Mattheo Riddle - Imagines/OneShot

After the Match

Word Count: 563

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The Quidditch pitch was still buzzing with energy long after the final whistle. The stands had erupted in cheers, students pouring onto the field to celebrate or console their house teams. The air was thick with the scent of grass, sweat, and magic—electric, almost tangible.

But inside the locker room, it was a different kind of storm.

–  Mattheo's POV  –

I slammed my broom against the wooden lockers, jaw clenched as I yanked off my gloves. The game had been brutal–Slytherin vs. Gryffindor always was–but this time, it was personal. Because the person who had nearly knocked me off my broom, who had stolen the Quaffle from me with a smug smirk, who had pushed me harder than anyone else on that field...

Was her.

Y/N stood across from me, arms crossed her own broom leaning against the bench. Her jersey was damp with sweat, strands of hair sticking to her forehead, and yet she still looked infuriatingly smug.

"You played dirty," I accused, voice rough.

"You played sloppy," she shot back. "Didn't think the great Mattheo Riddle could be so easily distracted."

My fingers curled into fists. She had been toying with me all game, dodging just out of reach, laughing when she spun past me. Every damn move she made had been designed to get under my skin, and Merlin help me—it worked.

She took a step closer, mischief flashing in her eyes. "Admit it, Riddle. I got in your head."

I let out a bitter laugh. "You've been in my head for months."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, hanging between us like a spell waiting to be cast. The locker room suddenly felt smaller, the distance between us almost nonexistent.

Her teasing expression faltered. "Mattheo..."

I ran a hand through my damp curls, letting out a shaky breath. "Do you even realize what you do to me?" I muttered. "On that field. Off of it. Every time you look at me like that."

Silence.

The only sound was the dripping of water from the showers, the distant cheers still echoing outside.

Then, she spoke–soft, unsure. "And what if I do?"

I snapped my head up, meeting her gaze. The usual confidence in her eyes was still there, but beneath it, something new—something hesitant.

"What if," she continued, voice barely above a whisper, "I know exactly what I do to you? Because you do the same damn thing to me."

The air between us cracked like a wand meeting its perfect core.

And then we moved.

I didn't know who closed the distance first, only that one moment she was standing there, and the next, she was in my arms, her hands gripping the front of my Quidditch jersey, pulling me in. Our lips crashed together in a desperate, breathless kiss—months of tension finally snapping like a worn-out broomstick.

She tasted like victory and defiance, like adrenaline and magic, and I knew, right then and there, I was utterly ruined for her.

When we finally pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, her breath mingling with mine.

"So," she murmured, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Are we still pretending we don't feel this?"

I exhaled a laugh, brushing a thumb over her cheek. "Not a chance in hell."

And this time, when I kissed her, it wasn't just because of the adrenaline or the heat of the moment.

It was because I never wanted it to stop.

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hello, hello, hellooooo

Here's a hella short story for ya. I'm sorry if it sucks, I wanted to write; I just didn't know what 💀

If there's any typos, please ignore em, I'll fix em later!! I'm too tired to go back and see what needs fixing at the moment :)

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