Mattheo Riddle One Shots

Tangled Flames

*this was a request*

Warnings: jealousy....

Summary: Reader is jealous of Mattheo. Like Mattheo is making reader jealous of what he does.

Words: 1092

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual evening chatter, the golden glow of floating candles casting soft light over the crowd. You sat at the Slytherin table, absentmindedly picking at your food while your gaze lingered on Mattheo Riddle.

He was sitting a few seats down, surrounded by his usual entourage of admirers. His dark curls framed his sharp jawline, and that ever-present smirk danced on his lips as he laughed at something Pansy Parkinson had said.

Your jaw tightened as you watched Pansy lean closer to him, her perfectly manicured nails grazing his arm. He didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle obnoxiously.

It was infuriating.

You told yourself it didn't matter. Mattheo Riddle was just another boy, right? Just another charming, infuriating, irresistible boy.

Except that wasn't true.

You hated how your heart betrayed you, how it raced every time he walked into a room. You hated how you couldn't stop thinking about the way his lips quirked when he teased you, or the rare softness in his eyes when he let his guard down around you.

But most of all, you hated how he seemed to revel in making you jealous.

"Something on your mind, darling?" Mattheo's voice broke through your thoughts.

You snapped your head up, realizing he was now standing in front of you, his smirk as infuriating as ever.

"Not at all," you said coolly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

He chuckled, leaning casually against the table. "You've been glaring at me all night. Should I be worried?"

"Glaring? I wasn't glaring," you lied, crossing your arms.

"Sure you weren't," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. His eyes glinted with mischief as he glanced back at Pansy, who was still watching him from her seat. "You're not jealous, are you?"

Your stomach twisted, but you refused to give him the satisfaction. "Of what? Your tragic taste in company?"

His grin widened, clearly entertained. "Ouch. And here I thought you cared."

"I don't," you snapped, standing up abruptly. "Why would I care what you do, or who you waste your time with?"

You tried to walk past him, but his hand shot out, gently grabbing your wrist.

"Relax, love," he said, his tone softer now. "You know I'm just messing with you."

You turned to glare at him, your emotions threatening to boil over. "Why do you do this, Mattheo? Why do you go out of your way to irritate me?"

His smirk faltered for a moment, and for a brief second, you saw something flicker in his eyes—something raw and unguarded.

But then it was gone, replaced by his usual cocky demeanor. "Because you're fun to tease," he said with a shrug. "And because I like seeing that fire in your eyes."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His hand was still on your wrist, his touch burning against your skin.

"Let go of me," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He did, but not before leaning in just enough for you to catch his low murmur. "Only if you promise to stop pretending you don't care."

The next few days were torture. Mattheo seemed to go out of his way to push your buttons, always with that maddening smirk. Whether it was lingering near Pansy in Potions or flirting shamelessly with a Ravenclaw girl in the library, he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

But you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. At least, that's what you told yourself.

It all came to a head during a Slytherin party in the common room. The room was packed with students, the air thick with the scent of firewhisky and the sound of loud laughter.

You were standing near the corner, nursing your drink, when you spotted him.

Mattheo was sitting on one of the emerald-green couches, his arm draped lazily over Pansy's shoulders. She was laughing at something he'd said, her hand resting on his chest.

Your stomach churned, and before you could stop yourself, you were storming across the room.

"Enjoying yourself, Riddle?" you asked, your tone sharp.

Mattheo's eyes flicked up to meet yours, a hint of surprise flashing across his face before his smirk returned. "Immensely. Why? Want to join us?"

Pansy raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

"I'd rather not," you snapped, your voice tight. "I just thought I'd remind you that you're not as charming as you think you are."

Mattheo's smirk faltered, and for the first time, he looked genuinely taken aback.

"Careful, love," he said, his voice quieter now. "Your jealousy is showing."

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to back down. "I'm not jealous. I just don't enjoy watching you parade around like you own the place."

The room had gone quieter, and you realized too late that you'd drawn more attention than you intended.

Mattheo stood then, his usual cocky demeanor gone. He stepped closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

"Why don't you just admit it?" he murmured. "You care about me as much as I care about you."

Your breath caught, his words cutting through your defenses like a blade.

"Mattheo—"

"I've been trying to get your attention all bloody year," he said, his tone raw and unguarded. "But you're too stubborn to see it."

Your heart pounded, the weight of his confession leaving you speechless.

"I don't want Pansy," he continued, his voice softer now. "I don't want anyone else. I just want you."

The room seemed to fade away, the noise and the people disappearing until it was just the two of you.

"Why didn't you just say that?" you whispered, your voice trembling.

He chuckled, a low, self-deprecating sound. "Because I was terrified you didn't feel the same."

You stared at him for a long moment before finally letting your walls crumble.

"I do," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "I care about you, Mattheo. More than I want to."

His lips curved into a smile—not a smirk, but a genuine, breathtaking smile.

"Well, it's about bloody time," he said, pulling you into his arms.

As his lips met yours, the jealousy and frustration melted away, replaced by something far more dangerous and far more beautiful: the undeniable pull of two souls who had finally found each other.