𝖞𝖚𝖆

★☆ 𝖄, 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮…

[yua0ra]

𝖂𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊…

𓂃⋆.˚𝔪𝔡𝔫𝔦! ₁₈₊ 𝔰𝔥𝔢/𝔥𝔢𝔯 > 𝔣𝔢𝔪!𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯, 𝔲𝔫 𝔲𝔫𝔞𝔭𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔠 𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔶'𝔰 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩!

🔗dark!mode! ON Feel free to comment, you’re always appreciated!

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: > requests are open! “𝖉𝖎𝖆𝖑 𝟗𝟗𝟗” button! | WARNING: this dog bites!

[1]､｡! 𝔜𝔘𝔄’𝔰 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔢:

GENERAL INFO: 19 | aries | xinese-spanish | based in europe | would sell my soul to the devil | lives for toxicity, angst and good endings | sucker for pretty boys | slytherin | hopeless romantic soul

LOVEd and LOVEs: music! techno, jazz and rock. reading! CURRENT: “Train car named Desire.”cooking! savory. fashion! issey miyake, vvww, galliano, juicy c, reí (cdg), yamamoto, and many, many, more…

[2]､｡! ℜ𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℜ𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰:

THIS BLOG DOESN’T CONDONE: racism, politics, matters that don’t have anything to do with the blog contents, [i value politeness over a lot of things] being rude or disrespectful, spamming, s4s, f4f, copying, translating.

TABLE OF CONTENTS: 1.all my fics have warnings, make sure to read them before you engage. 2.all my fics will be written in english. 3.there will be smut fics that are 18+. please respect the age limit and refrain yourselves from saying or implying that you are a minor. (it makes me, and the other readers uncomfortable.) 4

may i remind you that these fics are a product of my imagination.

i do NOT reflect the real opinions and personalities of my face claims!

★ ★

! 𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰: [for requests]

i would love to see y’all’s ideas and i will definitely add credit when its due. [if you would like to explicitly share that it was you, either take off anon or sign with your @]

for the moment, i wont do tag lists :(

right now, i only accept “slytherin boys” requests (but this is not definite, as i’m a hopeless romantic).

🥛

[garfieldsladybird]

just wanna mention for every fandom.

Start reblogging. Reblog.

Why are you not re-blogging? You think the fandom is dead, that no one’s interacting anymore, no one’s doing anything, no one’s writing, no one’s posting. ‘Everyone was so hyperfixed on that character, Where is the writing?’

People are writing. People aren’t reblogging. People aren’t giving some good feedback to motivate the writers that are putting their hard work, time, effort into making this piece that you were reading.

‘oh, it’s just too much work. You don’t wanna click that button and then click a few tags.’ Then you’re gonna have to suffer and not see a lot of writing from a lot of people because the only way this fucking app works is if you reblog.

I see so many pieces of work with 59 likes and 1 blog, I just saw one that had 690 likes and it had 9 reblogs. Even 1,000 likes and only 59 reblogs too. It’s devastating to see for the community of Tumblr. And I’ve been here for like five years, the way this app works is if you re-blog.

There’s so many people that are writing. There’s so many amazing things that I see and I try my best to reblog every single one that I read. That’s what I love doing because sharing someone’s piece of work is just beautiful because it allows me to show it to more people.

I reblog. And the beauty of it is;

I get notifications that this person liked it and this person liked it, and then that post continues to get more views, more likes and reblogs. All just because one person, reblogged it.

so please, if you are a part of Tumblr and you love reading your favorite writers fics, or love reading about your favorite character, please do your job and reblog it.

And if you don’t like re-blogging because you don’t want to do that on your account, then you can make another account and put all of the things that you read on that account. You can do separate things, like fic recs.

You can figure it the fuck out if you want people to actually be writing for a character you love. The writers are writing, you ain’t helping them share their work.

Reblog. It ain’t hard.

[yua0ra]

period.

[puddlesoffrogs]

I write for shit and giggles I write for shit and giggles I write for shit and giggles I write for shit and giggles I write for shit and giggles I write for shit and giggles

[yua0ra]

realllllll

[yua0ra]

𝔗𝔢𝔠𝔥𝔫𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶, ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤…

[!] 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: mattheo riddle x fem!reader, mentions/innuendos about sex, playful banter, SFW, not proofread, english is not my first language. misc ☆

[!] 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Mattheo is trying to sneak in after a hectic night. You, on the other hand, are trying to sneak out. | WC: 2K | AN: had sooooo much fun when writing this. slowly but surely ur girl is starting to upload a bit more often, (trying).

[!] 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱:

The castle is asleep—or at least pretending to be. 

The corridors are quiet, except for the occasional creak of a floorboard or a distant snore echoing from some unlucky dorm.

The party is over, leaving behind a faint haze of spilled alcohol and drugs, candle smoke, and the unmistakable odor of hormonal teenage sweat. Lovely. 

You’re halfway down the Slytherin corridor, hoodie half-zipped, hair sticking up like it’s trying to escape your head, sweats that are not yours and too big barely clinging to your hips, and, of course, a brain fog heavier than all the shit you’ve done tonight.

It’s ridiculous. 

You know it’s ridiculous. But somehow, in the blurry, post-party haze, it’s perfect—an indisputable marker of your escapade.

It’s around five a.m when you catch sight of Mattheo Riddle.

He’s doing that thing where he pretends to be lowkey — collar popped, sleeves rolled up, steps light but way too confident to pass as innocent. 

It’s funny really, as he’s sneaking in, of course. Typical.

And you? You’re doing exactly the opposite.

You’re sneaking out.

The air in the hallway is heavy, still buzzing faintly from the remnants of whatever chaos just happened behind that door — the door, by the way, with a white sock still hanging off the knob like a pathetic little trophy of shame.

You try to act casual, but the moment Mattheo’s eyes meet yours, you already know it’s over. His lips twitch, fighting a grin. The kind that starts small and ends in trouble.

He glances at the sock.

Then at you.

Then back at the sock.

And you just know he’s going to be unbearable.

You try to pass him without saying a word, but he shifts, just enough to block your path. He doesn’t even have to say anything — the smirk does all the talking. That slow, lazy kind of smirk that says he knows everything you don’t want him to know. 

You roll your eyes, whispering, “Don’t.”

That makes it worse.

He leans in, voice low and quiet enough that it feels like heat on your neck. “You’re up late,” he points out.

You exhale a sharp breath through your nose, half laughing, half mortified. “You’re up early.”

The silence is so ridiculous it’s almost funny.

He can't help but let his gaze drop for a second, shamelessly checking you out.

Perhaps is that unmistakable post-fuck glow he really wishes he would enjoy at least once in his lifetime, but thats a dirty little secret he likes to keeps close to his heart. Something he’ll pretend not to think about later.

He hums, almost to himself. “Touché.”

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying to act casual, though your brain is screaming that casual left the building a long time ago.

“So, um…” you start, voice cracking just enough to make your composure laughable. “You just came back? Who was the lucky girl this time?”

He smiles, that slow, teeth full in display, infuriating kind of smile that looks like it’s been practiced in the mirror a hundred times but somehow still manages to feel effortless. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The way he says it—low, drawling, just a hint of taunt—makes your stomach twist. It’s the kind of tone that would start an argument if either of you had the energy, but at five in the morning, it just hangs there between you, thick and charged.

You roll your eyes, trying for dismissive. “Just making conversation, Riddle. No need to be so mysterious about it.”

He tilts his head, “maybe I like a little mystery,” he says, as a cheeky tug on the corner of his lips makes its presence. “Keeps things interesting.”

You scoff, trying to mask the flutter in your stomach with bravado. “Merlin, that’s rich. Mystery? You’re the same guy who always has to be the center of attention. If this is what you call mysterious…”

Mattheo chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck “You’d be surprised.” There’s weight in it, subtle but dangerous, and you know it. His eyes flick to you for a moment longer than necessary, and you feel it—the little spike of jealousy he’s pretending isn’t there.

Because let’s be honest: the truth is, he wishes it was you.

You catch it, of course. You always do. That faint twitch in his jaw, the heat in his eyes. And suddenly, the hallway feels smaller, tighter, almost vibrating between the two of you.

You roll your eyes again, shaking your head, trying to ignore the stupid, twisting tension. “Right…,” you mutter, “because nothing screams ‘mysterious’ like awkwardly wandering the halls at five in the morning, babe.”

“Babe?” he repeats, eyebrows lifting, like he’s tasting the word on his tongue just to ruin it for you.

You freeze for a second too long. “It’s a figure of speech,” you lie, too quickly.

“Sure it is.” His grin widens, “didn’t know we were on babe terms now.”

You shove past him, or try to. His shoulder brushes yours, a touch that shouldn’t feel like anything, but does anyway—electric, deliberate, irritatingly aware.

“Mattheo, move please.”

He doesn’t. 

“You know,” he murmurs, gaze flicking over you, “I always wondered what kind of trouble you’d get into after curfew. Never thought it’d involve someone else’s sweatpants.”

Your head snaps toward him, eyes narrowing. “Careful, you sound jealous.”

“Who says I’m not?” he fires back, smooth, too smooth, and that’s when you realize he’s not joking.

You should walk away. You should, but the castle’s pretending to sleep just to give you both privacy, and you have to take the opportunity.

But then he leans closer, close enough that you catch the faint scent of firewhisky and something darker underneath, something him.

“Tell me,” he says quietly, “was it worth it?”

Your breath catches. “What?”

He smirks again, cruel in that beautiful way of his. “Sneaking out of someone else’s room just to run into me.”

“Oh, the irony,” you fire back as quickly as your pulse. “I was actually trying to avoid running into delusional egos at this hour.”

“That’s a shame,” he says, closing the space with a lazy confidence that dares you to step back. “My ego tends to keep excellent company.”

“Yeah?” you reply, crossing your arms, pretending his nearness doesn’t rattle you. “Can’t imagine it gets invited anywhere twice.”

He laughs softly—dangerous, genuine, too close. “You wound me.”

“Good. Maybe you’ll bleed arrogance.”

“Not likely,” he murmurs, gaze dropping briefly to your lips before catching himself. “You’d need to get closer for that kind of damage.”

You snort, half‑amused, half‑betrayed by the heat rising to your cheeks. “In your dreams, Matt.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he says, almost serious now, voice steadier—he can't help himself but to direct his eyes at you.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper.

“Like what?” he asks, voice rough around the edges, but it’s teasing, barely.

“Like I’m—” You hesitate, tongue caught on the truth.

“Worth the trouble?” he finishes for you, a soft, reckless smile playing on his lips.

You almost forget to breathe. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning down just enough for his breath to brush your cheek, “but I’m your idiot… apparently.”

That earns him a startled tug of a smile from you, and for once, there’s no sharpness between you—just the maddening sweetness of something you both refuse to name.

He exhales a quiet laugh. “You should go before I do something stupid.”

“Like what?” you whisper, heartbeat betraying you.

He grins again, this time softer, almost shy. “Like ask you to stay.”

And you hate how, for one dangerous, delicious heartbeat, you almost do.

[yua0ra]

⋆｡˚ 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯!𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔬 𝔴𝔥𝔬…

[!] 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: mattheo riddle x fem!reader, English is not my first language.

[!] 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: head canons! | WC: 0.7K | AN: I've been wanting to write head canons for the longer time, and that time... has finally come. Enjoy!

[!] 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱:

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who watches you like you’re center stage, eyes dark and unblinking, taking in every shift of your expression like you’re reciting the most intoxicating monologue he’s ever heard. When you catch him staring, he only smirks. "Just admiring the performance, darling."

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who speaks in velvet and sharp edges, whose words could cut or caress depending on his mood, who backs you against a bookshelf in the library with a script in hand, murmuring, "Let’s rehearse, shall we?" but his gaze is anywhere but on the words—fixed instead on your parted lips, your heaving breath, the way your fingers twitch at your sides like you’re waiting for him to make a move.

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who leans in at the worst moments, just close enough that you feel the heat of him, his breath teasing against your skin, but never quite touching. In a dimly lit theatre before the curtains rise, in a quiet corridor where no one can see. He lingers, smirking at the way your breath hitches. "Tell me, love," he murmurs, voice laced with amusement. "Is it the suspense that’s killing you, or me?"

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo whose hands are always controlled, deliberate—except when it comes to you. With you, his grip tightens just a little too much, fingers digging into your waist when he pulls you closer, palm ghosting over your thigh when you sit beside him. "You’re quite the distraction," he muses, voice low, as if it’s your fault his hands can’t seem to stay still.

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who knows exactly what he’s doing when he drops his voice to that slow, deliberate drawl, tilting his head like he’s watching the climax of a scene unfold in real time. "You love this, don’t you?" he murmurs, tracing an idle finger along your jaw. "The build-up. The tension. Tell me, darling, how long do you think we can make this last?"

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who argues about the nuances of contemporary theatre with the same passion some people reserve for war, whose sharp tongue cuts like a well-rehearsed monologue, but softens when you roll your eyes and call him insufferable. "Come on, love, you have to admit I have a point."

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who smells like old books and expensive cologne, who carries a well-worn play script in his coat pocket, pages dog-eared and scribbled with notes, but never lets anyone see them except for you. "It’s not finished," he murmurs when you catch a glimpse. "Yet."

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who quotes lines from plays under his breath without realizing, who will argue to the death that nothing beats live theatre, but still begrudgingly sits through a Tarantino film just because you love it. "Don’t look so smug," he mutters when the credits roll, "I suppose it wasn’t terrible."

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who tugs you close in the dim glow of a theatre lobby, fingers ghosting over your wrist like a director guiding an actor into place, his voice low and teasing. "If we were in a play right now," he murmurs, "this would be the part where I kiss you."

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who lingers in dressing rooms filled with fading lights and the smell of roses, his tie undone, his eyes lazy and warm. “You know,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the smudge of eyeliner beneath your eye, “the best performances are the ones no one’s supposed to see.”

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who never claps at your performances, no matter how good you are — just watches, quiet and intent, until you meet his gaze. Only then does he smile, slow and deliberate. “You already know I’m impressed,” he says. “Why waste the applause?”

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who leans against the stage door after a show, cigarette unlit between his fingers, voice rough from cheering for you in silence. “You were brilliant,” he says, but his tone makes it sound like a confession — like brilliance isn’t what he came for, but you.

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who gets jealous in silence, hiding it behind lazy smirks and cutting jokes. You mention someone else’s compliment and his jaw tightens. “Oh?” he says casually. “Guess everyone wants front-row seats now.”

⋆｡˚ theatrelover!mattheo who leans in just before the curtain falls, eyes burning with something unscripted. “We should improvise the ending,” he murmurs. “Something the audience won’t forget.”

[yua0ra]

𝔱𝔦𝔨 𝔱𝔞𝔨

[!] 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: mattheo riddle x fem!reader, playful banter, SFW, not proofread, english is not my first language. misc ☆

[!] 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Mattheo has a tick. | WC: 0.7K | AN: She has returned form the dead! Thank you to everyone thats been so patient with me and my fucked schedule lol. Kisses!

[!] 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱:

Mattheo has a tick.

It shows up when he’s trying too hard to seem unbothered — a small, almost imperceptible twitch in his jaw, the muscle there tightening like he’s biting back something sharp. Most people miss it. You don’t.

You’ve seen it in class, when you correct him under your breath. During study sessions, when you answer before he does. Even when you laugh at someone else’s joke — that tiny clench, the flicker of something possessive, gone before anyone else can catch it.

You shouldn’t notice it, but you do. It’s a tell, a pulse of honesty in someone who hides behind a smirk and a drawl. The more you see it, the more you realize it’s the only time he ever looks real.

Tonight, you see it again.

It’s late — past midnight — and the dungeons are quiet except for the sound of dripping water and your footsteps echoing off the stone. The corridors are cold this deep in the castle, your breath visible in the dim torchlight. You’re heading back from the library, trying to remember if you left your quill behind, when you hear him behind you.

“Studying again?” His voice is lazy, familiar — that sort of drawl that makes your name sound like both a challenge and a joke.

You don’t turn around. “You stalking me now?”

He chuckles. “You wish.”

When you finally glance back, he’s leaning against the wall at the end of the corridor — shirt untucked, tie loose, hair a mess like he just rolled out of a fight or a nap. The torchlight catches on the edge of his jaw, and there it is. That tick.

“You’re out late,” you say.

“So are you.” He pushes off the wall and walks closer, his shoes dragging a little on the stone floor. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Guilt’ll do that,” you mutter.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth pulling up, but his eyes are watching you too closely. “For what? Outperforming you again?”

You snort. “Keep telling yourself that.”

He’s close now — close enough that you can smell the faint trace of smoke and peppermint clinging to his uniform. The air feels heavier here, thick with whatever this thing between you has become. You glance away, but he steps closer again.

“Why do you do that?” you ask quietly.

“Do what?”

“That little thing with your jaw.”

He blinks, caught off guard. “What thing?”

You tilt your head, studying him. “The twitch. You do it when you’re trying not to say something.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, lips parting slightly. Then, almost involuntarily, his jaw tightens again — the same tell you were talking about. You let out a soft laugh. “See? That.”

He exhales through his nose, shaking his head. “You notice too much.”

“It’s not my fault you’re easy to read.”

That earns you a real reaction — a quiet scoff, half amusement, half disbelief. He takes one more step forward, until your back almost grazes the cold stone wall. His voice drops, rougher now. “I’m not easy to read. You just keep staring long enough to try.”

Your pulse jumps, but you hold your ground. “Maybe I like knowing what bothers you.”

He leans in a fraction, breath ghosting the edge of your jaw. “Maybe that’s dangerous.”

“Maybe you like that,” you whisper.

He doesn’t answer, just watches you, eyes flicking down to your mouth and back. The air between you hums — too charged, too alive for this hour of the night. His jaw twitches again, slow this time, deliberate. He knows you see it.

“Careful,” he murmurs, almost smiling. “You’re starting to sound like you like me.”

You meet his gaze, steady. “You’d like that too much.”

“Maybe,” he says, the word slipping out before he can stop it.

And for a moment, neither of you move. The torch crackles. Water drips somewhere in the dark. His eyes stay on you, that stubborn twitch pulsing again like a heartbeat.

Then he steps back — just enough to breathe — and the space he leaves behind feels colder than before.

“Goodnight, Riddle,” you say softly.

He smirks, but his voice is quieter now. “Night, sweetheart.”

As you walk away, you can feel him watching, jaw tight, the truth still caught somewhere between his teeth.

[yua0ra]

hello! I hope you are doing great, I just wanted to say I absolutely love your writing!!! I was so happy when you posted part 4 of operation matty gals in love! It is sooo good and I can’t wait for more!

aaaaaaw!!!! thank u doll, i have more posts on the cooking lol, lots of love!! 💋💋

[yua0ra]

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝟑:

🐇 Based off this super sweet anon request!

AN: I actually really enjoyed writing this, it's giving... "operation Matty falls in love" lmaoooo.

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: > requests are open! “come again? button!”

If Mattheo Riddle had a sickle for every time someone said “She’s too good for you,” he could buy out Honeydukes and burn it to the ground just to watch her pout about it.

She’s sunshine personified—wears yellow jumpers even in winter, leaves little pressed flowers in library books, and greets the bloody Bloody Baron like he’s just a misunderstood uncle. She’s also a Hufflepuff. Of course she is.

And she calls him Matty.

Like she owns the name. Like it was made for her mouth only.

And maybe it was.

But the first time you said it, eyes bright, smile so innocent it physically hurt, he nearly dropped his wand. Called you insane. Stalked off. Then spent the entire night in the Astronomy Tower trying to replay the sound of it in his head like some lovesick idiot.

Now it’s a problem. A situation.

A Matty situation.

Because when she says it? It sounds like something soft. Like the ghost of a smile he didn’t mean to have. Like safety, but dangerous. And Merlin help him, he likes it.

He hates everyone else.

Especially Theo, who—despite having the instincts of a drunk flobberworm—decides one morning at breakfast to test fate.

Mattheo’s halfway through stabbing a sausage with the kind of aggression usually reserved for Aurors when Theo leans across the Slytherin table and says with a grin:

“Oi, Matty, pass the pumpkin juice, would you?”

Dead silence.

Blaise chokes on his toast. Enzo drops his fork. Pansy’s jaw unhinges like a cartoon.

Mattheo doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just looks at Theo.

It’s not a glare—it’s worse.

It’s disappointment.

Like a parent who's just realized their kid’s never getting into Hogwarts.

He slides the pumpkin juice over, slow. Deliberate. Like he’s thinking about turning it into poison first.

Then: “Call me that again and I’ll replace your teeth with cursed quartz.”

Theo, smart enough to want to live, nods gravely. “Understood.”

Blaise whispers, “Merlin’s beard, he means it.”

The thing is, Mattheo is a menace. A walking, talking red flag. All dark sarcasm and sharper edges. He wears leather like a second skin and glares like it’s a hobby. But around her? Around his Hufflepuff?

He’s a different breed of dangerous.

Because he’s gentle.

Opens doors for her. Carries her books. Lets her braid little strings into his hair because “it brings out your eyes, Matty.” (He left them in all day. No one said a thing.)

He walks her to Herbology even though it smells like composted nightmares, and he doesn’t complain. Not once.

And when she’s late to meet him outside the library, he doesn't get annoyed. He just leans against the wall, hands in his pockets, pretending not to watch the clock. Pretending not to scan every face until it's hers.

When she finally arrives, out of breath and smiling up at him with that ridiculous Hufflepuff warmth, she says, “Sorry, Matty! Sprout kept us late. Did you wait long?”

And he just shrugs.

“You’re here now.”

(He waited forty-three minutes.)

Back in the common room that night, the boys are still on about it.

“You’re whipped,” Blaise says, looking delighted.

“Utterly,” Enzo adds.

Mattheo doesn’t argue. Just says, calm and casual, like it’s a fact of nature:

“She calls me Matty.”

Theo shudders. “You let her. You like it.”

Mattheo looks up from his book, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“She’s the only one who gets to.”

[yua0ra]

if you’re taking requests.. 🫶

grumpy matteo x sunshine hufflepuff!reader. he’s so down bad for her and she calls him matty.. but she’s the ONLY one. the slytherin boys are equally shocks and amused. he’s so gentle with her and theo tries to call him matty but matteo shuts him down immediately, not amused

ofccc bbyyyy! now you can find it under the requests master list. so sorry it took me like a million years to respond. much love! xxx 😝

[yua0ra]

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝟐:

🐇 Based off this super sweet anon request!

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: > requests are open! “come again? button!”

The dungeons are thick with the scent of damp stone and ego. Mostly his.

You’re laughing at something Theo Nott says—too hard, if Mattheo’s opinion counts for anything, which it should, considering he’s been breathing down your neck in every Potions class for the last three months. Literally. He sits behind you.

You’re both in the library now, huddled over some dusty Arithmancy text like two academics in love. Pathetic. Mattheo watches from the shadows of the bookshelf, arms crossed, jaw tight, blood hot.

The way Theo leans closer. The way you don’t pull back.

He bites the inside of his cheek so hard it stings.

He’s not jealous—don’t be ridiculous. He's annoyed. Irritated. Mildly homicidal.

And maybe a little panicked.

Because it’s one thing to argue with you in class, to steal your quill and whisper things that make you roll your eyes and fight that smile. It’s one thing to stay behind after hours just to correct your essays with extra inked sarcasm. But it’s another thing entirely to see you—his rival, his problem, his obsession—being sweet on someone else.

Especially Theo bloody Nott, who can't spell "Amortentia" without asking twice.

Mattheo slams the book in his hand shut a little too hard. The sound echoes like a gunshot. Your head snaps up.

Eyes meet.

You raise a brow. “Problem?”

“You tell me,” he mutters, stepping into view. “Didn’t realize you were tutoring idiots now.”

Theo snorts. “Good to see you too, Riddle.”

You say nothing. Just stare at Mattheo like you’re trying to read something on his face he hasn’t said out loud yet.

Spoiler alert: you are.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he says, all teeth, all venom, all cracked dignity. “I’ll just be over there. Seething. Possibly setting Nott’s chair on fire.”

“Subtle,” you deadpan.

He scoffs, turns on his heel, and walks off like he doesn’t care. He does.

—

You find him in the empty Astronomy tower that night, boots up on the desk, hands behind his head, chewing on a sugar quill like it owes him money.

You don’t say anything at first. Just walk in and sit beside him, close enough that your shoulders brush. He doesn’t move away.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you say finally.

He doesn’t look at you. “Am not.”

“Jealousy looks so ugly on you.”

He scoffs. “Not jealous.”

“Mm.”

Silence.

Then, without looking at you, he says, low and rough, “I hate when you laugh at someone else the way you laugh at me.”

Your breath catches.

He adds, quieter: “I hate knowing that one day, someone might actually get to have you. For real. Properly. And it might not be me.”

You blink.

“Oh,” you whisper. It’s stupid how loud your heart is all of a sudden.

Mattheo finally turns to you. His eyes are darker than usual, like the night itself is holding its breath. “You make me crazy. And I think I like it. A little too much.”

The silence stretches. Tense. Fragile.

Then you smile, just barely. “Don’t make me say it first.”

And that’s all he needs.

He kisses you like he’s starved. Like he’s been denying himself oxygen and just remembered how to breathe.

The walls might not talk, but Mattheo Riddle’s mouth certainly does.

And tonight, it's only saying one thing: mine.

[yua0ra]

hey beautiful! how r you doing? may I request a one shot or literally anything with mattheo riddle asking his friends for advice or complaining to his friends after realizing he is in love with female reader? maybe he is jealous after seeing her with someone else idk

sending love ;)

Incoming!! I love a little ants ngl like... it makes me feel yk, hahahah. In the master list you can find your request under: Request 2:

Much love!! 💕

[yua0ra]

𝕽𝖊𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘 ✍︎

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: 𝐀 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬!

the list follows a chronological order, (when it was posted) | feel free to comment and share! | your support means the world to me | all smut is NSFW and minors will be blocked! | ENJOY!

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝟏:

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝟐:

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝟑:

[yua0ra]

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝟏:

🐇 Based off this super sweet anon request!

AN: Because I didn't know how long you wanted it, I just wrote a small dribble of how would I imagine this happening lol. Hope you love it! Also trying this new writing style...

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱: > requests are open! “come again? button!”

Hogwarts happened, and so did Mattheo Riddle.

You weren’t supposed to stay long. A transfer student with a tragic smile and a sharp tongue, newly arrived from Durmstrang with stories folded into your spine like paper cranes—no one quite knew what brought you here, only that you were smart, and secretive, and too tired to pretend you didn’t notice the way people watched you.

They sorted you into Slytherin like it was a dare.

The common room breathed around you like a sleeping serpent: green flames, velvet shadows, the soft hush of gossip spoken in half-truths. You didn’t flinch when people stared. You didn’t smile unless you meant it.

And maybe that’s what Pansy Parkinson liked about you. You weren’t loud. You weren’t sweet. You were precise. Funny in a cutting way. The kind of girl who could gut someone with a sentence and still make it sound like poetry.

You became her favorite project.

By extension, you became part of them—her orbit of Slytherin boys, all leather-bound egos and lazy cruelty, sharp-eyed and silver-tongued. Draco, Theo, Blaise.

And then there was Mattheo.

He was the kind of boy your mother warned you about, not because he was dangerous—though he was—but because he didn’t try to be.

He just was.

He walked like the world owed him something and talked like it never gave him enough. Mattheo had a voice that could melt glass and a laugh that made you forget what you were saying mid-sentence. His eyes were too dark, too deep, like they’d swallowed things boys his age weren’t meant to witness.

But what scared you most wasn’t his reputation, or his lineage, or the shadow of his father's name.

It was how quietly he became yours.

It started with a glance that lasted too long. Then a sentence that sounded more like a secret. And then one night, by the Black Lake, when everything shifted.

The others had left—drunken laughter echoing down toward the castle—but Mattheo stayed. You were sitting on the grass, arms looped around your knees, watching the moon ripple in the water like it was trying to remember itself.

He dropped beside you without a word. Close, but not close enough.

“You always this good at being alone?” he asked, voice like smoke.

You didn’t look at him. “Are you always this bad at pretending you don’t want company?”

He laughed, low and real. It made something in you tilt.

He didn’t touch you. Not then. He just sat in the silence you made sacred, letting the world breathe between you.

But something began that night. Something slow and spectral and soft. Like a storm rolling in from somewhere distant, where the sky is still blue but the air already knows how it will end.

You weren’t best friends. You didn’t braid each other’s trauma or fall asleep on each other’s shoulders in the library. It wasn’t like that.

It was more… magnetic. A gravity between atoms. A chemical pull.

He started seeking you out. Not publicly, never performative. But in stolen spaces—the alcove behind the greenhouse, the back row of Defense, the corridors that didn’t echo. He’d press a shoulder to yours, hand you a stolen chocolate frog, ask what you were thinking like he could handle the answer.

“I don’t know what you are,” he said once, voice tired. “But I want to keep finding out.”

You didn’t respond. Just leaned your head back against the stone wall and closed your eyes, pretending the way your heart leapt didn’t mean anything.

But of course it did.

The thing about Mattheo was that he never touched you unless he meant it.

So the first time he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, your whole body went still like it had been struck.

The first time he called you trouble, it felt like a confession.

And the first time he kissed you—God, it wasn’t even soft. It was desperate. Like he was trying to swallow the words he didn’t know how to say, like if he kissed you hard enough it would keep you from leaving.

You didn’t leave.

You let him kiss you like that. Let him press his hands to your jaw like you were a fragile thing he didn’t know how to hold. You let him breathe you in like he hadn’t been breathing at all.

But summer came. And so did silence.

He disappeared like smoke—left without warning, without a letter, without a trace.

And maybe it wasn’t personal. Maybe it was something else. Family. Fear. The kind of darkness you weren’t meant to see yet.

But that didn’t stop it from hurting.

You tried not to think about him. Failed, mostly.

Because love with Mattheo Riddle had been like holding a blade to your chest and asking it to remember how to be soft.

And he—he had needed you. Once.

With his friends scattered across the continent in summer homes and high towers, and the weight of his father’s name coiled like a noose around his throat, Mattheo had needed something to stitch himself together again.

And you—you had let him.

Threaded yourself through the seams of his damage, wrapped yourself like ribbon around his ruin. Let him hold you like a secret he was almost ready to tell.

And once he had finished—once you were tied in a pretty little bow around the wreckage of his heart—

He’d cut you off.

But September comes.

And with it: him.

Leaning against the wall outside the Great Hall like he didn’t tear you out of his life like a page he didn’t want to reread. Like the summer hadn’t hollowed you out in his absence.

You pause when you see him. He looks up.

You hold his stare like a blade.

He gives you that smile—the one that means trouble.

“Miss me?” he says, easy.

You blink once. Slow. “Did you miss yourself?”

He steps forward. One step.

“I never stopped,” he says.

You don’t smile. Not yet.

But the storm is coming.

And this time, maybe… you’ll be the one who brings the rain.

[yua0ra]

hello!! how are you doing?i firstly wanted to say i love your writing so much. i swear the way you write the dialogues between the boys has me dying of laughter. “operation matty falls in love” had me dyinggg! you are amazing

i saw your requests were open, i’d like to (try) make one… i don’t usually request things so sorry if this is confusing🥴 :

Of mattheo with a new transfer student that gets sorted into slytherin, and maybe she becomes Pansy’s bsf so she starts to hang out with the boys and becomes part of Mattheo’s friend group? I imagined it with kind of a “friends-to-lovers” thing but not in the usual “best friends for years” type of way, yk? Just like she and mattheo for some reason become particularly close and feelings start to kick in…

i’m sorry if this is messy😭 and please feel no pleasure of writing it if you don’t feel like it🫶🏻

OFC I WILL!!!! I'm writing now plenty of requests so no worries. If I feel like it doesn't follow the rules I will not interact with it lmao. Thank YOU! 💕

[yua0ra]

𝔒𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: 𝔐𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔶 𝔉𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢™

ℌ𝔬𝔤𝔰𝔪𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔳𝔢𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

[!] 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: downbad!mattheo x slytherin!fem!reader, SFW, english is not my first language. not proofread | fluff ☏. | WC: 2.3K AN: Terribly sorry for the mega delay! Also... I'm going to start working on requests!!

[!] 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Status: Going suspiciously well. Risk of Sabotage: Moderate. Risk of Public Flirting: High. Risk of Theo getting caught hiding behind the bar: 100%

[!] 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱:

There were only two kinds of chaos in the Slytherin girls’ dorm: exam panic and romantic emergencies. Today was the latter.

The Slytherin girls' dorm looked like a tornado of satin, scarves, and sabotage had blown through. Clothes were everywhere—draped over trunks, tossed on beds, and somehow dangling from the chandelier (you weren’t asking how). A pair of boots had been Transfigured into heels and back again four times. Pansy was rifling through your closet like it owed her money.

"Why do you own so many neutral colors?" she huffed, pulling out a fourth black jumper. "You’re going on a date, not to a funeral."

"It's not a date," you mumbled, sitting cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by discarded scarves and a growing sense of dread. "It's just Hogsmeade."

"With Mattheo Riddle," Daphne pointed out, perched at the edge of Millicent's trunk like a well-dressed gargoyle. "Who has been in love with you since at least third year, possibly earlier. So yes. It’s a date."

You buried your face in your hands. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Millicent casually applied mascara in the mirror. “Oh please, don’t act as if you don’t have him wrapped around your finger. Just exist, he’ll be floored.”

“Mess with him a bit, you know, flirt a little,” Pansy added, tossing a green scarf at you. “Smile like you have secrets. Be a mystery. Boys are idiots. You have to make them work for it.”

“I thought you just said he’s already in love with me?”

“Exactly,” Pansy grinned. “Now we make him suffer.”

“Oh gosh, okay…” 

Pansy hummed, hands on her hips like a fashion dictator. “Turn around. Slowly.”

You did a spin, awkwardly, holding the hem of your coat. “Girlies… I feel like I’m going to a Ministry interview.”

“You look like the moment,” Daphne said, flopping backwards onto her bed with a dreamy sigh. “Matty is going to lose all motor function. I give him three minutes before he knocks over a butterbeer.”

“I give him two,” Millicent chimed in from the vanity, expertly applying lip gloss. “He nearly fell off a bench when you said 'good morning' last week.”

“Wait!” Daphne gasped. “Do the eyeliner thing.”

“Oh my God, do the eyeliner thing,” Millicent echoed, spinning around dramatically. “The wing that says ‘I’m hot but dangerous.’”

You gave them a look. “I don’t even know if I want to wear eyeliner.”

“Too bad,” Pansy declared, already pulling out her wand. “We’re weaponizing your cheekbones today.”

While they took turns fluffing your hair and choosing the perfect coat that said ‘I’m effortlessly beautiful but also cold enough that maybe you’ll offer me your scarf’, you tried to breathe.

“What if I say something stupid?” you muttered. “What if I trip? Or spill butterbeer? Or call him a comforting temperature like he did to me?”

The room howled.

Pansy choked on laughter. “He really said that. I was there. It was poetic.”

“He said it with his whole chest,” Daphne said, wiping tears of laughter. “Like he meant it deeply.”

Millicent snorted. “You are literally fine. You could throw a snowball at his face and he’d still call you the love of his life.”

“Okay,” Pansy said, dramatically stepping back to survey you like a painting. “You’re done. You look radiant. Magical. Vaguely intimidating. Perfect.”

You looked in the mirror. Maybe… maybe you did look kinda cute.

Daphne smiled. “He’s going to combust.”

“And if he doesn’t,” Pansy added sweetly, “we will.”

A pause.

“…What do I even say to him?” you whispered.

Pansy tossed you your bag. “Easy. Smile, say hi, and then let the power of that coat do the rest.”

“And remember,” Millicent called as you walked out the door, “if he faints—you win.”

Meanwhile, Mattheo Riddle had never been this nervous in his life.

He’d fought off cursed creatures. He’d nearly failed fifth-year Potions. Once, he’d even argued with McGonagall and lived. But this? Waiting for you in the common room?

Absolute psychological warfare.

He was currently standing near the fireplace, shifting his weight from foot to foot like the floor was lava and he hadn’t quite chosen which stone would kill him less.

“I can’t breathe,” he muttered, adjusting his collar for the twelfth time.

“You’re literally breathing,” Blaise said from the sofa, flipping through a Quidditch magazine. “Loudly.”

“I look like a funeral procession,” Mattheo groaned, yanking at his black coat.

“You are a funeral procession,” Theo replied dryly. “But make it romantic. Also, you look fine.”

“Fine?” Mattheo looked panicked. “Not good?”

“You look like you moisturized,” Enzo offered helpfully. “That’s, like, a seven out of ten already.”

“I’m not trying to look moisturized, I’m trying to look… cool. Normal. Like a person who doesn’t black out every time she says my name.”

“Too late,” Draco muttered from the armchair, sipping coffee and radiating ‘why am I here’ energy.

Mattheo collapsed into a chair, groaning into his hands. “I’m going to say something stupid. Again. Like that time I told her she looked warm.”

“Iconic moment in romantic history,” Theo nodded solemnly. “We should frame it.”

“I could just—fake the flu,” Mattheo muttered. “Say I have… dragonpox. Or sudden-onset unconsciousness.”

“She’s literally getting ready right now,” Blaise said, not looking up. “Abort the mission and you’ll die. We will kill you. Emotionally. And possibly physically.”

Enzo leaned in, wide-eyed. “What if she doesn’t come?”

Everyone stared at him.

Draco threw a cushion at his head. “You absolute troll.”

“Listen,” Theo said, sitting upright now, “we have prepped for this. We trained for this. You’ve practiced your smile—”

“I look deranged when I smile,” Mattheo muttered into his hands.

“—and you’ve got talking points,” Theo continued, ignoring him. “Remember the script: ask how she’s been, compliment the outfit, don’t stare at her mouth too much—”

Mattheo groaned again, slumping deeper into the chair. “What if I just never go on dates? Like ever again. Maybe I’ll take a vow of solitude. Move into the forest. Raise squirrels.”

“You’ve got this, mate,” Blaise said, finally putting the magazine down. “You’re Mattheo Riddle. You’re brooding, mysterious, kinda hot when you’re not self-destructing. She likes you.”

Draco squinted. “I’d argue despite all of that, not because of.”

Suddenly, Blaise looked up and grinned. “She’s coming.”

Mattheo shot to his feet so fast he knocked over the table. “WHAT?”

“I said, she’s coming,” Blaise repeated, way too casually for someone who had just detonated a bomb.

Mattheo began rapidly checking every pocket for absolutely nothing. “Okay. Okay okay okay. Do I look sweaty? I feel sweaty. I am sweaty.”

“Mattheo,” Theo said, standing beside him and placing both hands firmly on his shoulders. “Pull it together. Be normal. Or at least pretend. Say hi. Breathe. Compliment her. Maybe don’t pass out.”

“And no ‘warm’ comments this time,” Draco added. “Seriously.”

Just then, the common room door creaked open.

You stepped inside.

Mattheo turned around, caught sight of you—and went completely, terrifyingly, silent.

His jaw moved. No sound came out. His brain had left the building.

You smiled at him gently, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Hi, Mattheo.”

And that’s when Mattheo—poor, cursed boy—whispered back:

“…Hi. You… you look like a… really… nice temperature today.”

Theo audibly slapped his own forehead.

You tilted your head, utterly amused.

“Thanks…?” you replied slowly, trying not to laugh and failing spectacularly. “You, uh… look like a person who definitely practices casual greetings in the mirror.”

Mattheo looked mortified.

“Did Blaise tell you that?!” he gasped.

You raised a brow. “So it’s true?”

“NO— I mean… no comment,” he mumbled, already red to the tips of his ears.

From behind the nearest bookcase, a small shuffle.

Pansy was crouched next to Daphne and Millicent, all three girls squished together like a pack of gossiping meerkats.

“She said mirror,” Pansy hissed. “That’s a direct hit!”

“She’s teasing him!” Daphne squealed.

“She’s flirting, you uncultured salamander,” Pansy corrected.

Millicent shushed them both with a fistful of Bertie Bott’s Beans. “Eat and spy. Quietly!”

Not far away, in the boys’ hallway nook, Theo was pressed to the wall like a spy in a muggle war film.

“We are so close to Phase Seven: Confident Sidewalk Banter,” he whispered into his enchanted notepad.

Enzo adjusted the tiny pair of Omnioculars he had definitely stolen from a second-year. “Shut up!”

Draco, from behind a curtain: “They haven’t even left the room. This is going to take ten years.”

Back in the main area, Mattheo had finally pulled himself together enough to offer you his hand.

“Ready?” he asked, voice still a little soft around the edges.

You smiled, slipping your fingers into his without hesitation. “Let’s go, temperature boy.”

Mattheo made a soft wheezing noise that was probably meant to be a laugh. “That’s gonna stick, isn’t it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you teased, giving his hand a squeeze. “You branded yourself.”

As the two of you exited the common room, hands still linked, both squads exploded into frenzied celebration.

“THEY’RE HOLDING HANDS,” Pansy shrieked into a rolled-up parchment.

Draco sighed loudly from the couch. “I’m surrounded by lunatics.”

“Do we follow?” Millicent asked, already stuffing on her boots.

“Yes,” said Pansy. “But stealthily. Like cool, supportive spies.”

Daphne nodded solemnly. “Like the morally confused observers we are.”

Meanwhile, down the corridor, Mattheo and you strolled side-by-side, your steps syncing up naturally.

He glanced over. “You smell… nice.”

You blinked at him.

“…Not like. Soap,” he added. “I mean, not just soap. More like… person. In a good way. Not like a human smell. Just—like… flower-person?”

You were smiling so hard you had to bite your lip to contain it.

“You’re really bad at compliments,” you whispered fondly.

“Yeah,” Mattheo groaned. “I know.”

You nudged him gently with your shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s charming.

Mattheo turned a deeper shade of crimson. 

And from fifty feet behind, Pansy ducked into a barrel as Blaise whispered into Theo’s ear:

“Ten galleons says he falls on his arse trying to open a door for her.”

Theo: “Deal.”

The two of you strolled through the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade, your gloved hands brushing occasionally as Mattheo kept trying to not overthink his walking pace.

You, on the other hand, were playing it cool. You’d layered your scarf just right, boots clicking softly, your cheeks pink from the chill. You caught him looking at you three times in the span of a minute. He looked away all three times.

“So,” you said lightly. “What’s the plan? Butterbeer? Wandering until one of us panics and suggests an owl adoption?”

Mattheo laughed — a real one this time. “Let’s aim for butterbeer and mild panic. Keep expectations realistic.”

You ducked your head to hide a smile. He was trying so hard. And honestly? He was doing great.

You both slipped into The Three Broomsticks, the warm scent of cinnamon and roasted nuts immediately wrapping around you. It was busy, but cozy — couples tucked in booths, students huddled near windows, Madam Rosmerta moving like clockwork behind the bar.

You picked a small table near the fireplace.

And unknown to you both, approximately four tables away, behind a stack of decorative barrels, were the two stealth squads.

Recon Team Alpha: Pansy, Daphne, Millicent. Camouflaged with floating menus and absolutely zero discretion.

Recon Team Beta: Theo, Blaise, Enzo. Pretending to be in a very serious conversation about broomstick insurance policies.

“What do you think is happening?” Pansy whispered, barely glancing over her menu and trying to eavesdrop the conversation, although she should barely listen to them.

“They’re sitting closer than regulation dating distance,” Daphne whispered.

Millicent took notes in her planner. “So they’re still not holding hands? This guy is mad slow…”

Meanwhile at your table, Mattheo cleared his throat. “So... this is nice, right? Not too weird?”

You grinned. “Extremely weird. But in a good way.”

He grinned back, then glanced down as the butterbeer arrived. “I thought you might want the frothy kind. With cinnamon.”

You blinked. “You remembered that?”

Mattheo shrugged one shoulder, trying to play it off, but his ears were turning pink again. “You mentioned it once. After class. Thought it was... a cute detail.”

Your heart might have skipped a beat. Just a small one. You picked up the mug, smiling into the steam.

“You’re full of surprises.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he muttered. “I’ve got a reputation to ruin.”

Somewhere behind you, Theo whispered, “He’s doing it. He’s being normal.”

Blaise nodded solemnly. “He even held eye contact for a full seven seconds.”

“We trained him well,” Enzo added, sipping dramatically from a sugar-rimmed glass.

Back at the table, Mattheo gently knocked his boot against yours under the table — once, then again when you didn’t react.

You raised a brow.

“Just making sure you're real,” he said casually. “Thought maybe I hallucinated you agreeing to this date.”

You gave him a mock glare. “This isn’t a hallucination.”

He smiled crookedly. “Then I must be the luckiest bloke in this freezing village.”

You stared at him for a moment. “That was dangerously close to being smooth.”

“Shocking,” he muttered. “Maybe Blaise slipped something in my tea.”

You both laughed, the moment stretching in that warm, quiet kind of way where it feels like the rest of the room doesn’t matter.

[yua0ra]

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠…

WARNINGS: mattheo riddle x fem!reader, porn with some plot, unprotected sex, p in v, dominant!mattheo, dirty talk, fingering, oral (fem receiving), position change, rough smut, established relationship, (consent although not explicitly stated), mattheo stating one day he will do anal with reader (there’s no anal in this post), pet names, sex in a public space (no one is there), NSFW, proofread, english is not my first language. smut 🂡

SUMMARY: After a playful bet with Pansy Parkinson, you find yourself in an intense, unforgettable encounter with Mattheo Riddle. What starts as a challenge quickly turns into something far more consuming, as Mattheo’s fiery passion gives way to a surprising tenderness. Despite his rough edges, his genuine admiration for you, shines through as he cares for you in the aftermath. The thrill of risk, the weight of unspoken emotions, and the undeniable chemistry between you and Mattheo.

WC: +5K AN: Finally! Your girl has managed to write some smut. ENJOY! MDNI

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Mattheo turns around, unable to hide the goofy smile that’s spread across his pretty face. His dark curls fall into his eyes as he glances down at you, the mischief in his expression softening into something warmer. The way his hand tightens around yours feels like a silent promise—steady and sure, as if he’s anchoring himself to you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, though your own lips are betraying you with the faint curve of a smile.

“Ridiculously in love, baby,” he quips, his grin widening as his thumb absentmindedly brushes over your knuckles.

The two of you continue walking, his laughter bubbling softly in the crisp evening air. The world around you fades, the sounds of distant chatter and rustling leaves blurring into the background. All that matters is the warmth of his hand in yours, the easy joy that spills from his lips, and the way his eyes light up every time he looks at you.

“What?” you finally ask, tilting your head to meet his gaze.

“Nothing,” Mattheo replies, his voice light but sincere. “I just like this. You and me.”

The simplicity of his words sends a flutter through your chest, and you squeeze his hand back, hoping it says what you can’t quite find the words for yet.

The path twists ahead, lined with skeletal trees swaying gently in the breeze. The glow of the moon casts an eerie silver light over the ground, making the old stones beneath your feet gleam faintly. Mattheo doesn’t falter, his pace steady as he guides you closer to the looming silhouette of the Shrieking Shack in the distance.

“Tell me again why we’re doing this?” you ask, your voice low but teasing, though there’s a hint of nervousness hidden behind it.

Mattheo smirks, glancing back at you with that familiar mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Because you’re secretly as much of a troublemaker as I am,” he says, his tone light, though his thumb still traces calming circles on the back of your hand.

You roll your eyes. “Or maybe because you dared me, and I’m too stubborn to say no.”

“Same thing,” he shoots back, his grin widening. “Admit it, love, you like a little danger.”

The Shrieking Shack comes into view now, its crooked frame outlined against the night sky. The windows are dark, the whole structure seeming to exude an unnatural stillness. Despite the chill creeping up your spine, you can’t help but match Mattheo’s excitement, his energy infectious as he slows to a stop in front of the fence that surrounds the infamous house.

“Ever been this close before?” he asks, his voice soft but daring as he peers through the broken slats of wood.

“No,” you admit, your fingers tightening around his. “And I’m starting to think that was a good thing.”

Mattheo chuckles, low and rich, as he steps closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “Relax,” he says, his voice warm and reassuring. “I’d never let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

The sincerity in his tone makes your stomach flip, and for a moment, you forget about the dark, foreboding shack looming in front of you. His gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, and the shadows around you don’t feel quite as ominous anymore.

“Alright,” you say softly, drawing in a breath. “Let’s do this.

His grin returns, wide and triumphant, as he reaches for the fence. With a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure you’re following, he climbs over with practiced ease before extending a hand to help you over.

As your feet touch the ground on the other side, you hear a faint creak from the house, the sound echoing in the still night. Mattheo looks back at you, a flicker of excitement and curiosity dancing in his eyes.

“After you,” he says with a mock bow, gesturing toward the front door of the Shrieking Shack.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, though you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips as you step forward, his hand still firmly holding yours.

Turns out, the whole escapade was Pansy’s doing. The other day, she’d dared you and Mattheo to spend the night in the Shrieking Shack, her laughter ringing out as she leaned against the Slytherin common room couch. She was so sure you’d pull out at the last minute, claiming there was no way you’d go through with it. Mattheo, of course, jumped at the chance, a smug grin on his face as he’d said, “We’ll see you in the morning, Pans.”

Now, standing in front of the creaky old shack, you couldn’t help but think about the look on her face when you’d agreed. You weren’t sure what had made you so bold in that moment—maybe it was the way Mattheo had immediately taken your side, his confidence infectious. Or maybe it was the simple fact that you refused to give Pansy the satisfaction of seeing you back out.

“Do you think she really thought we wouldn’t do it?” you ask, glancing at Mattheo as he leans casually against the rickety front door.

He smirks, his dark eyes twinkling in the faint moonlight. “Oh, she was counting on it. Pansy lives for the drama.” He reaches out, wrapping his fingers around the rusty doorknob. “But what she didn’t count on was that you’re wilder than you look.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of pride in your chest at his words. “And you? What’s your excuse for agreeing to this ridiculousness?”

He shrugs, pushing the door open with a groan that seems to echo into the night. “I’m a sucker for a good dare. And,” he adds, looking over his shoulder at you with a cheeky grin, “I couldn’t let you do this without me. Someone’s gotta protect you from all the ghosts, right?”

“Ghosts,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow as you step inside. “You’re not seriously buying into all the stories, are you?”

“Maybe.” His tone is teasing, but there’s a hint of something playful in his eyes. “What if the stories are true? What if we’re not alone in here?”

“Then it’s your fault we’re doing this,” you quip, your voice braver than you feel.

The inside of the Shrieking Shack is exactly as you imagined: old, creaky, and covered in layers of dust and cobwebs. The wooden floor groans beneath your feet as you step further inside, and the air smells faintly of mildew. Despite the eerie stillness, Mattheo seems completely at ease, his hand brushing yours as he walks beside you.

“See? Not so bad,” he says, his voice breaking the silence. “A little dusty, sure, but cozy.”

“Cozy?” you repeat with a laugh. “You’re delusional.”

“Delusional or charming?” he asks, throwing you a grin as he drops his bag onto the floor near an old, tattered sofa.

“Both,” you mutter, though you can’t help but smile.

The two of you settle in, laying out blankets and snacks that Mattheo had insisted on packing earlier. The night stretches on, and as the hours pass, the initial nerves start to fade, replaced by the easy comfort that always seems to come when Mattheo is around.

- ★、

He glances at you, his dark eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight as he leans in closer, his voice low and soft. "Baby, are you not bored? We've been here for hours now, just the two of us..." His gaze drops to your lips for a moment before flicking back up to meet your eyes. "Is this really what you want to be doing on a night out with your boyfriend?"

He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. His touch is warm and gentle, a stark contrast to the chill in the air. "Because if you're not having fun, we can always find something else to do. Something a bit more... exciting." His voice drops to a low, intimate murmur on the last word, a hint of mischief glinting in his eye

“Matty… here? Really?” You softly giggle, looking at him trough long and heavy eyelashes.

Mattheo leans in closer, his eyes fluttering shut as he closes the distance between you. His lips meet yours in a soft, gentle kiss that sends a spark of electricity through your body. It's a tender kiss, almost reverent in its slow, deliberate exploration of your mouth. His hand slides from the back of your neck to cup your cheek, his calloused fingers a pleasant contrast to the smooth skin of your face.

As the kiss deepens, Mattheo's other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the firmness of his chest, the way his heart beats steadily beneath his ribs. His fingers tangle in your hair, tilting your head back slightly as he explores your mouth with a growing hunger.

When he finally pulls back, breaking the kiss, his eyes slowly open to meet yours. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, a gentle caress that makes your breath catch in your throat. His thumb making its way to the inside of your mouth as you suck on it.

Not for long though, as he pulls it back, straight into his own warm mouth.

He slides his hands under the hem of your shirt, his fingertips skimming over the smooth skin of your lower back. He pulls you flush against him, the heat of his body seeping into yours as his hands begin to explore the curves of your waist and the gentle flare of your hips.

He breaks the kiss, panting softly as he looks down at you with hooded eyes, a fierce intensity burning in their depths. "Can I... can I take this off?" he asks, his voice low and rough with desire. His fingers tremble slightly as he waits for your permission, the anticipation almost too much to bear.

Without waiting for your answer, he starts to slowly peel your shirt up and over your head. The cool air kisses your newly exposed skin, making you shiver. Mattheo's eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze roaming over your body with a hunger that makes your heart race.

"Fuck, doll," he breathes out, his voice filled with awe and longing. "You're so fucking fit. You see these?" He cups the soft mounds of your breasts, his thumbs teasing over the hardened peaks of your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra. He looks up at you, his dark eyes smoldering with desire as he leans down, his mouth hovering just above the swell of your breasts. “These are mine baby… all mine.”

Without warning, he tugs the cup of your bra down, exposing your nipple to the cool air. His eyes flick up to yours, a wicked glint in their depths, before he leans in and takes your nipple into his hot mouth. He suckles gently at first, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud, before growing bolder, sucking harder as his hand kneads the soft flesh of your breast.

A low, breathy moan escapes your lips, your fingers tangling in his dark curls as he lavishes attention on your breasts. The combination of his hot mouth and the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive skin sends jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, making your core throb with a needy ache.

Mattheo's other hand slides down your stomach, his fingers dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of your jeans. His touch is maddeningly light, not quite touching where you need him most, but close enough to make you squirm with anticipation. "Mattheo," you gasp out, your voice thick with desire. "Please..." You're not even sure what you're begging for, but the way he's touching you, tasting you, has set your body on fire, and you need more.

"Fuck, so perfect for me, huh?," He growls, his voice low and rough with desire. "I could spend hours worshipping these perfect tits, worshipping your beautiful body, face, heart…. You drive me insane."

His hand slides further down, cupping your mound through your jeans, applying a teasing pressure that makes you gasp. He chuckles darkly, a sound that vibrates through your chest. "Is this what you want, baby? You want me to touch this pretty little pussy until you're shaking and aching for me?"

He starts to slowly rub your clothed sex, his fingers moving in maddeningly slow circles. The denim of your jeans grows damp as your arousal builds, your hips starting to rock subtly against his hand. "Oh, look at you, my princess is so, so, so needy for me."

Mattheo leans down to capture your lips in a filthy kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth as he grinds the heel of his hand against your clothed clit. He swallows your moan, his voice a low rasp against your lips. "Tell me how badly you want it, gorgeous. Tell me how much you need my fingers buried deep in your tight little cunt, fucking you silly until the only thing you’re thinking about is how good your Matty takes care of you."

His other hand kneads your breast roughly, pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers as he breaks the kiss to growl in your ear. "Beg for it, baby. Beg for my fingers, for my dick. Let me hear how desperate you are for me to fill you up and make you come all over me."

“Please baby…” Your voice merely a whisper, your tone laced with embarrassing neediness, “Want to feel good, need to feel good.” You keep begging. “Want to feel your fingers filling me up so badly, keeping me warm, until I cream messy and my pussy is stretched enough for you big cock.” You let a small whimper.

Mattheo's eyes darken with lust as he watches you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Merlin’s beard, babe, I love it when you say shit like that," he growls, quickly pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. His chest is lean and toned, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin in the flickering candlelight. The sight makes you legs turn into jelly, unable to take your gaze off him.

He’s just… so fucking hot.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as his hands make quick work of your jeans, practically tearing them off your body in his haste. He breaks the kiss to look down at you, his gaze hungry as he takes in the sight of you laid out beneath him, clad in nothing but your soaked panties.

"Look at you, spread out like a fucking feast," he rasps, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. He tugs on them making you exhale heavily, your pussy clenching to the fabric, to then drag them down slowly, his knuckles brushing against your sensitive skin, your arousal coating his fingers. "I knew you'd be dripping for me, baby. Fucking soaked and ready."

He tosses your panties aside and settles between your thighs, his breath hot against your dripping sex. He looks up at you, a wicked grin on his face."I'm going to make you feel so fucking good, doll. I'm going to eat you out until you become so fucking desperate,” He laughs, “such a perfect pocket pussy.”

He finally lowers his head, blowing air towards your heat and drags the flat of his tongue along your slit, a low groan rumbling in his chest at your taste. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, as he starts to make out with your warm and moist lips. Eating you out like a starving man, his tongue delving between your folds to lap at your dripping essence.

You’ll never get tired of the feeling of Mattheo’s tongue in your body. “Oh, shit… mmhm.” You start to feel dizzy, the overwhelming sensation of pleasure too much to cope with, making you close your eyes.

Mattheo groans against your sex as he feels your body trembling beneath him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you hold him close. He can feel your arousal coating his chin, your juices dripping down onto the blankets below. The taste of you is intoxicating, and he can't get enough.

He starts to suckle on your clit, his lips wrapping around the sensitive bundle of nerves as he teases it with the tip of his tongue. At the same time, he slides a long, manly finger deep inside your tight heat, curling it just so to stroke that spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch off the floor.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he murmurs, his voice vibrating against your sex as he starts to pump his finger in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your pussy. He adds a second finger, stretching you wider, filling you up just the way you need.

His other hand slides up your body, cupping your breast, kneading the soft flesh as he pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers. He's touching you everywhere, stoking the fire building low in your belly, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it, baby. Fucking coat my fingers," he growls, his eyes never leaving yours.

The vibrations from his mumbles and growls shake your body, building up such an addicting feeling at the centre of your stomach, your insides knotting together in pleasure just waiting to be undone. “Oh my God, Matty… you-you’re so good to me, bloody hell.”

His fingers shiny with your arousal as he pounds them into you, his tongue flicking rapidly over your folds. "I can’t wait to feel this pretty cunt squeezing the fuck out of my cock when I slide inside you. I want you all over me. Fucking drench me in it."

He curls his fingers just right, rubbing that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids as he suckles hard on your clit. Addicted to the way your body shakes and trembles as he pushes you over the edge.

“Oh shit! Fuck! I’m-I’m close baby…”

Mattheo can feel your body tensing, your inner walls starting to flutter around his plunging fingers as your climax approaches. He doubles his efforts, fucking you harder with his firm digits as he messily slurps and spits in your clit, spurred on by your desperate moans and the way your body writhes beneath him.

He looks up at you, his eyes dark and intense as he growls, "Come on then, baby.” He lovingly urges, “Come all over my fucking face. I want to taste your cum, want to feel it coating my mouth, want you inside of me."

He continues pumping in an unbelievable force, fingers curling and twisting inside you, stroking that spot that makes your vision go white. At the same time, he closes his lips around your clit and sucks hard, his teeth carefully tugging the sensitive bud as he teases out your climax.

He can feel your body starting to shake, your thighs clamping around his head as your orgasm crashes over you. He doesn't let up, continuing to stroke and suck, drawing out your pleasure until you're a writhing, moaning mess beneath him.

"Fuck yes, just like that…" he demands, his voice rough and ragged. "Let me hear how fucking good it feels, baby. Let those pretty sounds escape,” You can only moan louder, whine louder, barely able to pronounce words. “Yeah, that’s it, good girl… oh! Thats it, that’s it… so fucking precious” He chuckles, the sound so rich and full, turning you even more horny.

He keeps praising you, his movements impossibly harder, faster, deeper, fucking you through your climax as he pushes you to new heights of ecstasy. Your body convulses, your head thrashing on the blanket as the waves of pleasure consume you, leaving you gasping and shaking in the aftermath.

Mattheo finally pulls back, his face glistening with your climax as he looks up at you with a wicked grin. "Fuck, that was so hot," he rasps, his voice low and filled with desire. "You came so fucking hard, baby. I could feel you squeezing the life out of my fingers, fucking messy bitch.… My messy, filthy play bunny, am I right?"

He crawls up your body, his hard cock pressing against your thigh as he leans down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "I'm going to fuck you now, baby. Can I fuck you?” He asks between sloppy and wet kisses “I'm going to slide my big, hard cock deep inside this tight little cunt, fuck”

You can only nod and whimper in pleasure, still high form the orgasm, but you crave more, you crave Mattheo in ways that are unhealthy obsessive. Not to worry though, because just as he has you wrapped around his finger, he is simply the same, kissing the floor you walk on, a heavy need in his chest to show you how much you mean to him.

He only smirks at your needy whimper, his ego boosted by the way you're still trembling with the aftershocks of your intense orgasm. He can see the desperation in your eyes, the hunger for more, and it spurs on his own desire.

He reaches down, his pants long gone, wrapping a hand around his hard, throbbing cock and giving it a few slow pumps. It's hot and heavy in his hand, the pretty pink tip already leaking with big pearls of need. He rubs the head through your dripping folds, coating himself in your arousal, letting out a low groan at the feeling of your slick heat. The filthy scene making his mind fuzzy.

"Fuck, you're still so tight," he grunts, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. He lines himself up with your entrance, the thick glistening head nudging against your opening. "I don't know if I can be gentle, baby. I want to fucking ruin you, want to make it so you can't fucking walk for days."

With that, he starts to push forward, his rock hard dick slowly sinking into your tight heat. He has to pause, his breath coming out in harsh pants as he fights the urge to just slam forward and bury himself to the hilt. He looks down at you, his eyes dark and intense, a bead of sweat dripping down his brow.

"Breathe, darling," he commands, his voice low and rough. "Breathe and relax, baby. Let me in, let me fucking warm you up."

He starts to push forward again, his pulsing shaft sinking deeper into your tight channel with each slow, steady thrust.

He's stretching you, filling you, the sensation of being so utterly complete by him that makes your eyes roll back in your head.

Mattheo leans down, capturing your lips in a hot kiss as he finally bottoms out, his hips pressing flush against yours. He groans into your mouth, his tongue plundering as he starts to move, pulling out slowly before slamming back in, setting a hard and fast pace.

He fucks into you with wild abandon, his hips slapping against yours with each powerful thrust. He's lost in a haze of lust, consumed by the feeling of your tight pussy gripping his cock like a vice.

"Take it, take it, fucking take it!" he snarls, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he pounds into you. The floor creaks and shakes beneath you, slamming you against it with each thrust of his hips. "This is what you fucking wanted, isn't it? To be fucked into stupidity by my big, hard dick?"

He leans down, capturing your sensitive nipple between his teeth and biting down just shy of pain. His other hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit and rubbing it in hard, fast circles.

As you savour the overstimulation, Mattheo flips you over onto your hands and knees, your plump ass pointing up in the air. He takes a moment to admire the view, his eyes darkening with lust as he grips your ass cheeks roughly, kneading the soft flesh. "Fuck, this ass is perfect," he growls, giving your ass a sharp smack that makes you gasp. "Just for me… to be grabbed, spanked, fucked hard and raw."

He lines himself up with your dripping entrance, the thick head of his cock nudging against your swollen, sensitive folds. Mattheo leans over you, his chest pressing against your back as he grinds slowly against you, you juices mixing with his, the noises from the friction too lewd, too dirty, too fucking hot.

"I'm going to fuck this ass one day," he whispers hotly against your ear, his voice low and filthy. "Gonna shove my cock in this tight little asshole and make you scream for me. Bet it's never been fucked before, has it? Never had such a big, thick cock stretching it wide open?"

He doesn’t let you answer as he starts to push forward, the head of his veiny member popping inside your entrance with a loud squelch. He pauses, letting you feel the thick intrusion stretching you open as he reaches around to rub your clit in hard, fast circles.

"Push back, baby. Push this hot ass back on my cock and take it deep," he demands, his hips starting to move in shallow thrusts, working more and more of his thick length inside your tight heat. "Gonna fuck this cunt so hard, baby. Pound this pussy until you're fucking screaming, until the whole fucking school knows what a dirty girl you are for me."

Mattheo keeps one hand on your hip, gripping you tightly as he starts to pick up the pace, slamming into you with deep, powerful thrusts. The other hand stays on your clit, rubbing and stroking the sensitive nub as he fucks you harder and faster, his heavy balls slapping obscenely against your insides with each thrust.

"Yes, yes, fuck, fuuuck baby girl…" he snarls, holding into your ass with wild abandon."Take my fucking cock, you bitch. Milk it with this greedy cunt, fucking choke on my dick as I ruin this gorgeous pussy!"

Mattheo pounds into you with inhuman fervor, his hips moving in a blur as he chases their explosive release. The room fills with the carnal symphony of flesh slapping against flesh, your irresistible moans, and Mattheo's guttural, feral grunts echoing off the walls.

He leans over you, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to your back as he snakes a hand around to maul your bouncing breasts, pinching and tugging at your stiff nipples. His other hand flies back over your clenching, almost hurting clit, rubbing the sensitive bud in tight, frantic circles, pushing you ruthlessly towards the edge of literal oblivion.

"That's it, baby, shit! You make me feel so good. You know that? Ughh… !" Mattheo moans, his voice a primal, animalistic sound that sends shivers down your spine.

Your body starts to seize, back arching sharply as a mind-shattering orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clamps down on his pistoning cock like a velvet vice, rippling and fluttering wildly around his thick shaft as you come undone.

"FUCK, YES!" Mattheo bellows, slamming into you one last time as your climax triggers his own. His large shaft throbs and pulses, swelling even thicker inside your spasming walls before erupting like a volcano.

Scorching ropes of thick cum erupt from his cock, painting your insides white as he floods your womb with his seed. It feels like he's cumming for an eternity, his potent release seeming to go on and on as he grinds into you, pushing his come deeper with each twitch and jerk of his hips.

Your mind goes blank, your vision whiting out as pleasure more intense than you've ever known consumes you. You convulse and thrash beneath him, your body wracked with sensation, overwhelmed by the sheer ecstasy of your shared climax.

Mattheo collapses against your back, his body blanketing yours as he trembles and shudders above you. He pants harshly, his breath coming out in ragged bursts against your neck as he slowly comes down from his release.

With a soft grunt, he carefully rolls off of you, pulling you with him so that you're both lying on your sides, facing each other. He drapes a strong arm around your waist, tucking you close to his chest as he studies your face with a furrowed brow.

"Are you okay, baby?" he murmurs, his voice now low and gentle in contrast to the primal, lust-filled growls from before. His fingers come up to brush a sweat-dampened strand of hair out of your face, his touch sweet and tender.

"My beautiful baby… you're shaking... did-did I hurt you?"

Mattheo's thumb skims along your cheekbone, tilting your chin up so that you're forced to meet his gaze. There's a flicker of concern in his dark eyes, a hint of guilt as he takes in your flushed skin and the way your limbs feel heavy and weak.

You shake your head to dismiss his concerns, too tired to physically answer him.

"Fuck, I got a bit carried away there," he admits with a grimace, his arm tightening around your waist as if to keep you safe and close. "I didn't mean to be so rough, gorgeous. I know I was fucking hard, but you just... you felt so fucking good, I couldn't control myself."

He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead before trailing his lips down to press a passionate kiss to your lips. It's different from the hungry, desperate kisses from before - this one is slow, sensual, almost reverent.

"Let me take care of you," Mattheo whispers against your lips, his voice low and soothing. "Let’s go back to the castle so I can run you a bath, yes?." The bet long forgotten.

He starts to sit up, keeping you cradled in his arms as he sits.

He rummages through his bag, taking out his wand, and with a swift movement, you both aparate to his private dorm.

Mattheo leans down to press another kiss to your pouty lips, his hot breath lingering on your skin. “I love you like no other baby,” He mutters sleepily, the intense sex, catching up to him.

“Now breathe for me, pretty girl….”

[yua0ra]

𝔒𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: 𝔐𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔶 𝔉𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢™

𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔲𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔡 (𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔨𝔩𝔶 𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

[!] 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: downbad!mattheo x slytherin!fem!reader, SFW, english is not my first language. not proofread | fluff ☏ | WC: 1.8K | AN: Just a silly little draft of the weekly report. I'm trying my best here, this format took me so fucking longggg. Enjoy!

[!] 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Mattheo is now emotionally unwell and possibly hiding in a broom cupboard. You, meanwhile, are thriving.

[!] 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱:

𝔒𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫: 𝔐𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔶 𝔉𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔏𝔬𝔳𝔢: A Case Study in Emotional Chaos

You were walking toward the library when Theo caught your arm with all the subtlety of a Howler in the Great Hall.

“Hey,” he whispered with a conspiratorial grin, glancing around like he was about to pass you a top-secret Ministry file. “Just… be cool. Okay? Something’s coming.”

You blinked. “What?”

He patted your shoulder. “Good luck,” he said solemnly, and then disappeared down a corridor like a man who had done something irreversible and didn’t want to be around for the aftermath.

Which is exactly when Mattheo appeared.

He was walking toward you with the energy of someone who’d been dared to do this under threat of public humiliation. He looked like he might be sweating. A little.

“Hi,” he said, trying very hard to sound normal and failing spectacularly. “Uh. I—this is for you.”

He handed you a folded note like it was cursed. His hand hovered for a second too long, and then he shoved both into his pockets and took three full steps back, like you might explode.

You eyed him. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said too fast. “I mean, not nothing. It’s… words. It has… words.”

You opened it. He looked away like he couldn’t bear to witness what he had just done.

You began to read, smiling as your eyes scanned the first few lines. And then—

“Mattheo is totally into you. In case you didn’t notice. Or, y'know, maybe you did, because he looks like a deer caught in the headlights every time you talk to him.”

Mattheo’s head snapped around so fast you thought he might sprain something.

“WAIT—are you reading it out loud?!”

You kept going, undeterred.

“FROM THEO (aka Chief Strategist & CEO of Operation Matty Falls in Love™): I have tried everything short of slipping Veritaserum in his tea—”

“Oh my god,” Mattheo muttered, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going to crawl into a hole and stay there until I’m thirty.”

“He’s a walking, brooding poem of longing. It’s exhausting.”

He let out a strangled sound. “That’s not even accurate! I don’t—brood—okay, I do, but not like a poem—”

You were laughing now, full-on laughing.

“Hi, beautiful,” you read in Blaise’s voice, with a smirk. “Quick check-in: have you noticed the way he stares at you like you're the only thing keeping his soul tethered to this mortal plane?”

Mattheo made a noise like a dying animal.

“He told me I looked ‘warm’ the other day—”

“OKAY,” he blurted, snatching the letter from your hands in a panic, eyes wide and red-eared. “I’m officially confiscating this. You weren’t meant to read it like that—they told me it was subtle! Like a nudge!”

You were still grinning. “You practice saying hi in the mirror?”

He turned around, mid-flee, and groaned into the air. “I hate all of them.”

“And you faint when I smile?”

“I black out at best.”

You giggled again, stepping forward. “Hey, Mattheo?”

He turned, suspicious, still flushed and mortified. “…Yeah?”

You smiled softly. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

He groaned, crouched to the floor, and dropped his forehead into his hands. “I will never recover from this.”

From around the corner, a muffled “YES!” echoed, followed by Theo yelling, “PHASE SIX COMPLETE!”

Draco’s voice: “That wasn’t Phase Six. Phase Six was ‘he confesses in a normal, non-pathetic way.’”

Blaise: “Let him have this. He didn't die.”

Mattheo just looked up at you again, blinking.

“…Wanna go to Hogsmeade with me?” he said weakly.

You smiled. “Yeah, Matty. I do.”

He looked like someone had just handed him the last biscuit in the tin and told him it was all his. And somehow, even through the horror, he grinned.