#its yearning hours | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

acourtofchaos · 11 days ago

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I'M CRYING THIS IS SO SOFT

Your lips, my lips, Apocalypse - M.R.

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x you

Inspired by: Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex

It had started subtly—small moments that stretched out between you and Mattheo Riddle, a flicker of something that neither of you acknowledged right away. You would catch him glancing your way in the halls, his gaze lingering just a little longer than necessary, but you never did anything about it. Not at first. The moments were brief, fleeting—a shared glance as you passed by in the library, an accidental brush of your fingers as you reached for the same book on the shelf. You weren’t oblivious to the tension, but you weren’t sure if he felt the same.

It was the first time he walked you to class that things began to change.

You had been leaving the common room to head to your first class when you ran into him. Mattheo stood there, leaning against the stone wall, looking like he had all the time in the world.

"Ready for Potions?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his presence pull at you. "Of course. Wouldn’t miss it."

"I’ll walk you there," he said casually, pushing off the wall, his eyes never leaving yours. "Don’t want you getting distracted by anyone else."

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks at the implication, but you didn’t back down. Instead, you lifted your chin slightly, giving him a playful look. "And why would you care if I get distracted by someone else?"

He smirked. "Because I’m the one walking you to class, aren’t I?"

You couldn’t argue with that. So you fell into step beside him, the walk to class filled with an easy, comfortable silence. But the air between you two was charged, and you found yourself stealing glances at him as he walked beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours with each step.

It wasn’t long before this became a routine. Every day, Mattheo found some reason to walk with you to class, making sure he was there to greet you in the mornings. He would lean in close when he spoke, his breath warm against your ear, and the way his hand brushed against the small of your back when he guided you through the crowds made you feel important, cared for like you mattered.

But it wasn’t just the physical touches. It was the way he made you laugh, the way he listened when you spoke, like he actually cared about your thoughts, your opinions. You had always known Mattheo to be a bit of a troublemaker, but he had this way of making you feel like the only person in the room when he looked at you. His smiles were rare, but when they were directed at you, they made everything else fade into the background.

One evening, after class, Mattheo had walked you back to the common room. The sun had already set, and the hallways were quieter, the castle feeling more intimate in the dimming light.

“Goodnight,” he said, his voice low as you reached the entrance to the girls’ dormitories.

You stopped for a moment, looking up at him. “Goodnight,” you replied, a smile tugging at your lips. There was something unspoken in the air between you two, a moment that hung there, heavy with anticipation.

For a long second, neither of you moved, standing close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. The tension was almost unbearable.

Before you could say anything else, he stepped closer, his hand lightly brushing against yours. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured, his eyes flickering down to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

You nodded, almost breathless. “Tomorrow.”

As you turned to enter the dormitory, you could feel his gaze on your back, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was a small, almost innocent exchange, but it had meant more than you were willing to admit.

The next few days were filled with the same—quiet walks between classes, shared smiles, and brief moments of closeness. But something changed one afternoon when Mattheo showed up outside the entrance to the common room with a bouquet of flowers.

You had just finished an essay in the library and were heading back to your room when you spotted him leaning against the stone wall, a small smile on his lips. He wasn’t his usual cocky self, instead standing with an air of anticipation, his hands behind his back as he waited for you.

“Got something for you,” he said, his voice almost shy as he extended his hands to reveal the bouquet of delicate pink roses—your favorite.

You couldn’t hide your surprise, your eyes widening at the unexpected gesture. “Mattheo, these are beautiful��” you breathed, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you. No one had ever done something like this for you before—not like this, not so… thoughtfully.

“I remembered,” he said softly, his gaze meeting yours, and there was something in his eyes—something tender, almost vulnerable. "I know you like them."

You felt your heart flutter as you took the flowers from his hands, your fingers brushing his. You didn’t know what to say. You had never expected something like this from him, but here he was, standing in front of you, giving you something so simple, yet so meaningful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words feeling too small to convey everything you were feeling in that moment.

He smiled, his usual playful smirk making a return. “You’re welcome,” he said, stepping closer. “I think I’ll walk you back to your dorm, if that’s okay?”

You nodded without hesitation, and as you walked beside him, you felt the weight of the flowers in your hands, but it was the way he kept stealing glances at you that made your pulse race. The night air was cooler now, and you could feel the chill against your skin, but it didn’t matter. With him beside you, everything felt warmer.

When you reached the entrance to your dorm, Mattheo didn’t immediately pull away. Instead, he stepped even closer, his hand brushing against your cheek as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Goodnight," he whispered, his gaze lingering on you with that same intensity you had seen before.

You stood there for a moment, staring up at him, feeling the pull between you stronger than ever before. Without thinking, you reached up, placing your hand on his chest. His heart was pounding beneath your fingers, and you could feel the heat between the two of you, something electric sparking in the space that had always been too far between you.

And then, just as you were about to say something, he closed the gap between you, pressing his lips gently to yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but then it deepened, as though both of you had been waiting for this moment. His hands cupped your face, and you felt the heat of his body against yours as the kiss became more urgent, more desperate, as if both of you knew this was the beginning of something neither of you could walk away from.

When you pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, he smiled, a slow, satisfied smile that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You watched him walk away, your heart still racing, your lips tingling from the kiss.

The days following that moment were a blur—slow, sweet moments where you would sit with Mattheo at every meal, talking about everything and nothing. He was always there, always present, making you feel like the center of his world. And with every passing day, you found yourself falling harder for him.

He never rushed you. Never pushed you for more than you were ready to give. He was patient, always gentle, always asking if you were okay, if you were comfortable.

It was clear from the way he treated you that you meant more to him than just a casual fling. But you had been hesitant, unsure of what he wanted from you. You knew he’d been with other girls before, but none of them seemed to have the connection that you did with him. You could see it in the way he looked at you, in the way he always made time for you, even when his friends teased him for being “smitten” with a quiet, shy girl like you.

You tried to ignore it at first, tried to tell yourself that it was just a phase for him, that eventually he’d lose interest. But when you saw the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—you realized that you were wrong. He had never been like this with anyone else.

And tonight—this night—was the culmination of everything.

You glanced at the clock, biting your lip nervously. The idea of losing your virginity to Mattheo—your first boyfriend, the first person you truly let into your heart—felt... monumental. He was different from the others, you knew that. It wasn’t just a fling, a one-night stand. He had shown you that.

You stood before the mirror in your dormitory, clad in delicate black lace that felt almost scandalous against your skin. The bra hugged your curves just right, your breasts spilling over slightly, the matching panties sitting high on your hips. A dress, the color of ink, slid over it, cool against your warm skin. You smoothed your hands over it, exhaling shakily, before reaching for your perfume. A soft mist of jasmine and vanilla settled over you, and you knew—Mattheo would notice.

He always did.

Your heels clicked softly against the stone floor as you stepped out of your room, but before you could take another breath, there he was—waiting. He always waited.

“Merlin,” he breathed, taking a step closer, eyes drinking you in. “You’re—” He stopped, shook his head, exhaling like he couldn’t believe you were real. “So beautiful.”

You swallowed, cheeks warm, the intensity in his stare making it hard to breathe. Then you noticed the flowers in his hands—peonies, soft and full, your favorite.

Your heart clenched. “Mattheo… these aren’t even—”

“Native to Hogwarts,” he finished, his lips twitching into a knowing smile. “Yeah, I know. Took some effort. Worth it.”

Heat bloomed under your cheeks feeling your face warm, but before you could respond, he was already closing the space between you, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers. His thumb traced over your cheek, and when he kissed you—slow, deep, adoring—it felt like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words.

He pulled away too soon, his forehead resting against yours as he handed you the flowers. “Happy one-month anniversary, princess.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. No one had ever done something like this for you before. No one had ever looked at you like you were it—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And when he took your hand, threading his fingers through yours, and led you back to his dorm, you knew—you knew—you had never been more certain of anything in your entire life.

His room was different tonight. Candles flickered on every surface, casting warm shadows against the walls. His bed was made, which, for Mattheo, was something short of a miracle. But your eyes caught on the sleek black box sitting neatly on the comforter, a green ribbon tied around it perfectly.

Your breath caught. You hadn’t gotten him anything.

“Oh, no,” you whispered, turning to him, already scrambling for words. “Mattheo, I—fuck, I didn’t—” you stammered, panic rising in your chest. You had spent all week preparing yourself for this, buying new lingerie, picking out the perfect dress—how could you forget a gift?

His laugh was soft, hands steadying your flustered movements. “Hey, hey, stop.” His thumbs rubbed soothing circles over your wrists. “You don’t have to get me anything, baby. You’re already more than enough.”

Your lips parted, ready to protest, but he shook his head. “Open it,” he coaxed, nudging the box toward you.

You obeyed, fingers trembling as you tugged the ribbon loose. The lid lifted easily, revealing something silver and glinting inside. A silver chain, delicate but sturdy, with a locket. The engraving—a serpent, coiled and intricate, its eyes gleaming in the candlelight—was beautiful. Heavy. Timeless.

“Mattheo,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I can’t—this is too much.”

He tilted his head, smiling softly. “It’s nothing crazy,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “My dad has a bunch of these old family heirlooms lying around. My mum thought you’d like this one best.”

Your chest ached with something unbearably warm. He went to his mother about me.

Before you could say anything else, he took it from your hands, unclasping it. “Turn around,”

You did, holding your breath as he draped it around your neck, fastening it securely. The locket rested cold against your collarbone, but his hands, when they brushed over your skin, were warm. His fingers brushed over your skin, slow, lingering, before he turned you back to face him.

"It looks perfect on you," he said lovingly.

And when you met his gaze—when you saw the depth of it, the sheer devotion written across his face—you knew.

You wanted him. All of him.

Your lips parted. "Mattheo."

His fingers traced your jaw. "Yeah, baby?"

You swallowed, pulse pounding, nerves twisting in your stomach. "I want you."

Something shifted in his eyes, darkened, his pupils dilating as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip.

"You sure?" he asked, voice rougher now.

You nodded. "Yes."

Looking into your eyes before kissing you softly, pulling you onto his lap, hands gripping your waist as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours, tasting you, savoring you. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his curls, tugging. but you didn’t know what to do next, this was your first time and fuck you felt so scared you were going to do something wrong. You pulled away from him breaking the kiss, coming off his lap as you sat on his bed next to him looking down at your hands fiddling. “Fuck I’m sorry, I-I just—I’ve never done this before and I know you have and it’s my first time and—”

“You’re nervous,” he said gently.

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “A little.”

He knelt in front of you, fingers grazing your knees, barely touching. “We don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The words left your lips before you could second-guess them.

His eyes searched yours, dark and deep and so full of adoration it nearly stole your breath. Slowly, he reached for your hands, bringing them to his lips, pressing the softest of kisses to your knuckles.

“I need you to tell me if you want to stop,” he said gently, his lips grazing the inside of your wrist. “At any moment.”

You nodded, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

His hands slid to your thighs, warm even through the fabric of your dress. He pushed up slowly, knuckles trailing against your skin as he gathered the hem, lifting it inch by inch until black lace was revealed beneath. His breath stuttered at the sight.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. “You wore this for me?”

You nodded again, feeling warmth creep up your neck.

He guided you toward the bed, laying you down gently, treating you like something sacred. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that left you breathless, his mouth trailing soft kisses along your collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, over the lace covering your stomach.

“I want to make this good for you,” he said sincerely against your skin. “Tell me what feels good baby.” His eyes never left yours, and when his fingers slid between your thighs, finding you already soaked for him, his breath hitched.

“Fuck, princess,” he groaned. “You’re dripping for me.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, embarrassment creeping in—but then his fingers dipped lower, teasing, and you whimpered.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your throat, lips trailing fire across your skin. “Let me hear you.”

You did. You let him hear every soft moan, every choked gasp as his fingers stretched you open, slow and patient, preparing you. Your own hands trembled, reaching for him, for the hardness straining against his pants, feeling the heat of him through the fabric. He groaned as your palm pressed against him, his hips canting forward instinctively. You tried to undo his belt but weren’t having much luck, he laughed at your attempt before getting up and taking it off himself. Watching him as he pulled his boxers down letting his cock free you couldn’t help but stare.

When he finally laid you back against the bed, positioning himself at your entrance, he stilled.

“Are you sure?” His voice was raw, strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

You looked into his eyes, heart swelling, and nodded. “I want you.”

He exhaled sharply. And then—he pushed in.

A sharp whimper tore from your throat. The stretch burned, overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once.

Mattheo froze, his jaw clenched, sweat beading along his forehead as he held himself back. “Baby—fuck—tell me if it’s too much. I’ll stop.”

You shook your head quickly, legs tightening around his waist. “Don’t stop.”

He kissed you then, slow and deep, as he began to move. The rhythm started careful, reverent, his thrusts sent sparks igniting down you, the slick sounds of your bodies meeting filling the room as he moaned your name.

“You feel—fuck—so tight,” he rasped against your lips, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“Faster,” you begged. “Please.”

He grips your thighs, hoists them higher around his waist, and fucks you.

Harder. Deeper.

The bed creaks, the headboard knocking against the wall, but all you can hear is the sound of his ragged breath, the filthy sounds of your bodies moving together, you kiss him with the same intensity, your lips moving in sync as you both breathed each other in. When he pulled away, you could see the raw emotion in his eyes—the devotion, the need.

“I love you,” he groans, “Fuck—I love you so much.”

His words melted your heart. You knew they weren’t just something he said out of habit, that they weren’t just pretty words thrown around in the heat of the moment.

“I love you too,” you whimper, your voice barely audible.

“God, you’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips, his hands gripping your hips as he moved with you, each thrust pulling you closer to the edge.

It wasn’t just about sex. It was about the way his eyes never left yours, the way he kissed you like it was the last time, like you were his whole world.

His hand slides down, pressing against the soft swell of your lower stomach, feeling the way he fills you, the way your body molds to him. Your breath stutters, head tilting back as a whimper slips from your lips.

His thumb drags down, brushing over your clit, and the second he touches you there—you break.

The pleasure shatters through you, your entire body arching off the bed as a moan catches in your throat. He fucks you through it, deep, grinding against you as you clench around him, your release dripping down his length, making every thrust obscene.

But he doesn’t stop.

"That’s it, princess," he pants, watching you unravel beneath him, "give me another—"

“Mattheo—fuck—I can’t—"

"Yes, you can." His fingers move faster, rubbing tight, dizzying circles over your clit, his thrusts growing erratic, his voice strained. "One more for me. Come on, let me feel you—"

You cry his name as your body betrays you, the overstimulation too good, too much, too fucking much. Your walls tighten around him, pulling him deeper, until he’s cursing, until he breaks as he’s about to cum.

His body tenses, a deep, broken groan ripping from his throat as he buries himself inside you, spilling deep, his hips stuttering as he grinds against you, fucking his release into you like he never wants to leave. His fingers shake as they grip your hips, bruising, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

He’s still moving, slow, shallow thrusts, like he doesn’t want to stop, like he doesn’t know how to stop.

"Fuck," he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, "fuck,baby"

His breath is shaky, his lips brushing against yours, Neither of you move for a long moment.

Then—softly, hesitantly—he pulls out.

You whimper at the loss, feeling his release dripping from between your thighs, warm, thick, messy. His breath stutters at the sight, his hands already reaching for you, like he can’t bear to be apart from you for even a second.

"You okay?" he whispers, brushing damp hair from your face.

You nod, still breathless, still floating.

But he doesn’t let that be enough.

"No, tell me." His thumb strokes your cheek. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"No," you whisper, voice hoarse, "never."

His shoulders relax, "Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?" he murmured.

You nodded, letting him pull away just long enough to reach for his wand. With a quiet spell, the mess between your thighs vanished, before tugging the blankets over you both, pulling you into the warmth of his chest. He doesn’t just hold you—he wraps himself around you, one arm tight around your waist, the other slipping under your head, cradling you against him.

And as he held you, whispered sweet nothings against your skin, you realized—there was no one else you would’ve wanted this with.

Only him. Always him.

Mattheo Riddle was your first.

And something told you… he’d be your last.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: yeahhh HE AINT UR LAST cus here’s part 2 if u wanna get ur heart broken, apologies in advance sorry not sorry

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

#its yearning hours #mattheo riddle x reader

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