#𓏵 ⋮ 𝙈𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙤 𝙍𝙞𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚

[theodorenmyth]

hey!

could i please request a fic where theodore's sibling is dating mattheo and they want it to be a secret, but then everyone ends up finding out and they think theo's going to be angry/overprotective but he's really chill? and the pair are confused and a little offended by how unbothered he is?

i love reading your comedy fics because they always make me laugh!!

Secret Relationship

pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader

summary ; You and Mattheo Riddle secretly date behind your brother aka Theodore’s back, fearing his reaction. But when everyone finds out, Theodore is shockingly chill — leaving your chaotic friend group furious and dramatically disappointed by the lack of sibling rage.

A/N ; it's been so long since I uploaded 😭😭😭😭😭 I missed u all sm, AND ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I WROTE A MATTHEO FIC HELLO?! I've been on a Theodore streak I swear 😭 pls enjoy this comedic mess

Warnings ; none, just pure chaos

Word count ; 4.1k+

The night air curled around you in thin, biting tendrils, the wind sweeping through the Astronomy Tower and chilling your fingers where they gripped the stone ledge. The tower loomed above the castle, far removed from the warm flicker of torches and the comfortable murmur of the common rooms. Up here, the world felt suspended—like time had stopped and the stars were the only witnesses to your terrible, beautiful secret.

You were absolutely not supposed to be here.

"You’re shivering."

The voice, smooth and low, cut through the silence. You didn’t even need to look—you’d recognize that voice in your sleep. Mattheo Riddle stepped forward from the shadows with that familiar slouch, half-hooded eyes glinting with mischief and something gentler he’d never admit to. His black coat hung loosely from his shoulders, already halfway off as he reached out and draped it over yours.

The weight of it was immediate—warm, worn, and unmistakably his. It smelled like firewood, mint, and danger. A combination you had no business enjoying as much as you did.

"I'm not cold," you muttered, hugging the coat tighter around yourself despite the denial.

Mattheo arched a brow, unimpressed. "You're a terrible liar."

"No, I’m not."

"Yes, you are," he insisted, stepping closer, his grin growing with every step. "You always do that thing with your nose when you lie."

You blinked. “What thing?”

"That—" He pointed at you with a smirk as your nose instinctively scrunched. "Exactly that."

Your scowl deepened. “You’re infuriating.”

“I’ve been told.”

“And yet, here I am.”

He was fully in front of you now, close enough to steal your breath if you let him. His fingers grazed your waist like a question, an invitation. One you never could refuse.

"You could’ve stayed in bed like a reasonable person," he teased, voice dipped in velvet. "Instead, you came all the way up here just to see me."

"Don't flatter yourself," you muttered.

But he knew better.

And so did you.

Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing yours, barely touching—just enough to set your nerves alight. "Say it."

"Say what?" you breathed, feigning innocence.

"That you missed me."

"I didn’t."

"Liar," he whispered against your mouth, and then he kissed you.

The world fell away.

His mouth on yours was rough and unrelenting, like he had waited too long and thought too much and wanted to erase the time you’d spent apart. You kissed him back with equal fervor, clutching his collar as if to tether yourself to the moment. The cold didn’t matter. The risk didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way his hands roamed your sides like he couldn’t decide where to hold you, like he wanted to touch everything at once.

He was infuriating and impulsive and impossible—but gods, he was yours.

Eventually, you pulled away, lips tingling and lungs begging for breath. He rested his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm, possessive.

"This is reckless," you whispered, eyes half-lidded and drunk on him.

Mattheo didn’t even blink. "Reckless is snogging your best mate’s sibling in the Astronomy Tower at one in the morning while the entire school sleeps."

You groaned and thumped your head against his shoulder. "Don’t remind me."

"Just saying. We’ve already passed the point of no return, haven’t we?"

You didn't answer right away. Instead, you watched the stars—millions of them, quiet and distant and probably laughing at the mess you’d made of yourself. You should’ve stopped this weeks ago. You’d tried to stop. But Mattheo always had this way of pulling you back in, like gravity.

"This is insane," you murmured.

"Mm," he agreed. "And I love it."

You tilted your head to look at him. "You would."

Mattheo smiled, that crooked, charming sort of smile that spelled nothing but trouble. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that contradicted everything he usually projected.

"I like you like this," he said suddenly.

"Like what?"

"Defiant. Warm. Close." His voice dropped. "Mine."

Your breath hitched.

You hated how easily he could unravel you.

“You know my brother would murder you,” you said, only half-joking.

Mattheo’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah, well. That’s why he doesn’t know.”

“And if he finds out?”

His eyes darkened—not in fear, but in resolve. "Then we deal with it. Together."

Something in your chest tightened painfully. Mattheo Riddle was not known for making promises, but when he did, they meant something.

You tried to play it off, to lighten the moment. "Very noble of you. Might even make you look brave."

"I'm always brave," he deadpanned.

You laughed despite yourself and leaned up to kiss him again—softer this time, slower. Like a lullaby in the middle of a war.

Another set of footsteps—distant but undeniable—snapped you both out of it. Mattheo jerked away instantly, eyes sharp, scanning the stairwell below.

Your stomach dropped as you ducked behind one of the stone columns, barely breathing.

Please not a professor. Please not a prefect. Please not—

Silence.

The footsteps faded.

Mattheo let out a slow exhale. "That was way too close."

You nodded, pressing a hand over your pounding heart. “We need to stop doing this in public places.”

"Then invite me to your dorm."

"Absolutely not."

"The library?"

"Too exposed."

"Empty classroom?"

"Too cliché."

"Room of Requirement?"

You paused. "...Too convenient."

He gave a low laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Mattheo leaned forward and kissed your cheek, just above your jaw. “Tomorrow night?”

You hesitated. You should say no. You meant to say no.

“…Fine. But somewhere safer.”

"Deal."

He squeezed your hand once before retreating back down the stairs with the grace of someone who’d done this a dozen times and would do it a dozen more.

You stayed a moment longer, the weight of his coat still wrapped around your shoulders and the ghost of his lips still on your mouth. The stars blinked silently overhead, their light cool and unjudging. You exhaled and turned to go, already thinking about tomorrow—and all the chaos it might bring.

You were in too deep.

And you didn’t care.

Rain was pouring against the windows like the sky itself was throwing a tantrum, Hogwarts cloaked in that damp, miserable grey that made everyone collectively more dramatic than usual. You trudged into the Great Hall, dragging your feet like a ghost of your former, snogged-out self. You spotted your friends instantly—because they were loud, nosy, and sitting in their usual spot, plotting world domination over croissants and coffee.

You slid into your seat next to Blaise with the elegance of a sleep-deprived troll and immediately reached for a slice of toast, praying today would be normal. No scandal. No drama. No accidental references to someone’s pine-scented hair or stupid smirking face or warm hands on your—

Mattheo Riddle plopped himself directly beside you.

Your toast froze mid-air.

“Oh, excellent,” he said, sounding obscenely cheerful for someone who hadn’t brushed his curls. “You got the good jam.”

He reached across your plate like a heathen and scooped up a glob of raspberry jam with his butter knife, smearing it messily on your toast like he was helping.

“I was going to eat that,” you deadpanned.

“And now you are, but with flavor,” he replied, looking far too pleased with himself.

Across the table, Lorenzo choked on his tea. Draco froze mid-butter-spread. Blaise leaned back slowly with a suspicious grin. Pansy squinted like she was trying to read the entire history of your existence from the look on your face. Astoria didn’t even look up—she just let out the most disappointed sigh in the history of human breathing.

You, a rational and responsible person, did the obvious thing.

You pretended absolutely nothing was happening.

Mattheo, who was clearly born to make everything worse, leaned in. “Are you going to eat that, or are you going to keep staring at me like you’re in love?”

You dropped your toast. Draco visibly gasped. Blaise bit his knuckle.

“Okay,” Lorenzo said slowly, dramatically. “I think we all need to pause and—what the hell is going on here?”

“Nothing,” you and Mattheo said in perfect harmony.

A collective suspicious silence fell over the group.

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You’re sitting suspiciously close to each other.”

“Coincidence,” you said.

“He stole your toast.”

“Generous community breakfasting,” Mattheo supplied.

“You’re blushing,” Draco noted, pointing a butter knife at your face.

“It’s warm in here,” you snapped. “There’s body heat. Circulation. Weather.”

“You’re playing footsie,” Blaise added smugly.

“We are absolutely not playing footsie,” Mattheo said, jerking his leg away from yours so fast he kneed the underside of the table and nearly knocked over the entire jug of pumpkin juice.

“Okay,” Lorenzo muttered. “If this isn’t a secret relationship, then I am the ghost of Salazar Slytherin, here to reclaim his house from the deranged couple defiling it.”

You tried to glare. Really, you did. But Mattheo had crumbs on his lip, and his eyes were doing that annoyingly attractive sparkle thing, and your face betrayed you by melting.

“OH MY GOD,” Pansy screamed. “YOU’RE LITERALLY SO IN LOVE.”

“I am in denial,” you barked. “Which is very different.”

Blaise laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench. “So, just to confirm—are you or are you not snogging this absolute chaos goblin in secret?”

“We’re not snogging,” Mattheo said quickly. “Why would we snog? Snogging is for people with… lips.”

“You have lips,” Draco said flatly.

“Debatable,” Mattheo replied, before turning to you with pleading eyes. “Help me.”

“Everyone is being very dramatic,” you announced. “Mattheo and I are friends. Acquaintances. Mortal enemies with occasional group project chemistry.”

“You left the Potions lab last Thursday with your tie undone and a hickey on your neck,” Astoria said without looking up.

“It was a mosquito! ” Mattheo cried. “They were everywhere.”

“In the Potions lab?” Blaise asked, blinking.

“...Yes,” you said weakly. “It was.. uhm.. infested.”

Pansy slammed her hands on the table. “HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?”

“Five minutes,” you blurted. “No time at all. We’re still in the test trial phase.”

“Two months,” Mattheo mumbled at the same time.

You turned to him slowly, eyes wide. “What happened to denying everything?”

“I panicked!” he whispered. “You’re really bad at lying and it’s contagious!”

“Oh my god, it’s been TWO MONTHS?” Draco’s voice cracked like a choirboy’s. “And you didn’t tell us? We could’ve made popcorn!”

“I’m going to cry,” Pansy announced. “I feel betrayed. Emotionally compromised. Romantically offended.”

“You literally told me yesterday to snog someone or die lonely,” you muttered.

“I didn’t mean him! ”

Mattheo raised a hand. “Okay, now that’s just rude.”

“I SWEAR,” Pansy continued, “if Theodore finds out and kills you, I am not attending your funeral unless there’s drama and vengeance.”

You blinked. “Okay, but—what if he just doesn’t… find out?”

The table went still.

Pansy looked like she was about to burst into flames. “Okay. Someone get Theodore. He deserves to know that his sibling is dating—dating—Mattheo ‘bite me’ Riddle.”

You stiffened.

The entire table stilled.

Then, as if summoned by the devil himself, all heads turned in slow-motion toward the far end of the Slytherin table… where Theodore Nott sat, expression calm, buttering a scone with the serenity of a man who was either extremely zen or planning to murder someone using only a teaspoon.

You froze.

Mattheo froze.

Even Draco looked nervous.

“He doesn’t know,” you whispered.

“He definitely knows,” Astoria said calmly. “He’s buttering that scone with deadly precision. No one but assassins butter that neatly.”

Blaise leaned in, stage-whispering like a six-year-old gossip. “He’s holding the knife like he’s considering options.”

Pansy was practically vibrating. “I live for this. Theodore is going to explode. It’s going to be glorious. I want screaming. Threats. At least one table flip. I want to feel alive again!”

“Do not summon violence into this sacred breakfast,” you hissed.

Draco smirked. “Better tell Mattheo to run now while he still has all his limbs.”

Pansy stood up and immediately rolled up her sleeves. “I AM READY FOR THE DRAMA. BRING IT. DUEL AT DAWN. I’LL BE YOUR SECOND.”

Astoria grabbed her by the back of the cloak and yanked her down like she was restraining a feral cat. “Sit. Down. You’re not sword-fighting Theodore in the middle of breakfast.”

“Why not?” Pansy whined. “We live in a magical castle. This is the perfect place for sword-fighting!”

You and Mattheo exchanged a horrified glance.

“I think we just declared war,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Well. At least we’re dying pretty.”

If Mattheo Riddle had a Galleon for every time he thought, “this is how I die,” he could’ve funded a whole underground resistance, a few cursed artifacts, and still had enough left to buy you a shiny ring and a nice flat in Hogsmeade.

This time, though?

There would be no ring.

No flat.

No wedding.

Just his body launched into orbit by Theodore Nott’s inevitable, unstoppable rage.

You were standing in the corridor just outside the Great Hall, trying to decide whether to walk into your own execution or drag your boyfriend back to the dungeons by his ear.

Mattheo Riddle had been pacing like a man possessed for the past fifteen minutes.

“Okay, okay, okay—maybe I should bow?” he muttered to himself. “No. Too much. Theodore might think I’m mocking him. Should I curtsy? Would that be better? Classier?”

“Mattheo,” you said, voice deadpan, “if you curtsy to my brother, I will physically throw you out of a window.”

“I just—he’s going to murder me,” Mattheo wailed, throwing his hands in the air like some kind of tragic widow. “He’s going to skin me and use my corpse as a decorative throw for the Slytherin common room. I’ll be throw fashion, darling.”

You stared. “You’ve lost your mind.”

He spun dramatically and grabbed both your hands. “You don’t get it. That man terrifies me. He’s tall. He’s quiet. He wears all black. He looks like he reads tragic poetry for fun. He has ‘I’ll bury you behind the greenhouse’ energy.”

You tried not to laugh. “He’s just my brother.”

“No. He’s a whole experience. A terrifying one. Like one of those silent movies where the guy never speaks but everyone dies anyway.”

“Mattheo—”

“What if he pulls a wand on me and casts some obscure ancient curse from the Nott family grimoire and my skin turns inside out?”

“Then I’ll get you some exfoliating cream and a hug.”

Mattheo gave you an utterly wounded look. “That’s all the sympathy I get in my darkest hour?”

“Your darkest hour hasn’t even started.”

Footsteps echoed ominously down the hallway.

Mattheo froze, grabbing the wall like a man in mourning. “Oh Merlin. It’s him. It’s Theodore. I’m not ready. You said I had five more minutes!”

“You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“I wasn’t emotionally prepared then and I’m *less* emotionally prepared now!”

You didn't have time to argue. Theodore turned the corner, walking toward you with his usual unbothered, slow-as-hell stride, like he had all the time in the world to arrive at your crime scene.

Mattheo made a strangled noise like a dying bird and—without shame—threw himself behind you.

“Don’t let him hurt me!” he whisper-yelled into your shoulder. “If I die, tell your mother I looked amazing at my funeral.”

Theodore raised a single eyebrow. “Are you hiding behind my sibling?”

Mattheo popped his head out. “Not hiding—strategically retreating. It’s different.”

“Yes,” you muttered, “the strategy is cowardice.”

He clung to your robes like a damsel. “This is not cowardice. This is self-preservation, thank you very much.”

Theodore stared at him blankly. “You’re pathetic.”

Mattheo inhaled deeply and then stepped out with the air of a man marching to the gallows. “Okay. Okay. Theodore. I—I want to say something.”

Theodore tilted his head, mildly curious.

“I want to apologize for—uh—for all the... snogging. And emotional bonding. And, uh, the fact that I may or may not have licked and attacked your sibling’s neck in a highly inappropriate location on the Astronomy Tower—NOT THE POINT—what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry and please don’t hex my kneecaps or transfigure my ears into cauliflowers or whatever it is you Notts do when people betray your bloodline.”

Theodore blinked.

Mattheo cleared his throat. “I just—really, really like your sibling, alright? Like, a lot. Like, ‘I’d write you letters in blood if I wasn’t squeamish’ a lot. And I know I’m kind of a mess and also a little deranged but I swear on Salazar’s bald head that I’m serious about this and if you want to punch me, just go for the left side, that’s my less photogenic side anyway—”

“I already knew,” Theodore interrupted.

Mattheo stopped mid-rant, finger in the air like he had more dramatic declarations to unleash. “Wait. What?”

“I’ve known for weeks.”

There was a beat of complete, shell-shocked silence.

Mattheo’s hand slowly lowered. “You… what?”

“I saw you sneaking out of the Astronomy Tower the first time,” Theodore said casually. “The scarf was a dead giveaway. And the second time. And the third. And the time you came back to the dorms with glitter in your hair and that weird grin like you'd just invented a new sin.”

Mattheo blinked rapidly. “So you knew... this whole time?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“No.”

“You didn’t curse me? Or duel me? Or send a howler to my mother?!”

Theodore shrugged. “I was enjoying watching you panic.”

You smacked your forehead.

Mattheo gasped and dramatically grabbed your sleeve. “He played me like a fiddle. A fiddle made of pure emotional torment.”

Theodore looked at you, dead serious. “If he breaks your heart, I’ll feed him to the Giant Squid.”

Mattheo nodded solemnly. “Honestly? That’s fair. Bit overkill, but poetic.”

“You two are insufferable,” you muttered.

Mattheo flopped against your back again, sighing dramatically. “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

He peeked at Theodore again. “So we’re good?”

Theodore gave him a long look. “Don’t push it.”

Mattheo immediately retreated behind you again. “He said don’t push it. I’m not pushing it. I’m hiding behind it.”

“You’re a grown man.”

“I’m a terrified man!”

Pansy, who had just turned the corner behind you with Draco and Astoria in tow, screeched like someone had been stabbed—an unholy, earsplitting shriek that ricocheted off the stone walls of the corridor like a cursed howler let loose during a funeral.

“HE FUCKING KNEW?!” she howled, her eyes wide with the sheer betrayal of it all, like Theodore had personally wronged her ancestral bloodline.

The entire hallway fell into a stunned silence for half a second before chaos exploded like a badly brewed potion. A nearby portrait of a sleepy wizard jolted awake and threw his goblet at the ground, muttering something about “witches these days.” You and Mattheo both flinched so violently you almost knocked heads—and Mattheo, being the brave soul that he was, dove behind you like a coward, clutching the back of your robes with the death grip of a man facing an angry hippogriff.

“HOLY SHIT, Pansy!” Lorenzo barked, careening in behind her like a gale-force wind in Gucci boots, nearly tripping over his own feet and the bag of crisps he had clearly brought specifically for this moment. “You trying to rupture the space-time continuum with your lungs? I think my left eardrum just committed suicide!”

“You—you KNEW?!” Blaise turned to Theodore with all the grace and fury of someone who just found out his favorite soap opera had been canceled mid-cliffhanger. “And you didn’t do anything?! Not even a single ominous shoulder squeeze? A disapproving nod? A slow, terrifying walk behind them in the corridors with your eyes narrowed like a cryptid in the fog?!”

“I was counting on some emotionally stunted vengeance,” Lorenzo chimed in, now holding his crisps like a judgmental gavel. “You let us down, Nott.”

“EXACTLY!” Pansy shrieked, spinning around with the energy of a banshee leading a revolution. “Where’s the drama?! Where’s the furious wand duel at midnight in the courtyard? WHERE'S THE TWO-PAGE SPEECH ABOUT BETRAYAL AND SIBLING HONOUR AND A TRAGIC LOVE DOOMED FROM THE START?!”

Draco looked like he was genuinely grieving. He placed one hand on his heart, the other dramatically outstretched as if speaking to the heavens. “This is worse than my father’s fourth engagement party. At least that had fireworks and an enchanted swan that exploded.”

Theodore, for his part, looked like he’d just woken up from a nap and couldn’t be arsed. Standing with his hands in his pockets and his expression set to “Could Not Care Less If I Tried,” he said, “I already told them. I’ve known for weeks.”

“WEEKS?!” Blaise yelped, clutching Lorenzo’s shoulder like he needed emotional support.

“And you didn’t even glare once?!” Draco gasped, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “You didn’t pull out your wand and threaten to CRUCIO his bloodline?!”

“I expected some level of ominous sibling rage,” Lorenzo muttered. “Instead I got... emotional neutrality. Honestly, it’s offensive.”

“I’m just—confused,” Blaise said, flinging his arms out. “Do you even care? You’re acting like Mattheo hasn’t spent the past month playing tonsil hockey with your sibling in every broom cupboard in the castle.”

“I expected fireworks,” Pansy seethed. “Screaming. Maybe a duel that would’ve made the school nurse cry. At least a threatened expulsion! And instead—” she gestured wildly at Theodore “—we got this! Calm! Rational! Emotionally intelligent?! I’m DISGUSTED.”

Astoria, who had been quietly standing by, now had both hands around Pansy’s waist, physically holding her back like she was restraining a chihuahua on steroids. “Pans, don’t lunge. You promised no tackling.”

“I DIDN’T PROMISE NOTHING,” Pansy roared.

Theodore blinked slowly, looking almost bored. “If Mattheo breaks their heart, I’ll throw him off the Astronomy Tower myself. Until then, I’ve got exams.”

Mattheo, still half-hiding behind you like a traumatized Victorian child, made a strangled sound. “He’s gonna what—?”

“I—I tried to apologize,” Mattheo spluttered, peeking out from behind your shoulder with the world’s most wounded expression. “I was halfway through my bloody sentence and he just cut me off! I had a whole speech! With metaphors!”

“You didn’t even get to the metaphor about comparing Theodore’s glare to a dementor with a caffeine addiction,” you whispered.

“RIGHT?” Mattheo pointed at you with a pout. “That was my best one!”

“You were sobbing into a chocolate frog outside the potions lab,” Blaise said, deadpan.

“Yeah, I remember that,” Lorenzo added with a snort. “You kept whispering, ‘he’s going to turn me into a ferret’.”

“You weren’t even dating me when you did that,” you muttered.

Mattheo groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “I was emotionally preparing! For war!”

“And there was no war!” Draco cried. “Just—just peace! Like we’re living in some healthy, emotionally mature AU!”

“This is worse than my cousin’s vow renewal,” Pansy snapped, now pacing in a circle. “At least that ended with a hexed priest and someone’s wig catching fire.”

Lorenzo clapped Blaise on the back. “Well, guess I lost the bet.”

“What bet?” you asked, dreading the answer.

“I had twenty galleons on Theodore turning Mattheo into a cactus and leaving him outside Hagrid’s hut.”

“Honestly, I would’ve preferred that,” Mattheo muttered.

“Same,” Draco said, disgusted.

“You’re all insane,” Theodore said.

“And you’re boring,” Blaise fired back. “Where’s the trauma?! Where’s the iconic sibling rage? You had the perfect opportunity to deliver a one-liner and threaten him with a slow, painful doom! Instead you let him live?!”

Pansy turned on Theodore with wide, devastated eyes. “You’re not mad at all? Like not even a little? There’s no secret plotting? No passive aggressive breakfast commentary?!”

Theodore just shrugged. “I like my sibling. I don’t hate Riddle. I’m not wasting spell energy unless he does something dumb.”

“I am something dumb!” Mattheo squeaked from behind you.

“WE KNOW!” Pansy and Draco yelled in unison.

Astoria buried her face in her hands. “I’m too sober for this.”

Draco sighed dramatically and crossed his arms. “Fine. New plan. Someone date someone they shouldn’t so we can salvage this absolute travesty.”

“I VOLUNTEER!” Lorenzo said immediately.

“NO YOU DON’T!” Blaise and Draco snapped.

You turned to Mattheo with a dazed smile as the rest of your friends devolved into chaos, arguing over who should pretend to get engaged for maximum scandal.

“Well,” you muttered. “That went well.”

Mattheo blinked at you, still clutching your robes. “I feel like I survived an execution by emotional chaos.”

You patted his cheek. “You did great, sweetheart.”

“I hate all of them,” he whispered.

From behind you, Pansy screamed, “SOMEONE THROW SOMETHING DRAMATIC OR I’M GOING TO COMBUST.”

A shoe flew past your head.

“Okay,” Mattheo muttered. “Maybe I don’t hate them. I just… fear them.”

You nodded. “Reasonable.”

And somewhere, Theodore was already walking away from the scene like a man who had never emotionally invested in anything except his morning tea and the hope that someone, someday, would shut Pansy up for more than two minutes.

[theodorenmyth]

Hi!!

Just wanted to start off by saying I love your writing and hope you're doing well! Also no pressure to write this fic!

I was wondering if you could do a fic where mattheo has a hufflepuff!sibling and no one really knows that they're related and when everyone finds out they're all like "WHAT!?!"

Secret Siblings

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle & GN!reader (slight Cedric Diggory x GN!reader

Summary ; No one knew you were Mattheo Riddle’s sibling until he accidentally revealed it at breakfast. The entire school was shocked, with Pansy furious, Theo pointing out Mattheo’s protectiveness, and the professors struggling to restore order. Mattheo, however, found the chaos amusing while you were absolutely done with him.

A/N ; this was so funny in my head, enjoy :3

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 3.4k+

If there was one thing you prided yourself on, it was the fact that no one at Hogwarts knew you were Mattheo Riddle’s sibling.

You had spent years ensuring it stayed that way. It wasn’t that you were ashamed—well, maybe a little—but Mattheo had a reputation. The fights, the detentions, the way he and his Slytherin friends ruled the school like they were untouchable. Meanwhile, you were… well, you. A Hufflepuff through and through, more interested in helping first-years find their way around than getting into fights in the Astronomy Tower.

It wasn’t like you and Mattheo hated each other either. In fact, in private, you got along pretty well. He was protective in the way older brothers were, making sure no one messed with you while also respecting your need for space. It was an unspoken agreement—he did his thing, you did yours, and no one at Hogwarts needed to know you shared blood.

At least, that was the plan.

You remembered the first time you arrived at Hogwarts, sitting in the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat was placed on your head. You’d felt Mattheo’s eyes burning into you from the Slytherin table, silently willing you to join him. But when the hat cheerfully announced, "Hufflepuff!", the look on his face had been nothing short of hilarious.

Later that night, he had pulled you aside.

“Hufflepuff? Seriously?” he had asked, arms crossed.

You had shrugged. “What’s wrong with Hufflepuff?”

Mattheo groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not wrong, it’s just… unexpected.”

That was the first and last time you discussed it. From then on, it was an unspoken rule: in public, you weren’t related. You didn’t acknowledge each other unless necessary, and no one questioned it because—well, who would suspect that the hotheaded, sharp-tongued Slytherin had a sibling as patient and kind as you?

Sure, there had been close calls. That one time in your second year when Mattheo had hexed a Ravenclaw who had insulted you, or the time in fourth year when you’d patched him up after he got into a fight, and Theo Nott had almost walked in on you both.

But for five years, the secret had held.

Until today.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

It started at breakfast.

You were sitting with your usual group of Hufflepuffs, laughing about something Cedric Diggory had said, when a commotion at the Slytherin table caught your attention.

Mattheo was on his feet, eyes burning with fury as he grabbed a younger Slytherin by the collar.

“You think you can just talk about my family like that?” Mattheo growled, his voice carrying across the Great Hall.

The younger student stammered, clearly regretting whatever words had left his mouth. The entire room was now watching, intrigued by the outburst.

“Mattheo,” Draco muttered, placing a hand on his friend’s arm. “Let it go.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but after a moment, he shoved the kid back into his seat. The tension slowly dissipated as people turned back to their breakfasts, whispering about what had just happened.

You, however, had frozen mid-bite.

He said ‘my family.’

You had a very, very bad feeling about this.

But maybe—just maybe—people wouldn’t notice. Maybe they’d assume he was talking about his parents, or some long-lost relative, or something entirely unrelated to you. You glanced around, scanning the students at your table. No one was looking at you weirdly. No one seemed to have connected the dots.

Yet.

“Damn,” one of your housemates muttered, eyes still flickering toward the Slytherin table. “Mattheo’s really got a temper.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” another Hufflepuff snorted. “I swear, that guy wakes up angry.”

“Did you hear what that kid said to him?” a third chimed in. “It must’ve been bad for him to go off like that.”

You kept your head down, focusing on your toast. Maybe if you acted normal, no one would—

“So,” Cedric’s voice broke through your thoughts, too casual for your liking, “who do you think Mattheo meant by ‘my family’?”

Your hand twitched.

“Probably his parents,” one of the Hufflepuff girls replied. “Everyone knows his dad’s—you know.”

You risked a glance toward the Slytherin table. Mattheo was still standing, breathing heavily, eyes flickering toward you for a split second before looking away.

He knew what he’d done.

You wanted to strangle him.

Cedric hummed, resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, maybe. Or…” His gaze slid toward you, sharp and calculating. “Could be someone else.”

You gave him your best blank stare. “Why are you looking at me?”

“I don’t know,” Cedric said, smiling like he absolutely did know. “You just look suspicious.”

“I always look suspicious.”

“That’s true,” another Hufflepuff agreed, nodding. “You’ve got a very ‘secret double life’ kind of face.”

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it, though?” Cedric grinned. “Because I think Mattheo just gave us something very interesting to think about.”

You groaned, shoving the rest of your toast into your mouth before standing up. “I’m leaving.”

“See?” Cedric laughed. “Suspicious behavior.”

You ignored him, walking as fast as you could out of the Great Hall.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You were proven right about an hour later when you were leaving Charms and found yourself cornered by a group of curious Gryffindors.

Seamus Finnigan was the first to speak, eyes wide with disbelief. “Oi, Y/N, is it true?”

You blinked. “Is what true?”

Dean Thomas scoffed. “Oh, come on, don’t play dumb. We all heard Mattheo this morning.”

Your stomach dropped. “Uh…”

“Are you actually related to Mattheo Riddle?” Lavender Brown cut in, looking positively giddy.

You forced a nervous laugh. “You know, I suddenly remembered that I—uh—left my Potions essay in the common room. Gotta go—”

Before you could take a single step, Seamus grabbed your arm. “Oh no, you don’t! We need answers.”

Damn it.

You tried to keep a neutral expression. “Look, I don’t know where you’re getting these ridiculous ideas, but—”

“Mattheo literally said ‘my family,’” Dean interrupted. “And unless he considers some first-year a long-lost cousin, we can put two and two together.”

You swallowed hard. “I mean… family is a broad term, you know? Found family, distant family, metaphorical family—”

“Oh my Merlin,” Lavender gasped dramatically. “IT’S TRUE, ISN’T IT?”

“NO!” you said way too quickly. “I mean—no, as in, I really have to be somewhere. Right now. Urgent meeting. Important business. Secret mission. Goodbye!”

And before anyone could stop you, you spun on your heel and bolted down the corridor.

“GET BACK HERE!” Seamus yelled, but you didn’t dare slow down.

You turned a corner sharply, nearly knocking over a group of Ravenclaws.

“Hey, watch it—oh, wait, Y/N!” Anthony Goldstein called out. “You’re Mattheo Riddle’s sibling?!”

You let out a strangled noise that wasn’t quite a yes or a no and kept running.

You thought you were in the clear until you ran straight into Cedric near the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room.

“Whoa, slow down there!” Cedric steadied you, his eyebrows raised. “Where’s the fire?”

“No time—gotta go—” you huffed, trying to sidestep him.

Cedric squinted at you, then tilted his head. “Wait a second. Are the rumors true? About you and Mattheo?”

Your eyes darted around, searching for an escape. “What rumors? Who said that? I mean, what’s a rumor, really? A social construct? A—LOOK OVER THERE!”

You pointed dramatically in a random direction.

Cedric, being the nice, trusting Hufflepuff that he was, actually turned to look.

And you took off.

“Y/N!” Cedric called after you, but you were already sprinting toward the Grand Staircase.

You were nearly home free until—

“Y/N!”

Oh, for the love of—

You skidded to a stop as none other than Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini stepped in front of you, blocking your path.

“I thought I saw you running around like a lunatic,” Theodore drawled, looking mildly amused. “Tell me, why exactly is the entire school suddenly interested in you?”

Blaise crossed his arms. “Yeah, and why did I just hear a fourth-year say that Mattheo Riddle has a secret Hufflepuff sibling?”

Your face twitched. “...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

Theodore smirked. “You’re a terrible liar, Y/N.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I hate this school.”

“Mm,” Blaise hummed. “That doesn’t answer the question, though.”

“I—uh—have to get to class.”

Theodore deadpanned. “It’s lunchtime.”

Damn it.

“Uh—detention?” you tried.

Blaise smirked. “With who?”

“Uh… Snape?”

Theodore chuckled. “Snape’s in his office right now. I just saw him.”

“I have to go… feed my bunny?”

“You don’t have an bunny.” Blaise pointed out.

You groaned. “FORGET IT, I’M LEAVING.”

You tried to run, but Theodore casually stuck out a foot and tripped you. You stumbled forward, cursing under your breath.

“Okay, okay!” you snapped, regaining your balance. “I just don’t want to talk about it, alright?”

Theodore and Blaise exchanged glances before Theodore shrugged. “Fair enough. But you do know Mattheo’s going to get an earful from us, right?”

You just groaned and stormed away from the duo.

Mattheo was gonna get a piece of your mind.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

By lunch, it felt like the entire school was staring at you.

Whispers followed you down the corridors, louder than usual, and students weren’t even trying to be subtle about it anymore.

“There’s no way—”

“A Riddle? In Hufflepuff? HOW?”

“Are they, like, adopted?”

“Maybe they were switched at birth.”

“WAIT. Maybe they’re, like, some undercover assassin for the Dark Lord.”

You groaned, pressing your fingers against your temples. It was getting worse.

After what felt like an eternity of being gawked at like some zoo animal, you finally found Mattheo leaning against a pillar in the courtyard, looking far too smug for someone who had just single-handedly ruined your peaceful existence.

“You absolute buffoon.” You stomped toward him, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

Mattheo blinked innocently. “Me? Whatever do you mean?”

You gaped at him. “WHATEVER DO YOU MEAN?! THE WHOLE SCHOOL KNOWS, YOU MENACE. I CAN’T WALK TEN STEPS WITHOUT SOMEONE POINTING AT ME LIKE I’M A DAMN RARE CREATURE.”

He smirked. “Well, technically, you are rare. A Hufflepuff Riddle? That’s practically an anomaly.”

You threw your hands in the air dramatically. “I LIKED NOT BEING ASSOCIATED WITH YOU.”

Mattheo clutched his chest in mock heartbreak. “That wounds me, dearest sibling. Truly.”

You ignored his theatrics. “No, seriously, do you understand what you’ve done? I’ve spent years—YEARS—building a life here where I wasn’t known as Mattheo Riddle’s poor, unfortunate sibling, and you ruined it in under five seconds.”

Mattheo hummed, tilting his head. “Five seconds is quite impressive, really.”

You groaned, pacing in front of him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Nooo,” he drawled, grinning. “You love me. I’m your amazing, handsome, overprotective, wonderful older brother, and you’re honored to be related to me.”

You inhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temples. “I’m going to commit a crime.”

Mattheo patted your head patronizingly. “Aw, you’re so cute when you’re mad.”

Before you could bite back a snarky response, a group of Ravenclaw students walked by, eyes narrowing in suspicion as they caught sight of you and Mattheo interacting.

“Wait a second,” one of them muttered, nudging their friend. “Are they actually—like, actually—siblings?”

The other student squinted. “There’s no way.”

A Gryffindor passing by heard this and immediately gasped. “Holy shit. They do look kind of alike. What if it’s true?”

“Shhh,” another hissed. “They’ll hear you.”

You plastered on the most forced, awkward smile in history and turned toward the suspicious group.

“Ha! Siblings? Us? What a—what a funny thought,” you said, voice unnaturally high. “Haha. Me and Mattheo Riddle? Pfft. Noooo. That’s crazy. What a—what a wild conspiracy theory. You guys should—uh—write a book about it. Haha.”

The Ravenclaws did not look convinced.

Mattheo, for his part, simply rolled his eyes at you, looking absolutely done with your existence.

“Real subtle,” he muttered under his breath.

You shot him a glare before turning back to the growing audience. “Uh—anyway! Gotta go! I left a—a cauldron burning in the potions classroom! Haha. Silly me!”

Then, grabbing Mattheo by the sleeve, you yanked him out of the courtyard before you could humiliate yourself further.

Once you were safely out of earshot, you whirled on him.

“DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS?! NOW I HAVE TO DEAL WITH YOUR STUPID FRIENDS, AND THE GOSSIP, AND PEOPLE QUESTIONING MY ENTIRE EXISTENCE. IT’S GOING TO TAKE YEARS TO REPAIR THE DAMAGE YOU’VE DONE.”

Mattheo shrugged. “Or you could just embrace it.”

“Embrace it?” You let out a near-hysterical laugh. “EMBRACE IT?! DO I LOOK LIKE I WANT TO BE A PART OF WHATEVER THIS IS?” You waved vaguely in his direction.

“Come on, it’s not so bad,” he said, still entirely too relaxed.

You gasped dramatically. “NOT SO BAD?! WAIT TILL MUM AND DAD HEARS ABOUT THIS.”

For the first time, Mattheo’s smirk faltered.

“You wouldn’t.”

You grinned, hands on your hips. “Oh, I would. And I will. And do you know what’s going to happen? Mum’s going to lecture you for hours about how you should respect my privacy, and then Dad’s going to give you that look—you know the one—and you’re going to feel so guilty that you’ll regret ever opening your stupid mouth at breakfast today.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes. “You fight dirty.”

You smirked. “I learned from the best.”

For a second, he studied you, weighing his options. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he held up his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine,” he muttered. “I’ll try to make this whole thing less of a big deal.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Define ‘less of a big deal."

“I’ll stop actively encouraging the chaos.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “That’s not nearly enough.”

“It’s the best you’re going to get.”

You groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Nooo,” he said, ruffling your hair. “You loooove me.”

You batted his hand away, grumbling as he laughed.

The damage was already done, and you had no doubt that Hogwarts would still be reeling for weeks, but if nothing else, you had successfully put the fear of mum and dad into Mattheo.

And that, at least, was a small victory.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You should have known walking into the Great Hall with Mattheo was a mistake.

The second the two of you stepped through the doors—side by side, clearly together—the entire room went silent. Forks clattered, conversations died, and then—

“YOU’RE RELATED TO MATTHEO RIDDLE?!”

The voice echoed through the hall like someone had just announced Voldemort’s return.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” you muttered under your breath.

Suddenly, people were standing up, pointing at you like you were some newly discovered magical creature.

“No way!” a Gryffindor shouted.

“A Hufflepuff? A HUFFLEPUFF?” another voice shrieked from the Ravenclaw table.

“Wait, wait—how do we know this isn’t some elaborate prank?” Ernie Macmillan questioned, looking genuinely disturbed.

Across the room, the Gryffindor table was in utter chaos.

“Wait—hold on—WHAT?!” Ron Weasley nearly choked on his pumpkin juice, eyes bulging as he looked between you and Mattheo.

Harry Potter looked equally stunned, glasses slipping down his nose. “No—no way. You’re joking, right?”

Hermione Granger, for the first time in probably ever, was speechless. “This… this can’t be right,” she said, shaking her head as if that would make reality change. “There’s no way—”

“OH MY GOD, IT’S TRUE.” Ron grabbed Harry’s arm, gasping dramatically. “This is the biggest plot twist since we found out Scabbers was a middle-aged man.”

Pansy was the first to react from the Slytherin table, standing up so fast her goblet nearly toppled over. “MATTY, WHAT THE FUCK?” she screeched, rounding on Mattheo, who—shockingly—looked completely at ease, casually biting into an apple like this wasn’t the most shocking revelation since Dumbledore’s questionable sock obsession.

Mattheo merely raised a brow at her outburst. “What?”

Pansy gawked at him. “You—you—you’re telling me that for years, you’ve had a sibling at this school and you just forgot to mention it?”

Mattheo shrugged. “Didn’t forget. Just didn’t care to share.”

Pansy’s shriek of rage was so high-pitched that even the ghosts looked unsettled. “DIDN’T CARE TO SHARE?!”

Blaise was watching the chaos unfold with a smirk, lazily sipping his pumpkin juice. “This is hilarious.”

Draco, on the other hand, was rubbing his temples like he was getting a migraine. “Mattheo, why?”

“Why what?” Mattheo replied, unbothered. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?”

Lorenzo Berkshire repeated, eyes flickering between you and Mattheo. “You’ve been throwing punches at anyone who so much as looked at them funny, and you thought that wouldn’t raise questions?”

“I thought it was obvious,” Mattheo said.

You threw your hands up. “OBVIOUS?! OBVIOUS?! MATTY, I HAVE SPENT YEARS MAKING SURE NO ONE KNEW, AND YOU BLEW IT IN TEN SECONDS OVER BREAKFAST!”

Mattheo snorted, completely unapologetic. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually.”

“Oh my God, I want to strangle you.”

“Sibling love,” he said smugly, tossing an arm around your shoulders.

The Great Hall exploded again.

“You two actually act like siblings—”

“How did we not see this?!”

“I feel like I’m living in an alternate universe,” muttered a Ravenclaw.

Across the room, Neville Longbottom was sitting completely frozen, still holding his fork mid-air. “I think I need to sit down.”

“You’re already sitting,” Seamus pointed out.

“Then I need to lie down.”

Dean looked at you, utterly baffled. “You mean to tell me that Hogwarts’ most violent menace has been related to the softest, most polite Hufflepuff this entire time?”

Mattheo scoffed. “Oi, don’t act like they’re innocent.” He turned to you. “Tell them about the time you hexed that fifth-year for insulting your friend.”

The entire Hufflepuff table gasped in betrayal.

“You WHAT?” Susan Bones shrieked, looking at you like you’d just confessed to murder.

You groaned. “Mattheo, shut up.”

Pansy still wasn’t over the betrayal. “I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU KEPT THIS FROM ME.”

“Why do you care so much?” Mattheo asked, unimpressed.

“BECAUSE I TELL YOU EVERYTHING, YOU ARSE.”

The professors were desperately trying to regain order, but it was not working. Even McGonagall looked exasperated, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was debating retirement.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, was chuckling into his goblet like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen in years.

Mattheo turned to you with an amused grin. “Well, now they know.”

You stared at him, seething. “You are the worst.”

He smirked. “Love you too, little sibling.”

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

By the time lunch was over, you were exhausted. The whispers, the stares, the relentless questioning—it was too much. You barely managed to escape the Great Hall before someone else could interrogate you.

Unfortunately, your luck didn’t last long.

Before you could get far, a firm arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a familiar warmth.

“For a Hufflepuff,” Cedric Diggory murmured next to your ear, his voice dripping with amusement, “you really had a dramatic reveal.”

You groaned. “Oh, not you too.”

Cedric grinned, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Come on, how could I not comment? The Great Hall was in shambles. I think I saw a first-year question their entire existence.”

You sighed, leaning into him slightly for comfort. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“Oh?” Cedric raised a brow. “So you were planning to tell me at some point?”

“...No.”

He laughed, the sound vibrating against you. “Figured.” Then, in a much more mischievous tone, he added, “At least now we know why Mattheo always looked ready to hex me whenever I flirted with you.”

You stiffened.

Wait.

What?

Cedric pulled back slightly, watching as your brain short-circuited. “Oh? You didn’t know?”

You stared at him in horror. “Cedric. What the hell are you talking about?"

Cedric just smirked. “Mattheo glares a lot, but I always wondered why his hexing hand twitched whenever I got too close to you.”

Your soul left your body.

“Diggory,” you said slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. “How many times have you flirted with me in front of Mattheo?”

He hummed, pretending to think. “Dunno. Ten? Twenty? Maybe more?”

You buried your face on Cedric's shoulder. “Oh my God.”

Cedric chuckled, giving your waist one last playful squeeze before finally stepping away. “You should probably talk to him before he decides to challenge me to a duel.”

“Cedric,” you groaned, already feeling a headache coming.

But Cedric just winked and strolled off like he hadn’t just shattered your entire existence.

Meanwhile, across the courtyard, Mattheo was watching.

And judging by the way his jaw clenched when Cedric touched you, you were about to have a very long conversation with your brother.

[theodorenmyth]

Little Loveboy

Pairings; Mattheo Riddle x GN!reader

Summary: Mattheo Riddle has been hopelessly in love with you since third year, but he refuses to admit it. He dates around, flirts with random girls, and scoffs whenever his friends bring you up—but he just can't shake his feelings. His jealousy is uncontrollable, and his friends never let him hear the end of it. Eventually, even professors start teasing him, much to his dismay.

A/n : starting from today to the 16th of February, I'm gonna make Valentine themed fanfics so no angst.

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 900+

Mattheo Riddle was, as Theodore put it, fucking doomed.

He had been doomed since third year, when he first saw you absolutely wreck the entire class during a debate with Snape about the properties of Amortentia. The way your eyes gleamed with passion, the way you sat so effortlessly confident, the way you were just so fucking smart—it made his heart do something weird. Like it wanted to jump out of his chest and roll across the floor.

And that? That wasn’t normal.

So, obviously, he did the only logical thing—he ignored it. For years.

Instead of admitting that he found you painfully attractive, he spent his time flirting with girls, dating left and right, pretending like he wasn’t being driven up the wall whenever you smiled at someone else.

But the problem with having a hopelessly obvious crush was that Mattheo’s friends were absolute menaces.

“You’re staring again, Little Loveboy,” Pansy sang, flicking his forehead.

“I’m not staring,” Mattheo grumbled, leaning back in his chair, definitely not still looking at you.

“Right,” Blaise drawled, looking over at where you were sitting by the window, absorbed in a book. “That’s why you’ve been looking at Y/N for the past—what? Fifteen minutes?”

“I don’t like him,” Mattheo snapped, but the moment he said it, he glanced at you again.

And just like that, Theodore fucking grinned.

“Oh, mate,” Theo laughed, shaking his head. “You are so gone.”

Draco, sitting beside him, smirked. “It’s honestly embarrassing at this point.”

“You know what’s embarrassing?” Mattheo scoffed. “The fact that you all have nothing better to do than bother me.”

“You make it too easy,” Lorenzo snickered. “Little Loveboy.”

“I will throw you out the fucking window.”

And then, as if the universe hated Mattheo, you looked up from your book. Your eyes met his for half a second, and you smiled at him—a simple, small thing, but oh my fucking God.

Mattheo nearly choked on his own tongue.

His friends exploded into laughter.

“Oh, he’s red!” Pansy gasped. “He’s actually blushing!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mattheo hissed, yanking his hood over his face.

But the teasing didn’t stop there.

No, it got worse.

Because apparently, his suffering was entertainment to not only his friends, but also his professors.

During one particularly terrible Potions class, Mattheo had spent a good portion of the lesson staring at you. Not that he noticed. It just kept happening..

And Snape, ever the observant bastard, took full advantage of this.

“Mr. Riddle,” Snape drawled, interrupting the entire class, “perhaps you would find this lesson more engaging if you spent less time gazing longingly at Mr. Y/L/N and more time focusing on the assignment?”

The entire class turned to look at him.

Mattheo’s jaw dropped.

Even you looked over, blinking in surprise.

“Oh, fuck me,” Mattheo muttered under his breath as his friends burst out laughing.

“Bloody hell,” Draco wheezed, gripping the edge of the table. “Even Snape’s in on it.”

“I hate all of you,” Mattheo gritted out, slamming his book shut.

Snape smirked. “Detention, Riddle.”

Mattheo groaned.

But it didn’t stop there.

Because McGonagall got involved too.

During Transfiguration, Mattheo had, once again, found himself subconsciously staring at you instead of his assignment.

He was trying—he really was—but you had this habit of biting your lip when you were focused, and it was distracting as fuck.

“Mr. Riddle,” McGonagall said, sighing dramatically, “if you’re quite done swooning over Mr. Y/L/N, perhaps you’d like to contribute to the class?”

The Gryffindors howled with laughter.

Mattheo buried his face in his hands. “I’m actually going to die.”

And, of course, the final nail in the coffin was Hagrid.

It was during Care of Magical Creatures. You were partnered with some random Ravenclaw—too close, too friendly, and Mattheo hated it.

He stood there, arms crossed, glowering at the poor guy.

“Merlin, that’s a death stare if I’ve ever seen one,” Theo muttered.

And then, loudly, Hagrid chuckled, “Oh, don’t be jealous, Mattheo, ‘s not like Y/N’s runnin’ off to marry ‘im.”

You turned to look at Mattheo.

Mattheo, absolutely horrified, turned and ran into the fucking woods.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

After that, Mattheo’s denial crumbled like a cheap pastry.

He liked you. He liked you so much it physically hurt.

And after weeks of torment, he finally decided—fuck it.

So, he found you sitting by the Black Lake one afternoon, reading as always, and he sat down beside you.

You glanced up, surprised. “Hey, Mattheo.”

Mattheo almost short-circuited.

Your voice. Your fucking voice.

“Hey,” he muttered, trying to act casual, even though his entire body was buzzing with nerves. “So. Uh. I—uh.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You okay?”

Mattheo exhaled sharply. Just do it, Riddle.

“I like you, okay?” he blurted out.

You blinked. “You—what?”

Mattheo groaned. “I like you. I’ve liked you since third year. I tried to ignore it, but—Merlin, you’re just so fucking cute and smart and perfect and I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your face slowly turned red.

“Oh,” you said.

Mattheo stared at you, heart pounding. “Oh?”

And then, after several painfully long seconds, you smiled.

Smiled.

“That’s funny,” you murmured, “because I’ve liked you since third year, too.”

Mattheo’s brain broke.

“…You’re kidding.”

You shook your head, biting your lip to suppress a laugh.

And then, without thinking, Mattheo grabbed your face and kissed you.

The moment your lips met, his entire world tilted.

You kissed him back, smiling against his lips, and everything felt right.

When you finally pulled away, Mattheo was breathless, staring at you like you hung the bloody moon.

“Little Loveboy,” you teased.

Mattheo groaned. “Not you, too.”

You just laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder.

And for once, Mattheo didn’t deny it.

[theodorenmyth]

hiya, sneaking into your inbox to ask for a fluffy piece about mattheo sneaking out of his dorm at night to go cuddle with his snarky, prefect bf (also a slytherin) or them generally just sneaking around bc the relationship is relatively new and matty is super needy

Sleepy Cuddles

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!reader

Summary ; In the early stages of a secret relationship, Mattheo Riddle can't help but sneak into his snarky Slytherin prefect boyfriend’s bed for late-night cuddles. Needy, clingy, and absolutely obsessed, Mattheo refuses to let go—even when duty calls. What starts as a sleepy cuddle session turns into a battle of affection, stubbornness, and sleepy kisses, with Mattheo pressing soft kisses to your neck and jawline while you halfheartedly try to escape. Despite your protests, it’s obvious: you’re already wrapped around his finger… literally.

A/N ; hi I came back from the dead.. I missed u guys :3

Warnings ; none

Word count ; 2.2k+

The first time Mattheo snuck into your dorm, it was at least a little justified.

Midnight.

Cold.

Thunder rumbling low outside the castle walls. He’d claimed he "couldn’t possibly survive alone with all that weather threatening to murder him in his sleep."

You, being the soft idiot you were when it came to him, had let him crawl into your bed without a word.

But now?

Now it’s a perfectly clear night, barely a breeze outside, and the bloody idiot is shimmying through your door again like some overgrown, desperate cat.

You sit up in bed, squinting at the figure tripping over a chair and nearly flattening himself against your dresser.

"Mattheo," you hiss, dragging a hand down your face, "what the fuck are you doing?"

He straightens up, hair a mess, wand clenched between his teeth for Merlin-knows-what reason. He pulls it free with a sheepish grin.

"Needed to see you," he says simply, shameless as ever, like that explains everything.

You glare. "It’s one in the bloody morning. Tomorrow is patrol night, and if you get caught here, I lose my prefect badge."

Mattheo shrugs, moving toward you anyway. "Worth it."

"Mattheo—"

He flops onto your bed beside you with a dramatic groan, burrowing under your green Slytherin blankets like he owns the place. His hand immediately finds your waist under the covers, clinging to you like you're some sort of anchor keeping him tethered to this world.

"You’re so warm," he mumbles, already curling into your side, as if he hadn’t just committed a thousand violations of school rules and common sense. "You smell good too."

You thump him lightly on the head. "You’re impossible."

"Mm." He grins against your shoulder. "You love it."

Unfortunately, he’s right.

With a long-suffering sigh, you shift so he can tuck himself more comfortably against you. His hair brushes your jawline as he nuzzles closer, his fingers lightly stroking up and down your side, slow and almost absent-minded.

"You’re needy as hell, you know that?" you mutter.

Mattheo snickers. "You're lucky I'm only this clingy with you."

"That’s not reassuring."

"Should be." His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt now, tracing lazy circles against your skin. "Means you’re special."

You try (and fail) to suppress the heat creeping up your neck. "Says the guy who nearly broke my door sneaking in like a damn burglar."

"It’s not breaking if it’s romantic," he says smugly.

"You are a menace."

"I’m your menace."

You finally laugh, low and reluctant. "Unfortunately."

For a few minutes, it’s quiet. The castle seems to exhale around you, torches flickering in the corridors beyond your room. Mattheo’s breathing slows, matching yours, a steady rhythm that tugs at something deep in your chest.

And then, because he’s Mattheo Riddle and incapable of letting a peaceful moment stay peaceful, he mumbles, "You should let me move in."

You snort. "Move in? You have your own bed!"

"Your bed’s better. Smells better too." He inhales dramatically. "Like books and peppermint."

"You’re ridiculous."

"I’m serious," he insists, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. His hair falls into his eyes, soft and messy, and you hate how stupidly fond you feel.

"Mattheo—"

"Please?" His voice drops to a near-whine, shameless. "I’ll be quiet. I’ll even make the bed in the morning. I’ll..." he trails off, smirking wickedly, "repay you with affection."

You raise an eyebrow. "Affection, huh?"

"Endless affection," he promises solemnly. "Cuddles. Kisses. The works."

You roll your eyes, but before you can reply, Mattheo shifts closer, pressing a warm, lingering kiss against your jawline. The touch is soft, feather-light, and it makes your whole body tense.

Then he presses another kiss a little lower, right where your jaw meets your neck.

And another.

And another, softer still.

You feel your heart stutter like a traitor.

"You’re unbelievable," you murmur, voice embarrassingly breathless.

"You’re in love with me," he whispers, lips brushing your skin between every word. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between your bodies.

"Debatable," you manage, even as your hand slips into his messy curls without thinking.

He leans in again, pressing a soft kiss just beneath your ear. "Very debatable," he murmurs. His breath sends shivers down your spine.

You shove his face away with a hand, earning a huff of laughter.

"Alright, shut up," you say, trying not to grin. "You can stay for a bit."

Mattheo beams, victorious. "You love me."

"You’re on probation," you correct, lying back and letting him tuck himself under your arm again. "One wrong move and you're back to your own bed."

"Sure, sure." His voice is muffled against your chest. "I’ll be on my best behavior."

A moment later, he adds, "Mostly."

You sigh. "You’re going to get us both expelled."

"You’d miss me," he says smugly.

"You have too much faith in your own charm."

"And you have no poker face," he shoots back, laughing softly when you flick his ear.

After a beat, he quiets. His fingers absently trace the stitching on your pajama shirt, slow and aimless, like he’s memorizing every thread. His hand feels almost reverent against your chest, grounding you, soothing you.

"You know," he says, voice low and strangely tentative, "I like this."

You glance down at him, hand still resting lightly on his head. "Cuddling?"

"Yeah. And you."

His fingers tighten slightly against your side. "Feels...good. Safe."

You soften immediately, cursing him and yourself in the same breath. You lift your hand, threading it deeper through his hair, feeling him melt under the touch like wax.

"I like it too," you admit quietly, your chest tightening with the honesty of it.

He tilts his head up, grinning that boyish, almost shy grin he saves only for you. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Cool." He smirks, cocky again, but there’s a gentleness behind it now. "Means I can keep sneaking in then."

You groan. "I’m creating a monster."

"You’re just mad you love the monster."

"Go to sleep, Mattheo."

"Yes, Prefect."

He snickers against your skin, obnoxiously pleased with himself. But his breathing evens out soon enough, his weight warm and solid beside you, one leg tangled lazily with yours like he never plans to let you go.

You lie awake a little longer, staring up at the ceiling, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other wrapped around his waist.

You know you’re doomed.

Utterly, irreversibly doomed.

But somehow, with Mattheo curled against you like this—needy, reckless, yours—you don’t really mind.

In fact, you think you might love it.

The first thing you become aware of when you wake up is the distinct sensation of being completely, utterly trapped.

And no, it's not a nightmare. It's Mattheo.

His body is draped over you like a human blanket, arms wrapped around your torso in a way that suggests he never plans on letting go, and one of his legs is tangled in yours, pinning you to the bed.

You blink, squinting at the light creeping through your curtains. It's still early, and you can hear the faint echoes of other students beginning their own early mornings.

But here you are.

Mattheo Riddle has infiltrated your bed again. And there’s no way to escape.

"Mattheo," you croak, voice a little too rough from sleep. "You’re crushing me."

He makes an unintelligible noise against your neck, burrowing deeper into the crook of it like you’re the most comfortable thing in the world.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying your best to shove him off, but he’s clingy as hell and stronger than you remember.

"Mm?" he hums, still not bothering to lift his head. "You smell good."

"What?" You sputter, utterly flustered despite the situation. "That’s it? That’s your response?"

He just sighs contentedly, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck like he’s done this a thousand times before. "Mm. You smell like peppermint and... books. My favorite."

You fight the stupid smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "You’re unbelievable."

"I know." He nuzzles even closer, pulling your arm tighter around him like he’s some kind of needy puppy. "Now stay. You’re warm. I’m tired."

You groan, pulling your other arm out from under his grasp to check the time. "Mattheo, please. I have rounds in less than fifteen minutes, and if I’m late—"

"I don’t care," he interrupts, voice muffled as he drapes himself more heavily on top of you. "You’re not leaving me."

You try to sit up again, but his body is like dead weight on top of yours. You give a half-hearted tug on his arm, but he doesn't budge. Instead, he lets out an exaggerated whine, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his face into your chest.

"Mattheo," you repeat, trying to wiggle your way out from under him, "I have responsibilities!"

"You’re not getting out of this bed." He lifts his head just enough to glance at you, his eyes heavy with sleep but mischievous all the same. "I’ll do anything. Just don’t go."

"Anything?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "I could be late, you know. You’ll be late for classes."

He shrugs, unbothered, and his lips curl into a small, smug smile. "Nah. Who needs classes when I’ve got you?"

"Mattheo..." You huff, trying to pull yourself out from under him, but he's like a sticky spider, wrapping his arms tighter and tighter, refusing to let you escape.

"You're so warm," he mumbles, sounding far too pleased with himself for someone who’s definitely in the wrong.

You’re about to protest again when you feel him press a soft kiss to your neck, lingering a moment before nuzzling against your skin.

"What are you doing?" you ask, half-indignant, half-amused.

"I’m trying to convince you to stay," he mumbles, voice drowsy but still so damn smug. "It’s working, isn’t it?"

Your mind goes blank for a second as his lips leave another soft kiss on your throat. And then, another one just under your jaw. His lips are warm, soft, and... distracting.

"You’re impossible," you mutter, but you can’t stop yourself from shifting slightly, making more space for him, despite your best efforts.

"You love it," Mattheo says matter-of-factly. His hands sneak up to your back, pulling you closer until you’re practically sandwiched between him and the mattress.

"I’m serious, Mattheo," you say, your voice losing its sternness in favor of frustration and something else that feels suspiciously like affection. "I have to get up."

Mattheo glances up at you, looking far too content with his position. "You’re always so serious. Just relax. Let’s just... stay here a little longer." He presses his lips to your jawline, soft and slow. "I promise I’ll let you go soon."

"Yeah, right," you mutter, but you don’t move.

You can feel Mattheo smile against your skin, and it’s a feeling you know all too well—the warm, self-satisfied grin he wears when he knows he’s won.

And he has.

Again.

You sigh, finally giving in to the inevitable. "You're fucking impossible," you grumble, sinking deeper into the sheets, despite the nagging voice in your head that keeps reminding you of your prefect duties.

Mattheo hums happily, nuzzling into your neck again, completely satisfied. "I love you."

"I love you more." You shift, letting him pull you into a more comfortable position. "But I’m still going to be late if you don’t let me up soon."

"Then be late," he whispers, his voice full of drowsy amusement. "You can’t possibly want to leave me now."

The next thing you know, his lips are brushing against the side of your neck again, his kisses slow, deliberate, and so soft they make your heart race. One kiss lands just below your ear, and another trails along the side of your jaw.

"Mattheo..." you start, but your voice cracks. You have to swallow hard to keep it from betraying you, your stomach flipping.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes half-lidded with sleep, but the look on his face is soft and entirely too affectionate for your own good. "I’m not letting go," he says, voice hushed and serious now.

You know he’s joking.

Mostly.

But damn it, there’s something in his gaze, something warm and tender that leaves you speechless.

"I’m going to get in so much trouble," you mutter, knowing full well that you don’t really care.

"Good," Mattheo says with a sleepy grin. "You’ll be in trouble with me, and I can make it worth your while."

You roll your eyes, but it’s obvious you’ve already given up.

Mattheo presses a sleepy kiss to the side of your throat, so soft and slow you almost melt right then and there.

Then another, a little higher.

And another, just under your jaw.

"You're evil," you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Mm," he hums, sounding very pleased with himself. "Your evil."

You thump your head back against the pillow, officially resigned to your fate.

There’s no way you’re getting out of this bed without a serious fight—and honestly, you’re not sure you even want to.

Instead, you sigh, reaching down to pull the blankets higher around both of you.

"Five more minutes," you mumble.

Mattheo grins against your skin, victorious.

"Knew you'd cave."

"Yeah, yeah," you grumble, pressing a kiss to the top of his messy curls. "Shut up and go back to sleep, menace."

As Mattheo settles against you again, breathing deeply in contentment, you try once more to fight the pull of his affection, the warmth of his body.

But in the end, it’s no use.

You're already lost.

[theodorenmyth]

For Old Times Sake.

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!reader

Summary ; Mattheo Riddle and you were childhood best friends, bound by a keychain and bracelet as a promise of forever. But by third year, Mattheo abandoned you for popularity, turning into your worst bully. The torment pushed you into self-harm, but he never stopped caring. During the Battle of Hogwarts, you sacrificed yourself to save Mattheo, dying in his arms. Only then did Mattheo realize the depth of his betrayal—too late, with nothing left but a bloodstained keychain and regret.

A/N ; okay I cried while making this.. enjoy!?

Warnings ; ANGST, self-harm, bullying, emotional abuse, physical violence, betrayal, war violence, depression, regret, despair and grief.

Word count ; 5.4k+

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Mattheo Riddle was your best friend.

No—he was more than that. He was your other half, your safe place, your home.

You had met him at Wool’s Orphanage when you were just four years old, two lost boys in a world that wanted nothing to do with you. The orphanage was bleak—gray walls, cold food, cruel caretakers, and even crueler children. The other kids whispered about Mattheo, about the strange, inexplicable things that happened when he was angry. They said he was dangerous, cursed, a freak. No one wanted to be near him.

No one but you.

You had been there the first time Mattheo lashed out, the first time he made something happen—really happen. It was one of the older boys, Timothy Rourke, who had started it. He was fourteen, mean, and twice Mattheo’s size. He had a habit of picking on the younger kids, delighting in making them cry.

You had been his favorite target.

You remembered the way his fingers curled around your collar, yanking you up so your feet barely touched the ground. "You're worthless," he sneered, shaking you like a ragdoll. "No one's ever gonna want a sniveling little rat like you."

Then, without warning, he screamed.

The air had crackled, raw and electric, and Timothy had gone flying across the room, crashing into the wooden dresser with a sickening crack.

Mattheo had stood in the middle of it all, breathing hard, his small hands curled into fists. His dark eyes had glowed with something terrifying, something that made the other children scatter like rats.

You should have been afraid.

But all you felt was awe.

"You did that?" you had asked, breathless.

Mattheo's face had twisted with something unreadable, his fists trembling at his sides. "Yeah."

You had stared at him for a long moment before a slow grin spread across your face. "That was brilliant."

Mattheo had blinked. Then, for the first time since you’d met him, he had smiled.

From that moment on, you were inseparable.

Mattheo had a habit of scowling, of keeping people at arm’s length, but you had never let that stop you. You followed him around the orphanage like a shadow, sat beside him at meals, and sneaked into his bed at night when the cold became too unbearable.

He never complained.

And when you had nightmares—about the dark, about being alone, about disappearing and no one noticing—Mattheo never said a word. He simply shoved his blanket over you and let you stay.

"We're gonna be best mates forever," he had said once, voice firm in a way that only an eight-year-old could manage.

You had beamed at him. "Forever?"

"Forever."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The Hogwarts Letters

The day the letters came, everything changed.

It was an ordinary summer morning—if anything in that miserable orphanage could be considered ordinary. You and Mattheo were curled up in your shared cot, the thin blanket doing little to keep the chill away, when Mrs. Cole, the matron, stomped into the room.

"You lot!" she barked, waving two envelopes in her bony hands. "Wake up!"

You rubbed your eyes, bleary, watching as she stormed over to Mattheo's bed and shoved the letters into his chest. "Don't know what you've done to deserve this, but apparently you've been accepted into some bloody school."

You had blinked. Mattheo had frowned, sitting up as he turned the envelope over in his hands.

Then he froze.

"Mattheo?" You leaned over, trying to see what he was looking at.

The wax seal was pressed into the shape of a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

You had read the words over his shoulder, and your heart had nearly stopped.

"We're wizards," you breathed, hardly able to believe it.

Mattheo swallowed, his fingers tightening around the letter. His expression was unreadable.

That night, when the other children were asleep, you sat with him by the window, the soft glow of the streetlights casting shadows against the walls.

"Do you think it's real?" you whispered, turning your letter over in your hands for the hundredth time.

Mattheo didn't answer right away. Instead, he reached out and plucked the envelope from your grasp, holding it up to the moonlight. "I think," he murmured, his voice quiet, "that this is the best thing that's ever happened to us."

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The train ride to Hogwarts was unlike anything you had ever experienced. The station itself had been overwhelming—so many people, all laughing and chatting as they bustled around in long, flowing robes. You had clung to Mattheo’s sleeve as the two of you made your way onto the train, your eyes wide with wonder.

You found an empty compartment near the back, away from the loud, boisterous students. As the train started moving, you turned to Mattheo, reaching into your pocket.

"Here," you said, holding out your hand.

Mattheo eyed the small silver object resting in your palm.

"A keychain?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded. "It's a snake wrapped around a lion. I, uh—I thought it looked cool. And, you know, since we don't know where we'll be sorted, I figured... it could be a reminder. That no matter what happens, no matter where we end up, we're still us."

Mattheo stared at it for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and took it.

"You’re an idiot," he muttered, but his lips curled into something almost resembling a smile. Almost.

You rolled your eyes. "Just take it, you prat. It’s a promise."

Mattheo glanced up at you, his dark eyes unreadable.

"A promise?"

You nodded. "That no matter what happens, no matter where we end up, we’ll always have each other."

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, he reached into his own pocket and pulled out something small—a simple, woven bracelet, dark green with silver threading.

He tossed it at you.

You caught it, blinking. "What’s this?"

"Something I stole from the orphanage craft box," he said casually, leaning back against the seat. "Figured if you were gonna be sentimental, I might as well match the energy."

You laughed, slipping the bracelet onto your wrist. It was a little rough, the fibers worn and frayed at the edges, but you knew it was the closest thing to affection Mattheo could give. And that was enough.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

When the Sorting Hat was placed on Mattheo’s head, it barely took a second before shouting, "SLYTHERIN!"

You hadn’t been sure what to expect when your turn came. You had always imagined that you and Mattheo would be sorted together, that you'd remain side by side just as you had been your entire lives. But when the Sorting Hat finally spoke, its voice an amused purr in your ear, it said something you hadn’t anticipated.

"Ah... loyalty. A kind heart, but a strong one. And so much potential. You could do well in Slytherin, you know. Follow your friend down a familiar path. But no... no, I think you belong in..."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

The cheers from the Hufflepuff table were loud and welcoming, but all you could focus on was Mattheo’s expression from across the Great Hall.

He was frowning.

You had never seen him look so lost.

But you had promised, hadn’t you? It didn’t matter that you weren’t in the same house. Nothing would change.

At least, that was what you told yourself.

And for a while, you were right.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Despite being in different houses, you and Mattheo were still inseparable. You spent every free moment together, from sneaking into the kitchens late at night to running through the castle corridors, laughing as you barely avoided Filch.

There were differences, sure. He was starting to make new friends—other Slytherins, boys with sharp grins and cold eyes. You stuck close to your Hufflepuff housemates, finding comfort in their warmth and easy laughter. But it never mattered.

Because at the end of the day, it was still you and him.

You still met up after classes, still sat together at meals, still stayed up late talking in the common rooms until you were both too exhausted to keep your eyes open.

He still wore the keychain on his school bag.

You still wore the bracelet.

Nothing had changed.

Until third year.

──── ୨୧ ────���─── ୨୧ ────

Third Year – A Promise Broken

You had heard stories about how friendships could change at Hogwarts, how people who were inseparable in their first years could slowly drift apart, but you had never thought it would happen to you.

Not with Mattheo.

Not after everything.

But by the time third year started, you could feel the shift, subtle at first—like the first cold breeze before winter fully settled in.

Mattheo had always had a strong presence, a quiet confidence that made people either fear or admire him. But something was different now. He wasn’t just confident—he was magnetic. The way he walked, the way he spoke, the way his name was whispered through the corridors with a mixture of awe and fear.

You still tried.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. Mattheo was just making new friends, and that was okay. He had always been more charismatic than you, more willing to put himself out there. It made sense that people were drawn to him.

It was okay.

He was still Mattheo.

Right?

But then there were the excuses.

"Sorry, can't sit with you today. Theo's saving me a spot."

"I'm busy, Y/N. Just go without me."

"I forgot, alright? It’s not a big deal."

And then, the worst.

"Stop being so fucking clingy."

That one had cut deeper than anything else.

Clingy.

You had stared at him, the word echoing in your skull, hollowing out something inside you. The same Mattheo who once dragged you along to every class, who used to insist you sit next to him, who never let you out of his sight—was now calling you clingy.

You had nodded stiffly, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Right. Got it."

He had looked away, something unreadable flickering across his face. But he didn’t take it back.

You didn’t try again after that.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The Beginning of the End

It started subtly. At first, it was the whispers.

You would walk into the common room, and conversations would die down. Laughter would be stifled. Eyes would dart toward you before quickly turning away, as if you weren’t even worth acknowledging.

Then came the jokes.

Draco Malfoy had a sharp tongue, and Theodore Nott had an even sharper wit. Together, they made a game out of you.

“Still following Mattheo around like a lost puppy, Y/N?” Draco sneered one evening, his smirk sharp and cruel. “Merlin, it’s pathetic.”

The others laughed. Even Pansy, who had never seemed to pay you much mind before, rolled her eyes.

"At this point, it's just embarrassing," Theo added, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Let it go, Y/N. He’s not your little boyfriend anymore."

Mattheo was right there.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t even look at you.

That was the worst part.

You could have handled the teasing. You could have handled the whispers and the insults and the jokes at your expense.

But Mattheo—Mattheo’s silence burned deeper than any words ever could.

Still, you told yourself it wasn’t real.

He was just playing along.

He didn’t mean it.

He couldn’t.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The Day Everything Fell Apart

The library had always been your sanctuary, a place where the noise of the Slytherin common room couldn’t reach you. It was one of the few places you could still breathe, where you could pretend, for a little while, that things weren’t falling apart.

That day, you had been sitting at your usual spot, flipping mindlessly through a Potions textbook, when a shadow loomed over you.

You looked up—and your stomach twisted.

Mattheo.

For a second, foolishly, your heart leapt. Maybe he had finally come to his senses. Maybe he would sit down, crack a joke, and everything would be normal again.

"Hey," you started, your voice hesitant, hopeful.

His expression was unreadable. "Come with me."

You blinked. "What?"

His fingers curled into a fist. "Just—come on."

You hesitated, but you followed him.

Of course you did.

You would always follow him.

He led you outside, past the castle doors and toward the Black Lake, where the cold autumn air bit at your skin.

You turned to him, crossing your arms. "Alright, what is this about? Did you finally remember I exist?"

His jaw clenched.

Something was wrong.

"Look, Y/N," he started, and that was already bad. He never called you by your full name. "You need to stop."

Your stomach twisted. "Stop what?"

"This." He gestured between you. "Us."

Your breath caught. "I—what?"

"You keep acting like we're still friends." His voice was tense, his fists clenching at his sides. "But we're not."

You felt like he had just knocked the air out of your lungs.

Not friends.

Not—

"That's not funny," you said, forcing out a laugh. "Alright, you made your point. Can we just—"

"I'm serious, Y/N." His eyes were cold. Unforgiving.

You took a step back, shaking your head. "No. You don’t mean that."

He didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Mattheo's lips pressed into a thin line. "I do."

Something inside you cracked.

For a moment, all you could hear was the howling wind, the distant laughter of students back at the castle. The Black Lake stretched endlessly behind you, dark and unmoving, as if it were waiting for something.

"I don't understand," you whispered. "What did I do?"

His face twisted, like he was frustrated, like you were a burden. "You didn’t do anything. I just—I don’t need you anymore."

Your ears were ringing.

The bracelet on your wrist suddenly felt heavy. The stupid, worn-out piece of string that you had kept for years, even as it frayed, even as the colors faded—because Mattheo had given it to you.

You swallowed hard. "Mattheo, please."

He flinched. Just barely.

And then he took a step back.

"Just let it go," he said, softer now.

And then he turned.

Walked away.

You stared at his retreating back, your vision blurring.

You could chase after him.

You could beg.

You could scream at him, hit him, demand answers.

But you didn’t.

You just stood there, frozen, as the weight of everything crashed down on you.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Mattheo didn’t talk to you after that.

Not once.

And it wasn’t just avoidance. It was deliberate.

The stares got worse. The whispers grew louder. The laughter at your expense became merciless.

They called you desperate.

Pathetic.

Clingy.

Mattheo never stopped them.

And eventually, you stopped fighting.

Because maybe—just maybe—they were right.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Fifth Year – The Breaking Point

You had learned to endure the whispers, the taunts, the hexes sent at your back when the professors weren’t looking. You had learned to keep your head down, to stay out of Mattheo's way—to pretend that you weren’t bleeding inside every time he walked past you like you were nothing.

It was easier that way.

But nothing ever stayed easy, did it?

You should have known something was wrong the moment you entered the Great Hall that morning. The usual morning hum of conversation was broken by hushed snickers, people nudging their friends and nodding in your direction.

Your stomach twisted.

You sat at the far end of the Hufflepuff table, away from Mattheo and his group, but that never stopped them from watching.

You forced yourself to ignore it, to eat your breakfast and pretend you didn’t feel their eyes burning into you. But then a shadow fell over your plate, and you knew—before you even looked up—that it was him.

Mattheo stood above you, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Morning, Y/N," he drawled, voice sickly sweet.

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes, once warm, once familiar, now held nothing but cold amusement.

"What do you want, Mattheo?" you asked quietly.

His smirk widened. "Oh, nothing much. Just wondering why you’re sitting all alone. Don’t you have any friends?"

A low chuckle rippled through the group behind him—Draco, Blaise, Theodore, Pansy. They always followed his lead.

You gritted your teeth and pushed your plate away. “I don’t need this right now.”

You stood up, intending to leave, but Mattheo moved faster. He stepped into your path, blocking your way. "Leaving so soon?" he cooed mockingly. "Come on, we were just having a chat."

Theodore grinned lazily, leaning against the table. “Yeah, Y/N, why don’t you stay? We’re all dying to hear what you’ve been up to these days.”

Blaise snorted. “Crying in the library, probably.”

Pansy laughed behind her hand.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms. The breath in your lungs felt too tight, like your ribs were caving in. You had spent so long pretending this didn’t hurt, pretending you could take it, but you weren’t sure how much more you could endure.

Mattheo tilted his head, and for a moment—just a brief, fleeting moment—his smirk wavered. His gaze flickered to your wrist, where the bracelet he had given you still rested, half-hidden under your sleeve.

Then he scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re pathetic.”

That was the final straw.

You shoved past him, ignoring the way their laughter echoed behind you.

But the damage was done.

And they weren’t finished.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You weren’t surprised when they found you again later that night.

You were in the library, curled up in the farthest corner, pretending to study. You heard them before you saw them—Blaise’s lazy drawl, Pansy’s giggle, Draco’s haughty scoff.

Then a voice that made your stomach twist.

“Y/N.”

You barely had time to look up before your book was snatched from your hands. Mattheo stood above you, flipping through the pages like it was some kind of joke.

You glared. “Give that back.”

He smirked. “Since when do you talk back?”

Blaise chuckled, dropping onto the couch beside you, far too close. "Look at him, all brave now. What happened, Y/N? Finally grow a spine?"

Draco sneered. "Doubt it. He still looks like a kicked puppy."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Just… leave me alone.”

Mattheo tsked, leaning down until he was at eye level with you. His breath was warm against your skin, his presence suffocating. "But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You never leave me alone."

You flinched. "I don’t—"

“You do,” he cut you off sharply, his expression hardening. “Always staring, always waiting for me to come back like some lost dog. It’s pathetic, Y/N. Move on.”

His words hit you harder than any hex ever could.

Move on.

Move on from what? From him? From the years you had spent together? From the nights spent whispering secrets under the orphanage blankets, from the way he had promised you forever?

Your throat burned, but you refused to cry—not here, not in front of them.

Mattheo’s gaze flickered again—just for a second, like he was searching for something in your eyes. But whatever it was, he didn’t find it.

Instead, he laughed.

Low, cruel, cutting.

And then he let the book fall to the floor, pages bending, spine cracking.

“See you around, Y/N,” he murmured.

And just like that, he was gone.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

You didn’t go back to the dorms that night.

Instead, you wandered the castle, feet dragging, hands shaking, mind screaming.

Pathetic.

Move on.

Clingy.

The words looped in your head, over and over, until they weren’t just words—they were truths.

By the time you found yourself in the abandoned bathrooms at the fifth floor, you felt like you weren’t even in your own body anymore.

You rolled up your sleeve slowly, staring at the faint scars that already marred your skin. Old wounds. Wounds you swore you’d never add to again.

But the pain in your chest was unbearable, clawing at your ribs, suffocating.

Your hands trembled as you pulled a small blade from your pocket—a precaution you had sworn you would never use again.

But tonight, you didn’t care.

Tonight, you needed to feel something.

The first cut was shallow. A test. A whisper of pain against your skin.

The second was deeper.

By the third, your vision was swimming, your breaths coming in short, shaky gasps.

And then—

"Y/N?"

You froze.

Mattheo stood in the doorway, his face unreadable, his gaze locked on your bleeding wrist.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was deafening.

Then Mattheo moved.

Fast.

Before you could react, he was in front of you, grabbing your arm, his fingers digging into your wrist hard enough to hurt. "What the fuck are you doing?" His voice was raw, furious.

You jerked back. "Let go."

He didn’t. If anything, his grip tightened.

"You’re cutting yourself now?" His jaw was clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might crack. His eyes burned into yours, searching—desperate, almost frantic.

You yanked your arm away. "Why do you care?"

Mattheo’s breath hitched. For the first time in years, he looked shaken.

But then—just like always—his expression hardened.

His gaze flickered to the scars, and something dark flashed in his eyes.

"Guess you really are desperate for attention."

Your entire world shattered.

It was like the air had been sucked from the room, like the floor had been ripped out from beneath you.

You stepped back, your chest heaving, your heart pounding so loudly you could hear it in your ears.

Mattheo’s face flickered—regret? Pain? You didn’t know. And you didn’t care.

Because this?

This was it.

This was the moment you finally realized—Mattheo Riddle was never coming back to you.

So you shoved past him without another word.

And that night, for the first time since you met him, you stopped hoping.

You stopped waiting.

And you let him go.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

Seventh Year – The War Comes to Hogwarts

Hogwarts was burning.

The night sky above the castle was thick with smoke, illuminated by the chaotic dance of spellfire and the eerie green glow of the Dark Mark hanging in the sky. The once-grand corridors were now battlegrounds, echoing with screams of agony and rage, the scent of blood and ash clinging to every breath. Walls were crumbling, statues shattered, and the very foundation of the school trembled under the weight of war.

You had known this was coming.

The moment Voldemort’s forces breached the castle, you knew this was where everything would end. But you weren’t afraid to die—not anymore.

You had a purpose.

The younger students—the first and second years—were trapped, defenseless against the horror unfolding around them. You weren’t strong like the war-hardened fighters who had joined the battle, but you were determined.

You fought for them.

Not for revenge. Not for glory.

Just for them.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself forward despite the burning pain in your side, despite the exhaustion clawing at your limbs. Spells shot past you, too close, their heat licking at your skin. The corridor was a battlefield of bodies, fallen Death Eaters and students alike. Your heart pounded as you reached the huddled group of terrified children, their faces streaked with soot and tears.

“It’s going to be okay,” you said, voice hoarse. “Stick together and get to the dungeons. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

A loud crash shook the castle. You didn’t have time to reassure them further. You turned, wand raised, just in time to block a jet of green light that would have cut down a young Ravenclaw girl.

Your heart pounded. That had been the Killing Curse.

This wasn’t a fight anymore. It was survival.

“RUN!” you shouted.

The children didn’t need to be told twice.

You watched them disappear into the shadows of the castle before turning back to the chaos, your own body trembling. You had done what you could. Now, you had to fight.

And then you saw him.

Mattheo.

Your chest tightened.

He was in the center of the corridor, dueling a Death Eater twice his size. His usually smug face was contorted with focus, sweat dripping down his temple, his movements frantic yet sharp. Blood was smeared across his cheek, his uniform torn, his knuckles split open. He was alone.

You hesitated.

This was Mattheo.

Mattheo who had abandoned you. Mattheo who had laughed while you broke. Mattheo who had sneered as his new friends ripped you apart piece by piece.

But Mattheo was also—

Mattheo was also the boy who once held your hand in the orphanage when the nights were too cold, who swore you’d always have each other, who carried you on his back when you sprained your ankle in third year, who still, after all this time, had the keychain you gave him.

Your feet moved before your mind made the decision.

A flick of your wand sent a stunning spell toward the Death Eater, knocking him off balance.

Mattheo turned sharply, his wide brown eyes locking onto yours. There was something raw in his expression—shock, relief, something else you couldn’t name.

“Y/N?” he breathed.

You didn’t have time for whatever this was.

“Stay behind me,” you ordered, stepping between him and the Death Eater.

Mattheo scowled. “What the fuck—”

A blast of magic cut him off. The Death Eater roared, sending a flurry of curses your way. You dodged, deflected, struck back with everything you had. But he was fast. Strong. Your arms ached, your knees buckled, but you kept going, kept fighting, pushing Mattheo back each time he tried to step in.

Then—

Pain.

White-hot, burning agony erupted through your chest.

A curse you hadn’t seen. A mistake.

The impact sent you crashing to the ground, your wand slipping from your fingers as a scream tore through the battlefield—Mattheo’s scream.

Your vision blurred, the sounds of war fading to a dull roar. Blood seeped from the wound, staining the stone beneath you, soaking into your robes. The pain was unbearable, but the cold creeping into your limbs was worse.

Mattheo was there in an instant.

“No, no, no—fuck, stay with me.” His hands were on you, gripping your face, shaking you. “Don’t fucking do this, Y/N, don’t you dare.”

You tried to focus on him, on his face—the face of the boy you had loved, like something more, once upon a time.

Your lips parted. “Still have it?”

Mattheo froze. His breath hitched, his fingers tightening around your hand.

Slowly, he reached into his pocket.

And there it was.

The keychain.

Tarnished, rusted at the edges, the silver serpent and lion intertwined as they always had been. He held it up with shaking hands, his knuckles white.

“I never took it off,” he whispered. His voice was raw, broken, desperate.

Liar.

You wanted to call him out. Wanted to tell him he had abandoned you, that he had left you alone in the dark for years.

But none of that mattered now.

You tried to smile, but you were too tired. Too cold.

“For old time’s sake,” you murmured.

Mattheo’s breath hitched. His grip tightened on your hand as if he could keep you here, as if he could force you to stay.

Your eyelids felt heavy. The battle around you became nothing but a blur, the sounds distant, like a dream slipping through your fingers.

Mattheo shook you again.

“No, no, don’t close your fucking eyes—stay with me—please—” His voice cracked. “Please, Y/N, I—”

You exhaled.

And everything went quiet.

Mattheo’s screams rang through the battlefield.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The war was over.

The sun had begun to rise over the ruins of Hogwarts, casting its golden light over the destruction. Smoke still curled from the shattered towers, the once-proud castle reduced to little more than a graveyard. Bodies lined the Great Hall, covered by tattered cloaks and hastily thrown sheets. Some were students. Some were professors.

And some… some were just people who had tried to do the right thing.

Mattheo sat on the cold stone floor, his hands bloodied and shaking, his entire body trembling as he clutched your hand in his.

It was cold.

Lifeless.

He could still see the wound—right through your chest, dark and gaping, as if the curse had burned straight through you. There was dried blood on your lips, your eyes shut as if you were only sleeping.

He tried to shake you.

"Y/N.." he whispered, his voice raw, cracked from hours of screaming. "Wake up."

You didn’t move.

He let out a breath that turned into something closer to a sob, pressing his forehead against your knuckles, his grip tightening.

"You can’t do this to me," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant cries of mourning. "You can’t just… You don’t get to leave me like this."

His mind wouldn’t accept it. Couldn’t.

Because this was you.

You—who had followed him around like a lost puppy when you were kids. You—who had snuck out with him after curfew, stealing food from the kitchens and laughing as you ran from Filch. You—who had given him that stupid little silver keychain when you were eleven, promising that no matter what, you’d always be there.

His breath hitched as he reached into his pocket with trembling fingers. The keychain was still there.

Tarnished now. Scratched.

The little lion was barely visible through the wear, the silver snake entwined around it dented from years of being tossed around.

But it was there.

And it was the last fucking thing he had left of you.

His fingers curled around it tightly, his nails digging into his palm, shaking as he turned back to your face.

You looked peaceful.

Too peaceful.

And it broke him.

Because you had never been peaceful in life. You had always been moving, always feeling too much, always carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Even when he had abandoned you. Even when he had hurt you.

And Merlin, he had hurt you.

His breath came in ragged gasps as his mind spiraled. Every memory, every moment, every mistake he had made, crashing down all at once.

The way you had looked at him in third year, hurt shining in your eyes when he had brushed you off.

The way you had flinched when he laughed with his friends, when he let them call you names, when he joined in.

The way your sleeve had rolled up in fourth year, revealing the scars on your wrist.

The way he had grabbed your arm, seen them, mocked them.

Oh, Merlin.

He had mocked you.

He had stood there, watched you tremble, watched you pull away—and he had laughed.

A choked sob escaped his throat. He pressed his forehead harder against your hand, his body curling in on itself, his entire world crumbling.

"I didn’t mean it," he whispered. "I swear, I didn’t mean it."

You didn’t respond.

You never would.

He had thought he had all the time in the world.

Time to fix things. Time to make it right.

But there was no time left.

He had wasted years hurting you, pushing you away, pretending you didn’t matter, pretending he didn’t care.

And now you were dead.

Because of him.

Because you had still cared, even when he didn’t deserve it.

Because you had saved him.

His throat burned as he forced himself to sit up, his vision blurred. He let go of your hand only long enough to pull the keychain from his pocket, fingers ghosting over the old metal.

Then, slowly, he reached forward, taking your limp hand in his, forcing your fingers closed around it.

His voice was barely a whisper.

"For old time’s sake."

His shoulders shook as he cradled your hand in his, pressing his forehead against it one last time.

He sat there long after the sun had fully risen.

Long after the mourning families came to claim their dead.

Long after Draco and Theo and Blaise found him, standing over your body, silent, unmoving, hollow.

Long after everything else faded.

Because the war was over.

But for Mattheo Riddle—

It was too late.

[theodorenmyth]

Hi could i request a boy of your choice x male reader where after winning a quidditch match there's a celebration party in the common room and everyone starts drinking but the next day chosen boy and reader wake up not really remembering what happened until someone shows them the pictures they took of the two making out in the middle of the party ?

Thank you !

Blurry Nights

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!Reader

Summary ; After a wild Slytherin victory party, you and Mattheo Riddle wake up with swollen lips, hickeys, and bite marks—without any memory of what happened. Panic sets in when Theodore, Lorenzo, Blaise, and Draco smugly present photo evidence of you and Mattheo shamelessly making out in the middle of the common room. As the horrifying details unfold—including a public challenge to mark each other up—one thing becomes painfully clear: you are never living this down.

A/N ; ok I can just IMAGINE this happening in my head like..

Warnings ; neck biting, making out

word count ; 2k+

The Slytherin common room was MADNESS.

The victory party after your Quidditch match win against Ravenclaw had quickly spiraled into a full-blown alcoholic disaster. Firewhiskey flowed freely, butterbeer was being used in drinking games, and Pansy Parkinson had charmed the ceiling to flash green and silver in a way that made everything feel even more chaotic.

The wooden table in the center of the room had been repurposed into a makeshift dance floor, where a few daring students were swaying drunkenly to the thunderous beat of an enchanted gramophone. Some were moving with questionable coordination, others were straight-up clinging onto their partners for dear life, while a very intoxicated third-year had climbed onto a chair and was attempting a pathetically slow striptease before being hexed by an unimpressed Astoria Greengrass.

On the far end of the room, a group had gathered around for a particularly competitive drinking game involving spinning a wand and taking a shot before being hit with a harmless jinx.

So far, the casualties included a random fifth-year, whose voice had been magically altered to sound like a squeaky house elf. A sixth-year, whose hair was now a violent shade of pink and an unfortunate seventh-year who kept hiccupping bubbles.

Draco Malfoy had taken it upon himself to sit atop one of the armrests, looking thoroughly unimpressed but still sipping something expensive-looking with the bored elegance of someone who was too rich to care. Blaise was beside him, lazily watching the chaos unfold with a smirk, while Theodore and Lorenzo occupied the couch across from where you sat.

And then there was you and Mattheo Riddle.

Sitting comfortably on the worn-out leather couch, you were sandwiched between Mattheo and Blaise Zabini, feeling the lingering adrenaline of the Quidditch win still thrumming in your veins. The half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey on the table between you all was dangerously close to empty.

Blaise, ever the instigator, leaned forward with a smirk. “Tell me, Y/N—how does it feel to be the Quidditch hero of the night?”

You shrugged, grinning. “It was a team effort.”

Mattheo scoffed, nudging you with his knee. “Bullshit. You humiliated their Keeper with that last goal.”

Lorenzo grinned. “That poor bastard never even saw it coming.”

You laughed, the warmth of alcohol making everything feel ten times funnier than it should be. Your head felt light, your limbs loose, and the energy in the room buzzed through your skin. You had been to plenty of Slytherin parties before, but this one? This one felt different.

Theodore took a slow sip of his drink before smirking. “Well, you do deserve to celebrate properly.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

Before Theodore could answer, Draco finally deigned to join the conversation, swirling his drink as he looked at you with a smirk. “It means you should drink more,” he said smoothly, tilting his glass toward you. “After all, it’s not every day you get to be the star of the night.”

Mattheo grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “See? Even Malfoy agrees.”

You rolled your eyes but took another sip from your drink anyway. The Firewhiskey burned down your throat, but instead of unpleasant, it was thrilling, settling in your stomach like liquid courage.

Theodore exchanged a knowing glance with Lorenzo. “You two should really pace yourselves.”

Mattheo waved him off. “We’re fine.”

Blaise smirked, leaning back. “Oh, they are so doomed.”

Lorenzo snickered. “Draco, how long do you give them before they do something recklessly stupid?”

Draco took a slow sip of his drink, considering. “An hour, at most.”

Blaise grinned. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”

You scoffed, feeling indignantly confident in your ability to handle your alcohol. “You guys have no faith in us.”

Theodore snorted. “No, we just know you.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but at that exact moment, Mattheo turned to you, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Y/N,” he drawled, voice warm with laughter, “wanna bet we can prove them wrong?”

Lorenzo immediately raised an eyebrow. “I strongly encourage you not to do that.”

But by then, the alcohol was already making decisions for you.

You grinned back at Mattheo, feeling untouchable. “You’re on.”

Draco sighed dramatically. “And there it is.”

Blaise smirked. “This should be fun.”

────────────────

The night blurred after that.

You vaguely remembered finishing your drink—then another. Someone had pulled you and Mattheo into a ridiculous game of Firewhiskey Pong, where Mattheo had somehow managed to sink every single shot while still talking shit to your opponents.

At some point, the couch had become your personal throne—Mattheo pressed up against your side, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he laughed at something you said. His arm had remained around you the entire night, fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your shirt, and you might have leaned into him just a little too much.

Then there was more laughter.

More drinks.

Someone dared Mattheo to chug an entire bottle of Firewhiskey.

You were certain you told Lorenzo that he had very nice hair and that he should never cut it.

Blaise had made some kind of snarky comment about how much you and Mattheo were touching each other, to which you had responded by dramatically slinging a leg over Mattheo’s lap and throwing an arm around his shoulders, proclaiming that he was your emotional support Slytherin.

Mattheo had cackled at that, pulling you closer.

And then—

Everything tilted.

The warmth in your chest turned hotter.

There was a flash of movement, the press of something warm against your lips, the feeling of strong hands gripping your waist, pulling you onto someone’s lap—

More heat.

More laughter.

A daring whisper against your ear.

And then—

Nothing.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The next morning, you woke up to searing pain in your head and a heavy weight pinning you down.

The pounding in your skull was relentless, a deep, rhythmic ache that made you immediately regret every single drink you had consumed the night before. Your throat was dry, your limbs ached, and your body felt like it had been used as a human bludger.

Groaning, you tried to shift—only to realize that something warm and solid was draped over you.

No, not something.

Someone.

Blinking against the morning light filtering through the dungeon windows, you sluggishly turned your head—

And immediately froze.

Mattheo was practically glued to your side, his leg thrown over yours, an arm wrapped securely around your torso. His face was buried against your neck, his dark curls tickling your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. His entire body was pressed up against yours in a way that was way too intimate for a casual sleepover situation.

Your stomach dropped.

Your lips felt swollen. Your throat was sore. And when you shifted slightly, a sharp sting shot through your skin.

Frowning, you reached up and—

Oh.

Oh, no.

The side of your neck was littered with hickeys. Dark ones. Deep ones. There were also faint indents of teeth marks along your collarbone, and when you lifted your arm, you spotted even more of the same marks trailing down toward your chest.

A sharp, horrified breath escaped you as your other hand shot up to your lips, touching the tender, slightly puffy skin.

Mattheo groaned against you, his voice still raspy with sleep. “Stop moving,” he grumbled. “I’m comfortable.”

“Mattheo.” Your voice was hoarse.

“Mmh?”

You pressed your hand against his face and shoved him off. He groaned dramatically as he rolled onto his back, flopping against the mattress with a loud thud.

“What the fuck,” you croaked, touching your neck again.

Mattheo, now free from sleep’s haze, finally opened his eyes. His gaze was still hazy with exhaustion as he blinked up at the ceiling—until he stretched lazily and his fingers brushed against his own neck.

His entire body stiffened.

You watched as he slowly sat up, brows furrowing, his hand trailing over the marks on his skin.

And then he looked at you.

His gaze dropped from your swollen lips to the bruises on your neck, then to your barely covered chest, where even more marks peeked from beneath your shirt.

You watched his eyes widen—

Then shoot back down to his own body.

His jaw dropped.

“…Why do I feel like we did something incredibly fucking stupid?”

Before you could answer, the door slammed open.

Theodore and Lorenzo waltzed in like they owned the place, looking far too smug for this time of morning. Blaise and Draco trailed in behind them, both of them holding cups of coffee, wearing matching expressions of pure, unfiltered amusement.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Theodore drawled, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe.

Mattheo groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Why do I feel like I should be very fucking concerned right now?”

Lorenzo smirked. “Oh, you should be.”

Then, with a dramatic flourish, he pulled out a camera.

Your stomach plummeted.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” Theodore corrected, flipping through the photos. “Blaise, do you think they’ll actually survive this?”

Blaise took a casual sip of his coffee. “That depends on whether or not they try to kill us first.”

Mattheo sat up straighter, rubbing his temples. “What the fuck did we do?”

Theodore grinned and turned the camera toward you both. The first picture was harmless—just you and Mattheo sitting together on the couch, clearly tipsy, his arm slung lazily over your shoulder.

The second picture, however, was not harmless.

It was you, straddling Mattheo’s lap, gripping his jaw as you kissed him like your life depended on it. His hands were firmly on your waist, fingers digging in, his rings pressing into your skin.

Your face burned.

Mattheo blinked at the picture. Then at you. Then back at the picture.

“Well.. shit.”

Draco, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke up. “That’s not even the best part.”

Theodore swiped to the next photo. This one showed Mattheo tilting your head, his mouth locked onto your throat, his teeth clearly working on the marks that now covered your skin.

Your jaw dropped.

“Are those fucking bite marks?”

“Oh, you haven’t even seen the worst of it,” Lorenzo said gleefully, swiping again.

This time, it was you returning the favor—mouth pressed against Mattheo’s neck, fingers tangled in his curls as you thoroughly marked him up.

Mattheo ran a hand down his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Blaise, still completely unbothered, smirked over his coffee. “You two were practically eating each other alive.”

Mattheo exhaled sharply. “Did everyone see this?”

Draco smirked. “Oh, it wasn’t just seen.”

Theodore flicked his wand—

And suddenly, the entire common room replayed the moving images of your drunken makeout session.

You watched in abject horror as Drunk You pulled Mattheo in so hard he nearly toppled backward. He had retaliated by yanking you onto his lap, gripping your hips as he devoured you.

And then—oh, Merlin, you had actually leaned into his ear and said something.

The real you turned to Theodore, eyes wide. “Wait, what did I say?”

Theodore grinned. “Oh, just this.”

He flicked his wand again, and your own voice echoed through the room.

“Bet you wouldn’t dare mark me up right here in front of everyone, Riddle.”

Mattheo audibly choked.

The real you died inside.

“Oh my fucking GOD,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

Draco looked thoroughly entertained. “You challenged him?”

Theodore smirked. “Oh, he accepted.”

Mattheo exhaled sharply. “No wonder my jaw fucking hurts.”

Blaise smirked. “That’s probably from all the biting.”

Lorenzo, still flipping through the photos, casually added, “Oh, and by the way—congrats, Y/N. You officially have the record for ‘Most Aggressive Public Makeout in Slytherin History’.”

Mattheo turned to you, raising an eyebrow. “We beat the record?”

You shot him a glare. “That is NOT the point here, Mattheo!”

Draco shook his head, standing up. “Well, this has been thoroughly entertaining, but I have better things to do.” He smirked as he walked past. “Oh, and if you ever want a framed copy of the photos, let me know.”

Blaise clapped Mattheo on the back. “At least you got some action.”

Mattheo scowled. “Get the fuck out.”

As the door shut, you turned to Mattheo, sighing deeply. “We are never drinking that much again.”

Mattheo tilted his head, considering you. Then, to your absolute horror, he smirked. “I mean… if you really want, we could always—”

You grabbed a pillow and launched it at his face.

Mattheo cackled as he dodged, tackling you back onto the bed.

You were never going to live this down.

[theodorenmyth]

Hello, if requests are still open, can I ask a male!reader who comes from one of the founders' (i think it's how they are call in english) lines/family/house ?

Ignore it if you don't want to write it !

Have a good day !

Legacy of the Raven

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!Reader

Summary ; As Rowena Ravenclaw's heir, you’re used to expectations and assumptions—except from Mattheo Riddle, who sees the real you. Through sharp banter and shared vulnerabilities, his feelings come to light, leading to a heartfelt confession and a kiss that makes you realize destiny is about connection, not just legacy.

A/n ; enjoy hun!!

Warnings ; none!

Wordcount ; 1k+

The dungeons of Hogwarts always felt like home, with their dim lighting and the faint chill in the air. As a direct descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw, your connection to the castle was palpable. The very walls seemed to hum with recognition whenever you walked through them.

But with that legacy came expectations, ones you bore like an invisible weight. Everyone assumed you were destined for greatness, for power. It was exhausting. The only person who didn’t seem fazed by your lineage was Mattheo Riddle.

“Did you know,” Mattheo began, leaning against the stone pillar in the common room, “that half the school thinks you’re secretly building a huge library 2.0?”

You rolled your eyes, sitting on one of the emerald-green couches. “Let me guess—they also think I keep a pet raven under my bed?”

He smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that infuriatingly attractive way. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“You’d be the first to know if I did,” you shot back.

Mattheo chuckled, dropping into the seat beside you. His proximity sent a jolt through you, though you masked it well. Being around Mattheo was always a strange mix of comfort and chaos. He had a way of disarming you with his humor, yet there was an undeniable intensity in his gaze that often left you speechless.

“Seriously, though,” he continued, “how do you deal with it? The whole ‘descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw’ thing?”

You shrugged, tracing the outline of the raven embroidered on a nearby pillow. “It’s not like I had a choice. People hear the name, and they decide who I am before I even say a word. Either they’re terrified or… weirdly fascinated.”

“And which one am I?” Mattheo asked, his voice softer now.

You glanced at him, meeting his dark eyes. “You? You’re just annoying.”

He grinned, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his expression. “Good. I’d hate to be predictable.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling fire casting shadows across the room.

“I think it’s kind of cool, though,” Mattheo said suddenly.

“What is?”

“Your legacy. You’re literally connected to the foundation of this place. You’ve got a piece of history running through your veins.”

You snorted. “And what about you? You’re the son of Voldemort. Talk about historical significance.”

Mattheo’s smile faltered, and you instantly regretted your words. “Sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, though his voice was tight. “It’s not exactly a legacy I’m proud of.”

You hesitated before reaching out, placing a hand on his arm. “For what it’s worth, you’re nothing like him. And anyone who knows you can see that.”

His gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he looked vulnerable in a way that was rare for him. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

The moment passed, and he was back to his usual self, leaning back with a smirk. “So, what does being a Ravenclaw descendant even get you? Secret passageways? Hidden artifacts? ”

“Ha, ha,” you deadpanned. “Mostly just a lot of awkward conversations and people asking if I can solve somethinh.”

“Can you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to find out?”

Mattheo’s grin widened. “Depends. Are you going to use it to order a snake to bite me?”

You leaned closer, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Maybe.”

He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in as well, the space between you shrinking to mere inches. His voice was low when he spoke again. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Your heart raced, but before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps shattered the moment.

“Oi, Riddle!” Blaise Zabini called as he entered the common room. “You coming to dinner or what?”

Mattheo pulled back, his mask of nonchalance slipping back into place. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute,” he replied, his tone casual.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two of you, but didn’t comment. “Don’t take too long. Pansy’s already complaining about the pudding running out.”

As Blaise disappeared, Mattheo turned back to you. “You coming?”

You hesitated, still thrown off by the near-intimacy of the moment. “I think I’ll stay here for a bit.”

Mattheo nodded, standing up. “Suit yourself. But don’t hide down here all night, yeah? Even Ravenclaw descendants need to eat.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he walked away, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Mattheo Riddle was a puzzle you weren’t sure you’d ever solve, but you couldn’t deny that you wanted to try.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Later that evening, as you wandered the castle’s corridors, you heard a familiar voice calling your name. Turning, you saw Mattheo jogging to catch up with you.

“Thought you were hiding in the dungeons,” he said, falling into step beside you.

“Changed my mind,” you replied.

“Good. I’d hate for you to miss out on all the fun.”

“What fun?”

“This.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a nearby alcove. Your back pressed against the cold stone wall as he stood in front of you, his expression unreadable.

“Mattheo, what—”

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he said, cutting you off.

Your eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” he said, his voice low and intense. “You walk around with this whole ‘Ravenclaw heir’ thing, acting like you don’t care, but I see through you. You’re more than that. You’re smart, and stubborn, and you make me want to be better just so I can keep up with you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“And the worst part?” he continued, stepping closer. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The air between you was electric, and before you could overthink it, Mattheo leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fierce and tender.

For a moment, all thoughts of legacies and expectations melted away. There was only him, and the way he fit so perfectly against you.

When he finally pulled back, his dark eyes searched yours. “Say something,” he murmured.

You smiled, your voice barely above a whisper. “You talk too much.”

He laughed, the sound rich and genuine, before pulling you in for another kiss.

For once, being a descendant of Rowena Ravenclaw didn’t feel like a burden. In that moment, it felt like destiny.

[theodorenmyth]

Could you make a continuation of 'For Old Times sake', where Mattheo starts to spiral to insanity because of M.reader's death and he chose to follow M.Reader into the afterlife. They meet in the afterlife, and Mattheo cries so much and asks for forgiveness but M.r tells him that he's at peace and doesn't really care for mattheo now yk. This leads to mattheo realising his wrongs and how even in the afterlife, he can't repair his relationship with M.r. Thank you :)))

I love your fanfics ❤️❤️

For what's already Lost

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!reader

Summary ; After witnessing the death of his childhood friend—someone he once cherished but later tormented—Mattheo Riddle spirals into guilt and grief. Unable to bear the weight of his actions, he attempts to take his own life, hoping to reunite with the one he lost. Instead, he wakes up in the hospital wing, surrounded by his friends, only to realize that no matter how much he regrets, he can never fix what’s already broken. As he breaks down, Theodore Nott offers him silent comfort, but even then, Mattheo knows—some wounds never heal, and some losses can never be undone.

A/N ; done and done! Enjoy the angst 😉

Warnings ; Heavy angst, Suicidal ideation,bDeath and grief, Self-harm implications, War violence, Emotional breakdowns, Guilt and regret, Depression, Character death, Mentions of past bullying, Trauma and PTSD themes

Word count ; 3.7K

Mattheo Riddle was losing his mind.

It started as a quiet thing, a whisper of grief curled around the edges of his thoughts, pressing against his ribs like a phantom ache. The first few nights after the war ended, he could still pretend it hadn’t happened. He could sit in his dormitory, staring at the ceiling, telling himself that you were just elsewhere—hiding, recovering, tending to your wounds like all the others.

But then he started hearing your name in hushed conversations, in the heavy silence that followed when people looked at him. He saw it written in ink on the lists of the dead. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a possibility anymore. It was real. Final.

You were gone.

The world had begun to move on without you.

But Mattheo?

He was stuck.

The first time he heard someone laughing in the Great Hall, something inside him twisted violently. How could they laugh? How could they act like everything was normal? Didn’t they know? Didn’t they care?

Didn’t they realize that you weren’t here anymore?

He barely ate. Barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your blood pooling beneath you, your broken body slumped against the cold stone of the battlefield. He saw your fingers twitching weakly, grasping for something—reaching for him.

And worst of all, he saw the way your lips parted to speak, how your breath had shuddered as you forced out your final words.

"For old times' sake."

It haunted him.

That damn keychain sat on his nightstand, taunting him.

The same one you had given him as kids, the one that was supposed to be a promise, a reminder that no matter what happened, you would always be there for each other.

And he had thrown it away.

Not literally—but in every way that mattered. He had abandoned you, turned on you, mocked you, hurt you.

And yet, in your last moments, you still chose to save him.

Mattheo thought about that constantly. He thought about the scars on your arms, the ones you used to hide beneath your sleeves. He thought about the way you had flinched when he and his so-called friends cornered you in the halls, how you never fought back.

How much had you suffered because of him?

How long had you been hurting before he even noticed?

His stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as he clenched his hands into fists.

None of it mattered anymore.

He could beg for forgiveness.

He could weep until his voice was raw, curse himself until he had nothing left.

But you would never hear it.

You were gone.

And Mattheo was still here.

Alone.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The bottle of firewhisky sat on his bedside table, half-empty. The room was dark, save for the flickering candlelight that cast jagged shadows across the walls.

Mattheo sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the small, tarnished keychain in his hands.

The last piece of you he had left.

His thumb brushed over the faded engraving, the one you had so proudly shown him when you were kids. Friends Forever.

It felt like a joke now.

A cruel, twisted joke.

His fingers trembled as he tightened his grip around the keychain, nails digging into his palm hard enough to hurt.

He barely slept anymore.

And when he did, it was nightmares.

Or worse—dreams where you were still alive, still standing before him with that same look of disappointment, that same quiet, aching grief in your eyes.

The war had ended weeks ago, but the battle inside his head never stopped.

He kept thinking—if he had just done something, if he had just listened when you tried to talk to him, if he had just been the friend you needed instead of the monster he had become—maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have died saving him.

Maybe you would still be here.

Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting alone in this godforsaken room, drowning in firewhisky and regrets.

But maybe didn’t change anything.

Didn’t bring you back.

Didn’t erase the blood on his hands.

The silence was thick.

Unbearable.

Mattheo sat there, hunched forward, gripping his head, his fingers tangled in his curls, tugging—hard—like maybe if he pulled hard enough, he could tear the thoughts straight from his skull.

But they clung to him.

They clawed at his ribs, burrowed under his skin, whispering—

Coward. Liar. Murderer.

His chest heaved. His breathing was shallow, uneven, his vision swimming in the dim candlelight flickering across the walls.

He felt suffocated.

Like the air had turned thick, choking him from the inside out.

He didn’t deserve to breathe anyway.

Didn’t deserve to be here.

To live—when you didn’t.

Mattheo let out a ragged breath, his fingers dragging down his face, his throat burning, eyes stinging.

He had spent weeks in this room.

Weeks avoiding the others.

He had let you die.

And now you were gone.

Gone.

Gone.

GONE.

Mattheo’s vision blurred, the candlelight smearing across his sight like molten gold.

His wand lay beside him.

But magic was too easy.

Magic was an escape he didn’t deserve.

So instead, he reached for the knife.

It was small.

Silver.

The kind you’d use to slice fruit, but the edge was sharp.

Sharp enough.

His fingers curled around the hilt, grip tightening as he lifted it to his chest.

His breathing was steady.

For the first time in weeks, his hands weren’t shaking.

It was simple.

Quick.

The cold steel pressed against his ribs—

And then it was warm.

So, so warm.

The pain bloomed sharp and bright, a white-hot burn spreading through his stomach as he drove the blade deeper, gasping as his body instinctively recoiled, but he didn’t stop—

Couldn’t stop.

His vision blurred.

The warmth trickled down, soaking into his shirt, his pants, the floor beneath him.

His knees buckled.

His mind felt light.

Like he was floating.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Loud.

Persistent.

Mattheo barely registered it, his head lolling forward as the room spun.

“Riddle! Open the fucking door.”

Blaise.

His voice was sharp, edged with something Mattheo couldn’t quite place.

Another knock.

Harder this time.

“If you don’t open up in the next ten seconds, I’m blasting this door off its fucking hinges.”

Mattheo tried to speak, but his lips were numb.

The knife slipped from his grasp, clattering against the wooden floor.

The door rattled.

A pause.

Then—

A loud crash.

The wood splintered as Blaise shoved his way in, his wand raised, his expression shifting from frustration to horror in an instant.

“What the fuck—”

His voice was distant.

Muffled.

Like he was underwater.

Mattheo barely had time to register the movement before Blaise was in front of him, hands gripping his shoulders, shaking him hard enough to make his already spinning vision worse.

“No, no, no, no, you fucking idiot—”

Mattheo blinked sluggishly, his mouth parting, but no sound came out.

The warmth was spreading.

Fast.

Too fast.

Blaise’s hands left his shoulders, pressing against his stomach instead, hard and desperate as he tried to stem the bleeding, cursing under his breath.

“Stay awake,” he snapped, voice cracking. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

And then—

Footsteps.

Rushed. Panicked.

A chorus of voices, sharp with fear.

“What the hell is going on—”

Pansy.

Her voice was high, frantic, her heels clicking against the wooden floor as she stumbled into the room.

Then—

A sharp inhale.

A strangled noise.

“Oh my God.”

Mattheo barely managed to turn his head, but he saw the blur of dark hair, the way Pansy’s hands flew to her mouth, her face pale, shocked—

And then more voices.

“Move—MOVE—”

Lorenzo.

His voice was rough, filled with panic, and then he was kneeling beside Mattheo, hands hovering uselessly, eyes wide, chest heaving.

“Mattheo,” he choked out, voice barely above a whisper. “What did you do?”

Theodore was next.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just stared.

And then his hands clenched into fists, his jaw tightening, his entire body trembling as he muttered, “You absolute moron.”

Draco shoved past them, his expression tight with something unreadable.

His hands shook.

Not much.

But enough.

Astoria hovered in the doorway, silent, her lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes suspiciously glassy.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Until Blaise’s voice shattered the silence.

“Help me, you fucking idiots!”

The spell broke.

Lorenzo pressed down on Mattheo’s stomach, his hands warm, firm, his breathing shaky. “We need to get him to the hospital wing—now.”

“No shit,” Theodore snapped, already yanking off his scarf, wadding it up, pressing it against the wound.

Mattheo barely felt it.

His limbs were heavy.

His vision was swimming, darkening at the edges.

Someone was cursing under their breath.

Someone else was shaking.

And then—

A soft voice.

A whisper.

“…Why would you do this?”

Pansy.

Her voice cracked.

Mattheo didn’t answer.

Didn’t have the strength.

His eyelids were so heavy.

So heavy.

He slumped forward.

Blaise caught him.

Mattheo could hear them.

Panicked.

Yelling.

Begging.

But it was fading.

Everything was fading.

And the last thing he thought of—

The last thing he saw—

Was you.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

When Mattheo opened his eyes, the world around him was unnervingly quiet. No echoes of battle, no screaming, no pain. Just silence.

He stood in an endless field of golden light, stretching into eternity. The air was soft and still, the horizon painted in hues of a dying sun, neither rising nor setting. There was something eerily peaceful about it—something final.

And then—

A voice.

"Didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon."

His breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

You stood a few feet away, arms crossed, the same as you always were—except you weren’t.

You weren’t looking at him with warmth. You weren’t looking at him with hate, either.

You were just… looking.

Expression unreadable.

Unmoved.

Distant.

Mattheo’s heart clenched so painfully in his chest he thought he might collapse. "Y/N…" His voice cracked on your name, raw with emotion, with regret, with everything he had never been able to say before.

You didn’t react. Didn’t move closer.

Didn’t welcome him like he had imagined.

Because why would you?

"You…" He took a shaky step forward, hands trembling. "You’re here."

A humorless smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Of course I am. You put me here, remember?"

The words were soft. Not sharp. Not bitter.

But they cut him deeper than anything ever had.

Mattheo stumbled back as if struck, his entire body shaking. "I—I didn’t—"

"You didn’t kill me, no." You tilted your head, eyes piercing into him. "But you might as well have."

He sucked in a sharp breath, guilt clawing up his throat like bile. His hands clenched into fists. "I didn’t mean to hurt you," he whispered. "I never—"

"You did."

He flinched.

You sighed. "I’ve had a lot of time to think, Mattheo. Time to let go of everything. And I have."

His stomach twisted.

That should have been a good thing, shouldn’t it?

You had let go. You were free.

But why did it feel like you were letting go of him?

"Y/N, please," he begged, voice breaking. "I came here for you. I—I couldn’t—" His throat tightened. "I couldn’t live without you."

You blinked slowly, as if considering his words. "So you killed yourself?"

The bluntness of your tone made his stomach lurch.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers twitching. "I thought maybe—"

"Maybe what?" You raised an eyebrow. "That dying would fix things? That suddenly, just because you followed me here, everything would be okay?"

He sucked in a breath, the truth behind your words slicing through him like a blade.

"I didn’t know what else to do," he admitted, voice hoarse. "I couldn’t stand it. Every day, every second—I kept thinking about you. About everything I did wrong. About everything I never said—" His voice cracked, and he let out a shuddering breath. "I needed to see you again. I needed to tell you that I—"

"That you what?" you asked, voice eerily calm.

He looked at you, eyes desperate, pleading.

"That I love you."

The words hung in the air between you.

For a second, he thought he saw something flicker across your face—something soft, something almost familiar.

And then you smiled.

But it wasn’t the kind of smile he wanted.

It wasn’t warm.

It wasn’t forgiving.

It was… sad.

Gentle.

Final.

"That doesn’t change anything, Mattheo."

His breath caught.

He had imagined this moment a thousand times. Had dreamed of seeing you again, of falling to his knees, of crying into your arms and begging for forgiveness, and maybe—just maybe—you would hold him.

Tell him it was okay.

Tell him you still loved him.

Tell him he wasn’t too late.

But he was.

He always had been.

His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, gasping for breath. "Please," he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. "Please, Y/N, I—I didn’t mean for any of this. I was a coward. I was a fool. I should’ve—I should’ve never left you behind."

You just watched him, silent.

He reached for the keychain around his neck, the same one you had given him as children. The edges were worn from years of being held, a small, meaningless thing in the grand scheme of life.

And yet, to him, it had meant everything.

He clutched it so tightly it left indentations on his skin.

"I never threw it away," he whispered. "Even when I pushed you away, even when I let everyone else hurt you, I—I never threw it away."

You looked at the keychain, but your expression didn’t change.

"You kept a memory," you said softly. "But you never kept me."

Mattheo’s breath stuttered.

His chest ached, his fingers shaking as he reached for you—

But you stepped back.

His world tilted.

"Y/N, please." His voice was barely above a whisper now, broken and raw. "I don’t want to be without you."

"You already have been," you murmured.

The truth of it crushed him.

"I forgive you," you said, and for a moment, his heart lifted.

But then—

"But that doesn’t mean I want you back."

His heart shattered.

He let out a strangled sob, curling in on himself.

"You should go, Mattheo," you said softly.

He lifted his head, dazed. "What?"

You nodded toward the distance, where a soft, golden light glowed in the far-off horizon.

"You don’t belong here yet."

The words made him freeze.

This wasn’t the end for him.

Not yet.

His mind screamed at him to stay.

To fight.

To refuse to leave your side ever again.

But when he looked at you—really looked at you—he realized something.

You weren’t his to fight for anymore.

You were already gone.

Even if he stayed, even if he wasted eternity in this in-between, you wouldn’t be waiting for him.

He had lost you long before you died.

And now, even in the afterlife, he would never have you again.

His breath hitched, his entire body trembling. "Y/N," he tried one last time, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You gave him one last, gentle smile.

And then, finally.

"Goodbye, Mattheo."

And just like that—

You turned away.

You didn’t look back.

And Mattheo felt it—the last piece of his soul breaking, shattering into nothing.

For the first time in his life, he had nothing left.

And for the first time in his life, he finally understood what true loss meant.

But there was no one left to tell him it was going to be okay.

No one left to save him.

Only silence.

And the distant glow of the horizon, beckoning him away from you forever.

──── ୨୧ ──────── ୨୧ ────

The first thing Mattheo felt when he woke up was the suffocating weight pressing against his chest.

It wasn’t the kind of weight that could be shaken off. It wasn’t exhaustion or physical pain—it was worse. It was grief, raw and relentless, curling around his ribs like thorns.

His throat was dry, his head ached, and his limbs felt heavy, like he had been sinking in an endless abyss and had only just barely clawed his way out.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He just laid there, staring at the ceiling, the edges of his vision hazy.

Then it hit him.

The war. The screams. The smell of blood and burning wood.

And you.

Lying there.

Bleeding.

Cold.

Gone.

Mattheo inhaled sharply, a shuddering breath that did little to stop the wave of nausea washing over him. His fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them as if they could anchor him to reality.

"Mattheo?"

The voice was groggy, thick with sleep.

Lorenzo.

Mattheo blinked, turning his head slightly. The dim light of the hospital wing made everything look softer, less sharp, like a dream he was still trapped in.

Lorenzo was sitting beside his bed, his long legs stretched out, his head tilted at an awkward angle against the chair. His hair was messier than usual, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His brows furrowed as he blinked blearily, as if trying to convince himself that Mattheo was really awake.

Then, as if something snapped inside him, Lorenzo shot upright, the chair scraping against the floor. "You’re awake," he breathed.

Theodore stirred beside him, rubbing his face with a tired groan. "What’s going on—" His words caught in his throat when he saw Mattheo, his usually composed face shifting into something unreadable.

The noise must have caught the attention of the others because within seconds, Blaise, Draco, Pansy, and Astoria all turned to look.

A heavy silence settled over the room.

Mattheo could feel their eyes on him, but he couldn’t meet them.

"You fucking idiot," Blaise muttered.

Mattheo barely had time to react before Lorenzo smacked his arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a point. "Do you have any idea how long you were out?"

Mattheo swallowed, his voice hoarse. "How long?"

"Three days," Theodore answered quietly.

Three days.

Three days since he had tried to end it all.

Three days since he had seen you.

Three days since he had been forced to walk away.

Mattheo clenched his jaw, exhaling sharply. He suddenly felt nauseous.

Pansy scoffed, arms crossed over her chest. "Honestly, Riddle, if you wanted attention, you could’ve just asked instead of traumatizing all of us."

Draco shot her a glare. "Not the time, Pansy."

Pansy huffed but didn’t argue.

Astoria must have noticed the way Mattheo’s breathing turned uneven because she spoke gently, "You’re okay now, Mattheo. You’re safe."

Safe?

The word felt wrong.

How could he be safe when you weren’t?

He turned his head slightly, his gaze landing on the bedside table.

The air in his lungs froze.

The keychain.

The small, silver keychain you had given him all those years ago sat there, slightly tarnished but still whole.

Still there.

A broken sound escaped him—half a laugh, half a sob.

He had been trying so hard to reach you.

But you had already moved on.

You were at peace.

Without him.

The weight in his chest twisted painfully.

His breathing grew uneven.

Theodore moved before Mattheo could fully process it.

A pair of warm arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Mattheo stiffened.

Theodore had never been the kind of person to offer physical affection easily. He wasn’t like Lorenzo, who threw an arm over your shoulder like it was second nature, or like Pansy, who grabbed your hand whenever she was talking. Theodore was distant, composed, always holding himself back.

But right now—right now, he wasn’t.

Right now, he was holding Mattheo like he knew.

Like he understood.

Like he had been waiting for Mattheo to break.

And Mattheo did.

The first sob tore through his throat, shaking his entire body. His fingers clenched in Theodore’s robes, gripping them so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Theodore didn’t say anything.

He just held him.

Mattheo buried his face in Theodore’s shoulder, his whole body trembling as the sobs wracked through him.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

You were supposed to be here.

You were supposed to be alive.

You were supposed to tell him that everything would be okay.

But you weren’t.

You never would be.

And even in the afterlife, you had looked at him like he was nothing more than a ghost of the boy you once knew.

His chest ached.

His heart shattered all over again.

Theodore tightened his grip.

"It’s okay," he murmured. "You’re okay."

Mattheo squeezed his eyes shut.

No, he wanted to scream.

'I’m not.'

'I’ll never be."

Draco and Blaise exchanged a glance from the corner of the room, their chess game long forgotten.

Pansy was staring at the floor, her lips pressed tightly together. Astoria’s eyes glistened with something unreadable.

Lorenzo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We should’ve done something sooner."

No one disagreed.

Because they all knew.

They had all seen it—the way Mattheo had spiraled after your death.

The way he had barely eaten, barely spoken, barely even existed.

They had tried to help, in their own ways. Pansy had snapped at him to pull himself together. Blaise had sat beside him in silence. Astoria had offered quiet reassurances. Draco had tried to be patient. Lorenzo had been the only one who dared to bring you up.

But nothing had worked.

Nothing had been enough.

And now, Mattheo was breaking apart in Theodore’s arms, sobbing like he had held it all in for too long.

Lorenzo swallowed hard.

It wasn’t fair.

None of it was.

But that didn’t change the fact that you were gone.

And Mattheo was still here.

For now.

Mattheo didn’t know how long he stayed like that, clinging to Theodore like he was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

When he finally pulled back, his face was damp with tears, his throat raw.

Theodore studied him carefully, his expression unreadable.

Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, he placed a hand on Mattheo’s shoulder. "You’re not alone," he said softly.

Mattheo let out a shaky breath.

He didn’t believe it.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But he nodded anyway.

Because what else could he do?

Because you were gone.

And he was still here.

Even if it didn’t feel like he was.

[theodorenmyth]

American! Reader who accidentally calls mattheo “Matthew” sometimes. Maybe even one time mattheo grabs reader by their shoulders, shaming them saying “MATTHEO! MY BLOODY NAME IS MA-TH-OOO!”

(Totally didn’t just get this idea all because my keyboard autocorrect mattheo to Matthew)

Getting It Right

Pairings : Mattheo Riddle x GN! Reader

Summary : You have a habit of calling Mattheo Riddle "Matthew," much to his exasperation. Despite his frequent corrections, you continue to slip up, turning it into a playful inside joke. Over time, what started as an annoying mistake becomes a unique bond between you two, culminating in a heartfelt moment when you finally get his name right, revealing the deep connection you've formed.

A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

Warnings) : nothing!

Word count : 1k+

You had a habit of being absent-minded, which often resulted in amusing mistakes. The most recent victim of your distractedness was none other than Mattheo Riddle. You had a tendency to call him “Matthew,” a name he clearly despised. Yet, despite his frequent corrections, you continued to slip up.

Today was no different. You were sitting in the library, scribbling notes for your Potions essay, when Mattheo approached you. His dark hair fell messily over his eyes, and he wore that familiar smirk that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Hey, Matthew,” you greeted, not looking up from your parchment.

Mattheo’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of exasperation. “It’s Mattheo,” he corrected, emphasizing each syllable.

“Right, right. Sorry, Matthew,” you replied absentmindedly, your quill still scratching across the parchment.

With a dramatic sigh, Mattheo dropped into the seat next to you. “How do you manage to forget my name every single time?” he asked, leaning closer to peer at your notes.

You finally looked up, meeting his intense gaze. “It’s not on purpose, I swear. You just look like a Matthew to me.”

His eyes narrowed, but there was a hint of amusement in them. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“I try,” you replied with a grin.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The next time you saw Mattheo was in the Great Hall during breakfast. You were in a rush, as usual, trying to grab a quick bite before your first class. Mattheo was sitting with his friends, laughing at something one of them had said.

“Morning, Matthew!” you called out cheerfully as you passed by.

Mattheo’s head snapped up, and he shot you a look of pure annoyance. “It’s Mattheo!” he called after you, but you were already halfway out of the hall, oblivious to his frustration.

It wasn’t until later that day, during a particularly boring Transfiguration class, that you found yourself seated next to Mattheo again. Professor McGonagall was droning on about the intricacies of human transfiguration, and your mind was wandering.

“Psst, Matthew,” you whispered, nudging Mattheo with your elbow.

Mattheo turned to you, his expression one of incredulous irritation. “Are you serious right now?”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“Mat-the-o,” he said slowly, as if explaining to a child. “My bloody name is Mat-the-o!”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. “Sorry, Matthew.”

Mattheo groaned, but there was a spark of something in his eyes. Exasperation, yes, but also a hint of affection. “Why do I even bother?” he muttered under his breath.

“Because you secretly love it,” you teased, poking him in the ribs.

He batted your hand away, but you caught the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re infuriating.”

“You’re the one who keeps sitting next to me,” you pointed out.

“Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment,” he replied dryly.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Time passed, and your habit of calling Mattheo “Matthew” became something of an inside joke. Despite his initial annoyance, Mattheo seemed to find your constant slip-ups endearing in a strange way. He would roll his eyes and sigh dramatically, but there was always a trace of a smile when he corrected you.

One evening, as you were heading to the common room, you spotted Mattheo sitting alone by the fireplace. He looked up as you approached, a resigned expression on his face.

“Hey, Matthew,” you greeted, plopping down next to him.

Mattheo’s eyes narrowed. “Mat-the-o,” he corrected automatically.

You grinned at him. “Right, sorry. Mat-the-o.”

He studied you for a moment, then did something unexpected. He reached out and grabbed your shoulders, pulling you closer so that your faces were just inches apart. “Listen to me, and listen well,” he said, his voice low and intense. “My name is Mattheo. Ma-th-oo. Got it?”

You couldn’t suppress your laughter. “Got it, Matthew.”

He groaned, but his grip on your shoulders softened. “You’re impossible,” he repeated, but there was a warmth in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

“I know,” you said, still grinning. “But you love me anyway.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, releasing you and leaning back in his chair. “Unfortunately, I think you might be right.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the fire crackling softly in the background. Despite his protests, you knew Mattheo didn’t really mind your little mistake. In fact, you had a sneaking suspicion that he might actually enjoy it.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

As the weeks went by, your friendship with Mattheo deepened. He continued to correct you every time you called him “Matthew,” and you continued to do it anyway. It had become a part of your dynamic, a playful banter that neither of you truly wanted to change.

One day, as you were walking to Herbology together, you felt a pang of guilt. Maybe it was time to finally get his name right. You glanced at him, taking in the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, the way his hair fell over his forehead in that endearing way.

“Mattheo,” you said softly.

He stopped in his tracks, turning to look at you with surprise. “Did you just…?”

You nodded, feeling oddly shy. “I figured it was about time I got it right.”

Mattheo stared at you for a long moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I try.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Well, thank you. It’s nice to hear my name pronounced correctly for once.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warned, nudging him with your elbow. “Old habits die hard.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he replied, and there was a softness in his voice that made your heart flutter.

As you continued to walk, you realized that, despite your playful banter and his frequent corrections, Mattheo had never once asked you to change. He had accepted you, quirks and all, just as you had accepted him. And in that moment, you knew that no matter how many times you called him “Matthew,” he would always be Mattheo to you.

[theodorenmyth]

Part 2 on the Hunter eyes? Idk if you got request a part 2 but I found the Hunter eyes with mattheo very alluring since Hunter eyes are very attractive. Especially with glasses

Failed Persuasion

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!Reader

Summary ; In a modern office setting, Mattheo Riddle has just become the new boss, and you, his ambitious employee, approach him seeking a bonus. Confidently trying to persuade him, you flirt subtly, hoping it’ll work in your favor. However, things take a turn when Mattheo pulls you onto his lap, teasing and whispering in your ear, flustering you completely. He makes it clear that bonuses aren’t just given—they’re earned—and hints that if you stay and fulfill his desires, you’ll get what you want. The power dynamic shifts as Mattheo takes control, leaving you with no choice but to agree.

A/n ; enjoy hun!!

Warnings ; slight nsfw, persuasion, reader being a tease to Matty, lap-sitting, boss!mattheo

Wordcount ; 1.2k+

The office buzzed with the steady hum of voices, phones ringing in the distance, and the faint tap of keyboards. You sat at your desk, eyes scanning over the reports in front of you. The promotion of Mattheo Riddle to the head of the company had sent waves through the office. The man was practically a legend in his family, both feared and respected. He hadn’t been in charge long, but you’d already seen him make a mark.

You stretched in your chair, loosening your tie. Mattheo was in his office right now, probably reviewing numbers, or plotting his next move. You had an idea, though. You needed a bonus, and you weren’t shy about using a bit of persuasion to get what you wanted. The two of you had shared plenty of lingering looks over the years, subtle flirtations, but you never acted on them—until now.

Grinning to yourself, you pushed away from your desk and made your way to his office. A few heads turned as you walked, but you were focused, your mind already playing out how this conversation would go.

Reaching his office door, you gave it a sharp knock.

“Come in,” Mattheo’s deep voice called from inside.

Taking a breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. Mattheo was sitting at his desk, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. He leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the armrests, and there was a glint of curiosity in his gaze.

“Busy?” you asked casually, closing the door behind you.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Depends on what you want.”

You stepped forward, moving confidently, though your heart beat faster. “I was thinking we could have a little chat.”

Mattheo’s smirk widened, but he didn’t say anything, just gestured for you to continue.

You leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing your arms. “I’ve been doing good work for you, haven’t I? Thought maybe it’s time for a bonus. I mean, the company’s thriving, and I’d say I’ve had a hand in that.”

Mattheo watched you closely, his expression unreadable. “A bonus, huh?”

“Yeah,” you replied, leaning in just a little, your voice taking on a persuasive edge. “I think it’s fair.”

For a moment, it seemed like it might work. Mattheo’s eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite read, and then he leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. “You think I’m just going to hand you a bonus because you ask nicely?”

Your confidence faltered for a split second, but you held your ground, flashing a charming smile. “You know I’ve earned it, Mattheo.”

He stood suddenly, towering over you. Before you could react, his hands were on your waist, pulling you around the desk and into his lap. Your breath caught in your throat, heart pounding as you found yourself sitting on him, face inches from his. His grip was firm, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent heat flooding through you.

“You think that’s how it works?” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine.

“I—” you start, but your words get caught in your throat as he tightens his grip slightly, his thumb brushing your side in a way that makes you shiver.

His tone is teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach flip. You try to speak again, but Mattheo shifts his position, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you even closer. His other hand rests on your thigh, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of your pants.

“Let me tell you something,” he whispers, his voice low and rough, making it impossible for you to focus on anything else. “I’m the boss now. You don’t get a damn thing unless I want you to have it.”

Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, and Mattheo knows it. You can feel his smirk against your ear, his amusement palpable as he leans back slightly, giving you just enough space to meet his eyes.

He looks thoroughly entertained, his dark eyes glinting with something dangerous and teasing. “You’re not very good at hiding how flustered you are.”

You swallow hard, trying to gather your thoughts, but it’s impossible with Mattheo’s hands on you, with the weight of his gaze burning into you.

“Mattheo...” you start again, your voice unsteady, but he cuts you off.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He tilts his head slightly, his smirk growing as his hand squeezes your thigh lightly. “You walked in here so confidently, ready to get what you want. What happened?”

“You think I didn’t see this coming?” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear that it sends a shiver down your spine. “Walking in here, trying to sweet-talk me into giving you what you want?”

Mattheo’s lips twitched, and he leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. “You’ve always been ambitious, haven’t you?” he whispered, his voice like velvet. “Always pushing, always trying to get ahead.” His lips barely grazed your skin as he spoke, and you felt a shiver run down your spine.

Your hands rested on his shoulders, but you were quickly losing your composure, his proximity making it harder to think straight. “I just… thought it would be mutually beneficial,” you managed, your voice coming out weaker than you intended.

Mattheo chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Oh, I bet you did,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “But let me tell you something…” He paused, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, sending your pulse racing. “You don’t just ask for a bonus. You earn it.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, his hand slid up your thigh, his fingers ghosting over your skin through your pants. The room felt too warm, too intimate, and you were painfully aware of every inch of his body pressed against yours.

“M-Mattheo…” you stammered, trying to keep control, but the way he touched you, the way he whispered in your ear, was making your head spin.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low. “You’ve been working hard, haven’t you?” His hand moved higher, his grip tightening slightly as he smirked against your ear. “Maybe I could give you a reward, but it’s going to cost you.”

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping his shoulders tighter. “Cost me… how?”

Mattheo chuckled again, his lips now trailing down the side of your neck. “Oh, I think you know,” he whispered, his voice sending another shiver through your body. “I could give you that bonus… but only if you stay.”

Your body tensed at the implication, and you couldn’t deny the thrill running through you. His fingers tightened on your waist, and his lips lingered just below your jaw. “Stay,” he whispered again, his voice so quiet it was almost a growl. “And I’ll make sure you get what you want.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, and your mind raced, but deep down, you already knew your answer. The power dynamic between you had shifted, and Mattheo had you exactly where he wanted.

“Fine,” you breathed out, your voice shaking slightly. “I’ll stay.”

Mattheo pulled back slightly, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Good,” he murmured, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your thigh. “Now, let’s discuss exactly what I’ll be getting in return for that bonus of yours.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, and you bit your lip, knowing that this conversation was about to take a turn you wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

[theodorenmyth]

Mattheo with a s/o who literally had a past of fighting a lot 😭. Reader has changed and is more peaceful, but Mattheo figured out that reader was literally worst than him and it makes him question reader about their past.

Shadows of the Past

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader

Summary ; You and Mattheo Riddle have grown close, but rumors about your violent past begin to surface, casting a shadow over your budding relationship. As Mattheo confronts you with what he's heard, you reveal the anger and struggles that once defined you, and the person who helped you find peace. Through heartfelt conversations and shared moments, Mattheo seeks to understand the person you once were and the journey you've taken to become who you are now. Together, you navigate the complexities of your past, finding strength in each other's acceptance and love, and forging a bond that is ready to face whatever the future holds.

A/N ; Enjoy! :3

Warnings) ; nothing

Word count ; 1.2k+

The soft glow of the setting sun bathed the Hogwarts grounds in a warm, golden hue as you walked alongside Mattheo Riddle. The two of you had spent the afternoon exploring the quieter corners of the castle, enjoying each other’s company away from the prying eyes of your peers. For once, the conversation had been light, the laughter genuine.

As you reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Mattheo suddenly stopped, his expression shifting from relaxed to contemplative. You felt a knot form in your stomach as he turned to face you, his eyes searching yours.

"I've been hearing things," he began, his voice measured. "Things about your past."

Your heart skipped a beat. It was bound to come up sooner or later. "What kind of things?"

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his tousled hair. "People say you were... different. That you used to get into a lot of fights. Worse than me, even."

You sighed, looking away. The memories of your past were not something you liked to dwell on. "Yeah, I did. But that was a long time ago, Mattheo. I’m not that person anymore."

Mattheo studied you for a moment, his dark eyes unreadable. "Why did you fight so much?"

You hesitated, the old wounds threatening to reopen. "It’s complicated. I had a lot of anger back then. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I fought. It was the only way I knew how to cope."

He nodded slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle. "What changed?"

You took a deep breath, the cool evening air filling your lungs. "I met someone who helped me see that there are other ways to handle things. They taught me how to find peace within myself. How to control my anger instead of letting it control me."

Mattheo’s gaze softened. "And you think you’ve changed?"

"I know I have," you replied firmly. "I’m not proud of who I used to be, but I’ve worked hard to become a better person."

He reached out, taking your hand in his. "I’m not judging you, you know. I just want to understand. It’s part of who you are, and I care about all of you, not just the parts that are easy to love."

You squeezed his hand, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. "Thank you, Mattheo. That means a lot."

There was a moment of silence, the two of you standing together at the edge of the forest. The air was filled with the sounds of nature, the rustling of leaves and the distant call of a bird.

"Tell me more about it," he said finally. "About who you were back then."

You swallowed hard, the memories flooding back. "I was angry at the world. I felt like I had to fight to be seen, to be heard. I didn’t care about the consequences. I just wanted to prove that I was strong, that no one could mess with me."

Mattheo nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And now?"

"Now, I’ve learned that true strength isn’t about how many fights you can win. It’s about having the courage to walk away. To choose peace over violence."

He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. "I’m proud of you. For changing. For becoming the person you are now."

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, quickly wiping it away. "Thank you. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s worth it."

Mattheo pulled you into a hug, holding you close. "We all have our demons. What matters is how we deal with them. And you, you’ve done something incredible."

You clung to him, feeling a sense of comfort and safety in his embrace. "I just hope you can accept me, past and all."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "I do. I always will."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in shadows, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. Mattheo knew the truth now, and he still cared. It was more than you could have hoped for.

"You know," he said with a grin, "I think I’d like to hear some of those stories. Maybe you can teach me a thing or two."

You laughed, the sound echoing through the trees. "Maybe. But only if you promise not to get any ideas."

"Deal," he said, pulling you back into a hug.

Together, you walked back towards the castle, the past no longer a shadow hanging over you but a part of your journey. And with Mattheo by your side, you knew you could face whatever came next.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The next few days were a whirlwind of exams, classes, and stolen moments with Mattheo. He had a way of making you feel at ease, his dark humor and sharp wit a constant source of amusement. But there was an underlying curiosity in his eyes, a desire to know more about the person you used to be.

One evening, as you sat by the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, Mattheo broached the subject again. "So, tell me about your most memorable fight."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Absolutely," he replied, leaning in closer. "I want to know everything about you."

You took a deep breath, recalling the incident that had marked the turning point in your life. "There was this one time, back in my fourth year. A group of older students thought they could push me around because I was younger. They didn’t expect me to fight back."

Mattheo’s eyes gleamed with interest. "What happened?"

"I ended up breaking one guy’s nose and giving another a black eye and a broken arm," you admitted, a hint of pride in your voice. "But it wasn’t just about the fight. It was what happened afterward that changed everything."

He frowned, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"I got into a lot of trouble, obviously. Detention for a month, extra assignments, the whole deal. But Professor McGonagall, she took me aside and talked to me. She didn’t just lecture me about fighting. She asked why I was so angry."

Mattheo nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And what did you tell her?"

"I broke down," you confessed. "I told her everything. About how I felt invisible, how I thought fighting was the only way to get people to notice me. She listened, really listened. And then she helped me find a way to channel my anger into something positive."

Mattheo’s grip on your hand tightened. "Sounds like she really made a difference."

"She did," you agreed. "She suggested I take up dueling, but in a controlled environment. It wasn’t about hurting others, but about mastering my skills, my emotions. It helped me find a sense of control and peace."

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "I’m glad she did. I can’t imagine Hogwarts without you."

You blushed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thanks, Mattheo. It means a lot to hear you say that."

He leaned in, his forehead resting against yours. "We all have our battles, our pasts. But what matters is how we move forward. And I’m here with you, no matter what."

You kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of promises and unspoken words. When you pulled back, you felt a sense of calm and certainty.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "For accepting me."

"Always," he murmured, pulling you close.

As the fire crackled and the shadows danced around you, you knew that with Mattheo by your side, you could face whatever the future held. Your past was a part of you, but it didn’t define you. And with him, you felt ready to embrace whatever came next.

[theodorenmyth]

Perfect for You

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!Reader

Summary ; You are in a relationship with Mattheo Riddle, where your deep-seated insecurities and fear of abandonment lead you to strive for perfection, always putting his needs above your own. As the anxiety and pressure take their toll, Mattheo begins to notice the toll it’s taking on you. Through heartfelt conversations and Mattheo's unwavering support, you start to believe that being yourself is enough for the one you love.

A/N ; this is a codependent!m!reader requested by ANON, I accidentally posted this js a few mins ago and deleted it.

warnings); none

Word count ; 1.1k+

The dimly lit Slytherin common room was abuzz with quiet murmurs and the crackling of the fireplace. You sat in your usual corner, eyes flickering nervously towards the entrance every few seconds. Mattheo was late again, and the familiar gnawing anxiety began to build in your chest.

Ever since you had started dating Mattheo Riddle, you had developed an almost crippling fear of his absence. You always felt like you weren't good enough for him, a sentiment that haunted your every interaction. You tried to be perfect, to be everything he wanted, hoping that if you pleased him enough, he wouldn't leave you.

The door creaked open, and your heart leapt. Mattheo strolled in, his usual confident swagger making him look like he owned the place. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you. He smiled, but you couldn't help but notice the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Was he mad at you? Did you do something wrong?

"Hey," Mattheo greeted, plopping down next to you on the couch. "What did I miss?"

"Not much," you replied quickly, forcing a smile. "Just waiting for you."

Mattheo leaned back, stretching his arms. "You always wait for me. Don't you have anything better to do?"

You shook your head, trying to keep your voice steady. "No, I like waiting for you. I like being with you."

Mattheo's gaze softened, and he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "You're too sweet, you know that?"

You blushed, the warmth of his touch making your anxiety momentarily fade. "I just want to make you happy."

"And you do," he assured you, though his attention was already drifting towards his friends who were calling him over. "Hang on, I'll be right back."

As he walked away, the anxiety returned full force. You watched him laughing and talking with his friends, feeling an intense wave of inadequacy. You always felt like an outsider, like you had to constantly prove your worth to stay by his side.

The minutes dragged on, and your thoughts spiraled. What if he decided he didn't need you anymore? What if he found someone better? The anxiety grew into a suffocating pressure, and you could feel the onset of a panic attack.

You needed to be perfect. You needed to keep him happy. Taking a deep breath, you stood up and made your way to the group. Mattheo glanced at you as you approached, raising an eyebrow.

"Everything okay?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity.

"Yeah, I just... I wanted to be with you," you said softly, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

Mattheo's friends exchanged looks, but Mattheo simply shrugged and pulled you into his side. "Alright then. Everyone, this is my boyfriend, Y/N."

You forced a smile, feeling the scrutiny of his friends' gazes. They all knew how much you adored Mattheo, and you couldn't help but wonder if they thought you were pathetic for it.

"Y/N, you're always so quiet," Pansy commented, her tone teasing but with an edge of truth. "Why don't you ever join in on the fun?"

"I just... I don't want to say anything that might upset anyone," you admitted, glancing nervously at Mattheo.

Mattheo frowned, a hint of frustration in his eyes. "You don't have to worry about that. Just be yourself."

But being yourself felt impossible when you constantly feared losing him. You nodded, trying to relax and join the conversation, but the anxiety remained, a constant companion.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Later that night, you lay in Mattheo's bed, his arms wrapped around you. He was asleep, his breathing steady and calm. You, on the other hand, were wide awake, your mind racing with insecurities.

You replayed the day's events, analyzing every word, every look. Had you done enough to make him happy? Had you been perfect? What if he decided you weren't worth the trouble?

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you quickly wiped it away. You couldn't let him see you like this. You couldn't let him know how much you struggled, how much you hurt. You had to be strong, for him.

In the dim light, you turned to look at Mattheo's peaceful face. He was everything to you, and you would do anything to keep him happy, even if it meant sacrificing your own well-being.

"Matty," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I love you so much. I hope I'm enough for you."

He stirred in his sleep, mumbling something unintelligible, but didn't wake up. You sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

The next morning, you woke up to Mattheo's fingers tracing patterns on your back. You smiled sleepily, the anxiety momentarily forgotten in the warmth of his embrace.

"Morning," he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

"Morning," you replied, nuzzling closer to him.

He studied you for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "You seemed off yesterday. Is everything okay?"

You hesitated, not wanting to burden him with your fears. "Yeah, just tired, I guess."

Mattheo's eyes narrowed slightly. "You sure? You know you can talk to me, right?"

"I know," you lied, forcing a smile. "I'm fine, really."

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push further. Instead, he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too," you whispered, your heart aching with the sincerity of your words.

As the days went on, you continued to put Mattheo's needs above your own, bending over backward to keep him happy. You didn't complain, didn't voice your own struggles, because you were terrified of losing him. You tried to be perfect, to be everything he wanted, but the pressure was slowly breaking you.

One evening, as you sat together in the common room, Mattheo noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the way your hands trembled slightly.

"Y/N, you need to take care of yourself," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "I don't want you to hurt yourself trying to please me."

"But I want to make you happy," you protested, your voice cracking. "I can't lose you, Mattheo. I need you."

Mattheo's eyes softened, and he cupped your face in his hands. "And I need you, but not like this. I love you for who you are, not for some perfect version of you. Please, just be yourself."

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you finally let them fall, the weight of your insecurities crashing down on you. "I'm so scared, Mattheo. I'm scared I'm not good enough for you."

"You're more than enough," he whispered, pulling you into a tight embrace. "You don't have to be perfect. I love you just the way you are."

In that moment, wrapped in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe him. You allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, you were enough.

The road to healing wouldn't be easy, and the anxiety wouldn't disappear overnight, but with Mattheo by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope. For the first time, you began to believe that you could be loved for who you truly were, and that was a start.

[theodorenmyth]

Mattheo who has an introverted! Boyfriend, but when r is drunk they turn into a different person who is bold asf to just say shit and mattheo is just like “holy shit”

Bold Booze

Pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x M!Reader

Summary ; At a Slytherin party, you watch from the sidelines as Mattheo Riddle enjoys the festivities. When he convinces you to try firewhisky, the alcohol unlocks a bold side of you, leading to teasing and passionate moments with Mattheo. The night is filled with intense desire and stolen touches, and by morning, you wake up with the aftermath of your fiery escapades. Reflecting on the unexpected boldness from the firewhisky, you realize it's a night Mattheo will relish and remind you of for a long time.

A/N ; I LAV LAVVV THIS REWUEST 😻😻😻

warnings); slight smut, mentions of alcohol, bite marks

Word count ; 1k

You sit quietly in the corner of the Slytherin common room, nursing a butterbeer and observing the raucous party around you. Your boyfriend, Mattheo Riddle, is the center of attention as always, laughing and talking with his friends. You don’t mind, really. The noise and chaos of the party are a bit overwhelming, and you’re content to stay in your little corner, watching Mattheo from afar.

He catches your eye and smiles, making his way over to you. “Hey, love. Why don’t you join us?”

You shake your head, smiling shyly. “I’m good here, Mattheo.”

Mattheo sits beside you, his dark eyes twinkling mischievously. “How about a drink? Something stronger than butterbeer?”

You hesitate, but the warm, inviting look in his eyes makes you relent. “Alright, one drink.”

Mattheo returns with two glasses of firewhisky, handing one to you. “Cheers,” he says, clinking his glass against yours.

You take a tentative sip, the liquid burning its way down your throat. You cough slightly, but Mattheo’s encouraging smile makes you take another sip. Before long, the glass is empty, and Mattheo hands you another.

As the firewhisky works its way through your system, you start to feel more relaxed. The noise of the party fades into the background, and a new, bold feeling rises within you. You catch Mattheo’s eye, a smirk tugging at your lips.

“Matty,” you say, your voice low and husky. “Come here.”

Mattheo raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your sudden change in demeanor. He leans in, and you whisper in his ear, “You have no idea how badly I want you right now.”

His eyes widen in surprise, a flush creeping up his neck. “Y/N, are you drunk?”

“Maybe,” you reply with a mischievous grin. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re driving me crazy.”

Mattheo chuckles, his hand resting on your thigh. “You’re full of surprises tonight.”

You lean closer, your lips brushing against his ear. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Mattheo’s eyes darken with desire, but he tries to maintain his composure. “Maybe we should get you some water.”

You shake your head, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. “I don’t want water. I want you.”

He looks around, noting the curious glances from his friends. “You’re going to make a scene, love.”

You smirk, enjoying the way his breath hitches as you trail your fingers up his chest. “Isn’t that what you like? Being the center of attention?”

Mattheo bites his lip, clearly torn between his desire and his need to keep up appearances. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N.”

You lean in, your lips brushing against his. “I like living dangerously.”

The rest of the night is a blur of teasing whispers and stolen touches. You can see the effect you’re having on Mattheo, the way his breath hitches and his eyes darken with desire. You revel in it, pushing the boundaries further with each passing minute.

“Matty,” you purr, your lips ghosting over his neck. “Let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Mattheo grabs your hand, practically dragging you up the stairs to his dormitory. As soon as the door closes behind you, his lips are on yours, hungry and demanding. You respond with equal fervor, your hands roaming over his body, tugging at his clothes. “I need you,” you whisper against his lips. “Now.”

Mattheo growls low in his throat, lifting you and tossing you onto the bed. “You’re going to regret teasing me all night,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

You shiver at his words, anticipation coursing through you. “I doubt that,” you challenge, your eyes glinting with mischief.

The night continues with an intensity you’ve never experienced before. Mattheo’s hands and lips explore every inch of your body, and you respond with equal fervor. The boundaries between you blur, and all that exists is the fire between you, burning hotter and brighter with every touch, every kiss, every whispered word.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and a multitude of aches and pains. Your back is sore, and your skin is marked with hickeys, bite marks, and bruises. You groan, burying your face in the pillow as memories of the previous night flood back.

Mattheo is already awake, leaning against the headboard with a smug grin on his face. “Good morning, love.”

You glare at him, though it lacks any real heat. “Morning.”

He chuckles, brushing a hand through your hair. “You were practically screaming my name last night.”

You blush furiously, pulling the blanket over your head. “Oh, fuck off. Don’t remind me.”

Mattheo laughs, pulling the blanket away and leaning down to kiss you. “You were so cute, begging for my touch.”

You groan again, hiding your face in your hands. “Ugh, I can’t believe I did that.”

Mattheo nips at your ear, his voice a teasing whisper. “I loved every second of it. And so did you.”

Despite your embarrassment, you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “Maybe I did.”

Mattheo’s grin widens, and he pulls you into his arms, holding you close. “Good. Because I plan on making you scream my name again very soon.”

You laugh, resting your head against his chest. “I’m not sure my back can handle it.”

He smirks, his hand tracing patterns on your skin. “I’ll go easy on you next time. Maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but the fondness in your gaze is unmistakable. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” Mattheo replies, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sigh, content despite the lingering aches and pains. “Yeah, I do.”

Mattheo’s arms tighten around you, and you know that despite the teasing, he cares for you deeply. As you drift back to sleep, you can’t help but feel grateful for the unexpected boldness that the firewhisky brought out in you. It’s a night you’ll never forget, and one you’re sure Mattheo won’t let you live down anytime soon.

[theodorenmyth]

Funny little fluff thing where Reader and mattheo are play fighting, like reader grabbed a clump of mattheo’s hair while Mattheo had grabbed reader’s shirt. 😭it’s a funny sight as a student, perhaps a friend of either mattheo’s or reader sees them and walks out slowly backwards cause reader and Mattheo are in a weird position while play fighting. Reader is flustered as they know what the student was thinking and tries to explain their self while Mattheo attacked them with a—

🎊TICKLE ATTACKK🎊

-🧚🏾‍♀️

im so sorry if i dont post often anymore!! im currently sick rn and ill try my best to upload 1 more fanfic today! :(

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Playful Duel

Pairings : Mattheo Riddle x GN! Reader

Summary : In the Slytherin common room, you find yourself in a playful scuffle with Mattheo Riddle, a notorious troublemaker. As things escalate, a friend interrupts, misinterpreting the situation, leaving you flustered. But when Mattheo unleashes a tickle attack, laughter ensues, revealing the true bond between you both.

A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

Warnings) : Nothing!

Word count : 900+

The Slytherin common room is unusually empty for a Thursday afternoon. Most students are outside enjoying the rare spell of good weather or tucked away in the library studying for upcoming exams. You and Mattheo Riddle, however, have decided to spend your free time engaging in your usual antics.

"Give it back, Mattheo!" you shout, making a desperate grab for the book he's holding above his head.

Mattheo laughs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Come and get it, if you can!" he taunts, holding the book just out of your reach.

With a determined huff, you lunge at him, but he sidesteps easily. You narrowly avoid crashing into a nearby table, spinning around to face him again. Your eyes narrow, and you see his smirk widen, knowing he's enjoying this far too much.

You take a moment to catch your breath, then launch yourself at him again. This time, you're ready for his dodge. You feint to the right, then dart left, your fingers tangling in his hair as you try to pull him down to your level.

"Ow! That hurt, you little—" he begins, but you're already yanking hard.

"Give. Me. My. Book!" you demand, punctuating each word with a tug on his hair.

Mattheo growls playfully, his free hand grabbing the front of your shirt. "Not a chance!"

The two of you grapple, neither willing to give an inch. You have his hair firmly in your grasp, while he clings to your shirt, the fabric stretching precariously. You twist and turn, struggling against each other in a comical display of youthful exuberance.

Before you can react, Mattheo lunges at you, and you barely dodge out of the way, laughter bubbling up in your throat. The two of you end up in a tangled heap on the floor, each trying to gain the upper hand. You grab a clump of his hair in a desperate attempt to gain control, while he retaliates by grabbing the hem of your shirt, pulling you closer.

It’s a ridiculous sight: you with a fistful of his dark curls, and him with his hand twisted in your shirt, both of you struggling not to burst into laughter. Just then, the door to the common room opens, and one of your friends, Alex, steps in. He froze, eyes wide as he take in the scene.

“Oh, um, sorry,” Alex stammers, his cheeks turning red as he start to back out of the room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever this is.”

You quickly release Mattheo’s hair, your face heating up. “It’s not what it looks like!” you blurt out, scrambling to your feet. “We were just—”

Before you can finish your explanation, Mattheo, still on the floor, reaches out and grabs your ankle, pulling you back down with a yelp. “We were just having a bit of fun,” he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Right, Y/N?”

You shoot him a glare, but it’s hard to keep a straight face when he’s looking at you like that. “Yeah, just some innocent fun,” you agree, though your tone is dripping with sarcasm.

Alex raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Sure,” he said slowly, taking another step back. “I’ll just… leave you to it then.”

As soon as Alex is out of sight, you turn to Mattheo, your cheeks still burning. “Great, now he thinks we’re… you know!”

Mattheo just laughs, pulling you into a ticklish embrace. “Let him think what him wants,” he says, his fingers finding that spot just below your ribs that makes you squirm. “We know the truth.”

You squeal, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but he’s relentless. “Mattheo, stop!” you gasp, tears of laughter streaming down your face. “I can’t breathe!”

“Not until you admit defeat!” he declares, his own laughter mingling with yours.

“Fine, fine!” you manage to choke out between giggles. “I admit it! You win!”

With a triumphant grin, Mattheo finally releases you, and you collapse onto the floor, panting. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, but there’s no heat in your words.

“And you love it,” he replies cheekily, offering you a hand to help you up.

You take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “Yeah, yeah,” you say, brushing yourself off. “Next time, I’ll be the one who wins.”

“We’ll see about that,” he teases, ruffling your hair before grabbing his book and settling back onto the sofa.

You flop down next to him, still catching your breath. “You’re really something, you know that?”

He just smirks, flipping open his book. “I know.”

The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. Despite the chaos of a few moments ago, there’s a sense of peace that settles over you. You glance at Mattheo, who’s completely absorbed in his book once again, and you can’t help but smile.

Maybe your little rivalry isn’t so bad after all.

“Hey, Mattheo,” you say softly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?” he replies, not looking up.

“Thanks. For… you know, being you.”

He glances at you, one eyebrow raised. “What brought this on?”

You shrug, feeling a bit self-conscious. “Just… felt like saying it.”

He smiles, a genuine, warm smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Anytime, Y/N. Anytime.”

You lean back, closing your eyes and letting the warmth of the fire and the sound of Mattheo’s quiet breathing lull you into a state of relaxation. In the back of your mind, you’re already planning your next playful attack. But for now, you’re content to just be here, in this moment, with him.

[theodorenmyth]

Enemies to lovers of Gryffindor! Reader and mattheo. Reader and the riddle brother always fight and have tension that is so thick you could feel it. Reader is a little cocky pretty boy, and maybe that makes mattheo want to punch reader and makeout makeup for all the things that happened between them. 😈

Heated Rivalry

Pairings : Mattheo Riddle x M! Reader

Summary : In the halls of Hogwarts, your rivalry with Mattheo Riddle is legendary. As a cocky Gryffindor, you live to challenge the Slytherin bad boy, pushing his buttons at every turn. But when a heated confrontation in Potions class takes an unexpected turn, you discover that the tension between you hides a passionate attraction. Navigating the fine line between enemies and lovers, you both agree to keep your fiery relationship a secret, knowing that the battle of wits and desire is far from over.

A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

Warnings) : enemies to lovers trope, rough kissing

Word count : 1k+

You always had a thing for rivalry. Being a Gryffindor, it was practically in your blood to clash with the Slytherins. But Mattheo Riddle? He was a special case. Ever since you first set eyes on him, there was something about his smug face and aloof demeanor that just begged for you to rile him up.

And rile him up you did. Every chance you got.

Today was no different. You strutted into the Potions classroom with that characteristic swagger that made heads turn. Professor Snape hadn't arrived yet, and the Slytherins were huddled in their usual corner. You spotted Mattheo immediately, lounging in his chair with that infuriating smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, well, if it isn't Riddle," you said, loud enough for the whole room to hear. "Planning your next dark scheme, or just trying to figure out how to tie your shoes?"

Mattheo's eyes snapped up, locking onto yours with a look that could melt steel. "If it isn't the Gryffindor peacock," he retorted. "Still preening in front of the mirror every morning, I see."

You flashed a grin, sauntering over to his table. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Riddle. But I guess it's hard not to be envious when you're always second best."

His jaw clenched, a telltale sign that you’d hit a nerve. "Careful, pretty boy. One day that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble."

"Oh, I'm shaking," you mock shivered. "What are you going to do? Hex me with your father's shadow?"

Mattheo shot up from his seat, closing the distance between you in an instant. The tension was palpable, a tangible force crackling in the air between you. "You know nothing about my father," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous.

"And you know nothing about me," you shot back, stepping even closer until you were practically chest to chest. "But let's be real, you’re dying to find out."

For a moment, it seemed like he was about to punch you. His eyes were blazing with anger, but there was something else there too—something you couldn’t quite place. Before you could dwell on it, Snape swept into the room, his robes billowing like dark clouds.

"Take your seats!" he barked. You held Mattheo's gaze for a second longer, a silent challenge passing between you, before you reluctantly moved to your spot.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The class dragged on, your mind replaying the encounter with Mattheo. You couldn’t help but glance his way occasionally, noticing how he was doing the same. There was no denying the magnetic pull between you, an electric charge that only intensified with every sharp word and heated glance.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of the class, you packed your things slowly, deliberately waiting for the room to empty. Mattheo seemed to have the same idea, lingering by his table. Finally, it was just the two of you.

"Got something to say, Riddle?" you taunted, leaning against a desk with a cocky grin.

He walked over, his expression unreadable. "Yeah, actually, I do," he said, stopping just inches away from you. "You think you're so clever, always pushing my buttons. But it goes both ways, doesn't it?"

You raised an eyebrow. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "that maybe I don't want to punch you as much as I want to do this."

Before you could react, his lips crashed into yours. It was rough, all teeth and tongue and pent-up frustration. You were taken aback for a moment, but then instinct kicked in and you kissed him back just as fiercely. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him against you.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing heavily. "What the hell was that?" you asked, your voice hoarse.

Mattheo's eyes were dark with desire. "That was me hating how much I want you," he said bluntly. "And hating you even more for making me feel this way."

You smirked, your cockiness returning. "Well, at least now we’re on the same page."

He laughed, a low, bitter sound. "You really are insufferable."

"And you love it," you shot back.

His expression softened slightly, a flicker of something tender in his eyes. "Yeah," he admitted. "I guess I do."

You pulled him in for another kiss, slower this time, exploring the contours of his mouth. It was different, more intimate, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

When you broke apart again, you rested your forehead against his. "So, what now?" you asked.

"Now," he said, his voice steady, "we keep this between us. No one else needs to know."

"Agreed," you said, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. "But just so you know, this doesn't mean I'll go easy on you in public."

He grinned. "Wouldn't expect anything less, pretty boy."

You laughed, the sound echoing in the empty classroom. Maybe rivalry wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

As the days turned into weeks, the dynamic between you and Mattheo shifted. The arguments didn’t disappear, but they were less venomous, more playful. The stolen kisses and secret glances became a regular occurrence, a hidden world shared only by the two of you.

One evening, as you sat together in a secluded corner of the library, you couldn’t help but smile at the memory of that first kiss. Mattheo looked up from his book, catching your expression.

"What’s so funny?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Just thinking about how much I hated you," you replied, your tone light.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hated? Past tense?"

You nodded. "Yeah. Turns out, you’re not so bad."

He smirked. "I could say the same about you, L/N"

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Guess we’re stuck with each other now."

He sighed dramatically, but there was a twinkle in his eye. "I suppose I can live with that."

As you sat there, tangled up in each other, you realized that the line between love and hate was thinner than you’d ever imagined. And crossing it was the best thing you’d ever done.

[theodorenmyth]

Mattheo who has a habit towards his friend, m!reader where he always has his hand on him. Like oh, you two are sitting down in the great hall? His hand is on r’s thigh. Walking together? Holding r’s hand, waist, even having his hand on his back. Of course no one thought that this riddle brother would be the “touchy” type. Maybe even after reader and mattheo get together, him being touchy levels up a bit?

　Entwined in His Touch

Pairings : Mattheo Riddle x M! Reader Summary : As a fellow Slytherin, you always knew Mattheo Riddle was different from his brother. What you didn’t expect was his penchant for constant, affectionate touch – a hand on your thigh during meals, an arm around your waist as you walk, and fingers interlacing with yours at every opportunity. When you finally confront him, you discover the reason behind his touchiness: he likes you. As your relationship deepens, Mattheo’s touch becomes even more possessive and tender, grounding you in a whirlwind of affection and whispered confessions. Entwined in his touch, you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way. A/n : Enjoy (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠) Warnings) : Nothing! Word count : 1.4k+

You’d always known Mattheo Riddle was different from his brother. While Tom was all calculated intelligence and cold charisma, Mattheo was warmth, mischief, and a certain unpredictable intensity. But what no one else seemed to know was just how touchy he could be. And for some reason, his attention was often focused on you.

Sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, you try to concentrate on your breakfast. It’s a usual morning, with students bustling around, the clink of cutlery, and the murmur of countless conversations. Yet, all you can focus on is Mattheo's hand resting on your thigh under the table.

"You know, you could just ask me to pass the butter instead of distracting me," you say, trying to sound casual but feeling your heart race.

Mattheo grins, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Why would I do that when it's so much more fun watching you squirm?"

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. Mattheo’s hand gives a light squeeze, and you glance around the hall to see if anyone is watching. It seems no one is paying much attention, thankfully.

As you finish breakfast, the two of you rise to leave. Mattheo’s hand slips from your thigh to your waist, guiding you through the throng of students. His touch is so natural, so casual, yet it sends a thrill through you every time.

"Where to next?" he asks, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your hip.

"Potions," you reply, trying to ignore the way his touch affects you.

"Ah, Snape’s dungeon. My favorite place to be first thing in the morning," Mattheo quips, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You chuckle. "Come on, it’s not that bad. And besides, you have me to keep you company."

Mattheo’s grin widens. "That's the only reason I show up."

As you walk, his hand drifts from your waist to your hand, fingers interlacing with yours. You’ve long since stopped questioning these gestures. It’s just Mattheo being Mattheo, you tell yourself.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The day passes in a blur of classes, and Mattheo’s touch is a constant presence. A hand on your back as you walk to Transfiguration, fingers brushing yours as you share a textbook in Herbology, and an arm casually draped over your shoulder during breaks in the common room. It’s only when you’re both alone in the Slytherin common room late that evening that you decide to confront him.

"Mattheo," you begin, sitting beside him on the couch, "why are you always touching me?"

Mattheo looks at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. "Does it bother you?"

"No," you admit, "but I don't understand why."

He shifts closer, his hand finding its way to your knee. "Maybe because I like you, and I like being close to you."

You blink, taken aback by his straightforwardness. "You… like me?"

"Yeah," he says, his voice softening. "I thought it was obvious."

Your heart skips a beat. "I… I didn't realize."

"Well," Mattheo leans in, his eyes locking onto yours, "now you do."

The kiss is gentle at first, a tentative exploration that quickly deepens. His hand slides up from your knee to your cheek, holding you in place as he kisses you with a fervor that takes your breath away. When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless.

"Wow," you whisper, your forehead resting against his.

"Yeah," he agrees, his thumb brushing your cheek. "So, are we doing this?"

You nod, a smile breaking across your face. "Yeah, we are."

From that moment on, Mattheo's touchy habits level up. His hand on your thigh becomes a constant during meals, his arm around your shoulders a familiar weight as you walk the halls, and his fingers intertwined with yours an everyday occurrence. But now, there’s an added intimacy, a new depth to every touch that sends your heart racing.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

One evening, you’re sitting on his lap in the common room, Mattheo’s arm around your shoulders as you read. His other hand is tracing lazy patterns on your thigh while his nose nuzzled your neck, and you can’t help but smile.

"You're even touchier now," you tease, glancing down at him.

He smirks, kissing your neck softly before pulling away to kiss the top of your head.. "You love it."

You can’t deny it. "Maybe I do."

"Good," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear, "because I’m not stopping anytime soon."

Life with Mattheo is a whirlwind of touches, kisses, and whispered confessions. His touch grounds you, comforts you, and excites you all at once. And as you lean into him, feeling his arms tighten around you, you realize you wouldn’t have it any other way.

No one had expected Mattheo Riddle, the mischievous Slytherin, to be so touchy, so affectionate. But now that you’re on the receiving end of it, you can’t imagine him any other way. And as his hand finds yours, fingers interlacing, you know that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

From the moment you and Mattheo officially got together, the shift in his touchiness was apparent. He wasn't just casually affectionate anymore; he was downright possessive, his touches becoming bolder, more frequent.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

During meals in the Great Hall, his hand would drift higher up your thigh, his fingers tracing patterns that sent shivers up your spine. You’d catch the curious glances of your housemates, some looking surprised, others amused. Even Pansy raised an eyebrow once, smirking knowingly at the two of you.

“You two are adorable,” she’d said one day, her tone dripping with sarcasm yet laced with genuine amusement.

“Jealous, Pansy?” Mattheo had shot back, not missing a beat, his hand squeezing your thigh possessively.

“Fuck no,” she’d laughed, shaking her head.

Walking through the corridors, Mattheo’s arm was a constant presence around your shoulders or waist. He’d guide you through crowds with an easy confidence, his touch firm yet gentle. It was as if he was silently announcing to everyone that you were his, and he was yours.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

In the common room, you often found yourselves curled up together on the couch. Mattheo would pull you close, his hands roaming your back, fingers occasionally slipping under your shirt to trace lazy circles on your skin. It was intimate, comforting, and sometimes it made focusing on your homework incredibly difficult.

“You’re distracting me,” you’d complain half-heartedly, trying to keep your eyes on your Potions textbook.

Mattheo would chuckle, his breath warm against your ear. “Can’t help it. You’re too irresistible.”

During classes, his touch was subtler but no less present. Sitting beside each other, he’d rest his hand on your knee or play with your fingers under the desk. Once, during a particularly dull History of Magic lecture, he’d drawn tiny hearts on the back of your hand with his quill. You’d giggled, earning a stern look from Professor Binns.

“What’s so funny, Mr. L/N?” Binns had asked, his ghostly form hovering near the blackboard.

“Nothing, sir,” you’d managed to say, biting back your laughter. Mattheo had just smirked, his hand squeezing yours under the desk.

It was in the evenings, however, when Mattheo’s touchiness truly shone. After dinner, you’d retreat to the common room, finding solace in each other’s company. Mattheo’s hands were always on you – massaging your shoulders, playing with your hair, or simply holding you close as you talked about your day.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

One night, as you sat in front of the fireplace, Mattheo’s arms wrapped around you from behind, he nuzzled into your neck, his lips brushing against your skin.

“I’m really glad we’re together,” he murmured, his voice soft and sincere.

You leaned back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of the fire and his body enveloping you. “Me too, Mattheo. Me too.”

His hand found yours, fingers intertwining. “Promise you won’t get tired of me being all touchy?”

You turned slightly to look at him, your eyes meeting his. “Never. I love it.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he kissed you softly, sealing the promise with his lips.

As the days turned into weeks, the new normal settled in. Mattheo’s touchiness became an integral part of your life, something you cherished and looked forward to. It was his way of expressing his feelings, of showing you just how much you meant to him.

And as you sat together in the common room, his hand resting on your waist, you knew that this was exactly where you were meant to be – wrapped up in Mattheo’s touch, forever intertwined with his mischievous, affectionate nature.