, cheeks pink from the cold and the performance.
Theo grinned down at you. “It’s for the greater good. Look behind us, don’t turn too obviously.”
You risked a glance. Mattheo was stalking after you both, coat flapping open, expression thunderous. Blaise was a few paces behind him, failing to hide his amusement.
Your heart skipped. The plan was working.
Theo leaned in closer, pretending to examine the necklace around your neck, his fingers brushing your collarbone. “Smile at me like you mean it,” he whispered.
You did, soft, warm, the kind of smile that used to be reserved for Mattheo’s rare good moments. Theo laughed like you’d said something brilliant.
That was when Mattheo snapped.
“Having fun?” His voice cut through the snowy street like a blade. He stopped right beside you, eyes locked on where Theo’s hand still rested near your shoulder. The possessiveness rolled off him in waves, dark and electric. “Didn’t realize you two were suddenly so fucking cozy.”
Theo raised an innocent eyebrow. “Just showing her the artifacts, like she asked. Problem?”
Mattheo’s jaw worked. He looked at you, really looked.
There was that storm again : jealousy burning hot, restraint fraying at the edges, the unwilling mean streak fighting against something deeper.
“You’re really doing this?” he said to you, voice low and sharp. “Parading around with Nott after everything? Thought you were supposed to be the one who saw ‘good’ in people. Not throwing yourself at the first idiot who smiles at you.”
The words stung, but you saw right through them again. His hands were clenched. He was one breath away from dragging you away from Theo. The crack from the truth or dare game had widened significantly.
You stepped just a little closer to Theo, testing. “I’m not throwing myself at anyone, Mattheo. I’m just… spending time with friends. Like you told me to do. Remember? Stop hovering. Stop fixing things for you.”
Mattheo’s eyes darkened dangerously. For a second you thought he might actually hex Theo. Instead, he grabbed your wrist not painfully, but firm enough to feel possessive.
“We’re going back to the group,” he growled. “Now.”
Theo smirked. “Whatever you say, Riddle.”
You let Mattheo pull you along, his grip staying locked around your wrist the entire walk back to the Three Broomsticks.
He didn’t let go even when you reached the booth. He sat down and tugged you into the seat directly beside him closer than you’d been in weeks. His thigh pressed against yours. His arm draped along the back of the booth, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder like a silent claim.
He was still being an arse, muttering sarcastic comments under his breath and shooting Theo lethal glares, but he wasn’t pushing you away.
The plan had started. And it was already cracking him open.
Pansy and the others returned shortly after, taking in the scene with barely concealed triumph. Mattheo didn’t speak to you nicely. Not yet.
But the territorial hold on your wrist, the way his body angled toward yours like a shield, and the raw, conflicted heat in his eyes said more than his sharp tongue ever could.
The restraint was dying.
The rest of the Hogsmeade afternoon passed in a charged haze.
Mattheo didn’t release your wrist for a long time. Even after you all returned to the Three Broomsticks, his arm stayed slung possessively behind you on the booth, fingers occasionally brushing the back of your neck like a silent warning to everyone else.
He was still sharp tongued, snapping at Lorenzo for talking too loud, throwing barbed comments at Theo, but he kept you glued to his side.
The group wasn’t done yet.
As the sun began to dip and snow started falling heavier, they all gathered outside, Pansy with a calculated sigh “It’s getting late. We should head back, but some of us still need to pick up things from Honeydukes. Theo, you mentioned wanting more of that fizzing whizzbees?”
Theo caught on instantly. “Yeah, and I could use help carrying stuff.” He looked straight at you. “Come with me? You’ve got better taste in sweets than these lot.”
You felt Mattheo’s body coil like a spring beside you.
Before you could answer, you turned to him with that same soft, testing smile you’d been using. “Do you mind? I’ll be quick.”
His dark eyes flashed. The crack was widening dangerously. “Yes, I fucking mind,” he bit out, the words escaping before he could stop them. “You’re not going anywhere with him.”
They went quiet. Even Draco raised an eyebrow.
You tilted your head, pushing just a little more. “Why not? You’ve made it very clear I’m exhausting. That I should stop hovering around you. I’m just hanging out with friends, Mattheo. Like you wanted.”
That struck hard. Mattheo’s hand slid from the to your waist, gripping firmly. Territorial. Needy in a way he’d never allowed himself to show.
“You know that’s not ” He stopped, jaw clenching. The internal war was visible, the mean, guarded part of him fighting the part that had grown addicted to your presence, your care, your unwavering light.
Theo slowly, offering his hand again with an exaggerated grin. “Ready when you are, love.”
Pushing further Theo says “It’s just sweets, mate. Unless you’ve got a problem with that?”
Mattheo’s eyes darkened. He pulled you flush against him in one sharp movement, right there on the snowy street in front of everyone. No grand speech. No soft vulnerability. Just raw, irritated truth wrapped in his usual barbed tone.
“Yeah. I’ve got a fucking problem with it.” He glared at Theo, then looked down at you, jaw tight. “You win, alright? Happy now?”
You tilted your head, staying close but testing him one last time. “Win what?”
Mattheo let out a sharp, sarcastic breath, his breath visible in the cold air.
“This. You. The constant hovering and fixing and defending my sorry arse like I’m worth the effort.” His grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it became more territorial.
“I told you to fuck off because it was easier. Because you make shit… simpler. And I hate how much I’ve gotten used to it.”
He glanced at the group, who were all watching with barely hidden smirks, then back at you. His next words came out gruff, almost annoyed at himself for saying them.
“I don’t want you orbiting anyone else. Not Theo. Not some Gryffindor prick. No one. You’re annoying as hell and far too soft for someone like me, but I want you next to me. Where you’ve been. Stop with the careful polite bullshit you’ve been doing since I snapped at you. Just… be there again. Like before.”
It wasn’t flowery. It wasn’t sweet. It was Mattheo, reluctant, possessive, laced with sarcasm and that dark charisma.
He leaned in closer, voice dropping so only you could hear the rest. “And if Nott tries to hold your hand again, I’ll break his fingers. Clear enough for you, Hufflepuff?”
You smiled softly, reaching up to fix the collar of his coat like you used to. He didn’t stop you.
“Crystal clear,” you murmured.
Mattheo huffed, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he slung his arm firmly over your shoulders and started walking back toward the castle, keeping you tucked tightly against his side. The others fell in behind you, Pansy looking victorious and Theo chuckling quietly.
“Fucking finally,” Blaise muttered.
Mattheo shot them all a sharp look. “Say another word and I’ll hex every single one of you.”
But his hand stayed on your shoulder the entire walk back. No more pushing you away. No more pretending he didn’t care. He still wasn’t nice, not really, but the walls had come down in the only way Mattheo Riddle knew how.
And you were right where he wanted you.
———
The castle was quiet by the time you slipped through the Slytherin dungeons, heart hammering against your ribs.
It had been a long evening after Hogsmeade. Mattheo had kept you close the entire way back, but he hadn’t said much more after his gruff admission. The weight of everything still felt new and fragile.
You were nervous. Actually nervous, for the first time in months around him. Your fingers tightened around the rolled up essay you’d finished copying for him (Arithmancy, due tomorrow).
It was a small thing, an old habit, but it gave you an excuse to see him before bed.
You knocked softly on the door to his dorm. Theo and the others were still downstairs, giving the two of you space.
Mattheo opened it in a loose black shirt and trousers, hair messy like he’d already been running his hands through it. His dark eyes softened a fraction when they landed on you.
“Essay,” you mumbled, holding it out. “I know you hate this topic, so I made notes on the side.”
He took it without a word, stepping back to let you in.
The room smelled faintly of him, smoke, cedar, and that sharp edge of magic that always clung to him.
You lingered for half a second too long, then leaned in quickly, pressing a soft, shy kiss to his cheek before immediately turning to leave.
“Sorry, goodnight,” you whispered, cheeks burning as you tried to rush back out.
A flick of his wrist and the door slammed shut, locking with a sharp click.
You froze, back to him. “Mattheo, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean to push, I just”
He was on you in two strides.
His hands came up on either side of your head, caging you against the door with his body. The wood was cool behind your back; he was burning hot in front.
That stern, smug look was fixed on his face, dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction, one corner of his mouth curved in that dangerous half smirk.
“Do it again,” he ordered, voice low and rough.
You blinked up at him, still flustered. “I… what?”
“Kiss me again,” he repeated, leaning closer until his breath brushed your lips. “Properly this time. Don’t run.”
Your heart stuttered. The nervousness melted under the intensity of his gaze. You rose onto your toes and kissed his cheek once more, slower this time.
Then, gathering your courage, you turned your head and brushed your lips softly against his.
Mattheo made a low sound in his throat, half satisfaction, half relief. One hand left the door to slide into your hair, tilting your head as he deepened the kiss, claiming your mouth like he’d been waiting weeks to do it. Possessive. Hungry. But there was something almost gentle underneath the fire.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. The smug look had softened into something warmer, more private.
“You’re still an idiot for thinking I’d let you run after that,” he muttered, sharp tongued as ever, but his thumb stroked your cheek. “Told you earlier, you’re mine. That means you don’t get to kiss me and bolt, Hufflepuff.”
You laughed breathlessly, the last of the nerves dissolving. “I was scared you’d regret it tomorrow morning.”
Mattheo huffed, pulling you away from the door and toward his bed. He sat down and tugged you into his lap, arms wrapping around you like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.
“I regret a lot of things,” he admitted gruffly. “But not this. Not you.” He pressed another kiss to your temple, almost absentmindedly. “You make my life easier. Better. Even when I’m a moody bastard. So stay.”
You nestled into his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Good.” His voice dropped, that dark charisma curling around the words. “Because I’m territorial as hell, and I’ve decided you’re stuck with me now.”
From outside the door, you both heard Theo’s muffled voice “Finally! Can we come in yet or are you two still snogging?”
Mattheo didn’t even look up. “Fuck off, Nott!” he called back, but there was no real heat in it.
You giggled against his neck. He squeezed you tighter, a rare, quiet chuckle rumbling through his chest.
For the first time in a long time, Mattheo Riddle looked… content.
Still guarded, still sarcastic, still carrying shadows, but with you curled in his arms, the weight seemed lighter.
You had seen the good in him from the start. Now he was finally letting himself believe it too.
And as the two of you stayed wrapped up together long into the night, talking in low voices between kisses, everything felt exactly right.
Boxer!Mathheo whose got a hugee size kink and swears he can make it fit, after all he's not a quitter so why would his Gf be? (NSFW CONTENT MDNI!)
Mattheo is constantly in the ring which means he’s always gaining or shedding weight in accordance to his next opponent. Bulking for heavyweights. Cutting for speed. Living in a body that is never quite still, always adjusting
He never realizes just how big he truly is or how freakishly little you were in comparison.
That is not until he's struggling to get halfway inside you—veiny fingers gripping your thighs as he folds you into a mean mating press—and you're gasping, shaking, and trying not to cry again as you do your best to take all of him.
“Matty, I—it’s too big i cant.” you whine, making his heart melt.
“I know love, I know, almost there.” he reassures, kissing your cheek.
He's dazed, eyes glossy as he watches your body stretch around him. "Look at you princess—Just takin' it like a fuckin' champ, aren't you?"
Your reduced to a moaning mess, arms winding around his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer despite the delicious but burning stretch.
he always apologizes for it always showers you in love, whispering sweet little words of encouragement, 'You're doing so good doll kno' its a big stretch,' or 'That's my strong girl.'
Though he never really stops. not when you're gripping him like you were made for each other not when your practically gushing around his length, even if you can barely take it.
you feel everything down to the vein he's impossibly deep— cock dragging against every tender spot, until your back is arching off the bed and nails are clawing at his back for purchase.
"Fuck," he moans, voice cracking. "i swear.... I'm tryna go slow, really I am—jus' the way your sucking me in you feel too good."
his hips roll again, deeper this time. you whimper into his chest, and he feels it—the way your body tenses, the warm wetness gliding down his skin. then he pulls back, enough to get a good look at you and—.
There, he see's the watery unshed tears brimming your lust blown eyes, his brows lift. And you see the shock on his face— then the way he softens.
his palm slides to your cheek and pace slows almost to a stop "You cryin' baby? need me to stop pretty girl?"
you shake your head weakly. your voice is a mess when it comes out. "D—Dont you're just so deep, Theo feels too good."
something in him shifts maybe its his ego expanding or his heart on the verge of exploding.
But those words? coming from his favorite girl? it was too much. Any remnants of composure your sweet boyfriend had disappeared with that sentence
another thrust—deeper. his hands grip tighter, lifting you higher, hitting that spot and making you see stars. “Mattheo, fuck!”
you cry out. his hand slips under your back, holding you close as he groans against your throat. "can't help it," he pants
Of course not cause HOW is he expected to keep it together after hearing that???
More Boxer!Mattheo
Omg I missed writing for this character badd send me so Boxer!Au requests!
SUMMARY: You and Mattheo have always existed somewhere between friendship and something sharper. It only takes one mistake from Cormac McLaggen at Slughorn’s party to make his feelings painfully clear.
You had been part of the Slytherin inner circle since first year. As a pureblood who could keep up with their sharp wit and sharper ambitions, you fit seamlessly. Draco’s dry sarcasm, Theo’s quiet observations, Enzo’s easy humor, Blaise’s effortless charm, Pansy’s bold confidence, and Daphne’s calculated grace—you matched them all.
But out of all of them, you had always been closest to Mattheo.
It started with late-night smokes at the Astronomy Tower, where conversations drifted from homework to heavier things. He copied your notes more often than he’d admit, and you let him, pretending not to notice how his handwriting improved whenever he sat beside you in the library. There was an unspoken understanding between you two: comfortable, steady, and deeper than either of you ever named out loud.
Seventh year brought the usual chaos, including Slughorn’s infamous Christmas party.
You stood near the refreshment table in your deep green dress, nursing a glass of sparkling wine, when Cormac McLaggen appeared. At first, it was only annoying—him stepping too close, leaning in when he spoke, his voice overly loud and confident as he tried every tired pickup line in his repertoire.
“You know, you Slytherins always look so serious. You should smile more… especially around me.”
You gave him a polite but tight smile and tried to step away.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” he said, moving with you.
When you turned to leave, his hand shot out and gripped your wrist. Not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to make your stomach twist with discomfort.
“Just one dance. I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”
You tried to pull your hand free, heart beating faster than you liked.
“Let go, McLaggen.” You spit out, tone heavy with disgust.
Thankfully, Professor Slughorn called for a toast at that exact moment, giving you the chance to slip away into the crowd.
Later that night, back in the dorm you shared with Pansy and Daphne, you told them everything while removing your makeup.
“He just wouldn’t take the hint,” you muttered, rubbing cream into your wrists. “And when he grabbed my hand… it felt gross.”
Daphne looked thoughtful. “We should tell the boys tomorrow. Mattheo especially, he’ll want to know.”
You shrugged, trying to play it down. “It’s not that serious.”
But the next morning in the Slytherin common room, near the roaring fireplace, Daphne brought it up anyway.
The whole group was there—Draco lounging in an armchair, Theo reading, Enzo and Blaise chatting, Pansy painting her nails, and Mattheo leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed.
“So apparently Cormac McLaggen decided to get handsy with our girl at the Slug Club party last night,” Daphne announced casually.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
You made a face at Daphne. Theo lowered his book. Draco’s eyebrow rose. Enzo frowned. And Blaise's eyes narrowed immediately.
“What do you mean, ‘handsy’?” Mattheo asked, his voice deceptively calm.
You sighed. “He got too close, made some stupid comments, and grabbed my wrist when I tried to leave. Nothing terrible, but…” You made an awkward gesture with your hands. “Uncomfortable.”
Mattheo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything else, but you caught the dark look that passed over his face.
Classes dragged on as usual.
When the final bell rang, you were heading back to the common room through one of the quieter shortcuts—an empty hallway lined with old tapestries—when you saw him.
Mattheo was standing near a window alcove, knuckles split and bloody, a fresh cut on his lower lip. His shirt was slightly rumpled, dark curls messy like he’d run his hands through them too many times.
He looked up. Your eyes met.
A quiet understanding passed between you—no words needed.
You realized what he’d done. Pansy had already told you how Cormac had been admitted to the Hospital Wing with a broken nose and bruises, though he kept refusing to tell Madam Pomfrey who had hit him. This only confirmed your suspicions.
Without saying anything, you walked over and sat down on the cold stone floor beside him. Mattheo lowered himself slowly, wincing slightly.
You conjured a small bowl of Murtlap essence with a flick of your wand, along with a clean cloth. Gently, you took his injured hand in yours and began dabbing at the torn knuckles.
The silence stretched—comfortable, but heavy.
“Why did you do it?” you asked softly, not looking up from his hand.
Mattheo watched you work for a long moment before answering, his voice low and rough.
“Because the thought of him putting his hands on you made me want to burn the entire castle down.”
He paused, then added quieter, “And because no one gets to make you uncomfortable. Not while I’m still breathing.”
Your hand stilled. You finally looked up, meeting his dark eyes.
There was something raw and unguarded in them—something that went far beyond friendship and late-night smokes at the Astronomy Tower.
“Mattheo…” you whispered.
He gave a small, crooked smile despite the split lip.
“I’ve spent years letting you share your notes and your cigarettes with me. Figured it was about time I did something for you.”
You finished cleaning his knuckles, the Murtlap essence already working its magic. Instead of letting go of his hand, you kept it gently in yours.
“You didn’t have to get hurt for me,” you said softly.
“Maybe not,” he murmured, thumb brushing lightly over your fingers. “But I wanted to. For you… I’d do a lot worse.”
The hallway was quiet except for the distant echo of students far away.
You noticed how Mattheo’s gaze softened as he looked at you, the usual sharp edges of his expression melting away, his guard lowered.
You smiled at him, and he smiled back—small, warm, and real—the kind of smile he rarely gave anyone else.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
He leaned his head back against the stone wall, still holding your hand.
“Anytime, love.”
You stayed there on the floor together, shoulders touching, the bloody knuckles and split lip feeling strangely like the start of something you had both been waiting for without realizing it.
And for the first time in a long while, the dungeons felt a little warmer.
she told you she’s celibate, but she told me I can rail her shit
Theo had been your best friend since before either of you could properly walk, a bond that never wavered, even as you grew older and Hogwarts became your shared stomping ground. Your friendship was simple, easy—even if he did have a habit of oversharing details of his sex life that you could really, really do without.
You were sitting with Theo, Enzo, and Blaise at the Slytherin table, picking at your food while Theo recounted—far too enthusiastically, might you add—his latest escapade.
"Mate, I swear, I had her begging—"
"Merlin, Theo," you groaned, stabbing a piece of fruit with your fork. "Honestly, I don’t know why you put yourself in these positions when you know you're leading these girls on."
Theo just grinned, unbothered. “Can’t help it, darling. You know how they get when I—”
"You ever try talking to these girls first? Or is it straight to sticking your dicks down their throats?" Before you could roll your eyes, a presence dropped into the seat beside you. The scent of smoke and something inherently masculine curled around you, the unmistakable cologne of Mattheo Riddle invading your senses.
"What's this, then?" His voice was low, amused as he reached over, stealing a chip off your plate. "You giving Nott a lecture on morality, princess?"
You exhaled sharply through your nose, refusing to turn toward him. “Just asking if you whores ever have a conversation with a girl instead of thinking with your—” his hand reached over your plate once again, taking another chip.
"Now, where’s the fun in that?" he mused, popping it into his mouth.
You rolled your eyes, refusing to engage. "Of course you would say that, Riddle."
Theo let out a loud, amused groan, smacking the table. "Alright, alright, calm down, Thou Holy Virgin Mary"
You blinked. "Excuse me?"
Blaise shook his head, laughed under his breath. Enzo snorted into his drink.
But Mattheo—Mattheo—practically collapsed against the table, laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his seat. "No fucking way," he wheezed, pressing a hand to his chest as he recovered.
Your cheeks burned. The heat spread down your neck, prickling against your skin, but you refused to let it show.
"You lot are laughing at me," you huffed, tossing your fork onto your plate, "but at least I don’t have to worry about pushing a fucking kid out of me anytime soon."
Mattheo snorted, his amusement shifting into something more smug. "Yeah, okay, princess," he drawled, leaning into your space. His voice was low, teasing, but his eyes were sharp, glinting with something dark. "No wonder you’re so uptight. Explains why you’re such a bitch."
That pissed you off.
You turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing, expression carefully composed despite the way anger coiled hot in your gut. The others had already lost interest, falling back into their own conversations.
“Oh, I’ll have you know, Riddle,” you said, voice low, syrupy-sweet. “A girl can take matters into her own hands.”
Mattheo blinked. Just once.
You didn’t wait for a response. You stood smoothly, grabbing your book bag, and just for good measure, you leaned down just enough to let your lips ghost near his ear.
"You’d be surprised what I can do without a man."
And then? You walked away. Swaying your hips. Feeling his eyes burn into your back.
By the time you reached the door, you dared one last glance over your shoulder.
And there it was.
Mattheo, still seated, still staring, his expression caught somewhere between surprised and fuck, I’m turned on.
It was late, the library was completely empty with the exception of those in the moving portraits keeping you company. Most students had long since gone to bed, leaving only a dim glow of candlelight flickering between the shelves.
And you weren’t stupid. You had felt it.
The shift in the air. The way the back of your neck tingled. The weight of a stare burning between your shoulder blades.
You knew it was him.
Still, you pretended not to notice. You turned the page of your book, eyes trained on the words, until—
“Taking matters into your own hands, huh?”
His voice was low. Smooth. Dark with something predatory.
You didn’t jump. Didn’t react. Just hummed, dragging your gaze lazily up to where he stood.
Mattheo leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, dark curls falling into his eyes.
You raised a brow. “Something you need?”
His lips curved. “I think you know exactly what I need.”
A slow heat curled in your stomach. You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What, Riddle? A book? Help with your homework?”
Your breath hitched as he stepped closer, caging you against the table. His hands found the wood, fingers curling against it as he leaned down—so close you could feel his breath against your cheek.
You refused to look up. Refused to acknowledge the warmth pooling low in your stomach.
But Mattheo? He knew.
“I’ve got a better idea,” he murmured.
His fingers brushed your thigh.
You swallowed hard. “And what’s that?”
Mattheo tilted his head, eyes flickering between yours and your mouth.
“You can show me,” he murmured. “How you take matters into your own hands.”
He saw the way your fingers twitched against the table. The way your lips parted just slightly, as if debating whether to let yourself fall or run. And, like the smug bastard he was, he waited.
“Nothing to say?” he mused, his breath brushing the side of your jaw. His fingers drummed against the wood, lazy, slow. “Funny. You had plenty to say at lunch.”
The heat between you was unbearable. His knee pressed between your legs, just enough to send a spike of need through you, but not enough to satisfy the ache building low in your stomach.
Mattheo saw.
Felt it.
And then—he pushed deeper.
“I bet you like it,” he murmured, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw. “Being the good little princess. The one no one can touch. The one no one fucks.”
Your breath hitched.
“Bet you get yourself off thinking about it, don’t you?” His lips brushed just against your ear. “How desperate they’d be to ruin you?”
You clenched your teeth, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted.
He saw it anyway.
Felt the way your body betrayed you, thighs squeezing around the knee he’d wedged between them, the pulse of your breath, the heat rolling off you in waves.
Mattheo hummed, pleased.
Then, before you could react, his hand slid under your skirt.
You gasped. “Mattheo—”
But he wasn’t listening.
“I mean, let’s be honest, yeah?” His knuckles brushed the inside of your thigh. “A girl can take matters into her own hands, sure—but it’s not the same, is it?”
He leaned in, lips barely brushing your ear. dragging his fingers higher, pressing against the damp fabric of your underwear.
“Look at that,” he mused. "Virgin Mary isn’t so innocent after all."
Your fingers curled against the table. "I will kill you."
He just laughed, dark and low. "Yeah? You gonna do it with my fingers in your cunt, or after I fuck you stupid?"
Your brain short-circuited.
Mattheo used your stunned silence to his advantage, slipping his fingers beneath your underwear, dragging them through the slick pooling between your thighs.
"Fuck, Mattheo—"
He hums, watching your face, the way your lips part, the way your brows pull together in pleasure.
"You’re soaked," he smirks. "Thought you didn’t like me."
"I don’t like you," you pant, back arching as his fingers move faster, working you open, leaving you breathless.
He laughs. "Sure, princess."
He pulls his fingers out, and you whimper at the loss, at the emptiness. But then he’s undoing his belt, pushing his slacks down just enough, and your stomach tightens at the sight of him—thick, hard, leaking at the tip.
Mattheo catches your gaze, smirking. "You’re staring."
You roll your eyes, even as you hook your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Are you gonna talk all night, or are you gonna—fuck—"
Because he’s already sliding inside, pushing into you inch by inch, stretching you open in the most devastating way.
"Shit," he groans, hands gripping your thighs. "So fucking tight."
Your fingers dig into his shoulders, head falling back as he fills you completely. You feel everything—the way he pulses inside you, the way his breath stutters against your neck, the way he’s holding himself back, barely resisting the urge to ruin you.
"Mattheo," you whisper. "Deeper, please—"
Something in him snaps.
His grip tightens, and then he’s fucking you—hard, deep, brutal. Every thrust shoves you harder against the wall, knocking the breath from your lungs. You cling to him, nails raking down his back, thighs trembling.
"That what you want?" he rasps, snapping his hips forward, making you cry out. "You want me to fuck you deeper?"
You can’t answer. Can’t think. All you can do is take it, take him, let him fuck you so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat.
"Should’ve known," he mutters, biting down against your shoulder. "All that attitude—just a needy little slut underneath, huh?"
You whimper, gasping his name, digging your heels into his lower back, urging him closer, deeper.
Mattheo groans, pulling back just enough to look at you—your lips swollen, your pupils blown wide, your expression absolutely wrecked.
"Fuck," he mutters. "You look so good like this. Bet Theo would kill me if he knew."
You’re too far gone to care.
"Don’t stop," you plead, voice breaking.
He doesn’t.
He fucks you through it, fucks you until you’re falling apart around him, nails dragging down his spine, thighs squeezing tight around his waist as your orgasm rips through you.
"You feel that?" His voice was wrecked, panting, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he buried himself inside you. "That’s what it’s like when a real man fucks you, sweetheart."
Mattheo groans at the feeling, his pace stuttering, his grip bruising. And then he’s spilling inside you, breathless and wrecked, pressing his forehead against yours as he cums, his thrusts erratic as they slowed.
You were still catching your breath, skirt bunched around your waist, Mattheo’s hands gripping your thighs with a possessive kind of desperation. As he finally pulled out, breath heavy against your ear. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back, taking in the sight of you—disheveled, marked up, and absolutely wrecked beneath him.
His fingers brushed over your thigh before he whispered, “Was that your first?” His voice was dripping with smugness, already assuming he knew the answer. “Did you like it?”
You tilted your head up at him, amusement flickering in your eyes. Oh, Mattheo…
“Do you really think I’d lose my virginity to you?” you mused, voice laced with sweet mockery as you reached for your skirt, slipping it back on with slow, deliberate movements. You adjusted it, smoothing out the creases, completely unfazed by the way his expression darkened.
Mattheo’s smirk faltered. “What?”
His expression shifted—something sharp, something dark. "What the fuck does that mean?"
You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder with an easy smirk. "It means, sweetheart," you said, voice dripping with faux sympathy, "that you really should have a chat with Theo sometime."
His brows furrowed, confusion flickering before realization settled in like a slow-burning fire.
"Oh," you mused, tapping your chin like you were deep in thought. "You don’t know about him, do you? About how he doesn't really get the whole 'kiss and don’t tell' thing?"
You slung your bag over your shoulder, taking your time fixing your hair in the reflection of a nearby window. turning to face him, "I don’t kiss and tell—but unfortunately for you, Theo definitely does." you said sweetly.
His brows furrowed. "Theo—what the fuck are you talking about?"
You leaned in, just close enough that he could smell the faint hint of perfume on your skin, the remnants of whatever sin you two had just committed. "Ask him about me sometime," you murmured, a smirk playing at the edges of your lips. "I’m sure he’d love to share the details."
You turned to leave, but not before tossing one last dagger straight at his ego. “Oh, and Mattheo?” You glanced over your shoulder, giving him one last look-over. "Next time, try lasting longer."
Then you walked out, leaving him alone in the dim glow of the library—jaw tight, fists clenched, drowning in the bitter aftertaste of his own ego—because for once in his life, Mattheo Riddle wasn’t the one doing the ruining.
all characters written aged up 18+
this man needs to stop appearing in my dreams & just let me write other shit instead.
Contrary to popular belief, Mattheo Riddle was a boy of very few words.
“Please?”
“Stay.”
“Sit.”
Which is exactly how you found yourself with your thighs parted on either side of his head – your hands curling around the headboard of the bed in a poor attempt at keeping yourself upright as his tongue made itself at home sliding soft and teasing between your folds.
This was meant to be a study session. One that should have been taking place in the library but no, he’d convinced you that your dorm room would be quieter and allow the two of you a better chance to think, more space to spread out your notes and textbooks and well in this case thighs to be exact. He had his arms wrapped around them firmly, keeping you still and exactly where he wanted you as his nose brushed your clit and he sucked eagerly at the arousal you dripped as your eyes rolled back into your head.
“Riddle – s-stop.”
“You really want me to?”
Your whole body shook as you tried to say no even though you knew the answer should have been yes. Yes stop – we’ve got homework that needs to be done. Yes stop – anyone could just waltz in at any minute and find us like this. Yes stop – because we’re study buddies, not fuck buddies and you’re sure he does this with other girls and not only you. But when his tongue began flicking in past your entrance and you saw stars instead of red, who were you to deny Mattheo what he clearly wanted.
“You taste like such a fucking good girl”, he murmured into your folds with a smirk. “So innocent, so pure; my favourite kind of flavour.”
Rocking your hips gently at the compliment; you ground down on his face a little too easily; back arching perfectly as you trembled and shattered; wetting his chin, his jaw, his cheeks, his throat with a dozen tiny squirts that Mattheo lapped up deliciously.
“You wanna return the favour baby?”, he asked with a grin, “I think clearer with an empty head.”
A euphemism? A truth? Who were you to know. You’d have to crawl on down and make yourself comfortable between Mattheo’s knees to find out instead.
mattheo riddle who never ever smokes around you because you hate the smell. instead, he keeps his smoking for late nights with theodore on the astonomy tower. mattheo riddle who wakes up feeling a little rush of dopamine when he sees you sleeping next to him and he’s never felt so happy to see someone. mattheo riddle who starts a fight with any guy who (god forbid) dares to try and ask you out. mattheo riddle who claims to hate the cheesy romcoms you make him watch with you but he secretly starts liking them a little bit more and more each time. mattheo riddle who always helps you out with your charms, dada and transfiguration homework. mattheo riddle who despite whatever others might think, is never ever mean to you. he’s always listening and trying to give you the love he was never shown. mattheo riddle who beats himself up after you guys argue because he wishes he didn’t raise his voice at you and start slamming things around. mattheo riddle whom you love with all your heart and soul, just as he loves you ♡(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)
Imagine best friend Mattheo being absolutely obsessed with his innocent little Hufflepuff bsf but she just can’t tell. Everyone else knows, and it is quite obvious, but she just can’t think someone like him would want someone like her. But when she jokingly says she’s gonna get Cedric to take her virginity he decides it’s time he came clean.
Possibly with some soft smut if you are comfortable with it of course
bsf mattheo riddle x hufflepuff reader
hopefully this matches your request <3 i’ll most likely make a part 2 for this because.. you’ll see ;) 3.5k words
you lived a rather simple uncomplicated life, attending hogwarts as a hufflepuff with no interest in anyone’s drama. though you kept to yourself most times you tried to be nice to all your peers maintaining your classic hufflepuff demeanor, despite this there was one thing that was different about you.
you see, you didn’t see or understand why people don’t like other houses just because of “house rivalry” especially the students who weren’t even participating in any sports or point winning. and with this over your years though you had few friends you had one best friend who at first seemed rather impossible to be friends with.. mattheo riddle.
when you two met you were a fourth year and him a fifth, coincidentally you were going on to a few friends about your annoyance with people automatically assuming the worst of slytherin even though you yourself weren’t in their house or nearly like one. mattheo overheard this heated- adorable voice coming from behind him and he walked towards you carefully.
he sat down in front of you beside your friend as she gawked faces towards you at his presence. “you don’t think we’re too mean, huh?” he questioned small laugh leaving his lips. “i just think that some people are misunderstood and just because some wizards turned out bad doesn’t mean all of them in your house are” you looked at him answering his question with ease
he smirked in amusement and leaned a little closer to you “hm, hufflepuff eh? what year are you puff?” he sat back examining you and you didn’t fail to notice that nickname he slipped in “fourth year but i have an early birthday which is annoying because i could technically be out sooner” you sighed ignoring his staring.
“well, seeing as it’s ravenclaw against gryffindor do you wanna watch the quidditch game with me i know the best view” he stood up and held his hand out for you, you look towards your friends and they’re both nodding their heads for you to go so you did.
from that point on you and mattheo had been best friends, sadly he was in his seventh year and now you in your sixth nothing much had changed in your life. living vicariously through mattheo and his stories about slytherin parties and how you should go to one with him before it’s too late, he’d tell you about his sexual adventures and your jaw would drop everytime.
you yourself also confided in him though with much less interesting things, telling him how you feel unlikeable by guys sometimes because they never try to get or talk to you, or how you feel lonely because you’ve never had a a boyfriend before. hed always help soothe the thoughts away, telling you that it’s only your brain making those things up , “listen y/n, anyone who doesn’t love you is fucking insane”.
𓆙
talking to your friend zarah who’d been there since day one you always told her what you told matt, for the most part. “i just don’t get why nobody is interested in me zar, like am i genuinely that ugly” you plopped onto your bed sighing dramatically. “you’re not ugly and if you think no guys want you you’re blind i know one in particular that really, really wants you” she giggled.
you looked at her with a confused expression “i must be missing something because i have no idea who you’re talking about” you awaited her response and she just rolled her eyes and sighed “girl your practically boyfriend of a best friend you do everything with” she gave you a duh look and you just laughed. you genuinely couldn’t believe she’d even think he’d like you especially with all the girls he’d been with, “you’re hilarious, we both know he doesn’t want me he wants all the girls he tells me about” you started to compose yourself but zarah’s expression didn’t change.
“you literally must be blind y/n do you need glasses? or should i say puff? let’s talk about how that man hasn’t stopped calling you that pet name since you’ve met.. he’s in love” she rolled her eyes raising her hands in the air. “i still don’t think he wants me so there’s no convincing me” you shrugged her off and she groaned getting up and leaving your shared dorm.
𓆙
“puff you gotta come to this party, slytherin won agains gryffindor i just know this is gonna be the party you want to go to pleaseee” mattheo put his hands on your shoulders shaking you “fiinee” you attempted to answer between shakes before he let you go “if i would’ve known it was that easy i would’ve done that years ago” he rolled his eyes.
“anyways it’s tonight at like 8 so i’ll just get you from your dorm at like 7 do you think they’ll let me in? actually what’s the password?” he didn’t give you time to finish any of your sentences before you just gave him the password “butterscotch” you whispered, in response mattheo laughed “fucking butterscotch merlin that’s hilarious” you looked up at him and rolled your eyes walking away.
“i’ll see you at 7 puff” he yelled across the hall and you just gave a thumbs up and continued walking. you honestly were quite nervous seeing as you’ve never necessarily been to a party before, you’ve made small appearances at hufflepuff parties but you’ve heard they don’t even compare to slytherin.
making your way into your dorm you spot zarah and you pull her up from the common room couch “i finally said yes to a party need help now” you quickly mumbled and she quickened her pace “when does it start girl i need the info right this second come on you’re talking too long for me” she rushed and you blurted it all out “8pm he’s getting me at 7 he has the password he will be at the dorm” closing the door behind you two you both stopped to catch your breath
“sooo is it a dateee” she shimmied her arm on you winking “i already told you he doesn’t like me!!” you replied to her relentlessness. “ugh whatever we need to get you ready girl it’s already six” she pushed you onto your shared vanity chair and pulled out all of your makeup and a few things of hers, “creative control?” she asked smirking at you “mm fine but not too much” you agreed “we’ll see” she giggled.
after around 30 minutes she finished your makeup and she showed you the finished product, looking at yourself in the mirror you thought how you never would’ve put on red lipstick yet you feel really good in it. she gave you a small smokey eye and a small winged liner and you felt you looked more aggressive then you were, but you kinda loved it.
“it’s so much but so pretty” you admired yourself and the makeup she put on you slowly getting used to the feeling of fake eyelashes on your eyes. “i’m so glad you love it, but we need to find an outfit like three hours ago” she joked and rushed to your closets “i actually have the perfect dress in mind if you’re feeling the want to rep slytherin green” she raised her eyebrows up at you in a suggestive matter “sure why not” you shrugged
she handed you a velvet body con forest green dress that you were sure was going to be extremely short and you mean in every place. she held it up onto you “this will be perfect. get it on come on” she rushed you into the bathroom and you began putting it on “this is sooo tight” you called out as you struggled “oh i forgot it was a corset back wait i need to help you can i come in” she yelled through the door
“yeah come on i need this thing one me already” you struggled more as she walked in and immediately began to help you loosening the strings of the dress and pulling it down onto you “there we go now suck in like your life depends on it” she said half jokingly and began retightening the corset back. with every pull it felt like your chest was spilling out more and more and your ribs were shrinking “okay merlin that’s enough before i can’t breathe” you huffed and she stopped tying it off in a bow
“stop you look so hot y/n i bet matt will be drooling” she teased and you just rolled your eyes “what do we do with my hair” you looked at her with horror as you only had ten minutes before he should arrive. you quickly began curling your hair not really caring if it was messy just giving it some body and just as you were spraying perfume on there was a knock on your door.
zarah looked at you and whispered “answer it go go now” she pointed to the door like she was afraid to touch it herself and you walked over opening it to see mattheo in an all black button down with the top few buttons undone and black dress looking pants yet somehow he didn’t look overdressed. he didn’t say anything for a minute he was just staring at you looking up and down in awe “holy fuck y/n who did your makeup you look woah” he put his finger on your chin moving your head around examining your makeup
“zarah isn’t it pretty” you smiled and he removed his hand and replied “yeah you are, now let’s go” he grabbed your hand and you looked behind you waving bye to zarah “he’s so in love with you” she whispered before the door slammed closed.
𓆙
once you got the the party you noticed there were already many slytherins already pregaming and mattheo brought you two to them, “let’s get some alcohol in you little puff” he winked and poured you a shot of who knows what, you smelled the foul drink and it made your nose burn “come on do ittt” he cheered on and you held your nose throwing the shot back gagging at the taste. “how do people enjoy that” you made a face at him “like this” he replied taking two shots himself, “now catch up” he winked pouring you yet another
“if i didn’t know any better id say you’re trying to get me drunk matt” you laughed and he looked at you amused “obviously that’s what im trying to do it’s a party” he put the shot glass to your lips and you parted them taking the burning substance down your throat, “eugh that didn’t get any better the second time” you shook your head in disgust. “hm, let me make you an actual drink” he grabbed a clear liquor and a red juice mixing them together adding more alcohol than your past two shots and handed it to you
“matt this smells foul” you looked up at him, “just try it trust me the slytherins have the masking drink down” he winked and you reluctantly took a sip, and to your surprise all you tasted was juice. after taking another few sips you quick began drinking it and mattheo pulled the cup from your lips “slow down there this shits dangerous you’ll get so drunk you won’t be able to walk straight” he chuckled. “it’s not my fault they made it taste like juice” you shrugged still sipping.
“hey mattheo have your little hufflepuff take some shots with us” enzo threw his arm around your shoulders and mattheo pushed them off almost immediately “no she doesn’t need any shots” he spoke “you didn’t even ask me” you protested, granted you didn’t necessarily want to take any shots you just didn’t like being talked for. “oo are you sure you’re not slytherin you got an attitude” enzo laughed handing you a shot and you looked at mattheo who rolled his eyes as you took the shot.
throwing the shot back the burning sensation took over your throat and you could feel it rushing down your throat. you coughed a bit and chugged your drink for comfort “puff you’re going to get shitfaced slow down” matt fully took your cup this time and you were already feeling it. giggling looking up at him “okay now who was going to tell me party’s are fun” you continued giggling.
the music started playing and the slytherin common room was now getting more and more packed. you saw fifth year students and up in here, even a few ravenclaw and hufflepuffs your recognized. to your surprise in the corner of the party you spotted cedric diggory talking to a group of girls holding a drink.
pansy noticed your head being stuck in a certain direction and followed your eyes “oh em gee, someone’s got their eyes on a certain hufflepuff” she winked shoving her shoulder at your “shhhhh he’s just nice to look at” you giggled at her and she giggled along “you two would be soo cute” she added dragging you back to the drinks
“let’s take some shots!” she exclaimed handing you two , you took them smiling and shot them back with her, a woo leaving her mouth. “here chaser, chaser!” she shouted handing you another drink this time what looked like a lot of the punch, downing it all she laughed “girl we’re gonna be gone”. looking around you were seeing doubles of everything but didn’t want the night to already end.
“so, are you a virgin?” pansy shouted over the music making your already alcohol flushed face even redder “pansy!! you can’t just ask that!!” you shouted back flustered at the intrusive question, “i’m only curious girl” she giggled and gave you begging eyes “come onnnn” she shook you till you gave in “fine yes i am but don’t tell anyone!” you replied back as lowly as you could over the music
“who would you lose it to?” she giggled “i lost mine to blaise hehe sshhhh” she winked, considering she just told you her secret you felt obligated and just looked around “i mean i guess cedric” you giggled as she pointed at him after your response. before she could say anything else you felt a pair of hands wrap around your waist and drag you off. trying to kick your way out was useless and they brought you to an empty dorm.
through all of this you couldn’t tell who it was kicking and screaming for them to let you go till you heard mattheos voice “puff calm down it’s just me” he sighed putting you down on what you now assumed was his bed “why did you bring me in here that was so scary” you huffed trying to gain your composure. “diggory?” he scoffed not answering your question.
you looked at him confused as to what he was on about “what do you mean? what about cedric” you cocked your head to the side in confusion “you lost your virginity to him??” he questioned stepping closer to you looking rather.. pissed. you just laughed in response “me? lose my virginity to cedric?.. you’re funny” yeah you fantasized about it but it certainly wouldn’t happen.
“what were you talking to pansy about then??” he looked at you unconvinced, “she asked if i lost it and i said no, but id let him take it.-“ you shrugged “besides you know i tell you everything matt i’ve never even had a boyfriend let alone a guy be interested in my virginity” you sighed laying back onto the bed now feeling upset.
you heard mattheo sigh and you picked your head up to look at him, his eyes stared back at you in silence before breaking it “believe me there’s a lot of guys who want to get in your pants” he rubbed his fists and you gave him a confused expression yet again “what are you on about matt?” you were getting sober just from all of this extra mystery.
he walked over to the bed sitting beside you, “listen when we met you were just.. blooming completely and i would be lying if i didn’t say i first went up to you because of your looks.. well overtime you know we became friends and i noticed other guys staring in ways they shouldn’t have been so i had to teach them a lesson.” he looked at you and yo didn’t know how to respond to something like that.
“what exactly are you saying matt?” you didnt understand what he was poking at, did matt mean to say he basically likes you? were you reading too much into this? “look y/n, no one else in this school fucking deserves you. hell i don’t deserve you but i know i can treat you how you need. don’t ask me what took so long to confess to you y/n, but do you feel even remotely the same?” he let it all out quick and fast, and your mouth dropped.
“you want.. me?” you looked at him in disbelief and he just smiled “that’s what that whole speech was about, yeah” he chuckled nervously awaiting your reply “why?” you sighed still slightly unconvinced “have you fucking seen yourself puff? you’re so undeniably gorgeous, i don’t know how i hold myself back from you everyday” he leaned in closer to you making this all seem more real. without thinking you allowed yourself to lean into him, faces and lips meeting for the most magical first kiss you could’ve ever imagined.
“you’re so fucking beautiful y/n” he grabbed your face pulling you closer to him till you straddled over his lap sitting down continuing the now makeout. “this is so much better than.. imagined” you huffed through the kisses. you could already feel mattheos member growing beneath you and you never thought you’d be the one experiencing this from your best friend.
you’d be lying if you didn’t admit to a fantasy or two about him in the past but this was already one thousand times better than ever imagined. mattheos lips kissed their way down your neck leaving small marks tiny moans leaving your mouth, “i need to hear more of that, y/n, let me eat you out.. please i need a taste” he continued his kisses along your neck bringing them back to your lips “i’ve never- mm yes” you replied as his fingers began making circles over your underwear.
“you sound so good fuck” he groaned pulling you off of him and getting off the bed, “you’re sure of this?” he questioned one last time and you just nodded impatiently awaiting his next move. next thing you knew he was yanking you to the edge of his bed and slowly removing your pants and underwear looking up at you from below. “holy fuck puff.. you’re fucking soaking” he breathed out over your pussy sending tingles down your spine.
without warning his mouth met your untouched area and you felt things never imaginable. his tongue made its way around your bulging clit, flicking it up and down and making his way to your entrance sucking and licking “you taste so good holy fuck” he huffed going right back in not even looking up at you, “can i put two fingers” he spoke from your pussy and you couldn’t even properly answer “mm y-yes” you replied between your moans.
you felt his slender fingers teasing your entrance and he slowly began inching one in and out teasingly, “mattheo-“ you huffed and he chuckled shoving both fingers in, loud moan escaping your mouth and this new feeling. he did a few different moments trying to figure out what makes you moan the most, soon his tongue was sucking expertly on your clit as his fingers twisters and curled inside of you.
“matt i want to.. try” you moaned at this pleasure wanting nothing more than to feel him inside of you now. “mm but you’re not ready yet puff” he continued devouring your pussy simply divulging in it as if he’d never eaten anything before. his pace on everything quickened and you were already near your own orgasm, “if you don’t s-stop i’m gonna cum” you moaned loudly trying to control yourself.
“let go for me sweetheart” he sucked harder on your clit, the nickname and action forcing your orgasm to flood over you harder than you’ve ever been able to make yourself experience. your body was shaking and you couldn’t hold your reactions back, mattheo slowly licked your gushing area clean before standing up “mm now i think you’ll be ready soon” he smirked leaning down over you, grabbing your chin and giving you a kiss.
