andrealol7

[andrealol7]

the exit

mattheo riddle x reader

part 2

inspired by the exit by conan gray

a/ n : this was honestly a joke but im just gona finish it anyway. LMAOOO THIS IS SO DUMB ITS SO BAD

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Silence hung between you.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Mattheo’s words echoed in your mind, over and over, like a curse you couldn’t shake.

“Because I love you.”

You should have been happy. Should have felt victorious, knowing that after everything, after all of it, he had finally admitted the truth.

But all you felt was angry.

Angry that it had taken this long. Angry that he had waited until you were finally trying to move on. Angry that he only wanted you when he thought he might actually lose you.

You let out a shaky breath. “You don’t get to do this, Mattheo.”

He stiffened. “Do what?”

“You don’t get to say that now.” Your voice was quieter than you wanted it to be, more fragile. “Not after everything. Not after pretending like I didn’t mean anything to you.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not—”

“You let me think I was nothing to you,” you interrupted, your voice rising. “And now that I’m finally done—now that I’m finally trying to move on—you suddenly love me?”

His eyes darkened. “You think I suddenly love you?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I think you love the idea of me. I think you love the way I looked at you like you hung the stars. I think you love knowing I would have done anything for you, and now that I’m not waiting around for you anymore, you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

His hand shot out before you could react, gripping your chin—gently, but firm enough to make you look at him.

“I have always loved you,” he said, voice low, unsteady. “You don’t think I wanted to tell you? You don’t think I wanted to be yours?”

You swallowed hard, your resolve wavering.

“Then why didn’t you?” you whispered.

He exhaled sharply, his grip loosening. “Because I’m not good for you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “And you think that’s your decision to make?”

His fingers brushed against your cheek, barely there, like he was afraid you would disappear if he held you too tightly. “I thought I was protecting you.”

Your throat tightened. “By hurting me?”

His face twisted in something like pain. “By making sure you didn’t get too close.”

You stared at him, your heart breaking all over again. “Well, you failed.”

Mattheo closed his eyes for a second, exhaling shakily. When he opened them again, there was something pleading in them.

“Please,” he murmured. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

The words hung between you, thick and heavy, filling the space with something dangerous.

You should have said it. Should have let the lie fall from your lips and walked away. Should have left him standing there, alone, the way he had left you so many times before.

But the truth was—

You did love him.

And you always would.

Your lips parted, the words sitting on the tip of your tongue.

And then—

“Mattheo?”

Your blood turned to ice.

Because that voice?

That voice wasn’t yours.

Slowly, you turned.

And there she was.

The girl from the party.

Standing at the end of the corridor, her wide eyes darting between the two of you—between your flushed cheeks, Mattheo’s hands still lingering on your skin, the undeniable tension crackling between you like a storm waiting to break.

Realization dawned on her face.

And then—

“Oh.”

Just one word.

Just one little word.

But it was enough.

Mattheo’s body went rigid.

Your stomach dropped.

Because suddenly, everything clicked into place.

The way he had looked at you that night, guilty but unreadable. The way he had kissed you like he was trying to forget something. The way he had waited—waited until you were moving on, waited until you had finally found someone else, before telling you the words you had begged to hear for so long.

You turned back to him, breath catching in your throat.

“Mattheo,” you whispered, voice trembling. “What did you do?”

His lips parted, but he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Because the silence was enough.

Because the truth was written all over his face.

Because suddenly, you weren’t the only one he had been lying to.

And in the end—

You weren’t the only one he had betrayed.

-

You felt it before you understood it— That slow, sinking feeling in your chest. Like the ground had been ripped out from under you, and you were still waiting for the fall to kill you.

Mattheo didn’t say anything. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try.

And that silence? That hurt more than anything else ever could.

The girl—his girl, your replacement, the one he had let drape herself over him at the party—stood frozen, staring between the two of you. Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

You knew that feeling well.

Because how were you supposed to react when you realized someone you loved—someone you trusted, even when you knew you shouldn’t—was a liar?

Was a coward?

Was never really yours to begin with?

The truth settled in your bones like ice.

You weren’t special.

Not to him.

You were just another game, another distraction, another girl he had pulled close just to let go.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to keep your chin high, to school your expression into something unreadable. You wouldn’t let Mattheo Riddle see you break.

Not anymore.

The girl finally found her voice, though it was barely a whisper. “Mattheo…?”

He still didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because there was no way out of this. No excuse, no lie, no charming grin that could make either of you forget what had just happened.

The truth was standing right there in front of him.

Two girls. One confession. A lifetime of damage.

You felt the ache of it pressing against your ribs, but you swallowed it down, forcing a bitter smile.

“Looks like I wasn’t the only one waiting for you to choose me.”

That got his attention.

His head snapped up, his eyes searching yours with something desperate. “Don’t—”

But you were already turning away.

Already walking past the girl, offering her nothing but a fleeting glance of understanding.

She wasn’t the villain here.

Neither of you were.

The only monster in this story was the boy standing between you.

You kept walking.

One step. Then another. And another.

It was harder than it should have been. Because some stupid, pathetic part of you had spent so long hoping—waiting—for Mattheo to run after you.

For him to fight for you.

But he never did.

Not when it mattered.

Not when it was too late.

And that was the thing about exits, wasn’t it?

The moment you walked through one, there was no going back.

-

It had been days.

Days since you had walked away.

Days since Mattheo had let you.

You had expected to feel free. Lighter. Relieved, even.

Instead, there was only a hollow ache, a weight in your chest that refused to fade.

You hated it.

Hated that after everything—after all the lies, all the secrets, all the bullshit—he still had a hold on you.

But that was the thing about Mattheo Riddle.

You never really left him behind.

No matter how much you wanted to.

-

The Great Hall was loud, as always.

Laughter, conversations, the clinking of silverware—it all blurred together into a background hum.

You weren’t paying attention to any of it.

You were too busy pretending.

Pretending to listen as your friends talked around you. Pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of the Slytherin table. Pretending you hadn’t caught Mattheo staring at you three times already.

You hadn’t looked back. Not once.

And you wouldn’t.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

You wouldn’t let him think you were still his to keep.

But even as you focused on the conversation in front of you, even as you forced yourself to laugh at something someone said, you felt it—

The heat of his gaze.

The storm brewing beneath it.

And then—

The scrape of a chair.

The heavy thud of boots against the stone floor.

The sudden silence that settled over your table as Mattheo Riddle—dark-eyed, disheveled, and entirely too close—dropped into the empty seat beside you.

Your body went rigid.

You didn’t look at him.

Didn’t acknowledge him.

Didn’t react, even when the air around you grew thick with tension, even when your friends glanced between the two of you, their conversation dying out entirely.

And then, in a voice too low for anyone else to hear—

“Are you really going to ignore me forever?”

A slow inhale. A steady exhale.

You still didn’t look at him.

“I’m eating, Mattheo,” you said simply, keeping your voice level, unaffected.

He scoffed, leaning in slightly. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe that’s all you’ve been doing these past few days? Just—what? Eating? Laughing? Acting like you don’t care?”

A muscle in your jaw twitched.

You would not let him get to you.

Not here. Not now.

“I don’t care,” you said.

Lie.

You heard the way Mattheo exhaled sharply, the way his fingers curled into fists against the table. “You do.”

“No.” You forced yourself to take a bite of food, to act like he wasn’t sitting right beside you, like he wasn’t unraveling you piece by piece. “I really don’t.”

His voice dropped even lower, his breath ghosting over your ear.

“Then look at me.”

Your grip on your fork tightened.

You wouldn’t.

Because if you looked at him—if you saw that familiar fire in his eyes, the one that had always burned for you—you might start to believe him again.

And you couldn’t.

So you gave him nothing.

No reaction. No flicker of emotion.

Just silence.

Until finally, he exhaled harshly, shoving back his chair and standing up.

The moment he was gone, the table around you came back to life. Conversations resumed, the tension dissipated, and someone—one of your friends, maybe—muttered something about Mattheo being a stubborn idiot.

You didn’t disagree.

But as you pushed your food around your plate, your stomach tight and your thoughts tangled—

You realized something.

You might have left Mattheo Riddle behind.

But he wasn’t ready to let you go.

-

That night.

You weren’t expecting him.

You should have been.

Because when had Mattheo ever let something go without a fight?

It was late. Too late.

The castle was silent, the corridors dimly lit as you made your way back to your dorm.

And then—

“Are you done pretending yet?”

You froze.

Turned.

And there he was.

Mattheo Riddle, standing in the shadows like a ghost from your past.

His uniform was disheveled, his tie loosened, his hair a mess like he had run his hands through it too many times.

His eyes—Merlin, his eyes—were wild. Dark. Desperate.

You swallowed hard. “What are you doing here?”

He took a step closer. “Waiting for you.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, but you kept your expression unreadable. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“That’s bullshit,” he said, his voice rough. “And you know it.”

You crossed your arms. “Oh? Enlighten me, then. What exactly do you think I want to say to you?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“That you miss me.”

You inhaled sharply, but he kept going, stepping even closer, his voice softer now. “That it’s killing you as much as it’s killing me. That you’re just as fucking miserable as I am.”

Your throat tightened. “You’re delusional.”

Mattheo let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe I am. But you know what I’m not?”

He reached out, fingers ghosting over your wrist.

You didn’t pull away.

And he noticed.

“I’m not lying to myself,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady your breathing.

Because this was Mattheo.

The boy who could ruin you with a look.

And the worst part?

You wanted to let him.

But then—

You thought about that night.

About the way he had let you believe you were his, while he had someone else waiting in the shadows.

The moment shattered.

Your eyes snapped open. You yanked your hand away, stepping back.

“I don’t miss you,” you said, each word slow, deliberate.

Lie.

Mattheo’s jaw tightened. “Say it again.”

“I don’t miss you.”

Lie, lie, lie.

His eyes searched yours, looking for a crack, an opening, anything.

And when he found nothing—

He exhaled, his expression hardening.

“Fine,” he said, stepping back. “If that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t.

But you didn’t stop him as he turned away, as he disappeared into the darkness.

And as you stood there, alone in the empty corridor, you couldn’t help but wonder—

If he had stayed just a second longer—

Would you have let him ruin you all over again?

[andrealol7]

the exit

mattheo riddle x reader

inspired by the exit by conan gray

a/n : part 2 is up!!!

————————————————————————

You should’ve known from the beginning.

Mattheo Riddle was never yours. Not really.

He was magnetic, unpredictable, the kind of boy who could ruin you with a glance and make it feel like a privilege. Everyone wanted him—he was darkly charming, effortlessly dangerous, and impossibly out of reach.

And yet, somehow, you had gotten close.

Close enough to be the one he smirked at from across the Great Hall. Close enough that his knuckles grazed yours under the table. Close enough that, in the dead of night, when the castle was quiet and your dormitory felt suffocating, you would find yourself in his bed, tangled in silk sheets and whispered confessions.

You had him.

Or at least, you thought you did.

-

The night was cold, and the corridors were dimly lit as you walked through them, trying to push down the feeling in your chest.

It was stupid, really. The way you lingered, the way you let yourself believe, even for a second, that this—whatever this was—meant anything to him.

Because Mattheo didn’t do relationships.

He didn’t do love.

And you weren’t supposed to care.

You weren’t supposed to need him like this.

But Merlin, when he looked at you like that—when his hands were on you, when his voice was in your ear, when he made you feel like you were the only person in the world—it was impossible not to want more.

So when you heard about the party, you knew where you would find him.

And you knew, deep down, you shouldn’t go.

But you went anyway.

-

The Slytherin common room was packed, the air thick with smoke and the scent of firewhiskey. Bodies pressed together, music thrummed through the walls, and in the center of it all—

Mattheo.

He was laughing, leaning back against the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world, a drink dangling from his fingers.

And she was next to him.

You didn’t know her name. Didn’t care. All that mattered was the way she was draped over him, whispering something in his ear, her hands on his chest.

He didn’t push her away.

He didn’t even look uncomfortable.

And that was the part that hurt the most.

Your heart clenched, but you forced yourself to breathe. This wasn’t new. This wasn’t surprising. You knew what Mattheo was like.

You had no right to be hurt.

So why did it feel like you were about to break?

-

You didn’t know how long you stood there, frozen in place, before his eyes finally landed on you.

And when they did, something flickered across his face.

For a split second, he looked… guilty.

But then, just as quickly, the expression was gone. Replaced by that infuriating smirk, the one he always wore when he wanted to pretend nothing mattered.

When he wanted you to pretend nothing mattered.

Your fists clenched, but you forced yourself to smile—forced yourself to walk past him like you didn’t care.

Like you weren’t falling apart.

You barely made it a few steps before his hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something underneath it. Something almost… desperate.

You yanked your hand away. “What do you care?”

His smirk faltered. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Like someone who actually thought they mattered to you?”

The words hung between you, sharp and unforgiving.

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening. “You do matter.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Sure doesn’t look like it.”

His lips parted, like he was going to say something else, but you didn’t give him the chance. You turned on your heel, shoving past the crowd, ignoring the way your vision blurred.

Because if you stayed—if you let him look at you like that for a second longer—you knew you would break.

And you refused to let Mattheo Riddle be the one to break you.

-

You didn’t see Mattheo after that night.

Not for weeks.

You stopped seeking him out in the halls. Stopped waiting for him to show up at your door. Stopped pretending that what you had—whatever it was—had ever been real.

And it was fine. It was good.

Until it wasn’t.

Until you found yourself at another party, another crowded room, another place you shouldn’t have gone to.

And this time, he was the one who saw you first.

You felt it the second his eyes landed on you.

Felt the shift in the air, the weight of his gaze like a burning brand against your skin.

But you didn’t look at him.

You were too busy laughing, fingers trailing over someone else’s arm, a boy you didn’t even know.

And Mattheo?

For the first time since you’d met him—since you had been tangled up in his sheets, since you had whispered secrets into his skin, since you had let yourself love him—

He looked jealous.

He looked wrecked.

And it should have made you feel better.

It should have made you feel like you had won.

But when he crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into the nearest empty corridor, it didn’t feel like winning at all.

“Let go of me,” you hissed, trying to yank yourself free.

He didn’t.

Instead, he pressed you back against the wall, his breath uneven, his hands shaking. “What the hell are you doing?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “What does it look like?”

His jaw clenched. “It looks like you’re trying to piss me off.”

“Well,” you whispered, tilting your head. “Is it working?”

Something snapped.

His lips crashed against yours, rough and desperate, and suddenly, everything else disappeared.

Your fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him closer, his hands roaming over your body like he was afraid you would disappear.

Like he was trying to memorize you.

And then—just as quickly as it started—it was over.

Mattheo pulled back, chest heaving, eyes searching yours. “Tell me you don’t love me.”

Your breath caught.

Tell me you don’t love me.

It was a demand. A plea.

You opened your mouth, ready to say the words—ready to lie.

But then he whispered, so soft you almost didn’t hear it—

“Because I love you.”

And suddenly, you weren’t so sure you could lie after all.