Hii! I really love the way you write for Mattheo, so I had a lil request for him <3
Mattheo x reader when she draws him, and instead of making him look really scary and mean like most people would, she actually makes him look really peaceful and sweet? I'm really curious about how he'd react to that!
💌 Request: “Drawn Softer”
Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader
CW: soft!Mattheo energy, vulnerability, fluff, art, unexpected tenderness, emotional introspection
Summary: Everyone else sees Mattheo Riddle as dangerous—sharp edges, dark eyes, and a temper to match. But when you sketch him, you capture something no one else does. Instead of menace, there’s peace. Instead of fury, there’s softness. And when he sees it… he doesn’t know how to react to being seen like that.
It starts the way most things with Mattheo do, quietly, almost carelessly.
He’s sitting beside you in the courtyard, idly tossing pebbles into the fountain while pretending not to be bored out of his mind. You’re half listening to his muttered commentary about how stupid Charms homework is, your quill moving across your sketchbook without much thought.
He glances over after a few minutes, voice low and teasing.
“Drawing again, sweetheart? Let me guess—another masterpiece of flowers and fluffy clouds?”
You hum softly, not looking up. “Something like that.”
He smirks, clearly expecting you to roll your eyes or banter back. But you don’t. You’re too focused, pencil moving with that quiet kind of concentration he’s seen only a few times—like when you’re reading, or when you’re laughing at something you shouldn’t be.
When you finally look up, you find him already watching you. His hair falls in messy waves over his forehead, a faint bruise still lingering on his jaw from last week’s fight with whoever decided to insult Theo. His tie’s loose, his sleeves rolled up, and he looks like the kind of boy parents warn their children about.
Except you don’t see that. Not really.
You see the boy who makes sure his friends get back to the dorm safely. The one who flinches when someone slams a door too hard. The one who, when he laughs—really laughs—looks like he’s forgotten the weight of his father’s shadow for just a moment.
That’s the version you draw.
By the time you finish, the sun has started to dip behind the castle towers, painting everything gold. You close your sketchbook with a quiet sigh, and before you can slip it into your bag, Mattheo’s voice cuts in—lazy, curious.
You hesitate. “It’s not done.”
“Didn’t ask if it was,” he says, reaching for it. His fingers brush yours—warm, rough, confident in that way that still manages to make your heart skip. You let him take it.
There’s a silence then, heavier than before. The kind that feels fragile.
Mattheo doesn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes scan the page—his face, but softer. No scowl. No smirk. His shoulders are relaxed, his gaze distant. Peaceful. You’ve captured him in a way that makes him look like he belongs somewhere safe.
“…This isn’t me,” he finally mutters.
You tilt your head. “Sure it is.”
He shakes his head, eyes still fixed on the drawing. “You made me look—” He stops, searching for the word, and it comes out quieter than you expect. “Kind.”
Your chest tightens a little. “That’s how I see you.”
His brow furrows, and for once, there’s no sharpness in it—just confusion. A quiet kind of disbelief. “You shouldn’t.”
He laughs under his breath, but it’s not the usual one—the one full of charm and challenge. This one’s smaller, unsure. “Because no one else does.”
You lean in slightly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe that’s their problem.”
He looks up then, really looks at you. The teasing is gone. The mask, the bravado—it all slips away for just a second. You see something raw flicker in his eyes, like he’s not sure whether to be angry or grateful or terrified.
Mattheo Riddle has been drawn before—by rumor, by reputation, by fear. But no one’s ever drawn him like this. No one’s ever made him look like he could be gentle.
He hands the sketchbook back slowly, thumb brushing over the corner of the page before he lets go. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
You blink, startled. “Me?”
He smirks, but it’s soft now. “Yeah. You make people forget who they’re supposed to be.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then he stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Keep it,” he says quietly. “Just… don’t show anyone, alright?”
You nod, heart still pounding. “I won’t.”
He hesitates—just a second too long. Then, in a voice that barely makes it past the courtyard noise, he adds, “Thanks… for seeing me like that.”
And then he’s gone, walking away with that same careless swagger he always has. But when you glance down at your sketch again, you notice something new—the faintest smile tugging at the corners of the boy you drew.
And somehow, you think it’s real this time.
