merry christmas here i am boy

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘

── all of my mattheo recs sorted by au, trope, & genre !

・・・・・ 𝐀𝐔𝐬 & 𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒

A - D

amortentia ⋅ arranged marriage   ⋅ bartender ⋅ biker  birthday  ⋅ bodyguard  ⋅ boxer ⋅ brother's best friend camp counselor  ⋅ caretaking (+ injury, illness, hurt/comfort) ceo  ⋅ christmas  ⋅ cowboy ⋅ college ⋅ domestic

E - J

established relationship (+ boyfriend, husband)   ex (+ exes to lovers) ⋅ forced proximity  ⋅ frat bro friends to lovers  ⋅ friends with benefits  ⋅ halloween handyman ⋅ infidelity ⋅ jealousy

K - Z

lust potion  ⋅ mechanic  ⋅ meet cute ⋅ military   musician  (+ singer, drummer ) ⋅ nerd (+ gamer) parent (+ single parent)  ⋅ quidditch player rivals (+ enemies to lovers) ⋅ roommate  ⋅ royalty tattoo artist ⋅ valentine's  ⋅ vampire  ⋅ yule ball

・・・・・ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄

fluff  ⋅ romance ⋅ smut ⋅ angst

mattheo riddle sfw fic recs ── .✦

꒰ nsfw m. riddle recs┆ m. riddle au nav ┆ slytherin boys nav ꒱

please read all author warnings before reading & proceed at your own discretion. i'm not responsible for your online media consumption. all credit goes entirely to the writers, i did not write any of these !

↪ last updated 02.24.2026

🏛️ ━ fluff 🪞 ━ angst 🏷️ ━ hurt/comfort 🍸 ━ suggestive 🕯️ ━ personal fav

⟡ me and the devil (🏛️) | @ahqkas

they didn't understand how you did it, how you tamed the devil, how you made him fall so deeply in love with you that the darkness in him seemed to shrink in your presence. but the truth was, you hadn't tamed him at all. you’d simply loved him, and that was all mattheo riddle ever needed to be tamed

⟡ too sweet (🏛️🪞) | @/ahqkas

in which mattheo recalled the two times you were too sweet for him

⟡ back to the old house (🏛️) | @/ahqkas

the countless nights he spends fighting over any sized inconveniences were getting to him. he didn’t even think about visiting the professional medic to patch his wounds, not when he had you

“What on earth—“ there’s a gurgle as Mattheo attempts to stuff the laugh back in his mouth. “are you wearing?” He continues asking, paused in the middle of the room, eyes almost popping out of his skull by the ridiculous pajama set his girlfriend is wearing.

Bright red, filled with little critters in an assortment of Christmas themed Colours, his brows stay twisted frozen in place. He rubs his eyes, it doesn’t help with the illusion.

“What? they’re my pajamas!” They look as cute and festive as you remember in your own quick glance down. “What are you wearing? You can’t wear that.”

His brows quirk with offense instantly, as if he hadn’t just judged your own attire. “why not? They’re my pajamas babe.”

“It’s Christmas tho! You can’t wear that to the annual sleepathon.” You protest, eyes dropping to judge again the still absence of festive theme. “I knew you would do this.” You mutter to yourself, turning to dig through a bag.

He grins at the mutter, moving closer to try embrace you. “If you knew, I don’t know why you’re acting so suprised in the first place. I mean when have you ever seen me wear something like that ! let alone red of all—“ His ramble comes to a halt with a frightful realization. “No. Absolutely not-”

“-yes. Mmh, I totally did. Now go change.” You interrupt shoving an identical set into his chest.

Mattheo’s hands remain by his sides, a disbelieving look of betrayal etched across his face as he stares down the matching pajamas.

“Take them already. We don’t have all day.” You insist with the smallest of smiles, trying to hide the glee overcoming you.

The silence lingers, seconds passing between the playful demand and the strongly opposing feelings swarming in the air. He eyes the determination lit in your eyes, with what he thinks you believe is a forceful glare but it’s just too damn cute to be demanding.

And yet, Mattheo eventually huffs a sigh of defeat and grabs the set with a grumble. A string of complaints accompanying him to the bathroom, only met by impossible to keep contained giggles from yourself.

There’s no holding back his playful eye roll to your infectious laughter, because knowing your love for Christmas he well, should have seen this all coming.

synopsis: mattheo riddle realizes that he is not above the obsession that runs through the riddle family's blood.

content: brief smut, obsession, drugs, cuss words, insecure!mattheo, female!reader, inspired by the song 'tear you apart', by she wants revenge. minors do not interact.

a/n: this idea came from this lovely ask and i got so carried away while writing that i thought it would be better fitting to turn it into an one shot! i hope you like it and thank you for the idea, allison <3

mattheo riddle had always been a gravitational force at hogwarts—an orbit around which too many bodies—girls and boys—willingly spun, despite his infamous reputation. for riddle, a teenager violence in human forms with hormones raging like a wildfire, a complicated (if you could even call it that) family background, and the weight of being the heir to the cruel riddle empire on his shoulders, sex was catharsis. release from the heavy energy that surrounded his bones.

frankly speaking, he took the easiest bodies, the most eager mouths, the warmest thighs that opened for him without question for a quick fuck—no commitment, no strings. their pleasure sometimes came second, especially on days when his duties as a high-ranking death eater were particularly exhausting. he just wanted a warm pussy to bury himself in—and he always got it.

it was too easy.

until it wasn’t.

you were a curious presence in riddle’s eyes. quieter, sometimes watching him from afar, but never long enough for him to have an excuse to confront you and use it as a chance to get close. from the way you occasionally smiled gently at him in the corridors and were friends with pansy, for example, he knew you understood that slytherin did not equal monster.

curious, he thought the first time he caught you scribbling furiously in that little white notebook, jaw tight with concentration. he'd later mention your name in a slip of his tongue to lorenzo—the gossip king berkshire—about the subtle interest he’d developed in you, and soon enough, all the school knew mattheo riddle had noticed someone.

and that’s when his life turned a living hell.

during class, mattheo overheard you talking to pansy. the girl with the short black hair was whispering to you—loud enough for him to catch the syllables of his name—and through those whispered words, he discovered he’d been exposed. you looked back into parkinson’s green eyes with what he judged to be surprise, your lashes fluttering.

fuck.

after that, his interest—whatever the hell it had been—deepened into something sharper. barbed. maybe because now there was possibility. there was risk. you knew he wasn’t completely indifferent to you, and the thought that you were aware of it—even if not to the same obsessive degree he felt—left him with a foreign feeling: insecurity. what did you think of him? you surely hated his father—but did you hate him by association? of course you did. why wouldn’t you? you were on opposite sides of the war that was coming, and you definitely knew about his reputation as a womanizing, arrogant, cruel bloke. damn, he’d lost sleep over the possibility that you despised him the way some of his classmates did. he never cared about other people’s opinions—of course he didn’t. if he had, he wouldn’t have survived childhood with all the vicious comments and twisted assumptions people made about him since the day he was born.

but this time, it was different. this time, someone's opinion mattered.

riddle had never been insecure about his looks, yet he caught himself wondering if you preferred dark eyes like his or lighter ones like draco’s or theo’s; if you liked cocky personalities like his or something shyer like ron weasley’s. you turned his whole world upside down, and the more fascinated he became, the worse it got. every time he tried to work up the nerve to ask you out—maybe to hogsmeade for a butterbeer, or stargazing in the astronomy tower, or anything else—he froze. the brand-new insecurities possessed him like a fucking demon, and he’d end up giving you a weak wave and walking past like he had somewhere important to be. like a fucking coward in slytherin robes.

you turned his iron world into molten chaos. you unraveled him.

the cycle repeated until the astronomy tower became his confessional. night after night, he sat with theodore, who found the whole situation hilariously cute. theo would snicker at mattheo’s misery, hand him a joint, and say something like, “you’re acting like a bloody virgin, mate.” mattheo would take long drags, trying to get a grip on himself, but weed hadn't worked on him in years. if anything, the more he smoked, the more you flooded his mind. and fuck, that pissed him off—because even when he was alone in bed, surrounded by the green curtains of the slytherin boys’ dorm, you didn’t give him a moment of peace. you haunted his dreams, his bed, his mind.

he tried to be rational. told himself he just needed to jerk off, that it was a stupid crush that would pass… but it never did. he even prayed once—to a god he didn’t believe in—but still, nothing. nothing worked.

it only worsened.

mattheo started wondering if this wasn’t just a crush, but a streak of the psychopathy and obsession that ran in his family warned him otherwise. riddle men weren’t exactly known for subtlety when a woman caught their interest. he thought he was above that. apparently, he was not.

as the days dragged on, the fantasies grew—from innocent things like imagining your first real conversation, your favorite color, your opinions on everything—to filthier ones. holding you naked, with no clothes between your burning skin, fisting your hair, whispering dirty things in your ear, hearing your strangled, desperate moans, eating you out until you begged, lying beside you while he watched you drift off to sleep after he’d fucked you so hard he nearly tore you apart…

he really needed to get laid.

and so he did. excessively. frenziedly. mattheo fucked so many girls—some new, some old—that if he didn’t eat like a pig and train like a maniac, he’s sure he would’ve dropped weight. no girl from any house was safe from the beast living inside him. he had to get you out of his system, damn it. yet you remained lodged in his bloodstream like a fever.

but one random day in transfiguration class, you dug yourself even deeper when McGonagall paired the two of you together for a project. he’d later find out theo had rigged the draw, and he could only thank his Italian friend—because merlin help him, the conversation flowed.

and it flowed beautifully, like river water.

you discovered you had more in common than either of you expected. mattheo asked about your opinions on the world, your tastes—and you asked his, without a hint of judgment about where he came from or what he’d done and would still do. he even learned your favorite quidditch team. like that, he felt something inside of him loosen.

over the following days, your relationship evolved from meeting in the library for the project to meeting just because you wanted to, for no reason at all. but it was at a party in the slytherin common room—after far too many shots of firewhisky—that he finally confessed how he felt. the alcohol made him brave and loosened his tongue, and he foolishly thought the obsessive feelings had faded. he was hit with internal horror the second the words left his mouth—no, they hadn’t. they sharpened. you were still running like burning blood through his veins. he still fucked other girls thinking about your face, your eyes, your mouth. he’d never forgotten you, and it didn’t look like he ever would.

eventually, when the haze of alcohol and weed cleared a few days later, you talked. you agreed to take things slow—but you admitted you had feelings for him too, blooming brighter every day like the most beautiful red rose. that you thought about him the way he thought about you. as time passed, your gazes lingered, your hand found his under tables—but still, you felt unsure about starting an actual relationship. dating at school came with repercussions—especially when dating a riddle.

but the fire between you burned too hot, too fierce, and no amount of hesitation could delay the moment your lips finally met. with his calloused hand, mattheo pulled you into one of hogwarts’ cramped broom closets—and there, he felt an ecstasy no weed, cocaine, or any drug or indulgence had ever given him. your lips were sweet and soft, and every reservation you’d both had vanished in the air like smoke. now nothing existed in riddle’s head except the feeling of your tight pussy swallowing his cock like it was life or death. nothing but your moans—exactly as delicious as he’d imagined in his wet dreams. nothing but the sacred sight of your mouth in that perfect little ‘O’, a vision sacred enough for him to know that a life of celibacy in the clergy would never be possible for him. nothing but the way you milked his cock with your release—and he had to use every ounce of willpower not to come inside you, to not find out what a tiny version of the two of you would look like, while he yanked your hair hard enough to hurt.

but you were taking it slow, so he pulled out and spilled across your thigh instead.

you didn't know what tomorrow would bring. war loomed like a storm. your union, if it grew, would have consequences sharp as knives.

only one thing was certain: mattheo still had that unshakeable, twisted, obsessive, fervently loving desire to fucking tear you apart—in his own disturbingly perfect way.

oh my goodness its coming to an end. here is the final chapter of my rancher!mattheo series. i have loved writing this so so so much <3 thank you to every single person who took the time to read my stories, shoutout to the tagslist ily all sm. enjoy 𓃾

word count: 5.8k warnings: stress, emotional tension, swearing

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁𓆩 masterlist 𓆪. ݁˖ .⊹ lesson 7.5: how to choose yourself ↤ ||| ↦ epilogue coming soon...

your head was pounding as you reread your notes from class earlier that day. the ink on the page looked smudged from your sweaty palms, like even the paper was exhausted trying to keep up with you.. the ache behind your eyes pulsed in sync with the faint humming of the library lights and your empty stomach twisted beneath your scrubs. staying hungry had quietly become a habit, something you didn’t notice until moments like this, when the room swayed just a little too easily.

the library was hazy with the soft glow of desk lamps, each one illuminating a student in their own quiet panic. someone sniffled two tables over. another tapped their pencil so fast it sounded like a heartbeat. a cluster of girls whispered over an organic chemistry textbook, their energy frantic and hopeful all at once.

you tried rereading your notes, forcing the words into your mind, but they slipped straight through; because all you could hear was mattheo’s voice from that phone call. the roughness of it. the way his breath hitched when he said, "you promised." you’d replayed it in your head so often it almost didn’t sound real anymore.

you swallowed hard and checked your phone. fifteen minutes until lab. "shit," you muttered, not even bothering to stack your papers neatly. everything went into your bag in one frantic sweep, and you half jogged, half stumbled out of the library.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

lab was a blur; bright lights, sharp scents of rubbing alcohol, metal instruments clattering, the short bark of your ta’s instructions. you moved on muscle memory alone, your thoughts fogging at the edges. at one point, you caught yourself gripping the counter to steady your balance.

when the ta finally dismissed the class, everyone rushed out, eager to breathe fresh air again. you stayed behind, scanning the board, making sure you hadn’t missed a major conept. your eyes drifted over diagrams, formulas, arrows pointing to things you couldn’t remember learning.

then, on your way down the hallway, you passed someone. a familiar broad-shouldered silhouette. a trucker hat pulled low. for a second you thought the exhaustion was making things up. you stuttered so you stopped, stepped backward, and turned. dirty boots planted on the glossy tile floor, leaving faint dust marks. jeans a shade of deep blue that belonged to barns and backroads, not miami sidewalks. a tight, sun-bleached t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. a familiar trucker hat pulled low.

but then he looked up.

that slow, crooked smirk. those sun-bitten arms.

“hi, sweetheart.”

and the world fell back into place.

"mattheo?" your voice cracked as your brain caught up with your eyes. "what-" you didn’t even finish. your arms wrapped around him automatically, your face pressed into the soft cotton of his shirt. he smelled like hay, cedar, sunlight… home. "what are you doing here?"

"careful, you're gonna crush your gift," he chuckled, pulling back just enough to reveal the small bouquet of wildflowers. stems uneven, petals bent from the ride, tied together with a piece of twine.

your breath caught. "you brought these? from the farm?"

"picked ’em this mornin’." he shrugged like it was nothing.

you lifted them to your face, inhaling deeply; earth, sun, something soft and sweet. tears stung your eyes before you could stop them. "thank you," you whispered.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

"wasn't sure you'd be in that buildin’," mattheo mumbled as he stepped into your apartment, sliding his hands into his back pockets like he wasn’t sure where to put them.

you tossed your keys onto the counter. "lucky guess?"

"somethin’ like that." he lingered near the doorway, gaze flicking between your messy counters, your stacked textbooks, and the pile of scrubs draped over a chair.

"you can come in," you said, trying not to smile too hard. "but those boots stay right there. my carpet is already fighting for its life."

he huffed a laugh and toed them off, padding over to the couch. he sat too stiff at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to get comfortable, then finally slouched back, legs taking up half the couch like always.

"cute lil place you got here." he says sprawling his arms across the backs of your cushions, brown eyes wandering your walls.

"thanks?" you say with a laugh, although it was a mess and the dishes were piled up to the heavens in your sink, you were happy he thought it was 'cute.'

you set the flowers in a vase, filling the kitchen with a faint whisper of their scent. the kettle clicked on behind you.

after a few awkward minutes of small talk, you turned to him fully. "why are you here, mattheo?"

he picked up the steaming mug you handed him, letting the warmth seep into his calloused palms. "are you enjoyin' it here?" he asked softly.

you blinked at him. "why?"

his eyes scanned your face; the dark circles, your knotted-up hair, the shaky way you propped your elbow on your knee. "just wonderin’."

"not as much as i thought i would," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded slowly, setting the mug down. "you shouldn't be killin' yourself over somethin' you don't even like."

you stiffened, pulling your legs up beneath you. "this is my life now. i worked for this. people would kill for this program. i can’t just give it up because i’m tired." you sigh, looking down at your hands.

"that ain’t what i meant, darlin’," he murmured. "i mean you're hurtin’. you ain't takin’ care of yourself, fallin' apart at the seams."

he tugged gently at the loose thread on your shirt, offering a small smile. you huffed out a weak laugh. "very funny."

the room settled into a soft, familiar quiet. you watched him out of the corner of your eye; the slightly longer curls, the tan lines sharp on his arms, the way his jaw tightened like he wanted to say something and wasn't sure he should.

"i ain't here to drag you back," he said finally, voice low. "i'm here ’cause i couldn't stand not tryin'."

the words hit you in the chest. tears welled instantly, one slipping before you could blink it away. he reached out without hesitation, thumb brushing your cheek. his hand cupped your face like he’d done a thousand times. and when he leaned in to kiss you, it felt slow, warm, achingly familiar. like he’d carried that kiss the whole way from the farm. when he pulled back, he cleared his throat and pretended to be very interested in his tea.

you swallowed hard.

"i gotta say somethin’," he murmured after a fragile silence.

you looked up. "okay."

his leg bounced once, nervous. "when you left… somethin’ in me just-" he exhaled. "i ain’t been right since, sweetheart. i been tryin’ to talk myself outta comin’ here every damn day. told myself you were buildin’ your future, and i shouldn’t get in the way. but i kept thinkin’ about you walkin’ home after dark, fallin’ asleep on your books, skippin’ meals…" he shook his head. "i needed to see you. needed to know you were alright."

your throat tightened. "mattheo…"

his eyes lifted to yours, soft and scared in the same breath and your stomach flipped.

"i can’t go back," you whispered. "my life’s here now. miami, classes, rotations… it’s everything i’ve worked for." you avoided his gaze, fearing it might change your mind. "-but i’m really glad you came. glad i got to see you again."

he nodded, jaw flexing like he was fighting something back. "yeah. me too." he stood slowly, picking up his hat and brushing his thumb over the brim like it steadied him. then he stepped toward you, leaned down, and pressed a long, warm kiss to your forehead. "take care of yourself, sweetheart." he whispered.

"thank you mattheo," you replied, voice cracking.

he hesitated for half a second, like he wanted to turn back, then opened the door and slipped out. the apartment felt colder without him. quieter. you stood there, breathing in the faint scent of wildflowers filling the room.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

mattheo had gone to see you hoping the trip would clear his head, give him perspective, maybe even give him the courage to finally say what he'd been holding onto for months. instead, it had done the opposite. he’d flown back home with his shoulders slumped, a new line of tension carved between his brows, and a heaviness in his chest he couldn’t shake.

the worst part was realizing he couldn’t remember who he’d been before you. before your sharp humor, your easy laughter, the way your clumsiness made him smile even when he tried not to. you’d woven yourself into him without even trying.

he shook his head, a ritual he went through every day, trying to push the thought of you out, trying to scrape you off like stubborn dust. it never worked. it only reminded him how deep you’d settled. he dipped his brush into the stain and ran it along the wooden fence, slow and methodical. the sky above was a flat, heavy gray, the sort that made the whole world feel like it was holding its breath. no rain, just that dull weight hanging over everything.

his boots felt heavier with every minute. when he bent down to start staining from the top again, he heard the sudden clatter of metal behind him. the can tipped over, rolling once before the dark stain began to bleed out over the dry grass.

“fuckin’ motherf-” he snapped, tossing the brush down and striding toward the barn with quick, angry footsteps.

inside the house, ned and marge watched through the kitchen window, both wearing matching frowns. “that boy’s gonna work himself to death,” marge said, arms crossed tight. “for heaven’s sake, it’s sunday. he ain’t supposed to be out there.”

she nudged ned toward the door like she was shooing a stubborn mule. “marge…” he warned, hands going to his hips. “i told him. told him workin’ like that ain't gonna fix nothin’. he just said he ‘needed somethin’ to keep his mind busy.’” ned shook his head. “i can’t tell if he’s bein’ hardheaded or heartbroken.”

mattheo knew they were worried. they always were. he appreciated it in theory, but right now he wished they’d just leave him alone and let him sink into his misery without an audience. what he felt was real; raw, sharp, a little humiliating. and he knew one thing with painful certainty: whatever had lived between you and him, whatever he’d felt in his bones… he would never feel anything like it again. not with anyone else.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

sweat clung to him like a second skin, beading along his hairline, sliding down the back of his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt. the sun wasn’t just hot today, it was punishing. the kind of heat that made the dirt taste metallic in the air and turned the whole farm into a living, breathing furnace. every breath burned. every movement stuck. mattheo dragged the rake through the old hay one last time, shoulders tightening, muscles screaming. the stables smelled sharper than usual; sweet rot, manure, warm leather, dust baking under the sun. he hiked the hem of his shirt over his nose, breathing through the cotton as he shoved the last pile aside.

stanley snorted behind him, the horse shifting irritably, making suzie’s ears shoot straight up. “relax, relax,” he muttered, brushing his hands off on his jeans, streaking them with dirt and sweat.

the crunch of hay behind him made him groan under his breath. ned. great. another lecture about how 'work’n yerself to death ain’t gonna fix nothin’ son.' “i’m almost done, ned,” he called without turning around. “i’ll be in soon.”

but the voice that answered wasn’t ned.

“what’s with the ’tude, farm boy? i was just coming to say hi.”

he froze. actually froze. his stomach dropped so fast it made him dizzy. his lungs jolted tight, refusing air. his hands shook. his brain scrambled. no, hallucinating, overheated, dehydrated... because it couldn’t be you. not here. not now.

he forced himself to turn, slowly, like the world might break if he moved too fast. and there you were.

flannel pushed to your elbows, white tank top hugging sun-warmed skin. worn farm jeans clinging to your thighs. those brown cowboy boots he’d ignored every damn morning in the hallway closet because looking at them hurt too much. your smile was soft. timid. like you didn’t know if he was about to yell at you, kiss you, drop to his knees, shove you into the mud, or sprint in the other direction.

you opened your mouth - to apologize or to explain, - but the words never made it out, because his arms were already around you. he lifted you clean off the ground, spinning you in a dizzy, breathless circle like he hadn’t touched something real in months. your hair flew around both of you, warm and sweet-smelling, catching the sunlight like a halo. he buried his face in your neck, in your shoulder, in the familiarity of you. your knees went weak the second his skin met yours. everything that had happened; everything unsaid, everything broken, hit all at once and the tears came before you could stop them.

“i’m so sorry-”

“shh,” he whispered against your cheek, voice low and shaking. “shut up. please.”

then his mouth was on yours. desperate, relieved, too much and not enough all at once. a kiss that tasted like sweat, sun, summer dust, and every word he’d tried not to say out loud. you stayed tangled together long after the kiss broke, foreheads pressed, breaths mixing. the gray clouds shifted, letting the sun spill over the fields in bright, startling gold. the wind swept through the grasslands, cool and soft, like the whole farm was exhaling with you.

“i love you,” you whispered, palms cradling his face, grounding him.

he let out a sharp breath - a laugh, a sob, something trembling and human - and kissed you again, slower this time. “i ain’t ever said those words to nobody,” he muttered, voice cracking. “not once. not ever.”

“it’s okay,” you whispered. “i’m not rushing you.”

he shook his head, almost frustrated, thumb brushing your jaw. “but i love you more than you’ll ever know, my darlin’,” he said softly, brokenly, like confessing a prayer. “been tryin’ not to for so damn long.”

your chest tightened, warmth blooming behind your ribs. you curled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just enough to steady yourself, to make sure this moment was real and not something you’d dream and lose.

“so what’s this mean then?” he asked, voice small, hopeful, terrified.

“it means i’m staying,” you said, smiling and lord, his eyes lit up like you’d handed him the whole world.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

you sat on the stairs of the farmhouse porch, mattheo’s carhartt jacket slung over your shoulders, sleeves swallowing your hands. your brown boots were still scuffed from the morning chores, mud caked around the edges, and the steam from your cup of hot toddy curled into the cool evening air. aunt marge rocked gently in her chair beside you, knitting her third sweater of the month, needles clicking in an easy, familiar rhythm. ned sat opposite her, pipe resting between his teeth, each exhale drifting into the dusk like small ghosts.

it had been a few weeks since you’d officially moved to tennessee. you’d picked up a job waitressing at the diner you’d loved since childhood. you figured you’d work while finishing your degree online, despite your parents’ protests and plans that didn’t quite feel like yours anymore.

choosing yourself felt… right. choosing the slow mornings, the rolling hills, your education degree, the quiet of the farm. you still slept in the room aunt marge had lovingly made up, quilted blankets stacked at the foot of the bed, rose colored sachets tucked in the dresser drawers. marge and ned insisted you stay, claiming it was 'just nice havin’ you around again,' though you caught the way marge wiped her eyes when she said it.

the farm was quiet tonight. a soft wind threaded through the leaves. the horses grazed lazily in the meadow, swishing their tails. the sky glowed pink and honey-gold as the sun dipped low. the only sound was the steady hum of marge’s knitting needles striking together and the faint creak of ned’s chair. the screen door groaned open behind you, followed by the heavy clunk of worn-out boots. mattheo dropped onto the step beside you, thigh brushing yours, the heat of him grounding you. he pressed a kiss to your cheek; quick, warm, familiar then followed your gaze over the fields.

“you missed it, huh?” he murmured.

“more than you know.” you laughed softly, lifting your drink to your lips.

“so you wanna stay for a long time right?” he asked, nudging your knee with his.

“yes, mattheo.” you rolled your eyes.

he tilted his head. “with me?”

you blinked. “well… i guess?” you teased, brow raised.

aunt marge cleared her throat softly, eyes still on her knitting but a knowing smile tugging at her mouth. “stars been awful loud lately,” she said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “been tellin’ me for months now y’all were headed for somethin’ permanent. couldn’t shut ’em up if i tried.”

you snorted. “the stars talk to you now?”

“been talkin’ my whole life,” she shrugged. “just figured you’d wanna know they been rootin’ for the two of ya since before either of you pulled your heads outta your asses.”

mattheo nudged your knee gently, his voice softer. “look up,” he murmured.

you lifted your eyes to the deepening sky. the first constellations flickered awake, scattered like tiny lanterns. “that one’s orion,” he whispered. “used t’ trace it every night tryin’ not to think ’bout you.” his finger brushed over yours as he pointed. “he’s smilin’ at us tonight.”

your breath hitched, because he wasn’t talking about stars, not really. he finally reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small box tied with a faded red ribbon. he held it out to you, elbows resting on his knees.

“here.”

you stared at it, cautious. behind you, aunt marge’s soft snicker broke the quiet. you shot her a look, and she just nodded toward the box like she’d been waiting all day for this. your fingers tugged apart the ribbon, lifting the lid slowly. inside lay a single golden key.

“what’s this?” you breathed.

mattheo’s smile was boyish, bright, and a little shaky. “ours. if you want it to be.”

your mouth fell open. your gaze snapped to marge and ned, who were grinning so wide it looked painful.

“when did you-”

“been savin’ up a while,” he said gently. “was just waitin’ for you, darlin’.”

your hand trembled as you picked up the key, warm from the box, your future suddenly real in your palm.

“mattheo…” you whispered.

“yeah?” he murmured, leaning closer.

before you could answer, ned let out a quiet laugh. “well go on,” he said, waving his pipe. “don’t leave the boy hangin’.”

mattheo nudged your shoulder. “you sayin’ yes?”

you nodded, smiling through the tears. “yeah. yes.”

he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. his hand threaded through yours, steady and warm.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

later that night, the porch had settled into silence. marge and ned had gone inside. the horses were still. the whole farm felt like it was holding its breath. you and mattheo lay on your backs in the cool grass behind the house, his jacket draped over both your shoulders. the stars were bright, brighter than they’d been in months, constellations sharp and vivid.

“there’s cassiopeia,” you whispered, pointing.

“mhm,” he hummed, shifting closer so your arms touched. “and there’s you.”

you turned your head. “me?”

he nodded toward the sky. “that bright one. right there. shows up every night, even when the clouds try coverin’ her.” his voice dropped. “kinda like someone else i know.”

your cheeks warmed. “you’re crazy.”

“yeah,” he said softly. “crazy 'bout you.”

you smiled. “so what happens now?”

he smirked, tugging you into his chest. “now?” he murmured. “now we build somethin’. somethin’ good.”

fireflies blinked around you like tiny sparks, the soft hum of summer settling in. the key lay warm between your palms, pressed together over your heart. for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel scary. it felt like coming home.

tag list: @salvatt1 @mishtay @eneywey @ladyelena112 @bookies16 @nobodylikeslia @bambidreamzzz

oh my goodness its coming to an end. here is the final chapter of my rancher!mattheo series. i have loved writing this so so so much <3 thank you to every single person who took the time to read my stories, shoutout to the tagslist ily all sm. enjoy 𓃾

word count: 5.8k warnings: stress, emotional tension, swearing

⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁𓆩 masterlist 𓆪. ݁˖ .⊹ lesson 7.5: how to choose yourself ↤ ||| ↦ epilogue coming soon...

your head was pounding as you reread your notes from class earlier that day. the ink on the page looked smudged from your sweaty palms, like even the paper was exhausted trying to keep up with you.. the ache behind your eyes pulsed in sync with the faint humming of the library lights and your empty stomach twisted beneath your scrubs. staying hungry had quietly become a habit, something you didn’t notice until moments like this, when the room swayed just a little too easily.

the library was hazy with the soft glow of desk lamps, each one illuminating a student in their own quiet panic. someone sniffled two tables over. another tapped their pencil so fast it sounded like a heartbeat. a cluster of girls whispered over an organic chemistry textbook, their energy frantic and hopeful all at once.

you tried rereading your notes, forcing the words into your mind, but they slipped straight through; because all you could hear was mattheo’s voice from that phone call. the roughness of it. the way his breath hitched when he said, "you promised." you’d replayed it in your head so often it almost didn’t sound real anymore.

you swallowed hard and checked your phone. fifteen minutes until lab. "shit," you muttered, not even bothering to stack your papers neatly. everything went into your bag in one frantic sweep, and you half jogged, half stumbled out of the library.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

lab was a blur; bright lights, sharp scents of rubbing alcohol, metal instruments clattering, the short bark of your ta’s instructions. you moved on muscle memory alone, your thoughts fogging at the edges. at one point, you caught yourself gripping the counter to steady your balance.

when the ta finally dismissed the class, everyone rushed out, eager to breathe fresh air again. you stayed behind, scanning the board, making sure you hadn’t missed a major conept. your eyes drifted over diagrams, formulas, arrows pointing to things you couldn’t remember learning.

then, on your way down the hallway, you passed someone. a familiar broad-shouldered silhouette. a trucker hat pulled low. for a second you thought the exhaustion was making things up. you stuttered so you stopped, stepped backward, and turned. dirty boots planted on the glossy tile floor, leaving faint dust marks. jeans a shade of deep blue that belonged to barns and backroads, not miami sidewalks. a tight, sun-bleached t-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. a familiar trucker hat pulled low.

but then he looked up.

that slow, crooked smirk. those sun-bitten arms.

“hi, sweetheart.”

and the world fell back into place.

"mattheo?" your voice cracked as your brain caught up with your eyes. "what-" you didn’t even finish. your arms wrapped around him automatically, your face pressed into the soft cotton of his shirt. he smelled like hay, cedar, sunlight… home. "what are you doing here?"

"careful, you're gonna crush your gift," he chuckled, pulling back just enough to reveal the small bouquet of wildflowers. stems uneven, petals bent from the ride, tied together with a piece of twine.

your breath caught. "you brought these? from the farm?"

"picked ’em this mornin’." he shrugged like it was nothing.

you lifted them to your face, inhaling deeply; earth, sun, something soft and sweet. tears stung your eyes before you could stop them. "thank you," you whispered.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

"wasn't sure you'd be in that buildin’," mattheo mumbled as he stepped into your apartment, sliding his hands into his back pockets like he wasn’t sure where to put them.

you tossed your keys onto the counter. "lucky guess?"

"somethin’ like that." he lingered near the doorway, gaze flicking between your messy counters, your stacked textbooks, and the pile of scrubs draped over a chair.

"you can come in," you said, trying not to smile too hard. "but those boots stay right there. my carpet is already fighting for its life."

he huffed a laugh and toed them off, padding over to the couch. he sat too stiff at first, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to get comfortable, then finally slouched back, legs taking up half the couch like always.

"cute lil place you got here." he says sprawling his arms across the backs of your cushions, brown eyes wandering your walls.

"thanks?" you say with a laugh, although it was a mess and the dishes were piled up to the heavens in your sink, you were happy he thought it was 'cute.'

you set the flowers in a vase, filling the kitchen with a faint whisper of their scent. the kettle clicked on behind you.

after a few awkward minutes of small talk, you turned to him fully. "why are you here, mattheo?"

he picked up the steaming mug you handed him, letting the warmth seep into his calloused palms. "are you enjoyin' it here?" he asked softly.

you blinked at him. "why?"

his eyes scanned your face; the dark circles, your knotted-up hair, the shaky way you propped your elbow on your knee. "just wonderin’."

"not as much as i thought i would," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

he nodded slowly, setting the mug down. "you shouldn't be killin' yourself over somethin' you don't even like."

you stiffened, pulling your legs up beneath you. "this is my life now. i worked for this. people would kill for this program. i can’t just give it up because i’m tired." you sigh, looking down at your hands.

"that ain’t what i meant, darlin’," he murmured. "i mean you're hurtin’. you ain't takin’ care of yourself, fallin' apart at the seams."

he tugged gently at the loose thread on your shirt, offering a small smile. you huffed out a weak laugh. "very funny."

the room settled into a soft, familiar quiet. you watched him out of the corner of your eye; the slightly longer curls, the tan lines sharp on his arms, the way his jaw tightened like he wanted to say something and wasn't sure he should.

"i ain't here to drag you back," he said finally, voice low. "i'm here ’cause i couldn't stand not tryin'."

the words hit you in the chest. tears welled instantly, one slipping before you could blink it away. he reached out without hesitation, thumb brushing your cheek. his hand cupped your face like he’d done a thousand times. and when he leaned in to kiss you, it felt slow, warm, achingly familiar. like he’d carried that kiss the whole way from the farm. when he pulled back, he cleared his throat and pretended to be very interested in his tea.

you swallowed hard.

"i gotta say somethin’," he murmured after a fragile silence.

you looked up. "okay."

his leg bounced once, nervous. "when you left… somethin’ in me just-" he exhaled. "i ain’t been right since, sweetheart. i been tryin’ to talk myself outta comin’ here every damn day. told myself you were buildin’ your future, and i shouldn’t get in the way. but i kept thinkin’ about you walkin’ home after dark, fallin’ asleep on your books, skippin’ meals…" he shook his head. "i needed to see you. needed to know you were alright."

your throat tightened. "mattheo…"

his eyes lifted to yours, soft and scared in the same breath and your stomach flipped.

"i can’t go back," you whispered. "my life’s here now. miami, classes, rotations… it’s everything i’ve worked for." you avoided his gaze, fearing it might change your mind. "-but i’m really glad you came. glad i got to see you again."

he nodded, jaw flexing like he was fighting something back. "yeah. me too." he stood slowly, picking up his hat and brushing his thumb over the brim like it steadied him. then he stepped toward you, leaned down, and pressed a long, warm kiss to your forehead. "take care of yourself, sweetheart." he whispered.

"thank you mattheo," you replied, voice cracking.

he hesitated for half a second, like he wanted to turn back, then opened the door and slipped out. the apartment felt colder without him. quieter. you stood there, breathing in the faint scent of wildflowers filling the room.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

mattheo had gone to see you hoping the trip would clear his head, give him perspective, maybe even give him the courage to finally say what he'd been holding onto for months. instead, it had done the opposite. he’d flown back home with his shoulders slumped, a new line of tension carved between his brows, and a heaviness in his chest he couldn’t shake.

the worst part was realizing he couldn’t remember who he’d been before you. before your sharp humor, your easy laughter, the way your clumsiness made him smile even when he tried not to. you’d woven yourself into him without even trying.

he shook his head, a ritual he went through every day, trying to push the thought of you out, trying to scrape you off like stubborn dust. it never worked. it only reminded him how deep you’d settled. he dipped his brush into the stain and ran it along the wooden fence, slow and methodical. the sky above was a flat, heavy gray, the sort that made the whole world feel like it was holding its breath. no rain, just that dull weight hanging over everything.

his boots felt heavier with every minute. when he bent down to start staining from the top again, he heard the sudden clatter of metal behind him. the can tipped over, rolling once before the dark stain began to bleed out over the dry grass.

“fuckin’ motherf-” he snapped, tossing the brush down and striding toward the barn with quick, angry footsteps.

inside the house, ned and marge watched through the kitchen window, both wearing matching frowns. “that boy’s gonna work himself to death,” marge said, arms crossed tight. “for heaven’s sake, it’s sunday. he ain’t supposed to be out there.”

she nudged ned toward the door like she was shooing a stubborn mule. “marge…” he warned, hands going to his hips. “i told him. told him workin’ like that ain't gonna fix nothin’. he just said he ‘needed somethin’ to keep his mind busy.’” ned shook his head. “i can’t tell if he’s bein’ hardheaded or heartbroken.”

mattheo knew they were worried. they always were. he appreciated it in theory, but right now he wished they’d just leave him alone and let him sink into his misery without an audience. what he felt was real; raw, sharp, a little humiliating. and he knew one thing with painful certainty: whatever had lived between you and him, whatever he’d felt in his bones… he would never feel anything like it again. not with anyone else.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

sweat clung to him like a second skin, beading along his hairline, sliding down the back of his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt. the sun wasn’t just hot today, it was punishing. the kind of heat that made the dirt taste metallic in the air and turned the whole farm into a living, breathing furnace. every breath burned. every movement stuck. mattheo dragged the rake through the old hay one last time, shoulders tightening, muscles screaming. the stables smelled sharper than usual; sweet rot, manure, warm leather, dust baking under the sun. he hiked the hem of his shirt over his nose, breathing through the cotton as he shoved the last pile aside.

stanley snorted behind him, the horse shifting irritably, making suzie’s ears shoot straight up. “relax, relax,” he muttered, brushing his hands off on his jeans, streaking them with dirt and sweat.

the crunch of hay behind him made him groan under his breath. ned. great. another lecture about how 'work’n yerself to death ain’t gonna fix nothin’ son.' “i’m almost done, ned,” he called without turning around. “i’ll be in soon.”

but the voice that answered wasn’t ned.

“what’s with the ’tude, farm boy? i was just coming to say hi.”

he froze. actually froze. his stomach dropped so fast it made him dizzy. his lungs jolted tight, refusing air. his hands shook. his brain scrambled. no, hallucinating, overheated, dehydrated... because it couldn’t be you. not here. not now.

he forced himself to turn, slowly, like the world might break if he moved too fast. and there you were.

flannel pushed to your elbows, white tank top hugging sun-warmed skin. worn farm jeans clinging to your thighs. those brown cowboy boots he’d ignored every damn morning in the hallway closet because looking at them hurt too much. your smile was soft. timid. like you didn’t know if he was about to yell at you, kiss you, drop to his knees, shove you into the mud, or sprint in the other direction.

you opened your mouth - to apologize or to explain, - but the words never made it out, because his arms were already around you. he lifted you clean off the ground, spinning you in a dizzy, breathless circle like he hadn’t touched something real in months. your hair flew around both of you, warm and sweet-smelling, catching the sunlight like a halo. he buried his face in your neck, in your shoulder, in the familiarity of you. your knees went weak the second his skin met yours. everything that had happened; everything unsaid, everything broken, hit all at once and the tears came before you could stop them.

“i’m so sorry-”

“shh,” he whispered against your cheek, voice low and shaking. “shut up. please.”

then his mouth was on yours. desperate, relieved, too much and not enough all at once. a kiss that tasted like sweat, sun, summer dust, and every word he’d tried not to say out loud. you stayed tangled together long after the kiss broke, foreheads pressed, breaths mixing. the gray clouds shifted, letting the sun spill over the fields in bright, startling gold. the wind swept through the grasslands, cool and soft, like the whole farm was exhaling with you.

“i love you,” you whispered, palms cradling his face, grounding him.

he let out a sharp breath - a laugh, a sob, something trembling and human - and kissed you again, slower this time. “i ain’t ever said those words to nobody,” he muttered, voice cracking. “not once. not ever.”

“it’s okay,” you whispered. “i’m not rushing you.”

he shook his head, almost frustrated, thumb brushing your jaw. “but i love you more than you’ll ever know, my darlin’,” he said softly, brokenly, like confessing a prayer. “been tryin’ not to for so damn long.”

your chest tightened, warmth blooming behind your ribs. you curled your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging just enough to steady yourself, to make sure this moment was real and not something you’d dream and lose.

“so what’s this mean then?” he asked, voice small, hopeful, terrified.

“it means i’m staying,” you said, smiling and lord, his eyes lit up like you’d handed him the whole world.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

you sat on the stairs of the farmhouse porch, mattheo’s carhartt jacket slung over your shoulders, sleeves swallowing your hands. your brown boots were still scuffed from the morning chores, mud caked around the edges, and the steam from your cup of hot toddy curled into the cool evening air. aunt marge rocked gently in her chair beside you, knitting her third sweater of the month, needles clicking in an easy, familiar rhythm. ned sat opposite her, pipe resting between his teeth, each exhale drifting into the dusk like small ghosts.

it had been a few weeks since you’d officially moved to tennessee. you’d picked up a job waitressing at the diner you’d loved since childhood. you figured you’d work while finishing your degree online, despite your parents’ protests and plans that didn’t quite feel like yours anymore.

choosing yourself felt… right. choosing the slow mornings, the rolling hills, your education degree, the quiet of the farm. you still slept in the room aunt marge had lovingly made up, quilted blankets stacked at the foot of the bed, rose colored sachets tucked in the dresser drawers. marge and ned insisted you stay, claiming it was 'just nice havin’ you around again,' though you caught the way marge wiped her eyes when she said it.

the farm was quiet tonight. a soft wind threaded through the leaves. the horses grazed lazily in the meadow, swishing their tails. the sky glowed pink and honey-gold as the sun dipped low. the only sound was the steady hum of marge’s knitting needles striking together and the faint creak of ned’s chair. the screen door groaned open behind you, followed by the heavy clunk of worn-out boots. mattheo dropped onto the step beside you, thigh brushing yours, the heat of him grounding you. he pressed a kiss to your cheek; quick, warm, familiar then followed your gaze over the fields.

“you missed it, huh?” he murmured.

“more than you know.” you laughed softly, lifting your drink to your lips.

“so you wanna stay for a long time right?” he asked, nudging your knee with his.

“yes, mattheo.” you rolled your eyes.

he tilted his head. “with me?”

you blinked. “well… i guess?” you teased, brow raised.

aunt marge cleared her throat softly, eyes still on her knitting but a knowing smile tugging at her mouth. “stars been awful loud lately,” she said, voice low and matter-of-fact. “been tellin’ me for months now y’all were headed for somethin’ permanent. couldn’t shut ’em up if i tried.”

you snorted. “the stars talk to you now?”

“been talkin’ my whole life,” she shrugged. “just figured you’d wanna know they been rootin’ for the two of ya since before either of you pulled your heads outta your asses.”

mattheo nudged your knee gently, his voice softer. “look up,” he murmured.

you lifted your eyes to the deepening sky. the first constellations flickered awake, scattered like tiny lanterns. “that one’s orion,” he whispered. “used t’ trace it every night tryin’ not to think ’bout you.” his finger brushed over yours as he pointed. “he’s smilin’ at us tonight.”

your breath hitched, because he wasn’t talking about stars, not really. he finally reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small box tied with a faded red ribbon. he held it out to you, elbows resting on his knees.

“here.”

you stared at it, cautious. behind you, aunt marge’s soft snicker broke the quiet. you shot her a look, and she just nodded toward the box like she’d been waiting all day for this. your fingers tugged apart the ribbon, lifting the lid slowly. inside lay a single golden key.

“what’s this?” you breathed.

mattheo’s smile was boyish, bright, and a little shaky. “ours. if you want it to be.”

your mouth fell open. your gaze snapped to marge and ned, who were grinning so wide it looked painful.

“when did you-”

“been savin’ up a while,” he said gently. “was just waitin’ for you, darlin’.”

your hand trembled as you picked up the key, warm from the box, your future suddenly real in your palm.

“mattheo…” you whispered.

“yeah?” he murmured, leaning closer.

before you could answer, ned let out a quiet laugh. “well go on,” he said, waving his pipe. “don’t leave the boy hangin’.”

mattheo nudged your shoulder. “you sayin’ yes?”

you nodded, smiling through the tears. “yeah. yes.”

he let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. his hand threaded through yours, steady and warm.

𐚁𓄀✮⋆˙

later that night, the porch had settled into silence. marge and ned had gone inside. the horses were still. the whole farm felt like it was holding its breath. you and mattheo lay on your backs in the cool grass behind the house, his jacket draped over both your shoulders. the stars were bright, brighter than they’d been in months, constellations sharp and vivid.

“there’s cassiopeia,” you whispered, pointing.

“mhm,” he hummed, shifting closer so your arms touched. “and there’s you.”

you turned your head. “me?”

he nodded toward the sky. “that bright one. right there. shows up every night, even when the clouds try coverin’ her.” his voice dropped. “kinda like someone else i know.”

your cheeks warmed. “you’re crazy.”

“yeah,” he said softly. “crazy 'bout you.”

you smiled. “so what happens now?”

he smirked, tugging you into his chest. “now?” he murmured. “now we build somethin’. somethin’ good.”

fireflies blinked around you like tiny sparks, the soft hum of summer settling in. the key lay warm between your palms, pressed together over your heart. for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel scary. it felt like coming home.

tag list: @salvatt1 @mishtay @eneywey @ladyelena112 @bookies16 @nobodylikeslia @bambidreamzzz

THE STARS ARE US THE STATS ARE US (I yell as they tighten the strength jacket around me)

I wanted to write a big ass long text saying how much I love this series and yada yada but suddenly I'm speechless 😃

So you'll have to imagine it