pairing; hockey player!mattheo riddle x reader

summary; mattheo hates being touched, and he especially hates being patched up after games. but what can he do when you insist?

warnings; reader is a bit whimsical but she’s a genius, modern au, high school au, fluff, mentions of blood

note; everything i know about hockey is from lynn painter so

Mattheo Riddle had little interest in anything that wasn’t hockey.

More often then not, he’d forget the names of the many girls who approached him at parties, turn in assignments weeks after their due dates, and ditch class just to get more time on the ice.

With a full ride to the university with the best hockey team in the nation and a varsity squad bound to take the championship, Mattheo was content to cruise through senior year with just his stick and a few bruises.

Those cuts and bruises especially didn’t bother him, and he’d much rather add on to the plethora of scars littered across his skin than have anyone’s gloved fingers poking around his body.

That was one more thing that didn’t concern him, having his injuries treated by the snobby nurses who creeped around the bench during games.

Which is why after a particularly violent game where he’d been sentenced to the penalty box more times than he could count, he veered away from his teammates heading towards the locker room. His head was pounding, and the cut on his lip was stopping him from moistening them. The slash above his eyebrow stung every time he scowled at a passerby.

Maybe he shouldn’t have thrown his helmet to the floor to launch himself at the guy who’d shoved Nott into the boards. Maybe the purpling bruise under his eye and the throbbing in his nose was a telltale sign that, after knocking a tooth out of one of his opponent’s mouth, he should get his injuries treated.

But he never did.

Instead, he slowly let his shoulders relax with every step away from the arena. The noise settled as he turned corners, the sounds of excited fans packing up and the buzzing of the Zamboni became muffled.

He climbed the steps of the most hidden staircase in the rink, his hidden staircase, each heavy thump of his foot a reflection of the exhaustion creeping into his veins.

Finally, he could relax and hide away from the medical staff in peace.

Then he stopped.

Still staring down at his shoes, he noticed he’d almost stepped on a textbook. A textbook that looked very much like it belonged in a doctor’s office with the cover featuring a color coded skull and the word anatomy in big letters.

Last time Mattheo checked, there were no textbooks in his secret stairwell.

His eyes finally drifted upwards and landed on the anomaly.

You were curled up in the corner, back against the wall, headphones on with loud music leaking out, laptop in your lap and another open textbook by your feet. You typed mercilessly like the keyboard was on fire and each letter burned your fingertips.

He’d seen you around school before, big eyes always searching the world like you were seeing words in the sky that no one else could. You walked like air swept under your feet with every step and you talked with the lightness of a leaf falling off of a tree. Of course he knew you, he just didn’t know why you were in his corner.

You hadn’t even noticed his arrival, so absorbed in your work that the over 6 foot, broad shouldered hockey player managed to slip from your vision. Until he took a step closer and his shadow loomed over you like you were something he had to conquer to find his peace.

You peeled the headphones off your head, which he finally noticed were bedazzled with an absurd amount of glittering gems, and looked up at him with those big eyes.

Mattheo was sure he looked as intimidating as ever, maybe even more so due to the blood dripping down his temple and the pure irritation he felt.

But the craziest thing he had possibly ever seen happened. You blinked. Once. Twice. Pressed your lips together in a polite smile. Then put your sparkly headphones back over your ears.

Mattheo Riddle was speechless.

Usually, one look from him was enough to send people running, especially delicate little things like you.

Never had he been dismissed.

He furrowed his brows, but he was sure he looked more bewildered than angered, and crouched down to your level, waving a hand in front of your face.

You huffed out a small breath and pulled the headphones from your ears again.

“Hi,” you said, voice drifting into his ears like a gust of wind had personally delivered it to him, all airy and soft. Your lips pulled up into that polite smile again, and he didn’t know what effect that simple gesture was supposed to have on him, but he felt it in his chest.

Mattheo parted his lips to speak, then closed them. They were chapped, his throat was dry, and his knees were aching from being crouched before you. He licked his lips, then immediately winced as he felt the sting of his cut and the iron taste of blood hit his tongue.

He opened his mouth to try again.

“You’re in my spot,” his voice was gruff, but his tone wasn’t the intimidating drawl he was going for. He sounded almost… confused?

You glanced around the landing of the stairs where you had set up camp, then back at him. Your eyes were quizzical, calculating, like you were seeing things only you could see and reading his very thoughts. Then you spoke again, and his chest clenched with that unfamiliar feeling.

“You’re bleeding.”

Without his permission, Mattheo’s hand reached up to the side of his head, wiping the drop of blood that had been seeping across his skin. He stared at his bloody hand, then smeared it on his dark jeans, internally cringing at the action.

He scowled deeper. When had he ever cringed at his own actions? What were you doing to him?

“I know,” his voice wavered, the words leaving his lips in an uncomfortable murmur. Then he swallowed and looked back at you. “You’re in my spot.”

“I really think you should get that treated,” you squinted up at the cut above his brow, then your eyes trailed to his split lip. “It’ll get infected soon, especially that one if you keep licking your lips.”

You pointed briefly to his mouth, then settled your hands back on your keyboard, still watching him.

Mattheo shook his head, “I don’t care. You—”

“You should,” you continued, cutting off what was meant to be a violent consequence if you didn’t evacuate his spot immediately. “Split lips can be particularly painful, especially because we use our mouths pretty often. And that eyebrow cut will just keep bleeding, since our faces are highly vascular.”

He aggressively wiped away the blood dripping down his face again, scowling fully at you this time.

“What are you, my personal medical nightmare? Can you leave?” he spat, standing from his crouch to glare down at you, crossing his arms.

You frowned, and immediately he felt his glare falter. That didn’t look right.

“I’m waiting for someone,” you said simply, toying with a ring on your finger.

“You can wait somewhere else,” Mattheo grumbled, running a hand through his sweaty mess of curls. “Students aren’t supposed to be back here during games anyway.”

“Your eyebrow is getting pretty bloody now.”

He clenched his jaw so hard he thought maybe some of his teeth would fall out and join those of his opponents.

He walked to the opposite end of the landing, which wasn’t very far, and slumped against the wall. He sighed as he dropped to the floor, letting his head fall back against the wall and his sore arms rest against his knees.

Maybe he could ignore you just like he ignored his teammates and the medics and the teachers who always nagged him. Maybe he could sink into the hard ground where no one would bother him or touch him or breathe too close to him again.

Maybe his thinking was too wishful.

“I could help you,” that voice, a sound like waves crashing into a sandy shore and birds singing on the first spring morning. It warmed his cold skin, made him involuntarily unclench his jaw, and his eyes blink open.

You were standing over him now, boots nearly touching the toes of his shoes, jackets sleeves dangling over ringed fingers, and smooth lips pulled up into a smile. This one didn’t look as polite and dismissive though, it looked more welcoming, like maybe you weren’t just annoyed with his presence after all.

He narrowed his eyes at you, head still tilted back to meet your determined gaze.

“I didn’t come here so you could play doctor,” he scowled, wiping away another drop of blood. “I came to get away from all that shit.“

You pursed your lips thoughtfully, humming, and your eyes did that thing where they evaluated his very existence. Then you nodded, turning away from him to pick up your backpack.

He watched you skeptically as you rummaged through its contents before pulling out a first aid kid, a water bottle, and some napkins.

You walked back over and occupied the floor right next to him.

His scowl deepened and he shifted away, but it didn’t seem to deter you as you folded your legs underneath you and cracked open the plastic water bottle.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Mattheo’s question went unanswered, so he was forced to watch as you dribbled water onto the napkins. Every movement was calculated and careful, even the way your earrings dangled back and forth was methodical. Your lip was pulled between your teeth, hands steady, and he wasn’t exactly sure why he’d noticed all this about you. Or when you’d scooted closer.

He blinked when the cold, wet napkin hit his temple, jaw tight, gaze locked on you, but he couldn’t find it in him to move away.

You carefully cleaned up the new and dried blood, then folded it and dabbed at his lip.

Your hands weren’t gloved, your words weren’t nagging, and your touch was gentle as a breeze.

“This kinda stuff makes you nervous?” you asked softly as you set the napkin aside and opened up your first aid kit.

His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, arms falling away from his knees to allow you to lean closer.

It was like his usually loud brain had been taken out and rewired to only play static.

Mattheo could only look at you. You and your delicate features, like they’d been watercolor painted onto a canvas. You and your tender voice, a sweet, simple melody in the chaotic orchestra that was his thoughts. You and your calculating eyes. You and your dangly earrings. You and your bedazzled headphones.

“I guess,” his voice wasn’t gruff or even annoyed. It was like the electric force field that guarded him had faltered. He wasn’t showing you the violent hockey player that kept bruises as trophies. He wasn’t showing you the arrogant playboy who went through girls like dirty socks.

He was just Mattheo. The Mattheo that no one had ever cared to know. The Mattheo that was being treated with the gentlest of touches and sweetest of words.

“I don’t like their gloves. Or their prodding,” he continued, eyes still searching your face, not even registering the alcohol pad that you’d pressed to his cut. “They ask me too many questions and use words I’ve never even heard of.”

You slowly lowered the bloody wipe and let your eyes meet his.

“What’s going on in that head of yours when you do that?” Mattheo muttered, fingers twitching in his lap.

“Do what?”

“That look. Like you can read my mind or something.”

You grinned. You grinned and either the dim lights in the stairwell suddenly brightened or that simple pull of your lips had casted an unearthly glow that had him squinting to see.

And you had dimples.

Mattheo felt a smile of his own making his cheeks ache.

“Well, I can’t read your mind, but I will say that those are all valid things to be uncomfortable with,” you laughed slightly, a honeyed tune that he wished he could save to his pregame playlist. “Though, gloves are standard.”

“I don’t like the squeaking,” his voice lowered to a teasing drawl and he leaned slightly closer.

“You’ll like an infected wound even less.”

“That’s debatable, doc,” he bit the inside of his cheek to stop his stupid grin from growing even more. Apparently, only soft-spoken thieves could bring that smile out of him. “How d’you know all this stuff, anyway?”

You glanced back at your textbooks lying on the floor and your closed laptops. “I’ll be pre-med next fall,” you shrugged, pulling out a weird looking bandaid from your first aid kit. You then stopped and looked up at him. “That make you scared of me?”

He laughed, head falling back against the wall. “Don’t think that’s possible, doc. You’re too gentle.”

You rolled your eyes, hovering your hand over his forehead, bandaid dangling from your fingers. Mattheo picked his head up, smirk softening, and carefully took hold of your wrist. “Aren’t you scared of me?”

You froze, focusing your gaze back on his. His words were different, vulnerable in a way. Like he wasn’t teasing anymore.

You shook your head, matching his fond smile.

“You’re too gentle.”

His hand fell from your wrist and he could only watch as you patched up his cut.

Mattheo Riddle, gentle? Never in his life would he think that could be a word used to describe him.

But maybe that was the Mattheo that no one knew. Maybe this was a version only you could know. One you were already becoming accustomed to.

“It’ll pinch for a bit, but it should heal up fine. Wasn’t too deep. Take this off in the morning, clean it again, and let it get some air,” you muttered, face close to his as you smoothened the bandage over his skin.

“Hey, doc?” he shifted towards you on the cold floor, voice low as if he was afraid anything louder would disrupt whatever fog had fallen over them.

You met his eyes, thumb still tracing above his eyebrow, feet still folded underneath you, knees pressed into his thigh.

“Why’d you steal my secret spot?”

Mattheo found his gaze glued to the way your throat moved as you swallowed and your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked. You were nervous for a change, and he could’ve patted himself on the back for being able to notice. Or punched himself in the face, maybe.

When you pulled away, he decided that being deprived of your tender touch hurt worse than being slammed against the boards by his opponents.

He could only watch in silence as you packed your stuff away, eyes anywhere but on him. The floor felt colder when you stood up.

“My ride wanted to watch the hockey game and I needed to study,” you said, voice shaky as you shoved textbooks in your backpack.

Mattheo stood, watching you scramble. His demeanor oddly calm for the deafening thoughts that had begun to buzz around his brain again.

“What’s wrong?” he sounded devastated, taking hold of your wrist again, stopping you from packing up. “What did I say?”

“Nothing,” you blinked fast and he watched the apprehension flicker across your face. “Nothing, but since the game’s over, I should probably go find my ride.”

He barely tightened his grip on you and tugged, but it was enough for you to face him fully. He lowered himself slightly so he wasn’t looming over you, so maybe that anxiousness would seep away from your features and he could see his gentle doctor again.

He didn’t say anything more, he knew that if you didn’t want to tell him, you wouldn’t. But he hoped that the small sliver of himself he’d presented to you would be enough for him to know this one thing that bothered you in exchange.

You frowned and his heart clenched.

You sighed and his fingers twitched around your wrist.

“I like treating injuries, I don’t like seeing them happen,” the words came out like they were stuck to your tongue, and you shied away from his gaze as you continued. “Hockey is…well it’s very violent.”

Mattheo suddenly felt shame wash over him like a bucket of cold water being poured over his head, but he didn’t know exactly why. He saw your eyes flicker up to his cut, flashing with panic as you thought about how it could’ve happened. Your frown deepened, and he knew he couldn’t look at it any longer.

With his other hand, his knuckles brushed your chin as he gingerly turned your gaze back to his. His voice was soft, almost coaxing.

“M’sorry, doc,” he crooned, rubbing his thumb along your jaw, watching the muscles unclench and your frown even out. He smiled at that, pulling at the end of your lips with his thumb. “It didn’t even hurt. Besides, that alcohol pad of yours stung more.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as your shoulders relaxed again. “You didn’t even flinch when I cleaned your cut, I’m not convinced,” you countered, watching him with those calculating eyes he’d begin to grow quite fond of.

“Yeah? How do I convince you then?” Mattheo glanced down, loosening his hold on your wrist to intertwine your fingers with his. He listened to your breath hitch, those big eyes of yours getting even bigger as his other hand fully cupped your jaw. You were so sweet, like candy he knew he’d be addicted to once he had a taste.

And Merlin did he want a taste.

You smiled, almost playfully, and squeezed his hand.

“Maybe you should go back to being scared of doctors.”

“But I really like this one.”

“You just met this one.”

Mattheo’s smirk widened into a full, cheeky grin. He nodded, eyes gleaming like you’d presented him with a challenge he couldn’t turn down.

“Alright, we’ll go slow,” he decided, rubbing his thumb along your cheek one more time before reaching down to take your backpack from your other hand, shrugging it over his own shoulder.

You furrowed your eyebrows as he tugged on your hands that were still connected, following him down the staircase.

“We’ll do what?” you squeaked, nearly jogging to keep up with his long strides.

“We’ll go slow,” he echoed, glancing back at you and slowing down his steps, smile softening. “Until I haven’t just met you. Until I know more than that you blink fast when you’re nervous and spin that cute ring on your finger when you’re thinking really hard.“

You blinked quickly, big eyes staring up at him, and he didn’t even know if you’d done it on purpose, but he laughed.

He brought your intertwined hands up to his lips, pressing them against your knuckles with a gentleness that resembled reverence. “I want to be able to recognize every expression that crosses your face, angel. I want to know every little quirk you have. Until then, we’ll go slow.”

paper monster.

masterlist

“alright amore, what do you wanna play, hmm?” theo sat down on the couch, taking a look at his two year old son who was mirroring his action.

“i learned how to play rock-paper-scissors!” the little boy, elio, exclaimed excitedly. theo couldn’t hide his smile as he looked at elio’s shiny eyes that resembled a lot like his wife.

his favourite pair of eyes ever.

“oh yeah? did mama teach you that?” theo’s bigger hand ruffles elio’s soft dark curls as the little one nodded enthusiastically.

stunningggg writiing

quidditch captain rivalry headcanons — theodore nott x ravenclaw!reader

©padmespetal 2025 : I DO NOT APPROVE OF MY WORKS TO BE TRANSLATED OR COPIED ANYWHERE WITHOUT PERMISSION

tags:

the nott-so-fake relationship (t.n.)

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Word Count: 10.1k

Summary: After your boyfriend cheats with your best friend, you enlist Theodore Nott in a fake relationship to get revenge

A/N: I fear this was better in my head

credits to @cafekitsune for the divider!

i biblically need this man.

Just keep watching

Pairing - Theodore Nott x Gf! reader

Summary - When you see yourself up on the big screen paired with Riddle, you freeze. Loud, yank jeers sound - you want to disappear. Luckily, your boyfriend's right behind you, ready to save the day.

Warnings - None ✿

WC: 0.8K

paper monster.

masterlist

“alright amore, what do you wanna play, hmm?” theo sat down on the couch, taking a look at his two year old son who was mirroring his action.

“i learned how to play rock-paper-scissors!” the little boy, elio, exclaimed excitedly. theo couldn’t hide his smile as he looked at elio’s shiny eyes that resembled a lot like his wife.

his favourite pair of eyes ever.

“oh yeah? did mama teach you that?” theo’s bigger hand ruffles elio’s soft dark curls as the little one nodded enthusiastically.

So cutee omgg 😭😭💞💞

…FORGOTTEN CIGARETTES

bsf!theodore nott x bsf!reader, smoking, making out, drabble

dividers by the lovely @uzmacchiato

(masterlist) (nav)

“theo, you know how bad those are for you right?” you muttered, waving a smoke cloud out of your face.

tobacco and unspoken words hung heavy in the crisp november air of the night. students asleep in their dormitories, you loved being alone with theo. no one else, just the two of you.

“yeah, ‘s too late now” he replied, blowing another puff of smoke into the air. you leaned against the cold cobblestone wall, looking at the boys side profile.

his legs hung loose and carefree over the thick stone railing, his head tilted up to release the smoke. “what do you mean, ‘too late’?” you question.

“it’s just, if it’s so bad f’me and i’ve already smoked so much, might as well just keep going” theo tried to explain his point of view. you’re lost, the words don’t make sense.

“do you want a hit?” he offers the burning cigarette to you, shifting his body to face yours. “i’m okay.” you shrug him off. “are you too scared?” theo teases, a smirk playing on his face as he takes another drag of smoke.

“no, i just have common sense and i know that stuff is bad for you.”

“you’re a fucking nerd, y’know that?”

“i’m serious theo! it’s high risk with no reward, honestly.” you tell him, trying to convince him to stop. you never liked cigarettes, the smell bothered you and to you, the concept was stupid.

suck in a puff of smoke, breath it out, repeat it, get addicted, then your health gets bad. you knew theo smoked a lot, for some reason it bugged you more than it should.

“they’re my fuckin’ lungs” he murmured under his breath as a cloud of smoke poured from the man’s lips. “i’m sorry i care.” a twang of annoyance riddled beneath your tongue.

“fine.” he says after a small delay. you watch theo toss his beloved cigarette off the astronomy tower, reaching into his pocket to grab something.

“here,” he hands you a pack of malboro lights. “take these. don’t give me one no matter how many times i ask.” you hesitate reaching out your hand.

“theo if you want to smoke, just smoke.”

“no, keep them.” he directs, hastily shoving them in your hands. “i don’t want them.” you try to give them back to him, watching as his body language closes off.

“throw them away, use them, give them to mattheo, i don’t care what you do with them! just don’t let me have one.” a pause of silence passes before you speak up again.

“theo, don’t be—“

“stop. i told you what to do, it’s for my health, or whatever you say.” he cuts you off, now fully facing you. “i… okay.” you sigh, pocketing the beat up pack.

“you sure theo? your cigarettes? i mean, you’ve been smoking since you were like what? fifteen? i just—“ your words get lost as you notice theo inching closer to you. shifting his weight on his hands until he’s a few inches away from your face.

next thing you know, his hands are in your hair and his lips are on yours. the faint taste of tobacco lingers on theo’s tongue, he hoped it didn’t change anything about the kiss.

he guided his tongue to your lips, entering your mouth as he shifted even closer. you kissed back passionately, holding his neck closer.

theo was supposed to be ‘just a friend’, but you always wondered what would happen if you kissed him randomly. well, it’s happening.

after a few seconds of theo’s tongue prodding your mouth, you pull away to catch your breath.

“that’s, uhm—“

“i’m sorry, i just—“

“cara mia, i can only handle one addiction at a time.” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

tessa’s notes… theo fluff omg this is a first

taglist: @emely9274 @baileysturnz @sllutty-sturniolo @chrisspussygang @evansturn @sturniolosluttt @kisschriss @sheluvsthesturniolos @sparklybtch @kaybugga @slvt4subchratt @csturnioloswifey @moond0llie @chrissleftshoe @sweetheartsangel @angelth1nsworld @sturrrrnslvt @sturnsfavxo @wh0remikasas @dollforprice @bluefans-blog @bittenbymatt @briithadoll @myunperfektstorys @jolly4holly @whore4chris @angel-sturn1 @goldilxcksblog @destructivegalexy @error404blameitontheblackstar @kimberlyxmalfoy @scarlet2025 @devotedlyteenagemusic @jadestxrnzz @angelonyourspeeddial @chellyxo @theosamore @courta13 @misamanson @coryoslut @barkingtoenail @sturniolohohoho

comment to be added or removed.

© rarebambi

don’t wait up.

dropping his protective gear backpack on the ground, theodore dragged his tired steps towards the slytherin common room. his gaze softened the moment it found you, fast asleep on the couch. his chest tightened at the thought of you waiting up for him, only to drift off in the quiet.

theo walked to the side of the couch and leaned forward, admiring your sleepy state. a small smile appeared on his lips. with the semi finals of quidditch cup drawing near, flint wanted everyone pushed through endless drills and repeated plays until the whole team was exhausted. his muscle ached from hours on the broom and the cold air still clung to his skin. but the moment he saw your peaceful face, every bit of fatigue seemed to melt away. just like you always did.

૭ the hospital wing  — ꒰ theodore nott x fem!reader ꒱ !

𓍯 summary you occasionally help madam pomfrey in the hospital wing, wanting to gain experience for the future. upon learning this, theo makes it his mission to go there every time you’re there.

𓍯 word count 4.5k

𓍯 warnings mentions of violences, bruises, injury, mentions of fevers

𓍯 author's note i may have self projected with this one wanting to be a nurse and all... but this was too cute i had to write it! my requests are now open, so feel free to send in anything you want me to write! hope you all enjoy, likes and reblogs are appreciated as always ♡

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 4th. theodore nott — kiss it better.

theodore nott x fem reader

navigation masterlist

Theodore never quite knew what to do with the attention you gave him.

The Slytherin common room breathed like a living thing: low emerald light pulsing from the lake windows, the fire hissing soft secrets into the hush, the faint mineral scent of deep water seeping through stone. Theo Nott had claimed the velvet wingback hours ago, boots kicked off, socks mismatched—one black, one dark green with tiny silver snakes he’d never admit to owning. The book in his lap, Defensive Magical Theory that he was supposed to be revising lay open to the same diagram of a Protego variant he’d memorized in fourth year. Useless. Every nerve ending was tuned to the pretty girl asleep on him instead.