#matt riddle drabble | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winnie1emon · 8 months ago

Text

✧.* what happens after mattheo finds his sweet bsf moping after a bad date..?

bsf!mattheo x angel!reader (fem pov)

word count: approx 2.2k

cw: MDNI!!, smut, bsf!mattheo, piv, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, finger sucking(?), lots of praise, mattheo is maybe kind of a perv idk lol, p link in the middle

a/n: sorry it took me a bajillion years to do this... sleep schedule is in the works :( + requests are open :3

Mattheo quickly flipped over the muggle Playboy magazine he had gotten his hands on the previous summer and fumbled with his zipper as he heard his dorm door swing open. Needn't to turn around as he recognized the familiar sound of your heels clicking across his floor as you kicked them off and slumped onto his bed, he clumsily shoved his small collection of magazines into his drawer.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "How was your date, he ugly?" He did not bother to turn around and face you, adamant about not showing you his flushed face.

Truth be told, your "date" was terrible. You had waited at the Three Broomsticks for hours, garnering pitying looks from Madam Rosmerta while you awkwardly stirred an on-the-house butterbeer, waiting for your blind date to arrive.

"Bad..." you managed to mutter, your voice trembling slightly. You had begun suffocating as your face was planted on one of his pillows, raising your head up for air and seeing the tear stains you left on the pillowcase.

Slightly surprised, he furrowed his brows, turning around his chair to get a full view of you, sulking, face-first on his bed. "Why? What happened?" he questioned.

"Didn't even show," you sniffled out, not looking up.

Concern washed over his face as he got up, readjusting his pants for the second time, before sitting gently beside you. He placed a palm on your shoulder, pushing slightly to get a view of you. You didn't resist, turning your body around, and giving him a clear look at you.

His heart ached at the sight of you; your dried-up tears, the red hue in your eyes, and the remnants of tears clinging onto your bottom lashes.

Mattheo brought his thumb to your face, swiping away at your cheek. "He didn't?" he asked softly. He meant to sound comforting and understanding, but his voice had a subtle tone of hope that you didn't catch over your small hiccup.

You shut your eyes, feeling new tears form as he pulled you up off your back, allowing you to sit against his headboard. Kicking off his slippers, he brought his feet onto the bed and sat beside you, placing your head on his shoulder with his arm slung over yours.

You both stayed in that position, silent, for a while. It wasn't uncomfortable, it was something familiar to make you feel better. Mattheo fidgeted with his sheets with his free arm and you felt most of the tears come to a stop. Lifting your head off his shoulder, you turned towards him.

"You're a guy right?" you asked.

"I'm pretty sure."

You stifled a small giggle before resuming your more solemn mood. "Do y'know why he wouldn't come?" you asked tentatively. Met with silence and his gaze set straight ahead, you prodded, "Like... think he saw me and left?"

"No. No way."

Mattheo had answered you quickly, even surprising you. You had expected a teasing yeah or a reluctant no from him, but he seemed dead serious. It wasn't like Mattheo was rude to you, merlin, you were probably the one person he was the nicest to, but he'd usually never pass up on an easy opportunity to make a joke.

Moving closer beside him, you peered curiously at his face, looking for any sign of sarcasm, but there wasn't any. "Really?"

The sight of your doubting eyes, the slight quiver in your lips, and the feel of your body pressed against his arm as you sat on his bed was all too much for Mattheo to handle. He wanted to scoop you up and mumble reassurances into your ears, but a part of him that he so desperately wanted to push away, wanted to fuck you senseless and show you how serious he really was.

Fuck. He knew it was wrong to feel this way when you sought comfort from him and nothing more, but he could hardly suppress his thoughts. Not when you stumbled into his room as he was about to relieve himself-- especially not in the strapless dress you wore for your date.

"Mm, yeah," he barely got out. "You're... beautiful."

You hummed appreciatively, feeling an unfamiliar blush creep up your face. Mattheo was your friend, and he had complimented you a few times before, but this was strangely... intimate. Grateful for him, you let your head sink past his shoulder and onto his chest and allowed one of your hands to play around with the material of his shirt, the soft cotton rubbing against your fingertips.

Tracing patterns on his shirt, his toned torso underneath; so close to your touch, you allowed yourself to be mesmerized while drawing swirls and stars on his shirt until you felt his body go taut and he cleared his throat.

"Oh-- sorry," you said sheepishly, retracting your hand. You sat back up, having your head properly rested against the headboard.

"No, don't be," Mattheo said. "I'm just, just a bit out of it right now," he told you, turning to face you.

"Yeah..." you noted. "You look a bit flush." You examined his face, his cheeks lightly dusted with a rosy hue and a very tiny bead of sweat on his forehead. You pushed yourself off the headboard, sitting straight up on the bed and your eyes wandered over him. "Are you," you began to ask in concern before your heart leaped into your throat from the sight of his very obvious boner. "...okay?" you finished, swallowing thickly.

"Don't even worry 'bout me," Mattheo shrugged off, oblivious to your wandering eyes. "Feeling better now?" he asked you, your tears from earlier no longer apparent.

Your brain still short circuiting from the sight of his boner, you paused before snapping back into reality.

"I-- uh, I don't know..." you said biting your lip. "I was really excited to go, but I guess he wasn't."

Mattheo searched for the words to say before you spoke again.

"Maybe I got the date wrong. Oo, oh! Maybe the place wrong?" you tried to convince yourself. "Merlin, who am I kidding? He saw me and decided not to show," you groaned. "I knew I shouldn't have worn this dress, I was kind of doubting buying it when I was at the store and-" you rambled before being cut off by a cool hand on your chin turning your head around.

"Hey- what are you doing?" you smiled sheepishly, caught off guard.

"Stop talking about yourself like that. You know it's not true."

You chortled, confusion etched onto your features, but nothing on his face resembled a joke.

"Stop joking, I'm actually sad," you finally drawled.

"M'not joking," he said. Before you could retort, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss.

Your mind clouded for a brief moment before you began to kiss him back.

For such a seemingly rough guy, his lips were soft and welcoming. You could go days without pulling away, your hands running up his back as he cupped your face. Kissing him felt natural, something that you didn't have to work very hard to do.

You let your body take over and kiss him without worry and he seemed to do the same as he slipped his tongue in, taking you by surprise.

Knowing he already crossed a line by kissing his best friend, Mattheo couldn't hold back the amount of arousal coursing through him at the moment. Without thinking, he allowed a hand to trail down from your face, feeling the lines of your waist until it found your thigh. Pushing the blue silk dress upwards, his hand rested on your ass.

Not protesting at all, you leaned closer, with his hands beginning to guide you onto his lap. You both sunk on the bed, having you straddle him. The cool air hit your bare skin as he brought your dress even upper, the dress folding inside out on your waist. His hands ran up and down your ass, stroking the lace of your underwear.

He slipped his hand underneath the material, feeling the skin of his palms on your unclothed ass, groping and grabbing blindly. You continued to kiss him, resting on top of him warmly until you felt his hand ghost over your bare folds causing you to pull away from the kiss and elicit a moan.

You looked at him curiously, parting your lips before he asked, "Can I?"

Before you could contemplate, your body was already deciding as you immediately nodded up and down. His fingers trailed lightly on the outside of your slick cunt and you could hear him murmur to himself but the sound was blocked out of your ears as your mind was clouded with thrill.

Burying your head beside his head and into his pillows, you let out a shrill whimper as you felt him insert one finger. Slowly, he pumped it in and out of your cunt, slowly increasing in speed.

Entering another finger, your whimpers grew into moans and he turned to look at your heated face.

"Fuck, you're cute."

Unable to respond, you attempted to give him a sheepish smile that sent him over the edge.

His fingers pumped in and out of you with uncontrollable fervor, your fluids coating his fingers as you leaked out. You writhed around on top of him, small squeals escaping your lips as you felt your orgasm near.

"M-Matt..." you mewled. "I'm gonna-"

"Shh, shh," he said, bringing his free hand to caress your head. "You can come. Come on my fingers for me." He buried his fingers deep inside, curling them slightly as he found your g-spot.

No longer able to contain yourself, you let your orgasm happen, your cunt tightening over his fingers. Panting, your body went limp which gave him time to flip you over so you were below him.

Watching the look you sported as your orgasm washed over you, the way you were beneath him, and how your lips were swollen from your previous make out, Mattheo could've sworn he was going to come right in his pants.

Wasting no time, he pulled down his pants, boxers following, allowing his cock to spring out, the tip already leaky with precum.

Pulling down your soaked underwear, he positioned himself between your legs. He pushed in slowly, each agonizing second torturing you as you desperately wanted him.

He rocked his hips and you had expected him to go slowly like he did with his fingers, but he quickly set a pace, hardly waiting for you to adjust.

The world felt unreal to you, having your best friend's cock inside of you when just moments before you were moping about some mystery guy...

Mattheo tugged down the top of your dress, the lack of straps allowing your tits to pool out. Fondling greedily, he couldn't even contain himself.

"Can't believe he lost this before even getting it," he groaned under his breath. "Fucking clown."

Unable to get a word out through your whimpers and mewls, all you could do was blush bashfully at his words.

He brought his hand to cup your jaw, slipping his thumb into your mouth. Teasing, he pulled his thumb to the edge of your mouth, contorting your lips as he laughed to himself. "You look adorable."

He continued to tease, finding the faces you made amusing as he continued to use his cock to kiss your cervix. You were about to unravel again, your cunt gripping onto his cock as your cries grew louder, your hands scratching his arms. "Gonna come?" he asked. You nodded quickly, a sign for him to slow down.

"Are you?" you asked tentatively.

"Not yet. Wanna savor my time with my favorite girl," he cooed, leaning into your ear.

Your surprise couldn't last long as you came for a second time, your face scrunching up. You breathed heavily, still allowing your body to process while Mattheo took the time to pull out and turn you around, your knees sinking on the bed.

Mattheo wanted to frame that moment right there and then. Capturing the sight of you; back arched down, ass up in the air practically inviting him inside your glossy cunt, face buried into the sheets.

"I hope you're forgetting about that guy. I would throw myself off the Astronomy Tower if I skimped out on a date only to find out it was with you."

Entering once more, he threw his head back before letting out moans of his own. Unlike during missionary, he went in patiently, admiring the view of his cock sliding in and out of your folds.

"I'm going to come just looking at you like this, I swear. Want me to? Want me to come inside?"

"Y-yes!" you managed to sputter out. "Please..."

"The day I say no to you; just know I'm under the imperius curse." And with that, he came, spurting thick ropes of cum inside to coat your walls. "Shit..."

He pulled out, leaning down to watch the remnants of his arousal seep out of you. He pulled you upwards to sit on your knees on his bed before hugging you by the head, caressing you with his hands roving your body.

"Bet you're glad he didn't show now, huh?" he joked gloatingly.

"Yeah."

―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――

3K notes · View notes

iamgonnagetyouback · 10 months ago

Text

mattheo gets clingy the second you stop pampering him, demanding kisses mid-makeup routine because apparently, your attention is his favorite luxury

0.5k cw: clingy!mattheo, fluff, possessiveness in the cutest way possible

mattheo riddle is completely infatuated with you, his high-maintenance girlfriend who has him wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger. you live for pink, makeup, long nails, and every glamorous touch, and mattheo? he adores it. the upkeep, the attention, the endless pampering—he loves treating you like the princess you are. he proudly carries your bags, ensures your makeup is perfectly stocked, and always knows exactly when it's time for a nail appointment.

but there's one rule. mattheo's just as high maintenance in his own way, only in the form of your undivided attention and affection. the moment you stop pampering him—whether that’s running your fingers through his hair, spoiling him with sweet words, or letting him cling to you like a koala—he turns into the neediest boyfriend alive.

one morning, you’re sitting in front of your vanity, carefully applying lip gloss when mattheo saunters in, his eyes immediately locking on you. his face falls slightly when you don’t greet him with your usual kiss.

“why aren’t you paying attention to me?” he whines, crossing the room in two strides and resting his chin on your shoulder. “i’ve been waiting for my turn for ages.”

you laugh softly, twisting in your chair to face him. “mattheo, i’m just doing my makeup. i’ll give you attention in a sec.”

but that doesn’t fly with him. before you can finish, he’s scooping you up from the chair, plopping down on the bed with you tucked in his arms. he nuzzles his face into your neck, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips. “i don’t care about your makeup. i care about you.”

you grin, brushing a hand through his messy curls. “you’re being dramatic. and you act like i don’t give you enough attention, matt."

"because you don’t," he pouted dramatically. "you can’t just look this good and not let me have you all to myself. it's unfair."

you giggled and kissed his cheek, leaving a faint pink lipstick stain. "i’m almost done. what, you miss me already?"

"i always miss you," he mumbled.

“i need my pampering too,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “i can’t function without it.”

you know his antics, but it’s still the cutest thing in the world. you lean down and place a soft kiss on his cheek. “poor baby, did i neglect you?”

he nods, lips pouting in full force. “so much. i don’t know how i’m even surviving.”

you giggle, but comply immediately, peppering kisses across his face until he’s smiling lazily. “better?”

“almost,” he mumbles, pulling you even closer. “don’t leave me.”

"i’m just going to meet up with some friends, matt," you giggled, running your nails lightly through his hair. "i won’t be gone long."

he lifted his head, giving you a pout that was far too cute for someone who looked as dangerous as he did. "i don’t care. i’m coming with you."

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny how much you loved his clinginess. he always wanted to be near you, touching you, even when you were doing something as simple as getting ready. it was endearing, the way he never wanted to be without you.

"fine," you said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "but only if you promise to behave."

"no promises," he grinned, holding you tighter. "but you’re stuck with me, princess."

and honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#ivywrites!#mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #matt riddle #girly!reader #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle blurb #mattheo riddle drabble

2K notes · View notes

nottswitch · 6 months ago

Note

Hey love!!! can I request tying Mattheo Riddle up to a chair and stripping in front of him while teasing him to the extreme just to see how desperate he is for his gf?

꒰ you strip in front of tied up mattheo because he’s been impatient all day ꒱

cw: 18+ mdni, stripping, restraining, dry humping, orgasm denial, begging, kinda sub!mattheo, cursing

a/n: ohh i love desperate men, so i had a very enjoyable time writing this, thank you very much. hope you enjoy, and sorry it took so long (literally since september) <3

⋆˚꩜｡

"babe, are you fucking kidding me?!"

mattheo looks at you with a frown as you secure his own tie around his wrists behind the back of the chair. you simply shrug in response, straightening up and walking around the chair to stand right in front of him. his bottom lip is already swollen from all the biting he’s been doing in the last few minutes, and you have the urge to bite it as well, but hold back – for now.

"shouldn’t have been so damn impatient," you murmur, your hand gently caressing mattheo’s head – a stark contrast to the sly smirk you’re currently sporting. mattheo lets out a low moan; his head has always been his weak spot, and you’re fully using it to your advantage.

"but you’re so pretty, baby," he whines when you pull away and walk back a few steps. "can’t keep my hands off you…"

"i know. but now you have to pay for it."

you’re thoroughly enjoying the way mattheo’s hungry eyes roam all over your body, taking in the tight dress that leaves very little to the imagination. he struggles against the restraint of the tie, but in vain – you made sure that it’s strong enough not to let him slip away. his cock is already rock hard, straining against his jeans, and you can clearly see that he’s aching. well, it’s only better for you.

slowly, teasingly, you slide a thin strap of your dress off your shoulder, making the fabric hang low and almost letting one of your tits spill out of it. mattheo swallows thickly, his gaze turning desperate. his eyes widen when the other strap falls off as well, and you lift up your arms to fully take the top of the dress off. you’re not wearing anything underneath – one of the reasons he couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself all day, and he sure doesn’t want to start now.

"fuck, babe," he breathes out as you run your fingers over your perky nipples, wishing more than anything for it to be his hand instead. his cock throbs, and the friction of his clothes against it turns painful. "you’re a murderer. a cruel one."

you chuckle but say nothing in response. your hands squeeze around the flesh of your tits, squishing, pushing them together, and mattheo feels like he’s being tortured. a small, needy whimper escapes him, his hips lifting up a bit into the air, searching for friction, anything at all to soothe the ache between his legs. you take a few steps closer, the sway your hips wider than usual, and it’s very, very deliberate. mattheo prays to everything that is holy that they will sway on top of him soon.

"fucking gorgeous," he mutters, watching intently as your hands glide over the silkiness of your dress, pushing it down your waist and thighs to reveal your panties. it’s criminal how tiny they are, and he swears he can see a damp spot at the front. "i need to touch you, baby. please please please let me–"

he’s quickly shut up by your finger pressing against his lips. mattheo stays obediently silent as you shimmy the dress completely down and step out of it. you’re leaning over him now, supporting your weight by placing your hands on his legs. his hips desperately twitch up again, into your touch.

"patience is a virtue," you murmur as you start undoing the zipper of his jeans, your fingers brushing against his straining erection, which makes him shamelessly moan.

"i’d rather sin," he responds in a frustrated whisper. his cock jumps out of his boxers as you slide them down just enough, already crimson red and slick with precum. you look down in amusement, but your mouth starts salivating at the delicious sight – you’re not as immune to his arousal as you’re pretending to be. still, you hold back, determined to teach him a lesson.

you throw your leg over mattheo’s lap, straddling him, and his biceps flex – his muscle memory tells him he has to grab your hips, as he usually does, but his hands are still hopelessly bound. he breathes out sharply when your clothed pussy comes into contact with his cock, and he can’t keep himself from grinding up into you. you can already feel his precum staining your panties, mixing with your own juices seeping through the lace.

"you’ve always been a sinner," you say, your voice low and teasing as you start matching his movements with your own, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to steady yourself. mattheo groans at the friction, so damn good that he’s surprised he hasn’t cum on the spot.

"your sinner," he answers breathlessly, his cock throbbing at every press of your pussy against it. "shit, love, please, let me fucking touch you, i swear if you don’t–"

he’s cut off again; this time, it’s your teeth sinking into that bottom lip of his you’ve been eyeing before. he hisses into your mouth – it’s his favourite mixture of pleasure and pain, and he can barely hold back from releasing right then and there, knowing you wouldn’t like that. not this time, anyway. he tries to catch your lips with his own, but it’s a futile attempt – you’re already pulling away, continuing to grind on him. the ache between his legs intensifies, and he’s on the very brink. just one more time, just one more…

just as he’s about to lose it, you stand up from his lap. he whines, again, desperate and completely undone. his cock jumps up, as if to follow you, but reaches nothing, hopelessly twitching in the air.

"babyyy," mattheo whimpers, cheeks flushed and eyes turning glassy as he takes in your smug expression and your perfect body, covered only by soaked lacy panties. "i fucking beg you, princess, i’m dying."

you hum, pretending to think, even though your mind is already made up.

"one condition."

"anything," mattheo whispers, his voice hoarse from the power of arousal taking over his whole being. "absolutely fucking anything."

"your face between my legs, for as long as i want it there."

mattheo eagerly nods, already drooling in his mind – and almost physically – at the thought of being able to finally eat you out. he’s ready to spend hours on his knees, if only it gives him the opportunity to touch you.

more.

#─ ꒰ 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚊 ꒱ 📜 ˎˊ˗#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfiction #matt riddle #matt riddle x reader #matt riddle smut #slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut #slytherin boys drabble #slytherin boys imagine #slytherin boys fanfiction

949 notes · View notes

yua0ra · 6 months ago

Text

𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐬 𝐐𝐮𝐨

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

WARNINGS: stalker!mattheo x slytherin!fem!reader, creepy mattheo, stealing, invasion of space, slightly dark, obsessed mattheo, SFW, not proofread, english is not my first language. miscellaneous ☆

SUMMARY: Mattheo just can’t help it… he aches for you, he feels for you, he wants you. However, the only way to be able to tame those feelings is by getting a hold of you, whether thats physically or mentally, he doesn’t care.

WC: 3.1K AN: I would love to turn this into a series, what do you think?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

It’s wrong. So wrong. He knows it deep down, but his obsession overrides his logic. He wants to know everything about you—what makes you laugh, what keeps you up at night, what scents you love most.

The moment his fingers graze the cool, worn wood of your dormitory door, his heart pounds so loudly he swears someone must hear it. He pauses, forehead resting against the door for a brief second, his chest heaving as he struggles to calm his racing breath. That faint trace of your scent lingers in the air—soft, warm, and unmistakably you—and it pulls him in, headfirst, deeper than ever.

He tells himself, like he does every time, that this is the last time. Mattheo convinces himself that he’ll walk away, forget the weight of your presence, the pull of his obsession. But the darkness inside him whispers otherwise. His fingers tighten around the handle, and before he can stop himself, the door clicks open.

Stepping inside, Mattheo freezes, letting the stillness of your private room settle over him like a cloak. It’s quiet here, safe, untouched by the chaos of the castle beyond. Everything about this space is yours.

Intoxicating.

His eyes scan the room, drinking in every detail.

Your desk catches his attention first, a small chaotic corner that somehow still feels meticulously yours. A half-written essay sits beneath an open inkpot, surrounded by scattered quills and parchment. Books, their spines cracked from use, are piled carelessly to the side. He steps closer, his fingers trailing along the edge of the desk. The faint scent of parchment and ink mingles with the soft, citric notes of your perfume, and his breath increases uncontrollably, letting it settle inside him like a drug.

He stands, his jaw tight as he clenches his fists to stop himself from doing something even worse than curiously examine—something he couldn’t come back from. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t even think like this. But your existence has thrown him into chaos, and he’s never been one to walk away from destruction.

I mean, he’s crossing boundaries that would shatter any trust you had in him if you found out. But he’s far past the point of caring.

Your wardrobe catches his attention next. He hesitates, his hand hovering over the handle as his breath quickens. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows this is a line he can’t uncross, but the temptation is suffocating. Slowly, he pulls it open.

Inside, your clothes hang neatly in a row, each piece carrying your personality. His eyes roam over them, lingering too long. His fingers ghost over the fabric of your favorite jumper, the one he’s seen you wear on lazy mornings in the common room. He takes it off the hanger, holds it to his face, and inhales deeply, his jaw clenching as the scent overwhelms him. It’s intoxicating, and for a moment, he closes his eyes, letting himself imagine you wearing it, imagine you here, just inches away.

Moving to the drawers his hands make it over the more delicate tops. The ones you wear strictly with straight-leg jeans. The ones that you wear without a bra, because it makes you uncomfortable. The ones where every time he looks at you, he feels dizzy and restless, wishing you would wear them only for him.

A glint of something on your nightstand catches his eye, pulling him out of the haze. He sets the tops down carefully, almost reverently, and crosses the room. There, resting beside a half-finished book, is a small vial of your perfume. His fingers wrap around it, and he brings it to his nose, pressing the glass against his lips before admiring the delicate bottle. He feels like a thief, stealing pieces of you, but the thrill of it—the wrongness of it—makes his pulse race.

Mattheo gives up on the compulsion.

His fingers trail over the smooth surface, brushing against a stray quill and a crumpled scrap of parchment. The parchment bears faint traces of your delicate strokes, loops and lines that seem as intimate as a whisper. He picks it up and smooths it between his fingers, turning it over as if it will reveal some hidden secret about you. It doesn’t—it’s just a small sketch of a thestral, but that doesn’t stop him from folding it neatly and slipping it into the pocket of his blazer.

He turns to your bed, the final corner of your private sanctuary. The sheets are slightly rumpled, as if you’d been curled up there not long ago, and the thought sends a jolt of something crazy through him. He kneels beside the bed, his breathing shallow, as his fingers trail over the edge of the blanket, feeling the softness.

The air around the bed feels heavier somehow, like it holds the lingering warmth of you. His hand tightens on the fabric as he imagines you here—how you must curl up, how your head must rest against the pillow, the way you must look when you drift off to sleep, completely unaware of the thoughts racing through his mind right now.

Mattheo leans forward, his forehead nearly brushing the mattress, his dark curls falling into his eyes. The faintest trace of you clings to the fabric, subtle but unmistakable. It’s enough to make his pulse quicken, his chest rising and falling with shallow, unsteady breaths. He can’t stop himself from pressing his face into the blanket, letting the scent fill his senses. It’s maddeningly intimate, a glimpse into a world he knows he shouldn’t have access to, and yet here he is.

He stays like that for a moment, his hands clutching the blanket, his body rigid with the weight of his obsession. The logical part of him—the part that knows this is crossing every line imaginable—is drowned out by the darker part, the part that craves this closeness.

Sitting back on his heels, Mattheo’s eyes drift to the pillow, slightly indented where your head must have rested. His throat tightens, and before he knows it, he reaches out, his fingers brushing the edge of the pillowcase. It feels like touching a piece of you, a physical connection to the person who consumes his every waking thought.

Then he feels it.

The small leather-bound book lies partially hidden beneath loose parchment and messy sheets as if you’d meant to keep it safe but couldn’t bring yourself to tuck it too far away. Mattheo stops breathing for a moment, his gaze locked on it. He knows what it is. He’s seen you writing in it before, your brow furrowed in concentration, your quill moving furiously as though the words were spilling out faster than you could capture them.

Your poetry book.

Mattheo swallows hard, his hands trembling slightly as he reaches for it. His fingers brush against the cover, the leather soft and worn beneath his touch. He knows this is wrong—this is the most personal thing you own, a piece of your soul laid bare on paper—but the thought only fuels the fire burning inside him. He can’t stop himself.

Sliding the book out from under the parchment, he sinks further into your bed, cradling it in his hands. The cover creaks softly as he opens it, his eyes scanning the first page. Your handwriting is familiar—messy, rushed in places, but beautiful. The words feel alive, raw, like they’ve been ripped straight from your heart.

The first poem stops him in his tracks. It’s about longing—aching for something you can’t have, feeling isolated in a world that doesn’t quite fit. It’s so vulnerable, so real, that it makes his chest tighten painfully. His thumb grazes the corner of the page as he reads it again, slower this time, savoring every word.

Mattheo’s breathing is shallow now, his mind spinning as he turns to the next page, then the next. Every poem is a window into your soul, revealing pieces of you no one else gets to see. He feels like a thief, but that darker part of him—the part that craves you so desperately—feels something else entirely. Possession.

This is more than just words on a page. This is you. Your dreams, your fears, your quiet moments of joy and despair. Every line draws him deeper into your world, and he knows he’s crossing a line he can never come back from.

He forces himself to stop, his fingers tightening around the edges of the book. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t even be here. But the thought of leaving it behind, of walking away from this piece of you, is unbearable.

Standing abruptly, Mattheo clutches the book to his chest, his jaw clenched as he makes his decision. He can’t leave it. Not now. Not after this.

For a moment, he wonders what you’d do if you walked in right now. Would you scream? Would you demand answers? Would you even begin to understand the depths of his need for you? The thought makes him shiver, a twisted combination of fear and desire coursing through him.

He pushes himself up from the welcoming mattress, the room spinning slightly as he forces himself to step back from the bed. His gaze lingers on it for a moment longer, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. It’s too much. This room, this space, this proximity to you—it’s all too much.

But as he glances down at the poetry book clutched in his hand, he feels the smallest flicker of satisfaction. He has this. He has a piece of you. And as he slips out of your room, the blanket’s softness and your scent still imprinted in his mind, he knows he’ll return.

He always does.

Mattheo’s heart pounds as he walks down the quiet corridors, each step feeling heavier than the last. His mind races with the memory of your room, can’t wait to get to his own.

When he reaches his dorm, he pauses at the door, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He’s alone now—completely alone, save for the things he’s brought with him.

The door creaks open slowly, and Mattheo steps inside. The room is dimly lit, shadows curling in the corners. His gaze falls on the small desk by the window, cluttered with papers and books.

His hands tremble as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the scrap of parchment you’d drawn on. He unfolds it slowly, as though it’s fragile, precious, a window into your world that he can’t let go of. His eyes scan the animal, though e meaning is incomprehensible to him now—he’s too caught up in the sensation of touching something that’s been close to you.

He sits at the edge of the bed, staring down at the bottle once again, his fingers dancing over it as if it’s a lifeline. He lifts it, unscrewing the cap carefully, and holds it to his nose, inhaling deeply. Your scent wraps around him, pulls him deeper into the haze.

His body feels too hot, too tight, like he’s on the edge of something he can’t undo. He pulls a curl of hair to his lips, thinking, feeling the strange thrill of it all—of possessing something that isn’t his. He thinks of what it would be like to see you walk into this very room, to watch you notice the way the room feels different, like it’s already been touched by you, even if you haven’t stepped foot inside. He shudders at the thought, his mind unraveling as he pictures your face, the way you would look at him if you knew what he was doing.

His hand grips the bottle tighter, his breath shallow. The craving gnaws at him, an ache he can’t soothe. With a shaking hand, he presses the nozzle and sprays your scent across his bed. A mist of it settles over the sheets, sinking into the fabric, clinging to his pillows. He moves to his blanket, his motions erratic but deliberate, until the air around him is saturated with you.

The scent invades his senses, filling the room, wrapping around him like an invisible tether. It isn’t enough, though. It never is. He sprays more, this time over his pajamas, soaking the thin fabric until he’s enveloped in the faint, exiting trace of you.

Mattheo lowers the bottle, his chest heaving as he takes it all in. His room feels different now, transformed. It’s no longer just his space—it’s yours, or at least, a warped imitation of it. He falls onto the bed, burying his face in the silky pillow. His hands clutch at the sheets, his fingers curling into the fabric as though they’re grasping for something tangible, something real.

He closes his eyes, his mind painting vivid images of you. He imagines you lying here instead of him, the scent wrapping around you as naturally as it clings to him now. He imagines how your hair would splay across the pillow, how your breathing would slow as you drifted to sleep. The image is so vivid it almost feels real, but the emptiness beside him quickly shatters the illusion.

The need claws at him, relentless and unyielding. He presses his face deeper into the pillow, inhaling again, the scent triggering that dark, possessive part of him. It soothes him and drives him mad all at once, fueling his obsession.

“I need you,” he whispers into the stillness, his voice raw, barely audible. The words hang in the air, unanswered.

Mattheo lies there for hours, unable to move, unwilling to let go of this fragile, stolen piece of you. The scent is fading now, sinking into the room, becoming part of it, part of him. And though he knows this moment won’t last, he clings to it, desperate to keep this connection alive, no matter how twisted it may be.

- ★、

Meanwhile, you make your way back to your dorm, all you can think about is sinking into your bed and letting the quiet of your private space wash over you. The familiar creak of the stairs under your feet is oddly comforting, a reminder that you’re almost there.

When you reach your door, you pause, hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, an inexplicable unease settles over you, like a faint whisper brushing the back of your mind. You glance around the corridor, but it’s empty—just as it always is this time of day. Shaking off the strange feeling, you twist the handle and step inside.

The room greets you like it always does, with the same quiet stillness you’ve come to cherish. Your desk is cluttered but familiar, your bed slightly unmade, your books and trinkets scattered in the way only you understand. Everything seems… normal.

And yet, something feels off.

You stand there for a moment, your bag still slung over your shoulder, scanning the room without really knowing why. The air feels heavier, thicker somehow, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. You brush the thought aside and step further in, dropping your bag onto the chair by the desk.

The scent of your perfume lingers faintly in the air, but it’s stronger than usual, as if you’d just sprayed it moments ago. You chalk it up to your imagination, or maybe you’d applied a bit too much this morning. Either way, it’s not enough to hold your attention for long.

Still, as you move through the room, that strange unease lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind. You shake your head, trying to laugh it off. “Relax babe… you’re just tired,” you mutter to yourself, the sound of your voice oddly reassuring in the quiet space.

You quickly change into your pijamas sinking onto your bed, letting out a sigh as you get comfortable. But as you lay back, staring up at the ceiling, a strange thought crosses your mind, unbidden and unsettling.

It feels like someone’s been here.

You try to dismiss it, closing your eyes and letting out a slow breath. It’s just the exhaustion talking, you tell yourself. Just your mind playing tricks on you after a long day.

And then—something catches your eye.

Your nightstand. It’s just across the room, simple and familiar, the little lamp on top casting soft shadows across the wood. But now, something feels different about it. The surface seems emptier than it should be.

You blink, leaning forward slightly. Your bottle of perfume—the one you’ve had for months, the expensive one, the one you treat like a small treasure—isn’t there.

The realization hits you in a jolt. You sit up quickly, a cold shiver running down your spine as you stare at the empty spot where the bottle should be. No, you didn’t misplace it. You remember exactly where you left it, right there, beside your lamp, the last thing you’d seen before heading out this morning.

Your mind races, a swirl of disbelief and confusion. Did I move it? No. You’re certain you didn’t.

You get up, your legs feeling heavy as you approach the nightstand, your pulse quickening. You touch the spot where the bottle used to sit, half-expecting to feel the familiar glass beneath your fingers, but there’s nothing. It’s as if it vanished into thin air.

The more you think about it, the more impossible it seems. The perfume isn’t just any bottle—it was a gift, something ridiculously expensive that you’d saved up for months to buy. It’s not the kind of thing you’d lose or forget. And yet, there it is—gone.

A cold lump forms in your throat as the unease from earlier comes flooding back, stronger now, twisting into something darker, more pressing. Your heart beats faster as your gaze flits to the rest of the room. The sense that something is out of place, something you can’t quite put your finger on, tightens around you like a vice.

You stand there, frozen, unsure of what to do. The silence of the room feels suffocating now, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Every part of you wants to believe you’re just imagining things, that it’s all in your head. But the missing perfume—that’s real.

Suddenly, a thought strikes you like a punch to the gut. Did someone take it?

The thought is absurd, impossible, but the longer you stand there, the more real it feels. Someone’s been in your room. Someone’s touched your things. And the creeping feeling that something—someone—is watching you tightens its grip.

You step back, the weight of the room closing in on you. You don’t know who or why, but one thing is clear: this isn’t just a weird feeling anymore. Something’s happening. Something that makes you feel, for the first time, truly unsafe in your own space.

Your eyes flick to the door, but it feels miles away. Every nerve in your body screams at you to do something—to search, to leave, to figure out what’s happening. But you stand there, rooted to the spot, as the unsettling truth sinks in: someone has been here, and it’s not just the perfume they’ve taken.

It’s you. Your privacy. Your space. Your peace. And now, it’s all slipping through your fingers.

#⋆. 𐙚 ˚ yua0ra’s works #slytherin #slytherin boys #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #wizarding world #harry potter #hp fanfic #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo riddle drabble #stalker!matt #stalker!mattheo

464 notes · View notes

lovesincerely · 2 months ago

Text

just a little treat for my lovelies ༻ꨄ༺

₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹

Mattheo knew it was for the better. However, that knowledge wasn't enough to push away the ghosts of the past. He knew you deserved better, so he ran. Without a word, he left.

He chose to do it during the graduation ceremony at hogwarts. You were always a studious student and took all the honor classes so he didn't doubt how long you would be at the ceremony. He knew he had long to pack all those years of memories. Seven years with you, packed in a suitcase the size of his upper body. He had to leave, he kept repeating that to himself, trying to convince himself he was doing you both a favor. He packed up every single item of his belongings, which wasnt alot. He wasn't the type of guy to buy things he wanted despite having the money to do so.

He didn't even leave a note which tore you to pieces. He debated leaving something behind, closure of some kind. Yet he knew better, knowing it would only cause you to want to look for him even more. Walking out of his empty dorm with only a small suitcase, he sighed. He couldn't help himself as he walked past your dorm, so he decided to slip in and look around one last time. He felt his heart shatter as he saw a teddy bear with a muggle graduation robe and hat on. He knew it was for him, you were a gifter, buying gifts for every occasion. Somehow he always used to convince you to take them and keep them for him. He set his bag down and ran his fingers over your pillowcase. He looked around the room before his gaze settled on the polaroids of you both. Sitting by the black lake on a picnic blanket for your birthday. He couldn't help himself, slowly picking it up and slipping it into his pocket. Without even thinking, he gravitated towards your closet. He opened the door, your scent lingering on your clothing pieces. His hand lifted, feeling heavy from the guilt. He slipped your favorite t-shirt off the hanger, lifting it to his nose and taking a deep inhale of your sweet scent. He couldn't get over the fact that after he left, that t-shirt would be the only scent of yours left available to him. He fastly shoved the shirt into his bag. Exhaling deeply, he turned and left.

As he got into the train, settling into the seat you two always sat in. where you two had first met, and now where he left you. As the train slowly started up and got chugging down the tracks he swore he could feel a large part of his soul leaving as he left you behind. He didn't feel lighter as most people did when they left their past behind, he felt heavier. Maybe because you weren't supposed to be his past, but his future.

₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹ ₊ ˚ ⊹

It was only two years later, but every day felt like a burning hell without you. He was laid back in bed, no blanket, no pillow. He didn't think he deserved comfort after leaving you, his ultimate comfort behind. Looking over at the clock, it was four am. More specifically, 4:07am. He couldn't sleep for the life of him, he could feel you. Maybe he was going crazy, but he swore he felt you in bed with him. Tangled up, softly snoring like you used to, without a care in the world. He missed you, he missed you with his whole being, or at least, what was left of him after leaving you. He knew why he left you like he knew the back of his hand, he wasn't good enough for you. He never would be, he could go through years of therapy or years of community service yet he would never be half the man you deserved to grow old with. He just missed you and wished he was a better man. A better man.

#repost me #slytherin #slytherin boys #fanfic #hp #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle #better man #taylor swift #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #drabble #angst #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle thoughts #mattheo riddle blurb #matt riddle #mattheo riddle x y/n

89 notes · View notes

lov3notts-recs · 4 months ago

Text

he’s so cute

Addiction

Mattheo Riddle x femReader

Mattheo Riddle has always prided himself on control. From quitting cigarettes for months to cutting out alcohol, he's mastered every addiction, every craving — except one.

Warnings: light angst with happy ending, themes of control and self-restraint, mentions of smoking, alcohol, fighting, and weed, kinda grumpy x sunshine vibes.

Mattheo Riddle was a man of control.

He quit smoking for three months once — just to prove that he could. The craving gnawed at him, made him irritable, but he endured. He gave up alcohol for a month, letting the parties pass him by without so much as a sip, ignoring the way his fingers twitched for a glass. Sex? A month. He decided it would affect his health if he deprived himself longer. He quit weed for four months, but that was the easiest one — he only smoked when he needed to let go and relax. He hadn’t fought a single person for a month because he had a bet with Enzo. Easy galleons. And the fact that he’d beaten all those twits later — no one cared. The bet had been won. Sugar? Gone for two months. It had been hell, but he was stubborn, and stubborn men didn’t break over something as trivial as a craving.

He liked testing himself, setting limits just to push against them. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t like the people who let their habits control them.

He made and unmade habits like it was nothing, testing himself constantly, pushing his own limits just to see how far he could go.

He knew how to cut things out of his life.

When his father taught him that emotions made you vulnerable and weak, he learned to shut them down. When he realized that people only stayed when it benefited them, he made sure never to need anyone. He conditioned himself to be unaffected — to not care, to not crave, to not need.

But even the strongest man has a weakness.

And Mattheo Riddle’s was you.

He could go months without a cigarette, weeks without firewhiskey, days without sleep — and then there was you.

You were the one thing Mattheo couldn’t control. The one thing he just couldn’t walk away from.

He tried, of course. At first, it seemed simple. He could treat you like he treated everyone else besides his friends — detached, aloof, unaffected. But you didn't seem to notice, waving at him friendly, approaching him, asking about his day. And the more time he spent with you, the more his control slipped.

When you laughed, it rattled something deep inside him, something he hadn’t even known was there. He couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread through him, the way his chest felt light whenever you spoke his name cheerfully. And when you smiled, the kind of smile that made your eyes shine, he found himself smiling back more and more often, even though every part of him screamed that he shouldn’t. His body tingled with anticipation of your ephemeral and natural touch. It didn’t matter if it was a casual nudge, a brush of fingers while passing a book, or a friendly pat on his shoulder. He realized how touch-starved he was, despite being intimate with more than one girl in a week.

Every time he caught himself staring at you, caught himself thinking of you — he’d convince himself it was nothing. A fleeting thought. But when his mind wandered, it always wandered back to you.

And it terrified him. Because, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t control it. And he didn’t know what to do about it.

But then came the first time he saw you smiling at someone else, and something inside him cracked.

It was an innocent thing — just you laughing with your friends across the room — but it hit him like a punch to the chest. His hands clenched into fists, his breath coming faster than he’d like to admit, and for a moment, he almost wanted to walk over there and claim your attention like a needy kid wanting his parents to notice him.

The night after that he didn't sleep much, spending his time thinking and reflecting his behavior and stirring emotions. But then the next morning, you came to him with an adorable furrow on your face and a worried look in your eyes, reaching out to place a hand on his forehead and asking about his well-being.

And he gave in.

If he’d lost this battle against addiction, he might as well make the most of it, he thought.

Mattheo started approaching you first, walking you to your classes. He would throw a witty joke or charming wink while passing by with his friends. He started sharing his thoughts about things and concepts, studying with you in the library on quiet evenings. The smile on his face appeared more often, making your own widen even so slightly. He started to let you in, allowing to take a peek inside his carefully constructed walls.

And he hadn’t regretted it since then, not even once.

"Matt, are you overthinking again?" you asked, running your fingers through his curls in a soothing motion.

He shifted his head on your stomach slightly to look up at you, snapping out of his thoughts. The lazy, warm smile tugged at his lips almost out of habit at the sight of you — so relaxed and soft, lying on his bed. With him. Merlin, he was the luckiest man out there.

He leaned into your hand in his hair, silently asking you not to stop. "Nah, just thinking about how much I adore my girl," he said with a small, cheeky smile, looking up at you.

His words made you chuckle softly, and that widened the smile on his lips, showing the dimple on his left cheek. He loved your laugh, and he loved it even more when he was the reason for it.

Mattheo buried his face into your stomach, inhaling your scent deeply, sinking into your warmth. An involuntary sigh of content escaped his lips.

And, for once, he was perfectly fine with that.

Control was a comforting illusion, something he had clung to his entire life. But this — this chaotic, terrifying, wonderful thing he had with you — was the one addiction he never wanted to give up.

#mattheo riddle #matt riddle #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle fluff #matt riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader

687 notes · View notes

lov3notts · 2 months ago

Note

happy 1k!! 🥳 congrats again amora! you deserve all of this and so much more, can’t wait to see you grow even more 🤍

for cupid’s arrow, can i request mattheo riddle with the prompt, “but i miss you...” “hon’ i just left fifteen minutes ago.”

congrats again bb!!

1k Celebration!!! ;Navigation

couldn’t have done it without your help on my first fic<33 also i have so many versions of your request😭

He had no shame.

None. Zero. It had been—he checked the time—six minutes since you walked out the door, and Mattheo was already lying flat on his bed like a man in mourning. One hand dramatically tossed across his forehead, the other clutching the hoodie you left behind like it was a lifeline.

The silence in his apartment was unbearable.

So he did what any completely rational, emotionally well-adjusted boyfriend would do.

He called you.

You answered with a knowing lilt in your voice. “Hey, babe.”

Mattheo didn’t even hesitate.

“I’m dying.”

There was a pause. Then, your voice came through with a smirk so obvious he could hear it.

“Oh no. Tragic. Should I alert the Ministry?”

“I’m serious,” he mumbled, rolling onto his back dramatically. “You left and now this place is a ghost town. There’s a chill in the air. I think my soul left with you.”

You made a sympathetic noise that was anything but sincere.

“Wow. Must be horrible having a moment to yourself.”

He could hear your footsteps, the breeze in the background. You were still walking. Rude.

“It is” he groaned. “It’s awful. I think the bed’s colder. And my heart? Hollow.”

“You poor thing.”

“I am!” he insisted, tossing an arm over his eyes. “I was just lying here thinking, ‘Wow. If she doesn’t come back, I might never smile again.’”

You hummed thoughtfully. “I dunno. You seemed pretty alive and well when I left. Standing up, fully functional, smirking at me while I walked out the door.”

“That was before the loneliness set in.”

You laughed, cruelly unbothered. “Sounds intense.”

He grinned at the sound, clutching the phone closer like it might pull you through the screen. He dropped the fake suffering for just a second, voice quieter now—sincere in that rare, boyish kind of way you always managed to pull out of him. Then—softer—he said,

“But I miss you.”

And that’s when you really broke. Your smile softened through the phone, and your voice dropped to a teasing drawl.

“Hon’ I left fifteen minutes ago.”

Mattheo blinked at the ceiling, completely unbothered. “Yeah. And I’ve missed you for all fifteen.”

You snorted. “You’re hopeless.”

He grinned. “Hopelessly in love with you.”

“Obviously.”

He paused, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Come back?”

Another pause. Then you sighed. “Be where I left you.”

“I never moved,” he promised, already flopping back on the bed. “Still dying. Better hurry.”

“Mattheo…”

“yes?”

“I miss you too.”

He grinned. “Knew it.”

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

430 notes · View notes

winnie1emon · 8 months ago

Text

✧.* casually thinking about tutor!mattheo...

word count: approx. 590

cw: MDNI, smut, no plot maybe idk im dumb, fingering, praise, public, teasing, overstim, edging (fem receiving)

a/n: quick little drabble/blurb (?? idk what theyre called tbh... someone teach me please) + sorry if this sucks and has spelling mistakes, i’m in class writing this 😵‍💫

"It's not choice B either right..." you huffed frustratedly, turning your head to look at Mattheo sitting beside you in defeat.

"No, but there are just two options left, you got it," Mattheo encouraged, pairing his words of encouragement with a small curl of his fingers that were currently buried into your glossy cunt.

You let out a strangled whine, squeezing your thighs together and attempting to cover up the lewd scene with your skirt as you said with a shaky breath, "I don't know, can we just skip this one?"

"Skip it? You only got 3 more, doll, just choose one, fifty-fifty..." he cooed into your ear. "A or C, hm?"

You dipped your quill into the ink, tentatively circling choice A.

"See, smart girl," he huffed lightly, beginning to pump his fingers slowly in and out of your cunt. You squirmed in your seat, a small moan escaping your lips. You bowed your head as he increased his speed, the low and quiet lewd noises ringing in your ear as they disappeared around the library. You bit your bottom lip, warily looking around the mostly empty library— with the exception of a few stragglers studying almost just like you.

The way his fingers glided with ease, hitting you at the right spot, your legs began to tremble as your mind started to turn fuzzy. “Mattheo… I’m gonna-”

“Not yet,” he cut you off, his fingers slipping out and his hands resting, cupping your cunt.

He had been doing this for over an hour, using a more alternative way to tutor you for your upcoming Transfiguration final.

“Still got two,” he said, pointing at the remaining two multiple choice questions.

You stared at the textbook and you could’ve sworn the words were dancing around. You tried to read the question, but your brain registered nothing as you were left frustrated with Mattheo constantly denying your orgasm.

“It’s that one,” you said, throwing your finger on the textbook.

“No, but nice try,” he cooed. “Just kidding,” he added, lifting your chin up higher to see your finger planted on a diagram and not an answer choice.

You let out a groan of agitation and a mix of desperation as you blinked slowly, your eyes roving over the textbook.

What spell turns an object into stone?

How were you supposed to know?

Taking a gamble you circled A and before you could ask if it was the right answer, he had already told you it was by the way his fingers started to circle around your clit.

The movement made your hips twitch slightly forward, seeking more friction. In fear that he’d stop again, you forced yourself to look at the last question. It seemed out of place, written in with green ink, messily placed unlike the other black words on the page.

You peered at Mattheo incredulously, wide eyed in surprise.

“Answer it. Who do you belong to?”

Given the surroundings and the situation, of course you didn’t want to give in to such an erotic act, but as you felt the sensation of his fingers teasing your entrance, you spoke.

“You.”

You felt the full length of his two fingers pushing past your folds and your brain went blank as it hit the spot you so desperately wanted it to, leaving a mess on his hands once you came.

He hummed in approval, looking at the remnants of your release coating his hand before taking his fingers into his mouth and standing up.

“Same time, Thursday?”

―――――――――ʚ♡ɞ―――――――――

#꒰୨୧◞ works #mattheo riddle #slytherin boys #x reader #mattheo riddle smut #fanfic #mattheo riddle fanfic #hp smut #mattheo riddle x you #smut #slytherin boys smut #harry potter #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle x reader #harry potter smut #matt riddle #mattheo riddle blurb

363 notes · View notes

riddlesrizzler · 4 months ago

Text

The Butterfly Effect

pt.3 of The Girl in the Bumblebee Tights

summary: The most beautiful things come from change. characters: mattheo riddle. hufflepuff! reader. mentions of slytherin boys warnings: NONE BUT GOD THIS MAKES MY HEART ACHE WITH LOVE word count: 1.8k a/n-i’m so glad that you all loved this little series!! it was so fun to write and i truly love whimsical hufflepuff! reader. sunshine x grumpy is one of my favorites along with opposites attract. i believe that this will be my last big part of the story. but i will be open to do little drabbles of them :)

He had always prided himself on being an enigma. Mattheo Riddle was cold, indifferent, and almost cruel at times, he never allowed anyone close enough to see what was behind his mask. But then you came into his life, and somehow, without even trying, you began to unravel him.

At first, it had been simple curiosity. He wanted to know what made you tick. The way you floated through life, seemingly untouched by the world's harsh realities, was a puzzle he couldn't resist. But as time passed, it was no longer about curiosity. It was about you.

You were different.

Your bright eyes that saw the world as if it were filled with magic. Your hands that always seemed to carry some forgotten trinket that, to everyone else, would be inconsequential, but to you, was a talisman of luck and hope. Your carefree spirit was infectious, and even Mattheo, with all his years of keeping his emotions in check, couldn’t help but feel drawn to you.

The more time they spent together, the more he found himself changing.

You had taught him about magical creatures, about the care and wonder that surrounded them. You’d shared stories about Thestrals, the quiet creatures that roamed the Forbidden Forest, showing him the delicate balance of life and death.

In return, he had tried to show you the thrill of Quidditch, the adrenaline of chasing a Quaffle through the air, the beauty in the speed of it all.

Later, Mattheo found himself on the shore of the Black Lake, where the soft murmur of water lapping at the banks mixed with the crisp autumn air. He wasn’t exactly sure how he had ended up there, but somehow, you had wandered into his world like a soft breeze. And now, you were here, sitting on the grass beside him, your fingers idly trailing through the blades of greenery.

There was something almost magnetic about the way you seemed to float through life-like nothing could touch you. It made Mattheo feel like he was seeing the world in a new light. Every moment with you was like a small, magical escape from the cold, harsh reality he had always known.

You were talking about something-maybe creatures, maybe the stars-his mind was distracted as it always was around you. That’s when it happened.

A delicate butterfly fluttered down from the air, landing right in the middle of his messy curls.

Mattheo blinked in surprise, watching the butterfly settle like it had found the perfect place to rest. He instinctively reached up to brush it away, but you were already laughing-soft, melodious, and light-your eyes crinkling with amusement.

“You look ridiculous,” you giggled, pointing at him, a playful glint in your eyes.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling into a reluctant smirk. “Ridiculous, huh? You’d think so.”

But then he caught sight of your expression-your face alight with happiness, something he hadn’t realized he longed for.

For just a second, he felt foolish for being the butt of the joke. Yet, it wasn’t in a bad way. It was... different. It felt like something he had never experienced-being okay with looking ridiculous if it made you smile.

“You should leave it,” you teased. “It’s a sign.”

“A sign?” Mattheo raised an eyebrow, his voice half-amused, half-confused.

You nodded, looking so sincere it almost startled him. “Yeah. butterflies are symbols of change, you know. They represent the change in someone’s soul. It’s about transformation, the evolution of who you are.”

Mattheo’s heart skipped a beat. There was something about the way you spoke, so earnestly, like you truly believed in these small, magical things that others might find silly.

But to you, they were real. Everything around you had meaning, had purpose. Even a butterfly on his head had significance.

“Change, huh?” Mattheo repeated quietly, the word rolling off his tongue as if it were something entirely new. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure of what to do with the feeling creeping into his chest.

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice softening as you gazed out at the lake, watching the water ripple beneath the gray skies. “The thing about change is that it’s inevitable, but it’s also beautiful. You can’t grow without it. You have to change in order to become something more-something better.”

He felt something stir inside him. It was like a quiet warmth, creeping up from the pit of his stomach. For the first time in his life, he considered that maybe... maybe he had been stuck for far too long.

Maybe he hadn’t allowed himself to change because he was too afraid of what that would mean.

And then, he realized: you were the one who had made him feel that way. Your presence, your lightness, your carefree spirit-it had started to loosen the tight grip he had on his heart. Maybe he wasn’t so cold anymore. Maybe, in some small, inexplicable way, he was transforming.

He glanced at you, his gaze softening as he watched the butterfly flutter its wings before flying off into the sky.

For the briefest moment, Mattheo wondered if the butterfly had been a message for him. A message to let go of the walls he had built around himself. Maybe he had already started changing without even realizing it.

And as if reading his mind, you turned to him with a smile, one that made his heart skip a beat. “It’s funny, isn’t it? How something so small, so delicate, can be so powerful?”

He couldn’t help but nod, his throat feeling tight. There was something about the way you spoke, the way you saw the world, that made him feel as if he were seeing it for the first time.

Then, he saw it.

Hanging delicately from your neck was a necklace-a simple gold chain with a tiny butterfly pendant resting just above your collarbone. It was small, almost unnoticeable unless someone was paying close attention.

For the first time, Mattheo realized that you, too, were changing. You were blossoming, evolving, and he wanted to be there with you for every step of it.

“Is that your lucky charm?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You smiled softly and nodded. “It’s a reminder that beauty comes from change. That growth comes from embracing the unknown. It reminds me that I don’t have to stay the same, that I can always become something better, just like the butterfly.”

He was silent for a moment, the weight of your words settling deep in his chest. He wanted to say something, wanted to tell you just how much he was beginning to feel the same way. But instead, he simply reached out, brushing his fingers gently over your hand, grounding himself in the moment. He couldn’t explain it, but being with you made him feel like he belonged-like he was no longer drifting through life, untouched and distant from everything and everyone.

You looked up at him, your eyes soft with understanding, and for the first time, he didn’t feel like he needed to hide any part of himself. You made him feel like it was okay to be vulnerable, to allow things to change, to allow himself to grow.

"And I think…” you paused, smiling softly, “that’s what you’re doing. You’re changing, Mattheo.”

When Mattheo found himself with his friends in the Great Hall, they immediately noticed the shift in him.

“You’ve changed, mate,” Theo remarked with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not the same prick you were at the start of the year.”

Mattheo smirked, though it didn’t hold the usual biting edge. He felt… lighter.

And it didn’t feel wrong.

“I guess I have,” he said simply, glancing across the room to where you had just walked by, looking like a dream in your soft, floral dress.

Draco, ever the skeptic, gave him a hard look. “So, what? You’re really into her, huh?”

Mattheo’s eyes softened as they followed your figure. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now, full of a sincerity none of his friends had ever heard from him before. “But it feels okay.”

Enzo, leaning back in his seat, let out a low whistle. “Alright, mate. You’ve gone soft.”

Mattheo let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You can mock me all you want, but I’m not going back. Not this time.”

His thoughts drifted back to you, and that butterfly that had rested so delicately in his hair.

The next day, he found you in the greenhouse, kneeling down and carefully planting flowers in a bed of rich, earthy soil. You were in your element, and the sight of you-calm, serene, so fully yourself-made his chest tighten.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching you. You hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on your task. The sunlight streaming in through the glass windows bathed you in a golden glow, your hands dirtied from the plants, your face soft with concentration.

And then, without thinking, he moved toward you.

“You’re always here,” he said, his voice quiet, but there was a tenderness in it now.

You looked up, eyes widening with surprise, but there was no hesitation. “I love the greenhouse,” you replied with a smile. “It’s peaceful.”

“I get it,” he said, his voice a little lower than usual. “I feel… peaceful here too.”

You smiled, though there was a spark of curiosity in your gaze.

Mattheo’s throat felt dry as he knelt beside you, his fingers brushing the dirt on the ground. He wasn’t good with words, but he had learned that sometimes, sometimes you have to change in order to grow.

He turned to you, his eyes intense. “Please,” he said, his voice rough. “Be my girlfriend. You’ve changed me in ways I can’t even explain, and I don’t want to grow without you.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and your hands shook as you reached up to cup his face. His eyes were full of something raw, something vulnerable, something you had never expected to see from Mattheo Riddle.

Without a word, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His breath caught, and he kissed you back, gently, carefully, like you were the most fragile thing in the world.

As you pulled away, you noticed the faint remnants of dirt on his cheeks. You laughed softly, wiping it away with your thumb.

But just as the moment seemed to settle, something fluttered past, and both of you looked up. A butterfly, the same kind that had landed in his curls earlier, flitted into the greenhouse and landed delicately on one of the plants beside you.

Mattheo smiled, feeling something inside him shift.

“You’re right,” he whispered, his hand finding yours. “I’m changing. And I think I like who I’m becoming.”

And in that moment, under the soft glow of the greenhouse windows, with the butterfly hovering nearby, He realized that maybe-just maybe-he had finally found his place in the world.

And it was with you.

please let me know if you want to be on the tag list for the future :)

@thaliashifts

#slytherin #slytherin boys #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter #slytherin aesthetic #my works #mattheo riddle #mattheo x reader #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #matheo riddle #mattheo x you #mattheo fluff #mattheo imagine #hufflepuff!reader #hufflepuff #riddlerizzler

441 notes · View notes

lov3notts-recs · 6 months ago

Text

WHY DID IT TAKE ME THIS LONG TO READ THIS BEAUTIFUL STORY???? I AM SO SORRY OMG

His fingers hook over the spine of the book, pulling it down to see your sweet face. "Hey there Ace."

immediately thought of logan from gilmore girls😻

It cut deep to know Mattheo was hurting too, every time he would lie quietly in your arms.

awe;/

He's nested at the far back of the pub close to the bathrooms, but he's no longer alone.

are you serious mattheo

"She's fine. She's with me." Mattheo's voice grabs your attention as he finally appears at the doorway,

didn’t you just leave me outside for some girls ???

"What took you so long?"

He pulls you in closer with his arm, "I just got stopped by some classmates, no big deal. Quit overthinking Ace."

the gaslighting is crazy

"You have a date?" He cuts you off with a little hostility.

yeah and what???

"Whatever. I don't have time for this shit." He pushes past you, leaving you aghast and hurt.

you started it???

Ron snorts, snickering lightly. "What a skitzball," he mutters to Seamus.

i know YOU’RE not talking to me ron

"Fuck off, since when did y/n mingle with the Gryffindorks." Draco's disdainful comment snaps Mattheo's head back as the others identify the reasoning for your absence.

"What did you do?" Theo asks Mattheo bluntly,

yeah tell theo(the true love of my life. love you pookie🫶🏻🫵🏻) what you did

"He doesn't even like you, y/n, he's still hung up on his ex - I don't know why you're wasting time with him anyway, you're not that oblivious, are you?" He snaps, his frustrations growing.

IM SPEECHLESS WHY WOULD HE SAY THIS

"Fine. I can see I'm not wanted."

BABE YOU STARTED THIS & NOW YOUR PLAYING VICTIM???

he blacks out with the last remaining thought on his mind. You had been the one to ask Dean.

THE CLIFFHANGER???? OMGGGG

so glad part 2 is out 🙂 but i will need a few moments to recover after that, im still mad

your writing is amazing as always🫶🏻🫶🏻, again how did it take me this long to read this story ???

She will be loved

Sum: Reader is hopelessly and madly in love with her best friend Mattheo while constantly having her heart broken living in the shadows of other girls. Unaware that he’s hiding a secret and unable to express the truth about how he feels for her too. Wc: 8.7 k

Warn: This is part one, as it was so long, I decided to break it up. angst, (V angsty I guess), fluffy, use of Ace nickname, one mention of blood, bit of y/n in there, swearing - you will probably be unhappy with Mattheo in this part. Eli, Everly and the eloquent editorial are all made up by me.

A/n: inspired by the song she will be loved for my delayed milestone!!! (apologises for those who have been here since april ilysm!!) I also listened to butterflies which I think encapsulates their relationship more! dividers from here & here 🩵

You watch with eyes peering over the book, keeping yourself conspicuous while your heart clenching once again at the way he talks to her. The arrogant smirk, the subtle touches and sultry words that leave his sweet lips, and she’s caught hooked as he digs his fangs into another victim. Bagging another venture for some late night plans, watching the way his hands squeeze her hip in farewell before he turns and his eyes shift their gaze.

Dark and brooding, his eyes scan through the crowds of students like an eagle targeting its prey before they relax set on you. As he makes his way ambling towards, his eyes soften, his lips curving upwards, at the crouched position you sat. You avert your gaze downwards to the words you’ve continuously reread appearing busy on his arrival.

His fingers hook over the spine of the book, pulling it down to see your sweet face. “Hey there Ace.”

With nowhere to hide, you drop the novel and grin up at him. All feelings of hurt wash away as you greet your best friend. “Hi Matty.” His lips curl scoffing at the nickname, with an over dramatic eye roll, and he plants himself beside you with exhaust, leaning back into the bench seat.

“You know I hate that damn nickname. It’s not a good representation of me. You’re going to scare off my prized possessions with the softness.” His lips mumble out, pursuing a cigarette between them, his hands covering the end to light it.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at his careless habit, “and you know I hate when you smoke. Can’t win every battle.” You ignore his comment about the girls he likes to collect as trophies. It’s easier if you pretend your feelings for him don’t exist.

His eyes light up in amusement at the remark, “Touché little Acey.” Pulling back the cigarette, he playfully blows his next exhale in your face, making you fan it with your book. A deep chuckle cascades out of him smooth like honey, and you swoon internally as it vibrates from his body to yours.

His eyes stare off into the distance, thinking for a moment, and you take the time to study his features. Something you often did, unable to help yourself from admiring the boy you loved. He was gorgeous. But of course he knew that, and so did every other girl in school.

Sometimes you wonder how life would be if you had never stumbled upon the then frightened boy hidden out in the wooden dockyards. If the two of you had never bonded so closely, then maybe you would have had a chance with him, too.

Despite sharing similar trauma, one of the mainframes of your relationship, you still felt he was holding back. Not that he couldn’t trust you, but someone who has gone without love for so long, struggled with giving it and even harder to receive it without any doubt.

It brought him comfort knowing you would always be there for him, always when he was in trouble, a helping hand, a guiding light. At times, he felt like you were the only one he could go to.

For you, it was a curse and a blessing. You loved him truly as a friend always. But something lay deep beneath those friendly feelings, a growing sensation that burned in your heart.

It cut deep to know Mattheo was hurting too, every time he would lie quietly in your arms. A homely embrace that often was the only way he could fall asleep, the treacherous nightmares finally blurring away into nothing but distant dust particles. He’d never been fully able to express the gratitude he held for you being in his life, in how you made him feel seen like he finally was someone of importance and not for his lineage.

Someone who mattered and deserved to be loved. Even if he continued to suffer in denial over his conflicting thoughts about you as more than a friend, that kind of emotion never came easy for him to express. He’d freeze up as if Medusa herself had flashed her eyes, turning him instantly to stone. His palms clammed up, heart slowed and in the end he’d brush it off with a joke and bury those ambivalent feelings.

But the way he felt for you was nothing like anything he’d ever experienced for anyone. You were kind and compassionate, with a heart of pure gold; the complete opposite of him. As far as he believed. He cared for you like you were kin, a treasured item with the utmost value, and it was his duty to protect. It was the only way he knew how to articulate those weakened feelings, soft thoughts of vulnerability taught to hinder.

So he acted like a dragon, almost guarding you fiercely, and sometimes a little cold even to you by being overprotective. His loyalty and possessive nature grew stronger over your years at Hogwarts. The fear of destruction lingering behind every action, spiking his anxiety controling him like a puppet on a string, the dread of losing you dangling dangerously.

If something were to happen and he was the one to watch your bright flame flicker and extinguish because of the chaotic whirlwind that is his life, he’d never forgive himself. It didn’t matter anyway, he had all but virtually convinced himself that you felt nothing for him but brotherly love. So he kept you at a distance, not allowing anything to fester outside of platonic.

His eyes dark and contemplative glimpse down the corridor, admiring the newest gaggle of girls who flocked, his hair moving with the calm breeze that floats through the concrete archways. Students bustle around between the transfiguration courtyard, moving with enthusiasm for what the weekend brings as classes wrap up for the day. You can't tear your eyes off how he checks them out despite already scoring a date for later. Your jealousy is so potent it's a good thing he can’t smell it.

You knew he was wounded, seeking enrichment and attention through women. A way to fill his emptiness from the absence of love he sought. It stung he’d never considered you an option, someone willing to open his doors, to melt the hardened rock that caged his heart, to patch it up with a warmness he deserved. But maybe it was your fault for always being available, too in reach, desperate for any time he threw your way. Mattheo loved the chase and if he was a dog, you were about as exciting as a flobberworm.

He was a boy with a broken smile, and to most it seemed to only stretch wider when you were near. You felt it too, feeling like the two of you shared something special, but nothing ever changed, nothing more ever came. And so you were stuck with just watching from afar as he broke your heart, shattering it into tiny grains of sand slipping through your fingers into an hourglass. That turned over and over at each new glimpse of hope, an endless time loop that had you feeling useless.

“I saw you got partnered in potions with that Badger boy. How’s that going?” His voice slices through your thoughts, redirecting your mind to the present, and you blink away the tattered heartbreak. His eyes are now observing you, lips sucking in the nicotine he badly craves, before his head falls to flick the butt against the seat.

You don’t catch his own undertone of jealousy laced in his curiosity, for it wasn’t odd of Mattheo to pay attention to how guys acted around you. You were, after all, someone significant to him. “Oh Eli? yeah, he’s fine. We’ve got plans to study in the library this weekend.”

“You can’t. We have plans.” He rebuttals hastily, his voice low with a hint of seriousness that means don’t push him. His eyes study your reaction, letting out a drag before he continues, “Come on, I think it’s time I owe you that trip to Hosgmeade together. I know how badly you want to go.” He raises a brow, flashing you a boyish grin, his seriousness simmering with hopes of convicing.

The suddeness in which he jumps at your long ago suggestion, one you’ve been pestering him about for weeks. The one always met with a shrug and a sheepish sorry-excuse decline that he has other things planned. A small frown forms in confusion, till you toss the idea over and the mere idea that he’s finally free to go with you overturns the doubt and you mirror his smile, excited and giddy.

The idea now blooming in your chest of spending a whole weekend with Mattheo. His smile widens at the fact he knows you so well, and he gets you out of your plans. “Okay, yeah, I’m sure Eli won’t mind waiting. We were getting ahead of ourselves, anyway.”

The day spent in Hogsemade went fast, a wonderful speed drive of hyper adrenaline that radiated deep in your chest. It was a dream, everything you’d imagine a date with Mattheo would be like. Which was a problem, because this most definitely wasn’t a date.

Mattheo was a notorious charmer. For someone who grew up with unusual and pratically zero social contact, he was surprisingly quick on his feet. He knew the way to sweep and woo a girl with the subtlety of a chameleon, and the ability to match anyone's aura as easily as alternating his colours.

His courteous and considerate nature was at large all day, making sure your basket was full of every Honeyduke flavoured candy, to reaching for magical assortments on the highest shelf in Zonkos. All little thoughtful things that had made you woozy with delusion and a pounding heart that rang out like smashing symbols repeatedly.

Mattheo, though he might never admit it, was always subtly paying attention to you. You were his best friend, and he wanted to keep you near, concealing his longing gazes with reasons of just being defensive. A part of him felt responsible to repay you in the best way he knew how, if not with words of gratitude - avoiding ripping down the robust fortress that protected his vulnerability - he’d be there in other ways that held less hardship on him.

When he excuses himself to the bathroom in the three broomsticks, you decide best to wait outside the inn for him. Huddling near the entrance underneath the roof that overhangs, the last stop of your outing before the two of you head back up to the castle as the afternoon sun sets. The minutes tick by slowly, making you apprehensive and irked, wondering what’s taking him so long. Peering back through the dusty windows, you find the cause of his delay.

He’s nested at the far back of the pub close to the bathrooms, but he’s no longer alone. Swarmed by a couple of girls stalling his exertion of returning to you, though he’s chatting away to them happily as if he has all the time in the world. The usual bitter feelings of neglect and redundancy rise, stirring the once settled butterbeer, now threatening to creep back up and paint the windows.

Turning around with a heavy heart, you lean back on the cool panels, taking a shaky breath to control the hurt you feel. It's not the first time he’s done it, throwing you aside temporarily, replacing you with something more shiny and alluring to him. You’re almost certain he doesn’t do it purposefully, he just gets swept up in having positive attention on him, and well with girls, it's always favourable.

As time turns, those grains of sands sift further through the gap in the hourglass, questioning with logic why you're not just barging in and yanking him out by the ear. The bell goes signalling the exit of customers, and you turn in hope only to find yourself planted in the middle of a loud, deafening talkative group of Gryffindor boys. Alarmed, you step back, attempting to save yourself from being flattened by the load of them as they mingle past you.

Giving polite smiles to the passing lads, you wait patiently, till there's only left still holding the door in offering. He’s easily recognizable with his towering height and his signature kind smile, one that has you feeling as if a thousand rays of sunlight were glowing from deep inside your body, leaving you feeling warm and cozy.

Dean widens his grin, finding yours utterly gorgeous. “Going in right?”

Nodding absentmindedly, you still don't move, a little frozen by his dazzling smile. “Uh huh.”

He tilts his head, studying curiously, his expression shifting into an amused smirk. “You alright y/n?”

“She’s fine. She’s with me.” Mattheo’s voice grabs your attention as he finally appears at the doorway, coldly shoving past Dean, his eyes narrowing into unpleasant slits meeting the Gryffindor's eye. A silent warning that he’s walking a thin line into deathly territory talking to you when he’s present.

He falls back in his place, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively, and steers you away from the pub without another word to Dean. Looking back, you give a brief goodbye smile to Dean before your undivided attention returns to Mattheo.

“What did he want?” He grumbles, walking with a quicken pace much faster than your legs can keep up with.

“Nothing. He was just leaving the pub too.” Mattheo’s eyes are distant, flickering back between the cobblestones and the castle emerging in the distance.

“What took you so long?” You push for a truthful answer, watching his reaction carefully.

He shoots you a glare, though he can’t help the boyish smirk that shines through. Despite knowing he had made you wait longer than needed, he’ll bend the truth to avoid admitting a fault.

He pulls you in closer with his arm, “I just got stopped by some classmates, no big deal. Quit overthinking Ace.” He ruffles your hair with childlike mannerisms and your nose scrunches, feeling babied, the constant reminder that he sees you as nothing more than a sister.

Contrarily, Mattheo’s mind still lingers on seeing your dazed look radiating from the simple act of kindness Dean had shown you. Defensively, he assured himself that it's probably nothing; you were just being your friendly self.

He swallows, the bitter taste rising, promising himself he wouldn’t let you out of his grasp. You were precious to him. He wouldn’t allow anyone unworthy to take up a moment of your time, and a lousy shithead, Gryffindor, definitely didn't tick the box.

The next few weeks pass in a blur, the seriousness of the potions assignment weighing down on you and Eli. The two of you had worked together seamlessly, coordinating portions of the workload evenly to one another and sharing ideas and discussions together to get it done efficiently.

In the time since working on the Antidote for Veritaserum, Eli and you had grown closer together, strictly platonic. A routine was beginning, finding yourself commonly buried in the library working alongside one another more often than not with an intellectual mutualism.

It was nice to find a common interest with someone outside of Mattheo, as he wasn’t the biggest fan of studying. His interest in it was minimal. Being naturally smart, he found the absence of it didn’t alter his grades and more so a waste of time. Not to mention he had a multitude of other talents that he believed were superior to the education of most Hogwarts classes.

Mattheo wasn’t entirely fond of your new friendship with the puff, stuck in a loop of eye rolls and grumbles when you would escape away from him to the library. Even though he had concluded that Eli was an unworthy and pitiable threat, the idea of your attention suddenly being split from him nagged at the back of his head.

Call him selfish, but with the long history and close bond the two of you shared, he had always felt you were his. His friend, his study partner, his number one supporter at quidditch games, his go to for advice, his favourite person to pester lovingly, to sneak up on or make you laugh so hard tears would stream down your adorable face. He might have not fully comprehended his feelings, continuing to act as though you were nothing more than a friend. But he was still loyal to that possessive idea, and he didn’t want anyone else taking his treasure away.

He had managed so far to brush off his imaginary jealousy for your attention, not wanting to appear clingy or needy for it. Two traits he despises with deep, pure hatred. Never wishing to be associated with the dread of appearing weak or desperate, haunted by his past punishment.

Especially for something so pathetic as this. They had no place in his heart.

His line of vulnerability was already thin enough, and you barely just crossed it being his best friend. But that was when he had the safety net of darkness, all the lights off where he could release a heavy sigh from his chest and into your embrace. In the middle of the night, where it was silent and the only noises were the colliding beats of your hearts and mingled breaths, a world for just the two of you.

Or the occasional times when he’s too drunk to coherently fulfill his plans of hooking up with someone. He’ll find himself outside your dorm as if the hallway is lit with a thousand glowing signs guiding him. The intensity blares his vision, and he’d stumble with his hand lifting to block them. They shine with hope and all things good as he makes his way into your room. Calling your name into the dark, a voice filled with contentment arrived at the epitome of a home.

“Matty?” Bedsheets ruffle and a soft glow illuminates the room at the switch of your lamp, which he profoundly protests at.

“Noooo, turn the light off.” He shields his eyes, still feeling the blur from his invisible imagery, and flops down on your bed. You groan at the pressured weight of him half collapsing on top of you and the vivid stink of his alcohol infused breath, his hands coming to constrict around you in a tight squeeze. “Ace! Turn the light off.”

Grumbling with irritation, you flick the lamp off and sigh heavily under the weight, but when he mumbles a slur of incoherent words to you, the anger melts away. Bringing the familiar soothing hand to his head, your fingers rack through his curls and he sighs peacefully.

“S‘good to me, Ace.” He pushes himself up further into the bosoms of your chest, his arm dangling heavily over your shoulder and his own fingers tickle the nape of your neck. “Don’t know what I'd do without you.”

His words cause that familiar churn in your heart, even with the understanding of where his words pull from, you can’t help but ache pining for more. As usual, you say nothing to reflect the desperate truth and continue to be only a good friend for him. Comforting him as he spills drunk, vulnerable babbles one after another till he succumbs to the sleep he so severely needs.

And when the morning light shines and wakes him from his slumber, he’d give you the smallest of an indebted smile, that broken smile begging to be loved - a boy clinging to the one radiant thing in his life, completely convinced he’s reached the peak fulfilment of love confined to never earn it romantically before he’s back to the overconfident composed boy with a secret so big he might break if it spills.

Dean, like Mattheo, was stuck on the interaction, daydreaming about the small, fond moment he shared with you. How your smile had warmed your face with a radiance unlike any other he’d seen before and while he knew who you were, he wanted to further that acquaintance. Perhaps friends, though Dean wished for better luck than that.

When he had heard through the grapevine that Eli, his closest Hufflepuff friend - for the mere bonding over the muggle football club, West Ham - had grown and started a routine studying session with you twice a week. He practically leaps at the chance and the boy to let him tag along, with N.E.W.T.S drawing nearer he found himself cumulative by stress and wanting to buckle down.

“Eli! El- wait up.” Surprisingly, the measly boy had a speed like a roadrunner, zipping his way along the hallways up the grand staircase, causing Dean’s larger body to mutter a substantial amount of ‘excuse me’ before he catches up grasping the puff's shoulder. “Bloody hell, you’re fast.”

“Oh hey Dean, where’d you come from?” Eli turns, smiling once he recognizes his friend.

“Just got out of DADA with the Slytherins, anyway I wanted to ask if I could join your next study session. Seamus is snoring a lot and talkin' in his sleep. It's driving me mental mate. I’m so behind on my workload.” Dean huffs out his worries, hoping it seals the deal.

Eli's smile just widens, nodding, “Course! The more the merrier, I'm sure y/n won’t mind. It's just the two of us, anyway, so there's plenty of room on the table!”

Dean grins, pleased, “Cheers, mate.” He presses a bit for further info on you. “So, what’s she like? y/n I mean.” He leans against the banister as the stairwell churns, moving upwards.

“Nice, very nice. She’s super smart too, wouldn’t be able to cover half the material without her…” Eli watches Dean’s expression, noticing the highly engrossed look, and raises a brow with a small laugh. “Is this some sort of set up?”

“W-hat-what? No course not. I need help, really.” Dean smiles widely, trying to appear less suspicious, though he’s not lying. Getting to spend time with you is just a bonus. A very nice bonus.

The library is packed with students, squeezed into every nook and crevice, stressed for the upcoming last few weeks before exams. The table you and Eli accommodated no longer resembled one of dignity—scattered with papers, books, quills laid out among the extra assortments of snacks and water.

“So still cool if my mate joins us today? Seamus is driving him mental! He told me his accent has thickened stronger and he can barely understand him.”

Shaking your head in a no, you laugh at the idea of Seamus Flingans Irish accent becoming more incoherent with how you already struggled to make out what the poor boy was saying. The absence of your usual sleeping routine alters your ability to make the connection of who Seamus’s friend was.

He’s hard to miss when he comes bounding round the towering shelves that lined the interior of the library, with a clear height on himself. His head topples over the other students, beelining towards the two of you. That same contagious smile graces his face, lighting the browns of his eyes to warm ambers and he offers a friendly wave.

“Blimey! The library is bloodyfull today. I’ve never seen so many students here at once.” His voice is smooth and lulling, filled with an enthusiastic kick that zaps the sleep right out of your body.

You sit leaning your head in your palm, nodding in agreement at his observation. “Yeah, cram studying, I guess.”

He grins, opening his books, and takes the moment to glance appreciatively at you. “Nice to see you again, y/n.”

A warm glow of pink flashes under your skin and you nod, “Yeah, you too, Dean.”

Eli watches, noticing the small flustering effect the two of you seem to have on one another, giving Dean an eye, who shoots him one back, telling him to keep it cool. Dean rubs the back of his neck, trying not to gaze too long at you. He hadn’t been into another girl since Ginny Weasely had dumped him for Potter, leaving him gutted and shocked. So spending time slowly easing in with you felt nice compared to the drama of endless fighting he’d had endured with his ex.

The longer the two of you work alongside one over the weeks of sessions, Dean can’t help himself crushing a little deeper on you. The way you talk about your passions with so much enthusiasm, his own face can't help but match your ecstatic smile. He finds you listen well, and he gets to match his own excitement about quidditch and football. The two of you often get distracted chatting about your interests, with Eli having to rein your focus back in.

His warm brown eyes have a habit of igniting the deepest red upon your cheeks and your hands suddenly can’t stop playing with your hair. It feels odd and completely different to how you feel with Mattheo. You find you can’t take your eyes off of him wanting to be the one to see that pearly smile and hear his deep chuckle.

The feeling is refreshing and his attention feels reciprocated, which only makes you glow brighter. For every time you glance at him, he’s already staring back with a slight twinkle, like he finds amusement in your shyness.

Though there’s a part of you that aches with betrayal, with disloyalty, like none other than Mattheo has thrown a cold bucket of water at you. The conflicting rising affections for Dean begin to sprout vines along the already fortified stone wall Mattheo has set inside your heart.

If only you could merge the traits of both boys to make the perfect specimen. You’d take Mattheo’s charm, those moments of compassion he saves for you and the ability to make you laugh even on your darkest days. Added with Dean's patience, kind nature and positive outlook on life and Voilà, you’d never have to deal with these frustrating thoughts again, which have made your head throb.

You decide its best to keep the feelings at bay, under observation and stick to only friendly interactions with Dean outside of sessions. A kind wave in the halls, or a smile over breakfast at the far away tables. It’s not like you want to unravel a new crush to blossom, you just want Mattheo that’s always been true.

But you know you won’t be able to contain the feeling for long. The desperate yearning for attention, for something real and that’s only yours.

The latest bulletin publication in Hogwarts’s eloquent editorial, engrossed the topic of witnesses spotting the popular band Weird Sisters and their crew arriving down in Hogsmeade, sparking school wide chatter. For many, the band hadn’t been seen since the Yule Ball, and their next gig performing this weekend for eighteen plus only made it even more exclusive.

Everywhere you walked the whispers about the wicked gig breezed whispering in your ears, between classes, to the common room and down to the great hall. Where you sat pressed up to Mattheo, the news making this evening's dinner even more packed. He shoots you an amused grin, watching how you struggle to eat your dinner without your elbows flying up.

He lowers the left one, near missing his jaw, and chuckles, “Fuckin hell Ace, trying to finally land a blow to me, huh.”

Embarrassed, you tuck your arms inwards, instantly giving a light apology, thinking up new tactics for how to cut your steak. His laugh only deepens, and he reaches over grabbing the cutlery, “Let me you damn klutz.” You watch his hands grip the silverware, his veins popping prominently under the flex of his movements.

It's hard not to daydream whenever he’s sweet and considerate like this, imagining a life with him away from all the trauma. The two of you, a life of your own, him cutting you dinner and you as his loveable wife. But it’s really watching his hands go to work that makes your mind wander a little more down the lane to the bedroom.

“Want me to feed you too, Ace.” His teasing question interrupts your hopeless fantasy, causing a flush to break rising your neck, and you laugh rolling your eyes at his playful antics. He grins, matching you, glad to know you can always take a joke from him. He puts the cutlery down, his eyes twinkling with lively energy, the spark that makes him feel like himself.

“Just checking, ya know, cause you looked like you were drooling.” An adorable smirk graces his face, watching for your reaction.

Another wave of heat adorns your cheeks and you have to thank Merlin that there are candles in the hall concealing your clear flustering. “Shut up, you sod.”

Reaching over to steal a potato from his plate, you pop it in your mouth and scrunch your nose at him in displeasure. “You little thief. Where are your manners, Ace? And no ‘thank you’ either.” His face feigns disapproval, arching a brow like a disappointed father. His once charming eyes stare down with an intensity that halts your breath.

As subtle as you can you bite your lip and frantically search your mind that's currently occupied in a foggy haze under your aroused state. A multitude of inappropriate names and answers filter to the forefront of your brain, like a slideshow that practically screams ‘You’re horny for your best friend!'

When the words finally find you, you thank Merlin, again, for the rational part of your brain and utters a sarcastic response. “Sorrrry your highness, thank you for your cutlery knight ship.”

He reacts with an eye roll of his own, stealing a potato of yours back, his full cheeks bearing his own cheeky grin. Watching you laugh, he questions the habit of having noted the brief second your teeth had sunk into your lips, something you only did when nervous or in thought. A habit he undeniably loves, only wishing it was his lips you were so sensually nipping.

“You giving me attitude now, little brat?.” He grabs your head into a tight headlock, rustling his knuckle into the crown of your hair, envisioning putting you in your place in an alternative method.

Your laughs echo around the large hall and you swat at him, shoving a hand up into his face, making him groan in protest. “Watch those grubby fingers! Gonna poke my eye out.”

“Well, stop messing up my hair!” The constant back and forth of your argumentative banter continues until dessert appears and you make a truce for the tradition of sharing a banana split.

“So.. you heard about the gig?” You ask, easing into the next conversation, one you’ve been contemplating since this morning. Heading down to the village on a Saturday night is customary to have a date, especially for an event such as this.

Mattheo takes another spoonful of his ice cream, humming in acknowledgement at the topic. “Yeah, it should be entertaining. Kind of hoping to use it as an excuse to finally get that stuck-up bitch Everly, to at least let me get to second base. No offense.. to women.” He adds.

You should be ticked off about the comment, but you’re completely transfixed on the way your heart has fallen out of your chest. It's laying right there on the ground, a knife shoved in the centre and then it pops like a balloon and the remaining sand runs out of it. Biting back the tears, you give a small nod as he meets your eye, watching as he goes about like nothing has happened, offering you the last bite.

Mattheo raises a brow, offering a kind smile, though he’s watching the way you seem as usual indifferent about his forward encounters. The casual standby and unbothered appearance tightens his chest knowing you don’t care what he does with girls. It breaks him never getting a real reaction, and only fuels his conclusions regarding you only seeing him platonically.

It pains him to utter the next few words, “But that doesn’t mean you can’t tag along, of course. You know I'd never ditch my number one girl.”

Number one girl is right, sitting in your rightful place on top of the podium of his heart. And yet he can never give you the medal just for being here. In his presence, he can never tell you how he truly feels. But it's the next words he hears that cause him critical heart palpitations.

You shake your head, declining his offer to friend zone you, refusing to be the awkward tag along while he gets his dick wet. Thus you lie. “No, it’s alright. I just wanted to ask in case you didn’t. I actually have one-”

“You have a date?” He cuts you off with a little hostility.

The sharpness of his interrogation takes you back, shutting your mouth, eyes fixed on how his one's narrow skeptically. Your brows furrow together with offense. Does he not think you could get a date? Though it's true you don’t have one, he doesn’t know that, so you lie again. “Yes.”

“Who?” The one word spits bluntly.

A loud scoff of disbelief falls from your lips at his audacity to not ask, but demand an answer. Rolling your eyes, you look out around at the other houses, buying yourself time to think of a partner. You spot Dean who meets your gaze and offers a friendly wave.

Mattheo observes, his eyes darkened and fixed on where you look. No fucking way. He looks between you and back to Dean, feeling an upchuck of jealousy gurgle in his stomach. The clocks churn, working overtime to filter through his memories. The same dazed smile you cast to him in Hogsmeade reflects on your expression as you wave back.

“Him?! Dean Thomas asked you?”

How could he not have seen this? All this time he’d been dismissing the notion that he had nothing to worry about, and then it clicks like the last piece of the puzzle. Wherever Eli was, Dean was, too. Every trip to the library he had blown off as just another geek session with your Puffle friend, that slick son of a bitch got you in effect alone. The only place Mattheo wouldn’t dare go. His fists clench, shake with a raging adrenaline and he eyes you hard, waiting for a good reason for this illogical decision.

Shit. Catching Mattheo’s expression from the corner of your eye, your muscles tense, afraid to face him full on. His tone laced with accusation as if you’ve committed treason, which in his eyes it's far worse than that.

But seeing how ticked he is, and the lingering thought that maybe, just maybe, he’s jealous drives you to lie again. “Yes, he did.”

When you meet his eye finally, they’re clouded with a dark, fiery intensity, not detecting any hesitation in your answer. He’s up instantly and you grab his arm to tempt him back down. “Mattheo sit down-“

“Need to have a word with that fucking lowlife. What was he thinking asking you?!”

You. The way he spits the word with animosity causes a deep frown to appear. Was he really that disturbed for you to have a date? Knowing it’s most likely from his short circuit brain reacting with brute protectiveness doesn’t exactly ease your thoughts. What made you so unloveable for you to be forbidden to spend an evening with someone outside of Mattheo? While you felt regret for falsely informing him, the aggravation of his skepticism bruises your heart more and pushes you to defend yourself.

Pulling on his arm harder, you rebuttal with strength, almost sneering the words out of ache. “I can go to a gig with whoever I want. Not sure why you care so much if you have your own date.”

His jaw clenches with a stubbornness not willing to explain his reasonings, sensing the growing tension brewing between you two. He huffs agitated, “That’s besides the point-”

“-I don’t need protection. You don’t need to baby me.”

He can see that you’re not allowing room for argumentation, his eyes tinting with dark coldness swallowing his bitterness. He’s not used to this kind of hostility from you, and while he feels a wave of pride, he can’t wrap his head around you getting angry at him over the sake of a Gryffindor.

"Whatever. I don’t have time for this shit.” He pushes past you, leaving you aghast and hurt.

“Matt-” His name dies on your tongue, watching him retreat without any remorse. You release a deep sigh, forcing down the part of you that reeks of guilt, ceasing the tidal wave of pity urging to wash ashore.

The newfound spite irks, refusing him to control your social interactions and you pick yourself up, marching with determination over to the Gryffindor table. “Hey Dean. Are you going to the gig? Because I was wondering if you wanted to, uh—gowithme?” The adrenaline spits out in a hurried ramble, standing behind the sprightly boy.

Ron snorts, snickering lightly. “What a skitzball,” he mutters to Seamus.

Dean, who had only just turned at your arrival, catches the half rushed question and grins. “Are you asking me to the gig? Like on a date?”

You nod. His smile brightens. “Sure sounds fun!”

You blink, surprised. “Really?” His answer is so straightforward. There’s no teasing or joking, a stark difference from how Mattheo interacts with you.

He laughs nodding, “Yeah really, can’t wait!”

You grin, biting your lip excitedly, “Okay cool, see you then!” Leaving the hall with a light spring in your step, your mood instantly lifted at having a date for the first time.

The following weekend, students of age make their way down to the village crowding around the entrance to Hogs Head, the hosts of this evening. The interior, normally consisting of minimal effort, had surprisingly transformed, outdoing itself for the performance with dark black cloth hanging to encapsulate the atmosphere of a muggle venue. The ceiling is enchanted with glistening disco lights twinkling and streams of smoke that surround the main platform the band will perform on.

Dean grins, offering his arm chivalry out to you, liking the idea of you entering the venue as one. He's chuffed, and a little surprised that you had been the one to initiate, asking him to be your date.

Dean’s fondness for you had continued to bloom, his trips to the library becoming more frequent, happily using every opportunity to get more acquainted. It seemed to be the only time you weren't attached at the hip to Mattheo, and Dean, though not entirely scared of Riddle, didn't want to end up on his shit side.

“Woah, the pub looks wicked, doesn’t it?” He speaks down to you, his voice attempting to be on the softer side still booms with elation.

Laughing sweetly, you nod in agreement, admiring the pub as it fills, people already gathering towards the stage. Dean moves inwards, his arm gently pressing to your back to stop the two of you getting separated.

“Yeah, I’m excited!” Responding with positive optimism for a good night, though you can't help searching around for someone in particular.

Already aware of his date, there's no room for unwanted assumptions to creep in. It's all laid on the table. He’s easily noticeable, entering among his other Slytherin friends and their obnoxious energy suffocating anyone in a one step radiance. He walks with Everly confidently hanging off his arm, looking like a sparkly prized charm that, you know, means his eyes won't be anywhere but on her.

The desperation slithers up your throat, constricting your breath. Thankfully, Dean’s not paying attention caught in his own zone. For when Mattheo scans the floor and his eyes lock on yours, there's no force strong enough to lure your attention from him.

He's as attractive as ever, dressed in all black. His curls look decent for once, coiled neatly, which might have made you swoon, but you can't help question if she did it for him. The bitterness drenches your tongue with the disturbing truth that he’ll always pick someone else over you.

Your heart sinks further, drowning in the waves of pain and ultimately it’s the part of you with any dignity left that turns your focus back to Dean. Mattheo watches how Dean waves over his other mates, his smile widening for a moment at Ginny, and he frowns as you are forced to blend in with his rivals. He rubs his temple, a throbbing headache banging as he fights the battle, evading the pressure rising of hurt and jealousy threatening to breach the surface.

“Fuck off, since when did y/n mingle with the Gryffindorks.” Draco’s disdainful comment snaps Mattheo’s head back as the others identify the reasoning for your absence.

“What did you do?” Theo asks Mattheo bluntly, the crowd roaring, welcoming the band strolling onto the stage.

Mattheo scowls with bitter irritation, snapping louder over the noise. “I didn't do shit. She did that all on her own.”

Theo observes perplexing Mattheo’s response, noting the nonstop chatter you’re spewing to Dean as the two of you move closer to the stage. He leans down to point out whispering, “I doubt it. She hasn’t even waved at you once.”

“Well, maybe she’s too busy fawning over dickhead Dean to give a shit about the rest of us.” Mattheo grits, defensively grouping everyone in to share the fault of his wrongdoings on why you hadn’t said hi.

“I need a fucking drink.” He mutters, his high hopes of smashing dissolving no longer interested in using Everly as a distraction. What he really needed was you, a nice tall glass to satisfy his thirsting desire. His eyes linger on you for another moment. You look nice. Who’s he kidding?

You look gorgeous. It’s such a simple outfit and yet it suits your figure so well. He doesn’t know the last time he saw you so dressed up, definitely never for himself like that.

His eyes flicker back to his date and he can’t help but compare the two of you. There's an energy about you tonight he rarely sees. You’re holding yourself with tallness, an appearance that makes you even more attractive. You look happy and confident and his eyes can’t help but scan your exposed legs. That skirt is definitely shorter than your uniform.

He always knew his feelings would resurface, couldn’t stay down forever despite how hard he fought them. However, the intense jealousy and pain was something he thought he could escape. Having kept it at bay for so long, why was it now that his mind weakened, allowing the sweet essence of you to slip through?

He wanted to run to your side and embrace you, to shove Dean to the ground with one swing of his fist, for even daring to look. He wanted to stand beside you now as the group moved to the stage and scream the lyrics with you in each other's faces. He wanted to have your smile directed at him and be the one to spin you, listening to your infectious laugh meant for only him.

But of course he’d been afraid and pushed you again and even as he ponders and dreams of the possibilities of what ifs, he can’t deny how happy you look beside Dean. Smiling brightly up at the git, he knows he’s being selfish and greedy. He wants to fight for you, to make things right, to tell you how much you mean to him.

He leaves you be for the first few songs, eyes fixated on you only, before he spots Dean excuse himself to the bathroom, and in a flash he’s doing the same ditching his date. He walks casually so as to not draw suspicion, keeping a distance between Dean and himself.

The bathrooms down the corridor in the pub are dark and dingy and mostly empty as everyone’s still listening to the band. He spots Dean stalking past him down a few urine stands before he takes a wiz himself. It’s more awkward than the usual boys' bathroom encounter.

Dean can feel the prickling burn of deathly eyes on him, and peeks sideways at Mattheo. They finish washing their hands and then Mattheo speaks up before Dean can escape his interrogation. “Thomas. Doing well?”

Dean looks over at Mattheo in surprise. He dries his hands and clears his throat. “Yeah fine. Yourself?”

Mattheo runs a hand through his hair, eyeing him with a sharp look, trying to pinpoint what about him you might like over himself. Sure, he was tall and strong like Mattheo. But he’s a loudmouth Gryffindor. There's nothing worth tolerating about them. “Fine.”

Dean watches, sensing Mattheo is pissed about something, and he can only imagine it’s his presence around you. “You seem like you're digging for something. Why don’t you just say it?”

He chuckles darkly, a little impressed with his boldness - guess Gryffindors' are brave after all. For the anger Mattheo felt was reaching a peak like a volcano about to explode and Dean was standing in the danger zone.

“Not sure why you’re hanging around her when you’re clearly still hung up on your ex.” Dean frowns, looking at Mattheo in confusion. “I can see the way you look at Weasley still, so I suggest you back the fuck off y/n, before I make you.”

Dean looks at Mattheo like he’s mental. “I actually like her, you know. I’m not into Ginny anymore.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, shithead.” Mattheo moves forwards looming, he’s a tad shorter than Dean, but it doesn’t diminish the look he’s shooting his way.

He’s still standing tall and brooding enough to have Dean a little uncomfortable in his shoes. But Dean isn’t one to back down from a little intimidation, and eyes him, “I see what this is about. You're jealous, aren’t you?”

Mattheo scowls, hating that he’s hit it right on the nail, but only laughs instead. “Good one, Thomas.”

“You are, though, and you missed your chance to tell her, didn't you?” Dean uncharacteristically taunts him, unaware of the insecurity he’s about to strike. “Not like you deserve her anyway with how you act-.”

In the split second the word leaves Dean's lips, Mattheo connects his fist with his nose. There’s a loud crack of the bone and Dean yelps, grasping it as blood streams covering his fingers.

“The fuck are you, to talk to me like that?” He watches Dean’s bravado crumble as he stares into the intense and wired eyes of Mattheo. “You don’t know shit about me or her. Get the fuck out of here before I do something I actually regret.”

Dean, still clutching his nose, gives him a look that easily reads what he thinks about him before he decides it’s best just to leave, heading back out into the hallway. Mattheo stays pacing a little longer and gazes at himself in the mirror. He’s craving a cigarette now; he should just ditch this shitty gig and call it a night.

The few people hovering outside the hall’s entrance, dousle themselves with refreshing glasses of water. You’re one of them having gotten hot and thought it would be good to wait somewhere visible to him. All too easily Dean is noticeable pushing out the door with his hand still pressed to his nose.

“Holy shit! What happened to you?” Rushing over you ask Dean, though you have a tickling suspicion already.

For once, Dean’s usual aura is low, and he gives you an indifferent look. “Who do you think, y/n. Riddle of course.”

Hot flashes of anger blur your vision, washing over you with a feverish intensity at Mattheo's audacity and you stare at the bathroom door as if trying to summon him out. Dean gives you another look, muttering an irritated, “I’m gonna go wash up elsewhere. I think you should talk to him.”

Dean walks off back down the hall to another bathroom, and your shoulders drop in defeat at the disappearance of your date. How had your night flipped one eighty? Your sunny optimism now drenched by the pelted rain of trouble that Mattheo Riddle brings, and then he appears.

He’s shaking out his fist, flexing his fingers, a clear sign he’s just used them in combat, and your eyes narrow on him. He meets your gaze, his eyes lighting up at seeing you noticing him properly, but then you’re walking towards him hastily. He has little time to escape before the familiar pulling pain shoots from his ear down and he yelps, cursing.

He could never defeat the strength of an angry woman's ear pull, as you drag him down and outside the pub, pleading at you. “Ace! Geez, come on, is this really ow- necessary!? Fuck-“

It had been forever since you’d pulled the move, one that was extremely effective and often required when the two of you were younger. His ear swells a deep red and continues to throb even once released from your hold.

He winces, straightening up to shoot you an unappreciative glare, but he’s met with an equally disappointed face. A look he never wishes to see again, eyes vacant their usual glimmer, left with only a look of disappointment that fears him worse than his father.

He swallows, but acts nonchalantly. "What’s this all about?”

Gritting your teeth, eyes narrowed into slits as thin as paper. “You hit him? You hit Dean! What is wrong with you, Mattheo?”

His sympathy and sorrow vanish in the return of his anger, muttering. “He had it coming.”

“How? What did he say?”

He rolls his eyes, rubbing his aching ear. “It doesn’t matter. It was uncalled for, and I shut him up.”

“You always do this, always an excuse that makes you look like the victim. What could he have possibly said that would make you need to act like that?”

“He doesn’t even like you, y/n, he’s still hung up on his ex - I don’t know why you’re wasting time with him anyway, you’re not that oblivious, are you?” He snaps, his frustrations growing.

His words sting, like a slap to the face, and you blink, standing back from him. Oblivious? Who was he to call blind when he couldn’t even comprehend how you felt about him? There's no recollection of seeing Dean pining after Ginny, and the tears build at the lengths he will go to destroy your first possibility of romance.

“Are you seriously making this up now because you're upset? That I had the courage to ask someone to be my date, and he happens to be a Gryffindor?”

He groans, frustrated, “No fuck, I’m not making this up.” He walks closer to you, trying to get you to understand, but he can see he’s hurt you. “Ace, come on, I’m not trying to ruin-”

“Well, you are!” It’s his turn to be slapped, and he stares a little taken back, absorbing your words. There's a chill in the air, like your words squeezed all the joy out and it shows in his eyes.

They harden, staring you down, and he gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Fine. I can see I’m not wanted.” He’s bitter and heartbroken as you completely disregard him with no trust. But he holds his tongue further, not wishing to damage the ship. “I’ll stay out of your way to avoid ruining your life further.”

He doesn’t even mean to say that much, for the idea of staying away breaks him. The concept that his worst fears are coming to life, cracking, pushing their way to the surface, and it frightens him. As he storms off, glad to escape the awful changing reality, he can't stop thinking about how this is all his fault.

Fuck. Fuck! He walks hastily away, not daring to turn back around and see the despair he’s left you in, heading straight back to the castle with a tornado of mixed emotions. Anger and sadness that push and shove at one another, fighting for dominance in who will break the surface first.

He collapses on his bed, stuffing his pillow over his face and erupts into a raw yell, fighting back the tears. In the end anger wins, and he kills his self-pity, deciding to down himself in a bottle of fire whiskey till he blacks out with the last remaining thought on his mind. You had been the one to ask Dean.

Any and all interacts are greatly appreciated, thank you for reading! 💫 Masterlist! Part two should be up next few days- to a week.

ALSO the biggest shoutout to @amongemeraldclouds who patiently dealt with my ass about this for like a month ilyyy pookie 🤍 @leona-hawthorne who for without I’d never have restarted this I swear ilyyyy and @slytherinslut0 thank you for proof reading!! 🩵

#i was missing out #mattheo made me mad #i’m sorry for reading this late #idk how i didn’t see this sooner #love you babe #slytherin boys #best friend to lovers #slytherin boys imagine #theodore nott #theo nott #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle #matt riddle #mattheo riddle best friend #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x y/n

978 notes · View notes

faerieroyal · 5 months ago

Text

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ children born of fairy stock, never need for shirt or frock…

🧚🏻‍♂️ what/who i write for … 🧚🏻‍♂️

➺ golden trio era: harry potter, ron weasley, hermione granger, luna lovegood, ginny weasley, neville longbottom, fred weasley, george weasley, oliver wood, percy weasley, dean thomas, draco malfoy, theodore nott, mattheo riddle.

➺ marauders era: james potter, remus lupin, sirius black, poly!marauders, regulus black, lily evans, marlene mckinnon, dorcas meadowes, mary macdonald, evan rosier, pandora lestrange, andromeda black, narcissa black, poly!valkyries, frank longbottom, alice fortescue, poly!starchaser, poly!wolfstar.

➺ gilmore girls: jess mariano, rory gilmore, paris geller, luke danes, lane kim, lorelai gilmore.

➺ dead poets society: neil perry, todd anderson, charlie dalton, steven meeks, gerard pitts.

➺ criminal minds: spencer reid, aaron hotchner, emily prentiss, elle greenaway.

➺ marvel: peter parker (tasm or mcu), bruce banner, kate bishop, yelena belova (platonic, familial, or qpr requests only), bucky barnes, sam wilson, poly!sambucky, ava starr, loki laufeyson, druig, makkari, poly!drukkari, natasha romanoff, pietro maximoff, wanda maximoff, eddie brock, marc spector/steven grant/jake lockley, layla el-faouly.

➺ x-men: scott summers, jean grey, logan howlett, wade wilson, poly!deadclaws, hank mccoy, kurt wagner, alex summers.

➺ bridgerton: anthony bridgerton, benedict bridgerton, colin bridgerton, penelope featherington, eloise bridgerton, simon basset, kate sharma, edwina sharma, poly!kanthony.

➺ dc: bruce wayne, harley quinn, jason todd, dick grayson, tim drake, damian wayne (platonic or familial requests only), barbara gordon, cassandra cain, stephanie brown, clark kent, wally west, barry allen, pamela isley.

➺ newsies: jack kelly, “crutchie” morris, davey jacobs, spot conlon, racetrack higgins.

➺ formula one: charles leclerc, carlos sainz, max verstappen, logan sargeant, oscar piastri, lewis hamilton, fernando alonso, lance stroll, mick schumacher, alex albon, george russell, esteban ocon, yuki tsunoda, zhou guanyu.

➺ nhl hockey: quinn hughes, jack hughes, luke hughes, nico hischier, william nylander, matthew knies, joseph woll, sidney crosby, leon draisaitl, jeremy swayman, brock faber, jake middleton, matt boldy, jamie drysdale, nick suzuki, cole caufield, arber xhekaj, juraj slafkovsky, matty beniers, shane wright, jared mccann, joey daccord, adam larsson.

➺ the hobbit (movies): thorin oakenshield, thranduil, kíli durin, fíli durin.

➺ horror: poly!ghostface (billy loomis & stu macher), jason voorhees, michael myers, daniel robitaille, carrie white, hannibal lecter, thomas hewitt, vincent sinclair.

➺ miscellaneous: phil wenneck (the hangover), goodnight robicheaux (the magnificent seven 2016), billy rocks (the magnificent seven 2016), tangerine (bullet train), roy kent (ted lasso), ted lasso (ted lasso), evan “buck” buckley (911), eddie diaz (911), poly!buddie (911), eggsy unwin (kingsman), joel miller (the last of us).

🧚🏻‍♂️ request guidelines … 🧚🏻‍♂️

reader preferences: any! i will write for male, female, gender-neutral readers. ♡

what i write: i will write one-shots, headcanons, little blurbs, and drabbles based on any of the prompt lists i have reblogged, for all the characters listed above! ♡

unique requests: please do not send me any requests you have also sent to other writers! i would like to keep requests sent to me as singular as possible. ♡

request types: there are a few characters listed above who have been marked for me only accepting platonic, familial, or queerplatonic requests for them. i ask that you respect this, please! ♡

content boundaries: anything that falls into darkfic territory (stalking, kidnapping, etc.), pregnancy, infidelity, i will write smut but nothing very kinky (no judgment, i just wouldn’t be any good at writing it). ♡

request manners: please be polite! i won’t ask for much, just a simple please or thank you! ♡

never want for food or fire, always get their heart’s desire. °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

#𓍯𓂃 a little faerie voice speaks ⭑.ᐟ #☆⋆˙ request guidelines ⭑.ᐟ #☆⋆˙ who i write for ⭑.ᐟ

86 notes · View notes

anon-188 · 15 days ago

Text

⟢ honorable mentions — masterlist ⟣

not on the main lineup, but still living rent-free.

honorable mentions: stefan salvatore. mattheo riddle. matt murdock/daredevil. clark kent/superman. alex summers/havok. erik lehnsherr/magneto. (more coming soon—feel free to suggest other characters!)

content labels — fluff: 🤍 spicy/smut: ❤️‍🔥 angst: ❤️‍🩹

requests: open! → rules

tag list: open!

⟢ imagines + one shots (a-z):

clark kent/superman:

clark kent x f!reader

kansas — 🤍 | wc: 0.4k

starved — ❤️‍🔥 | wc: 0.5k

off the record — 🤍 | wc: 1.2k

• drabble series: in plain sight — bsf!clark kent

harry potter:

mattheo riddle x f!reader (coming soon!)

matt murdock/daredevil:

matt murdock x f!reader

the vampire diaries:

stefan salvatore x f!reader

x-men:

alex summers x f!reader

erik lehnsherr x f!reader (coming soon!)

tag list: want to be added? just let me know if you’d like to be tagged for all works or only for specific characters. and if you ever want to be untagged, that’s totally okay too. no hard feelings at all! ♡

events:

summer request fest (ongoing!)

#masterlist #stefan salavatore x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #superman x reader #clark kent x reader #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #alex summers x reader #erik lehnsherr x reader #magneto x reader

24 notes · View notes

lov3notts-recs · 3 months ago

Text

the way this actually made me shed TEARSSSS

everything is in his pov;( ??

"But l've been sitting here for weeks wondering if I'm even in your head anymore, and then you come home smiling like the sun to tell me you're fucking leaving. And I wasn't even a passing thought on the way to the decision."

& the fact that he see’s the version of her from months ago that he misses :((( the one who calls him baby so casually </3

"I didn't think you'd care this much," you say finally.

"I don't say things," he repeats, letting the words echo in the space between you. "Right. And what, that means I don't feel them?"

omg your breaking my heart 💔

"You didn't even ask me to come with you."

now this… this did it for me. IM IN TEARSSSSS

His laugh is bitter. "Guess you didn't think l'd want to."

"Would you?" you whisper, barely audible.

"I'd follow you anywhere," he says. "That's the problem."

But love without presence, without consideration; it's like flowers growing in a room with no light. They bloom for a while, but they always die in the end.

YEAH RIP OUT MT HEART WHY DONT YA

HOW MANY THINGS. mattheo riddle.

mattheo riddle x fem!reader.

summary ; mattheo was never the type to stay where he wasn’t wanted; that is, until he met you… inspired by the song how many things by sabrina carpenter. words ; 5.7k warnings ; modern au (cellphones are used), angst, swearing, drinking, vague sexual innuendos

navigation. masterlist.

Mattheo had never been a pushover; no, he was rather a force to be reckoned with — a hard-ass, for lack of a better word. Born with razor sharp thorns pricking up from under his skin, leaving him bloodied red as roses and torn up before he ever even needed to fight, and barbed wire forced into his throat as he grew older in a world that proved itself impossibly difficult to conquer, he didn’t put up with bullshit.

He didn’t take disrespect or let people get close enough to see even the faintest scab marks of an old wound, and if anyone crossed him, he would make sure they’d live to regret it, erase them from his world like they were nothing more than chalk on pavement — quick, cold, and final.

Maybe he should’ve kept it that way with you too.

He finds himself unable to recall the exact moment that you’d managed to cut through the vines of poison ivy that had snaked their way around his heart, but he does recall the moments that may have led up to it, the ones that brought you closer and closer to his softened center without even trying.

A brush of shoulders every morning when you walked through corridors, secret smiles exchanged like swapping keys to locked rooms, long-lasting conversations that moved from crowded classrooms to the cozy confines of your homes, allowing you to make your own little corner in his heart.

You never had to beg for space in his world. You carved yourself into him like you belonged there. Not forcefully. No, it was slower than that, more deliberate. Like water through stone. You wore him down until the sharpest parts of him didn’t point at you anymore. Until his anger softened at the sight of your tired eyes. Until your name stopped sounding foreign in his mouth and started sounding like home.

Oftentimes he found himself reminiscing on the beginning of your relationship, when you were warm and inviting, your love being the kind of fire he’d learned to cup his hands around to protect from the wind, aloof to the burn that grazed his fingertips every once in a while. For he was willing to put up with any pain as long as it meant your soul was still intertwined with his, his fingers mindlessly pulling at the strings to keep you close.

But lately, it felt like the fire had been snuffed out. What was once an embery, bright red blaze had dwindled to a lone candle flickering in the dark — and Mattheo couldn’t shake the sense that he was the only one still trying to keep it alive.

At first, he tricked himself into believing it was just a fluke. You were tired, or stressed, or busy; that had to be it. That had to be the only reason why he felt like there was a fucking chasm growing between the two of you — why he felt like you pulled away every time he got close.

It had to be something small. Temporary. Fixable. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

He was certainly never one to pry, opting to bury his feelings under layers and layers of soil from which beautiful flowers would sprout to cover the truth. If he could just make everything look okay — if he kept showing up, kept kissing your forehead, kept making excuses on your behalf — then maybe things would be okay. Maybe you’d notice. Maybe you’d come back to him without him ever having to ask.

Because asking meant acknowledging, and acknowledging meant accepting the possibility that he wasn’t imagining it. That it really was slipping.

Being a bother, a burden, was his worst fucking nightmare. He lived under the fear that you would grow even colder if he troubled you with asking. He knew what happened when people got annoyed with him. He knew what abandonment tasted like — cold and metallic, a childhood memory rotting behind his ribs — and he wasn’t ready to taste it again.

So he didn’t say anything. Not when you stopped reaching for his hand the way you used to. Not when you started spending more time on your phone. Not when you kissed him absentmindedly like it was part of a routine instead of something you wanted. He told himself it was just life getting in the way. Just stress, just timing, just hormones.

It was ridiculous; he knew that. You weren’t some ice-hearted monster that would shut him out for trying to communicate, but maybe that would’ve been easier. Because at least then, he could’ve hated you. At least then, there would be something clear to hold onto, something he could point at and say, this is why it hurts.

Instead, it’s all this fog. This slow, suffocating quiet where your love used to live, and somehow, that’s worse.

Mattheo stares at the wall across from him like it might offer answers, like it might tell him when exactly things changed. When your love became absentminded. When he became convenient. A fixture. Familiar, but no longer thrilling. Something you didn’t hate, but something you didn’t crave like oxygen either.

He hears the soft rustle of your perfume spritzing into the air in the other room and imagines the way it’ll cling to your coat, to the hollow of your throat, to someone else’s memory when they catch a whiff of it in the street. You’ll smell like something perfect and untouchable, and no one will know that the boy who notices every time you change your scent is sitting on your couch, barely holding himself together.

You hadn’t even asked him to come tonight, wherever you were going. Not even a throwaway “you can come if you want.” Not even a lie.

And maybe that’s the part that hurts most — how easily he’s been written out of your world, how you make it seem effortless. Like love was never supposed to be permanent, just something you tried on until it no longer fit.

He sinks further into the cushions, elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly between them. He hates this, hates the version of himself he becomes when you’re like this: quiet, pliant, desperately waiting to be noticed again. It’s humiliating, really. He used to take pride in being cold, in being impenetrable. But now?

Now he stays alone at your flat when you’re out and remembers how you like your tea and flinches when you forget to kiss him goodbye.

Your heels click down the hallway. He doesn’t look up until you’re at the door.

“Do I look alright?” you ask, tugging your coat sleeve down, eyes flicking toward him only briefly.

He nods, eyes trailing over you, heart already unraveling. “Yeah. You look beautiful.”

You smile, distractedly murmuring a soft, “thank you,” before reaching for the door.

“I love you,” he says quietly, like a reflex.

“Love you too. Don’t wait up,” you mutter, adjusting your coat, pulling your phone out of your bag without sparing him more than a glance.

He nods and forces a small smile, the kind that feels like a lie made flesh.

“I won’t,” he says.

But he will, of course he will.

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mattheo stares at it like if he focuses hard enough, it might open again. Like maybe you’ll come back and say you forgot something — your wallet, your lipstick, him.

But you don’t.

He sits there for a few minutes, motionless, before finally dragging his phone out of his pocket and opening his messages.

Mattheo: You doing anything tonight?

It takes less than a minute for a reply to come through.

Theo: Depends.

Theo: Are you trying to get drunk or are we brooding in silence again?

Mattheo exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh he can manage.

Mattheo: Bit of both.

Mattheo: Come by.

Theo: Be there in 20.

By the time he stands up, Mattheo’s limbs feel heavy. He stretches them out like he’s been sitting there for hours instead of minutes, runs a hand through his hair, and glances around the apartment — too clean and too perfect, all the edges smoothed out to fit your preferences.

He heads toward the kitchen, opens the fridge, then closes it again. Nothing sounds appealing. He’s halfway to the couch again when he remembers — your cat.

The tiny gray menace you insisted on adopting from a shelter last winter. She hated him at first. Clawed up his pillow and pissed on his shoes. But eventually, she started curling up on his lap when you weren’t home, started head-butting his chin like she chose him. He didn’t say it aloud, but he liked that. He liked her, mostly because she never made him wonder if she wanted him there or not.

He finds her in the corner of the living room, perched on the windowsill like she’s waiting for you too.

“Yeah,” he mutters, kneeling down to scratch behind her ears. “Don’t hold your breath.”

She blinks at him slowly, then jumps down and pads toward her empty water bowl.

Mattheo goes to the kitchen to fill it, and that’s when it hits him.

The memory comes sideways, like most of them do lately. It’s nothing big. Just a night with you barefoot in the kitchen, your hair messy, laughing at something he said, one hand absentmindedly stroking the cat’s back while the other held a mug of tea. You were wearing one of his shirts — he remembers because he liked how it looked on you, the way it hung loose on your perfect frame, driving him mad with temptation and adoration.

“You’re staring,” you’d said back then, smirking without looking up, and he instantly knew your thoughts of lust and love mirrored his own.

“Can you blame me?” he’d replied, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist before his hands slid down to squeeze at your ass, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. “You’re kind of perfect like this.”

You turned, kissed him slow and sleepy, and murmured against his lips, “I love you, y’know.”

He’d believed you. With everything in him, he’d believed you.

Now, standing in the same kitchen with the same damn cat and none of that warmth, he feels the grief of it. Not for a breakup or for something that’s over, but for something that’s still here, still breathing and just not alive anymore.

He closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands against them like he can shove the memory back where it came from, but it clings. The knock at the door a few minutes later makes him flinch.

Theo.

Good. He needs the distraction. He needs something to do with his hands besides remembering you.

His best friend steps in with a bottle of firewhisky and a raised brow, already shrugging off his coat.

“You look like shit,” he says, by way of greeting.

Mattheo huffs a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so hollow. “You’re one to talk.”

They settle in the living room without ceremony. No need for pleasantries; they’ve known each other too long. The bottle is uncapped, poured, and the silence stretches comfortably between them, thick as smoke. Mattheo drinks like he’s trying to set fire to something inside of him. Maybe he is.

Theo throws his feet up on the coffee table — your coffee table — and leans back with a sigh. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Mm,” Mattheo says, noncommittal. He takes another swig, the burn catching in his throat like a warning he ignores.

Theo’s voice cuts through the silence again. “You still working on that bike?”

Mattheo nods, grateful for the shift. “Put in new pistons last week. It’s still fucked, though. Can’t get it to run clean.”

Theo grunts, swirling the amber in his glass. “Sounds like you.”

Mattheo lets the jab land and doesn’t argue. He just presses the rim of the glass to his lips and stares ahead at nothing in particular.

Truth is, he does feel like a broken engine. Still functioning, technically, but something deep in the machinery has been misfiring for a while. Maybe it’s grief. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s just the slow, dull rot of being in love with someone who’s stopped remembering to look at him like he’s hers.

But he doesn’t say any of that; he can’t.

Because saying it would give it shape. It would make it real.

Theo doesn’t push; he never has. That’s part of why Mattheo still lets him around — why he doesn’t flinch when he hears his voice, doesn’t tense when he catches his gaze. Everyone else wants pieces, explanations, a crack in the armor so they can stick their fingers in and pry it open. But Theo? He just sits there and lets him speak or not speak. Drinks the same as he always has, like it’s just another Thursday.

Mattheo leans back, glass balanced on his knee, firewhisky burning down into the pit of something he hasn’t named yet. The cushions under him dip like they’re caving in from the weight of all the words he won’t say.

Theo breaks the silence again, voice low but not soft. “You ever think we peaked in sixth year?”

Mattheo snorts. “I peaked in fourth, mate. Back when I still thought I was fucking invincible and didn’t know what it meant to be gutted sideways by things you can’t punch.”

“Mm,” Theo hums, tilting his head. “I miss when the worst thing we had to worry about was detention.”

“Now I gotta worry about whether I forgot to take the bins out and if she’s gonna come home pissed about it.”

“She usually pissed about it?”

Mattheo’s silent for a beat too long. Then, flatly: “She’s not usually anything lately.”

Theo nods, just once, like he understands, because he does, he always fucking does.

Mattheo shifts in his seat, tilting his glass in his hands like it might tell him something if he stares hard enough. “You ever feel like you’re—” he stops. Swallows, then tries again. “Like you’re… giving so much of yourself to someone that there’s not even anything left to miss when they don’t notice?”

Theo raises a brow, not surprised by the half-confession, but not pouncing on it either. “Yeah.”

Mattheo exhales. It’s not relief. It’s more like… confirmation. That this ache, this raw, bone-deep hollowness isn’t unique, isn’t special, isn’t even interesting. Just another fucking casualty of caring too hard.

“You ever say anything about it?” he asks, voice quieter now, but not weaker. Just less performative.

Theo laughs, sharp and short. “Fuck no. What good does it do? You either say it and scare them off, or say nothing and rot from the inside out.”

Mattheo lets out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Cheery, aren’t you.”

“I’m drinking with you, aren’t I?”

They clink glasses without ceremony. The sound is dull, like the whisky knows it’s not celebration but survival.

Mattheo stares down into the amber, watching it slosh against the sides like it might spill all the things he’s too much of a coward to say. And he is a coward, though no one would dare call him that to his face. Not when he’s always been the firestarter, the mouthy one, the first to throw a punch and the last to back down. But when it comes to you? He folds like a paper bag, like one sharp word might split him clean through the middle.

“I think I broke something,” he says suddenly, gaze still fixed on his drink.

Theo tilts his head. “What kind of something?”

“Dunno.” Mattheo shrugs one shoulder. “Something inside me. Feels like there’s this… noise all the time. This pressure. Like the inside of my chest is gonna collapse under it. Like if I breathe wrong I’ll fall apart.”

Theo watches him for a second, then offers, “Could be your ribs.”

Mattheo gives a weak laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re such a prick.”

“And you’re dramatic as fuck.”

“Says the bloke who wrote a sonnet after that girl dumped him in fifth year.”

“That girl had cheekbones carved by angels and smelled like cherry pie. Show some respect.”

Mattheo smiles, despite himself. Not because he’s okay or because he feels better, but because this — this banter, this brutal kind of loyalty masked as sarcasm— is the only kind of safety he’s got left.

“Thanks for coming,” he says finally, not looking at Theo.

Theo nods. “You’d do it for me.”

“Yeah. And I’d mock your heartbreak the entire time.”

“Obviously.”

They fall silent again, but it’s easier now. Less like drowning.

Mattheo leans back against the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut. He can still hear your cat pawing at the edge of the hallway, somewhere near the closed bedroom door. He knows exactly where she’ll curl up when she gets back. He knows she won’t come to him first. He knows he won’t say anything about it, about how you don’t come to him first either.

He’ll stay quiet. He’ll stay still. He’ll let it fester like a wound wrapped in silk.

Because saying something would make it real. And if it’s real, then he has to admit that this version of love — the one where he’s always last, always small, always too much and not enough all at once — is the only kind he’s ever known.

And if he loses this?

He’s not sure there’s anything left worth being. So instead, he’ll cling on as long as he can. Who knows if he’ll ever find anything better?

Time passes until he’s not sure how late it is, the hours blending together like chalk left out in the rain. Somewhere between his nth drink and Theo’s incessant babbling, the sound of the front door unlocking cuts clean through the air.

Your laugh filters in first, bright and bubbly. Something about it makes his stomach twist, because it’s not for him; it hasn’t been for a while.

Mattheo sits up straighter, suddenly too aware of how much he’s had to drink. His pulse stutters. You walk in a moment later, eyes sparkling, coat still half hanging off your arms like you rushed home in the middle of a story you couldn’t wait to tell.

“There you are,” you say, breathless. “Oh my god, baby, you’re not gonna believe this.”

His heart stumbles again at the word baby. You haven’t said it in days — maybe weeks — but now it’s casual, light, tossed out like a sweet nothing instead of a tether back to him.

You spot Theo on the couch and smile. “Oh, hey, Theo.”

Theo nods. “Hey.”

Mattheo’s mouth curls upward, slow and tentative. For a second, all he sees is you. The version of you from months ago, when you used to walk in the door with that look in your eyes and fall into him like home. You’re glowing now, lit from within by whatever you’re about to say, and fuck, he lets himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe it’s about him. That maybe you’ve remembered him again. That maybe he still matters.

You laugh, tossing your bag onto the floor, and sit beside him, cupping his jaw with both hands and pressing a kiss to his lips like it’s still the most natural thing in the world. He melts into it, eyes closing, body sighing against yours like it’s been waiting all night for this moment.

Then you pull back, grinning. “I said yes.”

He blinks. “What?”

“To Spain. The study abroad program. My friend Daphne and I — remember, I told you about her? — we’ve been talking about it forever. And today, we just looked at each other and went, ‘Why the hell not?’ So we signed up. We’re going next term.”

It takes him a second to process the words. Another to feel the floor tilt beneath him.

You’re still smiling, proud of yourself, waiting for him to join in your joy.

And he wants to. Fuck, he wants to.

But all he can hear is the shatter of something delicate breaking inside his chest.

“You… what?” he says slowly, blinking. “You signed up?”

“Yeah,” you say, eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it crazy? I wasn’t even planning to do it, but it just felt right.”

He stares at you, blinking once. Twice. The smile doesn’t come back this time.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m telling you now,” you say lightly. “It all happened so fast.”

Mattheo forces a tight breath through his nose, jaw working. “Did you even think about me?”

Your face falters slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, and his voice is rawer now, frayed at the edges like old rope, “you made this massive fucking decision — one that changes everything — and I wasn’t even in the room for it. Not even a conversation. Just… you and Daphne going ‘Why the hell not?’ like it was booking tickets to a bloody concert.”

Theo shifts slightly, rising from the couch. “Right,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go ahead and, uh, not be here for this.”

Neither of you look at him as he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him and the silence that follows is dense. It wraps around Mattheo’s ribs like iron.

You sigh, the kind that sounds like it’s been waiting to happen all day. “I didn’t think I needed to ask permission.”

“I’m not saying you needed permission,” he replies, voice quieter now, but colder. “I’m saying I thought we were a we. And I guess I was wrong.”

You frown. “Mattheo, don’t do this. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“I know it is,” he snaps, then winces and runs a hand down his face. “But I’ve been sitting here for weeks wondering if I’m even in your head anymore, and then you come home smiling like the sun to tell me you’re fucking leaving. And I wasn’t even a passing thought on the way to the decision.”

You look at him, softer now, but not in the way he needs, not with the urgency he craves, not like he’s the thing you miss when you’re gone.

“I didn’t think you’d care this much,” you say finally.

And that is what kills him.

Because he has never cared about anything more.

Mattheo swallows it down, lets it burn on the way to his stomach like the firewhisky still warm in his veins. He nods slowly, then stands up without a word and disappears down the hall

You call after him once, quietly, but he doesn’t answer. He’s already in the kitchen, filling the cat’s bowl, hands shaking slightly as he listens to the soft mewling by his feet. And it’s that — the goddamn cat — that triggers it.

Because last winter, you brought her home shivering and tiny, wrapped in a scarf you’d stolen from Mattheo’s drawer. You’d fed her with an eyedropper every three hours like she was a child. He remembers you laughing when she curled up in the crook of his elbow for the first time.

“See?” you’d whispered, like it was some profound truth. “She knows you’re safe.”

He stares at the cat now, blinking hard. She nudges against his leg like nothing’s changed.

But everything has. Everything is.

You come after him a few moments later — he hears the soft tread of your feet against the wood floor, the tentative way you stop at the doorway like you’re not sure if you’re supposed to enter.

He doesn’t look at you, just crouches down beside the cat, scratching gently behind her ears while she eats, her tiny pink tongue darting rhythmically into the bowl like she’s unaware that the air is thick enough to choke on.

“Mattheo,” you say, quiet. “Can we talk about this?”

He lets out a breath that feels like it deflates something inside him as he stands back up, deliberately keeping his eyes off yours. His voice, when it comes, is low and tight. “Sure. Let’s talk. Now that the ticket’s booked and your bags are already half-packed.”

You cross the threshold slowly, arms folded like you’re trying to shield yourself from something. “Mattheo, please.”

He wipes his hands on a dish towel, not because they need drying, but because he needs something to do before he turns around and sees your face. Because he knows the moment he looks at you, he’s going to feel it all over again. The ache, the hope, the slow realization that maybe he’s been more alone in this relationship than he ever wanted to admit.

Still, he turns. And when he sees you — eyes wide, arms crossed over your chest like you’re cold or nervous or both — it hits him like it always does. That gut-deep devotion that refuses to die, even when it’s being starved.

“You didn’t even think about me,” he says again, quieter this time. Not accusing. Just… hurt. Bone-deep hurt. “That’s what kills me.”

You shake your head, stepping closer. “That’s not fair. It’s not like I’m moving to Spain forever. It’s one semester. Five months. It’s not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” he repeats, and there’s a bitter edge to the laugh that leaves his throat. He tilts his head slightly. “You didn’t think about what it would do to me. Not once. You didn’t think about how I’d feel waking up in a bed that smells like you, in a flat that echoes without your footsteps in it. You didn’t think about how I’d spend the next four months pretending I’m fine while you’re off drinking sangria and forgetting I exist.”

“I’m not forgetting you,” you say, voice a little sharper now, defensive. “You’re being dramatic.”

He laughs again, harsher this time. “Yeah. I guess I am. Must be all the fucking firewhisky.”

You glance at the half-empty glass on the counter. “Maybe you should stop drinking.”

“Maybe you should’ve told me you were leaving before you already packed your goddamn suitcase.”

That silences you. He watches the way you flinch, just barely, and it makes him hate himself a little more, because he never wanted to be cruel to you; he just wanted to matter.

You take another step toward him, arms still folded, like you’re bracing yourself. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I am happy for you,” he says, voice breaking around the edges. “But I’m also fucking heartbroken. Do you get that? Can you even hold both of those things at once, or is it just easier to pretend I’ll be fine no matter what you do?”

He can feel the frustration building under his skin like pressure in a pipe, threatening to burst. But underneath it, worse than all of it, is the fear. The slow, creeping terror that this is just the beginning of the end.

“You didn’t talk to me,” he continues, hands flexing at his sides. “You didn’t even ask if I’d be okay with it. You just… made the choice.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you say, voice rising a little now. “You’ve never made me feel like I couldn’t do things on my own. I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” he bites out, because of course he is. That’s the sick part. That even now, even as he’s drowning in the weight of being left behind, he still wants you to fly. “But I’m not made of fucking stone, alright? I’m not some goddamn statue you keep on your shelf to cheer you on from the sidelines. I’m your boyfriend. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to matter enough to be part of the decision.”

You look down, suddenly quiet. He swallows hard.

Silence stretches again. The cat meows softly, as if trying to bridge the void.

You stare at him. He can see the tears swimming in your eyes now, but it doesn’t undo what’s already been said.

He shakes his head and leans back against the counter, running a hand through his hair. “You used to tell me everything. Now I’m lucky if I get leftovers. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve been trying to not be that guy. The clingy, jealous boyfriend who can’t handle his girl having her own life.”

His eyes meet yours, bloodshot and bright. “But fuck, love. I didn’t think I was completely disposable.”

“Mattheo, you’re not—”

“Then why do I feel like I am?” he cuts in, and it’s louder than he meant, harsher. “You didn’t even consider what it’d mean for us. What it’d do to me. You didn’t think, ‘Oh, maybe I should talk to the person I come home to every night before I decide to vanish across a continent.’ You just decided. Like I’m some guy you’re dating, not... not me.”

You look down, and for a moment he thinks you might apologize. That maybe you’ll reach for him, finally. That maybe he’ll feel like yours again, instead of some antique you pass by daily without noticing the dust collecting.

But instead, you say, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And maybe that’s what wrecks him most. Because you didn’t mean to. You just did. Like it was easy, like hurting him was just a side effect you forgot to list on the bottle of whatever freedom you’ve been chasing lately.

“I know,” he says, voice barely holding together. “You just didn’t think about me at all. And I don’t know which is worse.”

“I just thought—” you pause, struggling to find the right spin, the safe angle. “You never say much when things are bothering you. I figured if there was something going on, you’d have said something before.”

“I don’t say things,” he repeats, letting the words echo in the space between you. “Right. And what, that means I don’t feel them?”

You flinch, ever so slightly.

Mattheo’s hands come to grip the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles going pale. He’s trying not to let it spill, but it’s close. He’s spent so long swallowing every sharp edge that his throat feels permanently bruised from it. And now, there’s blood on his tongue and no way to pretend he can’t taste it.

“I don’t say things,” he says again, quieter now. “Because every time I’ve opened my mouth to ask someone to stay, they’ve left anyway. Because I learned a long fucking time ago that needing someone is a liability. So yeah, I didn’t say anything. But don’t mistake that for not caring. Don’t twist my silence into apathy. You’re not the only one who matters here.”

He watches the way you absorb that. The way your eyes dart, the way your mouth opens, then closes again, like maybe you didn’t realize how far he’s been falling.

The cat hops up onto the counter and purrs by his back, utterly unaware of the storm between the two of you. Mattheo reaches around and scratches her behind the ears, the movement grounding, automatic.

Mattheo’s voice is quieter now, but there’s no softness in it, just weariness. “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

You flinch. You weren’t expecting that.

His laugh is bitter. “Guess you didn’t think I’d want to.”

“Would you?” you whisper, barely audible.

He meets your eyes, and there’s something hollow in him now, some void that’s widened and finally swallowed the last of his hope. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re still everything to him. That he still waits for your messages like a schoolboy, still sleeps on his side of the bed even when you don’t come home from hours. That he notices the way you’ve stopped wearing his hoodies. That he’s counted the times you’ve kissed him in the last week and still has fingers left over. That he finds your name engraved into every mundane object he sees.

That he’s got ways to find you any and everywhere.

The silence returns, heavy and absolute. You take a step forward, like you might close the gap between you, but Mattheo steps back.

It’s not out of anger, not meant to punish you. Just... self-preservation. What little of it he has left, anyway.

He swallows hard, voice rough. “You’re gonna do what you want anyway. I just wish, for once, you’d wanted me enough to factor me in. You used to want me. I’m not even a priority anymore.”

You’re still, eyes shining with something you don’t say.

But he’s not waiting anymore. Not tonight.

He turns from you, opens the cabinet to pull down another glass. “You want a drink?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Mattheo,” you murmur. “I love you.”

He gulps down what’s remaining in his cup, then lifts his gaze and stares at you for a long moment. Your words should be enough; for most people, they would be enough.

But love without presence, without consideration; it’s like flowers growing in a room with no light. They bloom for a while, but they always die in the end.

“I know,” he says.

And he does. You love him in the way people love things they’re used to. Love the old songs they don't play anymore, love the sweater that sits untouched in the closet. It’s love, but not the kind that stays.

Eventually, he hears your footsteps retreat. The door to the bedroom clicks shut a moment later, soft and final.

Mattheo stays in the kitchen long after that, staring at nothing, the cat curling up by his feet like a cruel reminder of what used to be.

He pours the drink, slow and steady. Not because he wants to forget.

But because remembering is killing him.

reminder that reblogs, feedback, and comments are very appreciated and make me smile :)

a/n: completely unintentional but a line somewhere in here also reminded me of the song scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo so there’s that too </3 this is not fully edited and i’m tired so i’m sorry if it’s kinda shitty :’)

#GOODNIGHTTTT #CRYING MYSELF TO SLEEP NOW #POOR MATTHEO #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #benjamin wadsworth #slytherin #angst #theo nott #theodore nott #theo nott x reader #mattheo riddle #matt riddle #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle drabble #mattheo riddle fic #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fanfic

395 notes · View notes