Mattheo Riddle One Shots

Don't Be Scared

Summary: you have no idea how to feel when you find out that one of your closest friends may have some feelings for you that go far beyond friendly admiration...

Warnings: SMUT, dubcon, knife play, carving, slight masochism, oral (f receiving), orgasm denial, piv, unprotected rough sex, spitting, squirting, slight degradation, dirty talk, dark!mattheo, obsessive and possessive tendencies — read at your own risk!

Words: 6623 (important: if you'd like to skip the plot and get to the smut, scroll down until you see the 🌶️ emoji)

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade. You walked beside Mattheo, your hands brushing briefly as the warmth of late afternoon slowly gave way to a crisp evening chill. You glanced at him, a familiar sense of comfort blooming in your chest.

Your boots scuffed against the ground as you moved further into the village, the scent of fresh pastries wafting from a nearby shop. The two of you were heading to the Three Broomsticks, the plan was simple—grab a drink, relax after a long day of classes, maybe complain about Professor Snape's never-ending slew of potions homework. It was just a regular outing, and yet something tugged at the back of your mind.

"Thinking about something?" Mattheo's voice broke your thoughts, his tone casual.

You shook your head with a light laugh. "Just tired, I guess. Snape's been killing me with that essay."

He smiled, a crooked grin that you'd seen a hundred times before, though today it seemed to twist just a little at the edges. "Yeah, I bet. Maybe you should let me finish it for you."

Your eyes flicked to his, catching a glimpse of something beneath his playful offer, but you waved it off, smiling. "Tempting, but you're just as behind as I am," you muttered with a laugh.

-

Later that night, alone in your dorm, you sat on the edge of your bed, absentmindedly running your fingers over the soft fabric of your quilt. The silence of the castle was deafening, interrupted only by the soft rustle of the wind outside your window. You'd been feeling uneasy lately, a creeping sensation that someone had been in your room when you weren't.

It started small—little things out of place. A book moved an inch from where you left it, a shirt from your wardrobe lying in the middle of your floor when you distinctly remembered hanging it up. And then there were the notes.

You leaned over, picking up a small piece of parchment from your nightstand, your fingers tracing the delicate, yet unnerving script. The note was brief, cryptic, and yet there was a strange intimacy to it:

"Thinking of you again. Your scent still lingers here. Until next time... Yours, truly."

Your breath hitched as you re-read it for the hundredth time, the soft flutter of your heart betraying the anxiety that clung to your skin. You didn't know what to make of it—this was the fifth note you'd found in your room over the past month. The first few had been vague, unsettling, but this one... this one felt too close, too intimate.

It wasn't just the notes anymore. Something had been missing lately—your favorite pair of panties, the ones you swore you had washed and placed back in your drawer. You'd torn your room apart looking for them, but they were gone, as if plucked from your very hands.

The days blurred into each other after that, each one marked by small but unsettling incidents that chipped away at your sense of security. Every night, as you climbed into bed, you felt the prickling sensation of eyes on you, the eerie certainty that you weren't alone.

Your things continued to go missing. Another pair of panties vanished, and this time, you found a new set of lingerie in their place—black lace, far too revealing for your usual taste, but still pretty. Whoever he was, he knew exactly what you liked, or worse—what he wanted you to like.