oneshots & reacts; slytherin boys

⤙ him having a panic/anxiety attack (pt.1)⤚

hello hello hello!!! this was requested on tiktok, but i cant find the comment rn so bare withhhhhhhhhhh

also, general warnings for blood, mentions of past death, INSANE mummy/daddy issues, and ermmmmm yeah!! also abuse xx

this is a part one because i still have the other three to do........ please give me ideas for felix and blaise!!!!! ive already got an idea for tom, i just need to get around to it xxxx

⤷ mattheo riddle

[set fourth year after harry portkeys back with cedric's body]

Mattheo seems to have disappeared into thin air. He's a whole 5"8, and yet he's disappeared without a trace in the grounds of Hogwarts, not a sound or sight to be seen or heard.

Tom is going slightly berserk with worry, and the anxiety you harbour is starting to tear you up from the inside out, your stomach eating itself with fear.

It has been less than an hour since Professor Moody was announced a death eater, and midnight is long gone, clouds sparsely overtaking the moon for fleeting seconds.

You're quite lucky to be allowed out, but Snape authorised a search party as soon as the perimeter had been secured, letting you and the rest of the group continue your searches outside of the castle.

You find yourself walking towards the boathouse, anxiety turning into terror as the places Mattheo could be hiding start to dwindle in numbers. Your arms are wrapping your cardigan tight around your body, the brown somehow thinner than your t-shirt, but you don't have time to penalise your impractical clothing with the goal of finding Mattheo on your mind.

You can only imagine how bad it is, now that his father is probably coming back. The fear of a reign you weren't alive to witness digs its keratin claws in deep, and you're forced to reckon with it as you push the creaky door to the boathouse open.

The first thing you notice is how utterly broken he looks.

He's kneeling towards the wall, forehead pressed to the murky glass panes of it as his hand fists his own curls. His clothes are roughed up, dishevelled, all while a finger tap tap taps away at a patch of glass.

His breath is heavy, overly so, sounding like he's trying to catch air underwater, lungs desperately grabbing for anything and everything while his chest heaves.

"Mattheo." Your voice is a whisper, too meek to do anything, and you abandon your grip on your cardigan in order to grab him instead. Your knees twinge with how hard you land on the floor, but your hands or on him, and you can feel him shaking—

"Fuck off." He manages out, eyes squeezed so hard shut that he's probably giving himself a migraine. He shudders an even louder breath, and a sound, dancing along the line of a sob and a whimper, rushes out. "I don't want you here."

Your heart shatters at the cried command, but you hold steady, your hands lifting away. "Do you want me to get Tom?"

"No." Mattheo stutters, "No, I— I— fuck."

He crumples more onto the glass, and his hand lifts from the gibberish morse code he was tapping into it, diving between curly strands. He pulls and pulls, his breath unravelling like a thunderclap across a darkened city.