Run Your Mouth - Mattheo Riddle

Run Your Mouth - Mattheo Riddle

Summary: Your relationship with Mattheo might not be the healthiest in every way, but you're in far too deep to do anything about it.

Based on: Run Your Mouth - The Marias

TW: not proofread, implied spiciness (MDNI)

Dark brown eyes stared back at you, eyebrows raised ludicrously with inquisition. Awaiting your response, waiting for you to do, say anything. But the fact of the matter was, you had shut down as you sat on a trunk of Quidditch balls, eyes lulling, head empty.

It was a vicious cycle.

You would do something (or supposedly do something) that piqued Mattheo's jealousy, he would get upset and avoid you for a day or two - depending on the "severity", only to come back to you when he thought fit, mostly to give you a piece of his mind. Usually (always) ending the night undressed, limbs entangled, hands caressing soft skin in his Slytherin green bed sheets. Kisses and whispered apologies filling momentary silences, the soft candle glow lit up the stone walls of his dorm room - as if nothing had happened.

Currently, he was awaiting the answer as to why you had let Graham Montague pick up the scarf for you that you had been wearing, the scarf the wind had wisped away from you as you sat watching Mattheo during his quidditch practice - the scarf (which was Mattheo's) that he gave you to wear, marking you as his girl.

You'd never seen him hop off that broom so fast to hustle your way, grabbing your arm and pulling you to the broom shed with haste. Where you still happened to be - adjusting your seat on the uncomfortable trunk, wishing you were anywhere but here at the moment, as he hissed his disbelief of Graham. "What makes him think he can do that? And why did you look so okay with it?" He shook his head.

He continued his ranting as he paced back and forth inside the rickety old broom shed, drafts of wind howling through the cracks between each wooden board that still stood it's ground.

You watched quietly, letting him get it all out - your thoughts wandering, anything from tomorrow's herbology exam, what would be for dinner, weekend plans, to how wanton the sweat on his brow had made you feel inside. Memories of your fingers swiping the damp hair that stuck to his forehead as he readjusted his position between your thighs, looking down at you in assurance.

Shaking your head of the thought, he kneeled in front you - clearly winded from his long, one-sided conversation. Rough, wind-chapped hands grabbing his own scarf from your hands, wrapping it around your neck, before he tightened it ever so slightly - pulling your face down to meet his. "So?" He asks, his warm breath creeping across your lips, eyes locked on yours.

"You talk too much." You quip with a soft sigh, a smirk growing on your face - only to be mirrored on his face, a tut leaving his lips before he leaned in capturing yours in a deep, craved kiss.

Desperation

Photos ltr: Pinterest by gabrielle_lcrx here, Pinterest by jkswxt here, Pinterest by Tish_9426 here | Divider by @saradika here

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word count: Approx. 3.2k

Summary: Mattheo Riddle was the only guy you'd ever felt desperate for. You were never expecting the tables to turn all these years later.

Warnings/be aware: Gryffindor!Quidditch Player!reader, fem!reader, confident reader, reader is mentioned as wearing makeup, alcohol consumption, reader being hit on, mentions of reader being laughed at/embarrassed in the past, pet names

A/N: Yes this is yet another impulsive fic I wrote before finishing my Theo series oops! I just love a confident reader so much. Experimenting with this character dynamic was quite fun and I do hope you enjoy!

The roar of music echoed in your eardrums, bass thumping in your chest and deep red lights obscuring your vision as you played along with some ill-conceived game that Ginny Weasley had concocted. She stood next to you, shooting ping-pong balls into beer-filled cups that the opposing team – Harry and Ron – were shuffling across the table. It was all you could do to keep up, attempt to successfully land your ping-pong balls inside the cups, and chug when she told you to. Occasionally she would cheer victoriously, so you supposed the two of you were doing well.

To celebrate Gryffindor’s victory in the Quidditch match played earlier that day, you were playing party games in your dimly-lit common room, clad in a dark red bodysuit, black jeans, and black strappy heels. You were attracting your fair share of attention, and not just because of the eight goals you’d put up that day as a Chaser.

“Heads up, Malfoy’s staring.” Ginny’s voice lilted playfully and you could picture the smirk on her lips even as you struggled to bounce your ping-pong ball into the cup in front of you. Across the table, you heard distinct scoffs from Harry and Ron.

“Relax, boys, you know that blonds aren’t my type.” You wore a smirk of your own as you sank a shot into the cup and passed it back across the table. So long as the male population of Hogwarts stuck to looking and not touching, you didn’t mind the attention. However, you weren't looking for a dance partner, and you definitely wouldn't be searching in the corner where Malfoy and his teammates resided.

“Don’t look back, eye contact with him is liable to turn you to stone.” Ron’s lip curled in displeasure as he glanced across the dance floor, eyes searching until he found Draco across the room. In a less-than-subtle move, he stepped to the other side of Harry to block the Slytherin Seeker’s view of you.

“Very mature.” With a derisive glare, you accepted the cup of alcohol that he slid across the table.

“Yes!” Ginny cheered as she sank a shot before her gaze whipped towards you. “Come on, come on!” Thankfully, your ping-pong ball immediately sank into the cup. “Yes, yes, yes! We win!”

Your mouth fell open in surprise and you leapt up to high-five her. “Let’s go! Take that, boys!”

“Oi, she’s manipulating the rules!” Ron gestured at his sister, who stuck her tongue out at him. “I demand a rematch.”

“Absolutely not, that beer you put in there is foul.” Harry shook his head ardently. “I’m going to go drink anything else.” He stepped away from the table and towards the drinks.

“Ditto.” You nodded in agreement. “Harry, while you’re over there, will you get me a glass of water?” He shot you a thumbs-up as he departed and you turned to Ginny. “Dance floor?” Taking your hand, she strode eagerly across the common room.

You didn’t make it far before you heard a voice calling your name. Sharing a look of exasperation with Ginny for a brief moment, you braced yourself and turned around. In front of you stood Seamus Finnegan with a red cup in his hand, swaying slightly to the music.

“Hey, pretty girl. Great match today.” He winked, running a hand through his hair.

“Thanks, Seamus.”

“Care for a dance?” The fellow Gryffindor shot you what you supposed was intended to be a flirtatious smile, but looked more like a wince in the dim lighting.

“You know me, Finnegan, I'm flying solo.” You brushed off the request with a grin.

He let out a playful sigh. “You’re going to kill me someday, you know.”

“And yet you always come back.” Giving him a teasing wink, you caught up with Ginny, a little swing in your hips. She turned towards you as the two of you stepped onto the dance floor, a knowing glimmer in her eyes.

“Shooting down Finnegan again?” She practically had to shout into your ear to be heard over the thump of the bass that resonated in your chest.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I’ve tried to put that guy out of his misery? Repeatedly.”

Her brown eyes rolled back into their sockets as she scoffed. “Don’t I know it. Corner was the same way until I finally caved. You’ve got the right idea, I’m telling you.”

Around Hogwarts, you had a bit of a reputation for putting guys through the ringer, never letting anyone too close. It wasn’t entirely earned, you had given one boy a chance in the past year or two. Granted, that one guy was Roger Davies, Ravenclaw Quidditch captain and school heartthrob, but so what if your standards were high? Unfortunately, once Roger had left Hogwarts to play professional Quidditch it had proved too difficult to maintain your relationship. That didn’t mean you were in a rush to find someone else, though. You knew your worth, and anyone intent on catching you would need to prove that they deserved to keep you. Until then, you were content to dance alone while they stared after you.

Soon Harry joined you and Ginny on the dance floor. The three of you sang along to the songs blaring over the speakers after you downed your water and a shot of Firewhiskey. With the party in full swing, the dance floor was packed, and you lost track of the world around you. Jumping and dancing to the music was the only thing that mattered, the floor buzzing beneath your feet. At some point, Lavender and Parvati squeezed in next to you, and you soaked in the company of your little Gryffindor girls corner while you celebrated your victory.

“You look so gorgeous!” Parvati eyed your outfit before taking a sip of her drink. “Where in the world did you get those jeans?”

“My sister sent them to me from Muggle London! I’ll see if I can get you both a pair.”

“Never mind that,” Lavender dismissed with a wave of her hand. “You’ll never believe who’s been eyeing you up all night.”

“Lav, unless it’s literally Dave Franco I couldn’t care less.” You reached out your hand, trying to encourage her to dance with you instead of telling you about more boys.

“Oh, I promise it’s good.” She eyed you intently and you let out a heavy breath, reluctantly giving her a nod of assent. Drawing close to you, she leaned over and whispered in your ear. “Mattheo Riddle.”

You froze, your eyes wide.

She looked back at you, grinning. “See, didn’t I tell you?”

Mattheo Riddle was, quite possibly, the most attractive guy at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, the two of you had a rather…regrettable history.

“Well of course he is, this is a great outfit.” Smoothing your jeans, you couldn't quite make yourself believe your words. You were horrified at how quickly your usual self-assurance had faltered at the mention of him.

During your first year at Hogwarts, when you were a shy and awkward new student still trying to plant your feet in the magical world, you’d developed a huge crush on Mattheo. Every time he’d enter a room you were in, it was like he’d stolen the breath from your chest – your voice grew quiet and your hands shaky. You’d never felt such a strong attraction to anyone, and you’d thought that you might die if he didn’t notice you. Though you initially expected the feeling to fade, it only grew stronger until you were spending endless lessons sneaking glances at him from across the classroom.

In your third year, you’d finally summoned the courage to ask him on a date. With a deep breath, you’d smoothed your frizzy hair and your wrinkled school robes as best as you could and approached him and his friends at the Slytherin table during breakfast. Your voice quiet and shaky, you’d asked if he would like to go to Hogsmeade with you. He’d asked you to repeat yourself, and, with your face burning, you’d done so. Then he’d looked you in the eye and laughed in your face, all of his friends laughing with him. By the end of the day, the whole school knew what had happened. It was the most embarrassing moment of your life.

“What are you waiting for?” Lavender’s voice snapped you back to reality and you blinked. “Go over there and flaunt how good you look in his face.” She nodded towards the corner where several members of the Slytherin Quidditch team stood, including Mattheo.

You raised an eyebrow. “If he wants to see me so badly, he can come over here himself.”

She eyed you incredulously for a moment before laughing with a shake of her head. “You’re my hero.”

It was safe to say that you were nothing like the timid little girl you’d been back then. Fourth year was when things really began to change for you – improving your flying skills and joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team had done wonders for your confidence. You’d also grown more assured in your magical skills, discovering a natural talent for Ancient Runes and delving into the world of cursebreaking. To top it all off, during the summer between fourth and fifth year, you and your older sister had started doing weekly self-care nights together and you’d fallen in love with your new skincare and makeup routine. Once you returned to Hogwarts for your fifth year, you seemed to glow from the inside out. You were so content with your little world – your friends, your teammates, your future plans – that you didn’t even notice the stares that you’d begun to attract until the other Gryffindor girls pointed them out to you. Since then, the attention of boys wasn’t something you had to wish for in the Great Hall, looking longingly at the Slytherin table. You could choose to take it or leave it on any given day; it was always available in spades.

One thing hadn’t changed, though. You still avoided Mattheo and his friends, even though you were now in your seventh year at Hogwarts. Though you could occasionally feel their cold stares on your skin along with those of others in class and at parties, you never ventured anywhere near them and they never approached you. When you’d dated Roger, he would wrap his arm around your shoulders and glower in their direction when he saw their eyes wandering, but you didn’t need his protection anymore. Your confidence alone kept them at a safe distance.

This confidence suddenly began to waver as you turned around to continue dancing and saw the occupants of the dance floor hastily parting to make way for a familiar head of curly black hair.

“No way.” Parvati stared at the approaching figure, eyes wide. “Come on!” She pulled Lavender to the side, away from you in an effort to, presumably, make room for Mattheo.

“No, guys, don’t leave, I –” Your protests were futile as they disappeared into the crowd. Spinning around, you frantically searched for Ginny, but saw that she was some distance away now, her arms twining around Harry’s neck. Your stomach sank. There was no way you were going to cross her mind anytime soon. Reluctantly, you turned back around and your chest tightened as you found yourself face to face with Mattheo Riddle.

You let out a deep breath. He’s literally just some guy.

“Riddle.”

A spark of pride ignited in your chest as you heard the sound of your own assured, even voice in the air. You raised your eyebrows, sizing him up. To his credit, he didn’t waver from your gaze.

“Sweetheart.” It would've been flattering if you hadn't heard him call a thousand girls stupid nicknames in passing. His voice was flat and unreadable, and Firewhiskey swirled in the cup he held in his hand. His deep brown eyes swept up your body, sending a tingle across your skin. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Always.” Your ego rose forward in your voice. There was a siren singing in your chest, begging you to dash this man across the rocks if he gave you the opportunity. You were ready to indulge her. “What brings you over to my little corner of the world?" Trying to push down the swirl of emotions in your mind, you took a step towards him.

“Figured you’d prefer my company to Smith’s.” His voice twinged with bitterness as he nodded to your right. You glanced over your shoulder to see the approaching figure of a stumbling Zacharias Smith. Mattheo met your step forward with one of his own, and suddenly he was close enough to touch.

“You sound awfully certain.” Your lips lilted upwards in a slight, amused smile.

“Looking good, gorgeous!” The alcohol-soaked tones of Smith’s voice drifted across the common room over the music. With a smug glimmer in your eye, you saw Mattheo’s frown as you turned towards the Hufflepuff boy instead.

“Feeling good, Zachy!” You stuck out your tongue playfully and he shot you an approving grin. However, your expression quickly sobered as you felt Mattheo’s fingers digging into the flesh of your hips possessively. You had half a mind to smack him, but Zacharias had already changed course away from the two of you. Once Smith had cleared the area, Mattheo turned back to you.

“Zachy?” His low drawl was disapproving as his dark eyes bored into yours. He raised one incredulous eyebrow. Meeting his gaze, you rested a hand on his chest. You didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened as your fingers grazed his skin.

“What?” You eyed him innocently and he scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Your sweet smile fell like a proscenium curtain. “I should be very believable to you, all things considered.” Fixing him with the same dry glare he was giving you, you looked him up and down. The whole school knew about Mattheo’s tendency to snog a different girl in a broom cupboard every week – he had remarkably little room to judge. “Get to the point or go away, Riddle.”

You were certain that he would pick the latter, and frankly, part of you felt relief at the thought of him disappearing into the crowd. His unexplained presence in front of you, his dark eyes boring into your psyche, his strong hands wrapped tightly around your hips as if he wanted to claim you, though you weren’t his…it was all too much. Being around other guys didn’t feel this way. To your surprise though, he just gave a wry laugh.

“The point was keeping you safe from the likes of Smith.”

You rolled your eyes. “You know perfectly well that I don’t need a bodyguard. I promise some Hufflepuff won’t end me.”

He gritted his teeth ever so slightly. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is this about, hmm?”

Pausing, he seemed to deliberate before opening his mouth again. “You looked great on the pitch today.”

“Why, thank you.” You gave a nonplussed nod, knowing that he was still holding back. “If you’re in the mood to talk Quidditch, you ought to go have a chat with Weasley. She put up even more points than I did.”

His grip on your hips tightened as he pulled you flush to his chest, making you inhale with surprise.

“Is this all just a game to you?” His hot breath tickled your ear, sending a chill down your spine as his hand rose to your face, his thumb stroking your cheek and his fingers coming to rest on the back of your neck. “You know exactly why I’m here.”

That siren in your chest could feel her desire in her grasp, but it wasn’t enough. You hungered for him to lay all of his cards out on the table, to know the vulnerability you’d once felt every moment you were in his presence.

“I haven’t the foggiest, actually.” Your eyes flicked up to meet his and you fluttered your eyelashes at him. The stormy look in his eyes, as dark as the Black Lake when thunder rang out above the castle, told you that he saw right through your innocent act. Still, he had no choice but to play along or walk away. Lip curling ever so slightly, his hold on you tightened impossibly further.

“You look so good, I feel like I’m going crazy.” His lips grazed your ear imperceptibly, his strained whisper echoing in your mind. "You want to hear it? Fine. That's why I'm here, even though from the first step I took I knew you were going to laugh in my face.”

For a moment, you paused, allowing the victory to radiate through your body like warmth. Yet with it came an anger – at his nerve to even approach, at the fact that his presence had caused memories of your past to come flooding back, at the infuriating arrogance and short temper he’d never managed to shake. Stirring beneath was a fear, too. Though you pushed it down, the desire he awoke in you was agonizing. Composing yourself, you leaned back, hanging off his neck so that you could look him in the eye.

“Aww, Matty.” With a mocking pout, you gently patted his shoulder. “I would never.”

The words hung powerfully in the air despite your banter. No matter how many admirers you kept at arm’s length, you would never act like he did, never stoop so low. As he looked back at you, you could tell that the implication of your words wasn’t lost on him.

“Then dance with me.”

“I would never do that either.” The desire in his gaze quickly gave way to a brief flash of anger as you untwined your arms from around his neck and stepped out of his grip. He quickly hid the emotion under his usual unfeeling veneer. You turned your back on him before looking over your shoulder. “There. Is that settled?”

You could tell he was coming after you before you even felt his fingers wrap around your wrist. Somehow, though, you still felt your body tense with shock when you found yourself pulled back to him.

“Please.”

The simple word seemed to silence the room for a split second. Mattheo Riddle didn’t ask nicely for anything – you wondered how many times he’d used the word in his life and whether he might be able to count them on one hand. But in his voice, wavering ever so slightly, there was a hint of the desperation you’d once known so well, the feeling that only he had ever been able to bring out of you. The word he'd spoken had so many possible implications – forgive me, let me have a second chance, don’t hurt me – but for Mattheo, you knew it had only one meaning. Give me what I want.

Your eyes flicked to his lips, ever so slightly parted, then back up to his deep brown eyes as he pulled you in closer.

“Show me how badly you want it, then.”

KINKTOBER #3– SUNKEN AND SPELLBOUND / mattheo riddle

october 8th breath play , slight blood play , outdoor intimacy

part one part two

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: mattheo’s drawn to the siren he met at the black lake. so drawn, in fact, that he’d let her claim him.

warnings: siren!reader, reader mostly takes control, unprotected piv, blood play, breath play, reader kind of almost drowns mattheo a few times (he’s fine), outdoor sex, oral (m receiving), 18+ content

words: 5.5k (smut starts after a little bit of plot)

a/n: sorry this was posted a day late…. anyways i’d appreciate if you read part 1 first!!

navigation kinktober masterlist

Recklessness was not unfamiliar to Mattheo Riddle; it was practically second nature. It clung to him like a shadow, a constant companion in his pursuit of the unknown. But as he plunged into the icy, unforgiving depths of the Black Lake, even he felt the weight of his decision.

The cold pierced his skin, seeping into his bones as the Black Lake swallowed him whole, its inky depths tightening around his chest like a vice. Yet, the deeper he sank, the more alive he felt. The water muffled the world above, leaving only the beat of his heart and the pull of something darker, more magnetic, beneath the surface

The biting chill clawed at his skin, but none of it mattered—not the cold, not the darkness surrounding him—because you were right there, your presence burning like a beacon in the depths.

You stared at him in disbelief as he floated in front of you, your mouth slightly open as if you hadn't expected him to follow through. But he had. Of course he had.

He surfaced again, shivering but with no regrets as he stared at you. Your eyes widened in shock as he swam closer, the cold surrounding him but doing nothing to diminish the heat burning inside him.

“What the hell are you doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, laced with both awe and fear.

“I’m here,” he said, closing the distance between you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the cold tightened its grip on him. “I’m with you.”

You stared at him, and for a moment, he thought he saw something break in you, a crack in the armor you wore so tightly. But before he could say anything more, before he could reach for you again, you moved.

With a soft gasp, you dipped beneath the water, disappearing into the depths as though trying to escape him, trying to protect him from the monster you believed yourself to be. Mattheo’s heart clenched as he watched you go, the water swallowing you whole.

But he didn’t stop. Without hesitation, he plunged beneath the surface after you, the icy cold stealing his breath as he kicked down, following the faint shimmer of your form in the dark water. His lungs burned, the pressure building with every second, but all he could focus on was the blurred outline of you just ahead.

And then, suddenly, you were there. His hands found your waist, pulling you to him, your bodies suspended in the dark water. His eyes were closed in on your tail, your pearlescent skin, as if he couldn’t believe such a vision of beauty could ever be real. You stared at him, wide-eyed, your chest rising and falling as if you couldn’t believe he had followed you this far.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

And then your lips were on his.

The world around him dissolved. The cold, the darkness, the water—none of it mattered anymore. The only thing that existed was the press of your lips against his, the taste of salt and cold, the electric connection that surged through his veins like fire.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. The kiss was desperate, hungry, filled with the kind of longing that felt like it had been buried for centuries, waiting to be unleashed. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the water swirled around you both, the world above forgotten. His lungs screamed for air, but he didn't pull away. He couldn't. This was everything he'd been waiting for, everything he hadn't even realized he needed.

But as the need for air clawed at Mattheo’s chest, a panic began to unfurl. The world around him blurred, the darkness closing in. He pressed one final kiss to your lips, a silent promise hanging in the air, before he tried to pull away, desperation coursing through him.

But you didn’t let him go.

In an instant, the heat of the moment shifted. Your grip tightened around his wrist and he felt you pull him deeper. The instinct to fight surged within him, battling against a rush of fear. He thrashed against you, confusion mixing with dread. This wasn’t the girl he had kissed moments ago—the one who had seemed so vulnerable, so full of life. No, this was something else. This was your true nature, and it terrified him.

With a surge of adrenaline, he brought his hand to your face, desperate to reach the girl he knew was still there beneath the surface. Your eyes flickered for a moment, the predatory gaze breaking, revealing a glimpse of terror and guilt. But it was fleeting, lost in the depths of your siren instincts.

The realization crashed over him, mixing with the burning sensation in his chest. You were fighting against it, battling your own nature, but he could feel you slipping further away. He thrashed harder, panic flooding his system as he tried to push past the instinctive fear that clawed at him.

Then, as if you sensed his desperation, your focus shifted. The guilt flashed in your eyes again, and you acted instinctively. You wrapped your arms around him, propelling both of you upward, your strength overcoming his flailing movements.

When you broke the surface, Mattheo gasped, lungs burning as he inhaled the fresh air, each breath like a lifeline. He could feel you beside him, but the panic lingered, a raw edge of terror.

With a sudden burst of power, you pulled him forward, your body gliding through the shallows. You dragged him onto the muddy shore, tail splashing against the dirt as you clumsily crawled onto land. Mattheo lay gasping, his breath ragged as he fought to calm the storm of emotions within him.

“Why?! Why would you do that?!” you screamed, your fear for him coming out in anger. “You could have drowned!” you continued, the anger spilling over. “You could have died!”

Mattheo's chest heaved as he struggled to find his breath, his heart pounding with the remnants of panic, but there was no regret. He felt it as sure as the ground beneath him—solid and real—just like the girl lying beside him, your chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. The damp earth clung to your skin, your once-sleek tail now replaced by legs, though they shimmered in the dim light, pearlescent scales still clinging to your thighs as if they, too, couldn’t fully let go of the water.

You looked wild, like you belonged to the night itself, hair wet and clinging to your face. Slowly, he dragged his gaze up from your scales, following the soft curve of your legs and up to your face, the moonlight casting delicate shadows across your features. You were otherworldly—beautiful in a way that words couldn’t capture, a creature that belonged to the deep, dark waters. But you were also something more, something terrifyingly human in this moment, lying beside him in the dirt, torn between two worlds.

You didn’t look at him, your breath still uneven as you stared at your legs, your hands brushing across the silvery scales as if you could wipe them away, banish them along with the instincts that had nearly overtaken you. He could see it—the guilt, the fear of what you’d almost done. Of what you still could do.

He shifted, dirt sticking to his damp clothes as he sat up, still watching you with a mix of awe and something deeper, something that twisted in his chest. He didn’t want to look away—couldn’t look away.

Your eyes flickered toward him then, and for the briefest moment, something vulnerable and raw flashed across your face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a hard edge of anger, but Mattheo had seen it. You were terrified—not of him, but of yourself.

“I’m fine,” he finally said, voice rough but steady as he tried to calm you, to reassure you. But the words did little to ease the tension in you. You weren't fine. Neither of you were.

Your lips parted again, your breath shaky, but you didn’t speak. Not yet. Instead, you pushed yourself up, knees sinking into the dirt, and turned your gaze back to the lake, your expression torn between longing and dread. The water still called to you, still tempted you to return. Mattheo saw it in the way your body tensed, the way your fingers curled into fists.

“You don’t have to go,” he wanted to say, but he held the words back, unsure if that was what you needed to hear. Slowly, you moved. You turned back toward him, your eyes locking onto his.

“You shouldn’t have followed me.” Your voice was quiet, hoarse, but it carried a weight that hit him square in the chest. “You don’t understand... what could’ve happened.”

He swallowed hard, his throat still raw, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I don’t care.”

Your brows furrowed, frustration flashing in your eyes, but underneath it, he could see the fear—the guilt eating away at you. “You don’t get it, Mattheo. I could’ve killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

Your hands curled into the dirt at your sides, knuckles whitening as you fought whatever battle was raging inside of you. “I almost did.”

He leaned forward, his hand reaching out to touch you, but he stopped just short of your skin, waiting. “But you didn’t.”

Your gaze snapped to his, wide and desperate, as if you didn’t know whether to push him away or pull him closer. “Why did you go in the water?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Why do you keep coming back?”

“Because I can’t stay away from you,” he said, and his voice was so quiet, so raw, that he barely recognized it as his own.

Your breath hitched, your eyes searching his, something fragile breaking apart between you. Mattheo leaned closer, the dirt beneath him grounding him as he closed the distance between you. He could feel the warmth radiating off you, a tantalizing contrast to the cool night air. Your eyes widened slightly, but there was no fear in them, only a mixture of uncertainty and something that felt like yearning.

He captured your lips again, his heart racing at the sensation, the intoxicating taste of you lingering on his tongue. He couldn't shake the thrill that coursed through him, the twisted attraction that tugged at his core.

You had almost drowned him, and yet here he was, completely captivated. It was almost sickening, how easily you pulled him in. The girl who haunted his thoughts, the one he barely knew but felt closer to than anyone else.

"I want you so fucking bad, Y/N," he breathed against your lips, the words spilling out before he could hold them back.

Your breath hitched, eyes flickering with a mixture of surprise and something deeper, something that resonated within him. "Mattheo..."

"You're so fucking beautiful, you don't understand,” he mumbled desperately, a man reduced to a pathetic mess of need. "I can't stay away from you. I can't. You haunt me.”

The truth of it crashed over him like a wave, pulling him under once more. You were a siren, and he was lost in your song.

"Let me have this," he urged, voice low and intense, a plea wrapped in desperation. "Just for tonight."

"I don't want to hurt you," you whispered.

"I trust you," he replied, his conviction strong. It was a risk, he knew that, but every moment spent away from you felt like torture. "I won't let fear stop me."

The night was eerily still, save for the soft rippling of the Black Lake lapping against the shore. The weight of your lips on his made Mattheo's pulse hammer against his skin. You were intoxicating, your every breath, every touch, pulling him deeper into your web.

Your control over him was palpable. Mattheo was used to having the upper hand, used to getting what he wanted, but not here—not with you. Your kiss was laced with dominance, your siren nature swirling in the air between you, wrapping around his limbs like invisible chains. You toyed with him, your lips a whisper away, teasing him with just enough contact to drive him wild but never fully giving him what he craved.

When you finally pulled away, the cold night air rushed between you, making the heat of your body even more tantalizing. Your fingers, delicate yet undeniably strong, trailed along the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine. He leaned forward again, wanting more, needing you closer, but you held him back, a small smile tugging at your lips.

You leaned in close, your breath brushing his ear. "Do you trust me?" you whispered, your voice a soft, dangerous melody.

"I... I do," he breathed, the words slipping out before he could think. He wasn't sure if they were true, but something about you-wild and untamed-made him powerless to resist.

Before he could react, your hand pressed against his chest, and with a forceful shove, he was falling backward into the freezing water. The shock seized his lungs, the icy grip of the lake wrapping around him. His mind screamed for air, but before he could surface, you were on him, pushing his upper body down into the shallow water.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you kissed him fiercely beneath the surface. The cold water closed in from every angle, heightening the heat of your lips against his.

Every nerve sparked with sensation, the icy water and the warmth of your body creating a whirlwind of contrasts.

But then the burn in his lungs began. He tried to pull away, desperate for air, but you held him there, hands tightening, nails grazing his scalp as you deepened the kiss. A thrill coursed through him, mingling with fear, as his body struggled beneath you, thrashing against the weight of your grip.

And just when he thought he couldn't take it any longer, you pulled him to the surface.

He gasped, breaking through the water, chest heaving as he sucked in air. But with the fear ebbing, something else took its place-a need, an aching want for more. He wanted you. All of you.

Your voice, soft and hypnotic, drifted to his ears. "I told you I could be dangerous," you whispered, your lips grazing his ear like a secret only for him.

He turned, breath still shaky, but his voice steady. "Then be dangerous," he growled, hands already reaching for you again.

Your eyes darkened with something untamed, and a wicked smile curved your lips. Without warning, you shoved him back under the water. This time, he didn't resist.

When your lips claimed his again, it was a collision of heat and desperation, a kiss that left no room for gentleness. He matched your ferocity, his teeth grazing yours, tongues battling as his need for air warred with his need for you.

When he surfaced again, he was met with your soft laughter-low, teasing, full of dark delight. "You're reckless, Mattheo," you teased, eyes gleaming. "What would you do without me?"

"Maybe I wouldn't need saving if you let me breathe," he shot back, the tension between you palpable.

"Do you want to breathe?" you challenged, your voice dipping into something more sensual. "Or do you want to drown?"

A slow grin spread across his face, his gaze locking onto yours with an almost obsessive hunger. "Both," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "I want to drown in you."

He surged forward, crashing his lips into yours. His hands roamed over your body, rough and insistent, nails digging into your skin. You responded in kind, your claws extending, raking through his shirt and leaving lines of crimson across his chest.

Pain mixed with pleasure, every sensation more vivid in the cool water. He shuddered as blood began to trickle from the fresh cuts, staining the surface of the lake. You licked your lips, eyes gleaming as you eyed the crimson marks with a predatory hunger.

"You taste exquisite," you purred, your tongue flicking out to lap at the wounds. He groaned, head falling back, every touch sending fire through his veins.

Your hands traced the lines of his body, lingering on the fresh marks, each touch claiming him, marking him as yours. When your lips found his again, they were tinged with the taste of his own blood, the mix of salt and copper intoxicating.

You pushed him back onto the bank, your body pressing down on his, pinning him beneath you. Your hair fell like a curtain around him, the world disappearing, leaving just the two of you-raw, primal, and connected.

You kissed him with a hunger that was more than physical, a need that was both possessive and intimate. He held you close, his fingers tangling in your hair, anchoring himself to you as you devoured him.

When you finally pulled back, leaving him gasping, you trailed your lips down his throat, pausing to nip at his pulse. "You're mine," you whispered against his skin, the words vibrating through him. "Every breath, every drop of blood... it's all mine."

Then, slowly, you shifted, fingers deftly working at the fastenings of his trousers, your gaze never leaving his, the connection between you deepening with every beat of his heart.

Mattheo gasped, his breath catching in his throat as your fingers grazed over the hardness straining beneath his trousers. His chest rose and fell in quick succession, eyes locked with yours, the promise of what was to come thick in the air. There was a tenderness in the way you teased him, your claws leaving faint, stinging trails on his skin-not meant to hurt, but to remind him he was yours.

"I want you to beg," you whispered, your lips hovering over his, your words filled with more emotion than threat. "I want to hear you ask for me."

His chest tightened at your touch, not just from the sensation, but from the overwhelming need for connection. There was a flicker of something in your eyes— something more than lust. Slowly, deliberately, you hooked your claws into the waistband of his trousers, peeling them away from his body with excruciating slowness. The cool night air brushed over his exposed skin, but it wasn't the cold that made him tremble.

It was you.

You looked at him, really looked at him, your eyes drinking in every inch of him like he was something to be cherished. Your fingers, delicate yet firm, wrapped around his aching length. The featherlight touch had him arching into your hand, but you kept your movements maddeningly slow, savoring every reaction as though it mattered.

"Please..." Mattheo's voice cracked, his pride crumbling under the weight of his desire. But more than that, there was something in his tone—something raw, vulnerable. “Fuck,” he whispered

A smile tugged at your lips, but it was softer this time, touched with affection. "Oh, I intend to," you murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to his thigh. Your lips lingered there, warm and gentle against his skin, the contrast to your earlier dominance making his heart pound harder.

You lavished attention on his tip, circling your thumb around his slit as he found the urge to thrust up into your fist.

“Give me more,” he choked out, his voice raw with need and desperation. “Please.”

His breath hitched when your mouth finally hovered over him, the warmth of your breath against his sensitive flesh sending shivers down his spine. But when you took him in your mouth, he felt like he was about to implode.

Mattheo's hands fisted in the dirt, his body going rigid as he fought the instinct to push you deeper, to lose himself in the wet heat of your mouth; but you were in control.

Mattheo threw his head back with a guttural moan, his hips jerking involuntarily as you bobbed up and down his length. The wet heat of your mouth engulfed him, your tongue fluttering along the underside, hitting that spot that made his vision go white.

Your mouth moved with practiced precision, and every flick of your tongue sent him spiraling deeper into pleasure. He could feel the tightness building in his stomach, the desire overwhelming him as he fought to maintain his composure. He didn’t understand how you seemed to know him, know his body, in a way no one else ever had.

His voice came out ragged, filled with more than just desire. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"You're so fucking perfect," Mattheo breathed, the words slipping out before he could catch them, raw and unfiltered. His eyes fluttered shut as you continued your slow torment, his body tightening with every teasing stroke. He could feel himself teetering on the edge of bliss, so close to losing control-until, with a wicked smile, you pulled away.

The cold air hit his overheated skin, a sharp contrast that left him gasping. His eyes snapped open, meeting yours as you simply looked up at him with that maddeningly innocent smile.

"You don't get to finish yet," you whispered, amusement lacing your voice as your hand moved lazily over him, keeping him right there on the edge, denying him the release he craved. It drove him wild.

"Y/N..." His voice was hoarse, rough with desperation, but you only laughed softly, leaning down to press a kiss just below his navel, your lips brushing against his skin like a promise.

"You'll take what I give you," you commanded softly, and the words sent a shudder through him.

Something in him snapped. With a growl, Mattheo flipped you onto your back, his larger frame pinning you beneath him. His breath came hot and fast against your cheek as his intense gaze locked onto yours, the air between you charged with unspoken challenge.

"You think you can toy with me? Make me beg, then deny me?" he growled, the words low, full of dark promise.

You smirked, leaning back as the moonlight caught the delicate scales still faint on your legs, your eyes flashing. "You think you're in control here, Mattheo?"

His grin was predatory as he grasped your wrists, pinning them firmly above your head. "Let's find out," he murmured, his voice dangerous, sending a thrill through you. He relished in the way your body responded to his touch, the way your breath hitched, your lips parting in surprise.

With deliberate slowness, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You've been playing games, love... but now, it's my turn."

You gasped, your heart pounding as his grip tightened, pinning both your wrists above your head. The thrill of helplessness, mixed with the burning desire coursing through you, made your pulse race. "Please," you whispered, the word slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

Mattheo's dark eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "You'll have to be more specific," he teased, savoring the sight of you-flushed, desperate, teetering on the brink.

"Don't make me say it," you mumbled, but his smile only grew, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizing near-kiss. The tension between you felt like it could snap at any second.

"Tell me what you want," he urged softly, his voice like silk, smooth and coaxing. "Beg for it."

Your heart warred with your pride, but the aching need between your legs won.

"Please... I need you inside me. I need to feel you."

His eyes darkened, satisfaction rolling through him as he released your wrists, his hands sliding down your sides with deliberate slowness, savoring every inch of you. In one swift motion, he flipped onto his back, pulling you on top of him.

"Take what you need," he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

Your hands trembled as you reached down, feeling his length throb against your palm. With a slow, deliberate motion, you tugged your panties to the side and guided him to your entrance, teasing both of you with the anticipation.

Mattheo's low groan reverberated through the night air, his fingers gripping your hips as he felt your heat envelop him. "Fuck... you feel incredible," he breathed, his eyes locked on yours, a fire burning in their depths.

Slowly, inch by inch, you sank down onto him, the delicious stretch and fullness making your head spin, both of you caught in the intensity of the moment.

Mattheo's grip on your hips tightened as you sank down fully, his thick length filling you completely. For a moment, you both savored the intimate connection, reveling in how perfectly your bodies fit together.

Then, you began to move, rolling your hips in a slow, tantalizing rhythm that made his head spin.

"F- fuck," he breathed, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you ride him. "You—god, you're perfect."

With every thrust, he bucked up to meet you, driving deeper into your slick heat. The intoxicating sensation of being filled by him made you crave more, and you quickened your pace, chasing that elusive peak of pleasure.

"Oh, fuck... you feel incredible," he groaned, his hands roaming over your curves, tugging your bra down to tease your nipples and squeezing your ass. Each rough caress ignited a fire within you, and you could feel the coil of pleasure tightening in your core.

Suddenly, he surged upward, pressing soft kisses along your neck, whispering apologies for the bites he left behind.

But you broke away, a playful glint in your eyes. "You want to play?" you purred, your voice sultry and inviting. "Let's see how long you can hold your breath."

With that, you pushed him underwater, testing his limits as you continued to ride him, denying him air.

Beneath the surface, Mattheo's body went rigid, panic flaring in his eyes. But even as desperation clawed at him, the pressure of your sex against his throbbing cock sent jolts of pleasure through him, heightening his desire despite the urgency of his situation.

His mind raced, desperate for a way to breathe, but the overwhelming sensations stole his willpower. As the need for air grew unbearable, he surrendered, succumbing to the intoxicating pull of your body.

Just as his vision began to blur, signaling blackout, you finally pulled him up. He gasped for air, clinging to you like a lifeline. "Shit, Y/N," he panted, voice shaky with relief and lingering arousal. "You're going to kill me."

Mattheo's chest heaved as he gulped in air, heart racing wildly. "You're insane," he gasped, a mix of awe and disbelief coloring his tone.

"Absolutely fucking insane."

Yet even as he spoke, he knew there was nowhere else he'd rather be than right here, lost in the depths of your daring game.

His hands slid up your slick skin, resting on your hips as he pulled you flush against him, grinding his hardness against your aching core. "I told you a million times. I’m not scared of you.”

A wicked smile curved your lips, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "That’s why I like you," you purred, tracing a finger along his jawline before gripping his chin firmly.

With a sudden yank, you wrenched his head back, exposing the delicate column of his throat. Your teeth sank into the tender flesh, marking him as yours, and he let out a guttural moan, the pain blending seamlessly with the pleasure radiating between you.

"You wanted me to be dangerous, didn't you?" you taunted, nipping and sucking at his pulse point. "Is this what you imagined?"

Mattheo could only whimper in response, his cock twitching inside you as you found a particularly sensitive spot.

"No," he managed to choke out, voice strained with a heady mix of pain and ecstasy. "It's better. So much fucking better."

Mattheo's hands gripped your waist tightly, his nails digging into your skin as he fought to retain control. But with every wicked twist of your hips and sharp nip of your teeth, his resolve crumbled, surrendering to the relentless waves of pleasure crashing over him.

"More," he pleaded, his eyes wild and desperate. "Please, Y/N. I can take it."

His desperate plea ignited a primal hunger within you, a desire to push him further and test the limits of his endurance.

With a feral growl, you released his throat, your mouth trailing down to his collarbone, biting and sucking the soft skin there. You quickened your pace, riding him with abandon, your inner walls clenching around his pulsing cock.

Mattheo arched beneath you, a hoarse cry escaping his lips as he neared the edge.

"Fuck, Y/N! I'm gonna-"

You silenced him with another brutal bite, your teeth sinking deep enough to draw blood. The coppery taste fueled your frenzy, driving you to ride him harder, faster, determined to prolong his pleasure.

A wicked smirk curled your lips at his plea, and you obliged with sadistic delight.

Gripping his hair, you forced his head back, exposing more of his throat to your merciless attentions. Each bite left its mark, and you reveled in the way his body trembled beneath you.

"Look at you," you purred, voice laced with disdain. "So weak, so desperate."

Mattheo's face twisted in a blend of pain and pleasure, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to process the overwhelming sensations. "I'm not—mmnph… not weak. I'm just—fuck! Letting you have your fun."

You leaned in closer, your hot breath ghosting over his ear. "Is that so? Then why do you look like you're about to pass out?"

He shook his head, fighting through the haze of pleasure. "Because you're torturing me," he groaned, a hint of admiration threading through his voice. "Not because I'm weak."

"Whatever you say. Keep telling yourself that."

As if to emphasize your point, you resumed your relentless pace, riding him with renewed vigor. The wet slap of flesh echoed through the air, punctuated by Mattheo's ragged gasps and moans.

Suddenly, his hips bucked erratically, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise as his orgasm crashed over him. "Fuck, Y/N!" he cried, back arching off the dirt, waves of pleasure consuming him.

But you showed no mercy, riding him through the aftershocks. The sensation of his pulsing cock combined with the overstimulation of his release was almost unbearable, yet you persisted, driven by an insatiable need for your own peak.

"Shut up," you snapped, pushing his head back under the water when he tried to speak. "I'm not done with you yet."

Mattheo's mind spun as you rode him mercilessly, ignoring his spent state. The water filled his lungs, darkness creeping into his vision, yet he clung to consciousness, enduring the exquisite torture.

His body jerked beneath you, overwhelmed by the relentless friction and the knowledge that you wouldn't stop until you wrung every last ounce of pleasure from him. Despite the desperation, a twisted thrill surged through him at the sheer depravity of it all.

He could feel you tightening, your movements growing erratic as you neared your own climax. The thought of bringing you over the edge fueled his fading strength.

You gasped through gritted teeth, your pace frantic as you chased your release.

Mattheo felt your walls clenching around him, pressure building to a breaking point.

With a final, brutal thrust, you slammed down onto him, crying out as your orgasm tore through you. Your body convulsed, milking his spent cock for every last drop as you ground against him.

Even as the waves of pleasure ebbed, you remained impaled on him, your weight pressing him into the dirt as you caught your breath. Mattheo lay there, dazed and utterly spent, wondering if he'd ever be able to move again.

As you slowly regained your breath, your heart still racing from the intensity of your release, you looked down at him. The moonlight danced on his skin, illuminating the wild, desperate hunger in his eyes. There was something intoxicating about the way he gazed up at you, as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

“You meant it,” you whispered, brushing a damp strand of hair away from his forehead. “When you told me that you weren’t afraid to drown”

His breath came in ragged gasps, and the truth hung in the air between you. “No,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “Maybe I just want to be near you, guppy.”

That drew an unexpected, breathy laugh from your lips as you stared down at him, trying to process that he was real.

“Don’t call me that,” you mumbled.

“Whatever you say, guppy.”

kinktober taglist: @mattheoriddles-slutt @theeslutintheroom @esmerai-artemis @gigival @cloudyyydayzzz @sn000py @abeoavita @yesiamthatwierd @shaquilles-0atmeal @roseofsharron438 @iouinotes @romantasyreader28 @c3liaaaaa @sleepiibunniiii @chemtrailsoverhogwarts @daenerystorgaryen @emma-grace0 @tori-303 @ilovehpb0ys

KINKTOBER #3– SUNKEN AND SPELLBOUND / mattheo riddle

october 7th no smut in this part

part one part two

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: mattheo can’t helped but be absolutely entranced when he meets a siren at the black lake. are you luring him in on purpose or is he just obsessed with you?

warnings: siren!reader, tension, no other warnings really, this is just context and build up for the smut in part 2

words: 4.1k

a/n: if this wasn’t for kinktober, i would’ve made it into a full series tbh. also PLEASE watch this video, it heavily inspired this fic and i want you to picture the scene just like this <3

navigation kinktober masterlist

The darkness was palpable. Shadows from the towering trees crept along the edges of the Black Lake as if warning him not to venture too far. The moon hung low, veiled behind wisps of cloud, casting a pale, silver sheen over the still waters. In the center of it all, Mattheo sat alone in a canoe, a single lantern flickering at the bow, its faint glow reflecting off the black water like a shimmering ghost.

He didn’t know what had drawn him here tonight. The Black Lake was no place to linger after dark, not with its depths harboring creatures only whispered about in the corridors of Hogwarts. But something called to him—something unspoken, something that pulled him like an invisible thread until his canoe drifted in the heart of the lake, surrounded by the inky expanse.

That was when he saw you.

At first, it was just a ripple. A disturbance on the otherwise glassy surface, as if the lake itself had shuddered. His eyes sharpened, scanning the water, but there was nothing there. Nothing he could see.

Until there was.

Beneath the surface, just at the edge of his vision, a figure moved. Fluid, graceful, like a shadow cast by the water itself. His heart quickened. He leaned forward, squinting into the depths, but the light from his lantern barely penetrated the water.

And then you rose, your fingers pearlescent and slender as they curled around the edge of his canoe, your skin illuminated in the soft glow. The water slipped off you like silk, your form rising slowly, carefully, until your face emerged from the blackness.

He recognized you at once. Y/N. The quiet girl who sat near the back of the classroom, who rarely spoke and often slipped into the background. But here, in the moonlit silence, you weren’t just a girl anymore. You were something else entirely.

Your eyes glistened like jewels in the dark, reflecting the lantern’s dim light, and your hair clung to your skin, wet and gleaming. He noticed your lips parted, but you said nothing, only staring up at him, as though expecting something.

Mattheo’s breath hitched. What the hell were you doing here? His mind raced. The Black Lake, in the dead of night, in its freezing waters…

His heart pounded, confusion swirling through him. He should have turned back, he should have rowed away, left you there in the cold and silence of the lake. But he couldn’t move. He was stuck, entranced, his eyes locked on yours.

Without a word, you began to sink again, fingers still holding onto the edge of the canoe. Your eyes never left his, even as you descended, your face tilting ever so slightly beneath the surface, lips dipping just below the water’s edge.

No. He couldn’t let you disappear like that. He had too many questions. He just needed to remember how to speak. He leaned forward, his body tilting dangerously, lantern in hand, face following yours, his breath shallow and ragged. He should have stopped. He knew it was reckless. But something about you, something in the stillness of your expression, the way you slipped away like a ghost—he couldn’t let it happen.

Closer. His face hovered over the water, his lips mere inches from where yours had been just moments before. His hand trembled, his fingers clutching the lantern like a lifeline, but still, he leaned further, chasing you as you sank lower and lower.

Then, in an instant, you were gone.

The water rippled where you had been, as if you had never existed at all.

Mattheo’s chest tightened. He blinked, staring into the empty space where you’d vanished. The cold air bit at his skin, his fingers aching from gripping the lantern too hard. His mind whirled.

He’d just witnessed something no one else had. Something no one knew.

Y/N—quiet, kind, reserved Y/N—was a siren.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the water, as if waiting for you to resurface, as if hoping for another glimpse of you in that strange, beautiful, terrifying form. His breath fogged in the night air, his heart pounding in his ears. He should have been scared. He should have been terrified. But despite the fact that he hardly knew you at all, all he could feel was an aching need to see you again.

And he did. Night after night.

Every evening, just before the moon reached its peak, he would return to the lake.

“I know who you are,” he’d called out one night, his voice low, echoing across the lake’s stillness. His words hung in the air, unanswered, as his eyes searched the dark water, desperate for any sign of you. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, each beat punctuated by the endless silence that stretched between them.

For a long time, there was nothing. The lake remained eerily calm, as though it had swallowed every secret and refused to give anything back.

Then, a movement.

Barely there, just beneath the surface, your head lifted. Your eyes—those same, hauntingly beautiful eyes—peeked up at him from the depths, shimmering in the moonlight. You didn’t rise, didn’t reveal yourself fully, but your gaze met his, intense and unblinking.

And in that moment, everything else ceased to exist.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded softly, hoping you could hear him when your ears were still beneath the surface.

The air between you crackled with unspoken intensity, a tension he couldn’t explain but didn’t want to escape. You were so close, yet so far—just out of his reach, just beneath the water where no one could follow. Your hair fanned out around you like tendrils of darkness, floating in the cold lake. The way you watched him, unblinking and unreadable, sent a chill down his spine.

But this time, you didn’t run. You stayed.

Mattheo’s breath quickened, the cold air burning in his lungs. He didn’t understand this—whatever this was. The fear he had felt that first night was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous. Curiosity. Hunger.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft lapping of water against the canoe. He wanted to say more, to ask you the questions that burned in his mind—What are you? Why are you here? But all of it felt useless in the face of this moment.

You blinked slowly, your gaze unwavering. Then, as if in response to his voice, you rose just a little higher, your lips barely brushing the surface of the water. It was a silent invitation, one that made his pulse quicken and his body move forward of its own accord.

Mattheo leaned down, his face just inches from yours now. His breath ghosted over your skin and he could feel the pull towards you like gravity, something deeper than desire, darker than fascination.

“You should go,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm, like the pull of the tide. Your words clung to the air, drawing out the tension between you both, but Mattheo didn’t move. His brow furrowed as he stared down at you, the cold biting his skin, though it was nothing compared to the chill he felt from the thought of leaving.

“Why?” he whispered back, eyes searching your face for answers you seemed unwilling to give. You remained silent, lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, you sank lower into the water, your fingers beginning to slip from the edge of the canoe.

Mattheo’s hand shot out before he could think, fingers wrapping around your wrist, cold and slick from the lake’s depths. For a moment, you froze, your gaze snapping back to his, your dark eyes widening slightly at his boldness.

“You keep coming back, Mattheo,” you said finally, the words heavy with meaning. “Why?”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up, but there was something darker behind his grin. “Maybe I’m just a glutton for punishment.”

Your expression didn’t change. Serious, still unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in your eyes—something he couldn’t quite place. “This isn’t a game.”

“Who said anything about a game?” Mattheo leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low, teasing murmur. “I think I just like seeing you like this. Out here. Alone.” His grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, thumb brushing along your skin in a way that sent shivers up your arm. “You sure you’re not the one who keeps pulling me back?”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before shaking your head slowly, pulling your arm free from his grip. “You don’t understand,” you whispered, your voice almost too soft to hear. “You shouldn’t keep coming back.”

A chuckle escaped his lips, light and playful, contrasting the tension hanging between you. “Yeah, well, too bad. It’s a little too late for that, guppy.”

The nickname, meant to irritate, had the desired effect. Your eyes narrowed, and you clicked your tongue in disapproval, pushing yourself a little further from the boat, but you didn’t leave. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” He leaned back casually, resting one arm on the side of the canoe as if he had all the time in the world. “It suits you.”

You huffed, though the irritation in your gaze didn’t seem as sharp as it could have been. “It’s not funny.”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Didn’t say it was.”

Despite your stern demeanor, there was a faint softness to the way you watched him now, as if the constant back-and-forth had become something familiar. Something comforting, even if you wouldn’t admit it. He couldn’t help but smirk.

“Mattheo,” you warned, though your voice had lost some of its edge.

“I’ll stop… when you give me a better name,” he shot back, winking. “Something less aquatic.”

You rolled your eyes but said nothing, sinking just beneath the surface once more, your hair floating like dark silk around you. Yet you stayed close, your presence lingering, even though you weren’t speaking.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he murmured to himself, staring down at the rippling water where you hovered just out of reach. He knew you were still there, watching him, listening. He always felt it. And no matter how many times you warned him, no matter how many nights passed, he would keep coming back.

He didn’t even fully understand why—just that he couldn’t stay away.

One night, as he settled into the familiar quiet by the water’s edge, he noticed you already waiting, your head barely visible above the surface. This time, you weren’t shrouded in mystery, not hidden beneath the waves like before. Instead, you floated lazily, your eyes trained on him as he approached, a faint frown tugging at your lips.

“You’re persistent,” you muttered, the water rippling slightly with the movement of your arms.

Mattheo shrugged, smirking as he crouched down by the edge of the lake. “I’m starting to think you like seeing me here every night.”

You scoffed, but didn’t swim away, staying just close enough for him to see the way your eyes sparkled in the low moonlight. “I think it’s more that you like coming back, no matter what I say.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a nonchalant grin. “But let’s be honest—if you really didn’t want me here, you’d have dragged me into the lake by now.”

You didn’t respond immediately, your gaze flickering toward the horizon as if weighing his words. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Over time, you’d both grown accustomed to the quiet moments, the unspoken conversations that said more than words ever could.

Then, without warning, his smirk widened, and his eyes gleamed with mischief. “So, how’s the water tonight, guppy?”

Your eyes snapped back to his, narrowing instantly. “Mattheo, don’t—”

“What?” He feigned innocence, sitting back on his heels, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m just asking a simple question. I’m curious.”

“You know I hate that name,” you muttered, glaring at him.

He chuckled, clearly unfazed by your frustration. “That’s why I keep using it. I like seeing you get all prickly.”

There was a flicker of something in your eyes—annoyance, maybe, but also something softer. Familiar. You huffed, turning your head slightly as if you could hide the faint amusement creeping into your expression. “You’re impossible.”

“I get that a lot,” he quipped, leaning closer to the water’s edge. “So… what’s the deal? Am I going to get the cold shoulder tonight, or are you going to tell me more about that little secret of yours?”

You sighed, floating a bit closer, your wet hair trailing behind you like dark ribbons in the water. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Not when it comes to you, guppy.” He winked, clearly enjoying himself, though his tone carried an undertone of something deeper. Something real. You shook your head, but the smile that threatened to break through was unmistakable.

Here, in the light, you seemed harmless. Beautiful. Enigmatic. But he knew what sirens could do—what they were capable of. The stories of sailors who had been lured to their deaths, enchanted by their beauty, their voices, their pull. The line between danger and desire blurred when it came to creatures like you. When you were human, when the water hadn’t yet overtaken your mind, it felt safe. At least, that was what he told himself.

But now, seeing you here, suspended in the dark waters of the Black Lake, your true form only a whisper beneath the surface, he couldn’t shake the question that haunted him.

What were your limits?

Would you hurt him if he got too close? If he dared to touch you, would you snap, the water consuming you, pulling you into the primal instincts that lived in your siren blood? You hadn’t tried to harm him, not yet. You hadn’t sung—hadn’t used that infamous voice that could drive men mad, make them lose themselves in you.

But what if you did?

Would you sing for him? Would you lure him closer, draw him into the water, and drown him without a second thought?

He leaned his body down closer to the water over the edge of the canoe, his chest tight with anticipation, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Your lips parted slightly, just a breath away from the surface, your eyes never leaving his.

His voice, low and rough, broke the silence. “Why are you hiding from me?”

Mattheo wondered if this was how it would end—whether he’d be the next victim in a long line of men who had fallen for your kind, chasing after something they could never fully grasp.

But you weren’t like the others. Were you?

And for the first time, Mattheo didn’t care if he drowned.

“I wonder,” Mattheo whispered, his voice barely above the soft lapping of the water, “would you try to drown me if I got closer?”

For a moment, you said nothing. The only sound was the soft ripple of water against the canoe. Then, slowly, you began to rise, hands holding onto the wood of the canoe and pushing you up, your face mere inches from his, water dripping from your hair, your lashes.

“You don’t know what you're asking,” you murmured, your voice low, dangerous, yet strangely gentle.

Your breath brushed against his skin, and for a moment, Mattheo didn’t care about the danger. Didn’t care that you could destroy him in a heartbeat. He leaned closer, his face inches from yours.

“What if I do?” His voice was rough, a challenge wrapped in a whisper.

Your eyes darkened as your fingers reached for his, brushing against his hand, cold and wet. His breath hitched, every nerve in his body screaming for him to pull away, to break the spell you had over him. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Because at that moment, he wasn’t sure he wanted to escape.

Your touch was freezing, a sharp contrast to the heat that coiled in his chest. Mattheo’s breath hitched, his heartbeat a thunderous echo in his ears. You were dangerous. Every part of him knew it, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

Your eyes flickered, a brief flash of something—was it hunger? Or was it fear?

Your hand lingered against his, the touch ghosting over his skin as if testing the boundary between you, seeing how far you could push before he would flinch. But Mattheo didn’t flinch. He couldn’t. He wanted to know—needed to know—what you were thinking. Were you holding back, controlling the primal urges that lived inside you, or were you toying with him, drawing him deeper into your web until it was too late to escape?

His lips parted, breath shallow as he whispered, “Why don’t you sing?”

Your gaze snapped to his, sharp, calculating. For a moment, he thought you might laugh, or lash out, but instead, your lips curved into the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Because I don’t need to,” you said, your voice as smooth as the surface of the lake, a dark promise lurking beneath. His pulse quickened at your words.

You didn’t need to sing, didn’t need to lure him with your voice, because he was already yours.

You had him in the palm of your hand without needing to utter a single note. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—he wasn’t in control here. He never had been.

Your fingers trailed up his hand, your touch sending a shiver down his spine as you slowly, deliberately, let them travel up his wrist. Your eyes never left his, locked in a gaze that felt like it could see straight through him, peel back every layer of his defenses until there was nothing left but raw need.

He knew what sirens were famous for. But this—this felt different. you weren't luring him, weren’t pulling him under the water. You were just... watching. Waiting. And that was almost more terrifying than the alternative.

His chest tightened, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him. He was playing with fire, dancing on the edge of something he couldn’t fully understand. And yet, despite every instinct telling him to pull back, to run, he leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing yours as he whispered, “What are you going to do to me?”

“Whatever I want,” you murmured.

His hand reached out before he could stop himself, fingers brushing against your wet skin, slick and cold beneath his touch. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just watched him with those dark, unreadable eyes as if daring him to go further.

“You’re here every night,” you said, your voice soft, carrying across the stillness of the lake. There was something different about you tonight—something more vulnerable, almost hesitant. “Every night, you return with your silly little lantern and row into the middle of the pitch-black water. Why do you return every night?”

Mattheo swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening. He didn’t have an answer, not one he could put into words. Why did he come back? Why did he risk everything—his sanity, his safety—just to be close to you?

“You think you could follow me?” Your voice was cool, almost mocking, but there was an undercurrent of something else, something darker. “You’d drown, Mattheo.”

“I know how to swim, guppy.”

Your lips curved into a sad, knowing smile, your eyes dropping for a second, as if what you were about to say cost you something. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

The silence between you stretched, the air thick with tension, your gaze searching his, calculating like always—but this time, there was a flicker of doubt. Your voice softened, barely a whisper as your words faltered for the first time. “I… I could…”

Mattheo leaned forward, his heart pounding in his chest, his voice quiet but urgent. “What could you do?”

“I could take you under.” Your eyes met his, wide and filled with a fear he’d never seen in you before. “And I don’t know if I’d let you come back up.”

The words hung in the air, a cold truth that settled deep in his bones. Mattheo’s breath caught in his throat. He knew the danger—he felt it. You weren’t just telling him that you could kill him, that you could drown him and drag his body down into the depths forever. You were warning him that if he got too close, if he pushed too far, you might not have a choice. That your nature might take over, and he would be lost.

But instead of pulling back, instead of retreating like any sane person would, Mattheo felt a wild thrill rush through his veins. He leaned in closer, his voice low and reckless. “And what if I want that? What if I want to drown?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Mattheo.”

A dangerous game. Of course he was. This whole thing had been dangerous from the start. From the moment he saw you in the water that first night. He wasn’t stupid—he knew that sirens lured men to their deaths. But the more he watched you, the more he realized something was different.

You hadn’t tried to hurt him.

Not yet.

“I’ve been coming here for weeks,” he said, his voice almost teasing, though the tension still held him in its grip. “Shouldn’t you have tried to, I don’t know, eat me or drown me by now? Or whatever it is that you sirens do?”

Your lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners. But it didn’t reach your eyes, which remained dark and heavy with unspoken fears. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered.

“I care about you,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Your eyes snapped to his, the vulnerability back, your lips parting as if to argue, but nothing came out. You just stared at him, frozen for a beat too long before moving forward to grip the edge of the canoe once more. “You don’t even know me.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I’m obsessed with you.”

Your grip on the canoe loosened, fingers dipping beneath the surface again as you drifted back, your face slowly sinking into the water once more, his eyes holding yours until you were just a shadow beneath the surface.

The moon reflected on the water, casting a pale glow over the lake, and Mattheo leaned forwards over the edge of the canoe, his chest rising and falling as he tried to calm his racing heart. His mind whirled with thoughts of you, with the danger, the thrill, the temptation. He could still feel you, the ghost of your touch lingering on his skin, and it drove him mad.

He was playing a dangerous game, but he didn’t care.

Mattheo's breath hitched, his gaze locking on your lips, so close yet agonizingly out of reach. He wanted nothing more than to dive into the cold, murky depths of the lake, to feel your skin against his, to be surrounded, enraptured by you in every way possible.

"I need to be closer to you," he whispered, his voice rough with the raw desire he could barely contain.

Your eyes flickered with something that looked almost like fear. You backed away just the slightest, your fingers loosening their grip. "Mattheo, you don't understand what I am," you murmured, voice barely above a breath, the hesitation clear. "I can be dangerous."

The way you said it—like you were something to be feared, like you were the monster lurking in the shadows—only made him want you more. His heart pounded in his chest, every beat urging him closer, whispering that this was exactly where he was supposed to be.

"Then be dangerous," he answered, leaning forward, closing the gap between the two of you. He could see the inner struggle in your eyes, the battle you fought against yourself. But he wasn't afraid. He never had been. “Be dangerous, Y/N.”

You stayed still, lips parted as if you wanted to speak, to warn him again, but no words came. And then, with a quiet exhale, you pressed yourself closer to the canoe, your face just inches from his. "You see beauty," you whispered, voice trembling as your eyes searched his face. "But there's darkness in me, Mattheo."

His heart clenched at the vulnerability in your voice, the admission you'd been holding back for so long. you weren't telling him something new—he knew. He'd always known. But it didn't matter to him.

"I'm not afraid of the dark," he murmured, his words steady, resolute.

He didn't give you a chance to respond. Before you could stop him, before he could second guess his decision, Mattheo pushed the lantern aside and let himself slide off the edge of the canoe.

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𝐒𝐤𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐜𝐞

fluff | Bestfriend!Mattheo Riddle | 💙🫂🦋❄️| Masterlist | Taglist | requests are open

SUMMARY: Y/N jokes with Mattheo about his frustrations, but her offhand comment leads to a heated moment between them.

AUTHORS NOTE: Inspired by the book Unsteay written by Peyton Corinne.

Y/N lay sprawled across her bed, her head propped up on her arm, lazily flipping through an old textbook as Mattheo Riddle lay beside her, one arm draped over his face as he stared up at the ceiling. His usual cocky demeanor was dimmed, and for once, he seemed… frustrated. His brow furrowed, lips pressed in a firm line, and every now and then, he'd let out an annoyed grunt that made Y/N roll her eyes.

"What's with you?" she asked, not bothering to look up from her book. "You're acting like someone stole your favorite wand or something."

Mattheo shifted next to her, letting out a heavy sigh. "Just been a long day," he muttered. "Too much shit in my head."

Y/N finally turned to him, an amused smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe you just need to get laid."

Mattheo froze, then slowly turned his head towards her, his dark eyes widening slightly as if he'd misheard her. "I-what?"

Y/N chuckled, closing the textbook and tossing it aside, turning to face him fully with an exaggerated shrug. "I wasn't offering, hotshot. Trust me, that's just… not a good idea."

His momentary shock melted into laughter, the sound of it filling her small dorm room. He always had this laugh—deep, rich, and infectious. She smiled, about to make another snarky remark, but before she could, Mattheo moved.

In a split second, he was on top of her, his strong arms caging her in against the soft mattress. He hovered over her, his familiar smirk playing at his lips as his dark curls brushed against her forehead.

"Right," he whispered, his voice low, sending a shiver down her spine. "For the record, I am offering."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her heart beating just a little faster as she met his intense gaze. His body was warm and close, much closer than usual, and it was impossible to ignore the shift in the air between them. She bit her lip, trying to play it cool, but her pulse betrayed her.

"Mattheo," she warned softly, though there was a playful gleam in her eyes. "You're skating on thin ice."

His smirk grew wider, his eyes flickering down to her lips for a moment before returning to her eyes, a mischievous glint in them. "Good thing I like danger."

For a moment, neither of them moved, the tension building between them as the weight of his words lingered. But then, Y/N, being Y/N, couldn’t resist.

She laughed, pushing against his chest playfully, breaking the tension. "You're such an idiot."

He grinned down at her, his expression softening as he rolled off of her, flopping back onto the bed beside her with a dramatic sigh. "Yeah, but I'm your idiot."

Y/N shook her head, smiling as she turned to face him again. "Lucky me."

Hidden strengths

Feeling hurt after being called weak, you make it your mission to prove them wrong only to get hurt in the process. Mattheo luckily knows just how to comfort you and squash the insecurity once and for all. Find the request here! @slytherinslut0 hope you enjoy it pookie! <3 Again seem to kind be incapable of writing something short for requests, enjoy a little angst but mostly fluff in 1.8k. There is a few instances of y/n.

“Please, Y/n has the strength of an ant she’d lose in a fight against a bow truckle.” A chorus of hysterical laughs fill the corner occupied by a bunch of Slytherin males. “My moneys on the twig!” Someone else pipes up, adding their two cents, earning another round of snickers, the sound stinging your heart. 

Weak. Fragile. Frail. The hurtful jabs aimed at your lack of strength, impairs deeply, wrecking your heart like a broken ship. Your absence of physical strength had always bothered you, a scared insecurity that was rooted deep in the family. Both your mother and hers were women of weaker stature, not one for sports lacking the coordination and stamina to keep interest in one. 

The comments had irritated you more than you were proud of, spreading through your mind like a disease for the rest of the day. They festered, growing like a tumor, reaching a point where you felt aggressively determined to prove you were strong, to them or at least yourself. You gathered a list of activities you could take part in to show your strength, which became easily discarded when the most brilliant idea sparked you. 

Who's tougher than a beater? The violent position on the Quidditch team whose job was to defend players from the nasty, powerful and wildly reckless bludgers. Using strength to direct with a blast of force towards the opposition, and there was only one person you wanted to approach. 

Mattheo was easy to spot, his broad shoulders slouched slightly in his meander down the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, his face resonating deep in thought. Making a beeline to catch up to him, your walk turns into a brisk run with determined energy, and you move around in front of him, alerting him of your presence. His eyes flicker up at the sudden obstacle in his path, his eyes lighting up at your company. 

“Mattheo, I need you to teach me to hit a bludger.” The words spit out straight to the point, before he can even greet you, your eyes flickering eagerly watching for his reaction. 

His casual expression contorts with a wrinkle of his brows and he takes in your request, adjusting the way his bag sits on his shoulder. “Ah what?”

“I said I need-”

“I heard what you said.” He raises a hand, interjecting the repetition while he looks you over, expecting to be revealed that you’re pulling his leg. But all he’s met with is an adorable but driven look that has his brows arching in curiosity and intrigue. “What..like right now?” 

You nod. 

He huffs out a quiet laugh and runs a hand through his hair in thought. “Alright, come on then.”

He doesn’t bother asking you why the sudden interest in the violent sport, observing how your usual carefree manner is replaced by a look of utter determination. He makes small talk, an edge of excitement slipping out, happy to just be spending time with you and discussing the intricacies of being a beater. He explains how a bludger works, saving time so the two of you can jump straight into the goal at hand. 

“Clearly you need a level of strength to strike a bludger with coordination, hence why I'm a clear candidate.” He jokes flexing a muscle, enjoying how your focus gets distracted and lingers on his biceps, constricting against his shirt. “But it also takes fast reflexes, a keen eye, and you need a good sense of balance.” His eyes flicker down to you, making sure you’re back to paying attention to the importance of his words. He gives a smile when you nod in understanding. 

Once on the pitch, he discards his bag and grabs the case, withholding the Quidditch balls carrying it with ease a few meters into the middle of the field. He crouches, lifting the box up, grabbing out two bats, handing you one while placing his one on the ground. The reality of what is about to happen tickles his conscience and a moment of doubt flickers, he doesn’t want you to get hurt.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks his voice held with concern questioning, still crouched down in front of the box.

You nod firmly, needing him to get on with it and release the bludger already before you chicken out. “Yeah, do it.”

He finds your determined tone adorable and a hint of pride flushes in him as he nods, flicking the latch and releasing it from its case. He stands moving back quickly as the sound of a low pitched buzzing whirls by him; the bludger flying out of its hold and up into the air. He grasps a bat and pushes gently on your arm to keep you at a safe distance while he prepares to explain the technique.

“Right, so it’s coming back now. Make sure you grip the bat firmly and prepare to swing at the last second.” His voice drops off as the bludger locks targeting on you and Mattheo, and he propels his arm forward with a force that echoes a loud whack across the field at first contact.   

He grins, watching how the bludger accelerators away, loving the adrenaline the violent sport brings him. “Alright alright, it’s coming back. You think you’re ready?” He’s speaking quickly but clearly, needing confirmation you're prepared as well as himself to remain focused in case he has to jump in.

Watching how easily Mattheo could bat the bludger away has you gripping the bat harder in anxiety, questioning your ability in yourself, realizing you may be a way in over your head. But you’re still determined, driven by the need to prove yourself. Nodding you replicate the positioning Mattheo had shown, sweaty hands grip the bat and your eyes stay trained on the rapid blasting bludger that's now redirected back towards the ground.

With a desired concentration, you swing with two hands and all your might at the whizzing bludger; the bat connecting, smashing it high away from the two of you. Mattheo’s yell of excitement regains your focus, “Atta girl!!” 

The look of pure pride illuminates his face with a shit-eating grin that sends a flurry of vibrating flutters to your chest. The satisfaction that ruptures through you makes you drop the bat in overjoyed enthusiasm, becoming giddy that you had done it. 

He watches the pure delight overtaking your body and distracts him from the shooting bludger boomeranging back. The powerful iron ball whirls at light speed and crashes, colliding hard against your arm. There's a loud snap and you wail upon impact. Mattheo’s eyes widen at your cry of pain and he seizes his wand quickly. “Immobulus!” 

The bludger falls to the ground with a thud and he moves towards you, panicked, “Shit. Shit, shit c’mere.” He’s cursing himself with guilt for being distracted by your cute reaction, now crouching down beside you, assessing your limp arm. “Fuck, that’s definitely broken. Come on, we gotta get you to the infirmary.” Your earlier triumph is washed away with the continued tears that spill, Mattheo’s arm around your waist hurriedly helping walk you to the medical wing. 

After the small fussing from Poppy skeptically scrutinising Mattheo as he defensively explains it was a bludger that injured you and not himself. She relaxes, muttering a small note of approval that he brought you straight here, wisely aware that he deals with his own injuries alone. 

Skillfully, she casts Brackium Emendo, a healing incantation that, if done incorrectly, can cause the backfiring of removing bones. She instructs you to wait the mandatory twenty minutes before you can be dismissed. Mattheo’s frantic, guilt-ridden apologies fill time up till you’re able to shut him up with forgiveness, and the space falls quiet between you two. 

“So, you gonna tell me what this is really about, then?” Mattheo speaks again, addressing the elephant, sensing your sudden shame and defeat. He’s feeling grateful that you’re all fixed up and you’ve stopped crying, though his heart aches in guilt for his getting you hurt.

Sighing with embarrassment, your head drops mumbling, “I wanted to be strong for a day.” The insecurity stays planted despite having actually achieved your goal. Though you no longer felt proud, it had taken all your might and in the end you had still got hurt and cried, and it had made you feel weaker.

Mattheo barely catches your words and pulls in a face of confusion. “Strong?” It's clear he doesn’t understand your predicament. You may not have been physically the strongest person he knew, but you were strong to him in many other ways. “What's going on? Y/n.” He reaches out to comfort you, angling your chin up to meet his eye. 

“I’m sick of being weak. I overheard people making jokes about how fragile I am.” Your voice is strained trying to keep your tears back as you admit the truth to Mattheo. His brown eyes display a hue of warmth that encourages you. 

His expression turns sour at your words. “Who the fuck said that?” His grip on your chin tightens. “Cuz it's bullshit y/n. You’re immensely strong.” 

You pull your face away from his grip, not believing him. “You’re lying.” 

He moves his body around the bed, positioning his face so you can’t ignore him, speaking with a softer tone. “Hey hey, I'm not. Not all strength is physical. Have you seen your brain, the shit you come up with for assignments? You’re determined as hell. Look at you today! You handle that with resilience, took on the challenge, and you succeeded”

He reaches out and grabs your hand this time, startling you by the confident comfort. He can feel his heart racing as he keeps talking. “I was so proud, you smashed that bludger.” He watches a smile creep on your face and he mirrors it. “And I know right at your heart, it's as strong as a deeply rooted tree. Even if you get knocked down, you’ll always regrow and build yourself up even stronger.” He squeezes your hand. “It's one of the reasons I like you.”

Your head snaps up, comprehending his admission. “You like me?” 

Mattheo stands up and makes himself comfortable on the bed beside you, “course I do, and your lack of physical strength has never bothered me. I like all the qualities you already have.” 

Your heart swells, the insecurity shrinking smaller to the size of a speck under the weight of Mattheo’s comfort and care. With quick thinking you launch forwards, squeezing him into a tight hug enthralling a hearty chuckle from himself. He reciprocates, throwing his arm over your shoulder and snuggling you tightly into his side, “does- uh this mean you like me too?” There's a hint of nervousness in his tone, a creeping fear you don't feel the same. 

A shit-eating grin of your own appears, lighting up your face as you nod. “Yeah yeah I do.” Snuggling into his side at the reality of what's occurred, and how a simple mistake has led to something wonderful. 

“Oh thank fuck..” He lets out a sigh of relief, his hand caressing your arm in gentle motions. “I'm so glad, and I don't want you getting hurt again...So maybe just stay in the quidditch stands from now on though, yeah.” 

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