saleyeniu

[saleyeniu]

Peonies ; part one [REWRITE]

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 15.8k

Warnings: Unrequited love, jealousy from many ends, the reader is shorter than Theo, and wears a bikini. Theo calls reader fiore. Discomfort/sadness. Reader doesn’t really know how to swim. Brief mentions of blood. There’s for sure more but I’m gonna have to go back and add them!

A/N: Omg hi! This has been a long time coming, and not much has been added, just a couple new scenes and some more details added. Most of the rewrite will be in the second part, but it feels too much to have a 30k+ fic posted in one go. So I’m dividing it up! Since it’s been so long I figured I’d post this to hold you guys over, thank you for being so patient! It’s much appreciated! <3

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Against your better judgment, you’d fallen hard for Mattheo Riddle. And yet, you were fully aware that nothing would ever come of it. 

You’d grown up in the same circles, your families often crossing paths at dinners and parties, but you were never particularly close, barely acknowledging each other in those polished, formal settings. It wasn’t until you both started at Hogwarts that any real friendship formed. Being eleven and navigating the overwhelming experience of a new school was daunting for anyone. When you were both sorted into Slytherin, you naturally gravitated toward each other, being the most familiar thing the other could find.

Over time, you’d been there for him more times than you could count. You were the one cleaning his cuts after a fight, always telling him it was the last time because you couldn’t bear to see him get hurt. Yet, each time he showed up, you let him in with an exasperated huff, carefully tending to his wounds. When he’d appear at your door late at night, eyes dark with whatever was haunting him, you’d silently walk with him, sitting together in the quiet of the common room until the tension in his shoulders finally eased. You’d pretend to be annoyed when he asked to copy your coursework, but in truth, you savored every moment he sat close to you—the way his arm would brush against yours as he scribbled down your notes, the warmth of him, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. It left you longing for him to stay close just a little longer, even though you knew he never would.

He moved from one fling to the next, a string of one-night stands that never seemed to reach his heart. While you’d never been one of them, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like if you were. A stubborn, hopeless part of you clung to the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, he’d one day let you be the one he trusted with more than just a night tangled in the sheets.

Your friends always joked that if Mattheo ever got serious about a girl, it would be you—but you knew the chances of that were painfully slim.

So you were caught off guard when you walked into the common room and saw a girl you barely recognized sitting with your friends. Cozied up in the same armchair as Mattheo. Your steps faltered as you approached, trying to piece together who she was and why she was sitting with your friends and more specifically, Mattheo. It wasn’t that you were opposed to meeting new people, but your group had never once welcomed anyone new. You’d tried, it didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.

“Hey, love.” Enzo murmurs, patting the cushion beside him on the couch. He’s the only one who’s noticed you so far; the rest are absorbed in their heated discussion about the latest Quidditch match. You were never particularly interested in discussing Quidditch—what interested you was watching Mattheo talk about it. There was just something undeniably attractive about listening to his voice when he talked about something that interested him.

You slide onto the couch next to Enzo, your gaze briefly flicking to the girl sitting directly across from you, trying to place her without being too obvious about your stare.

“Hey, Enz.” You say with a soft smile, setting your bag down as you settle onto the couch.

“What’s going on?” You tilt your head toward the girl, and Enzo glances in her direction. She’s not paying attention, her gaze fixed on Mattheo with a lovesick expression, hanging onto his every word.

“I’m not sure,” Enzo replies quietly, ensuring his voice doesn’t carry. “Mattheo just introduced us, and we’re all a bit confused about it, too I think.”

“Oh.” You murmur, and Enzo watches you carefully. He knows about your feelings for Mattheo; he’d have to be blind not to notice.

Enzo leans in closer, and you shift your gaze to him. “Listen, love—”

Enzo doesn’t get to finish before a soft gasp of your name catches your attention. You look over, surprised to see the girl leaning forward with her hand extended. You briefly wonder how she knows your name and if you should know hers too.

You notice that her other hand still has a tight grip on Mattheo.

“I’m Veronica,” she says warmly, her smile never wavering. “Mattheo’s girlfriend.” The way she emphasizes the word girlfriend startles you—it takes a second to register, and then it hits you like a punch to the gut.

Girlfriend. When did Mattheo Riddle start dating? 

And why wasn’t he introducing her himself?

You’re at a loss for words, a nauseous feeling curling around you, tightening its grip until you’re not sure you could speak even if you tried. You know you should smile, should tell her how happy you are to meet her. But you can’t find it in you to do so, not when you’d rather be anywhere but here.

You swallow the urge to ask if she’s joking, if she’s hit her head, because Mattheo Riddle isn’t a relationship guy. No one knows that better than you.

Yet, you’re rooted to the spot in stunned silence, your gaze flitting between her hand, now entwined with Mattheo’s, and the soft, content smile playing on her lips.

Your mind races, struggling to process the situation that’s just blindsided you. You always knew he’d never be yours—not in the way you wanted—but hearing it, seeing it laid out so plainly before you, feels like your heart has been ripped from your chest.

You force a smile, so strained it makes your head spin, and you finally take her hand, the gesture automatic and devoid of real warmth. “Nice to meet you.” You manage to say, though the words feel foreign on your tongue.

Her smile widens, and she shifts closer to Mattheo as if silently asserting her place by his side. Your eyes flicker to Mattheo, whose attention is pulled to Veronica as she presses closer into him. You’re not surprised he’s been oblivious to the conversation, or lack thereof, happening next to him. Talk of Quidditch had a tendency to do that to him.

You study his face intently, searching for any hint of his feelings toward her, hoping to find anything that might betray his feelings. 

But when you see the way he looks at her—eyes soft, filled with a tenderness you’ve never seen from him before—your stomach churns with a sickening mix of jealousy and heartache. 

His eyes meet yours, and he smiles, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I didn’t even see you come in. Glad you’ve met my girl,”he says, the warmth in his voice making your chest tighten.

I didn’t see you. Your stomach lurches at his words.

Clearly not—if you had, you wouldn’t be flaunting another girl right in front of me, you think bitterly.

You glance at Veronica as she nods enthusiastically. “Me too, Matty,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness. “I’m already so excited for the girls’ nights we’re going to have.”

You can’t tell if she’s genuinely that nice or just putting on a show for Mattheo. “Oh yeah. That would be fun,” you say, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. Neither of them notices the unease behind it—they’re too wrapped up in each other, their attention locked in a gaze that makes you feel invisible.

The last thing you want is a girls’ night. Pass the popcorn—oh, and by the way? I want your boyfriend.

No. Absolutely not.

You tear your gaze away, the sight of them together too painful to endure, and instead turn to Enzo. “What the hell?” You mutter, barely managing to keep your voice steady.

“I’m sorry, love, I wanted to tell you before they did.” Enzo whispers, wincing as he gives your hand a quick squeeze. You murmur a soft “It’s okay,” but inside, you’re far from feeling that way.

Desperately, you try to compose yourself, but the effort feels pointless. As your eyes wander, they lock with Theo’s. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable. You muster a soft smile, hoping to mask the heartbreak inside, but he doesn’t return it; he just keeps watching, his gaze heavy with something you can’t quite place.

You manage to stay for half an hour, offering the occasional nod and murmured agreement to feign interest in the conversation. But your mind is elsewhere, detached from the words being exchanged. No one seems to notice your distraction; they’re all too absorbed in their own conversations to catch the distant look in your eyes.

Without realizing it, your gaze keeps drifting back to the couple. Veronica rests her head on Mattheo’s shoulder, and his hand is gently resting on her knee, his thumb brushing softly against her skin. You can’t help but notice how at ease he seems with this physical intimacy—something you’re surprised he’d be so comfortable with.

It took Mattheo ages to grow comfortable with your touch. The first time he came over after a particularly brutal nightmare about his father, he sat hunched over on your bed, eyes hollow as he confessed he kept reliving Christmas break—how his dad had slapped him for something he couldn’t even remember. Something so insignificant. When your hand barely grazed his back, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

It was months before your touch started to soothe him instead of making him flinch.

When Pansy casually asked how Mattheo and Veronica had met, you felt a surge of restless energy. You couldn’t bear to hear that they’d been together for months, falling in love while you remained oblivious, never realizing you never stood a chance. Without thinking, you abruptly stood up, the couch creaking loudly at the force. The sudden noise drew theattention of everyone in the room. All eyes shifted to you, their expressions a mix of surprise and curiosity as they awaited your next move.

“Um,” you winced as the room’s gaze fixed on you, feeling the heat of their attention. “I’m coming down with a migraine. I’m going to bed early tonight.”

Your friends’ voices fade into the background as they shout their goodnights, the words scarcely reaching your ears. You speed through the common room and down the cold, empty hallway, desperate for the seclusion of your dorm. Just as you’ve made it halfway to your room, a firm grip catches your hand. Startled, you spin around to find Theo standing there, his eyes searching yours with a mix of concern and hesitation.

“Fiore,” he says softly, his voice a gentle caress in the quiet hallway. His eyes follow the tears streaming down your cheeks, and you watch through blurry vision as he takes a tentative step closer. “What’s going on?”

You open your mouth to respond but find yourself unable to form the words. The lump in your throat feels insurmountable. Instead, you just shake your head slightly, your tears continuing to fall one after another.

He releases a quiet sigh and says, “Come here.” Without a second thought, you step closer, encircling his waist with your arms while resting your head against his chest. His arms come up to settle around your shoulders, and he gently rests his head against yours. As you press your face into his chest, sniffling softly, he whispers soothing words in Italian, his voice a comforting murmur. 

You must have been standing in the cold corridor for fifteen minutes before the distant murmur of approaching students prompts Theo to gently pull himself from you. He takes your hand, his touch warm against the chill, guiding you away from the freezing corridor.

“It’s just you and Pansy, right?” He asks, using his hand to guide you in front of him to let you go ahead and enter your room first.

“Yeah, but she’ll probably stay with Blaise.” You say softly, the strain in your voice revealing that you’ve been crying. ​​Theo doesn’t say anything; he’s long since lost count of the times he’s told them off for leaving the curtains open or forgetting to cast a silencing spell. Instead, he follows you into your dorm, the door clicking softly behind him.

The walls are lined with polaroids of the group, and Theo’s gaze lingers on the numerous pictures of you and Mattheo. Your dark wood desk is topped with a silver lamp and a few textbooks, its surface cluttered with quills and scattered notes. Mattheo’s jersey is draped over the back of your chair, and Theo recalls all the times seeing you wear it at each game. Your teddy, a well-worn bear that Theo recognizes as the same one you bring every year, sits at the top of your desk. 

The room feels markedly warmer than the corridor outside, though it might just be because it’s your room.

“You can sit.” You offer. Theo’s eyes move to where you’re perched on the edge of your bed watching him.

You’ve kicked off your shoes and tossed your robes over your trunk. He swallows, his gaze lingering on you. Despite the tear stains on your cheeks, he finds it hard to look away—you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. He’s always thought so.

It’s rare for him to spend time with you alone. Usually, when you’re together, it’s with the rest of your friends. Over the years, you’ve been paired up in classes a few times, but neither of you has ever gone out of your way to be alone together.

He sits down next to you on the bed, deliberately leaving some space between you. For a while, neither of you speaks. When Theo finally glances at you out of the corner of his eye, he notices you staring at a polaroid of you and Mattheo. It was taken at a party celebrating Slytherin’s win. In the photo, you’re perched on his lap, one arm casually draped around his shoulder, the other holding up a cup of whatever you were drinking. Your smile is bright, full of life, while Mattheo’s is more subdued, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s looking at you—content, almost in awe, as you laugh above him.

He was sure you two were going to get together that night—and he nearly drank himself blackout drunk at the thought.

“Hey,” He murmurs. You hum to show you’re listening, but don’t look away from the picture. “You know I’m here for you. In any way you need me.”

You can’t tear your eyes away from the picture at first, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you stare at it. Finally, you let out a sigh and turn to him, “I appreciate that. But how fair would it be for me to vent about your best friend to you?”

It’s the first time he’s ever heard you say anything that hints at your feelings for Mattheo.

“I don’t care about him right now. I care about you.” He says, and you look a tad surprised at his words.

There’s a moment of quiet as you process Theo’s words. He’s always been Mattheo’s best friend, so hearing him dismiss Mattheo like that catches you off guard. You hesitate, not wanting to unload all your feelings onto him, especially since the mere thought of talking about Mattheo and Veronica makes your stomach turn.

“Theo,” you sigh, your voice tinged with vulnerability, on the verge of breaking. He can hear how close you are to tears. “Will you lie with me? If that’s weird, I understand—”

But before you can finish, Theo gently takes your hand, his grip warm and reassuring, leaving no room for doubt. He gives a small nod, silently gesturing for you to lie down, and you follow his lead. 

“Where do you want me, fiore?” He asks, his voice soft. You feel a momentary hesitation, your heart stuttering at the tenderness in his tone.

“Um,” you murmur, turning onto your side, feeling the unease settling in your stomach. Not because you feel uncomfortable around Theo, but because this is wildly different for the both of you. “Will you face me?”

Theo doesn’t hesitate. He moves effortlessly, sliding into place beside you. You watch as he slips off his shoes and sets them aside, then settles himself on the bed, positioning his body so he’s facing you. You find yourself holding your breath, acutely aware of how close he is—how you’re sharing the same pillow and could study every detail of his face if you wanted to.

“Why did you follow me?” You ask, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours.

“I got the impression you needed someone.” You don’t say anything to that, just take in his words. It startles you that Theo—someone you’re hardly close with—noticed, instead of Mattheo, who’s seen you at your worst more times than you can count.

“Thank you.” You say, and you cringe inwardly at the way your voice wavers. There’s nothing hiding the sadness in your voice, it’s impossible to mask.

His eyes gently trace your features, a soft concern evident in his expression as he takes in the sight of you, “For?”

“Laying with me. Coming to check on me,” Your voice drops to a whisper and your eyes well up in tears when you think about why you were upset in the first place. “It means a lot.”

Theo lets out a soft hum, his gaze soft as he lifts his hand to gently brush away a tear that slips from your eye. The gentleness of his fingers against your face feels soothing; you’ve never had anyone touch you like this before.

You shift closer to Theo, and for a moment, he tenses, as if unsure of your proximity. The hesitation makes you wonder if this closeness is too much, but then he wraps his arm around you and draws you in, holding you firmly against him. You wonder if it should feel awkward, letting Theo hold you this close when the two of you have never been this close before, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You let your eyes flutter shut, inhaling his cologne—surprisingly more comforting to you than Mattheo’s—and feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt.

As his fingers move gently over your hair, a calming touch, you rest your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat becomes a soothing reminder that you aren’t alone, and soon you find yourself drifting off, wrapped in the quiet of your dorm.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

When you wake up, Theo is gone, and you’re not sure if you’re more disappointed or relieved. Given how you feel, you’re leaning toward the latter. Your head throbs with a sharp, relentless ache, and your puffy eyes serve as a reminder of the tears you shed last night.

You’re nearly done getting ready when Pansy slips into the dorm, her brows knitting in surprise as she takes in the sight of you. 

Her gaze lingers on the dark circles under your eyes and the slight tremor in your hands as you fix your tie, “I didn’t think you’d be leaving the dorm today.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You snap, and Pansy raises an amused brow at the agitation in your voice.

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood to see them.” She heads to her trunk, her current clothes rumpled and clearly in need of a fresh uniform. You don’t need her to spell it out—you know exactly who she’s talking about.

“I left because I had a migraine.” You grit out and she glances over her shoulder, obviously amused and doubtful at your answer.

“Really? A migraine after seeing those two?” Pansy hums, rummaging through her trunk with deliberate slowness, her eyes flicking to you as if gauging your reaction. “They were all over each other last night. Who’s to say they won’t be again today?”

You stiffen at the mention of Mattheo and his girlfriend, your fingers pausing on your tie. The events of last night rushback—Veronica’s hand on Mattheo, the way he looked at her. You feel a fresh wave of nausea but push it down, not wanting to give Pansy the satisfaction of knowing she was right.

“It doesn’t bother me.” You mutter, trying to sound indifferent, though your voice wavers slightly. You force your hands to finish with your tie, pulling it tighter than necessary.

Pansy glances over at you, a flicker of something like sympathy in her eyes, as she drops the amused smirk, “You know you can tell me, right? About how you feel about him.”

You study Pansy, debating whether to finally say what you’ve kept to yourself for so long. It’s only been hours since you basically admitted it to Theo, and now telling Pansy feels like too much—though you’re sure they’d suspected for a while. But voicing it out loud feels like stepping into territory you’re not ready to face.

“What difference does it make, Pans? He’s got a girlfriend now.” You sigh, the sadness from last night seeping into your words. She abandons her trunk, standing up to fully face you, her expression unreadable.

“If it helps, we were all surprised.” She says, her voice unexpectedly gentle. That’s not normally a word you’d use in the same sentence as her name. “None of us had a clue he was sleeping with anyone more than once.”

Your stomach churns further, “I don’t think that really helps, Pans.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of comfort. “I could make her life a nightmare if you want. Maybe then she’d decide it’s not worth it.”

“No,” you say, wincing as you stare at the wall, feeling the heaviness of the room. “I want him to be happy, and if shemakes him happy, then I need to accept it. Even if it hurts.”

Pansy narrows her eyes, disbelief crossing her face. “Are you joking? You’d make him happy—”

“Pansy,” you cut her off, frustration making your voice sharper. “I don’t need you to fix this. I just need to figure out how to deal with it myself.”

Pansy falls silent, her gaze shifting as she takes in the raw pain on your face, a flicker of guilt passing over her expression. She heads off to change, leaving you on your bed, the weight of her offer hanging in the air. You sit there, lost in thought, waiting for her to finish getting ready. Despite her nights spent with Blaise, you both always made a point to walk to breakfast together.

When Pansy finally emerges, you both make your way to the Great Hall in quiet unison. The hum of conversation and the steady flow of students around you create a backdrop of normalcy.

“What did you do after you left last night?” Pansy asks, her gaze shifting from the bustling corridor to you.

“Had a good cry.” You reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the heaviness you feel.

Pansy’s brow furrows. “Babes, you shouldn’t have been alone.”

“I wasn’t.” You say, almost reluctantly.

“What do you mean?”

“Theo came back to the dorm with me,” you explain, your voice softer now. “He stayed with me, just… holding me, until I fell asleep.”

Pansy’s eyes widen slightly, and she falls quiet for a moment, “He did?”

You let out a soft hum, and Pansy grips at your hand, her touch both firm and reassuring. Her eyes reflect a mix of concern and guilt as she looks at you.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice softening with sincerity. “I should’ve come to check on you instead of leaving it to Theo. I didn’t realize your feelings for Mattheo were this strong. I thought it was a harmless crush, I really didn’t know.”

You shake your head slightly, your gaze dropping to where her fingers clasp yours. “It’s okay,” you murmur, trying to steady your voice. “Theo being there helped more than I thought it would. I’m glad I wasn’t alone.”

Pansy nods, her expression softening. “I wish I’d known,” she says quietly. “I would’ve gone with you immediately. I just thought you needed some space.”

You offer a small, appreciative smile, grateful for her concern. “Thanks, Pansy. It means a lot.”

Pansy pulls you into a warm hug, and despite the heaviness in your chest, you can’t help but chuckle at the unexpected show of affection. When she finally lets go, she takes your hand and leads you toward the Great Hall. 

As you make your way to the Slytherin table, your spirits, momentarily lifted by Pansy’s support, are quickly deflated when you see who’s occupying your usual spot.

A heavy weight settles in your stomach as you spot Veronica nestled against Mattheo’s side, her head tilted as she whispers something into his ear. His laughter, genuine and warm, makes your appetite vanish. You decide that you’re not very hungry anymore.

You swallow hard, struggling to keep your emotions in check. Pansy gives your hand a comforting squeeze and tilts her head toward an empty seat beside Theo. Usually, Theo would be next to his best friend with you on the other side sandwiching Mattheo, but today he’s positioned next to Draco across from where he normally would be. You hesitate, not wanting to assume he saved the spot for you, but then Theo turns and offers you a gentle smile—a smile you’ve never seen him give anyone else. As you stand there, he reaches out with that soft smile, his hand extended to gently guide you into the seat beside him.

You settle into the seat beside Theo, and with a resigned sigh, you reach for some food to add to your plate. Even though your appetite is all but gone, you know it’s important to eat. That and you know Pansy would shove it down your throat if you didn’t.

Theo leans in slightly, his voice a low murmur as he meets your gaze. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up,” he says quietly. “I had something I needed to take care of.”

“That’s alright,” You murmur, sending him a quick, soft smile. “Were you able to get any sleep last night?”

Theo hesitates, unsure whether to tell you that it was the best sleep he’s had in a while or simply agree. He settles for a nod, “Uh yeah. I slept pretty well. Did you?”

“As well as I could,” You shrug, “But it was nice having you there.” You send him a shy smile, your gaze dipping back down to the tea you’re stirring, and he struggles to resist the urge to offer to stay the night with you again.

“I meant what I said. I’m here for you in any way that you need me.” You turn towards him, your expression softening as you take in the genuine look on his face. Your lips part, but you can’t manage to get anything past them. The way he’s looking at you makes you nervous.

“Oi! What are you two whispering about?” Theo’s head snaps toward Draco, who is watching you both with a look of clear distaste at the way you were leaning into each other, gazing at one another so intently.

“Nothing.” Theo snaps out, and Draco raises an eyebrow at the sharpness in his tone. A sly grin begins to form on Draco’s face as he opens his mouth to speak, but Theo interrupts with a low murmur that you can’t quite make out. Draco doesn’t say anything, but faces his breakfast with a disgruntled look on his face.

Theo engages in a lively conversation with Enzo and Draco, leaving you content to eat in quiet. However, it’s not long before Veronica’s giggles start to cut through the silence, growing louder with each passing moment. When you finally look up, your heart sinks. Mattheo’s arm is wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as he murmurs something into her ear. She glances up at him, still laughing, and Mattheo leans in, pressing a kiss to her lips.

Overwhelmed, you instinctively reach for Theo’s thigh, your hand gripping it tightly as you try to steady yourself. Theo looks at you, startled by your sudden reaction, but you’re not meeting his gaze. Instead, he follows your line of sight to where Mattheo and Veronica are entwined, lost in their own world. 

He drops his fork with a sigh, his hand immediately reaching out to grasp yours with a firm, reassuring grip. His touch is warm as he gently pulls your focus from the scene before you. Theo’s gaze lingers on the tear-brimmed edges of your eyes, his expression concerned. He glances at your friends, still lost in their animated conversation, and feels a pang of relief that they’re oblivious to the devastation written across your face.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, rising from his seat while maintaining a firm hold on your hand. With a quick, reassuring glance, he leans down to grab your bag. “I’ll walk you to class a bit early.”

Without a word, you follow him, casting a glance back at Pansy. You silently mouth ‘class’ to her as she watches you with curiosity from over your shoulder. If your friends notice the way Theo’s hand is intertwined with yours, they make no mention of it.

The moment you’re out in the hall, it feels like you can finally breathe again. A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you cling tightly to Theo’s hand as you walk, finding some comfort in the feel of him. You appreciate how he doesn’t push you to talk or ask any questions, just quietly staying by your side. There’s a relief in knowing he’s there if you need him, without the pressure to say anything.

After a couple of minutes of walking, you squeeze his hand and Theo glances over at you, “I’m not sure how I’m going to do this.”

He squeezes your hand back, “What do you mean?”

“Seeing them together,” You mumble. “It fucking sucks.”

“I’m sorry, fiore.” He speaks softly, wishing he had the right words to offer, some way to tell you how to get over someone. But the truth is, he’s still trying to figure it out himself.

“Will you help me get over him?” Theo’s steps falter slightly at your question, his heart aching at the helplessness in your voice. He swallows, the meaning of your words sinking in. You don’t seem to realize what it sounds like you’re asking him for.

He glances at you, unease settling in his stomach, “How exactly?” He briefly considers the fact that whatever you ask of him could make him fall for you more. But as long as it meant you were happy.

You hesitate, your gaze dropping to the floor as you search for the right words. “I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… be there, I guess. Help me forget about him. Distract me.”

Theo nods slowly, his mind racing. He wants to say something, to offer more than just his presence, but he knows that pushing too hard might make things worse. Instead, he gently squeezes your hand again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a comforting rhythm.

“I can do that,” he murmurs, his voice steady despite the nerves inside him. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

You offer him a small, grateful smile, and he can see the hint of sadness still lingering in your eyes. It breaks his heart, but he pushes those feelings aside. Right now, what matters is helping you heal, even if it means hiding his own growing feelings for you.

As you continue walking, Theo keeps you close, his hand never leaving yours. And though he doesn’t say it out loud, he silently vows to do whatever it takes to make you smile again, even if it means keeping his own heartache hidden in the process.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

By the time you reach your dorm, exhaustion weighs heavily on you. You’ve spent the entire day with your head down, avoiding any sight of Mattheo and Veronica. The silence between you and Mattheo feels foreign; it’s the first time you’ve gone a whole day without speaking to him, and you’re unsure if he even noticed your absence.

Unfortunately, you share several classes with both Mattheo and, evidently, Veronica. The sound of her laugh has become something you never want to hear again.

You kick off your shoes, fatigue weighing heavily on your limbs as you move towards your bed. As you pass your desk, something catches your eye—a bundle of red flowers sitting on top of your books. You pause, your curiosity piqued, and approach the desk. With a gentle touch, you lift the bundle, revealing vibrant red peonies. Their rich color stands out against the soft light filtering through the window, and their subtle, sweet fragrance fills the air.

Your eyes catch a note nestled among the flowers. You bite your lip to hide a smile as you read his messy handwriting: your name followed by a simple heart.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Last night had been brutal. Sleep barely touched you; your mind was flooded with images of Mattheo and Veronica, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. The thought of them together was unbearable—it made your head throb and your stomach churn. You hated it. Hated how it made you feel. But no matter how tightly you shut your eyes, your thoughts wouldn’t quiet. So you gave up on rest entirely, dragging yourself out of bed before the sun had even risen, hoping that a book might be enough to distract you from the images popping up in your head.

It was quiet in the common room—so quiet, you weren’t sure it would be enough to drown out the rancid thoughts circling your head. But you sat down anyway, curled up beside the fire with a blanket draped around your shoulders.

Reading ended up helping, so much so that you didn’t even hear anyone come in. You nearly jumped out of your skin when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught someone sitting in the chair beside you.

“You scared me.” You mutter, shooting him a look as he keeps his eyes fixed on the fire in front of him.

“Didn’t mean to,” Mattheo mumbles, finally glancing over at you. “What are you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say with a shrug, praying he won’t ask why. “I’m guessing it’s the same for you?”

He sighs, and you know the answer right away, “The usual.”

The words rise in your throat, begging to ask why he didn’t come to you—but you swallow them down, because deep down, you already know the answer. That was someone else’s job now.

So instead, you stay quiet—he’s never been one to talk after a nightmare. He prefers silence, sitting with it, letting it settle while he works through whatever’s clawing at him.

“I haven’t seen much of you.” You murmur after a good ten minutes of silence. It’s not easy to focus on reading when the person you’ve missed so achingly is sitting right in front of you. It was hard not to say anything—you’d barely made it through a page of your book, too distracted by stealing glances at him. You always thought he looked his most beautiful like this—hair tousled, eyes heavy with sleep. It was a kind of vulnerability only you were ever allowed to see.

He sighs, leaning back in the chair as his hand threads through his hair. “Been busy. You know how it is.” The smirk that tugs at his lips makes your stomach twist. You don’t know how it is—not really. You’ve been too busy waiting around for him to find out.

“Oh,” you choke out. “Well, maybe this weekend we could do something? It feels like it’s been ages since we’ve done anything.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and your spirits lift for a second. “I’ll have to check in with Veronica first, though.”

“Check in?” You repeat, a frown tugging at your brow.

“I don’t want her thinking I’m neglecting our relationship, you know?” He explains, and you swallow down the scoff that threatens to leave your lips. Like you’re doing with ours?

“Sure, I understand.” You say, but you really don’t. But you have no right to voice that. He’s in a relationship now, and you have to learn to respect that.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

It’s well past midnight when a knock echoes at your door. You sigh, adjusting your shorts as you reluctantly crawl off your bed, leaving your notes sprawled across the covers. As you swing the door open, you find Theo standing there, his gaze lifting from the floor to meet yours. A hesitant smile plays on his lips, as if he’s unsure whether he’s welcome at this late hour.

“Hi.” You greet him with a mix of confusion and warmth, offering a sweet smile. You pull the door open wider, and Theo’s gaze briefly flickers over your tiny sleep shorts and oversized shirt before he meets your eyes again.

“Pansy’s at our dorm.” He says, his voice soft.

You let out a quiet laugh, “I know that.”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just thought... maybe you wouldn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised, your lips parting as you glance over your shoulder into your room. Theo’s heart races, a wave of panic surging through him as he mentally scolds himself for not holding back. Offering to stay the night with you felt impulsive, but the moment he saw Pansy enter his dorm, his thoughts had gone straight to you.

“Shit,” Theo shifts uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “I just—when I saw Pansy, I couldn’t help but think you might need someone tonight. But if you’d rather be alone, I can go.”

After you asked Theo to help you get over Mattheo, you wondered if it had been too much to ask of him. But to your surprise, you’ve spent nearly every day of the past three weeks with Theo. You knew he had his own worries—between school, Quidditch, and the pressure from his father. But the morning after you asked for his help, he was there. 

You never expected him to put so much effort into helping you move on from Mattheo, but you couldn’t be more grateful. 

You hadn’t seen much of Mattheo since that early morning you’d run into him in the common room a couple of weeks ago. He’d been wrapped up with Veronica—you’d really only caught glimpses of them around the castle now and then, and the boys hadn’t stopped grumbling about their mate being stolen. It bothered you more than you cared to admit. You missed your best friend, even when you were agitated with him. Still, you were doing your best to respect his relationship, which meant spending more time with the group—minus the new couple. As it turned out, the distraction was a welcome one.

“No,” you quickly respond, a smile spreading across your face as you reach out and grasp his hand, gently tugging him inside. “I’m glad you came.”

Theo visibly relaxes at your touch, allowing you to gently pull him into the room. As the door clicks shut behind him, sealing out the quiet corridor, his initial hesitation melts away. He takes in the familiar surroundings of your room, which, despite being a bit messier than usual, feels even more comforting in the warm, dim light with you.

He swallows his disappointment as you release his hand to clear your bed of scattered notes. Standing there awkwardly, he tries to keep his gaze focused, making an effort not to let his eyes drift down your legs as you lean over to pick up the last piece of parchment.

After you place everything neatly on your desk, you turn to face him, leaning casually against the edge with a soft smile. “Are you okay with sharing my bed again?” you ask, your voice light but sincere. “Or if you’d prefer, I can sleep in Pansy’s bed so you’ll have more room.”

Theo bites his tongue, fighting to keep his voice steady and avoid sounding overeager. He doesn’t want more room; what he wants is to wake up with you pressed close against him, just as he did weeks ago. This time, though, he’s determined to stay and enjoy the feeling of you in his arms.

He clears his throat, “Your bed is fine.”

“I was actually about to head to bed before you knocked, but I can stay up if you wanted to do something.” You offer, your voice gentle and inviting.

Theo shakes his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “Thanks, but I’m pretty wiped out from practice today.” He admits, and you can hear the exhaustion seeping through his words.

“You should’ve gone to bed at your dorm, you would’ve been asleep sooner.” You say with a slight frown as you notice just how tired he looks from the day.

“No,” He shrugs. “I wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing you were here alone.”

If your heart could have melted, it would have done so right then.

Theo’s eyes hold yours for a moment longer before he glances away, almost as if he’s embarrassed by his own admission. You press your lips together, trying to hide the giddy smile threatening to break through. The idea that he cared that much for you made your insides flutter, warmth spreading through your chest.

Pushing away from the desk, you walk over to your bed and pull back the covers. Theo watches as you crawl in, adjusting the pillows before looking back at him. The unspoken question hangs in the air—are you going to join me?

He hesitates, slowly dropping his bag at the foot of your bed before moving closer to the edge. He’s slept in a bed with a girl before, but this feels wildly different. You make him nervous, and he has no idea how to hide it when he’s this close to you.

You settle into the covers, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight as you shift, and watch as Theo does the same, kicking off his shoes and slipping under the covers beside you.

Once the lights are off, silence settles between you, not at all uncomfortable. The only sound in the room is the soft rustling of sheets as Theo shifts beside you. You lie on your side, trying to make out his form in the darkness as your eyes slowly adjust. You can tell he’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me over the past couple of weeks.” You say softly, and Theo turns his head to look at you.

“Yeah?”

You hum, reaching out your fingers to brush against his hand, and he takes it without hesitation, his grip warm and reassuring, “Yeah.”

It’s become a habit in the last couple of weeks—intertwining his fingers with yours. He would grab your hand every time he noticed your discomfort around Mattheo and Veronica. And at some point, you just started reaching for his hand yourself. You liked the warmth of his palm against yours and the way he’d brush his thumb over the back of your hand.

“You know I don’t mind, right? Spending all this time with you has been nice. We never really hung out much, just us two.” He says softly.

You nod, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. “Yeah, I know. It’s been nice for me too,” you admit, your eyes meeting his in the dark. You both fall into silence, and it doesn’t take long before you drift off to sleep, your hand still clasped in his.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Panic hits as you suddenly realize the time—you’re running late. By now, you should already be at breakfast.

“Theo,” you whisper urgently, trying to shift out of his hold. The sheets are tangled around your legs, your back pressed firmly against his chest. His arms are locked around your waist, holding you close, and he’s not loosening his grip. His body is warm against yours, and even as you try to move, his grip tightens slightly, like he’s not ready to let go just yet. “Theo.”

“Fiore,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep, and you freeze at the sound of that deeper, morning rasp. “Quit moving.”His grip tightens just enough to keep you still, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“We have to get up,” you huff, trying to slip out of his arms, but Theo just pulls you back against him, his hold firm. “We’re late.”

“We’ll just skip.” He mutters, his voice still low and groggy. The idea is tempting—staying wrapped in his warmth instead of braving the cold corridors—but you sigh inwardly, knowing better.

You’d grown used to Theo’s small gestures of affection over the past few weeks, and you’d been just as affectionate in return. But waking up tangled in his arms like this felt different, more intimate. You were certain that once Theo fully woke up, he’d be a little sheepish about how closely he was holding you now.

“We really can’t,” you sigh, trying once more. “We need to get going—” Theo grumbles in response, finally loosening his grip and releasing you. A triumphant smile tugs at your lips as you slip out of bed, quickly heading to get ready. You racethrough brushing your teeth and pull on your uniform, skipping any attempt at fixing your hair in the rush. By the time you step out of the bathroom, Theo is standing by the bed, just finishing the last button on his shirt, looking just as disheveled as you feel.

You hurry Theo out of your room as he finishes brushing his teeth, and he complies, adjusting his tie as you both sprint toward the Great Hall. Just before joining the bustling breakfast crowd, you grab Theo by the arm, pausing to smooth down his disheveled hair.

“Is it a mess?” He asks, watching you closely as you stand on your toes to thread your fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix it.

“Just a bit,” you smile, stepping back on your heels and giving his hair a final nod of approval. “How’s mine?”

“Pretty,” Theo responds immediately, his gaze lingering. “I’ve never seen your hair like this before.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek to stifle your smile at his compliment. You had let your hair fall naturally, and his reaction makes you feel unexpectedly warm.

You mumble a shy “thank you” before leading the way into the Great Hall, Theo trailing close behind. His cheeks are still tinged pink from the way your fingers had grazed through his hair, and he’s quietly grateful you haven’t seemed to notice. However, his relief is short-lived when he catches Draco’s eye, who immediately notices the pink tint and raises an eyebrow in amused surprise.

As you make your way to the table, Draco leans back in his seat with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. “Well, well, if it isn’t the lovebirds gracing us with their presence.”

“Fuck off.” Theo grumbles under his breath as he lets you slide into your new seat before settling in beside you. Ever since your usual spot had been taken, you’d claimed the one next to Theo, and not just in the Great Hall. You found yourself gravitating toward him in class, the common room—anywhere you could. It had become a newly formed habit, one that neither of you seemed keen on breaking.

“I should’ve figured that’s where you disappeared to last night,” Enzo says with a knowing smirk. “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately, haven’t you?”

You really had. Theo had taken to meeting you outside your last class of the day, content to walk around the castle or by the lake, just so you could avoid witnessing Mattheo and Veronica together. You had learned he was the perfect study partner—far more patient than Mattheo, who would get restless after twenty minutes and start pleading for a break. He seemed to remember every little detail you shared, from how you took your tea to the smallest quirks about yourself.

He’d been so attentive to you that you overheard some girls in the year below talking about how Theo Nott was no longer single.

Theo gives him a flat, unimpressed glare, clearly not in the mood for Enzo’s comments, “Yet again, fuck off.”

“Well, have you two got anything to tell us?” Blaise prodded, a smug grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was teasing, sure—but there was a hint of hope beneath it, a quiet wish that the two of you would finally admit to being together. Theo was the happiest Blaise had ever seen him, and he knew it had everything to do with you. It always did.

Theo looks up from serving himself breakfast, shooting Blaise a sharp, warning glance. He could handle the teasing from the boys himself, but he didn’t want you to be caught in the crossfire, especially if it made you uncomfortable.

“No.” Theo replies flatly, his gaze flicking to you. You return it with an amused, yet sympathetic smile. Unconsciously, a soft, faint smile tugs at his lips, a detail the boys are quick to notice.

“Are you sure? Because—” Blaise starts but is quickly interrupted.

“I think you two would be perfect together,” Veronica cuts in, her voice dripping with an overly sweet tone as she flashes a saccharine smile. “Don’t you think so, Matty?” she adds, glancing over at Mattheo with a raised eyebrow.

Your eyes meet Mattheo’s for a fleeting moment, and he holds your gaze. You barely registered them, so absorbed in the boys’ teasing of you and Theo. And honestly, you’re still unsettled by what he said the other day—his comment about not wanting to neglect his relationship with Veronica. What about your friendship? Was that something that was okay to neglect?

Clearly, as much as you tried to shake it, there was still some bitterness there.

For just a moment, there’s something unreadable in his gaze—something that makes your heart falter—but it vanishes as quickly as it appeared.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his gaze shifting between you and Theo while Veronica cozies up to him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You two would be.”

A knot tightens in your stomach, and your appetite evaporates. The lightness you’d felt just moments before vanishes, replaced by a heavy weight. Even though you knew Mattheo didn’t have feelings for you, hearing him so openly agree with the idea of you with Theo stings more than you expected.

As long as you’d known him, Mattheo had never been in a serious relationship, let alone had a girlfriend. Now that he was with Veronica, it was painfully clear that you were never truly an option for him. If you had been, he would have made a move. You had dropped hints for years, and his playful flirting had always kept your hopes alive.

But maybe that’s all your relationship was ever meant to be—a friendship with a hint of flirtation. If that’s the case, you needed to move on. Fixating on a guy who now had a girlfriend was a losing battle. If you weren’t careful, you might risk losing the friendship you valued so much.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts, pushing the food around on your plate, that you don’t even hear the chatter of your friends going on around you. It isn’t until Enzo tosses a grape at you that you glance up, “Are you coming tomorrow?”

You immediately know he’s referring to the Quidditch match. You’d missed the last game, which had surprised everyone, but you weren’t in the right head space to watch Veronica cheer for Mattheo.

You nod. “I planned on it.”

“Good,” Pansy interjects matter-of-factly. “I missed having you there.” You offer her a smile, but it falters when you see Veronica nudge Mattheo. He clears his throat and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Speaking of the game,” Mattheo starts, his voice slicing through the breakfast chatter. “I need my jersey back.”

Your brows knit together in confusion, and it takes you a moment to find your voice, “I don’t understand—”

“My jersey,” Mattheo repeats, his gaze steady as he watches you. “I need it for tomorrow.”

“Did something happen to yours?” You ask, caught off guard. You’d always kept one of his jerseys while he kept the other. It had become a sort of tradition between you.

Mattheo hesitates momentarily, a flicker of something like regret crossing his features. “No, it’s just... I need it back now.”

“Oh.” You say softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. Veronica’s eyes dart between the two of you, her brow knitting in irritation as she takes in the way Mattheo’s gaze lingers on you.

Theo’s eyes watch you with careful intensity. And when he catches the flash of hurt in your expression, he reaches out and intertwines his fingers with yours beneath the table, his touch reminding you that he’s there if you need him. You squeeze his hand back immediately.

“I’m wearing it,” Veronica interjects, her tone bordering on something nasty. “I’m his girlfriend. It would be a bit strange if you kept wearing it.”

Your gaze flickers to hers, and a familiar twist of dislike coils in your stomach. You hadn’t been her biggest fan when you first met, but you’d tried to make an effort. That morning, after seeing Mattheo in the common room, you’d even asked Veronica if she wanted to hang out. You told yourself it was a healthy step—getting to know her might help you understand what Mattheo saw in her. Maybe if you saw why he’d fallen for her, it would be easier to let go. The feelings you had for Mattheo? Those were going to be long gone soon.

But she’d barely spared you a glance, tossing a dismissive look over her shoulder before slamming her book shut and rising to face you, “When I said we’d have a girls’ night, I didn’t actually mean it.”

Your lips parted, confusion knitting your brows. “It doesn’t have to be a girls’ night,” you offered, trying to keep your tone light. “I just thought maybe we could grab lunch—just the two of us, or even with Mattheo, if that’s more comfort—”

“I don’t have time,” she cut in sharply, lifting her books in emphasis. “Besides, tonight’s date night for Matty and me. It’d be weird if you tagged along.”

You bit back the retort—“I didn’t say tonight”—deciding her tone said enough. You’d tried, but her attitude had made things crystal clear. You didn’t like her—and nothing was changing that.

Your friends exchange glances, their confusion palpable as they watch Mattheo allow Veronica to speak to you with such disdain. They’ve seen him start fights over someone supposedly speaking badly of you, so this new passivity is surprising. Enzo’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he mouths a quick ‘what the hell’ to Draco, whose puzzled expression mirrors his own.

Everyone, except Mattheo it seems, has noticed that Veronica has gone from bright and friendly to curt and possessive over the past few weeks. At first, everyone agreed she seemed sweet—confused about how she ended up with Mattheo, but sweet nonetheless. But the longer the relationship went on, the more Veronica’s personality seemed to shift. It became clear she wasn’t a fan of them, especially not you.

When you remain silent, Veronica sighs impatiently, “Did you hear me—”

“Yeah, I get it,” you snap, your frustration evident. You turn your gaze back to Mattheo. “I’ll give it to you later.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You spent all your classes obsessing over returning Mattheo’s jersey, and no matter how hard you tried, it was getting under your skin. It wasn’t just any jersey—it was the one Mattheo had given you, the one you’d worn countless times. His new relationship with Veronica had stung, but this felt even worse. Maybe it was because taking back the jersey felt like a tangible sign that Mattheo was serious about Veronica, and it drove home the reality of how much things had changed.

Logically, you understood why it was reasonable. Having another girl wear your boyfriend’s jersey would be uncomfortable, and if the roles were reversed, you’d feel the same way. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier. You found Veronica irritating, and the thought of giving up something that meant so much to you—both the jersey and Mattheo—was unbearable.

By the time you made it to your dorm, you were in a foul mood. The plan had been simple: stay holed up all day and hope that, by tomorrow, you’d be completely over Mattheo Riddle.

You’d barely been lounging on your bed for ten minutes when the door burst open. “Get ready, we’re heading down to the Black Lake,” Pansy announced the moment she stepped inside. You glanced up to see her toss her bag onto the bed before rifling through her clothes like she hadn’t just disrupted your entire plan for the day.

“Sorry, this is what I’m doing for the rest of the day.” Pansy looks up and quirks an eyebrow at you—an unmistakable This? Really? written all over her face

“It’s not. I told the boys you were coming.” 

“Why?” You ask, annoyance flickering through your veins.

“Because you’ve been in a mood since breakfast and you need a distraction,” she says, tossing a black bikini onto her bed before heading over to your side of the room to dig through your wardrobe. “Besides, it’s nice out, and I need a tan.”

“A mood? Did you not hear him? He wants his jersey back!” You snap, sitting up in bed and flinging your arm toward the garment draped over the back of your chair.

“I know, babe,” Pansy says with a sigh. “But what’s the point in arguing? It’s not going to change anything. His girlfriend already doesn’t like you, and if you push it, you’ll end up seeing him even less.”

She barely spares you a glance as she goes through your clothes, and your stomach sinks. You’ve hardly seen Mattheo as it is—but the thought of not speaking him at all? That’s the last thing you want.

It’s not long before you’re spreading out your towel and sinking down beside Pansy. She’s already reclined, sunglasses balanced on the bridge of her nose, a satisfied sigh slipping past her lips as the sun warms her skin.

“I needed this.” Pansy hums, and you glance over at her.

“I think it’d be a lot more relaxing if they weren’t here.” You mutter, your gaze flicking to where Mattheo sits behind Veronica, obediently rubbing sunscreen on her back as she directs him like a puppet.

Pansy cracks one eye open, follows your line of sight, and groans. “They weren’t supposed to be. Mattheo must’ve overheard the guys talking about it.”

Your jaw tightens as you watch him finish with her shoulders, leaning forward to press a kiss to her neck. She lets out a high-pitched squeal of his name, and suddenly, you regret not fighting harder to stay curled up in your dorm.

“Would you just relax?” Pansy murmurs, sliding her sunglasses down to eye you properly. She gives your t-shirt a light tug, then pinches at the hem of your shorts. “Take these off—you look like you’re melting.”

Something sharp about how it must be your anger, is on the tip of your tongue. But Pansy adjusts her sunglasses and rolls onto her stomach, clearly signaling the conversation is over.

You sigh, glancing over at the boys seated a little ways from Mattheo and Veronica. It’s obvious from their expressions that they’re talking about them. A part of you bristles instinctively, ready to defend Mattheo—but you shove it down before it can surface.

Theo’s eyes are locked on Mattheo, anger simmering just beneath the surface as he watches him drape himself over Veronica—right in front of you. It’s all Theo’s been able to think about these past few weeks: keeping you distracted, keeping your eyes on him. Because if you’re looking at him, maybe you won’t notice just how completely enamored Mattheo is with a girl that isn’t you.

He doesn’t get it—how Mattheo could have you as an option and yet choose someone else. It drives him mad, keeps him up at night. Because if he were in Mattheo’s position, there wouldn’t be a choice to make. It would be you. Always.

He’s so focused on his thoughts that he barely registers Enzo nudging him.

“Huh?” He mutters, distracted, but his words catch in his throat the moment he follows Enzo’s subtle nod toward you. Wrapped in a cherry-red bikini, shoving your denim shorts down your thighs, completely unaware of the way the sight knocks the breath out of him.

His irritation simmers into something else entirely—something heavier, something that sparks low in his stomach.

A low whistle sounds beside him, and Theo’s head snaps toward Draco, who’s shamelessly smirking in your direction. “Salazar, I love the view on days like this,” he drawls.

Irritation flares hot in his chest, and without thinking, Theo snaps, “Shut the fuck up,” before pushing to his feet and heading straight for you.

He doesn’t have much of a plan when he gets to you—just knows he’d rather not sit there while the guys keep eyeing you like that.

“Fiore.” He greets, and you blink up at him through your sunglasses, taking a second to admire him. Exposed skin and defined biceps completely short-circuit your brain, and it takes a moment to catch up. Pansy shoots you a look at how long it takes you to answer him.

“Theo,” you hum, and his lips twitch into a smile. Pansy’s eyes flick between the two of you before she pushes herself up, calling over her shoulder that she’s going to say hi to Blaise. You watch as she saunters over, drops to her knees beside him, and leans down to press a kiss to his lips. Blaise, lying back without a care in the world, welcomes it, while Draco and Enzo groan dramatically, muttering that the two of them need a room.

You giggle quietly to yourself, amused by your friends, as Theo settles onto the towel Pansy abandoned. For a moment, the two of you sit in silence, gazes cast toward the Black Lake, letting the sun warm your skin while birdsong fills the space between you. With Theo beside you, the tension in your chest begins to ease. You’re just about to sink back into the towel when another one of Veronica’s shrill calls of Mattheo’s name cuts through the peace, grating in your ears.

You let out a soft sigh, drawing Theo’s attention. He glances over at you, then follows your gaze to where Mattheo sits behind Veronica, still murmuring something in her ear as she leans back against him.

“Do you want to swim?” Theo asks, then immediately winces at how blunt it sounds. He wishes his brain didn’t short-circuit every time you were near—that he could string together a sentence without sounding like he’s forgotten how to speak. Around you, he feels like a third year all over again. There’s a flash of relief when your eyes finally shift to him.

You glance toward the lake, hesitation written all over your face. “It looks freezing,” you say, trying to keep your tone casual. You’re not about to admit you suck at swimming—it’s easier to pretend that it’s just too cold.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “It won’t be that bad.”

Still unsure, you give him a shrug, and Theo pushes himself up, holding out a hand for you to take. 

“That water’s gonna be freezing!” Blaise calls after you, and you shoot Theo a look that clearly says told you so.

Threading your fingers through Theo’s feels almost jarring—jolting in a way that catches you off guard. It’s a little unnerving, knowing all your friends are watching as you walk hand in hand, though it’s not like they haven’t already noticed how inseparable you and Theo have become. Still, there’s a flicker of satisfaction when, out of the corner of your eye, you catch Mattheo turning to watch the two of you walk toward the water. For once, his eyes aren’t on Veronica—they’re on you.

You stop a few feet from the edge, eyeing the water warily before taking a slow step back, a sweet smile tugging at your lips as you glance up at him.

“You know what, I’ll gladly watch you swim by yourself.”

Theo casts a look of disbelief your way, “You walked all the way down here with me just to turn me down?”

You shrug, an amused smile tugging at your lips. “I think you’ll survive on your own.”

“No, I really don’t think I will.” His voice is playful, but there’s a glint in his eye as he steps into the water, holding out a hand to you.

You wrinkle your nose and shake your head. “Get Enzo to come out there with you.” You turn, ready to call for Enzo, but you don’t get the chance.

Theo wraps an arm around your waist, the other slipping behind your knees as he effortlessly lifts you off the ground.

You let out a startled shriek, arms instinctively flying around his shoulders. “Theo!” you gasp, breathless with surprise and laughter.

If your friends hadn’t been paying attention before, they definitely were now. A few whistles and teasing cheers ring out from the group, but you can’t tell who they’re from. You’re too focused on Theo, clinging to him with a mix of panic and laughter.

“If you drop me…” You warn, tightening your grip around his shoulders as he wades deeper into the water.

“I’m not going to drop you.” He says with a low chuckle—and just as the words leave his mouth, the cool water brushes your back, pulling a startled squeak from your lips.

“I’m serious! I barely know how to swim. No one ever taught me, and I cried so much every time my parents dropped me off at swim lessons that they just gave up.” You confess quietly, eyes flicking nervously to the water lapping around Theo’s knees before finally meeting his gaze.

To your surprise, he doesn’t tease. Instead, he chuckles softly, shaking his head as he adjusts his grip, gently shifting you until you can wrap your legs around his waist. Your arms loop securely around his neck, and he gives you that soft, familiar smile. The one he saves only for you. It was quickly becoming one of your favorite things.

“I’ll just keep holding you then. How’s that sound?” You nod, eyes drifting over his sun-kissed skin and tousled waves. He looked beautiful like this, devastatingly so.

“As long as you don’t drop me, I’m okay with that.” You murmur softly, and Theo’s smile shifts—gentler now, quieter. His eyes flick down to your lips, so quickly you almost convince yourself you imagined it. 

Because there’s no way Theo Nott would be thinking about kissing you. 

That just wasn’t possible.

You watch him closely, heart ticking faster as his eyes slowly trace your face. Goosebumps rise along your skin when his hand glides down your side, over your hip, then settles firmly on your thigh.

“Theo.”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing?”

He glances at you, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“Adjusting my grip,” he says casually. “Wouldn’t want to drop you.”

It’s a bullshit excuse. He didn’t need to adjust his grip—he was holding you just fine. And maybe it was wrong, but he wanted a reason to let his hand skim over your skin, to feel what it would be like to touch you the way he would if you were his.

You don’t seem to care though.

You hum in understanding, and without thinking, your fingers drift up to toy with the soft strands of hair at the nape of his neck. Theo watches you closely, eyes tracing every detail of your face—committing it to memory, unsure when he’ll get to have you this close again.

“I was wondering—”

“Mattheo!” The shout cuts through the air, and Theo flinches at the sound of Veronica’s voice, wincing as a splash of cold water hits his back. Instinctively, he pulls you closer, turning his body to shield you from the spray.

“Fuck, Mattheo,” you grumble, shooting an irritated look his way. “That’s freezing.” It’s not that cold, but you’re annoyed. He’s your best friend, he knows all about your failed attempts at learning to swim and how much you really, really hate having water splashed on you.

“Sorry,” he says with a shrug, though he doesn’t look the least bit apologetic. His eyes flick briefly to Theo, then drop, as if he can see right through the murky water to where Theo’s hand is gripping your thigh.

“You’ve got Theo to keep you warm,” he says, nodding toward him. But his eyes stay locked on yours. There’s a sharp edge to his voice, one Theo doesn’t miss. It’s subtle, but it’s there, like the sight of you in Theo’s arms is bothering him more than he wants to admit.

Theo feels the subtle shift in your body—the way you tense slightly in his arms.

Veronica calls his name, and after a brief hesitation, Mattheo finally tears his gaze away from you and swims toward her. But your mood has already soured, and all you want now is to retreat to your towel and dry off.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You barely slept, spending most of the night replaying every possible scenario of how returning Mattheo’s jersey might go. Your mind wouldn’t settle, not after watching him and Veronica at the lake, circling each other in the water, sharing quiet conversations. Every so often, if you were lucky, you caught a glimpse of Mattheo pressing his lips to hers.

You were grateful for your sunglasses, hiding the tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. You weren’t sure if it was jealousy or frustration—or a painful mix of both.

Whatever it was, it sucked.

By the time you got back to your dorm after a day full of classes, you were wound so tight you feared you might snap.

You dreaded going to the game. The thought of returning the jersey was uncomfortable, and the idea of seeing Mattheo with Veronica made it even harder to face.

What you hoped for most was a moment alone with him, to talk without Veronica hovering nearby. But after yesterday, you knew the odds of that were slim. Watching her draped all over Mattheo at the lake had been enough proof. If today was anything like that, you wouldn’t get a second alone with him.

You considered skipping the match entirely. However, you and Pansy had made plans to sit together, and you’d also promised Mattheo you’d return his jersey. As much as you wanted to avoid the situation, you knew you had to go.

You were so irritated as you snatched Mattheo’s jersey off the back of your chair that you hadn’t even noticed the red peonies and green jersey sitting on your bed at first. It wasn’t until you tossed your bag aside and went to fix your hair that the unexpected sight caught your eye.

Your eyes landed on the familiar green jersey, the back facing up so you could clearly see ‘Nott’ stitched in bold, unmistakable letters. A smile tugged at your lips, your earlier frustration fading as you reached for the flowers, their soft petals brushing against your fingers. Carefully, you lifted them, already picturing them in a vase on your desk. 

There’s a card tucked between the blooms, and you smile at Theo’s handwriting: Fiore—wear this for me tonight?

Suddenly, the idea of going to the match didn’t seem so miserable anymore.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Finally!” Veronica calls out the moment she spots you, her voice laced with impatience. “I was starting to think you weren’t going to show up in time.” She stands outside the boys’ locker room, arms crossed like she’s been waiting for ages.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “I told Mattheo I would be here.”

“I know,” She says, her tone short, before sticking out her hand expectantly. “I can take that.”

You hesitate, wanting to wait and give it to Mattheo yourself, but you know she’ll be the one wearing the jersey tonight. It feels pointless to hold onto it any longer. With a reluctant sigh, you hand it over, and Veronica’s lips curl into a triumphant smile as she takes it from you.

“Thanks.” She chirps, instantly brighter now that she’s got what she wanted. You watch as she slips the jersey on, and a slight bitterness creeps into your chest at the sight of it on her. She finishes adjusting the jersey and looks up, sending you a smug smirk that makes your stomach twist.

It’s incredibly frustrating to watch her once-sweet attitude crack and crumble right in front of you—while Mattheo remains completely oblivious. You don’t understand it. Besides being his friend, which lately hasn’t meant much, there’s no reason for her to dislike you. Yet she does, and you can’t figure out why.

Sure, you were close with Mattheo, but if the jersey was any indication, she had no real reason to worry. 

You were nothing but a friend to Mattheo, even though you desperately wished that wasn’t the case.

She eyes the jersey you’re wearing, quirking an eyebrow as if she’s about to say something snide. You brace yourself, waiting for the comment, but then her face lights up as her attention shifts to something—or someone—behind you.

You turn just as she brushes past you, wrapping her arms around Mattheo’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. The sight makes your stomach roll, and you quickly avert your gaze, unable to bear watching them. Her giggles fill the air, loud and lovesick, a blatant declaration that he’s hers now.

“Whose jersey are you wearing?” Your eyes snap over to Mattheo, who has one arm around Veronica’s waist as he looks at you curiously. Her arms are tightly wrapped around his neck, and she looks frustrated that his attention is on you. 

“Mine.” You glance over and see Theo approaching, a flicker of relief washing over you. A genuine smile spreads across your face, and before you think it through, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. He looks momentarily surprised but quickly gathers himself, encircling your waist and holding you firmly.

You lean back slightly to meet his gaze, your voice softening. “Thank you for the flowers. Again.”

A warm, gentle smile blooms on his lips, the kind he reserves just for you. “Anytime, fiore.”

A moment lingers between you, where your eyes lock and soft smiles play on your lips. But the spell shatters at Veronica’s excited squeal of Mattheo’s name. You clear your throat, gently pulling away and offering Theo a fleeting smile, even though you sense his disappointment at the loss of your warmth.

Your gaze drifts toward Mattheo, who leans in to press a kiss against Veronica’s lips, a pang of longing twisting in your chest. You exhale slowly, then look back at Theo. “Are you nervous?”

“Not really,” he replies with a casual shrug, though you catch a flicker of something beneath his calm exterior. “But if I do get nervous, I’ll just search for the pretty girl wearing my name.”

Your lips part in surprise at Theo’s bold flirting, a playful spark igniting in your chest. You try to mask your smile, but it’s no use—Theo sees right through you, a knowing grin spreading across his face as he revels in your reaction.

“Good luck. I’ll wait for you after.” You lean in, nearly whispering as you press a kiss against Theo’s cheek, but in your nervousness, your lips brush against the corner of his mouth instead. The contact sends a spark of warmth through you, but before he can react, you pull away, leaving him to watch you walk off, the letters of his last name boldly displayed on your back.

He stands there for a second, staring after you, but as he turns to leave, he catches sight of Mattheo, who is watching you with an intensity that makes his heart sink.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

You’re exhausted. Keeping track of both Mattheo and Theo is proving to be more tiring than you anticipated. You’re used to focusing solely on Mattheo during the game, but tonight, your attention keeps shifting to Theo.

“Are you even listening to her?” Pansy scoffs, jabbing you in the ribs.

The unexpected nudge jolts you from your thoughts, and you turn to her, puzzled. “What?”

“Veronica. Are you paying attention?” Pansy glances over, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head, “No. I didn’t even realize she was sitting nearby.”

“Listen to her. She’s been bragging about Mattheo.” That catches your attention. You follow Pansy’s finger as she points, and your gaze lands on Veronica a few rows ahead. As you focus, her voice cuts through the noise of the crowd, loud and unmistakable, carrying clearly despite the distance.

“Do you even know how long I waited to get him?” Veronica’s voice rises above the noise, smug and self-satisfied. You glance over just in time to see her gather her hair into a high ponytail, making sure the name on her back is fully visible. “Honestly, the effort was exhausting,” she adds with a dramatic sigh, as if she’s endured a great hardship.

The girls around her practically explode with excitement, bombarding her with questions—how did she do it? How long did it take? What’s he like? Their voices blend into a high-pitched buzz, and you roll your eyes, feeling the irritation build as you turn your attention back to the match, hoping to tune them out.

Pansy nudges you again, her voice low and insistent. “Keep listening.”

“No.” You grit out.

Pansy sighs, “Why not?”

You exhale sharply. “Because I really don’t want to hear her go on and on about him anymore.” The bitterness in your voice is hard to hide, but you don’t care. You’re too tired of hearing his name on her lips.

“You’ve barely listened!”

“It was enough for me.”

“There’s something off about the way she talks about him,” Pansy pushes, leaning in to try and catch your eye, but you continue looking forward and watching Theo. “I don’t like it.”

“I mean, I don’t either. But I’m not going to keep listening in.”

“Why?” Pansy cries out incredulously, gaining the attention of some people around you.

“Because I’m supposed to be getting over him, and I don’t think listening in as his girlfriend talks about him will do that.”

“But what if something’s off? What if she’s blackmailing him or something?” Pansy asks, before she gasps and turns to face you fully. “What if he’s dating her to make you jealous?”

“Do you really think Mattheo Riddle would allow someone to blackmail him? And secondly, I don’t think that’s the case.”

“You never know. I always thought he had feelings for you.”

“Pansy. This is what I’m talking about,” You snap, sending a warning look to your best friend. “Mattheo can take care of himself, you and I both know that. There’s no way I’ll ever get over him if I start making up theories about why he’s with his girlfriend. Veronica’s…. something else, we know that, but that doesn’t mean she’s not with him for a genuine reason.”

Pansy exhales in frustration, adjusting in her seat as she finally turns her attention to the match. “Alright, I get it. I’ll just share my theories with Blaise from now on.”

A smirk tugs at your lips as you imagine Blaise enduring the same conversation, likely rolling his eyes in exasperation, “Fine by me.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

Thanks to Theo’s swift catch of the Snitch, Slytherin secured the win, and the stands erupted in cheers. You’d screamed so loudly in celebration that you’re certain he heard you, even from across the pitch. The thrill of the moment filled you with energy, and you felt a surge of pride as he glanced your way after the catch.

You were eager to congratulate him, but held back, letting the others swarm him first. Instead, you were leaned against the wall outside the locker room, waiting for a moment alone with him. As you stood there, it wasn’t long before your mind wandered. You found yourself watching him from afar—his chest still heaving from the intensity of the match, hair tousled and damp with sweat. There was something about the way he looked after a game that had your thoughts trailing off in a completely different direction.

It brought you back to yesterday—the way he looked, water glistening on his skin, fingers running through his damp waves, and eyes crinkling as he smiled at you. The memory sent a rush of heat straight through you.

Had Theo Nott always been this gorgeous?

When he turns and catches your eye, you fully expect him to give the usual ‘wait a minute’ gesture, like Mattheo always does. But instead, to your surprise, Theo pushes straight through the crowd. In an instant, he’s in front of you, pulling you up into his arms. You let out a shriek of his name through laughter, completely caught off guard by the sudden hug, his embrace warm and tight as if he’d been waiting for this moment all along.

“You did so good!” You cry out as he sets you down. When he grins at you, it’s almost enough to make you swoon; the sight of post-match Theo is something you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. The blend of adrenaline and joy radiating from him leaves you momentarily breathless.

“It’s because you wore my jersey,” he shrugs, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I didn’t get to say it earlier, but you look really good in it.”

You nearly melt, “Does that mean I get to wear it at the next game?”

“Please do, love,” he says, his tone suddenly softer, the endearment dripping with warmth like honey. There’s a sincerity in his gaze that sends a flutter through your chest. “You make it look far better than I ever could.”

You don’t get the chance to respond as Enzo suddenly appears by his side, rambling on about something animatedly. With a quick tug, Enzo pulls Theo away, but not before he glances back, shouting over his shoulder about how he’ll see you later.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

“Y’good?” Theo looks up from the fire, his gaze shifting to Blaise, who’s now standing beside the couch. The flames had been the only company he’d had for hours. It was late—he couldn’t say exactly how late—just that the common room had emptied long ago, and he’d been sitting there long after everyone else had gone to bed after celebrating their win.

“Yeah,” Theo sighs, his eyes drifting back to the flickering flames. “I’m good.” His words are hollow, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself. Blaise watches him for a moment, studying the tension in his posture, before quietly sitting down in the empty space beside him. Neither of them speaks, both of them watching as the flames dance.

Blaise leans back, glancing at Theo before breaking the silence. “You don’t look it,” he says, his voice calm but direct.

“Just thinking.” Theo just shrugs, his shoulders barely lifting, the gesture heavy with indifference. Blaise watches him for a moment, waiting, giving him the space to say something more—but the silence stretches.

“About her?” 

Theo’s reaction is answer enough. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair with a tired frustration. For a brief moment, he pauses, elbows resting on his knees, his head cradled in his hands.

He drops his hands slowly, lifting his head to glance over at Blaise, his eyes tired, “When am I not?”

Blaise smiles slightly at his words. He’s known for years that Theo liked you—it was impossible to miss. From the moment Mattheo introduced you, Blaise vividly remembers the way Theo looked at you, as if his breath had been knocked from his lungs.

He was completely undone by one glimpse of you.

And if that hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, the little things Theo did for you over the years certainly were—grabbing your favorite sweets from Hogsmeade when you couldn’t make the trip, offering help before you even had to ask, his gaze always seeking you out no matter how crowded the room. It was undeniable, even if Theo never spoke it aloud.

“Listen, mate,” Blaise begins, casting a quick glance at Theo, gauging his expression before continuing. “Do you think this is a good idea?” 

“What?”

“Helping her get over Mattheo while you’re in love with her yourself.” Blaise’s words hang in the air, and Theo’s jaw tightens instinctively, a storm of emotions flickering across his face.

He wants to deny that he’s in love with you, but deep down, he knows it’s pointless. The truth is unquestionable; he’s been drawn to you for years, but these last few months have sent him falling even deeper.

How was he ever supposed to get over you when every moment only pulled him deeper? The way your fingers slipped so easily into his, like they belonged there, the soft curve of your lips as his thumb traced gentle circles over your skin. How sleeping over in your dorm had somehow become routine—he was sure Pansy was staying with Blaise on purpose to give him space with you. 

It’s why he hasn’t left this couch in hours, struggling with the weight of his feelings. The realization hits him hard: he’s completely fallen for you, and he’s trapped. Because in your eyes, he’s just a friend, and that thought feels like a punch to the gut.

“She asked me to, and I can’t say no to her,” Theo replies, his voice laced with a mix of frustration and resignation. “I’ve never been able to.”

“You’re going to get yourself hurt if you’re not careful.” Blaise warns, his tone serious. 

“We’ve long passed that point.” Theo sighs.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

The knock at your door isn’t much of a surprise—you figured that as soon as Pansy left to meet Blaise, Theo would come knocking. It had become part of your routine over the past month. In fact, he had become the person you saw the most.

Walk to the Great Hall? Sit by Theo. Evenings in the common room? Always with your friends, sat beside Theo. As soon as Pansy disappeared to the boys’ dorm, that was Theo’s cue to show up at your door.

He was so deeply ingrained into your life that it was almost hard to remember what things were like before him.

“I think this is a record—” You begin with a grin, flinging open the door—only for your smile to falter.

It’s not Theo.

Mattheo stands there instead, a split lip and a bruise blooming across his cheekbone in deep shades of purple and red. It looks painful, and you wince at the sight of him.

A disbelieving scoff escapes him. “You were waiting for him?”

One hand braces against the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder, like he’s expecting Theo to come around the corner. “Can you two do nothing without each other?”

“Do you need something, Mattheo?”

He turns back to you, the bitterness in his expression fading as he lifts his fingers to wipe at the blood on his lip. It smears more than it cleans, and you scrunch your nose slightly in distaste. A month ago, you would’ve pulled him into your dorm without hesitation—but now, you’re angry with him.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him to fuck off, that it’s no longer his business who you’re waiting for. Not when you’ve barely seen him, and every attempt to talk has been ignored. Ever since that day at the lake, he’s been even more distant than before. And if he so much as looks like he might breathe in your direction, Veronica is there, tugging him away. It’s mind-boggling. Up until now, you hadn’t let yourself believe it, but maybe this really is how your school year ends—with you and Mattheo no longer friends.

“I got into a fight—” You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a deadpan look. 

“—and I just couldn’t bring myself to go to the infirmary. Not when this has always been your job.”

There’s a part of you that bristles at him calling it your job to take care of him, but you know he’s right. After every fight, he’d show up at your door, and you’d patch him up as best you could. But things are different now, and it doesn’t feel right to take care of him when he’s all but disappeared from your life.

“It’s not my job anymore. Not when you have a girlfriend.” You move to shut the door, but Mattheo shoots his hand out, stopping it before it can close.

“Love, please.” Your stomach lurches at the way the nickname rolls off his tongue—directed at you this time. “I need your help.”

You hesitate, staring at him for a long moment, weighing just how stupid of an idea this might be. But Mattheo’s pull on you—his presence, his voice, the familiarity—is still too strong. With a sigh, you step aside and swing the door open before gesturing to your bed.

There’s not a whole lot you can do besides blot his lip with a clean cloth and apply some cream to the bruise on his cheek, but it’s always seemed to work for him. By the time you’ve dampened the cloth with warm water and gathered what you need, Mattheo is already settled on your bed, staring at the wall of polaroids.

It’s different now. And something bitter churns in Mattheo’s stomach as he takes in the changes to your photo wall. Some of the pictures of the two of you have been replaced, now filled with snapshots of you and Theo. One shows you curled into Theo’s side, grinning widely at the camera as you squish his cheeks together with your hand. Another captures you sandwiched between Theo and Enzo, all three of you wearing sunglasses and flipping off the camera.

But it’s the photo of you and Theo at the lake that makes his chest tighten. Your legs are wrapped around Theo as he holds you up in the water, he’s smiling at the camera, and you’re pressing a kiss against his cheek. You’re wearing that red bikini—the one that had knocked the air from his lungs the moment he saw you in it. He remembers how stunned he was, how he’d nearly forgotten Veronica was beside him until she slapped his arm and muttered something sharp.

“She needs a bigger size,” she’d said. “It’s too tight on her hips. I should give her one of my old ones.”

He hadn’t said a word, but the way his eyes stayed locked on you had said enough. He didn’t agree—he thought you were perfect. 

“What’d you get in a fight over?” Mattheo’s eye shift over to you, settling down onto the bed next to him and showing him the cloth, a warning you were going to touch him before bringing the damp, white cotton to his lip. Mattheo sucks in a breath and watches as you focus on cleaning the cut.

“Nothing important.” He mumbles, careful not to move too much for you.

“Clearly, it felt important to you.” You hold up the blotchy, red-stained cloth as proof.

He sighs, “It wasn’t.”

You glance up at him, but he’s staring off to the side, jaw tight, and you decide to let it go. You know him—if he got worked up enough to start a fight, then it meant something to him.

The room falls quiet as you work, the silence stretching between you. Still, your mind spins, trying to piece together what could’ve pushed Mattheo far enough to throw punches.

“Why didn’t you go to her?” You ask softly.

Mattheo’s face stays blank, and for a moment, you wonder if he even heard you.

“It’s just—” he starts, then pauses. His gaze finally lifts to meet yours, and something shifts in the air. The way he’s looking at you now—it’s different. Intense. It sends your pulse into a quiet frenzy. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“It shouldn’t be the same,” You murmur, correcting him. “We’re just friends, but it’s different with you and her.”

“I know, I know.” He mumbles, drawing in a deep breath.

You set the cloth aside, watching him carefully as you reach for the cream. It’ll only take a couple dabs on his cheek andhe’ll be good to go—but still, you move slowly. Selfishly, you want to stretch the moment. He hasn’t been this close in weeks. You haven’t really heard his voice in what feels like forever.

Not when he’s talking to the boys. Not in passing in the corridors. That doesn’t count. Not like this.

“Do you like her for me?” He asks, and you inwardly sigh. 

“I haven’t given it much thought.” You reply, dabbing the cream gently onto the bruise as he watches you.

You keep your focus fixed on the task—too careful, too precise—because meeting his eyes feels too intimate. Too dangerous.

“The boys always said it would be you.” He says quietly.

Your hand stills for a moment, eyes flicking up to meet his, uncertain.

“About what?” You’re stalling, hoping to have more time to process.

“Who I’d end up with.”

“Oh,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

How are you supposed to respond to that? Tell him you’d hoped for the same? That you’d heard the boys say it, more times than you could count—and every time, you let yourself believe it a little more.

Hoped that maybe, if they said it enough, he’d start to believe it too.

“Did they ever tell you that? That they thought you’d end up with me?”

Your voice falters, your hand falling to your lap as you stare at him. You’re too close—far too close. You need him out. Away from you. He has a girlfriend.

But then he says your name, soft and low, and you freeze.

Your mind is screaming at you to move, to stand up, to tell him it’s time to go.

But you don’t get the chance—because there’s a knock at your door and just like that, the moment is gone.

Please, please, please consider reblogging and/or commenting. It keeps me motivated to continue writing and reblogging spreads my work! 🤍

[saleyeniu]

Yall think coraline would be against gay marriage because of how badly having two moms and two dads worked out for her?

[saleyeniu]

⟡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ WARMING SILENCE — Anakin Skywalker x reader.

SUMMARY: A routine mission. A cold desert. Just you and him, alone with the silence and the stars—and the Jedi code hanging somewhere in between.

A/N: happy star wars day!! i wanted to get this out for this special day <3 reblogs appreciated !

WARNINGS: no explicit content, mutual pining, comfort/fluff, canon-typical violence (mentioned)

──────────────────────

That morning, you’d been assigned a mission — nothing unusual. Just a routine retrieval, or so they said. Some Force-sensitive artifact supposedly hidden deep within one of the deserts of Thalos, a planet known for its burning atmosphere by day and breezy, humid winds once dusk settled in.

You hadn’t thought much of it. You packed light. Maybe too light. Now, hours later, the sun had vanished behind the dunes, and you were beginning to feel the consequences of that decision.

Anakin was a few feet up ahead, hiking up the trail of some sand hill, his lightsaber hilt glistening under the moonlight from beneath his cloak, ready for any unwanted attention. It was crucial to stay prepared, especially in unfamiliar settings such as these.

He was a Jedi most people looked up to, you weren’t any different. Despite the both of you being closer to age than the others, it still felt like he had more experience, was always more capable, equipped.

Over time, you’ve definitely felt the temperature dropping, which would’ve been normal, considering it was nightfall already, but this was rapid, something you weren’t well dressed for, the Jedi uniform you adorned slowly failing your expectations to keep you warm.

Anakin, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, felt a little helpless, noticing the way you’d occasionally attempt to wrap your clothes around your frame a little tighter in an attempt to keep warm.

“The top of that hill might be better for the night,” he said, casually motioning to the sand rise just a few feet ahead. “Less wind.”

Your eyes shifted from his expression to where he was motioning, a rather good spot to settle down for the night, with also a great view of the general area incase of any danger lurking, nodding in agreement.

As the both of you continued to hike just up ahead, a certain questioned lingered in your mind. Of course, it wasn’t unusual for Jedi to be paired up together for missions, but it was just you and Anakin this time.

No clones, nobody. Normally, it would be a compliment, it gave the impression that your abilities were trusted, refined enough to handle the mission without backup. But with Anakin… it felt different.

Not unsettling, just — heightened. Like every word spoken, every glance exchanged, was louder in the silence between just two people.

And now, with the wind picking up and the sky deepening into violet, the quiet between you didn’t feel so professional anymore.

The hike wasn’t long, but the slope made each step feel heavier than it was. The sand shifted beneath your boots as you followed Anakin up the hill, the last stretch steep enough to force a small breath from your lips.

At the top, it leveled out into a narrow plateau, just wide enough for two. From here, you could see the dying sunlight bleeding along the horizon, casting long shadows across the dunes. Anakin gave a slight nod, like this spot would do.

Without needing to speak, the two of you began collecting what little the terrain offered — dried brush, scattered driftwood from earlier supply crates or half-buried remains of old campfires. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to coax a small flame to life.

Soon, a faint fire crackled between you, its flickering light softening the sharpness of his features. You sat across from each other, knees drawn in, the warmth not quite reaching your fingers.

“Thalos isn’t the worst planet we’ve been to,” Anakin muttered, adjusting a log with his boot, his gaze still focused upon the igniting flames in front of him.

“What was?” Your attention flicked toward him at the sound of his voice, suddenly curious, reminiscing past missions.

“Felucia, definitely. Swamps, giant mushrooms, that putrid smell—never again.” Anakin complained, followed by a chuckle that left his lips, the sound almost lost in the crackling of the fire.

He was right, it wasn’t the most pleasant experience you’ve had during a mission, but then again, missions weren’t supposed to be luxurious, especially for Jedi. You were taught to endure, to adapt.

But something about the way Anakin said it, the casual frustration in his tone, the ease with which he let it go — made it feel like more than just a mission to him. Like he wasn’t just talking about a planet; he was talking about what it meant to be here, with all the messiness and discomfort it brought.

But even so, being a Jedi was an honorary act, a constant balancing act between duty and sacrifice. It wasn’t about luxuries or comforts — it was about pushing aside those desires for something greater, something nobler.

And yet, there were moments like this, where the quiet of the desert and the flickering flames made you question if the balance was worth it.

You glanced at Anakin, his profile half-lit by the fire, and wondered if he ever thought about that — how much of himself he had to leave behind, how much of his own humanity had been swallowed up by the Jedi code.

He’d never admit it, but you couldn’t help but wonder if, like you, he sometimes felt the weight of it all.

“You’re shivering, Y/n,” Anakin’s voice spoke up once more, his full attention now focused fully on you.

He caught you by surprise, not expecting him to notice your subtle shivering from the planet’s temperature dropping.

“No, I’m fine, really.”

He gave you a look — one of those quiet, skeptical ones he did so well, the kind that said he didn’t believe a word of it. His gaze lingered for a second longer than it should have, before he wordlessly shrugged off his cloak and extended it toward you.

You hesitated. “Anakin…”

“It’s not up for debate,” he said simply, tone softer now, but firm in a way that made it hard to argue. “Just take it.”

Not being left with any more room to argue, you reluctantly took the cloak from him, looping it over your shoulders, the warmth almost immediate. His scent remained on it, faint, but still noticeable, familiar.

He didn’t say anything as you wrapped it around yourself, just watched for a second before turning his gaze back to the fire, his lips faintly curling into a smile.

You didn’t say anything either. But for the first time that night, the cold didn’t seem so harsh — and neither did the silence.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[saleyeniu]

⟡ 𓂃 ࣪˖ ONLY IN THE SHADOWS — Anakin Skywalker x reader.

──────────────────────

SUMMARY: Two Jedi navigate the difficult the impossible line between loyalty and longing.

A/N: i was YEARNING for anakin angst for so long i took matters into my own hands </3 a little rushed n rough around the edges but let’s ignore that🤞

WARNINGS: heartbreak, forbidden love, public humiliation

──────────────────────

Whatever you were doing, it was dangerous, unthinkable, even. Something the Jedi code would’ve never allowed, not in a million years.

And yet, here you were with the infamous Skywalker, a last name recognisable within the entire galaxy, right in your bed. Your head was gently placed on his torso, hearing his heartbeat and the occasional rise of his chest.

The silence between you was peaceful, nothing was meant to be said, just the both of you here, in this moment, was enough.

A constant loop. The two of you, sneaking around, hiding, knowing this shouldn’t take place. You’d promise each other no more, yet those empty vows would be broken, over and over.

“Anakin?” Your voice hummed against his chest, causing his gaze to shift from the dimly lit corner of your room, back to the crown of your head, resting just beneath his chin.

He didn’t say anything, just hummed in response, awaiting to hear whatever was on your mind, what you had to say.

“Do you think-“ Trailing off, you tried to find the right words to form your thoughts, to make them sound meaningful.

“Do you think if we weren’t Jedi, we’d be able to live like this freely? No Jedi code, nothing to hold us back?”

Those words rung in his ears louder than any command the Council had ever given him, louder than duty, louder than reason.

He wanted to give you an honest answer, but he couldn’t. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. It was the kind of question that didn’t have a correct way to answer it.

As the stillness settled, you took Anakin’s silence as an answer to your quiet wondering.

Eventually, you allowed sleep to overtake you, muffling any thoughts still lingering in your mind about the Jedi, anything even merely connected to him.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The mornings always ended up cold, subconsciously reaching for the warmth you fell asleep with, only to be met with disappointment.

Same routine every time. The both of you would fall asleep, tangled in each other, to then open your eyes to an empty space, just a faint scent indicating his presence the night before.

It drilled a hole within you each time, even though you understood, you had to. Jedi weren’t meant to be this close, this deep in feelings, and yet you couldn’t brush it away.

With a sigh, you slipped your Jedi robes on, the hilt of your lightsaber sliding into the side of the uniform with a gentle click.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Y/n!” A familiar voice called out, followed by Ahsoka who ran up to you in the hall, a smile painted across her face. „Where’ve you been?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, a little worried now. „Did something happen?”

„Well, there’s gonna be a mission soon. You’ll join me and my master,”

Joining Ahsoka with Anakin. Seemed like an interesting turn of events, not like you had any plans for today anyway.

A part of you felt a little nervous. You hadn’t seen him at all, then again, it was only the morning — he usually was busy at this time.

Boarding the ship was a fast process, per usual. Exceptionally quiet, maybe because everyone was still a little droopy, you hoped.

Anakin sat in the pilot seat, right next to you. His gaze was locked on avoiding any obstacles, but he could’ve said something, you thought.

Ahsoka was in the middle of you, cleaning up the hilt of her lightsaber. Perhaps the silence also bothered her as much as it bothered you.

„Is something the matter, Skywalker?” Upon hearing those words, his gaze instinctively drifted to your features. „No, why?” He answered, trying to dismiss any concerns you might’ve had.

He sounded calm, nothing that could’ve indicated anything otherwise, but it didn’t sound believable, not really.

It was always like this. Beneath the moonlight, his eyes had this certain look in them, as if you were the only person in the entire galaxy. Like only you mattered.

In the daytime, things were different, as expected. Playing the role of two Jedi, completing their duties with no strings attached. A cycle you had to endure.

And yet, sometimes you hoped it could’ve been different. It was a false hope, you were well aware, but nothing could’ve dulled the ache. The want in not needing to hide your feelings with the Jedi anymore.

Ahsoka glanced at the both of you, even though it was obvious she was pretending to not pay attention to the short conversation. Not that she suspected anything, though.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The mission went well. That’s what you would’ve said if not for the fact that you were attacked by bounty hunters, not like they stood a chance.

„Snips, stay put!” Anakin exclaimed, not even waiting for Ahsoka’s answer, currently in a battle with one of the enemies, occasionally glancing back at you.

Your lightsaber worked overtime, blocking every hit that went your way, the Jedi title in front of your name didn’t stand there for no reason. It was an indication of your training, growing strength over the years.

„Y/n, behind you!” Ahsoka raised her voice, only now noticing the bounty hunter creeping up, but it was too late.

All the others were fought off, but this specific one ended up slicing your shoulder, just a bit.

Anakin’s lightsaber seeped right through him shortly after, but missed catching your body to dull the pain appearing shortly.

Your teeth gritted against each other, brows scrunched together, wincing when your fingers brushed against the clothed wound.

„Kriff, just hold on!” Ahsoka hurriedly put her lightsaber away, the only thing you managed to remember before your vision started to blur and softly blacken.

Warmth. The sound of crackling fire humming in your ears, your eyesight becoming more vivid with each blink.

„She’s reckless.”

„Cut her some slack, she was just caught offguard,”

It was clear they were having a conversation, but a part of you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it was about you? Sure, you could’ve stopped the bounty hunter in time, but a tragedy didn’t happen.

Your eyes closed shut as the pain in your upper shoulder appeared once more, your arms shaking just a bit as you sat up straight.

Eyes locking almost immediately with Anakin felt uncertain, like you weren’t even aware of what to expect from him.

Ahsoka shot you a warm, sympathetic smile. Clearly she was the one that bandaged you up. Anakin didn’t, his expression was the opposite, now that you were able to compare it to his Padawan.

„I’ll uhm—I’ll leave you to it,” Sensing the uneasy silence, the ship suddenly became very interesting, like it needed something to be checked, fixed, leaving the two of you alone.

„What was that?” His expression was unreadable, yet his words were laced with irritation, you could tell. „I’m sorry?”

„You really couldn’t fight him off? He could’ve brought an end to your life, and you don’t care?”

Your eyebrows scrunched together, trying to figure out where this was coming from. It’s not like the mission failed, so why was he overreacting?

„I was just surprised, is all.” You shot back, your tone becoming a little snarky now. Just the night before, he held you close to his chest, now this?

„You’re too reckless,” He replied, his voice sounding more annoyed.

With a forced laugh, you raised your eyebrows. „Oh, and you’re not? How many ships have you crashed from your thinking?”

„If you even think, that is. Sometimes it seems like you don’t.”

That was the last straw for Anakin. He shot you a glare you couldn’t quite decipher, watching his hand pinch the bridge of his nose.

The atmosphere was tense. It was evident he was upset, but was he really this riled up over a minor accident, or was it something else?

„Look, I don’t know what happened, but you can talk to me,” This time, your voice was a lot softer, wanting to figure out what exactly was bothering him.

„Just forget it, maybe Snips needs some help.” His words were harsh, cutting deeper than any wound could. He got up, the sound of his footsteps shortly disappearing.


That night, it was difficult to fall asleep. Your mind kept returning back to the conversation between you and the Jedi, trying to get a sense of understanding.

You knew he wasn’t asleep, even though he was a bit further than you. Tossing and turning was a clear sign of it.

Biting your lip, you tried to suppress any words that could’ve come out, but to no use.

„Ani?”

It came out muffled, almost like a whisper, careful enough to not wake up Ahsoka, but loud enough for Anakin, who was wide awake, to hear.

„Hm?” That sound startled you just slightly, but it was nice to hear him not pissed off by Maker knows what.

For a moment, you hesitated. What could you even say, come join me?

„My shoulder still hurts, could you check?”

That was the dumbest excuse you’ve ever said. It was obviously a way to get him next to you, to warm up the empty sleeping bag.

After a moment of silence, he finally turned around, locking eyes with yours. For a moment, you hoped that he was about to do what you asked for.

„Y’know we can’t, right? Not how things work,” Somehow, that was painful to hear. Almost like a rejection, even though he had a point.

„Right, yeah,” Your gaze drifted off of him to the ground. „Sorry, for asking—I mean,”

Normally, he would’ve offered you some other form of comfort. Like a smile, maybe whisper some sweet-nothings in your ear to help you sleep better.

„Get some sleep, hm?” His words were neutral, no emotions lingering. No smile attached, just the brief gaze at you before turning around, his back facing you now.

It stung. It really did. You weren’t sure what was going on, but there was definitely something lingering between the both of you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Over the course of the next few days, it continued. Short glances, no more time spent together, nothing. Your shoulder wasn’t as sore anymore, but even that could take your mind off of Anakin.

It was selfish, you thought. He had his own duties, whether it was his own work or something to do with the clones, he couldn’t offer you all of his time.

But surely, a little wouldn’t hurt?

After your training with the younglings, you spotted a familiar, dark robe in the hallway, curls you would’ve recognised anywhere. Nobody was around, this was your chance.

„Anakin? Do you have a moment?” You watched him stiffen up, as if startled, but he wouldn’t show it too much. His back wasn’t facing you anymore, which was some sort of progress.

He didn’t speak, just simply waited for you to continue.

„I just, I wanted to ask if anything’s wrong, maybe we need to talk—„

„There’s nothing to talk about.”

What? Nothing to talk about when he’s been acting weird, treating you completely differently?

„No, I think there is. A lot, actually.” As he was about to turn away, your hand gripped his arm, careful to not let go.

Anakin was most likely about to say something, when suddenly Obi-Wan crossed the corner.

“Anakin, may I speak to you?” His voice was calm, almost as if he didn’t suspect a thing about what you two were talking about.

“Yes, Obi-Wan.” He replied, his voice monotone. He simply shared a quick glance with you, your grip subconsciously loosening.

Obi-wan’s gaze lingered on you, his expression a little puzzled. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything?”

“Oh, not at all. He’s all yours,” The smile you gave him was forced. Of course, you weren’t upset with Kenobi, not at all, but he really could’ve chosen a different time.

They both paced the hallways in silence, before Obi-Wan cleared his throat. “You two are close,”

Anakin’s jaw tightened almost immediately, but his expression remained calm. “No, not really, She’s a good Jedi, is all.”

Obi-Wan nodded, pausing slightly. He gathered his thoughts for a moment before speaking up.

“Do take care, Anakin. The line between closeness and attachment can be, imperceptible.”

Anakin’s eyes were unreadable, his gaze shifting from the floor to his former master. “I haven’t crossed it.”

Obi-Wan knew well. He was able to tell what his past apprentice was going through. By no means was Anakin a person easy to read.

From that point on, Anakin actively avoided you, at first it was pretty subtle. His presence was missed in rooms he’d usually be in, not a bit deal, you thought.

Anytime you stepped into a room, he’d always have an excuse up his sleeve to leave, which raised your suspicions.

The final blow was him walking past you, ignoring anything you did to grab his attention. That was a new low, especially from him.

Of course, deeper relationships with the Jedi were prohibited, both of you knew, but did you truly deserve to be treated like this?

Absolutely not. So you followed him, right down to the war room hallway, filled with Jedi and clones.

“Anakin—please!” In a flash of helplessness, you call out to him, causing heads to turn from all around, just not his. Not yet.

Your voice was low, trembling.

“You can’t keep doing this, I don’t even know what we are anymore—If we’re anything, if we ever were—“

Your words were cut off with Anakin turning around, a blank expression on his face. He didn’t even let you finish.

“General L/N,” He trails off, loud enough for the other Jedi to hear. “These kinds of..forbidden feelings are unacceptable within the Jedi code.”

The room was silent. Dead quiet. It’s like time was completely stopped.

Your breath stopped, lips slightly parted, eyebrows scrunched and eyes already filled with tears. You didn’t expect such humiliation.

“Is that really what it was to you?” Your voice shaky, trembling, but he didn’t react. Not one bit. He just turned around and walked away. Stiff, unreadable.

Leaving you in absolute pieces under a thousand, watchful eyes.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[saleyeniu]

𝓞𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓗𝓮𝓻

There were no bounds to the deep rooted devotion that Anakin held for her. Obsessive thoughts plagued his mind everyday, for a woman he wasn't supposed to have. Another fellow jedi, capable of defending herself, and yet he was always pacing around like a manic beast whenever she was sent on missions he was not assigned to.

Surely the way his lip curled up whenever another man spoke to her wasn't normal, or the bubbling rage that he felt within him each time that anybody made her laugh. A deep sense of ownership; he almost felt entitled to her. He had given so much to the Republic, how dare they forbid him from loving another? Of course, the nature of his affections for her were always treading through dangerous territories, because Anakin could, and would let the entire galaxy burn if it meant keeping her safe. Anakin isn't someone who hesitates or thinks before acting, like an animal guided by instincts alone, and if he felt she was in danger? If he ever felt like someone would take her from him? He would do anything to prevent that from happening.

Anything.

Loyal to nobody but her and the force—not the Jedi, not the code, not even Obi-Wan who he considered a brother and at some point in his life, a father. No.

Only her.

Some believe that a lightsaber is a jedi's life, but to him, she was... And she was everything.

As necessary as the air he breathes. A light, brighter than a quasar, and far warmer than the scorching twin suns of Tatooine. She held the entire universe in her eyes; and Anakin was sure that if he was to trace the freckles on her skin, he'd find entire constellations and a map, perhaps leading to her very soul.

It wasn't about lust, his thoughts and desires had surpassed that a long time ago. He wanted to merge his entire being to her. To lock their souls forever through the force.

And he would.

[saleyeniu]

thinking of !corrupted-capitol reader rn and how suffering psychological torture and pain the capitol put her through would also result in her losing her memories,

not all of them, just the ones of Finnick.

and when she, peeta, and johanna get saved, when Finnick sees her, he thinks that she wasn’t harmed, but once he talks to her he realizes that his sweet girl, his love, his everything has absolutely NO memory of him or their relationship.

he tries so desperately to get her memory back by showing her little trinkets he had tucked away safely but when nothing works…he nearly loses hope.

that is until she gets fully cleared to fully move into d13. that’s when he realizes that she becomes more attached to him day by day.

she follows him around, sits with him during breakfast and dinner and spends her free time with him.

he notices that she also gets a little flustered and flushed around him. he notices how her pretty face goes pink whenever he’s around.

and then it clicks

she has a crush on him

so despite everything, even after the torture and pain, after losing her memories and herself, her love for Finnick returns.

edit: omg tysm for all the love on this you guys 💞 if you want more stuff like this, check out the rest of my blog! or look through my masterlist here

edit 2: once again, tysm for all the love on this <3 i now officially have the prologue of the fic inspired by this up! check it out here! -> Glimpse of Us

[saleyeniu]

Matched

Finnick Odair x fem!victor!reader who are constantly introduced to each other [1.2k words]

CW: people trying to introduce Finnick and reader, Capitol behaviours (body modification, eating-purging-eating, no sense of propriety), fluff, a surprise

You’d come to expect a lot of things to happen when attending a party in the Capitol.

There would be people dressed to varying levels of near insanity. There would be people literally eating until they were sick, then forcing themselves to be sick so that they could continue eating. There would be people approaching you, asking you questions, and running their hands over your clothes or hair or jewelry or body as though having seen the most traumatic moments of your life aired on TV from the safety of their homes made you friends.

And there would always be people trying to introduce you to or set you up with their favourite victor; the Capitol’s darling.

“There you are, darling!” A rather reptilian looking woman you knew to go by Komoda greeted you as she approached; arm aggressively interlocked with another’s who didn’t appear to be all that willing to be there. “There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”

You plastered on your show time smile and offered your hand to Capitol Darling Finnick Odair who accepted it readily, bowing his head slightly as he met your gaze.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

“It always is in the Capitol.” You volleyed, smiling back over to the Capitol citizen who seemed very excited to be seeing two of her favourite victors intermingling. “Finnick and I have met a few times, actually.”

Komoda seemed rather bemused at the fact that the two of you had met and not immediately jumped each other's bones. “Oh… oh! Really?”

You hummed in the affirmative.

“Every year when we mentor new tributes.” Finnick explained.

Komoda tried to laugh. “Well, I just think that the two of you would get on rather well.”

“We get on fine.” You continued, feigning ignorance.

“The two of you would make a very handsome couple!” One of her friend’s chimed in, earning him nods of approval from the quickly forming group of spectators.

“Well, looks aren’t everything, are they?” You tried, and a few of the more…altered individuals seemed rather perplexed at the thought. “The two of us might not have anything in common.”

“That’s very true.” Finnick agreed. “Let’s see; how do you feel about the beach?”

“Too much sand; I’m shaking it out of everything I own for far too long afterwards. What’s your favourite pastime?”

“Swimming.” He answered.

“I never learned how.” You continued with pursed lips. “Least favourite season?”

“Winter. What’s your favourite holiday?”

“Christmas.”

Finnick hummed in displeasure before continuing. “Favourite animal?”

“Cats. Yours?”

“Dogs.”

You hummed in displeasure. “How do you feel about white chocolate?”

“Love it.” He replied easily; you scrunched your nose at him before he carried on. “What’s a dealbreaker for you?”

“People who like white chocolate.”

He pressed his lips into a flat line and nodded his head in understanding. “Very fair.”

You looked back over at Komoda and her friends to see them all gaping at the two of you.

“Sorry to disappoint, folks.” Finnick apologized with a shrug of his shoulder. “It’s apparently just not meant to be.”

“But…” Komoda started, looking rather crestfallen. “I…I was so sure!”

“You’re not the first to try to set us up.” You placated, placing a gentle hand over the scale-like jewels on the shoulder of her gown. “You probably won’t be the last, either.”

“Maybe the 29th time will be the charm, hm?” Finnick offered you with a wink, causing you to roll your eyes at him.

“Don’t hold your breath, Odair.”

“I can hold my breath for a very long time, sweetheart; I’m a world class swimmer, afterall.”

“Oh, you’re something alright.” You laughed as you turned to walk away, deciding then to begin your rounds of goodbyes before heading back to your suite.

You held the towel to your face for a few seconds, just taking a moment to breathe and enjoy the quiet, warmth, and serenity of your post-party ritual.

You were just about to pull the towel away when you felt gentle hands slide around your waist before you were being embraced between two strong arms.

“Long night?” He murmured into your shoulder before pressing a kiss to it.

You hummed in agreement and pulled the towel away from your face, smiling at Finnick in the reflection of the mirror.

“It always is in the Capitol.” You replied.

He offered you a knowing smile before pressing another kiss to your shoulder.

“Missed you.” He said before reaching around you to grab some makeup wipes to begin removing the work his own stylists put into his appearance tonight. “Anything interesting happen?”

You hummed noncommittally as you smoothed cream over your skin. “Not really. Someone tried setting me up with this guy again.”

“Really?” Finnick asked, feigning intrigue. “Was it a match made in heaven?”

You made a so-so sound. “He was pretty cute,” you allowed, “but I don’t know if it would work.”

“No?”

“No. I mean, for one, he didn’t start drooling the second he saw me. Huge red flag I think.”

With that, Finnick theatrically slammed his hand down on the countertop and levelled you with a disbelieving look. “You mean to tell me that he didn’t immediately fall to his knees in worship?”

“No!”

Finnick shook his head; simply aghast. “You can do so much better, honey.”

Your smile turned soft as you watched him lather some of his face wash between his hands before bringing them to his face. “I think so too.”

By the time he was done with washing his face, you were sitting on the counter with Finnick standing between your legs as you massaged some moisturizer into his skin.

“They don’t know what you deserve anyway.” Finnick states suddenly.

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Who doesn’t?”

“The Capitol people; they don’t know what kind of partner you deserve.”

You stayed quiet as you finished working the product into his skin, pressing a kiss to his lips to alert him to the fact that you were finished. You felt rather shy when he opened his eyes and you found yourself pinned beneath his sea green gaze.

“They’d be sorely mistaken if they thought Capitol Darling Finnick Odair was all you deserved.”

You smiled softly at him before pressing another softer, lingering kiss to his lips.

“I’m rather fond of this Finnick Odair.”

You relished in the slight pink dusting of his cheeks as his smile grew wider before he pulled you in, cradling you to his chest.

You’d come to expect a lot of things to happen when attending a party in the Capitol.

It would take your stylists three hours to prep you for the party. It would take you forty minutes to disassemble yourself after the party. The outfits and jewelry you wore would cost more than most District families saw in years.

And there would always be people trying to introduce you to or set you up with their favourite victor; the Capitol’s darling.

The best part was that no one knew you and Finnick Odair have actually been dating behind closed doors for four years now.

[saleyeniu]

"still?" "always."

Finnick Odair x hijacked!reader who asks what's real or not real [2k words]

summary: a District Thirteen reunion story heavily inspired by the brilliant @ervotica's fic 'a life of our own' & @/ilguna's 'hijacked'! Reader was tortured much like Peeta was into fearing Finnick, finding her playing the game 'real or not real'

CW: fem!reader, discussion of past torture [not described], reader tortured into believing Finnick did abhorrent and disgusting things to her [not described], medical personnel acting as villains sort of, hurt/comfort, hopeful/open ending

Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book that he brought with him to your hospital room every day which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop. 

Routine was a word that came to dictate much of Finnick’s life recently; stability. Ritualized schedules were the norm in District Thirteen. But more importantly, routine, stability, and ritualized schedules were deemed necessary and important to your recovery. 

Thus, Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book - the same paperback book - that he brought with him to your hospital room every day - at the exact same time - which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop. 

He’d been following more or less the same routine ever since you’d been rescued from the Capitol a few weeks ago, though Finnick could admit visiting you felt slightly better now than it had in the beginning. 

The beginning had been nothing short of heartbreaking for him. The beginning had been nothing short of torturous for you. 

There’d been a hunch in place of hard evidence that the lot of you were being tortured in the Capitol, though to what extent no one knew. And absolutely no one was prepared for what awaited them by the time the three of you were safe in District Thirteen.

Peeta had promptly tried to off Katniss which was very off brand of him; Johanna’s head had been shaved, she was emaciated, and had a plethora of evidence of gruesome physical torture, and you…

You weren’t filled with the same loathing, hatred, and disgust that Peeta seemed to carry for Katniss. No, you were completely and utterly terrified. 

Medics had to sedate you when Finnick rushed into the room upon hearing of your arrival because you’d thrown yourself against the wall so violently you’d split your head open, then nearly ripped your nails clean off your fingers in your desperation to open a locked door in an attempt to escape from him. And if that hadn’t been devastating enough, the sounds of your guttural screams and desperate cries caused by him still haunted many of Finnick’s nightmares.

Finnick had been hesitant to return to you after that; he didn’t want to ever cause you that much distress again. 

Haymitch tried to reason with him; Finnick wasn’t the one causing you this much distress, it was the Capitol. The medics tried to reason with him; it was to be considered exposure therapy, they hoped that - over time - as you regained some familiarity and comfort with him and worked through your memories and trauma with the doctors that you’d start to remember.

He reluctantly agreed. So, he was horrified when, the first day he returned, you’d been strapped down to your bed in preparation for his meeting. 

“This is sick!” He’d shouted at the medics as he gestured at your current state. “This isn’t exposure therapy, this is torture!”

“Mr. Odair, the hope is that once she begins to realize there’s no need to fight or run, we’ll be able to take the restraints off.” One of them explained in a bored manner. 

“Fuck whatever you’re hoping for! You’re torturing her; she’s not going to feel any safer here than she did in the Capitol!” 

They’d tried calling after him, but he simply looked over at you and offered a pathetic “I’m sorry, honey” that you probably hadn’t heard over your own desperate wails before he fled.

The next day he returned, you hadn’t been strapped down, but you had been heavily medicated with some kind of sedative before his arrival. He swallowed around the bile in his throat as he took a seat in one of the chairs, pretended to read his book and tried his hardest to ignore the extremely wary and haunted gaze that stayed glued to his side for the entirety of his visit. 

The third visit went much the same, except about halfway through his scheduled ‘visit’, he noticed that your eyes seemed to fall extremely heavy. 

“Are you tired, sweetheart?” He murmured quietly, though you would have thought he’d screamed at you with the way you bodily flinched and your eyes snapped open. 

He just continued watching you as you fought to convince your heart to return to its normal tempo, slowly, cautiously nodding your head yes to his question when you seemed to realize he was earnest in his question. 

“Would you like me to leave so you can get some rest?” 

Your brows furrowed ever so subtly, eyes darting across his face as you searched for any hidden meaning or potential threat. 

You must not have found one. 

“Please.” You whispered, and - though it was still but a whisper -  it was the first time he had heard your voice since the Quarter Quell that wasn’t shrieking and sobbing in fear, causing a lump to form in his throat.

“Okay, honey, I’ll go.” He whispered back, smiling at you through tears as he stood and swiftly left the room, hardly closing the door fully behind him before he let out a sob. 

Over the weeks, you began finding your own routine and schedule outside of the time you spent working with doctors and medics. You were hardly ever seen without your journal on your person, and one of your doctors explained to Finnick that you were beginning to compile notes to differentiate between things you knew, things that you didn’t know, and what was real or not real. Many times, Finnick could find you working in your journal when he arrived, and though you still managed to keep a concerned eye on him at any given point and your body never fully relaxed while he was there, he was grateful you were becoming more or less accustomed to his company. 

And then one day he showed up to your room to find one wall completely transformed into a giant drawing board. The board was divided into two equal sides; one side was labelled REAL and one side was labelled NOT REAL. The only thing that had been written down so far was on the NOT REAL side, which read “Finnick did not set you up and leave you there to die.”

“She’s been struggling to sleep without the aid of sedatives; she wakes up quite violently from nightmares, struggling to differentiate between what is real and what is not, even when we’re standing right there in front of her.” One of the medics told him. “We tried once to have her look through her journal, but she threw it across the room and told us to get away from her. We thought maybe having a very large visualization in front of her in her own writing would be helpful to tether her to reality upon waking.” 

And that seemed all well in good, but Finnick found himself sick over some of the things the Capitol had convinced you he was guilty of more than once. 

But, if this is what you needed, if this was helping you, Finnick would stomach it, no questions asked. 

So, Finnick drummed his fingers against the paperback book that he brought with him to your hospital room every day which acted as nothing more than a glorified prop. 

He knocked twice gently on your door before stepping inside, watching as you stepped quickly away from the board and hid the marker and eraser behind your back as if you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to, watching Finnick as though you were waiting for him to attack. 

“Hi, honey.” He greeted quietly, nodding politely at you before he pulled out his chair and took his place, flipping his book open to an arbitrary page as he pretended to read. 

You didn’t move; your feet seemed to be glued to the spot as you watched Finnick pretend to not be watching you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he had missed your gaze, quite selfishly, and found that while the atmosphere wasn’t exactly relaxed, he was happy enough just to have your eyes on him again. 

Finnick wasn’t sure how much time had passed before you ended up breaking the silence.

“F…Finnick?” You asked, barely above a whisper; question so quiet that Finnick was sure if he hadn’t only been pretending to read, he would have missed it entirely.

You sounded as though you were trying his name out for size, just to see how it felt on your tongue. Finnick missed the days when you used to squeal his name in laughter, or groan his name in frustration, or call his name in excitement. But even though it came out cautious and stilted, he didn’t think he’d ever heard as pretty a sound as the sound of his name falling from your lips. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” He asked eagerly, fighting to keep his tone, face, and body language calm as he saved his ‘place’ with a finger and leaned forward in his chair, resting his knees on his elbows. 

You swallowed thickly and fiddled with the marker in your hands as you stole yourself to speak. “Can I ask you something?” 

He wanted to be an ass; he wanted to say ‘you just asked me two things’, he wanted to whoop and holler at finally having an actual conversation with you after weeks of finally having you back, yet not really having you back at all. 

Instead, all he said was “of course.”

You cleared your throat before gaining the courage to ask what he heard as “you love me; real, or not real?” 

Finnick wasn’t sure an answer had ever come to him so fast. “Real.”

You seemed somewhat surprised by his answer even though it was clearly the answer you’d been expecting. After a few moments, you simply nodded at him before turning back to your drawing board’s REAL side. 

Finnick loved me you wrote, adding bullet points underneath it...

He told me so

He acts like it

Gut feeling

...is what you cited as proof to this revelation. Finnick wanted to weep. A gut feeling; you were still in there, somewhere. There was still a version of you that knew deep down that Finnick loved you.

“It’s not quite right, honey.” He offered softly, fighting the urge to smile when you turned at his interruption, yet didn’t flinch at the sound of his voice as you often did. You simply looked at him in confusion. 

“Do you mind if I make a minor adjustment?” He asked as he carefully placed his book on your empty bed and slowly stood, holding his hands out in ask. 

You looked between him and the marker and eraser in your hands before holding them out for him; an invitation. 

Finnick smiled at you as he slowly walked towards you, hyper focused on remaining as unthreatening as possible as he gently took the items from you, careful not to touch you unnecessarily. 

He moved to the REAL side of the board, using the edge of the eraser to remove the d from the end of loved and replacing it with an s. The sentence now - properly - read Finnick loves me. 

“There, now it’s perfect.” He offered you with another smile as he held the items back out to you, gently placing them in your hands when you held them open for him before he turned back towards his chair, retrieved his book, and sat back down. 

Your eyes stayed glued on the correction he made to your board as the marker and eraser hovered uselessly midair; moments dragging on before your arms finally lowered to your sides. 

Finnick didn’t bother pretending to read, so when you turned to look at him - face full of confusion, curiosity, concern, and what looked to be devastation - you found him already looking at you. 

“Still?” You asked, voice cracking painfully as a heavy tear fell down your face. 

And if Finnick thought that no answer had ever come faster to him before, he was sorely mistaken. 

“Always.” He promised.

[saleyeniu]

Glimpse Of Us

summary: routine became something finnick cherished. but course, the capitol must ruin everything, including his love. but he will still find a way to get her back.

finnick odair x fem!reader

content warnings for the whole story: descriptions of death, torture, starvation, and everything described in The Hunger Games, mentions of suicidal thoughts, implications of S/A

mood board + playlist

previous part | masterlist | next part

Chapter V

It didn't take long for the group to move towards the center island.

“The arena- it’s a clock.” Katniss says as she gestures toward the jungle, pointing at the large tree where the lightning just struck. “Everything happens at the same time, in the same sections. The fog, the monkeys, the blood rain, it’s all on a schedule.”

Finnick exhales slowly, forcing himself to focus. He then notices how you’re kneeling with Wiress, speaking to her in hushed tones, trying to soothe her. The tenderness in your voice tugs at something deep in Finnick’s chest.

Your voice is gentle, soothing. "Wiress, it’s okay. You figured it out. You helped us." You reach out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "You’re safe now."

For a moment, she blinks, her gaze settling on you. Her lips twitch as if she wants to say something more. But before she can, Johanna calls for you.

You hesitate, glancing between Wiress and Finnick, then press a reassuring hand to her arm before rising to your feet and jogging back to the group.

Finnick watches you go, his chest tightening with something he can’t name. Relief? Fear? Maybe both.

He's quick to take your hand into his.

But then you both hear a gasp.

It happens too fast. One second she’s kneeling there, and the next, her blood is spilling out.

Everything explodes into chaos.

Katniss’s arrow flies before Finnick can even react, hitting Gloss straight in the chest. His body barely hits the ground before Johanna is charging toward Cashmere, screaming as her axe collides with her chest.

Finnick whirls, trident in hand, just as Brutus lunges at Peeta. Finnick doesn’t think. He moves, blocking the attack, his muscles burning with the force of the blow.

He hears you shout his name, but he doesn’t have time to look. His vision is red, focused solely on keeping Peeta alive, on keeping you alive.

And then the island starts spinning.

The ground lurches violently, sending everyone staggering. Finnick’s stomach drops as he loses his balance, the sky blurring into the water, the trees twisting in his vision. He grips the rocks of the isalnd, trying to steady himself, trying to find you.

He can’t breathe. His pulse is a hammer against his ribs. The island won’t stop spinning, and all he can think is I have to find her. I have to get to her.

When the island finally stops moving, he bolts towards Johanna, who's standing by the edge.

“Where is she?!” he shouts

"She jumped into the water when Katniss fell- I tried to stop her but-"

Suddenly, your head breaks the surface. Finnick doesn’t waste a second. He sprints toward the edge, his legs unsteady beneath him, his vision swimming.

“Finn! I’m okay!” Your voice is breathless but strong, and relief floods through him so fast it nearly knocks him over.

But he doesn’t stop moving until he’s on his knees, his arms reaching for you, pulling you close. He doesn't even realize that Peeta was running over Katniss, who was right next to you.

You cough, shaking from the cold and the adrenaline. “I-I’m fine, I swear.”

Finnick presses his forehead against yours, still breathing hard. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers curling into his shoulder. “You really think I’d leave you that easily?”

Finnick exhales sharply, pressing a hand to the back of your head. “Never.”

    🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

Finnick clutches you tightly, your damp hair plastered to your skin as the last tremors subside. The beach around you is eerily quiet for a moment, the faint sounds of distant waves crashing the only thing filling the tense silence.

Katniss, still dripping from the lake, exchanges a look with Peeta, her expression hard but not without a trace of concern.

"I think we should gather some more supplies," Johanna’s voice cuts through the momentary silence, her eyes narrowed as she scans the beach. "We can’t keep relying on what we’ve got. We need a backup plan, too."

You glance up at Finnick, unsure. "You think we should split up?"

Johanna gives you a grim smile. "If you don’t want to, stay here. But I’m not sticking around to wait for another cannon to go off. I’ll grab what we need; you want to come with me?"

Finnick opens his mouth to protest, but you’re already standing, brushing the sand off your legs.

"I’ll go with Johanna. You stay here, keep an eye on the others," you say, trying to offer him a reassuring smile.

Finnick hesitates, his hand brushing against yours. "Promise me you’ll be careful."

"I will." You squeeze his hand. "Besides, if I’m with Johanna, what could go wrong?"

Finnick sighs, “Take care of her,” he says to Johanna, his voice low but urgent.

“You really think I’m gonna let her die out here?” Johanna grins, her usual bite back in place. “I’ve got her.”

As you and Johanna disappear into the jungle, Finnick feels the instinct to follow, but he fights it, forcing himself to stay put. He watches the others, his eyes flickering over Katniss and Peeta, both looking just as grim as he feels.

It’s hard to concentrate. Every part of him is alert, every nerve on edge. The arena feels… wrong now. It feels like it’s holding its breath.

And that’s when it happens.

The world goes still. The trees above sway ever so slightly, and a silence settles over the arena, one that makes the air feel thick. Then, a scream.

Katniss’s face pales instantly. And then she takes off.

Finnick’s stomach drops. He doesn’t need to hear another word. He doesn’t need to know what’s happening. His legs are already moving, his feet kicking sand as he sprints toward the jungle, heart pounding.

There’s something in the air now, a shrill, unearthly sound that mixes with the already suffocating atmosphere. It’s a noise that makes Finnick’s blood run cold, like a thousand voices crying in agony.

And then, a piercing scream.

"Prim!" Katniss’s voice cracks, desperation bleeding into the air.

"Katniss!" he shouts, finally catching up to her, "Are you okay?"

But before Katniss can respond, the screams start again but it’s not just Prim.

It’s your voice.

"FINNICK!"

He hears it clear as day. Your scream, filled with pure, raw terror. His blood freezes.

"FINNICK HELP ME!"

The cry is so desperate, so agonizing, it makes Finnick stumble, his chest tightening as he pushes harder, trying to break through the jungle. His breath comes in ragged gasps, panic building with every step.

"Finnick- Finnick it's not her! It's just a jabberjay!"

"But what if it is her?! What is something happened?! I need to find her!"

The bird then start to swoop down.

Finnick swats at them as they dive toward him, their beady black eyes glinting like they know exactly what they’re doing, torturing him.

Your screams tear through the dense jungle, so agonizingly real that they make his stomach lurch. He knows, logically, that Katniss is right. That it’s just the arena playing its sick, twisted games. But what if, what if it’s not?

What if something happened to you while you were with Johanna?

What if you’re really out there, alone, screaming for him, needing him, and he’s stuck here, wasting time on a trick?

A jabberjay’s wing grazes his ear, its shriek piercing right through his skull. He swings wildly with his trident, slashing at the air. The jungle is alive with noise, with screams, with torment. Katniss is still calling for Prim, her voice raw, but Finnick barely hears her anymore.

Because all he can hear is you.

"Finnick! Please, please!"

He staggers forward, the vines and roots of the jungle grabbing at his ankles. It’s suffocating, like the arena itself is trying to hold him back.

"Finnick, it hurts! Help me!"

His vision blurs. His breath comes in gasps. His whole body shakes. He needs to get to you.

That's when he finally sees you.

You aren't hurt, instead you're putting your arms out as if you're telling him to stop running.

He doesn't know why until he hits the forcefield.

****

An hour passes.

The screaming stops.

Finnick freezes, his pulse hammering in his ears.

The silence is deafening.

The birds scatter, their cries fading.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, it's you.

You barely have time to react before Finnick reaches you, his hands gripping your arms like he’s grounding himself. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his eyes wide and frantic.

“Are you okay?” his voice is raw, desperate. “Are you hurt?”

"Finny- Finny I'm fine I-"

“I heard you screaming.” his grip tightens for a second before he forces himself to let go, dragging a shaky hand through his hair. “I thought- I thought-”

His hands find your waist, pulling you in. He presses his forehead against yours, his breath still uneven.

You close your eyes, your fingers threading through the damp curls at the nape of his neck. “I’m okay,” you whisper again.

He holds onto you tightly, barely hearing as Johanna shouts and threatens Snow, because all he can think about is the fact that you're okay.

Finnick tightens his grip around you, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he tries to steady his breathing. His whole body still trembles, he’s never felt fear like that before. Never felt that kind of helplessness.

Even when he was being paraded around the Capitol, when he was forced to endure things he could never say aloud, he always had some level of control.

But this?

Hearing your screams, thinking you were in agony, that you were dying, and not being able to reach you? That had shattered something in him.

You press a soft kiss to the side of his head. “I’m right here,” you murmur, your fingers still threading through his damp curls.

Finnick exhales sharply, nodding, but he doesn’t let go. He just needs to hold you for a little longer.

After a minute, he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your waist. Your eyes search his, and he knows you can see everything he’s feeling, the raw panic, the relief, the anger.

Johanna turns away, still muttering curses under her breath. “I swear, if I ever get the chance, I’m putting my axe right between Snow’s eyes.”

Katniss, still shaken, finally moves, rubbing at her arms. “Let’s get out of here.”

Finnick nods, reluctant to let you go, but he forces himself to take your hand instead, intertwining his fingers with yours as you all make your way back to the beach.

Once you all make it back, you turn to Finnick, squeezing his hand. “Let’s sit down for a second.”

He nods, allowing you to pull him toward the water’s edge. The waves lap at your feet, cool and gentle, a sharp contrast to the horror you just endured.

Finnick doesn’t speak at first. He just stares out at the horizon, his grip on your hand never loosening.

“I thought I lost you,” he finally says, voice barely above a whisper.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You didn’t. And you won’t.”

He turns his head slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “I can’t lose you,” he murmurs. “Not to this arena. Not to them.”

You look up at him. “You won’t.”

Finnick swallows hard, then nods, exhaling as he presses another kiss to your forehead.

You both keep sitting there, your head on his shoulder as he looks out into the distance.

Johanna’s voice cuts through the moment. “Lovebirds!” she calls, her tone sharp but not unkind. “Quit making goo-goo eyes and get over here. Beetee’s got a plan.”

Finnick exhales a short, almost amused breath before pulling away, though his fingers linger on your wrist for a second longer. You give him a small, reassuring squeeze before following Johanna toward the others.

Beetee sits cross-legged on the sand, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns in the damp earth.

"Where do the Careers feel the safest? The jungle?"

"The jungle's a nightmare."

"Probably here on the beach."

"Then why are they not here?"

"Because we are. We claimed it."

"And if we left, they would come."

"Or stay hidden in the tree line." Finnick adds on.

"Which in just over four hours will be soaked with water by the 10:00 wave. And what happens at midnight?"

"Lighting strikes that tree"

"Here's what I propose," Beetee begins, "We leave the beach at dusk. Head to the lightning tree, and that should draw them back to the beach. Prior to midnight we then run this wire from that tree to the water. Anyone in the water, or in the damp sand, will be electrocuted."

"How do we know the wire's not gonna burn up?"

"Because I invented it. And I assure it, it will not burn up."

You, Finnick, and Johanna share a look and then nod.

Once Katniss and Peeta agree, you all know the plan is now officially in motion.

    🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

It was almost dusk.

You and Finnick were both sitting in the water again, letting the waves lap at your legs.

For a moment it's quiet. Just for a moment.

Finnick sighs, tilting his head back, eyes slipping shut. “Tell me something good,” he murmurs.

You smile faintly. “Like what?”

He cracks one eye open, glancing at you. “Something that makes me forget where we are.”

You pause, thinking. Then, you shift closer, your fingers finding his beneath the water, intertwining.

“After this is over,” you say softly, “we’ll go home.”

Finnick’s eyes flicker to yours. You squeeze his hand.

“We’ll go home, and we’ll sit on the beach, our beach,” you continue. “We’ll watch the sunrise, and we won’t have to run, or fight, or be afraid....We’ll just be us.”

Finnick smiles, squeezing your hand and bringing it up to his lips.

You smile and gaze out at the sky.

"You know…everyone’s probably watching us right now”

He looks out at the water, laughing softly at your comment, “Yeah, i’m pretty sure they are..The cameras just...love us don't they?”

You hum and nod.

He smiles gently, lifting your hand, running his thumb over the back of it. “Do you think they’re enjoying the show?” he teased, resting his head on yours, his hair falling in his face, damp from the salt water.

“Mm…probably”

Finnick chuckles softly, his breath warm against your temple as he presses a fleeting kiss there. The waves rush over your legs, cooling the warmth of his touch, but nothing could shake the weight of reality pressing down on you both.

You shift slightly, your fingers tightening around his, and suddenly, there’s something different in the air. A hesitation. A change.

You swallow hard, staring at the way the waves curl and break against the shore. “Finnick…”

He hums in acknowledgment, still absently tracing patterns over the back of your hand with his thumb.

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself. “If… when it comes down to it…” You force the words out, even as your chest tightens. “I-I want you to kill me, Finnny.”

Finnick’s hand stills against yours. The world around you keeps moving, waves rolling, wind stirring, but he is frozen.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. He just stares at you, his expression unreadable. Then, his jaw tightens, and he shakes his head, almost as if trying to dispel the words you just said. “No,” he says simply.

“Finnick-”

“No,” he repeats, more forceful this time, pulling his hand from yours. He turns to fully face you, his eyes blazing. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”

You blink back the stinging in your eyes. “Finnick, listen to me-”

“No, you listen to me,” he snaps, his voice sharp with something raw, something desperate. “That’s not going to happen. We both get out of here. Both of us.”

You shake your head. “You know that’s not how this works. The plan-”

“The plan isn’t going to fail,” he says, almost like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “Beetee is smart. We have a way out of this.”

“But if it does fail?” you challenge, voice shaking. “If something happens? If we’re the only two left?”

He exhales sharply, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I won’t kill you.”

Your throat tightens. “Finnick…”

“No.” His voice wavers. “Don’t ask me that. Don’t ever ask me that.”

“Finnick…please, you need to be realistic…”

"No"

“When it comes down to it…you need to kill me..”

"No"

“You win…you go back to four, and you take care of Mags and Annie…”

"No"

“Finnick.” you say softly. “Listen to me…please”

He doesn’t speak, but nods, his eyes still on yours, his jaw clenched tight, fighting back the tears that threaten to fall, watching and listening intently

You cup his face, tears falling from your eyes. “Finnick I love you so much…but if things don’t go as planned, you need to kill me. You go back to the four and take care of Mags and Annie, they need you more than they need me.”

He can’t bear the tears falling down your face, and that does it, a tear slipping down his own cheek, his hand going from your jaw to your cheek, wiping the tears away

“Don’t do this to me. Don’t make me promise you that. I can’t. I can’t hurt you, I won’t”

“Promise me Finny…If- when the time comes, I want it to be you. Not someone else. Not them."

He closes his eyes, unable to look at you, it was killing him to do this, but he speaks, his voice cracking, “I-I promise.”

You nod and pull him into a tight hug, tears streaming down your face.

His arms held you tighter, like he was trying to pull you closer, to keep you as close to him as possible, his fingers gripping your shoulder, not wanting to ever let you go

“I love you…Gods above I love you,” he choked out, his voice cracking as he tried to speak, his face still buried in your shoulder.

He pulls away a little, still holding you close. “Now you promise me one thing.”

You nod, "Anything"

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes roaming your features before he spoke, his words shaky, his voice soft, “If I can’t…if we can’t get out of this..”

He pauses, struggling to speak. It was taking everything in him not to cry, his shoulders shaking, “Just…promise me you won’t forget about me. About us.”

“Finnick,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I could never forget you. Not in a thousand lifetimes.”

He exhales shakily, pressing his forehead against yours. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I want you to remember this. Us. Right now. No Capitol, no arena, no games. Just us.”

Your chest tightens as you nod. “Just us,” you repeat.

Finnick then hears Johanna call out to the both of you.

He sighs and reluctantly gets up, "Let's go.."

You nod and follow him to the rest of the group.

🌊 .·:*¨🌊🐚🌊¨*:·. 🌊

Finnick is quiet for the most part as the group travels to the tree, staying by your side, he glances down at you, his gaze flickering from your face and down to your hands as they walk, his fingers gently entwining with yours, holding on tight as he walks.

Once the group makes it to the tree and after "convincing" Katniss to go with you and Johanna, Finnick pulls you into a tight hug.

“Don’t do anything stupid out there. Stay close to Jo.” he mumbled softly, resting his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, letting out a deep, ragged breath

"Same goes to you." you say, kissing him one last time.

He sighs, his hand shifting on your cheek, gently cupping your face, his eyes roaming your features one last time, drinking in the sight of your face

“You better come back to me.”

“As long as you are alive Finn…I will always come back to you”

Finnick watches as you step away from him, your fingers slowly slipping from his grasp. The moment your warmth leaves his hand, a chill settles deep in his bones. He knows this is the plan. He knows you’ll be back. But something in his gut twists violently, warning him that nothing about this feels right.

You shoot him one last look before turning to follow Johanna and Katniss into the jungle, the coil of wire clutched tightly in your hands.

“Let’s move,” Finnick says, shaking the unease from his mind. He crouches beside Beetee, glancing at the spool of wire. “You sure this is gonna work?”

Beetee doesn’t look up, his expression unreadable. “If they can get the wire wrapped around the tree before the lightning strikes, then yes,” he mutters. “It will work.”

Finnick nods, but something still doesn’t sit right.

****

"Katniss get away from that tree!"

****

Finnick wakes with a sharp inhale, his lungs burning like he’s been drowning in saltwater. His head is pounding. His body feels impossibly heavy. For a moment, all he can hear is the faint, rhythmic beeping of a machine nearby.

Where is he?

He couldn't remember much, everything felt like a blur. The last thing he remembered was shouting at Katniss to not shoot the arrow, and then he remember the pain.

But why couldn't he remember where you were?

He blinks against the blinding white light, his vision swimming in and out of focus. The ceiling above him is smooth, metallic. This isn’t the jungle. This isn’t the arena.

Then it hits him all at once-

The lightning. The arrow. The force of the explosion. The way the world had cracked open beneath them.

His stomach lurches as he forces himself upright, his hands gripping the edge of the cot. He’s in a hovercraft. The realization settles over him, but it doesn’t bring relief.

Because you’re not here.

His breath quickens, panic clawing at his throat. Where are you?

His hands are shaking as he turns, searching the room. Katniss is unconscious on a cot beside him, her face pale, a fresh scar on her arm where her tracker used to be. Beetee is further away, still unresponsive.

But you...

You aren’t here.

Finnick’s eyes scan the aircraft when they land on Haymitch, who was seated nearby. He’s quiet for a moment, watching as Haymitch looks down, his shoulders slumped in what can only be described as despair. His heart sank, watching him. Something was wrong, terribly wrong

He swallowed the lump in his throat, slowly approaching Haymitch, calling out to him

“Haymitch?”

His voice was quiet, his heart thudding in his chest, feeling dread starting to set in. He stops in front of Haymitch, his heart beating faster, trying to keep his breathing steady as he looks down

“Haymitch.”

He repeated, louder this time, a hint of desperation in his voice. He could feel anxiety building in his chest, something twisting in his stomach, dread filling him as the silence was deafening. He stared down at Haymitch, trying to make eye contact with him, hoping desperately for some answers

Haymitch looks up. “Finnick…I’m so sorry.” he says in a quiet tone.

His heart sank, feeling that dread start to grow. When Haymitch looked up, their eyes meeting, Finnick’s heart stopped

He swallowed the lump in his throat, the dread starting to grow, already knowing what Haymitch was about to say, his chest tightening, his breath shaky, “Where…where is- where is she?"

“She didn’t make it out. Neither did Peeta or Johanna.” Haymitch says in a somber tone, “The Capitol has them Finnick.”

His breath hitched, feeling that dread explode in his chest, a mix of fear, grief and anger, his entire body tensing, “No…” he choked out, closing his eyes. He couldn’t breathe, it felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, every thought in his mind racing.

“Finnick…I’m sorry”

He couldn’t speak. His breath was coming in quick gasps, barely drawing in any air, his chest felt like it was tight, his heart was hammering in his chest, his entire body tense, shaking slightly

“No..” he whispered again, his voice cracking. He shook his head, his eyes still closed, trying to take in what Haymitch had just told him “You promised. You promised that if we protected Katniss that we’d be safe. You promised!”

“I know- I know- I’m sorry-”

He could no longer stay standing, his legs feeling weak, his knees feeling like they were going to give out, he leans forwards, one of his hands gripping the wall to keep himself upright, trying to stay standing

“They…they have her.” he mumbled, speaking more to himself than to Haymitch, his voice quiet and shaking, his grip on the wall the only thing keeping him upright

“And you’ll get her back Finnick. When we get to District 13, I promise that we’ll start planning on how to get them back.”

He nods his head, his breaths shaky as he tries to compose himself, his hand still clutched to the wall, his grip tight, his knuckles turning white. He doesn’t speak, a few more seconds passing in silence before he speaks quietly, “They’re going to torture her.” he said, his voice quiet and shaking, the mental image making him ill, the idea that you might be being hurt right now making him want to throw up.

Haymitch tries to approach him...but he continues speaking to himself, taking deep, shaky breaths between his words, knowing that he’s only speaking to himself at this point, but unable to stop himself from continuing.

“You get scared when there’s too many people around you, and when the lights go out, and you don’t like loud noises..” he takes a breath, his voice shaking, his grip on the wall tightening, his knuckles turning white as the image of you being hurt by the Capitol continued to plague his mind.

“What do you think the Capitol will do to you, when you’re trapped in a dark room, the lights out, and you’re completely alone, with someone coming in to hurt you whenever they want, no idea when or what they’re going to do…you’re going to be completely petrified. You’ll be…”

He clenches his jaw again, his shoulders starting to shake as he continued to hold himself against the wall, his breath coming in shaky gasps, a tear finally falling down his cheek, unable to take it anymore. He couldn’t stop thinking about you right now, about how scared and alone you must feel.

“You’re going to be so scared…”

The thought of you afraid, scared as you were tortured, was like a knife in his stomach, his chest tightening as tears start to fall faster, his breath coming shaky, and ragged as grief and anger and fear filled him

“You’re going to be so, so afraid, and it’ll be my fault. It’s my fault that you’re there. It’s because of me, you’re going to be in pain, it’s my fault…” he choked out, a sob escaping from his throat.

He couldn’t keep talking anymore, unable to choke out another word as the grief finally takes over, a few tears streaming down his face, his shoulders visibly shaking as he keeps his eyes clenched shut, his knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the wall as he tries to force back the sobs that threaten to escape from his throat.

He can’t stop thinking about you, terrified, in the hands of the Capitol and being hurt and tortured, because of him. And there was nothing that he could do to reach you or help you right now.

Haymitch places a steadying hand on Finnick’s shoulder, but he barely registers it. The world around him is closing in, his breaths shallow and uneven. The rhythmic beeping of the machines, the faint hum of the hovercraft—it all fades beneath the deafening roar in his ears.

"Finnick," Haymitch says, firmer this time, gripping his shoulder. "I need you to listen to me."

Finnick shakes his head, jaw clenched so tightly it aches. "I should've protected her. I should've-"

"You couldn't have stopped this." Haymitch’s voice is rough, laced with exhaustion and something dangerously close to regret. "The Capitol took her, Finnick. But that doesn’t mean she’s gone."

Finnick exhales shakily, rubbing a trembling hand over his face. "You don’t get it. You don’t know what they’ll do to her." his voice cracks.

"She's strong. And she’s going to need you to be strong for her."

Finnick lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "I don’t even know if she’s still-"

He cuts himself off, unable to finish the thought. The idea of you not making it, of you slipping through his fingers before he could save you, sends another wave of nausea through him.

Haymitch sighs, "We’re getting them back. All of them. But you have to hold it together."

Finnick swallows hard, staring at the floor as if it holds the answers. He wants to scream, wants to punch something, wants to claw his way into the Capitol himself and rip you out of their grasp. But all he can do is stand there, fists clenched at his sides, drowning in helplessness.

"She’s going to be scared," Finnick whispers. "She’s going to think I abandoned her."

Haymitch’s expression softens. "Then we make damn sure she knows you didn’t."

Finnick lifts his head, meeting Haymitch’s gaze, and for the first time since waking up, he forces himself to breathe. To push past the grief, the fear, the suffocating helplessness. Because Haymitch is right. You need him. And no matter what it takes, no matter what he has to do.

He’s going to bring you home.

He's going to bring you back to him.

A/N: THE VERY LONG AWAITED CHAPTER IS OUT!!! i hope u all enjoyed <333

Taglist: @jacaeryslover @sundawn1990 @redama @noodleisodd @amara-mars @lovemyself-m-k @goosy-goose @potao-o @womenkisser05 @arsonistlizard @iguanagwen @lover-rep-fanfic *if you'd like to be included in this taglist lmk in the replies!

[saleyeniu]

Control your mind, and you can conquer your body.

[saleyeniu]

I wanna lose 5 lbs by the end of this week (80 lbs) pls comment meanspo🫶🏼

[saleyeniu]

every time I eat I remember the main ingredient is cellulite and my appetite is gone

[saleyeniu]

pleasepleasepleaseplease active 33d blogs reblog !!!! my feed is only showing posts from like WEEKS ago I need moots I BEG or even just people to follow </33

[saleyeniu]

౨ৎ pro 4n4 tip:

every time you get a cr4ving, do not give in. log each one you get throughout your day in your notes app and before bed calculate how many c4Is it is. you’ll be able to see how much f4tt3r you could have been today without self control.

[saleyeniu]

be the girl who decided to commit to it

[saleyeniu]

back as of march 2025, recovery was good but i miss this tbh

[saleyeniu]

this could be you.