HIII!! mattheo riddle x reader where mattheo’s very mean. theo and the reader are very good friends, so he usually hangs out with theo and his friends! (which includes mattheo). Mattheo does a cruel prank on the reader and she gets hurt??? idk maybe. anyways, reader gets him back and mattheo doesn’t really know what to do. they both start a prank war, while mattheo is obviously being mean and rude to her while talking, and one time, mattheo does a cruel prank and she gets injured really badly. he want to apologize but doesn’t want to show his weakness. at one point, reader realizes she fell for him but she also hates him. He realizes too and in the end, it’s all cuddles and kisses and sorrys and fluffiness 🫶💗 ur an amazing writer by the way! xoxo
OMG YES! I don’t know if this is actually good, it’s kinda rushed, but here you go!
The Slytherin common room was always cold, but it felt even colder when Mattheo Riddle looked your way. You were only there because of Theodore Nott. Theo was your best friend, your anchor, and the only reason you put up with the chaotic group of Slytherins he brought you into. While Theo welcomed you, Mattheo made it his mission to make you feel like an outsider. He was cruel, sharp-tongued, and arrogant.
The rivalry turned physical on a Tuesday evening. You were sitting at the library tables with Theo, finishing an essay, when Mattheo walked by. With a quick flick of his wand and a dark smirk, he cast a localized jinx. The heavy wooden chair beneath you suddenly vanished, and you crashed hard onto the stone floor. The sharp edge of the desk scraped down your forearm, leaving a long, bleeding gash.
"Oops," Mattheo murmured, his dark eyes shining with malice as he looked down at you. "Watch your step, half-blood."
Theo immediately dropped his quill, pulled you up, and glared at Mattheo. "What is your problem, Riddle? That went too far."
You gently pushed Theo’s hands away as you wiped the blood from your arm onto your robes. You didn’t cry. Instead, you looked Mattheo straight in the eye. "You're going to regret that."
Two days later, you got your revenge. You spiked Mattheo’s morning pumpkin juice with a modified stream of Bubotuber pus and a color-changing charm. The moment he took a sip in the Great Hall, his skin erupted in bright purple, itchy boils, and his hair turned a neon, blinding pink. The entire room burst into laughter. Mattheo slammed his goblet down, scanning the tables until his gaze locked onto you. You raised your own cup to him with a sweet, mocking smile.
He didn’t know how to react. Usually, people cowered. The fact that you fought back stunned him, mixing his fury with a strange, toxic spark of intrigue.
That incident ignited an all-out prank war. For weeks, the hallways of Hogwarts turned into a battlefield. It was exhausting. Mattheo seized every chance to be rude, using his sharp words to cut through your confidence whenever you hung out with Theo.
"Still breathing?" he’d sneer, bumping your shoulder aggressively as he sat next to Theo. "I thought the tripping jinx would have broken your neck by now."
"You wish, Riddle," you’d snap back. "Maybe next time, try casting a spell that actually requires talent."
Through the insults and traps, a horrible realization settled in your chest. You hated him. You hated his cruelty, arrogance, and attitude. But during late nights spent plotting against him, or in those brief moments when his dark eyes focused entirely on you, your heart raced for all the wrong reasons. You … really liked him. A lot. It was a sick, frustrating truth that you wanted to tear out of your head.
The war escalated too far on a rainy Friday afternoon near the Astronomy Tower. Mattheo had rigged the steps with a powerful, invisible grease slick hex, aiming for you to slide down and look foolish in front of everyone. He didn’t consider your heavy school bag or the steepness of that staircase.
When you stepped onto the landing, your feet flew out from under you. You didn’t just slide; you pitched forward, tumbling violently down the entire flight of stone stairs. A sickening crack echoed through the stairwell as you landed awkwardly at the bottom, unconscious and bleeding heavily from a gash on your forehead.
Mattheo’s smirk instantly vanished. His face went pale.
"Y/N!" Theo screamed, rushing past Mattheo to your limp body.
Mattheo stood frozen at the top of the stairs, his hands shaking. Seeing you broken and bleeding didn’t bring him the satisfaction he expected. Instead, panic gripped his chest. He wanted to run down, to push Theo away and carry you to the hospital wing himself, but his pride held him back. He couldn’t show weakness. He couldn’t let anyone see that he cared.
It took three days in the hospital wing for you to recover. When you finally returned to the Slytherin common room, the mood was heavy. Theo stayed close to your side, but Mattheo kept his distance, staring at you from the corners with an unreadable, intense look.
Late that night, you sat alone by the dying embers of the fireplace, unable to sleep. A rustling noise made you turn your head.
Mattheo stood there, looking exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes matching your own bruised skin.
"What do you want, Mattheo?" you asked, your voice weary. "Are you here to finish the job?"
He walked over slowly, every movement tense. Sitting at the opposite end of the sofa, he looked everywhere but at you. "You're clumsy," he muttered, his voice falling into his usual harsh tone. "You should have seen the hex."
"Is that why you came over here? To insult me?" You stood up, your heart aching with a familiar pull. "I hate you. I really do."
Mattheo swallowed hard, his jaw tensing. He hated how vulnerable he felt, but the image of you falling wouldn’t leave his mind. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt like that. It was supposed to be a joke." Finally, he looked at you, his dark eyes raw and devoid of their usual malice. "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to... be around you without wanting to tear the world apart. If I'm not fighting you, I'm thinking about you. And it's driving me insane."
You stared at him, your breath catching. The wall he built around himself had crumbled.
"I hate you too," you whispered, stepping closer. "Because you made me fall for a monster."
Mattheo stood up, closing the gap between you. His hand reached out, surprisingly gentle as his fingers brushed against the bandage on your forehead. "Then let me be your monster."
He pulled you into him, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist as if he expected you to vanish. You buried your face in his chest, inhaling the scent of mint and old leather.
Mattheo pressed his lips softly to the top of your head, whispering a quiet, genuine "I'm sorry" into your hair. He lifted your chin, his dark eyes searching your face for signs of rejection before leaning down to kiss you. It wasn’t cruel or rough; it was desperate, soft, and filled with warmth he had hidden away for too long.
For the rest of the night, the war was forgotten. He pulled you onto his lap on the couch, wrapping a thick green blanket around both of you. Mattheo kept you pressed securely against him, tracing soothing patterns on your arm and kissing your temple every few minutes just to remind himself that you were safe, whole, and finally his.
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