Mattheo Riddle One Shots

Study Dates and Distractions

Gender Neutral!Reader

Summary: A study date with Mattheo Riddle turns into a game of teasing, lingering touches, and undeniable chemistry.

Warnings: Pure fluff, playful banter, mutual pining, lots of tension.
Words: 1027

You didn't expect Mattheo Riddle, the star player of the Slytherin Quidditch team and notorious troublemaker, to ditch practice for a study date. Yet here he was, sprawled across the table in the dimly lit library, his devil-may-care grin fixed firmly in place as he twirled his quill between his fingers.

"You've written that same sentence three times," he drawled, the teasing lilt in his voice breaking through your concentration like a hammer.

You let out a sharp breath, glaring at him from over the top of your parchment. His dark curls framed his face, and the faint golden light from the nearby lamp caught the sharp planes of his cheekbones. He was too good-looking, too smug, and far too distracting for his own good.

"Maybe," you said, voice clipped, "I'm having trouble focusing because someone keeps talking."

Mattheo smirked, leaning back in his chair with an infuriating air of confidence. "Or maybe," he countered, "you're just looking for an excuse to stare at me."

Your cheeks betrayed you before you could muster a reply, warming under his gaze.

"I—" you started, but his knowing grin widened, cutting you off.

"Admit it," he teased, tapping the end of his quill against the table. "You find me irresistible."

"I find you irritating," you shot back, though the corners of your lips twitched upward.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning forward until you could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Same thing, angel."

If you weren't so flustered, you might have rolled your eyes. Instead, you shoved your notes across the table toward him, desperate to change the subject. "If you're so smart, help me with this. I don't understand this part of conjuration."

Mattheo's cocky expression faltered for a split second, replaced by something more thoughtful. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he grabbed your textbook and flipped to the relevant section. "Fine. But only because I'm feeling generous today."

"You mean, because you skipped Quidditch practice for this," you said, raising a brow.

"I am sick, remember?" he replied, miming a weak cough. "Tragically bedridden. Couldn't possibly fly a broom in my condition."

You snorted, shaking your head. "Right. Because lounging in the library with me is such a hardship."

He didn't reply immediately, his dark eyes scanning the page in front of him. As he began to explain the theory behind conjuration, his teasing tone softened, replaced by a calm, steady cadence. His words were precise, his explanations clear.

For someone who skipped class as often as he did, Mattheo Riddle had an uncanny ability to break down even the most complex topics.

And it was infuriating.

"How are you so good at this?" you asked, leaning forward to peer at the neat diagrams he was sketching. "You don't even pay attention in class."

He smirked, not looking up from his parchment. "Maybe I'm just naturally brilliant."

"Or maybe you cheat," you shot back.

"Accusing me of cheating? I'm offended," he said, clutching his chest dramatically. "I'd never."

"Uh-huh," you said, unconvinced.

He leaned back in his chair, tossing his quill onto the table. "You know," he said, his voice dropping into a softer register, "if you keep staring at me like that, I might start to think you're distracted."

"I'm not—" you began, but he cut you off with a knowing look.

"It's okay," he said, his lips twitching upward. "I stare at you, too."

Your breath hitched, the air between you shifting. For once, Mattheo wasn't grinning or smirking. He just looked at you, his dark eyes steady and intense.

"Don't say stuff like that," you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended.

"Why not?" he asked, leaning forward again.

"Because—"

Before you could finish, he reached across the table, brushing a stray ink smudge from your cheek with his thumb. His touch lingered, warm and deliberate, before he pulled back.

"You're cute when you're flustered," he said, his smirk returning, though it was softer this time.

"I hate you," you muttered, though there was no heat behind your words.

"No, you don't," he replied easily, leaning back in his chair once more.

The next hour passed in a blur of explanations and stolen glances. Despite his earlier teasing, Mattheo proved himself to be an excellent teacher. His diagrams were precise, his notes detailed, and his voice steady as he guided you through the intricacies of conjuration magic.

But every now and then, his hand would brush against yours, or his eyes would linger on you just a moment too long, sending your thoughts spiraling.

And then, just as you were starting to feel like you might actually get some work done, Mattheo leaned back in his chair and stretched, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of his toned stomach.

"Really?" you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"What?" he asked, feigning innocence.

"You're doing it on purpose," you accused.

"Doing what?" he asked, his lips quirking upward.

"That!" you said, gesturing vaguely at him. "Existing like... like that."

He blinked, then laughed — a real, genuine laugh that made your chest ache in the best way.

"You're ridiculous," he said, his voice warm and soft.

"Look who's talking," you shot back, though you couldn't stop the smile tugging at your lips.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The library was quiet except for the faint rustle of pages and the distant hum of students talking.

And in that stillness, Mattheo's gaze found yours again. This time, his smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more sincere.

"You know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I don't mind skipping Quidditch for this."

"Yeah?" you asked, your own voice quiet.

"Yeah," he said, his lips quirking into a small smile. "It's worth it... if it's with you."

Your heart stumbled over itself, his words hanging in the air between you.

For once, Mattheo Riddle was completely serious. And you knew you were done for.