could i please request a fic where theodore's sibling is dating mattheo and they want it to be a secret, but then everyone ends up finding out and they think theo's going to be angry/overprotective but he's really chill? and the pair are confused and a little offended by how unbothered he is?
i love reading your comedy fics because they always make me laugh!!
pairings ; Mattheo Riddle x GN!Reader
summary ; You and Mattheo Riddle secretly date behind your brother aka Theodore’s back, fearing his reaction. But when everyone finds out, Theodore is shockingly chill — leaving your chaotic friend group furious and dramatically disappointed by the lack of sibling rage.
A/N ; it's been so long since I uploaded 😭😭😭😭😭 I missed u all sm, AND ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I WROTE A MATTHEO FIC HELLO?! I've been on a Theodore streak I swear 😭 pls enjoy this comedic mess
Warnings ; none, just pure chaos
The night air curled around you in thin, biting tendrils, the wind sweeping through the Astronomy Tower and chilling your fingers where they gripped the stone ledge. The tower loomed above the castle, far removed from the warm flicker of torches and the comfortable murmur of the common rooms. Up here, the world felt suspended—like time had stopped and the stars were the only witnesses to your terrible, beautiful secret.
You were absolutely not supposed to be here.
The voice, smooth and low, cut through the silence. You didn’t even need to look—you’d recognize that voice in your sleep. Mattheo Riddle stepped forward from the shadows with that familiar slouch, half-hooded eyes glinting with mischief and something gentler he’d never admit to. His black coat hung loosely from his shoulders, already halfway off as he reached out and draped it over yours.
The weight of it was immediate—warm, worn, and unmistakably his. It smelled like firewood, mint, and danger. A combination you had no business enjoying as much as you did.
"I'm not cold," you muttered, hugging the coat tighter around yourself despite the denial.
Mattheo arched a brow, unimpressed. "You're a terrible liar."
"Yes, you are," he insisted, stepping closer, his grin growing with every step. "You always do that thing with your nose when you lie."
You blinked. “What thing?”
"That—" He pointed at you with a smirk as your nose instinctively scrunched. "Exactly that."
Your scowl deepened. “You’re infuriating.”
He was fully in front of you now, close enough to steal your breath if you let him. His fingers grazed your waist like a question, an invitation. One you never could refuse.
"You could’ve stayed in bed like a reasonable person," he teased, voice dipped in velvet. "Instead, you came all the way up here just to see me."
"Don't flatter yourself," you muttered.
Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing yours, barely touching—just enough to set your nerves alight. "Say it."
"Say what?" you breathed, feigning innocence.
"Liar," he whispered against your mouth, and then he kissed you.
His mouth on yours was rough and unrelenting, like he had waited too long and thought too much and wanted to erase the time you’d spent apart. You kissed him back with equal fervor, clutching his collar as if to tether yourself to the moment. The cold didn’t matter. The risk didn’t matter. All that mattered was the way his hands roamed your sides like he couldn’t decide where to hold you, like he wanted to touch everything at once.
He was infuriating and impulsive and impossible—but gods, he was yours.
Eventually, you pulled away, lips tingling and lungs begging for breath. He rested his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm, possessive.
"This is reckless," you whispered, eyes half-lidded and drunk on him.
Mattheo didn’t even blink. "Reckless is snogging your best mate’s sibling in the Astronomy Tower at one in the morning while the entire school sleeps."
You groaned and thumped your head against his shoulder. "Don’t remind me."
"Just saying. We’ve already passed the point of no return, haven’t we?"
You didn't answer right away. Instead, you watched the stars—millions of them, quiet and distant and probably laughing at the mess you’d made of yourself. You should’ve stopped this weeks ago. You’d tried to stop. But Mattheo always had this way of pulling you back in, like gravity.
"This is insane," you murmured.
"Mm," he agreed. "And I love it."
You tilted your head to look at him. "You would."
Mattheo smiled, that crooked, charming sort of smile that spelled nothing but trouble. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that contradicted everything he usually projected.
"I like you like this," he said suddenly.
"Defiant. Warm. Close." His voice dropped. "Mine."
You hated how easily he could unravel you.
“You know my brother would murder you,” you said, only half-joking.
Mattheo’s expression didn’t change. “Yeah, well. That’s why he doesn’t know.”
His eyes darkened—not in fear, but in resolve. "Then we deal with it. Together."
Something in your chest tightened painfully. Mattheo Riddle was not known for making promises, but when he did, they meant something.
You tried to play it off, to lighten the moment. "Very noble of you. Might even make you look brave."
"I'm always brave," he deadpanned.
You laughed despite yourself and leaned up to kiss him again—softer this time, slower. Like a lullaby in the middle of a war.
Another set of footsteps—distant but undeniable—snapped you both out of it. Mattheo jerked away instantly, eyes sharp, scanning the stairwell below.
Your stomach dropped as you ducked behind one of the stone columns, barely breathing.
Please not a professor. Please not a prefect. Please not—
Mattheo let out a slow exhale. "That was way too close."
You nodded, pressing a hand over your pounding heart. “We need to stop doing this in public places.”
"Then invite me to your dorm."
You paused. "...Too convenient."
He gave a low laugh. “You’re impossible.”
Mattheo leaned forward and kissed your cheek, just above your jaw. “Tomorrow night?”
You hesitated. You should say no. You meant to say no.
“…Fine. But somewhere safer.”
He squeezed your hand once before retreating back down the stairs with the grace of someone who’d done this a dozen times and would do it a dozen more.
You stayed a moment longer, the weight of his coat still wrapped around your shoulders and the ghost of his lips still on your mouth. The stars blinked silently overhead, their light cool and unjudging. You exhaled and turned to go, already thinking about tomorrow—and all the chaos it might bring.
Rain was pouring against the windows like the sky itself was throwing a tantrum, Hogwarts cloaked in that damp, miserable grey that made everyone collectively more dramatic than usual. You trudged into the Great Hall, dragging your feet like a ghost of your former, snogged-out self. You spotted your friends instantly—because they were loud, nosy, and sitting in their usual spot, plotting world domination over croissants and coffee.
You slid into your seat next to Blaise with the elegance of a sleep-deprived troll and immediately reached for a slice of toast, praying today would be normal. No scandal. No drama. No accidental references to someone’s pine-scented hair or stupid smirking face or warm hands on your—
Mattheo Riddle plopped himself directly beside you.
Your toast froze mid-air.
“Oh, excellent,” he said, sounding obscenely cheerful for someone who hadn’t brushed his curls. “You got the good jam.”
He reached across your plate like a heathen and scooped up a glob of raspberry jam with his butter knife, smearing it messily on your toast like he was helping.
“I was going to eat that,” you deadpanned.
“And now you are, but with flavor,” he replied, looking far too pleased with himself.
Across the table, Lorenzo choked on his tea. Draco froze mid-butter-spread. Blaise leaned back slowly with a suspicious grin. Pansy squinted like she was trying to read the entire history of your existence from the look on your face. Astoria didn’t even look up—she just let out the most disappointed sigh in the history of human breathing.
You, a rational and responsible person, did the obvious thing.
You pretended absolutely nothing was happening.
Mattheo, who was clearly born to make everything worse, leaned in. “Are you going to eat that, or are you going to keep staring at me like you’re in love?”
You dropped your toast. Draco visibly gasped. Blaise bit his knuckle.
“Okay,” Lorenzo said slowly, dramatically. “I think we all need to pause and—what the hell is going on here?”
“Nothing,” you and Mattheo said in perfect harmony.
A collective suspicious silence fell over the group.
Pansy narrowed her eyes. “You’re sitting suspiciously close to each other.”
“Generous community breakfasting,” Mattheo supplied.
“You’re blushing,” Draco noted, pointing a butter knife at your face.
“It’s warm in here,” you snapped. “There’s body heat. Circulation. Weather.”
“You’re playing footsie,” Blaise added smugly.
“We are absolutely not playing footsie,” Mattheo said, jerking his leg away from yours so fast he kneed the underside of the table and nearly knocked over the entire jug of pumpkin juice.
“Okay,” Lorenzo muttered. “If this isn’t a secret relationship, then I am the ghost of Salazar Slytherin, here to reclaim his house from the deranged couple defiling it.”
You tried to glare. Really, you did. But Mattheo had crumbs on his lip, and his eyes were doing that annoyingly attractive sparkle thing, and your face betrayed you by melting.
“OH MY GOD,” Pansy screamed. “YOU’RE LITERALLY SO IN LOVE.”
“I am in denial,” you barked. “Which is very different.”
Blaise laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bench. “So, just to confirm—are you or are you not snogging this absolute chaos goblin in secret?”
“We’re not snogging,” Mattheo said quickly. “Why would we snog? Snogging is for people with… lips.”
“You have lips,” Draco said flatly.
“Debatable,” Mattheo replied, before turning to you with pleading eyes. “Help me.”
“Everyone is being very dramatic,” you announced. “Mattheo and I are friends. Acquaintances. Mortal enemies with occasional group project chemistry.”
“You left the Potions lab last Thursday with your tie undone and a hickey on your neck,” Astoria said without looking up.
“It was a mosquito! ” Mattheo cried. “They were everywhere.”
“In the Potions lab?” Blaise asked, blinking.
“...Yes,” you said weakly. “It was.. uhm.. infested.”
Pansy slammed her hands on the table. “HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN GOING ON?”
“Five minutes,” you blurted. “No time at all. We’re still in the test trial phase.”
“Two months,” Mattheo mumbled at the same time.
You turned to him slowly, eyes wide. “What happened to denying everything?”
“I panicked!” he whispered. “You’re really bad at lying and it’s contagious!”
“Oh my god, it’s been TWO MONTHS?” Draco’s voice cracked like a choirboy’s. “And you didn’t tell us? We could’ve made popcorn!”
“I’m going to cry,” Pansy announced. “I feel betrayed. Emotionally compromised. Romantically offended.”
“You literally told me yesterday to snog someone or die lonely,” you muttered.
Mattheo raised a hand. “Okay, now that’s just rude.”
“I SWEAR,” Pansy continued, “if Theodore finds out and kills you, I am not attending your funeral unless there’s drama and vengeance.”
You blinked. “Okay, but—what if he just doesn’t… find out?”
Pansy looked like she was about to burst into flames. “Okay. Someone get Theodore. He deserves to know that his sibling is dating—dating—Mattheo ‘bite me’ Riddle.”
The entire table stilled.
Then, as if summoned by the devil himself, all heads turned in slow-motion toward the far end of the Slytherin table… where Theodore Nott sat, expression calm, buttering a scone with the serenity of a man who was either extremely zen or planning to murder someone using only a teaspoon.
Even Draco looked nervous.
“He doesn’t know,” you whispered.
“He definitely knows,” Astoria said calmly. “He’s buttering that scone with deadly precision. No one but assassins butter that neatly.”
Blaise leaned in, stage-whispering like a six-year-old gossip. “He’s holding the knife like he’s considering options.”
Pansy was practically vibrating. “I live for this. Theodore is going to explode. It’s going to be glorious. I want screaming. Threats. At least one table flip. I want to feel alive again!”
“Do not summon violence into this sacred breakfast,” you hissed.
Draco smirked. “Better tell Mattheo to run now while he still has all his limbs.”
Pansy stood up and immediately rolled up her sleeves. “I AM READY FOR THE DRAMA. BRING IT. DUEL AT DAWN. I’LL BE YOUR SECOND.”
Astoria grabbed her by the back of the cloak and yanked her down like she was restraining a feral cat. “Sit. Down. You’re not sword-fighting Theodore in the middle of breakfast.”
“Why not?” Pansy whined. “We live in a magical castle. This is the perfect place for sword-fighting!”
You and Mattheo exchanged a horrified glance.
“I think we just declared war,” he whispered.
You nodded. “Well. At least we’re dying pretty.”
If Mattheo Riddle had a Galleon for every time he thought, “this is how I die,” he could’ve funded a whole underground resistance, a few cursed artifacts, and still had enough left to buy you a shiny ring and a nice flat in Hogsmeade.
Just his body launched into orbit by Theodore Nott’s inevitable, unstoppable rage.
You were standing in the corridor just outside the Great Hall, trying to decide whether to walk into your own execution or drag your boyfriend back to the dungeons by his ear.
Mattheo Riddle had been pacing like a man possessed for the past fifteen minutes.
“Okay, okay, okay—maybe I should bow?” he muttered to himself. “No. Too much. Theodore might think I’m mocking him. Should I curtsy? Would that be better? Classier?”
“Mattheo,” you said, voice deadpan, “if you curtsy to my brother, I will physically throw you out of a window.”
“I just—he’s going to murder me,” Mattheo wailed, throwing his hands in the air like some kind of tragic widow. “He’s going to skin me and use my corpse as a decorative throw for the Slytherin common room. I’ll be throw fashion, darling.”
You stared. “You’ve lost your mind.”
He spun dramatically and grabbed both your hands. “You don’t get it. That man terrifies me. He’s tall. He’s quiet. He wears all black. He looks like he reads tragic poetry for fun. He has ‘I’ll bury you behind the greenhouse’ energy.”
You tried not to laugh. “He’s just my brother.”
“No. He’s a whole experience. A terrifying one. Like one of those silent movies where the guy never speaks but everyone dies anyway.”
“What if he pulls a wand on me and casts some obscure ancient curse from the Nott family grimoire and my skin turns inside out?”
“Then I’ll get you some exfoliating cream and a hug.”
Mattheo gave you an utterly wounded look. “That’s all the sympathy I get in my darkest hour?”
“Your darkest hour hasn’t even started.”
Footsteps echoed ominously down the hallway.
Mattheo froze, grabbing the wall like a man in mourning. “Oh Merlin. It’s him. It’s Theodore. I’m not ready. You said I had five more minutes!”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“I wasn’t emotionally prepared then and I’m *less* emotionally prepared now!”
You didn't have time to argue. Theodore turned the corner, walking toward you with his usual unbothered, slow-as-hell stride, like he had all the time in the world to arrive at your crime scene.
Mattheo made a strangled noise like a dying bird and—without shame—threw himself behind you.
“Don’t let him hurt me!” he whisper-yelled into your shoulder. “If I die, tell your mother I looked amazing at my funeral.”
Theodore raised a single eyebrow. “Are you hiding behind my sibling?”
Mattheo popped his head out. “Not hiding—strategically retreating. It’s different.”
“Yes,” you muttered, “the strategy is cowardice.”
He clung to your robes like a damsel. “This is not cowardice. This is self-preservation, thank you very much.”
Theodore stared at him blankly. “You’re pathetic.”
Mattheo inhaled deeply and then stepped out with the air of a man marching to the gallows. “Okay. Okay. Theodore. I—I want to say something.”
Theodore tilted his head, mildly curious.
“I want to apologize for—uh—for all the... snogging. And emotional bonding. And, uh, the fact that I may or may not have licked and attacked your sibling’s neck in a highly inappropriate location on the Astronomy Tower—NOT THE POINT—what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry and please don’t hex my kneecaps or transfigure my ears into cauliflowers or whatever it is you Notts do when people betray your bloodline.”
Mattheo cleared his throat. “I just—really, really like your sibling, alright? Like, a lot. Like, ‘I’d write you letters in blood if I wasn’t squeamish’ a lot. And I know I’m kind of a mess and also a little deranged but I swear on Salazar’s bald head that I’m serious about this and if you want to punch me, just go for the left side, that’s my less photogenic side anyway—”
“I already knew,” Theodore interrupted.
Mattheo stopped mid-rant, finger in the air like he had more dramatic declarations to unleash. “Wait. What?”
There was a beat of complete, shell-shocked silence.
Mattheo’s hand slowly lowered. “You… what?”
“I saw you sneaking out of the Astronomy Tower the first time,” Theodore said casually. “The scarf was a dead giveaway. And the second time. And the third. And the time you came back to the dorms with glitter in your hair and that weird grin like you'd just invented a new sin.”
Mattheo blinked rapidly. “So you knew... this whole time?”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“You didn’t curse me? Or duel me? Or send a howler to my mother?!”
Theodore shrugged. “I was enjoying watching you panic.”
You smacked your forehead.
Mattheo gasped and dramatically grabbed your sleeve. “He played me like a fiddle. A fiddle made of pure emotional torment.”
Theodore looked at you, dead serious. “If he breaks your heart, I’ll feed him to the Giant Squid.”
Mattheo nodded solemnly. “Honestly? That’s fair. Bit overkill, but poetic.”
“You two are insufferable,” you muttered.
Mattheo flopped against your back again, sighing dramatically. “You love me.”
He peeked at Theodore again. “So we’re good?”
Theodore gave him a long look. “Don’t push it.”
Mattheo immediately retreated behind you again. “He said don’t push it. I’m not pushing it. I’m hiding behind it.”
Pansy, who had just turned the corner behind you with Draco and Astoria in tow, screeched like someone had been stabbed—an unholy, earsplitting shriek that ricocheted off the stone walls of the corridor like a cursed howler let loose during a funeral.
“HE FUCKING KNEW?!” she howled, her eyes wide with the sheer betrayal of it all, like Theodore had personally wronged her ancestral bloodline.
The entire hallway fell into a stunned silence for half a second before chaos exploded like a badly brewed potion. A nearby portrait of a sleepy wizard jolted awake and threw his goblet at the ground, muttering something about “witches these days.” You and Mattheo both flinched so violently you almost knocked heads—and Mattheo, being the brave soul that he was, dove behind you like a coward, clutching the back of your robes with the death grip of a man facing an angry hippogriff.
“HOLY SHIT, Pansy!” Lorenzo barked, careening in behind her like a gale-force wind in Gucci boots, nearly tripping over his own feet and the bag of crisps he had clearly brought specifically for this moment. “You trying to rupture the space-time continuum with your lungs? I think my left eardrum just committed suicide!”
“You—you KNEW?!” Blaise turned to Theodore with all the grace and fury of someone who just found out his favorite soap opera had been canceled mid-cliffhanger. “And you didn’t do anything?! Not even a single ominous shoulder squeeze? A disapproving nod? A slow, terrifying walk behind them in the corridors with your eyes narrowed like a cryptid in the fog?!”
“I was counting on some emotionally stunted vengeance,” Lorenzo chimed in, now holding his crisps like a judgmental gavel. “You let us down, Nott.”
“EXACTLY!” Pansy shrieked, spinning around with the energy of a banshee leading a revolution. “Where’s the drama?! Where’s the furious wand duel at midnight in the courtyard? WHERE'S THE TWO-PAGE SPEECH ABOUT BETRAYAL AND SIBLING HONOUR AND A TRAGIC LOVE DOOMED FROM THE START?!”
Draco looked like he was genuinely grieving. He placed one hand on his heart, the other dramatically outstretched as if speaking to the heavens. “This is worse than my father’s fourth engagement party. At least that had fireworks and an enchanted swan that exploded.”
Theodore, for his part, looked like he’d just woken up from a nap and couldn’t be arsed. Standing with his hands in his pockets and his expression set to “Could Not Care Less If I Tried,” he said, “I already told them. I’ve known for weeks.”
“WEEKS?!” Blaise yelped, clutching Lorenzo’s shoulder like he needed emotional support.
“And you didn’t even glare once?!” Draco gasped, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “You didn’t pull out your wand and threaten to CRUCIO his bloodline?!”
“I expected some level of ominous sibling rage,” Lorenzo muttered. “Instead I got... emotional neutrality. Honestly, it’s offensive.”
“I’m just—confused,” Blaise said, flinging his arms out. “Do you even care? You’re acting like Mattheo hasn’t spent the past month playing tonsil hockey with your sibling in every broom cupboard in the castle.”
“I expected fireworks,” Pansy seethed. “Screaming. Maybe a duel that would’ve made the school nurse cry. At least a threatened expulsion! And instead—” she gestured wildly at Theodore “—we got this! Calm! Rational! Emotionally intelligent?! I’m DISGUSTED.”
Astoria, who had been quietly standing by, now had both hands around Pansy’s waist, physically holding her back like she was restraining a chihuahua on steroids. “Pans, don’t lunge. You promised no tackling.”
“I DIDN’T PROMISE NOTHING,” Pansy roared.
Theodore blinked slowly, looking almost bored. “If Mattheo breaks their heart, I’ll throw him off the Astronomy Tower myself. Until then, I’ve got exams.”
Mattheo, still half-hiding behind you like a traumatized Victorian child, made a strangled sound. “He’s gonna what—?”
“I—I tried to apologize,” Mattheo spluttered, peeking out from behind your shoulder with the world’s most wounded expression. “I was halfway through my bloody sentence and he just cut me off! I had a whole speech! With metaphors!”
“You didn’t even get to the metaphor about comparing Theodore’s glare to a dementor with a caffeine addiction,” you whispered.
“RIGHT?” Mattheo pointed at you with a pout. “That was my best one!”
“You were sobbing into a chocolate frog outside the potions lab,” Blaise said, deadpan.
“Yeah, I remember that,” Lorenzo added with a snort. “You kept whispering, ‘he’s going to turn me into a ferret’.”
“You weren’t even dating me when you did that,” you muttered.
Mattheo groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “I was emotionally preparing! For war!”
“And there was no war!” Draco cried. “Just—just peace! Like we’re living in some healthy, emotionally mature AU!”
“This is worse than my cousin’s vow renewal,” Pansy snapped, now pacing in a circle. “At least that ended with a hexed priest and someone’s wig catching fire.”
Lorenzo clapped Blaise on the back. “Well, guess I lost the bet.”
“What bet?” you asked, dreading the answer.
“I had twenty galleons on Theodore turning Mattheo into a cactus and leaving him outside Hagrid’s hut.”
“Honestly, I would’ve preferred that,” Mattheo muttered.
“Same,” Draco said, disgusted.
“You’re all insane,” Theodore said.
“And you’re boring,” Blaise fired back. “Where’s the trauma?! Where’s the iconic sibling rage? You had the perfect opportunity to deliver a one-liner and threaten him with a slow, painful doom! Instead you let him live?!”
Pansy turned on Theodore with wide, devastated eyes. “You’re not mad at all? Like not even a little? There’s no secret plotting? No passive aggressive breakfast commentary?!”
Theodore just shrugged. “I like my sibling. I don’t hate Riddle. I’m not wasting spell energy unless he does something dumb.”
“I am something dumb!” Mattheo squeaked from behind you.
“WE KNOW!” Pansy and Draco yelled in unison.
Astoria buried her face in her hands. “I’m too sober for this.”
Draco sighed dramatically and crossed his arms. “Fine. New plan. Someone date someone they shouldn’t so we can salvage this absolute travesty.”
“I VOLUNTEER!” Lorenzo said immediately.
“NO YOU DON’T!” Blaise and Draco snapped.
You turned to Mattheo with a dazed smile as the rest of your friends devolved into chaos, arguing over who should pretend to get engaged for maximum scandal.
“Well,” you muttered. “That went well.”
Mattheo blinked at you, still clutching your robes. “I feel like I survived an execution by emotional chaos.”
You patted his cheek. “You did great, sweetheart.”
“I hate all of them,” he whispered.
From behind you, Pansy screamed, “SOMEONE THROW SOMETHING DRAMATIC OR I’M GOING TO COMBUST.”
A shoe flew past your head.
“Okay,” Mattheo muttered. “Maybe I don’t hate them. I just… fear them.”
You nodded. “Reasonable.”
And somewhere, Theodore was already walking away from the scene like a man who had never emotionally invested in anything except his morning tea and the hope that someone, someday, would shut Pansy up for more than two minutes.
