Mattheo Riddle - Imagines/OneShot

Unexpected

Word Count: 1400

Requested by: 

A/N: there will be some spicy-ness, but I placed a warning if you don't wanna read it!!

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The music from the Hufflepuff's party still buzzed faintly in Y/N's ears as she stumbled into the dimly lit hallway, her step slightly uneven from the drinks she had downed earlier. To her surprise, those classmates knew how to throw one big party before the semester came to an end. As she began to look for the exit of the common room, Mattheo's deep, velvety voice followed her, a teasing edge laced into his words.

"Running away already, Y/L/N? I thought you liked a challenge."

Y/N stopped, her hand resting against the cool stone wall as she turned to glare at him. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his smirk infuriatingly confident. His curls were slightly disheveled, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing the lean muscle of his forearms. She hated how easily he could look this good, this smug.

"Don't flatter yourself, Riddle," she shot back, her tone sharp despite being completely out of it. "You're the last thing I need right now."

"Funny," he drawled, pushing off the wall and taking a step closer to her. "You don't seem like you mean that."

Y/N opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. His dark eyes were locked on hers, a mixture of amusement and something else entirely whirling in their depths. The air between them crackled, the tension that had been simmering for years threatening to boil over.

"Why don't you just say it?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "Say you hate me. That you wish I wasn't here."

"I don't hate you," she blurted out before she could stop herself. Her cheeks flushed as she realized what she had admitted.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "Then what is it, Y/N? Because this game we play—it's not hatred."

She didn't answer. Instead, she took a step closer to him, her heart pounding in her chest. Whatever this was between them—this rivalry, this tension—it had always been more than just antagonism. It was fire, electric and consuming.

Before she could second-guess herself, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down into a kiss. It was furious and passionate, years of pent-up frustration igniting like gasoline on a flame. Mattheo didn't hesitate; his hands found her waist, pulling her against him as he deepened the kiss.

The world outside the hallway melted away as they stumbled through the halls, hands linked, and bursted into his room, their rivalry forgotten for one night.

—Smut Warning—