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obsessedwithceleste · 10 months ago

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Deflections

Mattheo Riddle x reader

Interlocked pt 2

Summary: deflect (verb) to cause (someone) to deviate from an intended purpose.

word count: 2.5k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. This work belongs to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

Getting close to Mattheo was significantly easier than you had initially anticipated.

Upon your return to Hogwarts you had hesitantly agreed to Professor Dumbledore’s plan with the stipulation that if the old wizard even suspected that you or Mattheo were ever in serious danger- the plan would be called off immediately, and measures would be taken to ensure everyone's safety.

The old man had seemed surprised when you included the boy’s well being as well as your own in your set of conditions, but hadn’t pushed the issue.

You had worried of course, that you might not even be able to get the plan off the ground. How was one supposed to magically appear in someone’s life? You hadn’t found any spells to help you in that particular area. Fortunately for you however, Dumbledore seemed to have pulled some strings as you were currently sat next to the curly haired boy in your assigned seat while you waited for your next class to begin.

You debated trying to start up conversation with the boy, but really what were you supposed to say? Hey, how’s dear ole dad? No. Got any deep, dark secrets you’d like to share with the class? Obviously not.

Lucky for you, Harry chose that exact moment to burst through the doors, muttering something anxiously to Hermione who honestly just looked exasperated.

“Harry please, just drop it for now,” she sighs, stopping and shaking her head at the boy.

“Mione it’s important!” Harry protests, shooting a nervous glance at Draco, and then the boy next to you.

You watch as Mattheo glares at the dark haired boy, a snarl forming on his lips as Harry continues to give him suspicious glances.

“Oh come off it Harry, just sit down, class is supposed to start soon anyway,” you speak up, hoping prevent any spats this early into the school year.

Hermione gives you a look of gratitude before steering Harry off into the direction of their own seats on the opposite side of the classroom.

“You ladies sure do have boy wonder on a tight leash,” Mattheo says after a moment once Harry is out of earshot.

You let out a surprised snort, looking at the boy next to you.

“That boy is a menace. And I’m not even that friendly with them. It’s a wonder Hermione is able to keep him and Ron alive half the time,” you reply cheekily.

Mattheo let’s put a laugh and you’re surprised by how genuinely happy the boy could sound. You had supposed happy moments were few and far between for him.

“So are you friends with them then?” He asks

“Friendly is the word I’d use for it,” you tell him. “More so with Hermione than the boys. She’s the one who invited me to join the DA last year. Probably wouldn’t have gotten involved otherwise.”

You watch as Mattheo tilts his head in consideration, fingers tapping rapidly against the desk.

“Wish us Slytherins had been invited. We hated Umbridge just as much as everyone else,” he says with a scowl. “Except maybe Draco, but man will use any excuse he can get to go on a power trip.”

You laugh softly at the last bit, but can’t help the guilt that rises up in you at the truth behind the boy’s words. It was true, every other house had been included in the DA, yet no one had bothered to acknowledge the distinct lack of green robes amongst them.

Before you can reply, Snape glides dramatically into the class room, eyes lingering momentarily on you and Mattheo before he moved on to the front of the room. It seemed he’d finally convinced the headmaster to give him the post for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The next time you run into Mattheo is quite literal as you collide with the boy as you’re both browsing the never ending shelves of the Hogwarts library.

You were lost in your own little world, eyes scanning the worn down spines of the texts in a determined search. You didn’t even see him coming.

It only takes a split second to feel the weight hit you, the air escaping your lungs for a moment as the books in your arms thud to the ground.

“Shit, sorry bout that,” a deep voice mumbles, scrambling to grab at the books littering the floor.

As soon as you regain focus on the situation, you’re surprised to find the one and only Mattheo Riddle on the floor next to you. You hadn’t realized he was one to lurk about the library.

“It’s alright. We really should do this on purpose sometime,” you laugh as the boy sheepishly helps you pick your scattered books up off the floor.

The boy beside you freezes, looking at you with a shocked expression as the words leave your mouth.

“You want to be around me? On purpose?” He asks in a sort of disbelief as he eyes you warily.

You feel your heart clench at the earnestness with which the boy speaks. Clearly there were layers to this boy that others simply hadn’t cared to uncover. There were so many expectations that you had of the boy, but thus far, he'd crushed every one of them. He just seemed. Human. And yet not even the professors at the school cared to find out if this boy really was like his father. He was simply cast to the side, ever suspicious and conniving. Being the son of one of the most feared wizards in Britain, it probably came with the territory. But it felt absolutely cruel to be manipulating someone who really had no say in this upcoming war.

You had always thought that Dumbledore was the leader of the light. The epitome of goodness and moral strength, but looking at the curly haired boy in front of you made you wonder. Why were children doing the adult’s heavy lifting?

“Well sure. You were great in class the other day, and we don’t choose our family. We find it.” You reply, a tight lipped smile stretching across your face.

Mattheo was fucking stressed. The moment he had stepped foot back at Hogwarts with Lorenzo and Draco, it was like a mountain had been lifted off of his shoulders, only for a mansion to be dropped back on top of him.

Sure while they were at school they were technically out of his father’s reach. But the tasks he had assigned each of them? They loomed over the boys like a puppet master towered over his wobbling little marionettes.

The only one the boys could really focus on at the moment was Enzo’s task. To repair a broken vanishing cabinet. None of them wanted to think about Draco’s task. Mattheo shuddered at the thought. And then of course there was his.

It had been easy enough to find a target. Snape had practically handed him the perfect victim on a silver platter, seating him next to one of Potter’s friends in DADA. Maybe it was the flaring teenage defiance in him. Or the fact that the girl had turned out to be rather fit and witty, but the idea of seducing the girl at the demand of his father absolutely repulsed Mattheo.

His whole situation was fucked really. He could feel the burning in his forearm even now as his eyes scanned the library shelves. He hadn’t wanted any of this. None of them had. Draco may have been proud to bear his father’s mark at one point, but he knew better now. They all did. And they were suffering for it.

There wasn't a single day that the boy's didn't feel as though they were suffocating under the weight of it all. And then to make matters worse, they had dear Saint Potter up their arses, sniffing about where he had no business.

All these thoughts swirled through Mattheo’s thoughts as he haphazardly searched the library shelves for any and all books pertaining to repair spells, hoping to find something- anything that would aid Lorenzo.

Just as he’s turning into the next row of books, he runs straight into another student, jolting them forward as books fly out of their arms.

“Shit, sorry bout that,” he mutters, bending down to collect some of the fallen books.

When his eyes travel up again, he finds himself staring into the warm eyes of the very girl he’d been thinking of moments before. He must’ve bloody manifested her or something.

Your words echo softly in his head, the only thing really registering being the fact that you had asked to spend time with him.

Maybe in another life Mattheo would've been popular with the ladies of Hogwarts. He was attractive. He knew that. But no one wanted to associate with the likes of him when his father was looming about. Up to this point, students had been avoiding him like the bubonic plague. Mattheo couldn’t help but admire your confidence and the ease with which you conducted yourself around him as he stared at you with shock.

Under normal circumstances he would be attracted to you. Fuck. Under these circumstances he was bloody attracted to you.

“You want to be around me? On purpose?” He blurts out, immediately cursing his own idiocy.

“Well sure. You were great in class the other day, and we don’t choose our family. We find it.”

Yeah. He was done for. It feels like a warm, fuzzy blur as Mattheo agrees to meet there in the library the following night to study. And the world seems to move in slow motion as he makes his way back to his dorm as if in a trance.

“Find anything useful?” Lorenzo asks as soon as Mattheo steps through the door. He looks more ragged than normal. Hair askew and dark blue forming under his eyes. His usually go-lucky grin is subdued.

Mattheo shakes his head, slumping onto his bed.

“Think I might’ve accidentally begun my own task,” he grumbles, burying his head in his pillow. Maybe he should just suffocate himself now.

Glass shatters, glittering fragments scattering about the floor as Mattheo lets out a frustrated roar.

Lorenzo looks tiredly at his friend and then at the vase, previously in his friend’s hands, and now littering the floor with disinterest. It had been months of working endlessly on the blasted cabinet with little to no progress made. These bursts of outrage from Mattheo were nothing new.

“I’ll kill him myself! Fuck him. Fuck this. Fuck!” The curly haired boy raged, knocking another vase off of one of the random tables crammed into the wretched place.

“Let’s just call it a night,” Draco intervenes before Mattheo could cause any more damage to their surroundings.

The boy was seething, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Go work on your own task hmm? That always calms you down,” Enzo adds, a sly smile forming on his tired face.

No matter how stressed the boys were, they always had the energy to tease him, Mattheo thought dryly to himself. He could feel his fists clenched tightly, still shaking as he focused on reigning himself back in.

“We reconvene tomorrow night. Snape got me a pass for the restricted section. I’ll take a look and report back,” Draco decides, the three of them making their way out of the room of hidden things.

Mattheo had calmed down significantly, but was still silently fuming as he spotted you in your usual spot next to the fireplace in the library.

He was mad at the world really. Mad that he was cursed with an evil thing to call a father. Mad that that thing was threatening his friends. Mad that there was nothing he could do about it. Mad that no one with any real power was doing anything about it. And mad that he was supposed to be manipulating the beautiful girl in front of him.

“Someone looks like they’ve had a rough night. Did Enzo set your bed on fire again?” You ask, looking up and noticing the rather mesmerizing boy hovering in front of you.

It had been months since the two of you had first started meeting in the library and it had been terribly awkward at first to be honest. The boy seemingly had locked up every single defining trait about him and surrounded himself with wall after wall.

It had taken time, but slowly and surely, the boy had begun to let you in. He was weary of course. Anyone would be in his position you supposed. But it was surprising how easily the two of you seemed to fit together.

Mattheo hums roughly as he plops down beside you, arm wrapping securely around you as you turn to face the boy.

“Just. Stuff with my father. You know how it always is,” he sighs, running a hand through his wild, curly hair.

You didn’t really. If there was one thing that Mattheo was always closed off about, it was his father. Not that you could blame him of course. He was actually rather open about his own life once you had gotten to know him a bit. Not hesitating to share with you the many escapades of him and his fellow Slytherins. But as soon as his father was mentioned, he snapped right back shut.

“Hmm, tell me about it?” You ask carefully, turning to face the boy fully as your hand traces the back of his.

You’re close enough to see the faint line of the scar that marred the boy’s pretty face, and how his eyes seemed to darken as his whole body tensed.

You let your thumb rub the soft skin of his wrist gently, resting your head on his shoulder as you wait patiently for the boy to speak.

Something else you’d gotten good at was calming the boy down when his anger flared up. Your silent support seeming to sooth whatever was raging beneath the surface.

You were trying to pick the boy’s brain. You knew that. And it felt grimy. Sickening really. It had taken weeks for the boy beside you to really trust you, and how did you repay him? By whispering in Dumbledore’s ear.

Mattheo lets out a deep sigh, resting his head on yours.

“My father.” He begins slowly, voice barely above a shakey whisper, “he assigned us tasks. Me, and Draco, and Enzo.”

You remain quiet as the weight of his words take hold. Harry had been going on all year about how he was sure the Slytherin boys were working for Voldemort. How could they not be with his very son leading them? But to hear it from Mattheo himself made the situation all the more real.

You wait a moment as the silence stretches on, and when the boy doesn’t elaborate further, you grasp onto the boy’s hand, giving it a tight squeeze.

“You’re not running away in horror.” Mattheo murmurs, eyes focused on the floor in front of him.

“You’ll have to try harder than that to get rid of me.”

The office of the headmaster was all too familiar at this point. The eyes of the portraits gazing upon the familiar visitor with disinterest.

Your stomach was in knots as the old man before you gazes at you steadily.

“Harry was right. They are working for Voldemort. Mattheo, Draco, and Lorenzo. He assigned them all tasks, but he wouldn’t say what.”

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ynlife21 · 1 year ago

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y/n x

which y/n x characters would you like to see next?

#y/n #x y/n #louis partridge x y/n #matteo riddle x y/n #sturniolo triplets

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iniquitousyearning · 4 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 4th. mattheo - virginity loss / corruption kink.

PART TWO | kinktober masterlist. | 2024.

summary: pls read part one first for a lil buildup. also. im laughing at myself bc there was a perfectly good bed…right there…

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, virginity loss, PIV, so much dirty talk, so much patience from mattheo, (more of a realistic virginity loss bc it’s not always easy), praise!!!!, slight degradation, fingering, multiorgasm, handjob, best friends lil sister trope.

Mattheo Riddle was so accustomed to this. The pulse of adrenaline in the dead of night, the quiet hum of anticipation stretching every second longer than it needed to be. You weren't naive to that, not to him, nor the danger he carried so effortlessly in his stride. He wore it like a second skin.

But you—you were not accustomed to it. Not to any of this.

So when you pushed open the door to the room of requirement a little over ten-minutes later, you hadn't been sure what you were expecting to find. Something darker, maybe. More foreboding. But when the room revealed itself before you—silent, draped in soft moonlight that pooled over the bed with a window wide and open, spilling that pale silver fog across the floor—you almost laughed.

Too perfect. Too on the nose, like the castle itself had been watching you both for months and had decided this was the moment it would indulge you.

"You're late." Mattheo's voice cut through the quiet.

His back was to you, suit jacket discarded on an old oak desk against the wall, dark curls falling just above his collar as he stood by the window, eyes fixed on the lake. The moonlight made the ripples dance, just like the tension in the room.

You took a step toward him, silent.

He turned, finally. His eyes met yours and you saw it—the hesitation, the way his gaze moved over you, slow, cautious. He took in the way the light draped itself over your shoulders, moving lower—and it was as if for the first time, he allowed himself to see you fully, all the details he had so tried to ignore, now right in front of him. He drank them in.

You gave him a small, nervous smile, hoping it would ease the weight of his stare. "I didn't realize you were the type to keep track of time."

He moved closer, but not close enough. Not yet. His breath was tight, chest rising and falling too fast. The space between you felt like a chasm, though it was barely there at all.

"You've a lot to learn, little girl," he teased, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though it did nothing to mask the conflict in his eyes. It was meant to disarm you, but it only made the air heavier. His jaw tightened. "You're sure about this?"

"Quite sure," you breathed, stepping closer, close enough to admire the sharp line of his jaw, the soft stubble. "You're the one who's hesitating."

"I'm not hesitating," he muttered, though the roughness in his voice betrayed him. He knew he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be doing this with you. His best friend's little sister. He wanted to give you every chance to stop this, to walk away. "Just trying not to rush this—rush you."

You let out a small huff, your hand moving up to find his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. Mattheo Riddle was nervous.

"You've been making me wait for months," you whispered. "I don't think a little rushing would hurt."

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on your hand as it trailed over his chest, lower, teasing. Every touch was a flame against his skin, every breath between you a match struck in the dark. He wanted you, more than anything, but the weight of it—the wrongness, the danger—clawed at his conscience.

His hand caught your wrist, intending to stop you, but his fingers lingered against your skin. Frozen.

"We shouldn't be doing this," he muttered, the words thick in his throat. "Your first time should be—"

"My choice," you interrupted, pressing closer, your body flush against his, your lips brushing his jaw as your hand slid lower, teasing the edge of his belt. "My virginity is mine to give, Mattheo. And I want to give it to you."

He shuddered, your words settling, sinking into the dark space that held you both captive. His hand found your hip, the other threading through your hair, gently tugging your head back to expose the soft skin of your neck.

"You’re not thinking straight," he rasped. "You'll regret this..."

But even as he said it, his hands tightened, pulling you impossibly closer.

"I'll regret nothing." Your fingers slipped lower, grazing his crotch, moving with nothing but instinct and need. Biting your lip, you felt the outline of him, hard and aching under your palm, and squeezed—he grunted, snapping his hips, and you throbbed. "Shit, Mattheo..."

"You are—fuck..." Mattheo's voice was a ragged breath, the words drawn out like he'd been holding them back for months. "...such a little tease."

You let go as quickly as you'd squeezed, and he growled against your skin, fingers tightening in your hair. Your hands found his face, pulling him in, crushing your lips to his. You moved with intent, pushing him back until his thighs hit the edge of the desk, and he groaned again—this low, guttural sound that sent a thrill through you.

You smirked into the kiss, tasting his frustration, savouring the way his defences cracked open. When you pulled back, his chest was heaving, lips swollen, eyes dark with want.

"I learned from the best," you whispered, teasing as your fingers slid down, finding the buckle of his belt. He watched you, every breath uneven, as you worked at the latch, pulling the leather free. "You've had months of fun tormenting me," you continued, moving to the button, the zipper. "Kissing me, only to say it was a mistake. Grabbing my ass every chance you could. Talking sweet when my brother wasn't looking..." your smirk deepened, and you looked up at him through your lashes. "...it's my turn now."

His pants sagged around his hips as you undid them and he cursed under his breath—his brain was struggling to catch up, like he couldn't believe the sudden shift, couldn't quite fathom the boldness with which you undid him.

Until—his hands were on you, spinning you around, your back hitting the desk with a thud.

"You think you're in control here?" His fingers slid up your hips, dragging your dress along with them, baring your skin to the cool air. "You think you have any goddamn idea what you're doing?"

You shuddered—you'd never seen him like this before—there was something feral in the way he moved, now, something sharp in the way his hands worked. His thumbs hooked around your panties and in one swift motion, they were gone—torn down your thighs before he urged you back onto the desk, parting your legs with his torso.

You were breathless, chest heaving, pulse thrumming wildly. His presence consumed the room, and for a moment, it was all you could focus on—the intensity of him, the raw, unfiltered hunger in his eyes.

You stared up at him, mind empty, until—

Smack.

His palm came down on your inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of sensation straight to your cunt. Your skin stung from the contact, but that wasn't the part that made you gasp. It was the heat, the way it surged through your veins, flooding your abdomen in a slow, aching pulse. You liked that.

"I asked you a question." His lips brushed against your ear, breath warm as he leaned in. "Two, actually."

You couldn't think, mind swimming—the press of his body, the rough timber of his voice, the weight of his hands as his fingers teased, climbing higher, brushing closer to the ache between your thighs. You sucked in a breath, trying to recall what he'd asked, trying to focus anything but the fire he was lighting in you—

But then, his fingers slipped further, closer, just barely brushing your slit, and your hips jerked involuntarily, chasing that touch.

"No—I don’t—“ the shame in the answer barely mattered. His fingers were so close, so close. "Gods—I just know I want you—"

"That's all you think about, isn't it?" He smirked, lips falling to your neck, tongue tracing the places he knew would wreck you, each soft, wet press making you whimper despite yourself. "You don't care about anything else..." his fingers slipped lower, dipping between your folds—and you cried out, shameless, the sensation unlike any other you'd ever felt. "…not the consequences, not the risk...you just want me…”

Your nails dug into his back and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, wetting his fingers in your arousal before gliding back up to your clit and tracing over it.

"Oh—Gods—" you whinged, moaning into his shoulder.

Mattheo’s hands were experienced—that much was certain. Those fingers knew exactly how to move, precisely how to trace light, delicate circles over your clit that made you twitch, squirm— nerves stripped as you took in the new sensation. It wracked every inch of you, and you could feel him savouring your helplessness, drawing out every ounce of tension that had been building between you for months.

“You’re soaked.” You could hear the disbelief in his voice. “...filthy little thing for me, aren't you?"

"Gods, Mattheo, yes—" your eyes rolled, thighs twitching against his hand. "I am—ohh—"

"Yeah?" His tongue traced a slow, wet path up the side of your neck, teeth dragging over your pulse. "You like this?"

His words were enough to make you want to scream, but no sound formed—just a low, broken moan that spilled from your throat, raw and shameless.

"Answer me," he murmured. "You ever orgasm from this before? Hm?"

"No—" your voice choked, trembling as you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to look at him, something like shame pooling in your stomach. "Oh, fuck—"

"No, what?" His fingers pressed harder, circles growing faster, more insistent, and his voice—Christ, his voice— "I asked you two questions, little slut. Keep up. You wanted this."

"Yes—mmf—I like it—" you whined, the words a desperate spill from your lips, too flustered to form anything coherent. "And no—Gods—you're the first to...to touch me like this..."

He figured as much but the admission tore through him nonetheless, his teeth sinking into your shoulder with a groan—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a mark, a bruise, a reminder. His hand dipped lower, a finger pushing inside you without warning, pressing deep into your slick heat, and you cried out, your body tightening, pulsing around him, vision swimming.

"And this?" His voice was a smirk against your skin. "You let anyone else inside you like this?"

You knew he already knew the answer. You both did. He was reveling in it—the way he had you, trembling, helpless. You'd never heard him like this, never heard him so crass, so unfiltered, and the way he spoke made your whole body flush with heat.

"No." The word was a strangled moan, barely a breath. "Gods—Mattheo—you already knew that—"

He crooked his finger inside you, and your back arched, the stretch unfamiliar yet mindnumbing, his thumb working your clit. You felt teeth nipping at your earlobe, a hum into your eardrum—his body thrumming with the satisfaction of finally, finally letting himself have you where he wanted.

"Perhaps I did." He added another finger, curling them inside you, his teeth scraping along your neck in a smile. The groan that slipped from your lips was desperate, pained in its pleasure, your body reacting to every new inch of him. "Fucking hell—you can barely take two..."

Your head shook, words failing you. "Gods—Mattheo—I...fuck..."

A low grunt rumbled from his chest, his fingers moving quicker, slick with the evidence of your desire. "Feels good?"

"Yes—" you moaned, breath hitching, vision blurring as he pumped his fingers in and out, building something inside you that you couldn't name, something new, something overwhelming. "I feel—oh, gods—something...happening—"

"You feel something?" His voice was mocking, drenched in that innocent, teasing tone that had you falling apart. "Yeah? What's happening, princess?"

You couldn't find breath, couldn't form the words to answer him. The pressure inside you was mounting, intensity unbearable, your body tense and straining toward an edge. You clung to him, breathless, desperate for more, desperate for something, anything—

"I don't—" your voice broke as his fingers curled deeper, wetness flooding between your thighs, his thumb relentless. "Pressure—fuck—so much—"

He nodded. "Yeah? Pressure in that pretty stomach? Feels fucking good, doesn't it?"

"Fuck—yes, yes," your lids fluttered. "S’good—"

"You're so close." He watched you, drunk on your downfall, and smirked as you neared the edge. "You're going to cum for me."

Sanity shattered in your throat—words trapped, swallowed by the tension, leaving only the soft, unbridled whimpers you once might've once found embarrassing. But there was no shame now, not when you were this close, the pressure coiling tighter in your core, ready to burst.

"Ohh—" you managed, lungs sputtering, head tipping back. The sound of your voice, the way you moaned, was foreign, unfamiliar to your own ears. "Gods—oh fuck-"

"I know," he cooed, sweet like sugar. "I know."

You were a mess. Too close, too overwhelmed—everything was him. His scent, the heat of his skin, the feel of his fingers working that magic that had your body convulsing before you could even cry out, before you could process the way your vision blurred with the force of it. The climax hit like a wave crashing over you, and your moans were swallowed by his kiss, his lips on yours the second your body tightened, shaking against his hand.

He was relentless, rough and insistent, kissing you like he wanted to devour you whole—drowning out the world as your body pulsed around his fingers. You’d never felt such an intense sensation, lava coursing, replacing the blood in your veins. His breath stuttered against your mouth, a low groan vibrating through him, the sound making your spine tingle.

"F-fuck," he muttered, pulling his fingers from you, glistening and wet. "Messy little thing."

The words sent a shiver through you, not just from their meaning but from the way he said them, like something perverse, intimate. Your chest tightened with the warmth of them.

"You—" you panted, trying to find your voice. Blinking through the haze of lingering bliss. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" He chuckled your name against your neck, lips brushing a path to your ear. "Because you might fall in love with me?" His teeth grazed the sensitive spot under your lobe, along your jawline. "Oh wait...you already have."

"Shut up," you whispered, stomach flipping at the way he said your name, the way it dripped from his mouth like honey. "Have not."

"I've known for a while, you know," he mused, his voice so low, so quiet. "Don't think I haven't seen it—the way you look at me." He kissed your skin again, working his way up, each press of his lips something sacred, moving closer to your mouth. "The way you can't get enough of me."

You could kill him for it, for the way his words sunk into your bones, making all the feelings you've buried rise to the surface, pulling you under. He just had to go there—had to milk every inch of your composure out of you, because it's not enough for him to have you disarmed physically—sexually—he needed to have you disarmed emotionally, too.

Perhaps the worst part of it all is how right he was. Arrogant bastard.

"Stop talking," your hand drifted down, grazing the bulge in his pants, your fingers slipping under the waistband, rubbing him through the thin fabric of his boxers. It was reckless. You've never done this before, but God, you wanted to. "Stop talking and teach me."

The room tilted—the world off its axis. His breath caught, choked in his lungs as he grabbed your face and pulled your lips to his—his kiss wild, his tongue insistent, running along your gums and wrestling with yours for control.

"Fuck," he groaned into your mouth as you tugged his boxers down, freeing him, your hand wrapping around him. Hot. Hard. "Wrap your fingers around it, princess. Gentle strokes. Just like that."

Your heart stumbled at the sound of his voice, thick, raw and open. You tightened your grip, stroking him slowly, experimentally, and he hissed through his teeth, a groan vibrating through his chest.

"You're so big," you murmured, forehead against his, the words spilling out without thought. "So thick..."

"Fucking minx," he moaned. "Stroking me and telling me how big I am—fuck—you're not as innocent as everyone thinks."

"Only you know this," you whispered, your hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes, pulse soaring as he groaned. "Does it feel good, Matty?"

"Fuck—Christ—" his breath was jagged, words ripped from his throat like they barely wanted to come out, hips jerking mindlessly. "Tighter, mm—little tighter—"

Your cunt throbbed—each whispered invocation of a god not his own, of something he didn't believe in, forced a shudder through you. That's how you knew. Knew how lost he was. He’d no mind left at all if he was muttering muggle gods.

"Like that?" Your fingers squeezed around him, your gaze burning into his as you looked up through fluttering lashes.

His face was a storm—flushed, eyes half-shut—but at your voice they opened and flicked down to yours, and for once, there was no arrogance, no mockery in that stare. Just raw, primal need, burning so fiercely it made you ache. His hips rocked, desperate for more. Painfully. A hole in his chest torn wide open for you to see, and he didn't care. Couldn't care.

"Yeah—shit—just like that," he gritted out, grip on your hips bruising, but you welcomed it. Needed it. "Fast learner, aren't you?"

"You're a good teacher," you whimpered, a sound that was barely yours as his fingers slipped between your thighs, finding your slit, teasing you open again. "Oh—"

"You've always been a little teacher's pet," he groaned, thrusting into your hand as he slipped a finger inside you. The stretch made you wince, pleasure and pain blurring into something that sent sparks behind your eyes. He watched you, gaze molten. "Fuck—it’s gonna hurt, you know that, right?"

The ache spread through you, but you didn't flinch. "I know," you whispered as his thumb found your clit, making you gasp. "I trust you."

"I know you do." His voice dropped, eyes dark and soft at once as he pushed another finger inside. "You know you’ve always had me wrapped around your fucking finger. You know I care about you—“

His words were too much, pressing on something fragile inside you, and you pulled him into a kiss to shut him up—deep, desperate, drowning. Your hand tightened on his length, the heat between you flaring, and you moaned against his mouth, shaking with the need for more.

"I want you," you breathed, each syllable shivering on your lips as you clenched around his fingers. "I've wanted you for months—"

Months? No, it had been years. Years of wanting, needing, watching from afar, heart in your throat. Years of avoiding anyone else because no one was him. You knew he’d felt the same and it killed him. It wasn't logical, wasn't supposed to be like this—not with you, not now, not his best friend's little sister, not him whispering sweet, dangerous things while knuckle-deep inside your virgin cunt.

It was as if you both shook those thoughts from your minds at once. You’ll think about the implications later.

"You've got me," he rasped, hips grinding involuntarily against your hand. "Just—fuck—don't hate me after this."

Hate him? The very idea was laughable, absurd. You could never hate him. Not even in those moments you tried, not even when he deserved it.

"I could never hate you," you murmured, drawing him closer, lips trembling against his. "Just—please—"

Something shifted in his eyes, and he knew. Knew what you needed. What you both needed. You were vulnerable, trembling, but you trusted him—completely. You’d been in his life for so long. You knew he’d never hurt you. He could see it your eyes, the trust, the in the way your body bent to his touch.

"Alright," he said softly, a hand running up your body to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Alright."

His fingers slid out of you, leaving you bare and breathless, and you swallowed. This was really about to happen.

"Lay back," his voice cut through your haze. "Legs to your chest."

The command wrapped around you like a vice, tightening the anticipation, and you fell back on your elbows, staring up at him as you raised your legs. Vulnerability crept in, making your thighs tense, but Mattheo was there, spreading you open with firm hands, pressing himself against your slick. His eyes were locked onto yours, all that self-assurance gone, melted into something more human—something raw, unguarded.

You could feel it; the vulnerability of this moment stretched between you both—the distance you'd maintained for so long, the careful walls you'd built, were nothing now. He was in too deep, and so were you.

"Stop me at any time," he whispered, his voice a raw rasp, eyes meeting yours. "Just breathe.”

He leaned down until his lips ghosted over yours, and you kissed him like the world might collapse if you didn't. He guided himself against you, the press of him at your entrance an unbearable ache. He was hot, hard, huge—and despite the wetness slicking down your thighs, your body resisted, too tight, too unsure of this.

You whimpered, instinctively trying to pull away, but he stayed, pressing kisses to your hair, your temple, whispering something that sounded like comfort but burned like fire. It hurt more than you expected, more than any of the fantasies you had dared to entertain.

Doubt curled through your chest, what if you couldn't take him? What if—

"M-Mattheo..." his name broke in your throat as you clutched his arm, nails digging into his skin. He tried to push in again, but your body resisted. "It—you—you can't fit..."

"Shh," his lips ghosted over yours, his hand slipping through your hair, trying again, moving slow, controlled. "You're just—so goddamn tight—"

The way he said it sent a spark through your veins. It was filthy, shameless, and it lit you up from the inside, despite the pain. No one had ever spoken to you like this. You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears pricking as he tried to work you open.

And then—he was in.

"I-it hurts," you hissed—pain lighting up your spine as he worked his cockhead inside you, pushing against the resistance of your walls. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, each inch a battle. The pressure was unbearable, the sting so sharp it was paralyzing. "Oh, fuck, Mattheo—"

He groaned, a sound from deep within his chest, his head bowing, sweat creeping over his brow.

"Shhh, I know—I know..." he murmured through shredded cords, fighting to maintain control as his hips paused, barely halfway in, just enough to make you feel like you might break. "S'okay...you're doing so good..."

It was overwhelming—the fullness, the ache that felt like it might split you in two. And yet, beneath the pain, something else stirred. His words, soft and rough all at once, made the sensation bearable, turned the hurt into something else. You focused on his voice, on the way he stroked your hair, the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Why—mmff—gods..." you could barely speak, the words tangled in your throat. "Why do you have to be so big—"

A strangled laugh escaped him, though his eyes stayed shut tight, his jaw clenched—cock twitching inside you.

"I don't—fuck—know." His fingers brushed your lips, covering your mouth gently. "Don't go talking like that—not right now—"

You might have laughed, too, if your body wasn't so taut, strung tight with tension and pain and something far more profound. He was barely inside you, his words making your insides clench, drawing another groan from his lips at the squeeze.

His hand held your jaw, palm pressing lightly over your mouth, enough to breathe, to speak—

"Why—" you knew what he meant, knew the warning in his eyes, but you couldn't stop yourself. "—not?"

His breath hitched. "Because—" he swallowed hard, words coming through gritted teeth, his fingers tightening around your jaw, a warning in his grip. "Because—fuck—your mouth will get you in trouble."

Oh. That was what he meant.

"But—oh fuck—you're so...big..." the words slipped out before you could catch them, a disgruntled moan falling from your lips as he sank all the way in, filling you so completely it was dizzying. The pressure, the heat, the sensation of being pried open—it was all too much, and you cried out, unable to stop the sound from spilling out. "Ohhh—so big—"

"I said, fuck," he cursed, hand clamping firm over your mouth now as his body shuddered, as he ground his hips gently into yours. "—don't say that."

It was too late. You didn't need to say anything further. He could feel it—he could feel everything in the way you clenched around him, barely letting him move—so goddamn tight it was almost painful—he could feel it in the look in your eyes, in the trembling of your body beneath his.

"I can feel you thinking it," he grunted as you squirmed beneath him, every movement making him twitch inside you, drawing another choked groan from his throat. "Merlin sakes—"

You knew he wasn't used to this. To slowing down, to drawing out the tension like this, to the maddening slowness of every motion. He wanted to lose himself, to break you open hard and fast, to take and give and take again until both of you shattered into something unrecognizable. But he couldn't—not with the way your eyes glistened, not with the way you gasped and whimpered as he filled you.

"No talking," he sucked in a breath against your neck, his hips rolling into yours in slow, unbearable waves. "Only if you need me to stop."

He was breaking. So were you. Every thrust was an exquisite kind of torture—an ache that twisted and stretched, dulled only by the flick of his fingers against your clit. His lips pressed along your neck, kissed along the line of your jaw, groaning with each deep, patient push, carving his way into you as you clung to him, your mind floating through the fog of pain into something different—something overwhelming.

Your head fell back. “Oh—Oh gods—“

Each gasp felt like it might be your last as that something built deep inside you, tight and unfamiliar, an ache that didn't hurt but begged to be released. And he felt it too—Mattheo felt it, the way your body pulsed beneath his, the way you tightened around him like you couldn't bear to let him go.

"Bloody fuck—are you—are you going to—" his words were ragged, broken. He couldn't finish the thought, couldn't hold himself together. "Are you—"

“Mattheo—” your voice trembled, a breathless moan as your back arched, pressing into him, your body seeking more. The pain was null now, replaced by an overwhelming pressure, something tight and aching and good—you felt every inch of him inside you, every pulse of his cock as he moved, slow but relentless. “Mattheo—oh gods—”

"Fuck—" he bit down, teeth sinking into your neck as his fingers swirled your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. "You're gonna make me—"

You choked because there was no space for words, no breath for anything but the raw sound of your bodies—moans, gasps, ragged inhales tangled together as you both hurtled towards something inevitable. The light of the moon radiated the man above you and that was all you could register other than the rising crescendo of your climax—something so intense it scared you, almost broke you apart—your body seizing, trembling, as his fingers pressed harder against your clit, as he thrust deeper.

And then, there was only one more blink until you shattered beneath him, the orgasm tearing through you in oceanic motion, muscles clenching around him so tightly he could barely move—and then he was there, too, his body jerking as he groaned into your skin, his release ripped from him in jagged gasps as you milked him without mercy. He slumped on top of you, fingers digging into your skin, the two of you pulsing together in the aftermath, the room spinning, your bodies still trembling from the force of it.

The world was slow to return, the roar of sensations fading into something quieter, softer. The weight of him on top of you was grounding—his forehead pressed against the crook of your neck, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. Neither of you moved for a long while, just basked in the silence, kind that settled in after something irrevocable had passed between two people.

And then, Mattheo pushed up, enough to meet your eyes. Your chest ached at the softness inside his own.

“Are you—” he swallowed as he drank you in, the sheen of sweat on your skin, the flushed cheeks. His words hung in the air as if he didn’t know how to finish the question.

“I’m okay,” you nodded, voice hoarse. “I’m good.”

Mattheo nodded too but didn’t move, still buried inside you, just taking you in. Then, gently, he shifted, pulling back with a slow, careful movement that made you wince slightly. The second he’d pulled out, you felt different—more aware of the vulnerability you’d just laid bare, more aware of the line you two had just obliterated into absolute shambles.

“You sure?” he asked, a flicker of something deeper in his gaze—

You nodded again, the smallest smile pulling at your lips, though your heart was still racing, the enormity of it all sinking in.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m sure.”

His jaw tightened, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“This changes everything, doesn’t it?” His voice was barely audible, like he didn’t want to admit it out loud.

Of course he was thinking it too—how could he not? This was no longer something you could pretend didn’t exist, no longer something you could hide behind banter and stolen glances and secret kisses.

“Yeah,” you breathed, fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the tension there, the heat still radiating from his skin. “It does.”

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girllblogging777 · 4 months ago

Text

𝐴𝐹𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑅𝑀.ೃ࿐

↳ bf!mattheo riddle x fem reader (slight angst ? fluff) requested by @ilovematteoxx ♡

↳ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 : 1.2k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 : you can’t find your boyfriend after an argument, and the castle is surrounded by dementors

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

the argument had started over something small. ridiculously small, actually. you couldn’t even remember the details anymore, but somehow, the two of you had managed to let it escalate and before you knew it, mattheo and you were throwing sharp words like hexes.

your boyfriend, as loving as he was, had a way of getting under your skin sometimes. he was all about teasing smirks and cocky grins that usually made you laugh, but tonight you weren’t laughing. tonight, you were tired and on edge from a long week of classes and when he joked about you taking things too seriously, something inside of you snapped.

“not everyone has the luxury of not giving a damn, mattheo.” you’d answered with your arms crossed. “not everyone has parents who don’t care.”

the moment the words left your lips, you swore you could’ve felt the air shift. it was like time froze, everything suddenly stood still and went way too quiet. mattheo’s expression shifted, the usual soft gaze he saved for you disappearing. you saw how the hurt flickered in his dark eyes, before he quickly covered it with cold indifference.

“forget it,” he said sharply before walking out, turning his heel and disappearing out of the common room before you could even get a word out.

you stood there, frozen, the weight of your words slowly sinking in. merlin, you hadn’t meant it like that. in fact, you hadn’t meant to hurt him at all. but you had and now he was gone, and you didn’t even know where.

you couldn’t focus on anything for the rest of the evening and as wandered around the castle - silently hoping you’d bump into him around the corner - the hallways felt emptier than ever. dinner passed in a blur too. every time someone entered the great hall and sat down at the slytherin table, you quickly looked up, only to realise it wasn’t him.

you spent the rest of the night alone in your dorm, laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, trying and failing to get any sleep. your last conversation kept replaying in your head, what if you’d really hurt him this time ? what if he didn’t come back ? sure, mattheo had his walls, but he never stayed mad at you for long… your mind spiralled. outside the window, everything was dark and still. inside your heart, everything was twisted in knots.

and then, just as you were finally drifting off, a loud noise jolted you awake. it wasn’t just you either, you heard frantic footsteps outside your dorm, and voices raising as well. you sat up, heart pounding and confused. it wasn’t long before a frantic knock echoed through the door, and your best friend pansy came in.

“you have to get up, everyone is being taken to the great hall. now !” she said quickly. “what’s happening ?” you asked in a panicky tone as you got out of bed. “dementors,” she muttered, pulling you outside and rushing you to join the many students making their way through the dark halls. “they’ve been spotted outside.”

your heart skipped a beat. dementors.

the crowd of students rushed to the great hall, tension filling the air, already thick with worry and whispers. you scanned the faces around, searching for any signs of mattheo. but he wasn’t there. he wasn’t anywhere.

“pansy,” you breathed, tugging on her sleeve as realisation dawned on you. “i don’t see mattheo. where is he ?”

she shrugged, concern flickering in her eyes “don’t know, i haven’t seen him since this afternoon”

you swallowed hard, your chest tightening. where was he ? the last time you saw him was when he’d left after the argument, angry and hurt. what if he was outside when the dementors had left ? what if… what if the last thing you said to him was the stupid comment about his father ?

your breathing picked up and theo noticed it from across the room, before making his way over. “what’s going on ?” he asked with furrowed brows.

“i can’t find mattheo,” you whispered with a trembling voice. “we had a fight earlier and now he’s probably out there, and-“

theo exchanged a knowing look with pansy before cutting you off by gently pulling you into a reassuring side hug “he’s fine, amore. probably just running late, you know him, always slipping off to do merlin knows what.”

but you weren’t reassured. not when the castle was in lockdown. it when dementors were around. not when mattheo was nowhere to be seen, and the last thing he heard from you was something you didn’t mean.

“i didn’t mean it,” you whispered with regret. pansy rubbed your back to comfort you but it didn’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes as you reached the great hall. the place was crowded with panicked students and teachers, but you still felt terribly alone in your world of fear.

“i shouldn’t have said it,” you choked out, wiping your eyes and ignoring the people running around and bumping into you. “i shouldn’t have-“

before you could finish, a heavy sound echoed through the hall. the giant wooden doors swung open with a gust of cold air, and every head turned toward the entrance.

mattheo stood in the doorway, along with some others students you didn’t even glance at. his curly hair was damp with the rain, and his robes slightly disheveled. he looked like he’d been through a storm, but he was there.

without thinking, you ran. you pushed through the crowd, not caring who you bumped into, your heart racing as you closed the distance between you. by the time you reached him, a tear had managed to roll down your cheek, but you didn’t care. you threw yourself into his arms, your hands fisting his robes as you breathed him in.

“mattheo,” you gasped, holding onto him like he might disappear. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean it, i swear i didn’t mean it.”

his arms came around you immediately, pulling you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “it’s okay, love. i’m not mad.”

you pulled back just enough to look up at him, your slightly red eyes searching his face. “you’re not?”

he shook his head, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “no. i just… needed some time. but i’m not mad. i promise.”

you bit your lip, trying to stop the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you again. “i thought—i thought something happened to you. i was so scared.”

mattheo’s gaze softened, and he wiped the tears away with his thumb. “i’m sorry i scared you. i shouldn’t have just left like that.”

you shook your head quickly, you knew your boyfriend’s habit of walking out during arguments was just to help manage his anger. it was something he’d started doing when he realised you were the only good thing in his life, and he didn’t want to take his negative feelings out on you.

“no, it’s my fault. i shouldn’t have said what i did.” he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “it’s okay,” he whispered. “i’m here. i’m not walking away this time.”

for the first time that night, you felt the tightness in your chest ease. the panic, the fear, it all melted away in his arms, replaced by the steady, grounding warmth of his presence. “nice pajamas by the way,” he chuckled, and you rolled your eyes.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

tag list (comment if you wanna be added) @tateshifts @redeemingvillains @helendeath @jolly4holly @larmesdevanille @dexoq @shiftingwithmars @shiftingwithleah @fbvreadingblog @moonlightreader649 @bellatrix-lestrange5 @sp7-mr @sunkissedscribbles @chelawrites @myunperfektstorys @iris-qt @yikesitslush @clar2aa @deadsnakey @deadghosy @slut-for-fictional-men @romantasyreader28 @witchsrecs @mattiesgf

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doremimosasol · 9 months ago

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⋆˙⟡ MATTHEO RIDDLE is the type of guy who wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off you. He’d need to be able touch you in any type of way at all times, gods it’d drive him crazy if you weren’t around.

Hands on your thigh during class or dinner, getting dangerously close to where they shouldn’t be in public. He’d test your limits all the time, aiming for that pathetic whine of yours, pleading for him to stop.

Small touches of his fingertips against yours when you’d walk through the hallway together, a tight grip though when it was packed during the busy hours of the day.

You’d be his personal stress ball, squeezing everything he’d be able to grab on your body. His favorite: thighs. boobs

He’d love to trace patterns on your back when you were sleepy, your head resting against his chest. He even made up his own game of you guessing what he’d drawn, rewarding you with a soft kiss each time you were right. He lies all the time, he’d give you kisses even when you were wrong, he just so desperately wanted your soft kisses. Man, was he a sucker for soft kisses.

Ruffling your hair every time he’d pass by, enjoying the small annoyed frown on your face when he slightly messed it up. You’d do it in return to annoy him, though his reaction went beyond just a small frown. He was just straight up mad, the poor boy spent hours in the morning to make his hair look the way that made every girl fall to their knees.

You on your knees, he’d thread his hands through your hair. Something he did during more cozy times too: when you were asleep, on his chest, when you were reading for him. But make or do sure not to read with your back leaning against his chest, because his hands would be between your legs in no time-

#yes please?#I need him #I could endlessly write about this #harry potter #fiction #slytherin #slytherin boys #benjamin wadsworth #marcus lopez arguello #mattheo riddle #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle fanfiction #matteo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheoriddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you

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slytheringangstuff · 7 months ago

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𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇

y/n: This food is too hot... I can’t eat it.

Theo: You’re very hot, and I still eat you.

Everyone at the table: *silence*

Enzo: YOU GUYS ARE DISGUSTING!

Tom: One dinner... I just want ONE DINNER!

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kaciebello · 4 months ago

Note

HI can you make like a " let's break up" prank

THANK YOU!

"let's break up" prank

Slytherin boys texts genre: crack warning:none note: I don't really like this one but oh well. Gonna blame it on uni starting. Masterlist Social media masterlist ☀ Prompt list ☾

Tag list: @klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone ,@enfppuff , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers , @partnerincrime0 , @schaebickel , @deluluassapocalypse , @adreamingpendulum, @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @happydragonfrog , @harvey-malfoy , @helendeath , @caffeine-addict-slug , @mrvlfanman , @pink-heartz , @feistyfox47 , @nickspotatoesalad , @elltheawkward , @myunperfektstorys , @lostgirl219

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sunkissedscribbles · 7 months ago

Text

Do You Still Care?

pairing: bf!mattheo x fem!gryffindor!chaser!reader

genre: angst

tw: mental health issues on y/n’s side (briefly) mentioned, mention of sex, swearing

word count: 5112

summary: mattheo’s plan to see if you still care backfires completely and ends with a breakup, but are you two able to resolve what's gone wrong?

Songs: the way i loved you - taylor swift (lyrics used), scared of my guitar - olivia rodrigo

a/n: thanks for the help @inksoakedparchment <3

masterlist

dividers by @chachachannah

The promise ring landed on the cold stone flooring of the Slytherin common room with a metallic clink as you dropped the silver jewellery to catch Mattheo’s attention. You were both disappointed and frustrated with him because the last thing you thought you’d see when stepping into the Slytherin commons was a girl, clearly not you, sitting in your boyfriend’s lap.

Mattheo, clearly enjoying himself as he had his hands on the girl’s waist, turned his head to look at you. The shine left his eyes as they met yours, but his gaze soon dropped to the ring he bought you for your second anniversary, which was now on the floor. It stirred something in him, even the thought of it not being on your finger, where it belonged didn’t sit right in him. But he had to hide his pain. He knew he couldn’t break now.

Your facial muscles hardened as you crossed your arms in front of your chest, eyeing your boyfriend angrily, the girl in his lap oblivious to everything around her as all she cared about was that she got the privilege of touching Mattheo Riddle.

“I’m breaking up with you,” you exclaimed coldly, closing off the emotions and locking them up before they could overtake you. If he plays the indifferent, so are you.

This snapped Mattheo out of his trance as he realized he took it too far, and that his plan backfired. “What? No, Y/N, you can’t just say that-“

“Well, yeah, I can,” you spat and shook your head as you eyed the girl from a year below you in his lap and with a scoff, you added, “We’re over, Mattheo.”

“No, you’re overreacting,” he practically pushed the girl off his lap as he got up to be at eye level with you. Walking up to you, he took the promise ring from the floor and held it up for you between his thumb and index fingers. “We’re good together, princess. I love you, you love me. You can’t break up with me,” he shook his head as he tried to hold a desperate sound back, trying hard to maintain this cold facade he mastered throughout the years — the one he only let fall completely when he was around you.

You pushed his hand with the ring away as you spoke up angrily, “But I’m not going to be a second choice every time you see a pretty girl!” and without warning, you turned around and walked out of the common room.

He was still shocked as he stared at your ring between his fingers. This was a stupid game, he shouldn’t have done this. You were his first real girlfriend. The first serious relationship and the last he wanted to ever end. Why did he flirt with a girl in the first place even? It was because you two had been arguing a lot lately, which only resulted in your relationship becoming more of a competition of who can shut down more and keep the indifferent, cold act up. You needed time because it had always been hard for you to express your feelings the moment they appeared — you needed to digest them and let them digest you before you could finally get them off your chest in one way or another. But the more you kept it for yourself the more he thought you were falling out of love with him and didn’t care about him anymore. That’s why he came up with this idea; to make you jealous to see if you did still care. He was only now thinking about how he should’ve given you the time you needed to open up.

You hadn't even talked to him for weeks, trying to push the pain of the breakup down by focusing on other things: your studies, friends, yourself and you were working on erasing Mattheo from your life. And how could you make yourself forget about that twat? By replacing him.

Not the most logical thing to do, for sure and it only complicated things even more, but you got together with Michael Corner from Ravenclaw. It wasn't quite a mature thing to do, especially when Michael did actually have feelings for you and you knew how you'd regret this later because it could only end in pain on one of your side. Because if he found out you — let's be real — used him, he'd get heartbroken and angry. But if he didn't find out, you'd be unhappy with him which he probably wouldn't even notice. So, this is how you got yourself trapped in this vicious circle.

Mattheo, on the other hand, had been acting like a complete douchebag since you'd broken up with him. Not that he had been that nice before. But now the number of the fights he got himself into had severely increased, he started acting colder than anytime else before, and he started looking through you like you weren't even there. He also lost interest in his studies almost completely, his marks dropping lower and lower each day. Or, well, his enquiry had decreased to practising the jinxes and hexes he'd learnt on other students, and getting rid of his excess energy and frustration on the Quidditch pitch. Each and every time he saw you, it just annoyed him so much. He didn't like you with this new other guy, he hated how you seemed to enjoy your life without him so easily. He despised Michael, hated the way he talked with that stupid Welsh accent, and how he always seemed to have his goddamn hand on your waist, right where he had his when you two were together. No one other than him had the right to touch you, in his opinion, and he couldn't stand the mental image of you with someone else. He missed seeing the way your face lit up every time you got excited about something, he missed how your pretty eyes were sparkling and shining when you looked at him. He missed you, and how it had been before things started going spiralling down with all those many and frequent arguments lately. He was miserable and as much as it is selfish, he wanted you to feel just as bad.

But leading the word back to you, erasing him from your life had been harder than you make it seem to be. But knowing his grades were dropping and seeing him acting like a total arse to everyone all you could think of is how this all is your fault, how you were the source of causes behind him changing this seriously.

By the time the day of the Gryffindor-Slytherin match came, students were betting on either team or even making it complicated as "Potter will catch the Snitch but Slytherin will win." Of course, they were; every year this is the biggest match between all houses since the rivalry is the worst between these two houses. It's even worse than a World Cup — it's like boys comparing their sizes. It's no different this year either. The Beaters aren't playing as 'nicely' as they do against Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff — they don't only hit the Bludgers with their bats but the Beaters, and occasionally, the Chasers of the opposing team, too, and the Chasers go on the speed they normally would.

You were manoeuvring with the Quaffle in your hand across the field while Mattheo tried to take you down by crossing your way. Yes, he wanted to win and wanted you to lose for once but despite being as angry and frustrated with you, he couldn't bring himself to tackle you down with a Bludger. How could he? Yes, you broke up with him but that doesn't mean anyone can hurt you. You are his princess, Merlin forbid anyone touching you.

"Twat," you muttered to yourself as Mattheo passes you by, but then set off with greater speed to score another against Slytherin, making it 140-100 for Gryffindor. Soon, Slytherin scored too, as Theo got the Quaffle in his hands, but as you set off to get the ball back, a Bludger coming from Goyle hit your broom. This caused you to lose your balance and your grip on the broom handle.

Mattheo watched in horror as you were hanging from your broom, in the air, among the flying balls and students. His mind immediately went blank as he witnessed the scene before his eyes and he forgot all about the game. Without thinking about it any further, he set off in your direction instantly and wrapped an arm around your waist to save you from falling, and before you’d known, you were sitting behind him on the broom.

“What are you doing?” you asked as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

“Making sure you don’t fall, you idiot,” he exclaimed, trying to ignore the rapid pounding of his heart in his chest as you held onto him tight. Merlin, he missed your body close to his so much.

“Thanks,” you muttered reluctantly, trying to push down ann the feelings that lingered in you for him still.

“Don’t mention it,” he shook his head with a cold tone as he took you to the ground to get your broom back from where it’d fallen. He didn’t want to let go of you, he wanted you to stay pressed up against him, just to feel your arms around him, your warm breath tickling the soft skin of his neck. But he knew he had to let go. You have moved on, you don’t even talk.

Muttering another ‘Thanks’ when you got off from behind him, you went to grab the broomstick. He hopped off his broom too, watching as your delicate figure walked away from him frustratedly, trying to keep up the image that this hadn’t affected him at all, which took him back to how much he hated your new boyfriend. He was supposed to be your boyfriend, you two should’ve lived happily ever after like you two had dreamed.

And now, after the brief moment together, he hated the Ravenclaw boy even more.

“Don’t forget the game is still going on. Or are you worried about your little boyfriend seeing us together?” the mocking words rolled off his tongue without him even thinking about what he was saying.

Your blood boiled at his comment, but when your eyes flickered to the Ravenclaw stands, seeing Michael in all Gryffindor colours, you somehow didn’t feel guilty for the Ravenclaw boy witnessing this scene with you and your ex-boyfriend. “Jealous?” You spat at Mattheo and rolled your eyes, gripping your broomstick.

He let out a sarcastic scoff and following suit, he rolled his eyes. “Jealous? Of the nerd?”

Of course he was jealous, but he couldn’t possibly admit it. This was a game of who is the most stubborn to admit their true feelings. And he wasn’t going to lose. But it took everything in him not to just push you back to the ground, climb on top of you and fuck kiss you until you forget your goddamn boyfriend’s name.

“Yeah. Jealous ‘cause I’m with him?” You stepped back. Michael is a nice guy, you had to give him that. But he’s not Mattheo. Michael wasn’t by far the one you wanted, not who you loved. He didn’t have those mesmerizing chocolate eyes that stared into your soul and shined when he was looking at you, he didn’t have the dark curls you instinctively raked your fingers through after a long day when he was lying on top of you, using your breasts as a pillow and listening to your heartbeat like it was a music you composed only for him.

His eyes remained on you, and that little statement made him snap on an instant. He threw his broom onto the ground to be able to step closer and pull you in by the waist and flush your body against his. By this time, he had completely forgotten about the match going on — not that you had thought about that at this moment either. It was just the two of you again, even if just for a moment, even if it was only arguing with your ex-boyfriend. “Damn right, I’m jealous. He gets to touch you. He gets to kiss you. I hate it.”

“He can see this. Us. Everyone can,” you instinctively gripped onto his upper arms as your bodies stayed pressed against each other while glaring into his eyes. You couldn’t deny that you missed this closeness with him. Because your heart still only desired him and had no space for anyone else in it.

Mattheo glanced around, seeing the people and players looking at the two of you. But he didn’t actually give a damn about that right then. He was completely focused on you, his eyes burning with jealousy and a hint of desire. His hands remained on your waist as he wanted nothing more than to just kiss you without a care in the world about the public. “Do I look like I care?”

“No. We both know that’s not something you normally do,” you freed yourself from his grip as you made the snarky comment about the girl in his lap before grabbing your broom again and setting off to continue the match. How dare he come at you with how jealous he is after what he’d done? Bloody git.

The team was cheering after Harry had caught the Snitch, right when Katie scored through a hoop one last time, making the final score 340-250 for Gryffindor. When Crabbe’s Bludger hit you and you fell off your broom, leading to the ominous conversation with Mattheo, the Gryffindor team lost you, a damn good Chaser for enough time for Slytherin to win over the points, so when Crabbe scolded Mattheo for technically saving you, no one was surprised.

The stout boy yelled after Mattheo, who was currently leaving the pitch, enraged. “What the fuck was that?” Crabbe echoed, following the curly-haired boy. “It’s our job to get those bloody Gryffindors off their brooms and I had Y/L/N! She’s the best Chaser on that fucking team! Without her, we would’ve won! But you had to go and save her like the damn Prince Charming you are?!”

Mattheo clenched his jaw as Crabbe shouted at him, his arms crossed against his chest. He knew that Crabbe was right. It wasn’t his smartest move to save your ass, but deep down he also knew that no one should harm you. He was not losing you.

“So what? You want me to let you take her down or something? And yes, I’m the one to save her because she’s the only goddamn person worth saving in this whole world.”

You overheard his words and your whole body froze. Suddenly, all other noises, your team’s and the other students’ happy cheers were tuned out, you could only hear Mattheo’s words repeating in your head. Your heart was already pumping ten times faster, and stronger as well, you could hear the drum, the fast da-dum in your ears. The only person worth saving? You?

“Fuck, mate! What happened to the dickhead you’ve been since you two broke up?” Crabbe continued spitting in Matt’s face. “I started to think you got some sense when she dumped you! She’s just a dumb Gryffindor who likes being the centre of attention, dude, grow up! She’s not like us, not worth your time! Just some basic ass bitch — but she’s fuckable, I give you that”

Mattheo could feel his anger and rage building within him, but he tried to keep his cool, knowing that if he snapped, there would be no stopping him. He glanced in your direction, seeing you standing in the distance, watching him and Crabbe. He clenched his jaw as Crabbe called you a 'dumb Gryffindor', as he said you’re not worth his time. But the last comment, about you only being some nice piece of meat, made him snap. He suddenly sprang closer to Crabbe and pushing him against the wall of the changing rooms, Mattheo pinned him the boy twice his size there, relentlessly gripping his Quidditch robes.

“Shut your goddamn mouth, you piece of shit,” he spat at Crabbe. “You don't even know her. You don't have the right to talk about her, you don't have the right to say her name! And if you dare talk about her like that again, I will tear you limb from limb!” he growled at the other boy in a low voice, his eyes darkened by anger and rage.

“Aw, Riddle, you gone soft for her. Is shagging her this nice?” Crabbe, being taller and bigger in a sense that’s not muscle mass laughed at Mattheo with a grin, not realizing the next thing Mattheo would do for sure was breaking his nose.

But before he could have done any damage to the boy, you pulled Mattheo away, knowing there would be nothing that could stop him from potentially sending Crabbe into a coma and himself in detention. For you. Because of you. Again.

When your hands grabbed onto his biceps to pull him back, his fingers instinctively softened on the fabric of Crabbe’s robes, knowing your touch like the back of his palm. He felt a sense of satisfaction wash over him as you held onto him and pulled him back, the urge to spin around and kiss you growing stronger than any, but he was still too pissed over Crabbe’s words.

“He’s not worth it. Just some douchebag,” you muttered to Mattheo when he started to try to escape your arms, Theo helping you by using a muting charm on Crabbe in order to keep him from saying anything else that would anger Mattheo even further. Partly angrily, you shoved him under a rain of cold water in the changing rooms to have him come to his senses, still in your Quidditch robes.

The cold shower snapped him out of the haze of anger Crabbe’s words put him into, his breathing returning back from feral to normal as he faced you in the shower, his hair soaking wet and his robes already dripping too — your clothes were somewhat damp as well by that time. “I’m not sure if I would’ve been able to stop myself back there,” he shook his head slightly.

“I know,” you just nodded, while in an internal fight between love and hate where you had no idea which one to let win.

Mattheo, knowing you more than anyone else, instantly knew what you were thinking, now that he was finally focusing on you and not on keeping the cold facade up in front of you. He could feel his dark curls stick to his forehead as they were soaking wet, still standing under the cold water. He looks at you for a moment before speaking up. “Just scream at me. Shout whatever you want.”

You wanted to scream, and shout, just like he had told you to. But you knew you had to stay away from him emotionally because it would only lead to you breaking down in front of him, which would probably end in a position with him that would be considered cheating on Michael. Your boyfriend. Mattheo wasn’t your boyfriend anymore, for fuck’s sake!

You shook your head. “No,” you scoffed and turned the water off before taking a step back. “Thanks for defending me. And saving my ass. But we’re over,” you said, your demeanour cold and distant as you turned around and walked away.

Mattheo's eyes widened in shock as he heard you say you were over, again. The panic and pain that washed over him got the best of him and quickly grabbed your arm again and turned you around, forcing you to face him again. He didn't want to lose you completely, not like this, not because of his own stupidity. "You don't mean that," he shook his head as he spoke up in desperation.

"Yes, I do," you scoffed angrily. No, in fact, you did not mean it at all. "You were openly flirting with that Slytherin, she was looking at you like she had given you head earlier! Oh, or had she? Why did you go and have to do that?"

Mattheo's expression turned from desperate to frustrated in no time as he clenched his jaw. He took a step closer to you, his voice growing more agitated. "Damn, Y/N, I was just messing around, I-"

"Messing around?" you cut in with an irritated scoff, covering the pain of betrayal. "When you had a girlfriend? Are you insane?" you pushed him back to make him stumble a bit and let go of your arm, on the verge of crying out of frustration and hurt.

At your refusal to trust him, his frustration and annoyance only grew, showing in a sigh and a scowl as you pushed him away. "I've never done anything with her! I would never do anything with her, Y/N. I don't want anyone else but you, don't you get that?"

"I don't care! I don't want someone who's doing things behind my back! Next time you get someone pregnant and tell me you were only messing around?!" you shook your head as the first set of tears started running down your cheek.

Mattheo felt his anger being replaced by a sense of shock and pain as he got accused of ever being able to cheat on you. "Damn it, Y/N, I'd never do anything with anyone else! I just... I just wanted to get a reaction out of you."

"Why?" you ran a frustrated hand through your hair while shaking your head. You started to lose it, not understanding the situation by now.

"Because I'm a moron, okay?" he scoffed bitterly. "Because I knew you'd get jealous if you saw me like that. We were falling out and I wanted to see if you still cared!" he spilt, to which a gobsmacked and frustrated expression got painted on your face. He thought you stopped caring about him?

I mean, sure, you two had started falling out and you two did argue a lot in the past month or two, but it wasn't at all because you didn't care about him anymore. You just couldn't quite word what was happening inside you. And right when you were finally ready and stepped into the common room to fill him in and come clean, he was sitting there, on the couch with another girl in his lap.

Suddenly the few little tears turned into rivers as fat drops rushed down both your cheeks, out of all the anger, frustration, sadness and disappointment that have built up in the past few weeks. You backed off, towards the door but as he saw you do that with the heavy rain of tears that were streaming down your face, his eyes welled up as well and he warily took a step closer to you to pull you into a tight embrace while muttering "No, no, no, don't cry." You gave in to the similarity of his touch and leaned into it for a second before coming to your senses and pulling away, knowing Michael was waiting for you outside.

Mattheo watched you suddenly abort the physical contact between the two of you, his expression quickly changing to confusion and disappointment as you stepped back. He didn't have to see the boy to know the reason behind your motions. "No, wait," he reached out and grabbed your wrist to turn you around with a desperate voice and a pleading tone. "Don't go. Please, don't go with him."

"I have to," you replied as you were forced to look into his eyes but you couldn't mask the pain anymore. "He's my boyfriend."

Those words felt like a punch to the gut for Mattheo, shattering the remains of his heart into a million little pieces. Hearing you call Michael Corner your boyfriend caused a wave of pain and anger to course through his veins. He clenched his jaw, his grip on your wrist only growing firmer the more desperate he became. "You don't have to, that's the point. You're with me, not him. You're mine, not his."

Your blood boiling, you freed your wrist from his tight grip exasperatedly. "You don't fucking own me, Mattheo Thomas Riddle"

"Damn it, I know I don't! I never said that. But we belong together, Y/N/N. You know you don't love him. Not like you love me."

He dares to call you by your nickname?

"Unfortunately," you spit, "that's not your fucking business anymore."

This is how we get to the present day. You broke things off with Michael yesterday after guilt got too much for you to handle, after realizing you can't possibly keep stringing him along like some dog, you can't use him to drown the feelings you have for Mattheo. And this is why you are currently in the music room on the fifth floor. It has always been like some sort of shelter for you. It's never judged, had a piano you played with preference and you could just sit down and live up to your artistic skills. You wrote your poems and songs here.

Mattheo knows. Not about the break-up but how much time you spend in this classroom. He sometimes accompanied you as well, while you two were together. So, when he doesn't find you in your room after hearing you ended things with Michael, this is where he looks for you.

You're sitting by the piano, playing the instrument in question, singing something you wrote a few days prior. And Mattheo's only watching, standing by the door, listening to your beautiful, usually soothing but now oh-so-troubled voice, paying attention to how your delicate fingers dance over the keys.

"...He can't see the smile I'm faking And my heart's not breaking 'Cause I'm not feeling anything at all And you were wild and crazy Just so frustrating, intoxicating, complicated Got away by some mistake and now

I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain It's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name I'm so in love that I acted insane And that's the way I loved you Breaking down and coming undone It's a roller coaster kind of rush And I never knew I could feel that much And that's the way I loved you..."

It's a gasp that snaps you out of the song and your focus is instantly shifted the moment you turn to look at the person the sound came from, and you find yourself facing Mattheo. He's feeling guilty, but then again, the knowledge that you miss him makes him feel proud and a strange sense of happiness flows through him. It fills him with the hope that maybe, just maybe there is a chance to make this thing work between the two of you.

"Are you following me?" you ask, scoffing as you shut your feelings out again when looking at him.

"Maybe I am," he admits with a shrug, trying to feign nonchalance. He glances at the piano before shifting his attention back to you, and saying, "heard you playing."

"No shit, Sherlock," you bark bark back at him.

"This was about me, wasn't it?" he steps to the piano and looks down at you after closing the door.

"About comparing you and Michael," you correct him.

"And what's the point in that?"

"To remind myself how I love an obnoxious prick instead of someone who's kind and caring," you roll your eyes.

Mattheo scowls at your insult and crosses his arms defensively. "I'm not obnoxious. I'm not going to pretend to be someone else to fit your definition of 'kind' and 'caring.'"

"I miss my Mattheo," you exclaim coldly. "" Who was like that, with me. Who didn't try to make me jealous because he was fucked in the head and thought I didn't care!"

He sighs in frustration, running his hand through his hair. "I still am that Mattheo. I never stopped being him. I was just trying to get a reaction out of you, to see if you cared at all. Nothing with that girl was serious."

You scoff. "And now you expect me to just forgive and forget for choosing not to talk about the very obvious problem but to go the easier way?"

Exasperated by the conversation, he shakes his head. "No. No, I don't expect you to do that so easily. I know what I did was wrong, okay? I know I messed up. But I was angry and frustrated because we were fighting almost every day for weeks and you weren't making it any easier by not telling me about how you were feeling. I-I was worried about you and then I was worried for us, for the future we've planned. I acted unreasonably and the next thing I know is you taking your ring off and me losing you because of my own stupidity."

Taken aback, you shake your head with thoughts of all kinds going through your head. He still loves you, how could you deny him? "I told you I had something going on that I wasn't able to talk about yet," you shake your head.

"I know. I know and I'm sorry. I should've given you the time and I should've been patient. But I feared I was losing you," he lets out a guilty, ragged breath. "I'm not begging you, but I'm not giving up on you, on us either. I'm sorry, I miss you," he says, tapping his fingertips on top of the piano as he looks down at you.

Letting out a relieved sigh at hearing the genuineness of his tone and words, you get up from the instrument and step toward him, taking his hand in yours, thus making both of your hearts skip a beat before they start to beat more rapidly. The truth is, you don't think he could ever do anything that'd make you stop loving him.

"I'm sorry and I miss you too," you reply softly, making him smile while the shine returns to his chocolate eyes as he looks at you. He reaches into his pocket, then holds the promise ring you've taken off out for you. He's been having it in his pocket since that day, and on his nightstand at night. "May I?"

With a small yet genuine smile, you nod and hold your hand out for him, and after returning it to where it belongs, he kisses your hand gently. "I'll never let you go again."

"You better."

taglist: @inksoakedparchment @mqstermindswift @reys-letters

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bunny-1111 · 7 months ago

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How the Slytherin boys would react to you getting into a physical fight with another student

Tom:

he would be so nonchalant

he would see, you all hands on deck

break it up

pull you away

when he's walking you off, you're catching your breath

he would say, "Pull yourself together" so sternly

"I don't need people saying I'm dating a classless troll, hear me"

when you nod with embarrassment, he would roll his eyes

leading you to his dorm, you would gather the courage to ask where he's taking you

"teaching you not to use your fucking hands; I'm never above hurting the enemy; you want to hurt someone? I'll teach you a few spells" he would say, stoic

"fighting with her hands like a fucking muggle" you would hear him scoff under his breath, shaking his head in disapproval

Matteo:

Honestly, Matteo would love a psycho girl. You can't tell me different

when he heard chanting 'Fight!' he ran to the scene

Matteo would never miss a good brawl

when he pushed through the crowd and realised it was you amidst the chaos, he smiled

"Come on Baby! swing" he would clap, telling the bystanders that was his girlfriend

when the boyfriend of the girl you were fighting started talking too much shit, he rolls his own sleeves up

couples who fight together stay together?

Theodore:

when the two of you went to the library for a late night study, the lights were dim, and Theodore wasn't able to see you properly

when you were walking back to Dungouns, it was windy, and the your jumper had slipt slightly off your shoulder, revealing a small bruise

Theodore would stop you immediately "what's this?" he would question pulling the fabric down even further to see if more followed

"what happened." he would say

"I bumped into a bookcase?" you try

"I was with you all night, no you fucking didn't. I'll ask you one more time. What. Happened?"

"I got into a little fight" you admitted

"Huh? Who, when" he would start

"Doesn't matter Theo, I won. This is my battle scar" you smiled pulling your jumper back up

"It was with a girl right? No guy hit you" he sternly continued his interrogation

"No Theodore, it was a Gryindor, alright a girl"

"Good, I wasn't in the mood to have to kill someone... long day" he huffed opening the door for you, entering the common room

Lorenzo:

you and your friends would be in the hall eating dinner

when Blaise says, "Hey, y/n, any reason why (the person you fought) ended up in the hospital wing and you didn't even need to pay Pomfrey a visit?"

Why would you go to Pomfreys? enzo would ask mouth full of food

"oh? you didn't hear about the cat fight in the corridor today" Blaise laughed

Enzo practically choked on his food.

"You got into a fight?" he looked up

you didn't reply. To Enzo no answer was an answer

"My little angel got into a fight and didn't tell me... did you win?"

Draco:

he would make such a fuss

"it was Ginny Weasley" you laughed

"What!?"

"Yeah, we got into it because he was talking shit about you, so I started talking shit about Harry, and it escalated" you smiled

"And?" he pried

"Gryifindors arent as courageous as they say," you say

"That's right darling, let's go walk past their common room, wanna torment Potter bout this" he smirked

Blaise

he would be on the quidditch pitch, playing

when a girl next to you was talking about how he's not a good player, how her boyfriend on the opposing team would smash them

"you wanna get smashed by my fist next? that's my boyfriend you're talking about," you would say

"well tell your boyfriend he's eating shit this match?" she smiled back

pouncing through the bleachers you attacked

when Blaise caught sight of Pansy pulling you off her, and the girl running off with a blood nose, he smirked

he played so well the rest of the game

walking out of the locker rooms, he found you "I won on the pitch, you won off the pitch hunny" he would smile wrapping an arm around you

"Do you know what she said?" you started to rile up again

"She said that-" you started

"No, no, you took care of it, that's it" he smiled down at you

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ailoda · 18 days ago

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⚯ ͛ mattheo riddle

fluff (new!)

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agent-tempest · 1 year ago

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omg this is so good!❤️✋🏼🤣

Flowers

Pairing: soft! Mattheo Riddle x reader

Summary: You just wanted your boyfriend to buy you flowers. He got a bit confused along the way.

You’d never been the type of girl who particularly enjoyed flashy, grand gestures. In fact, the mere thought of all eyes on you as a boy professed his undying love for you made you want to toss yourself off of the astronomy tower. And yet, here you were, watching as Lorenzo Berkshire presented your best friend, Daphne Greengrass, with yet another huge bouquet of gorgeous flowers and wishing your own boyfriend would do the same.

You let out a soft sigh, glancing at your boyfriend whose arm was wrapped securely around your shoulders as the two of you lounged on the sofa in the library. Matteo wasn’t a bad boyfriend by any means. Really, you loved the way he showered you in attention, always eager to please. However, he wasn’t exactly up to speed when it came to romantic gestures. Normally you didn’t mind, but every girl wanted to be treated like a princess sometimes you supposed.

“Oh Enz, these are beautiful!” Daphne gushed, giving her boyfriend a peck on the lips as he smiled adoringly down at her.

“Anything for you love,” the boy replies easily, taking the seat next to her, and pulling her in so that she was leaning into him.

“Geez, get a bloody room would you?” Theodore complains as the two cozy up together.

You roll your eyes at your friend. “Shut it Theo, I think it’s sweet.” You then turn to your own boyfriend. “You know Matteo, Enz gets Daphne flowers every week. I wish you did that.”

Matteo’s eyebrows shoot up and he gives you a confused look.

“Really?” He asks.

You nod earnestly. “I think it’d be nice.”

Matteo gives you another concerned glance before shrugging his shoulders.

“Alright, love.” He says, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze.

You smile warmly at the boy, resting your head on his shoulder before continuing your reading for ancient runes.

“I’m proud of you for finally sticking up for yourself, y/n.” Daphne says, placing her bag down as she takes a seat next to you in the Great Hall.

“Oh? What chapter did we miss?” Pansy asks from across the table where she and Astoria sat.

You furrow your eyebrows, also confused as to where Daph was going with this.

“In the library this afternoon, y/n finally got on Matt’s case about how he never does anything romantic for her. I mean, you’ve been together for what? Almost a year? And I don’t think I’ve ever seen him bring you flowers. Not once!” Daphne says, filling her plate.

“Oh. I mean, I really don’t mind all that much to be honest. You and Enzo just always look so sweet, I thought it’d be nice for a change. I don’t really expect him to do it every week like Enzo does,” you reply.

“See, but it’s the principle of it all isn’t it? Of course I like the fact that Draco is constantly buying me random gifts, but I would be fine without them. It’s that he’s thinking of me, and taking a bit of time to go out of his way to show me that, yeah?” Astoria says.

You tilt your head, considering your friend’s words.

“I suppose I never thought of it like that,” you tell her.

“Well you should. The bloody bullshit we put up with dating those boys, buying us nice things is really the least they can do,” she replies.

You let out a snort, laughing at your friend’s candidness.

As if to illustrate her point, the rowdy laughter of the boys could be heard from the entrance as they made their way over to your table. You frown as Matteo takes his usual place beside you, seeing a fresh cut on his cheekbone.

“Matteo Bartholomew Riddle.” You sigh, reaching up to touch his face.

“Bartholomew? Bloody hell mate, I’d have to avada myself with a middle name like that,” Draco laughs, plopping down next to Astoria.

He doesn’t even flinch as your finger tips make contact with the cut, only sighing as he glares at Draco before looking down at you with his large puppy dog eyes.

“Fuck off Lucius. And you know that isn’t even my middle name, love,” he says, reaching across the table to steal a roll from Theo’s plate.

“Well you won’t tell me your real one, so I’ll continue making up ridiculous ones until then. Now what on earth did you get up to now, and how many days of detention did you get?”

Matteo frowns, jutting out his bottom lip at you.

“What makes you so sure I got a detention?”

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow at the boy.

“Three days. With McGonagall.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head and turn back to face Astoria whose face practically read ‘you see what I mean?’

“Man got into a scuffle with some Hufflepuff. Swear those yellow bastards look unassuming but they’re demons,” Theo says filling you and the other girls in.

Matteo glares at his friend.

“Snitch,” he mumbles, stuffing the roll into his mouth.

“Like she wasn’t going to find out anyway,” Theo replies, brushing him off.

Once again rolling your eyes at your boyfriend, you focus on finishing your meal, listening to the idle chatter of your friends as Matteo’s hand finds yours under the table.

By the following week, you had all but forgotten your request for your boyfriend to bring you flowers. When you saw Matteo enter the Great Hall with a large bouquet of assorted flowers however, a smile grew across your face. Then, your smile wavered slightly, growing into confusion as Matteo made his way to the other side of the table, tapping Daphne on the shoulder.

Daphne and Enzo look back at Matteo with utter confusion as your boyfriend thrusts the flowers towards your friend.

“Uh. Here.” He says awkwardly as the two stare up at him with bewilderment.

You blink once. Then twice before Daphne breaks the silence.

“Matteo, respectfully, what the fuck?” She asks.

“Look, I don’t know either. I’m just as confused as you are,” Matteo says, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

You look incredulously between your boyfriend, the flowers, and finally Daphne before realization hits you and your head drops into your hand. This bloody idiot.

“Matteo. Love. When I said, Enzo brings Daphne flowers every week, you should too, I meant for me. As in, you should bring your girlfriend flowers too,” you say with exasperation. Lord help you.

Matteo’s mouth forms an ‘o’ before he smiles sheepishly at you, rounding the table and now thrusting the flowers towards you.

“For you, my lady,” he says proudly.

You let out a laugh, accepting the flowers as your boyfriend takes his seat next to you.

“Matt you are so lucky y/n puts up with your shit,” Daphne sighs, shaking her head fondly at the two of you.

“But also, ever try giving my girl flowers again and I’ll curse your bed. I know where you sleep.” Enzo adds.

“Yeah, yeah, I ain’t scared of you Berkshire you big softie.”

“I’ll Avada you.”

“I’d write you letters in Azkaban.” Daphne says sweetly as the boys continue to throw threats each other’s way.

You shake your head at your friend’s antics, smiling softly as your fingers grazed the soft petals of the flowers your boyfriend had finally presented you with.

“Thank you Matteo,” you say, briefly interrupting the boy’s loud chattering to place a kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek.

I know this is so short, but I’ve been wanting to write this scene for the longest time, and couldn’t find a way to fit it into a longer fic 🫠

#enya's recs #slytherin #slytherin boys #matteo riddle #Matteo riddle x y/n #matteo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #harry potter universe #draco malfoy #lorenzo berkshire #theodore nott #Matteo riddle fanfic #Matteo riddle fanfiction #harry potter #daphne greengrass #pansy parkinson #astoria greengrass

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everdreamofme · 11 months ago

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it's a boy, girl thing

mattheo riddle x reader

Mattheo Riddle was insufferable. He was one of the biggest assholes Y/N Y/L/N had ever met, and she had met a lot. Being a more 'reserved' Ravenclaw, Mattheo and his friends had the tendency to tease her every now and then. Not as much as other students in their year, admittedly, but she definitely had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of it.

Like today, for example. Transfiguration class wasn't exactly Y/N's favourite class, but she did well enough in the subject that she didn't despise the lessons. Y/N had always wanted to be a healer after Hogwarts, and to do that, she would need at least an Exceeds Expectations in numerous subjects just to be able to qualify for the Young Healers programme at St. Mungo's. Transfiguration being one of those numerous subjects.

So here she was. Transfiguration was fairly straightforward, but of course the execution was the tricky part. After successfully transfiguring the small American Goldfinch in front of her into a bouquet of flowers, a satisfied grin crossed her features as she set her wand down and turned in her chair to dig around her bag for some spare parchment to begin her essay.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she turned back to face her flowers, only to find there were no flowers sitting in front of her anymore. Instead, a huge phallic object made of porcelain now sat in front of her. Laughter came from all over the classroom as her peers started to notice what was sitting before her.

'First time seeing a dick?' Draco sniggered as she hurriedly searched the desk and surrounding ground for her wand.

She snapped her head up towards the table of Slytherins, ready for a snarky response, when she spotted Mattheo Riddle in the seat closest to her desk, twirling her wand absentmindedly through his fingers with a wicked grin on his face.

'You idiot, Riddle -'

'Miss Y/L/N,' She froze on all fours as Professor McGonagall called her name. 'I suggest you change the subject of your essay to one less... erotic. Fifty points from Ravenclaw House.'

'Y-yes Professor McGonagall.'

Standing, she snatched her wand from Mattheo's hands and sat with a glare as she transfigured the phallic object back into a bouquet of flowers.

I am going to kill that boy one day!

After class had ended, Y/N had all but chased the Slytherin boys down the hallway.

'Riddle! Riddle!'

Mattheo groaned as he turned from his conversation with Draco and Enzo to the Ravenclaw girl storming towards him, his friends continuing on without him. 'Can I help you with something, Raven? Checked out any sex toys lately?'

'I cannot believe you did that to me! In front of Professor McGonagall too!' Scoffing, he began down the hallway after his friends again, Y/N stomping after him.

'You lost me fifty house points, Riddle! Fifty! They're going to eat me alive in the common room tonight!' She hissed after him.

'I don't give a fuck what you pencil-neck virgins do in your common rooms, princess,' He smirked as he turned to her again, leaning casually on the statue of Merlin that stood in the hallway.

'Can't be much worse than what you dumb Slytherin jocks get up to in your common room!' Her words didn't affect him, and she knew it from the roll of his eyes and the remaining smirk on his face. 'You're incorrigible, Riddle!'

'Don't care.' He shrugged back.

'I hate you!'

'That's because you secretly want to have sex with me!'

'Eugh! When I do decide to surrender the flower of my womanhood, I always imagined it to be with someone of my own species!' Y/N scoffed back, some passing students shooting her strange glances.

'Someone of your own species? What, like Longbottom?' He snorted.

'You are such an idiot, Riddle!' She hissed. ' You really think the world just revolves around quidditch and your stupid little gang and the dark arts.' Mattheo's jaw clenched as he took a step towards her.

'You know, you think you're so different to everyone else-'

'Different from.' She interrupted, causing him to stare at her incredulously. 'You said 'different to'. The correct phraseology is 'different from.''

'Thanks for that information; now I can say you're no different from any other fucking nerd with books instead of friends - and you don't have to open your big fat mouth to fucking correct me!'

'Dick!'

'Bitch!'

'Fuckboy!'

'Skank!'

'You know, I should pity you, but I can't—I hate you too much! I would rather cut off my legs with a rusty knife than be anything like you!' She exclaimed, pointing a finger in his face. Mattheo seethed, nostrils flaring, and eyes hardening.

'Ditto!' He hissed.

She snorted. 'Ditto?'

'Yeah, ditto!'

'Well - double ditto!'

'Double, double ditto!'

'Ugh - you are insufferable, Riddle!' The pair scoffed in unison, barging shoulders with each other as they stormed their separate ways.

Later that night, Y/N sat in front of the common room fire, hunched over a potions essay. She dropped her quill with a grimace as a blinding pain came into her head.

'Is everything alright?' Luna asked from her spot on the arm chair.

'Yeah, just got a sudden headache, is all.'

'Maybe stop faffing over your essays for once and actually get an early night then?' Cho suggested, flashing a grin at the girl from behind her magazine. Y/N rolled her eyes but began packing her textbooks up anyway.

'Yeah, I think I might just do that. Goodnight guys.'

Mattheo laughed as a puff of smoke left his mouth and he passed the blunt to Blaise.

'Mate, you have got to get some more of this for the party,' Draco complimented as he took a drag of his own blunt.

'You know I was already planning it,' Mattheo grinned in response until a sudden pain hit his head. He groaned as his hands shot up to his temples and his eyes screwed shut.

Theo barked a laugh. 'Think someone's about to hit white, boys!'

'Nah, it's just a headache; I'm sure it'll pass soon.'

'Or you'll pass out!' Enzo giggled.

'I don't think so, Berkshire.' He scoffed, standing up. 'But I think I will have an early night.' He patted a sleeping Pansy on the shoulder as he made his way to his dorm, leaving his friends in the common room to continue their usual late-night shenanigans.

#mattheo riddle #matteo riddle #slytherin boys #harry potter universe #slytherin #harry potter #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle fic #slytherin boys x reader

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iniquitousyearning · 5 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 4th — virginity loss / corruption kink.

PART ONE | kinktober masterlist. | 2024.

pairing: mattheo riddle x berkshires!sister

summary: mattheo’s conscience can only hold him back for so long.

warnings: 18+, hogwarts uni (putting this even tho it’s obvious), jealous mattheo, flirting, tension tension tension, “we can’t do this” type of vibe, “your brother is right over there” type of vibe. bestfriends lil sister trope. part one of two.

Morality—what is it, really? How is it measured? Is it a linear scale? Could someone be morally sound yet sometimes make an exception when the situation called for it?

Perhaps it's subjective. Anything that falls outside of the law, that is.

Mattheo forced a breath from his lungs, the drink in his hand was tasteless, some watered-down excuse for a cocktail. But that didn't matter, not really—what mattered was the way you kept laughing, the way your hand lingered a second too long on that random bastard's sleeve. The sight made something concerning coil tight in his chest, but he stayed where he was, back against the wall, sucking down drinks like he'd been tasked to it.

God, this was stupid. Morality. Right and wrong. He knew the difference, of course he did. Just because he was a Riddle didn't make him a monster. Not yet, anyway. But that line, the one between you and him—the one drawn so clearly in the sand—was practically mocking him with its absolutes and daring him to cross it. Forbidden, off-limits, the one thing he shouldn't want.

His best friend's little sister. The good girl. A virgin, no less.

"Riddle—you coming?"

Mattheo's head jerked slightly, but his mind was miles away.

He waved a hand. "I'll catch up in a bit.”

Malfoy and Zabini nodded, slipping into the night, leaving him behind in the dim, crowded ballroom. Spring dance. Hours past dusk. He didn't even know why he was still there. Normally, he was long gone before the clock struck twelve, but tonight the room pulsed with bodies and the music hummed under his skin. His drink was half-forgotten in his hand, and his gaze was fixed on a group across the room.

Or, more specifically, on you.

You were standing, black dress to your mid-thighs, half-listening to boys from your year drone on about quidditch tryouts and the usual chatter that filled the space between your breaths. But your eyes—your eyes weren't on them. You were looking at him. A soft smirk tugging at the corners of your lips, like you knew something he didn't.

His heart kicked against his ribs. Where was that line again?

You winked, and he sipped his drink. He'd always said bad decisions made good stories—but even if this (unnameable thing between you) was a story worth telling, the people to hear it would be few.

The tension grew suffocating and he finally looked away. You took that as a win, but you weren't about to let the game end there—not after you noted the tense of his fingers around his cup. You excused yourself from the group, your body moving through the crowd like water, fluid and unhurried, weaving your way toward him.

You knew the line well, the one Mattheo pretended so hard to respect. Restraint wasn't his nature—it never had been, not in the decade you'd watched him take whatever he wanted without a second thought. He wasn't made for holding back, and it showed every now and then—every time his lips crashed against yours in some hidden corner, whispering confessions of how badly he wanted more, how he ached for what he couldn't have.

You loved pushing him to that point. You loved knowing how bad he wanted you. Your brother would lose his mind if he found out. But that didn't matter, not even a little. Not when Mattheo looked at you like that.

"Having fun?" He asked upon your approach, his voice a shade too flat.

"A little." You leaned against the wall beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your skin, your presence seeping into the space between you. "What about you? You seem a bit...tense."

"Tense." The word came out bland, barely audible, and he took a slow sip of his drink, like he needed it just to find his voice. "Why would I be tense?"

You wet your lips, slow, deliberate, studying him with that sidelong glance that made his pulse skip. His jaw tightened, and his eyes—those beautiful, dangerous brown eyes—scanned the room with something too close to desperation.

"Good question." You tilted your head, gaze playful, curious, like you were dissecting him right there in the half-light. "Maybe it's because you've been watching me like a hawk. Like you're waiting for me to do something...wrong."

"Maybe I'm just looking out for you," he muttered, his gaze sliding to your brother across the room, lips locked with some brunette. Mattheo's eyes flickered back to you, just for a moment. "Your brother's a little...busy, after all."

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into an amused, almost wicked smile. "Ah, so that's it. You're just being my big, overprotective babysitter."

"I don't need to babysit you," he grumbled, though his gaze betrayed him, darting over to the group of boys you'd been talking to. "Just keeping an eye on the company you keep."

It was almost amusing—the way Mattheo stood there, sizing up your guy friends like they were targets in a lineup, probably mentally noting who he'd hit first if any of them dared to step out of line. He was different tonight—and you could have brushed it off, could have let that flicker of vulnerability slide, but that wasn't how this game was played. Not with him. Not with you. There was no room for naivety here.

You turned to face him now, full-on, shoulder resting against the wall as you raised a hand, fingers brushing lightly up his arm.

"Keeping an eye," you repeated as you traced the hard line of his shoulder, then down, lower, over his chest. "Ever my hero, Mattheo Riddle."

When your fingers grazed his abdomen, his breath caught and he grabbed your wrist—hard—the suddenness of it making you gasp. Then, he turned to face you, and his gaze finally met yours—really met yours—for the first time since you'd crossed the room.

"Don't." His voice was low, strained, like he was fighting himself as much as you.

Your eyes widened in mock surprise, that innocent look you'd perfected like a sport. You wore it like a halo you knew you didn't deserve.

"Don't...what?" You damn-well knew what.

His grip tightened, just enough for you to feel the heat of it, pulling you closer, so close you could feel the tension radiating off him. He wet his lips, and you melted—remembering how it felt to kiss them.

"Don't play games with me." He said. "Not tonight."

The warning was clear, but instead of pulling away—heeding his words and letting that heat simmer down—you leaned closer, defying every unspoken rule. The thrill shot up your spine, into your brain, turning everything hazy, electric. You were drunk on it.

"Why not?" Your free hand traced up his other arm and his gaze followed the movement, lips parting ever so slightly. "...afraid you'll lose?"

Before you knew what was happening, he had you spun around—so fast you barely registered the movement before your back hit the cold stone wall. His drink found the table beside him, his focus entirely on you.

"Don't to this to me. Not here," he whispered. "Your brother is right over there."

You glanced toward Enzo, still too preoccupied with the brunette to notice a thing.

"He's a little distracted, don't you think?" Your fingers on your free hand resumed their path, this time up toward his collarbone. But his other hand found them, too. You looked down. Two large hands, wrapped tight around your wrists, like he could stop the fire running through your veins if he just held on hard enough. Your thighs shook. "Gods, you really are tense tonight, aren't you?"

Mattheo's eyes narrowed, two embers gleaming in the night— his lips twitching in a way that made your pulse stutter. There was need in him now, a raw, visceral energy that vibrated between you. Untethered.

He leaned in, closer, his breath brushing against your skin. "You're impossible."

"Impossible..." you echoed, the space between you shrinking with every second. There was no choice in it. It was magnetic, inevitable. He leaned closer, and you—against all reason—matched him, drawn by a force you couldn't name. "Impossible to...resist, Matty?"

Your lips were so close, you could almost taste the flavours lingering on his breath. The heat of him drew you in like gravity, pulling you into that dangerous space where everything blurred—boundaries, rules, reason. His eyes flickered down to your mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in a way that felt instinctive—

And then, the world snapped back.

Cheering—loud, raucous—followed by the sharp crack of glass splintering against the floor. It cut through the moment, pulling you both back to reality. Mattheo's gaze jerked toward the sound, and in an instant he took a step back, his hands releasing your wrists like you'd burned him—like you were the danger here, a fire he'd gotten too close to.

"We can't," he whispered, and it sliced through you. It hit harder than the crash of glass, harder than the noise around you. "You don't want this. I promise you don't."

You stared at him. You knew what he meant, what he was trying to say, the warning etched in every tense line of his body. The two of you had been over this before. You knew Mattheo Riddle was not the man who would love you, not the man who would stay, who you'd call your forever. You weren't that naive. You weren't looking for forever—you just wanted a beginning. A first. A first that would teach you the edge of desire, with someone who knew what to do.

Someone experienced.

"I do," you whispered, barely holding steady under the weight of it all—the realization that you'd almost kissed him, right here, where anyone could've seen, where your brother wasn't far. "More than anything, I do."

His jaw clenched, that flicker in his eyes darkening. He ran a hand through his hair, curls falling messily back into place, his face twisted in thought, already calculating the fallout, already seeing the inevitable consequences.

"Your brother will kill me," he muttered. "He'll kill you."

"He’s not my dad, Mattheo. I’m an adult. He doesn't have to know." The words came out firm, too firm for how fast your heart was beating. You didn't dare move closer, but the tension between you was still electric, still alive. "No one except us."

For a heartbeat, his eyes locked onto yours, and you felt it—that gravity pulling you both back to the brink. It was visible—the weight of his indecision, the way he was measuring the risk, the pull of you against the walls he was trying to keep intact. It'd been months of this. You were relentless. His scowl deepened, but he didn't pull away. He let the silence stretch, your words simmering between you like a match lit, waiting to catch fire.

And then, a nod.

Barely there, just a sharp dip of his head, almost as if he didn't want to acknowledge it himself. You couldn't tell if it was for you, or some silent permission he was giving himself, a final surrender to the pull that neither of you could fight.

"Room of Requirement," he said, vibrating with the tension that still hummed in the air. "Ten minutes."

Your stomach leapt into your throat, every bone in your body suddenly weak. After a moment that felt as though it went on forever, you nodded, and he took another step back.

"Ten minutes." You repeated.

"Ten minutes." He confirmed, before turning and heading out of the ballroom.

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petriwriting · 1 year ago

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I'll always stand up for you - Theodore Nott X Reader

A/N: Fixed up the spacing to make it easier to read this time.

Summary: Theo gets himself into a fight, Y/n has to patch him up.

*Fluff

The slytherin common room was very quiet, and empty. Y/n for once was the only student in the room. It was late at night, so it would’ve made perfect sense that many people were up in their rooms sleeping. Although it was odd y/n hadn’t seen anyone come or go yet, although that would certainly change.

“Theodore?”

Y/n asked quietly, they were sat in the slytherin common room with a book, reading intently until Theo’s suspicious behavior became alarming.

Theo was holding something over his mouth. his left eye was puffy and red. It would without a doubt leave a nasty bruise. They were very close, sharing secrets and walking to class together. Theo especially knew how to make y/n smile after a hard day. He was sweet and kind when he wanted to be, especially towards y/n. It wasn’t until incredibly recently that they had, in fact, developed feelings for Theodore.

“Theo,”

Y/n offered again, setting the book aside. Theo had walked in, hoping to sneak away to his dorm unnoticed by anyone, but y/n had been up late reading on that particular evening. The common room was cozy, and quiet at that hour.

“Yes?” Theodore asked, trying to keep his face away from the light of the fireplace, but ultimately it was no use. Y/n could see he was holding the handkerchief he had kept in his satchel full of class supplies. It looked bloodied. Which made Y/n’s heart race, they immediately stood and walked promptly over to the boy.

“What happened.”

Y/n’s voice was full of concern, but Theo pulled away slightly. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he says downplaying what had really happened. His eyes looked tired, with the way he had entered the common room, y/n knew he was sore, and had likely been in a fight from the early stages of a black eye.

“Let me see, please.” Y/n’s voice was soft, but sweet. Theo could feel his heart flutter. He removed his hand from his lip, revealing a split across his bottom lip smeared with blood. He was likely punched in the jaw, no doubt. It made y/n angry to think that someone would do that. “May I?” Y/n offered, taking the handkerchief from the boy and gesturing for him to sit on the leather furniture facing the fireplace. Yn tilted Theo's chin up to get a better look at his face, examining his features. Yn delicately thumbed away a streak of blood from Theo's mouth, saying nothing and instead frowning. His features were then illuminated by the fire light, a scratch on his cheek, what would become a black eye in the morning, and the split on his lip. It was disheartening to see him in that state, as he had flinched when he sat down and looked like he was suffering.

“Who did this to you?”

“Some lowlife gryffindor, and his friends.” Theo said with a gentle sigh. Y/n grabbed the handkerchief and gently dabbed the blood off his cheek and lip, paying special attention to try and not hurt him even more. “You have to be more careful.” Y/n said, slightly disappointed.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Theo admitted, “They were saying things about you.”

Y/n felt flushed at the thought of Theo defending them, especially in a fight. It was a romantic gesture, but they were also frustrated he didn’t just walk away. It wasn’t incredibly common that Theodore came home with bruises from fights, but it did happen. Especially when someone would speak Ill of his friends and family.

“They said you weren’t worth the trouble, that you’re a nasty person.” Y/n let out a sigh, grabbing their school bag and digging out a small container with a green balm in it. Some kind of healing concoction from herbology class. Y/n was listening to Theo, but was intent on healing him. Taking a small amount on their thumb, they gently brushed it over his cheek, and slowly and delicately over his lip.

“It’s not true, you know.”

“What?”

“That you’re a nasty person.”

“It doesn’t matter Theo-“

“No. It does matter. To me. I think you are absolutely lovely. I won’t ever let them-or anyone speak badly of someone that I love.”

Y/n paused, if it weren’t for the low lighting and the warm glow from the fireplace Theo would’ve certainly seen them blushing.

“. . .you, love me?”

Y/n asked, quite elated at the thought of Theo saying those three words.

“Well I better because I took quite a few hits to avoid another detention.” Theo smiled softly. It was likely on a field trip outside of school, someplace where he couldn’t use magic. He was quick witted and skilled at dueling, but when it came to physical fights it seemed like whoever it was certainly had a stronger build. Y/n chuckled softly, but before they could speak Theo began again, “Of course I love you, y/n.”

“Teddy,”

“No I do. I can’t deny those feelings.”

“Please don’t go picking fights for me anymore, I absolutely hate that you were hurt,” y/n shook their head slightly. unsure of how to express the feelings of butterflies in their chest. The feeling of young love.

“I love you too much to ever see you hurt at all.”

“Listen, the next time I see those bastards they’ll be the ones hurt and in the hospital wing I can guarantee that.”

“Please be careful.”

“I won’t be sorry for defending your name.”

Y/n brushed the rest of the blood off their chin, gently grazing his soft skin.

Theo locked eyes, it was a tender moment. It was sentimental, and kind. For a second he wondered what it would be like to kiss them.

“You don’t have to defend me.”

“I know.”, “. . . I know,”

With their eyes locked, and y/n’s hand near Theo’s wounded face, their heart was racing fast from being so nervous. Theo felt a rush, and then decided to cross the line between friends and lovers. He gently grabbed the side of y/n’s cheek cradled in his hand and pressed their lips together softly. It was a brief kiss but it was meaningful. When they pulled back, y/n remained close looking into his blue eyes. They reminded y/n of the sea. Almost forehead to forehead, in this intimate moment y/n broke the silence finally with a bare whisper, getting a smile out of Theo and a slight laugh.

“I love you, I have for a while, … but don’t you dare get yourself beat up over me again.”

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