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latest work - quarterback
"Woah." A suspicious pair of eyes was glaring at him. Boy, did she look pissed. "What do you think you're doing?"
Theo's hold on the girl relaxed. She hadn't seemed familiar until now - naturally, placing her wasn't his top priority at the moment. But now that she was awake and scowling hard at him, something about those dark, deep-set eyes set atop her sharp facial features sent a jolt of recognition through Theo, like a barely-there memory at the tip of his tongue.
But then the girl groaned and screwed her eyes shut.
least sought after girl in the land (a My Man on His Willpower inspired fic)
your boyfriend on his self-help kick is something you don't understand
a/n - mannn its rlly been way too long i completely forgot how i format my fics hehe, i started this fic when i was taking a socrates/self-help class in fall 2025 (around the release of mbf) so this is a loooong time coming heh (this fic is totally not a way for me to flex my self-help module wdym wdym 😛😛😛) anyways pls be nice its my first fic in a long while tyty
tropes/warnings - some mildly suggestive content, established lovers, comedyyyy
The greenhouse was nearly empty. The air still smelled faintly of damp earth and crisp sprouts from the lesson earlier, and the humidity wasn't doing your hair any favours. Still, you appreciated the pleasant warmth underneath the glare of the steadily intensifying sun as dusk grew nearer. The only sound was the soft scrape of your knife against the shrivelfig’s skin. It was therapeutic.
That is, until a familiar arm snaked around your waist, tugging you flush against robes softened from wear, with a faint, lingering scent of cedar.
“Nott,” you admonished, albeit half-heartedly. “You're going to make me cut my thumb off.”
“And yet,” Theo murmured into your hair, voice low, "you haven't." He nestled his head into the crook of your neck, watching idly as you sliced. "Shall I try again?"
You elbowed him lightly, swallowing a smile. “Alright, smartass. Don’t hover. You’ll make me nervous.”
"I make you nervous?"
Clearly, you hadn't elbowed him hard enough the first time. Theo stifled a groan, making an indignant sound in the back of his throat. "So when I hover, it's a nuisance, but when it's you - "
"That's different. I possess sensibilities and faculties you don't."
"Such as?"
You held up your knife.
"The ability to not cut my thumb off."
Theo rolled his eyes, ducking his head to press a chaste kiss to the knuckle of your thumb before you resumed your work.
"So," you said, flinging the skin off the fig, "I take it N.E.W.T level materials are to your liking?"
"Yes. That, and the new class I'm taking."
You looked up. “New?”
Theo finally pulled away, turning to lean against the worktable beside you. He drummed his fingers restlessly on the underside of the table.
"Self-Cultivation and the Subconscious Mind."
You furrowed your brow as you tried to place the professor.
"By Trelawney."
You stared at him, your hands slowing to a stop.
"Please tell me you're doing a bit."
Theo swept up your shavings, suddenly very interested in your cutting board.
Theo gave you a look. “Alright, cool it with the attitude."
You snorted. “Self-cultivation,” you repeated, somewhat mockingly, slicing your next shrivelfig with exaggerated care. “She's hardly cultivated herself, if you ask me.”
"Well, her syllabus is solid," Theo argued. "She's touching on continental philosophy, East Asian rituals, and look - not one word about her beloved Cassandra."
It's a poor attempt at a joke, one you didn't bother laughing at. You watched his impassioned face a little uncertainly. Neither of you was new to Trelawney's elaborate yet hollow hocus pocus. It was just like her to take advantage of the vulnerable. And as much as Theo hated admitting it, self-improvement was something he was touchy about. You imagined it had something to do with the tension between his arrogance and his desire to be a better man than his father.
And yet...his eyes held a gleam you'd never seen before.
Despite your well-founded skepticism, you relented.
“You’re sure?”
Theo gave a half-shrug.
“I think I could stand to change a few things,” he said simply.
You paused, caught off guard by the sincerity. For a moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the greenhouse and the slow, deliberate scrape of your knife against the cutting board.
You didn't walk around with the impression that you had the world's most perfect boyfriend. As sweet as Theo could be when he wasn't trying to hide that side of him, he was guaranteed to drive you up the wall every now and then. Still, you didn't like this idea. It felt...foreign. It made your tongue sit weird in your mouth.
You could feel him watching you intently. You felt ridiculous; you were clearly overreacting. It was just school. You mentally shook yourself, reaching for another shrivelfig.
How much could a person truly change?
"Well," you said, keeping your voice clear, slicing through the fig, "if that's what you want."
Theo gave a distracted nod, a slight frown creasing his forehead. You put your knife down, scooping your figs into a jar.
“No Cassandra?” you mused with a teasing lilt to lighten the mood. "Whatever will she talk about?"
Theo's lips quirked, his eyes picking up a familiar slant that evoked funny feelings in your chest.
"Hardy har har, you're hilarious. Now hurry up with your figs. Dinner's started and I'm starving."
Making a face at the end of your last look-through, you flipped over the parchment. Your essay was finally done, and the next one wasn't due until a week later. That left you with a good, stress-free 6-and-a-half-day break before you had to start on that one. You rolled out your joints, from your elbows to your knuckles, and stretched your back.
From your desk, you looked over to where Theo was lying on your bed in what looked to be a considerably more comfortable position. It had been a few weeks since Trelawney's class had started, but the dedication with which he stayed on top of it suggested that the novelty of the subject had yet to wear off for him.
Even now, he lay slumped with a hand propping his head up, eyes lidded, engrossed in some unreasonably heavy tome with a waning attention giving way to sleep. Somewhat unethically, you drank in the sight of his eyebags, mussed hair and unbuttoned shirt from your vantage point. Exhaustion looked ridiculously good on him.
"I'm calling it a night," you announced, placing your quill down.
When Theo didn't even stir, you tried again.
"You've been reading that for ages. You're going to spoil your beautiful, perfect eyes reading that long."
He finally looked up at the mention of his beautiful, perfect eyes - self-absorbed prat that he was - his mouth curving into a sloping smile. He flipped a page.
"You worry too much."
"Occupational hazard of dating someone whose idea of fun is having his skull smashed open by a Bludger."
Theo's smile faltered. He looked tired in more ways than one.
"I keep telling you, the idea is to avoid the Bludgers."
"Thirty percent of professional Quidditch players suffer from significant brain damage by the end of their career," you argued earnestly, not without some anxiety. Theo stared at you.
"You have got to stop listening to the WWN," he muttered, glancing back at his book. You shifted in your chair, turning to face him.
"What are you reading anyway?"
Theo sighed. "Further reading for Trelawney's class." He pulled away from the book, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. "She already has us thinking about our final projects. "
You shook your head. "I still can't wrap my head around how you're taking her so seriously. Have you forgotten when you thought she sabotaged your Divination final?"
He suppressed a groan. "Don't."
"Because I haven't."
"Yeah, I know, Y/N."
"You were so convinced it was a trick teacup or something."
"Never have I ever seen tea leaves behave that w- " he began heatedly, stopping only at the sight of your ill-disguised amusement.
"Oh. I see how it is." Theo finally shut the book and set it aside. His eyes were suddenly bright in the candlelight. A thrill ran through you. "Trying to get a rise out of me, L/N?"
You shrugged coyly, nibbling at a fingernail.
"Me? Get a rise out of you?"
You were laying the faux innocence on a little thick, but Theo's bedroom eyes were finally fixed on something other than that book - rather appreciatively, too. You stood and padded towards him. He instinctively grabbed your wrist, his thumb dragging over your pulse point.
"I thought you were too spiritually evolved to be bothered by uneducated mortals like me."
His eyebrows disappeared into his hairline alarmingly fast. He tugged you down onto his lap, and you let him, a giddy feeling somersaulting in your stomach. His arm caught your waist, his nose brushed your temple, and once again, he was the Theo you knew and loved - the one who couldn't go two minutes without having his hands on you.
Theo's mouth found yours as he toyed with the hem of your blouse. His teeth grazed your lower lip. It felt comfortable, familiar - at least, it almost did. As you tangled your hands in his hair, a faint, smoky scent sliced through the hazy heat.
It hit you like a ton of bricks. It was the same foreign scent that clung to his books, his notes, his quills. Something earthy and woody and wholly unwelcome, as far as you were concerned.
"Teddy," you gasped before you could stop yourself, momentarily agitated.
Theo's hands barely slowed. He hummed against your skin.
"Hmm?"
But how to say it? You couldn't find the words to express the frustration choking you. This class clearly meant a lot to him. What if you hurt his feelings? Or worse, what if you drove him away?
And now he was close, impossibly close. He was pressing a kiss to the stuttering pulse point under your jaw. You tightened your hold on him, rigid and confused by the thoughts plaguing your head.
"You smell like sandalwood," you murmured hesitantly instead. Like incense. You gave a shaky breath of laughter. His mouth was already moving again, slow and deliberate. You kissed him back, harder this time, anything to knock the thought clean out of your head.
The sour scent lingered in the air, looming ominously in the back of your mind.
Every relationship goes through its slumps, don't they?
At least, that was what you spent the next couple of weeks trying to convince yourself. You couldn't be insufferably, madly in love, ripping each other's clothes off forever. It was only natural that Theo was starting to feel a little distant from you. It was only natural that the two of you were drifting to opposite sides of the bed. It was only natural that you were punching the air, repressing the urge to scream into your pillow, every night.
But no matter - there were 7 ways to liven up a romance again, and number 5 was shocking (according to Witch Weekly).
You gave yourself one last look over before heading out. This was much silkier and clingier than what you were used to wearing, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
You stepped out of the bathroom. Theo was sitting up in your bed, engaging in his now all too familiar routine of some 'light' bedtime reading.
"Remember that time in Florence, where you were reading that map wrong? Well, here Epictetus says - "
You cleared your throat.
The words died at his lips once he glanced up, finally registering the pointed look you were giving him. His breath hitched. Surprise flickered across his face.
"You look...different."
You leaned against the doorframe, watching him expectantly. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he looked uncomfortable.
"You know what Epictetus had to say about desires?"
Was he being serious right now?
You huffed, seeing where this was going. "I don't know and I don't care."
"That we must master them before they master us."
You stared at Theo blankly. It was all you could do to not roll your eyes in his face. Witch Weekly hadn't mentioned what to do with a boyfriend high on self-help. You deflated, feeling his interest in your pajamas, if any, waning with every passing word.
"Who?" you asked tiredly.
"Epictetus. Originally a slave boy to Epaphroditus, secretary to Nero, he was a philosopher who inspired the likes of Marcus Aurelius and..."
You didn't respond. As unsupportive as it was, you had begun tuning him out a lot more lately. You were starting to get very sick of the idea of some old, long-gone Greek guy dictating your sex life.
Theo didn't seem to catch the hint until you were climbing under the covers, muttering under your breath, fumbling for your eye mask in your nightstand.
"Good, different-good, is what I meant," he tried, but it was too little too late. You found your mask and put it on, turning your back to him. You could feel him draw closer, his hand tentatively coming to your waist, his thumb dragging across the fabric.
"Can't I get another look? Please?"
"I'm not in the mood anymore, Theodore."
Theo winced. He was really in the doghouse.
"I'm sorry. Can we try this again? I'll - "
You sat up, ripping off your eye mask.
"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not letting you read all night. I'm sorry for distracting you from your favourite class. I'm sorry I have desires." Theo had said none of those things, but this was quickly becoming one of those petty fights where you were a little more dramatic than you needed to be. It was stupid, but you were beginning to feel the familiar sting of hot tears pricking your eyes. "I'm sorry I'm not as hot or attractive as Epictetus."
To his credit, Theo looked appropriately dismayed. For the first time in weeks, you had no doubt he understood exactly how you were feeling. You were finally on the same page - just a horrible one.
"Y/N - "
"I'm tired, Theo," you said, sinking back into the bed. "I just want to get some sleep."
Your anger, as hot and quick as it had come, was already dissipating. Fleeting though it was, it had been sapping all the same. You weren't sure if it was the irritation, the uncomfortably warm blanket, or the past couple of weeks, but you were left feeling drained. You mumbled into your pillow as your eyes fluttered shut.
"Let's talk in the morning. Okay?"
You didn't wait for a reply as you drifted off.
A couple days before the end of the semester, you were making daisy chains with your friends in a corner of the Great Hall for May Day baskets. Well, Ivy and Melissa were making daisy chains. You were ripping up the smaller flowers that they were too slow to scoop out of your reach. Your friends, bless them, had been more than patient, but it didn't seem to help. The longer you went without talking Theo's ear off, the tetchier you became, and neither of you wanted to admit you were beginning to avoid each other. It was a hopeless, dismal situation that was doing your head in.
Melissa watched you rip off the petals of yet another daisy with a forlorn expression.
"You and Theo still not talking?"
You rolled your eyes.
"Why wouldn't we be talking?" you spat out bitterly, for what had to be the hundredth time. You picked up a couple of undamaged stalks and began weaving them together with a slightly manic energy.
"I should be soooo lucky to have a partner like him. My boyfriend...is empathetic. My boyfriend...is in touch with his emotions! My boyfriend..."
Your finger slipped. You crumpled up your daisy chain, relishing the ache in your white-knuckle grip.
"My boyfriend won't touch me with a twenty-foot pole, actually. And I'm sick of it."
You released your crushed creation, and stared at it. You were a little sorry to have destroyed so many perfectly good flowers.
"Aw, Y/N," Ivy petted. "Don't sulk. I'm sure it'll all turn out fine. Just give him time."
You lifted your head, a moody expression on your face. "I'm not sulking," you sulked. You shifted the beheaded daisies around disinterestedly. "I just want my boyfriend back."
You felt a hand settle on your shoulder, and you glanced up. Speak of the devil.
"Hey."
Theo was wearing a soft blue sweater, scrunched at the elbow in this sometimes-hot, sometimes-chilly weather. You turned your back to him, carefully picking out the next daisy.
"Ivy," Melissa said, "I think the table's getting a little full. Let's take the finished chains upstairs."
Ivy looked up. The daisy chains stacked on her head teetered dangerously.
"What do you mean? We've got plenty of room. Just put them on - ow, ow, okay, I'm coming."
While Melissa dragged Ivy away, Theo's fingers slipped off your shoulder as he sat next to you. His legs faced outwards while yours were crossed underneath the table. Good. At least you didn't have to look at his stupid face.
Theo's knee bounced restlessly. "Do you want to talk?"
You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes.
"Talk about what?"
He thought for a moment.
"Maybe why you're so...pissed."
Unbelievable. He could not be this dense. You finally snapped.
"I hate your stupid fucking self-help class!"
"Okay, wow. That's...that's something."
"It is so full of shit. You are so full of shit. I don't even recognise you anymore. And - you wanna know something? Not once have I complained, or criticised or, or, or critiqued you, but now all of a sudden you're too good to sleep with me?"
"I never thought I was - "
"I've never cared how perfect you are, or how perfect you could be."
"Well, I'm not trying to be perfect."
Theo's eyes were shifty, and the patience in his voice was strained. You closed your eyes, trying to pick the right words jumbled in your frazzled state of mind. What was going to get the message through that thick head of his?
"Do you remember," you murmured, after a moment, "that pick up line you fed me at the Yule Ball, in our fourth year? The one you dragged Blaise along for?"
Theo scoffed lightly. You had a feeling the memory embarrassed him. You pressed on.
"You said something about...right. You said you heard that I liked bad boys. And you made Blaise say that - "
All these years later, the memory still pulled a wry smile onto your face.
"That you were the worst. It was...awful, really. It has to be one of the worst pick up lines ever. It doesn't even make any sense."
You opened your eyes.
"But it was sweet. It was you. Like that other time we were having a fight, and you were following me everywhere, begging to talk, and I kept saying I didn't want to talk to you, so you said -
"Can you want to talk to me."
You looked up. For the first time in weeks, there was a softness in his eyes that convinced you that you really were on the same page.
"So you do remember."
Theo's mouth twitched. He gently skimmed a daisy chain between the two of you.
"Kind of hard to forget." He tilted his head and sighed, almost wistfully, staring at the rafters of the Great Hall. "I'd be dead and buried before I forget anything about you."
You covered his hand. When his eyes met yours, stormy with conflict, you had the odd sensation of deja vu. There was something so familiar about this place, one that you would surely visit again and again. It felt like falling in love with him all over again. Like once again making the promise to coax him out of his tortured shell.
"I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting to improve yourself." You finally thawed, leaning into Theo, resting your head against his shoulder. "But it's scary to think a better version of you is a version without...me."
You felt Theo's chest rise as he sucked in a breath between his teeth.
"Don't say that."
"But it's true."
"No. How could you - " You lifted your head as Theo turned to face you. His eyes were fraught, rheumy, and he looked as though he were turning purple with all the unsaid things he didn't know how to get out.
"Before I knew anything about, you know, what I wanted to do, or who I wanted to be, I knew I wanted you."
You didn't know what to say. You rested your head on his shoulder. Theo pulled you closer.
"I'm always going to want you, Y/N," he said softly. From here, you could hear his heart hammering in his chest. The adrenaline, the panic - it was the most real Theo had been in weeks. "It's the only thing I know how to do."
As the two of you grew silent, you marvelled at how comfortably your cheekbone rested just above his collarbone, how your shoulder fit in the dip of his chest, how perfectly the two of you slotted against each other. There was something that was - and always would be - so familiar about Theo. You thought about your afternoons in the common room, your Hogsmeade dates, and every evening that ended just like this - head on his chest, eyes too heavy with sleep to open. It was a wonder there wasn't a depression in the shape of you carved into his chest. You'd stay there forever.
"So this is it, then," you mumbled.
"What?"
"You and me."
Theo flipped his hand, interlacing his fingers with yours, sniffling gently.
"Looks like it."
You sat up suddenly, having just remembered something.
NOTE - Tired from the lack of works that meet my far too high expectations and needs, I've decided to write this piece. I do not know whether I'll continue it or not. Just needed something to create and not consume. I'm not a writer, but I aspire to be one, one day.
T/W - Theodore Nott x Slytherin!OC (Athea Vale), possible friends to lovers, angst(?), Theodore's POV (written in 3rd person), Draco, Blaise, Mattheo mentioned, Theodore's late mother mentioned, Half-Italian!Theodore Nott, Theodore's father mentioned, hints of jealousy, itriedtoputsomeouncesofmeaningandhints, Mattheo's love for The Smiths
WORD COUNT - 1.7K
The moment when Theodore realised he was starting to lose memories of his mother was when he caught himself rereading one paragraph of Il Piacere for the third time and still feeling conflicted about his interpretation. He caught himself reaching for Italian vocabulary to understand the meaning of a certain phrase. But there was a time when he knew the language all too well. A frown settles on his features, his unruly hair only adding to his irritation as he reads it one more time, growing even more annoyed than he already was.
A thud echoes through the room as he snaps the book shut and drops it onto his bed. Silence follows, making it clear that his roommates are either not back yet or have already fallen asleep. One thing he knows for sure is that Riddle is not back from his usual wanderings through the castle.
With half an hour until curfew, he pushes himself off the bed, pulls on his zip-up hoodie, and leaves the room, dimming the lights with a flick of his wand. If he didn’t, Blaise and Draco would most definitely complain later about the brightness disturbing their sleep. It’s one of the few things they both have in common — being quite picky about certain things. They call it boundaries, but Mattheo couldn’t care less. “Boundaries, my ass,” he once said. “We share one room. You should grow up.”
The cold air of the Slytherin common room hits his uncovered skin immediately as he makes his way down the stairs toward the exit. His eyes briefly skim over the students scattered across the couches and carpets around the fireplace, not finding the face he is looking for. Letting out an internal sigh, he heads up the spiral staircase toward the main entrance.
All the way to the Room of Requirement, his lungs itch for nicotine and his hand for a cigarette, cursing himself for accepting a bet that forces him to stop smoking until winter break. But the mere thought of having to face the punishment makes him forget his craving for that small stick he smokes. He would rather take the Cruciatus Curse than go out and embarrass himself in front of the whole school.
“I know you think it’s normal for almost everyone at school to know what underwear you wear, but I have different views on that matter,” he told Mattheo, shaking his head. “You’re welcome to do it yourself,” he adds with a small smile, before quickly following up with, “Don’t.”
Mattheo lets out a dramatic sigh.
The door appears even before Theodore rounds the corner, and he slips inside after briefly glancing left and right to make sure no one is watching. Surprisingly, he has been caught by Mrs. Norris far too many times for his liking. Naturally, he has grown his own kind of hatred toward the red-eyed cat.
Inside, he is immediately met by two familiar figures standing in the middle of the room, wands drawn and stances sharp. Opposite Mattheo — who looks far too happy for a man mid-duel stands Athea. His eyes linger on her for a few seconds before shifting to Pansy, who is watching over her friends while lying on the couch.
The duelists seem too distracted by their fight to notice Theodore, but Pansy does, nodding for him to sit down. He spots a book sprawled open beside her and the rather distressed look on his friend’s face, choosing to help her out before she ends up burning the parchment.
“I don’t understand why I would need a Laughing Potion when I can just watch Draco picking a fight with Potter,” she says to Theo, who has just sat down, placing a book on his lap and briefly glancing up to check on the duelists. “Essence of Insanity can be found in my mother’s daily supplements. I don’t even need to learn how to brew it,” she adds, mostly just to vent about her mother, who seems to be getting on Parkinson’s nerves far too often lately.
“When are these two planning on finishing their little fight?” he asks, nodding toward his out-of-breath friends before dipping his quill into the ink.
“Hopefully soon, because I need to finish writing this and get my beauty sleep—”
Her reply is cut off by Theodore, whose usually unreadable face now clearly shows confusion. “You’ve got a new quill?” he suddenly asks.
“Yeah, why?” She looks at him, not quite understanding what the problem is. Yes, she bought a new quill, because, being the materialist she is, she “just had to get the one with the purple-coloured fwooper feather”. And having a few galleons left in her pocket at the end of the Hogsmeade trip didn’t exactly help (or rather, helped) her case.
Theodore sighs, a short-lived wave of disappointment passing through him, before saying, “I charmed the old one to copy from my papers.”
A sudden crashing sound draws both of their attention to the duelists: Mattheo is sprawled on the floor near the wall, while his opponent rushes toward him, her face scrunched in apology. She immediately drops to her knees to inspect whatever damage she might have caused, while he sits up, massaging his back and groaning.
“It worked,” he murmurs through the pain, flashing her his signature smile (a bit irritating and endearing).
“What worked?” Pansy asks before Athea can, glancing down at her friend to make sure he’s generally okay.
Athea’s expression doesn’t soften as she continues checking his limbs, clearly worried. “Merlin, there’s definitely something wrong with you. Why are you still smiling, idiot?”
“You answered it yourself,” Theodore says as he steps in to help his friend up. “Idiot.”
That earns an eye roll from Riddle, who stretches his back to ease the pain. “You were so pissed off it had to come out somehow. I helped you release the tension by baiting you into using your magic properly,” Mattheo announces proudly. He receives a smack on the shoulder from Athea, who now looks annoyed all over again.
“I wasn’t pissed off,” she snaps, brows drawing together. “Just tired—doesn’t matter. I could have seriously hurt you, idiot.” Her voice pitches higher, frustration clear. “You’re okay, right?”
“He’s fine,” Theodore cuts in before Mattheo can answer. “Right?”
He looks at Mattheo, who nods, who nods, but not before throwing him a suspicious look.
Of course, it isn’t enough for Athea to stop worrying. The entire walk back to the Slytherin dormitories, she keeps asking if he’s really okay and insists she’ll buy him something in Hogsmeade on their next trip. Naturally, Mattheo doesn’t turn down the offer of a treat.
Theodore isn’t sure who he’s more irritated with — Pansy, for throwing away her perfectly functional quill; Mattheo, for dragging him out of his warm bed thirty minutes before curfew just so they wouldn’t get caught again; or Athea, who is far too worried about Mattheo for his liking. He’s perfectly fine, isn’t he? Why is she acting like a bloody Hufflepuff, fussing over a grown boy?
He’s also annoyed with himself (though he doesn’t fully admit it), knowing he’s overthinking everything and that Athea is simply being the good friend she is — showing care and concern, something he knows he struggles to express.
Maybe he’s just tired and needs sleep. The first week of school must have taken its toll, especially after spending two months doing absolutely nothing stimulating for his brain: attending his father’s work duties, rarely meeting up with Blaise and Draco, and listening to the Muggle music Mattheo sent him.
Appreciate the music I send you, because the boys are probably one step away from telling the warden I went crazy for befriending an owl. Send my best regards to your father and write me back.
Mattheo Riddle(do you think I should change my surname?)
Theodore pulled a tape player from his trunk after making sure the wards were intact, a sign that his father was still not back. It was Mattheo’s gift for his seventeenth birthday. After discovering that Theodore read Muggle literature, Mattheo had been determined to make his friend fall in love with Muggle music.
It was, of course, dangerous — even deadly, if his father ever caught him consuming anything related to Muggles. But Theodore was careful with timings and charms, making it fairly easy to indulge his new fascination.
Sliding the tape in, he pressed ‘play,’ letting the tunes fill the expanse of his comically large bedroom. He could swear the air itself felt warmer, easier to breathe, as the music curled into every corner. Theo closed his eyes, imagining himself back in the castle: the Slytherin common room, sprawled on the couch opposite the fireplace, listening to whatever gossip the girls had brought today. He pictured Mattheo sitting cross-legged on the carpet, a simple pen tucked behind his ear, quill in hand, hovering over empty parchment, deep in thought. Draco was attempting to squeeze into Pansy’s seat, Blaise standing and ready to leave — he had enough noise at home with all his sisters. Warmth bloomed in Theo’s chest as he imagined Athea laughing at something only she could say, and a small smile tugged at his lips. For exactly four minutes and five seconds, the feeling of dread vanished, leaving all future worries behind.
And if a double-decker bus crashes into us
To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die
And if a ten-tonne truck kills the both of us
To die by your side, well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine
Of course, a little later, when his father returned from whatever business occupied his days, the tape player would be tucked far down in the trunk, and Theodore would feel frustration, embarrassment, even, for allowing himself to relax. It was not something he should feel or was entitled to experience, not while aware of the ever-present danger, not while still living with the man who had stripped every trace of happiness from their house, starting with his mother.
L'ansia in lui era verace e l'amore per quella donna era in lui rinato veracemente; ma la espressione verbale e plastica de' sentimenti in lui era sempre così artificiosa, così lontana dalla semplicità e dalla sincerità, che egli ricorreva per abitudine alla preparazione anche ne' più gravi commovimenti dell'animo.
His anxiety was genuine, and his love for that woman had truly been reborn within him, but the verbal and physical expression of his feelings was always so artificial, so far removed from simplicity and sincerity, that he habitually resorted to preparation even in the most serious emotional moments.
— Il Piacere by Gabriele D'Annunzio, 1889.
By the way, he was rereading this part, in case you didn't get why I attached a random text. Found this piece quite beautiful, maybe I'll read it even.
a/n - I've been brewing this fall-winter theo nott x mattheo's sister fic series in my head literally since dec 2024 heheh so I decided to try getting the first chapter out after i got a request along those lines! this first chapter is a little different, kind of from theo's pov which was a fun change :)) also lmaooo writing theo's internal monologue was so funnn like yesss actually +55 xp awkwardness +55 xp patheticness +55 xp poor-little-meow-meow -going-through-it!!! also, idk what 50 feet is exactly since i couldnt be bothered to do the metric conversion so im just going off of what i remember from the movies eeeeeee enjoyy <33
tropes/warnings - theo nott x mattheo's sister!reader, very mild descriptions of injury, like one swear word, meet cute 🥰🥰🥰 (idc what yall say its cute to ME)
Theo drifted aimlessly on his broom, watching the clouds in the distance diffuse the morning sun. It was Slytherin's first Quidditch practice of the season. Below him, his teammates were working through the skills that had rusted over the summer. Normally, Theo would be in the thick of it, raring everyone up, despite Blaise's frequent warnings of how dangerous that could be. However, on this particular morning, Theo couldn't care less about them.
His thoughts were otherwise occupied with one curly-haired witch he had spent the summer with - Romilda Vane. She had been staying with her aunt, who coincidentally lived across the street from Theo. All summer long, they had talked, hung out, flirted, and so on. Even as the summer drew to a close, she promised to keep in touch. She promised to call.
Shows how much he knew.
Now that school had resumed - zilch. Nada. Not a peep out of her. It didn't help that worrying rumours of her getting back together with her on-again, off-again boyfriend had begun to spread. Worrying rumours that gave rise to niggling thoughts which buzzed around in Theo's head, wearing him down.
Theo was unceremoniously yanked out of these niggling thoughts by a dangerously rogue bludger sent spiralling upwards, just missing a couple of the players. Suddenly, their tomfoolery and sloppy flying was the most infuriating thing Theo had ever seen.
"OI!"
His teammates paused their gameplay, uncertainly clustering together as Theo flew down to them. A few of them drifted closer as Theo's blotchy face became visible. But not even Blaise's apologetic expression or placating demeanour were enough to cool Theo's white-hot irritation this time.
"Sorry, mate," he said carefully. "Things got a bit out of hand."
Theo jerked his head carelessly.
"No, I'm sorry. I'm the one with the sorry job of straightening out this sorry mess of a lot you call a Quidditch team - "
"Hey." Blaise looked a little miffed. "Cool it, would you?"
Theo took a deep breath, pushing down the traces of shame creeping up on him. He was distantly aware that his anger was beginning to border on excessive, but was in too bad a mood to quell it altogether.
"Zabini, our first game is in a week. I want my team's heads on straight. Is that too much to ask for?"
Goyle, the Beater closest to Theo, grunted. "Our heads are fine."
The sight of the spiralling bludger and the panickedly dodging players flashed before Theo's eyes. So reckless, so stupid, it was enough to give a less patient captain a coronary. A move half as dangerous during an actual Quidditch match would put them at the risk of being disqualified from the tournament altogether.
"Then what the fuck was that, Goyle?" Theo spat out. "If this were a real match, half your teammates would be concussed right now. Did you forget how to whack a bludger over the summer? Do I need to show you again? Honestly, what's so hard about - "
Theo grabbed the bat from Goyle's slack grip, just in time to take a hit at the bludger that had been zooming back towards the team all this while. It connected with the bat with a satisfying crack - a strong, perfectly aimed hit.
Only, with a mind clouded with rage, confusion, and thoughts of why-hasn't-Romilda-called-yet, Theo forgot to aim somewhere a little safer. The bludger took a sharp right, spinning towards the pitch's perimeter, where many a third-year was wont to cut through as a shortcut.
Even if he hadn't been immediately paralysed by his stupidity and the horror of what was about to unfold, there was no way Theo could have reached that trio of Ravenclaw girls in time. His teammates' shouts and attempts to catch their attention sounded muffled over the roaring in his ears. Slack-jawed, he stayed rooted to his broom, sweat beading on his forehead, hands losing feeling as he watched the bludger agonisingly, imperceptibly decelerate as it approached the girls. Twenty feet, ten feet, five feet, two feet...
From what Theo could see, only one of them spotted the bludger, but by then it was too late. There was a faint shriek, then a thunk, and the girl in the middle went down like a sack of potatoes. Her friends dropped their book bags and followed, blocking her face from Theo's view. But there were no further cries from any of them. A morbid sort of relief shook Theo back to the present. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as it looked.
"Is she breathing?" Theo asked breathlessly as he hit the ground running. The girls looked up, revealing the knocked-out girl's ashen face nestled in the grass between them. Save for a cut at her hairline, she looked peaceful, like she was sleeping. Theo gave her a once-over, from her head to her shoes. He bit back a hysterical laugh. This was almost nothing. Really, he was lucky her brains weren't splattered up this side of the bleachers.
He knelt, checking her pulse. He squinted up at the other girls.
"What's her first lesson?"
They hummed and hawed annoyingly between themselves. Theo put it down to shock.
"Uh, um, I don't - Transfiguration?"
Wonderful. Of all the professors...this day just kept getting better and better, didn't it?
"You, go find Madam Hooch and tell her to go to the Hospital Wing. You, find McGonagall - " Theo suppressed a grimace " - and let her know your friend's missing class today."
As they scurried off, Theo hooked an arm under the girl's knees and another under her back. But before he could stand, a hand wrapped decisively around his wrist.
"Woah." A suspicious pair of eyes was glaring at him. Boy, did she look pissed. "What do you think you're doing?"
Theo's hold on the girl relaxed. She hadn't seemed familiar until now - naturally, placing her wasn't his top priority at the moment. But now that she was awake and scowling hard at him, something about those dark, deep-set eyes set atop her sharp facial features sent a jolt of recognition through Theo, like a barely-there memory at the tip of his tongue.
But then the girl groaned and screwed her eyes shut.
"And why is it so bright?"
The inkling disappeared.
"Yeah, you're definitely concussed." Theo tightened his hold again, about to straighten. "I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing."
But she wasn't having it.
"So I got a little bump on the head." Rubbing her eyes, she sat up, extracting herself from Theo's hold. "Big deal. I can walk on my own. Ivy and Missy will help." She paused, looking around.
"Wait. Where'd they go?"
But as soon as she shifted her weight onto her feet, she gave a sharp cry. It was only then that Theo noticed the unnatural angle at which her foot had twisted, bad enough to make even him wince. He pretended not to see the tears that had sprung to her eyes. The next moment, her head was lolled back, having passed out again.
Theo's stomach was just about ready to eat itself while waiting for the professors to show up. After delivering the girl to Madam Pomfrey with a succinct but garish description of the accident, Theo retired to the visitor area of the Hospital Wing. Unable to bear looking at the girl, Theo was waiting near the doors, where the weight of what he had done gradually crushed his spirits. What if, because of him, she missed an entire year of school? What if, because of him, she never managed a good thought again? What if, because of him, he was the last person she ever talked to? Her murderer?
"You alright, mate?"
Theo's head snapped up. The familiar face doused his frazzled senses with a dizzy sort of relief.
"Mattheo." Theo barely managed a faint smile. "Yeah, I'm okay."
Mattheo grinned, pulling up a stool next to his. "You look grim. What's wrong? Malfoy fall off his broom again?"
Theo suppressed a wince. He jerked his head noncommittally. "Something like that," he mumbled. He gave Mattheo a sidelong glance. "Why? What are you doing here?
Mattheo deflated marginally. "My sister. She had a nasty fall this morning."
Damn. What a morning for the three of them, huh? Theo gave him a sympathetic look.
"What'd she do? Fall down the stairs?"
"I don't know. Corner didn't say much. But he didn't look great, you know."
"Does he ever?"
Mattho waved a careless hand. Watery-eyed and fidgety, it was especially unfortunate that Madam Pomfrey's student assistant had a permanent cleft in his forehead, as if there was forever something or the other ailing him.
Mattheo suddenly straightened in his seat, as if he had just remembered something.
"You know, it's the strangest thing. I think Corner said something about her...coming from the field."
Theo scoffed. "Yeah, right. I was just there and there wasn't - "
Theo's mouth snapped shut before his brain even finished connecting the dots.
Oh. Oh no.
"You were just at the pitch, weren't you?" Mattheo continued, not having heard Theo properly. Theo stared at the grass stains on his leather kneepads, frozen stiff. "Did you see what happened?"
Against his better judgment, Theo met his friend's gaze. Mattheo looked calm, politely curious, not accusatory in the slightest. But then again, he also had the best poker face out of all of their friends.
Oh, who was he kidding? Mattheo knew, he had to know, and that had to be exactly why he was asking all these questions. There could be no other explanation. Not even the universe was this cruelly ironic. Theo wasn't a religious person by any means, but there wasn't a religion he wouldn't convert to to get out of this.
"Oh, you know..." he started meanderingly, voice a little high. "The brooms are so, so, so..." Theo's gaze drifted upwards. "...so high up in the air. Who can tell what's going on down there anyway?"
"Mr. Nott?"
Hallelujah. A Christmas miracle right in the smack of the dab of August. Theo stood so fast he swore he heard his knees pop. He could have kissed Pomfrey.
"And Mr. Riddle. Come in."
Oh, forget it.
"You're kidding," Mattheo echoed for the fifth time that minute. He was having a hard time wrapping his head around what Madam Hooch was saying. Theo stared out the window at grass bathed in the mid-morning light, wishing he were anywhere but here. "Theodore? Him? Mr. Looks Both Ways Before Getting on His Broom?" Mattheo gave a sharp laugh. Theo was glad he was finding some amusement in this while he still could. "He's not even a beater."
Theo cringed internally. McGonagall's mouth had shrivelled up to the size of a penny. He was pointedly avoiding eye contact, but he could still feel her disappointment burning into the back of her neck.
"Mr. Nott told us himself."
Mattheo finally looked at Theo.
"You better not be covering for Crabbe or Goyle."
Theo felt like shit. "I wish I were." He sighed. "I'm sorry, Mattheo. I was going to tell you, really, but I thought you already knew."
"And it was purely accidental?"
Theo spun towards McGonagall. He glanced between her and Madam Pomfrey’s faces, the incredulous look on his face deepening by the minute. He was only just picking up on the severe tone of the meeting.
"Why would I - look at her! There's no way she's on the Quidditch team! I still don't get how she didn't even hear the bludger. The way it was headed towards her - " Theo whistled in a not entirely complimentary way. "Believe me, if I were going to take anyone out this way, I tell you who I'd start with - Chambers. Smarmy ass git with a smarmy ass face, always pissing me off. Bradley's no better either, he - "
The words died at Theo's lips at the sight of the professors' faces. He wasn't helping his case, was he?
"I'm just - it's concerning, Mattheo."
"I know."
"Her survival instincts are shot."
"Since she was 5, but what else is new?"
It was a poor attempt at a joke. Theo was too conflicted to decide whether or not to laugh. Mattheo sighed and stood.
"Look, if Theo says it was an accident, then it was an accident." Mattheo placed a hand on his shoulder. "Besides, Theo doesn't play dirty. Merlin knows how much we've tried to teach him."
Theo shot Mattheo a grateful look. He squeezed Theo's shoulder.
That vote of confidence, along with the reputation Theo had cultivated over seven long, long, testing years, was the only thing that saved him a mark on his permanent record that day.
Hey, Mattheo. Wait up. Thanks for sticking up for me in there.
Don't mention it.
Because it was an accident.
I know.
It really was.
I know.
Then why do you look like you're trying to get away from me?
I just wish you had been more careful.
All things considered, his punishment could have been worse. Blaise was as good a captain as him anyway - maybe even better, the way he could keep his feelings in check. The first week's suspension from practice had dragged along, but Theo was beginning to get used to it. The second week would fly by, and before he knew it, he'd be flying again. Even Mattheo's sister was recovering well, from what Theo had heard from Pomfrey. Soon, it would be like the incident never happened at all.
Theo wished he could say the same for him and Mattheo.
All week, Mattheo had been a little more curt, a little more busy than he typically was. Theo would wake up, and Mattheo would already be down at breakfast. Theo would enter their room, and Mattheo would make up an excuse to pop out. Theo would suggest a night out, and Mattheo would be stuck in detention.
Which was how Theo had ended up here, alone at Hogsmeade, as one of the last few stragglers heading back to the castle. Theo knew it was an awkward place for Mattheo to be stuck in, between his best mate and his baby sister. He wished he knew how to help Mattheo out of it. He wished he knew how to fix things. He wished Mattheo were here, next to him, choking on a Liquorice Snap, helping him feel less alone.
The night was delightfully cool. Theo thought it was a shame there weren't more people still out. The weather wouldn't be staying this pleasant for much longer.
As he rounded the corner, Theo felt a cold trickle down the back of his neck. He glanced up. A light drizzle had started. Too busy looking at the sky, Theo walked straight into the person exiting the shop he was passing by.
"Sorry - Y/N?"
It was Mattheo's sister, Y/N. She had been exiting Honeydukes with a brown paper bag tucked under her arm. Rosy-cheeked with unruly hair, she looked completely normal, save for the fracture boot on her right foot.
"Sorry about bumping into you." Theo needed to get his head on straight, especially around Y/N. There were only so many times Mattheo would forgive him.
Luckily, she didn't seem to mind. She laughed weakly. "Don't worry about it. You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm good." Theo laughed weakly, too. The two of them nodded at each other a bit. Y/N's gaze wandered to the other shops. Theo scuffed his shoe on the cobblestoned path. He looked up.
"How are you? How's the - how's the ankle?"
"Good! Good. Getting better. Thanks for asking.”
Theo looked up again as he felt another raindrop land on his head.
"Do you need help getting back? It's starting to rain, and..." Theo gestured at her boot vaguely. "...you know. Slippery."
The girl had a strange look on her face. Maybe he was imagining things, but it looked like she was biting back something she desperately wished to say.
"No, it's alright," she said delicately. "I'm here with a friend."
Theo followed her gaze into Honeydukes. At the counter was Terry Boot, vehemently arguing with the cashier about his purchase. Theo's eyebrows rose a fraction before he could stop himself. Terry Boot? A guy with a reputation like his?
"A friend," she emphasised firmly. Theo looked back at her. She sniffed, feigning disinterest. "Not that it's any of your business."
Theo hesitated. He wasn't an idiot. But also, he had already hospitalised her once. The least he could do was go easy on her.
"Right." His eyes drifted back to her medical boot. Clunky and heavy, it couldn't be comfortable to live with.
"I'm sorry you've got to wear that because of me."
"It's alright."
Theo met her gaze. "And it really was an accident."
She snorted, laughing a little. "You don't have to tell me."
When Theo's face remained impassive, she sobered up.
"I mean, that had to be, what, 50 feet away? 60? There's no way you could have aimed at me from that far. You're not that good a player."
"Exactly," Theo agreed in a burst of relief, faintly flushed. He paused, frowning. "Wait."
"Anyway, no harm, no foul," she continued. "Right?"
Theo nodded listlessly.
"...yeah. It's just - I don't know. Mattheo's not taking it very well."
Y/N frowned sympathetically. It was the first genuine expression she had shown Theo.
"He isn't?"
Perhaps something in Theo's subconscious figured that she was probably the only person who knew Mattheo as well as he did, because the next second, it all came spilling out. Mattheo's cold shoulder, the missed breakfasts, the lonely Hogsmeade trips, every slight rebuff that cut deep anyway - all of it.
"I fucked up terribly, Y/N," Theo said, when his emotional purge was finally complete. "I feel so wretched about it. I just miss him, y'know?"
Y/N's face had cycled through sympathy, alarm, and concern throughout Theo's monologue. Too late, he realised she might not have wanted to be held hostage by his outpouring. But here she was, still talking to him, which could only be a good sign.
"I know. I'm sorry. Just - give him time. He'll come around. He loves you too much not to."
Theo perked up. "Why? How do you know? Did he tell you? What has he said about me?"
He definitely wasn't imagining it this time. Y/N had a sly smile playing at her lips.
"Tell you what." Y/N unwrapped her brown bag and pulled out a packet of Cockroach Clusters. Theo stared at it.
"What's this?"
"For you. To give Mattheo."
Theo took the packet. He crinkled it at the edges, the clusters snapping satisfyingly under his fingers, just how Mattheo liked them. A gift that Y/N had bought for her brother.
The girl gave a careless half-shrug, like she knew what Theo was about to say. She had the same disjointed coordination as her brother, like she was always about to stumble. It was almost enough to make Theo nauseous.
"You give him, I give him - what's the difference? As long as he gets them."
Theo looked at the transparent, slightly greasy interior of the cockroach clusters packet. It was the kind of thing a friend as (allegedly) good as him should have come up with on his own.
"Well," he said uncertainly. "If you're sure."
She nodded. "I am."
Still hesitant, Theo pocketed the snack. It was unnerving to think that anyone even remotely related to Mattheo posessed more emotional intelligence than him.
The girl glanced up, watching the rain fall, eyes wide like saucers.
"You might want to head back now," she suggested in a concerned voice, "before the rain starts coming down even harder."
It only occurred to Theo as he hurried down the path, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, that she might have been mocking him a little.
"Psst. Mattheo."
"Oi. Wake up."
One more hard shove to his shoulder, and Mattheo was finally awake. He woke with a startled gasp, looking around blearily.
"Wha? Whess' tha fire?
Theo shushed him, warily glancing at the rest of their roommates, who were fortunately still fast asleep.
"No fire, you twit." Theo pulled out the Cockroach Clusters from his jacket pocket. Mattheo peered at the packet in the moonlight.
"Aw, man. You didn't need to." He examined it, crinkling the edges. He smiled at Theo ruefully. That look conveyed what Theo had been chasing all week - that all was forgiven and forgotten. "Thanks, buddy."
Theo sat on Mattheo's duvet, both of them crunching on the clusters in the dark as they caught up with each other. For the night, everything was right with the world.
hmmmm 6 is a little tough so im combing through my older phases eheh pls dont judge also, maybe I do have a type?
niccolo rossi, baby || anthony lockwood, lockwood & co. || warren, bad education || ryan gold, her private life || five hargreeves, the umbrella academy || harry potter, harry potter
sundays are for lovers (an EVERYBODY KNOWS I'M SAD inspired fic)
two times theo told you to come over and the one time he told you to come home
a/n - im back :))) everybody yay for finals being overrr 🎉🎉 was lowk procrastinating finsihing + uploading tihs so bad cuz i remembered it as being worse? LOLL i rlly overthought this one 😀😀 anyways hope u enjoyyy heheh :))
tropes/warnings - tw loneliness (?), enemies to lovers ish (more like haters to lovers tbh) (and isn't that the most beautiful thing actually)
"A movie? Oh, Y/N, I'd love to, but I'm a little preoccupied tonight."
You nodded, half-listening to what you already knew. It was Ivy's boyfriend's birthday that weekend, and the two of them were heading up north to spend it with his parents. Still, you figured it might have been worth a shot.
"I'll have no time to pack all week, and we leave on Friday once I get off work. Oh, one sec." You heard some faint murmuring and rustling in the background. You could hear a stifled snort under her breath as Ivy picked up the phone again. "Sorry. How about the week after that?"
You tried to keep the disappointment out of your voice. "Sure," you agreed. "Tell Ivan happy birthday from me."
You hung up, not without some bitterness. You knew she was too nice to ever say it, but you heard it all the same. It was the kind of thing you heard everywhere without it ever really being said - Sundays were for lovers.
You vacantly stared into the distance in your gleaming, silent kitchen. With every surface wiped down, the dishes dried and put away, the lights dimmed, it looked pleasantly tidy. Your gaze lingered on the under-cabinet lighting you had installed earlier that day. It added a touch of cosiness that elevated the whole space.
Pity you didn't have anyone to share it with.
You carried the trash out into the crisp, chilled air of the night, which was almost as quiet as the inside of your house. The moist gravel of the road glittered like diamonds in the moonlight, twinkling and cold. You walked to the bin and, with some difficulty, heaved your garbage bag in.
You took a moment to catch your breath and take in the silence. It was peaceful, really, but it didn't soothe you as much as aggravate you. Must the ins and outs of your life be filled with such hollowness?
"Careful."
You nearly jumped out of your skin. You irritably glanced at your fence, where your neighbour, Theo, was watching you.
It was almost unfortunate how the two of you were constantly at each other’s throats. It all started when Theo had sawed off a couple of branches of an encroaching tree in your backyard, without giving you so much as a heads up. You didn’t care much about the tree then, and even less now, but as you repeatedly told Ivy, it was about the principle of the matter.
You got your revenge six months later, when you snitched on him to the HOA for being a little behind on taking down his Christmas decorations. Six months. Six. Months. It wasn’t easy holding a barely-there grudge for half a year, but you managed. It proved well worth the effort, if Theo’s bad-tempered spirit in the following week was any indication.
Still, as Betty Sawyer from the HOA would often say, the two of you seemed suited for each other in nearly every other respect. Why, it was with an identical pettiness that the both of you had let the discord prevail this long.
"Coyotes come out at night," Theo continued smoothly, like he hadn't noticed your startle - which, he was still grinning about obnoxiously. You scowled at him.
"I can tell. I'm looking right at one."
Theo grimaced, shutting his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, his lips had a regretful, but not soured, twist. It really wasn't your fault; he walked right into that one. He watched your face as you approached the fence. In broad daylight, it might have felt unnerving, but now, the shadow of his brow nulled the effected. It soothed some dull ache to have someone want to...see you. Scrutinise you.
It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked as though Theo's smile had faded. He frowned slightly.
"What's up with you?"
Hastily, you tried your best to straighten your face. Curse you and your open-book tendencies. "Nothing," you replied rudely. "What's up with you?"
The corners of his mouth twitched. "It's so sweet of you to ask," he said, airily. "I got a popcorn machine installed yesterday."
You didn't know what to do with that. The two of you were hardly the type to chit-chat over a fence, much less with each other. Hmm. What did the HOA think about popcorn machines?
You settled for raising your eyebrows in a critical manner. "Mazel tov. Enjoy your life of excess and consumerism."
Theo coughed, not entirely innocently. "This coming from the woman with lights under her kitchen cabinets?"
You glared at him. "Nosy," you admonished, "and rude. Quit looking into my kitchen."
He tilted his head, his eyes slanting in that curious, considering way of his that some might find endearing. You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes.
"And to think," he started, with the air of being on the brink of some long-suffering sigh, "I wanted you to come over for some popcorn."
You stared at him.
"Popcorn?" you asked, taken aback. "...with me?"
You narrowed your eyes, immediately suspicious.
"Why?" you demanded. "What's wrong with it?"
Theo raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing! I swear. Trust me, poisoning you is the last thing on my mind." He lowered his hands, his face sobering up into a familiar expression of mock seriousness.
"I'm not convinced anything could fully take you out and, well...you know where I live."
He dropped his head at the last bit, close enough for his warmth to ghost over you. He was close, too close. His attitude, his breath, his scent - it was all around you. All over you. You took a tiny step back.
"Besides," he continued smoothly, like he didn't realise how he overwhelmed you, "it's not like you have anything better to do."
And just like that, the spell broke. You scoffed, turning your nose up at him and his childish goading tactics that were so far beneath you. Honestly, the nerve of him. "Do too, actually."
"Do not."
"Do so."
Theo paused, watching you expectantly, presumably waiting for you to elaborate. Your face began to feel a little hot.
"Not - not that it's any of your business," you added weakly. You wished you could look away. You wished he would stop watching you.
"Right," he said finally. "My mistake." Theo turned away towards his house, carelessly waving you off. "Don't let me keep you from your...gallivanting, and the like."
All of a sudden, you felt like a little kid, mulish and bad-tempered, trying to convince yourself that you had friends to have playdates and sleepovers with. So what if you lived a more or less solitary existence? What kept you from admitting it out loud? Was your pride this fragile, this brittle? Every superficial, inconsequential attempt to protect it ended the same way. You felt weak.
You felt alone.
"Wait!"
Theo stopped, glancing over his shoulder.
"My grandparents had a popcorn machine."
The words clumsily tumbling out of your mouth surprised you just as much as Theo. You had no idea what possessed you to say that. Theo wasn't helping either, not with the curious way he was watching you. You could feel your face burning under his attention.
"Did they?" he prompted gently as the silence turned awkward. It almost made your head spin. You didn't know him to be gentle. What was next, kind? Sweet? Good-hearted? Yuck.
Somehow, you found your tongue.
"Yes. And they can be tricky sometimes. Did you manage to preheat the kettle alright?"
Theo looked at you cluelessly.
"The kettle? You know, the big metal bucket?"
He blinked at you. You raised your eyebrows incredulously.
"Oh, my god, this is just like with the grill. Did you even read the instruction manual?"
He put on an injured look. "Oh, ye of such little faith."
You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as you rounded the fence. "Move over. I don't want you setting my hedge on fire again."
Theo grinned as you stalked past him and disappeared into his house.
"You're not supposed to repeat that. Neighbour-neighbour confidentiality, and all that."
"You're only just getting in?"
You jumped. You hadn't noticed the shadowy, backlit figure perched on his porch's front steps, watching you park your car and walk up to your house.
You sighed. It was late, yes. You were just coming from your office's end-of-year party, complete with eggnog and party horns - not that you looked, or felt, particularly festive. You had just spent the better part of three hours having your misery rubbed into your face. As much as you tried to pretend otherwise, a part of you didn't want to live like this anymore - watching other people have and cherish the one thing everybody wanted, even you.
The only reason you had even stayed so long was that you were in no rush to get started on your weekend plans - namely, lying in bed, phone switched off, moping.
"Quit it, Nott." You fumbled for your keys. "I'm not in the mood."
You found your keys, finally sparing him a wary glance. "What are you doing outside so late, anyway? Besides stalking me."
He tilted his head towards his house. "Popcorn. Just waiting for the kettle to heat up."
You couldn't be sure in the dim light, but something about the curve of his face hinted at a smile. A funny warmth flickered inside your chest. Was this what it felt like to have inside jokes with Theodore Nott?
"Want to come over? I've got a Little Miss Sunshine DVD."
Your grip on your keys slackened. You gasped inwardly. Little Miss Sunshine was only one of your favourite movies ever.
“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, when you realised you had been quiet a little too long. “I mean, I don’t want to put you out or anything,” - oh, who were you kidding? You didn’t care about putting him out, not for Little Miss Sunshine - “but…sure. Okay.”
Theo stood, shrugging. “Figured. Thought you’d be the type.”
You rounded the fence, frowning. “What type?” He shrugged again.
“You know. The sappy kind.”
For a moment, you forgot to be cross with him. “I am not sappy,” you insisted, too distressed to pick up on the teasing inflection to his voice.
“Well, Little Miss Sunshine is…kind of a sappy movie. That makes you a kind of sappy person.”
You scowled. Just like Theo to somehow use your favourite movie to piss you off. “Well, excuse me for appreciating the raw yet heartwarming dynamics of a dysfunctional fam - are you laughing? I’m baring my heart about Little Miss Sunshine and you’re laughing? Oh my god. Fine. I don't even care. Yeah, that's right, ha-ha, laugh it up. No amount of popcorn is going to save you now.”
Are you on your way?
You are on your way.
Right?
1 missed call from Theo
hello?
soon
gimme 5 min
you're still at the office?
I knoww
on movie night?
I knowwww
you promised :(
I KNOWW sorryyy :((
only 2 teams left then im done :))
It's 6 pm on a Friday. I promise you, no one's listening to a word you say.
bruh
rude
ur lucky we have this screen between us
Or what?
👊👊💥
Wow. So violent.
Are you done?
5. MIN.
Theo sent 1 image
owhh thats so cosy
yk i might actually get some things done if someone didn't keep distracting me
I'm pressing play.
do NOT
Come home already.
ok we're done im runninggg promise
istg im going to scream if ur like halfway through by the time i reach
outtakes
You fixed him with an unimpressed look. "Do you honestly think I have nothing better to do than to eat popcorn at your house? Really? Is that how little you think of my social life?"
"My apologies. Do enlighten me about this social life you speak of."
You were at a loss of words.
"I - why do you care?"
Theo gestured vaguely. "I'm, erm, what you said - right. Nosy."
"Why?" you demanded, immediately suspicious. "What's wrong with it?"
"We'll find out, won't we?"
You were suddenly aware of how close your houses were, and of how his kitchen looked into yours.
"Have you been eavesdropping on all of my kitchen conversations?"
"It's not eavesdropping if they can hear you all the way from Canada."
Now Playing… Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker; In the Pine Forest.
NUTCRACKER SEASON masterlist
pairing; Camp Counsellor!Reader x Camp Counsellor!Theo
summary;
warnings; fluff, mentions of alcohol, to understand some of the references I’m using in this fic, I’d suggest you read the previous fics with this camp counsellor Theo<3
a/n; our beloved camp counsellor Theo is back!!!! I’m straight up SCREAMING over this fic. I tried to do something different with the pacing of the storyline, I hope you like it. English is not my first Language, I’m so sorry for any errors! Hope you enjoy reading this! Reblogs, comments and likes are highly appreciated!
Being a camp counsellor had never felt like a part-time summer gig—not to you. It was stitched into the fabric of who you were. You’d grown up under the tall pines and salt-heavy breeze of this camp, spending childhood summers chasing fireflies, whispering secrets in bunk beds, and forging friendships that had followed you stubbornly into adulthood. This place was your constant, your compass, your chosen family. Even now, years later, returning felt less like visiting and more like stepping back into a version of home that smelled of pine needles and sunscreen.
Every December, the counsellors had a ritual: no kids, no whistles, no responsibility—just three days in the off-season woods, drinking cognac and whiskey around a bonfire that burned not for ambiance but for warmth.
The cabins used in winter were sturdier, tucked deeper into the trees, insulated enough to keep the morning frost at bay. And you—craving a break from routine and a reminder of who you used to be a few months ago—didn’t even hesitate before saying yes. You needed the sea again, even if it was too cold to touch. You needed the forest, the laughter, the nostalgia. You needed the version of yourself that only existed there.
You arrived first, of course. You always did. Your backpack sagged heavily against your shoulders as you trekked uphill, shoes crunching over the thin frost clinging to the dirt path. Your scarf was wrapped haphazardly around your neck, and every exhale came out in small white clouds that drifted away on the chilled air. By the time you reached the cabin porch, your shoulders throbbed, and the first thing you did was shrug the backpack off. It hit the wood with a muted thud.
“Finally,” you muttered, rubbing the ache from your traps. For a few quiet seconds, you simply breathed—listening to the breeze, to the restless rustling of stubborn leaves clinging to bare branches. The stillness of the forest was comforting, but your thoughts weren’t. They never were when you were left alone with them.
You crouched down, unzipped your backpack, and pretended to check for all your essentials—not because you didn’t trust yourself, but because focusing on mundane things steadied your pulse.
A familiar voice drifted from behind you. “How on earth did you fit everything in that backpack?”
You didn’t even need to turn around. You could’ve picked that teasing, slightly arrogant tone out of a crowd of a thousand.
Theo.
You twisted at the waist with a smile already tugging at your lips. “I have my ways,” you said, rising to your feet.
His smirk softened into something warmer as he stepped closer. For a second—longer than a second—he just looked at you. Really looked. The cold had pinked your cheeks, your hair was loose from your scarf, and you were smiling at him like you were genuinely happy to see him. And that alone knocked the breath right out of his chest. You left him breathless, but god, he would let you take his last breath away if it meant looking at you was his last memory.
You had no idea how much he’d missed you. How often he’d opened his phone just to stare at your contact before locking it again. How many times he’d replayed the memory of you kissing his cheek last summer—your lips warm, your breath trembling with exhaustion and courage he didn’t recognize until later. He’d imagined doing so many things in response: pulling you in, cupping your jaw, kissing you properly—
But he didn’t. He let you walk away that night, and part of him had regretted it ever since.
Seeing you again now, standing in front of the winter cabin with the cold turning your breath to mist, he felt that same ache rise in his chest. He’d waited months to see your eyes again, to hear you laugh, to feel the gravitational pull that only ever existed when you and he occupied the same space.
And you had missed him too. Missed him in a way that annoyed you. It felt foolish to miss a friend(?) this much, to feel that tug in your stomach when you saw him smile. The tension between you two had always been there—slow, warm, unspoken. So thick some nights it wrapped around you like fog. But you’d convinced yourself it was your imagination… because wanting him felt dangerous.
Theo dropped his backpack beside yours. “So,” he said, stepping closer. “Are you ready for three days of doing extremely stupid and questionable things?”
You laughed, the sound bright in the cold air. “Oh, I am so ready.” You shot him a playful, challenging look. “I’m feeling scandalous this weekend.”
His eyebrows lifted, arms crossing over his chest as though he needed something to do with his hands that wasn’t reach for you. “Is that so?”
Your smirk deepened. “Very.”
“Is this finally the moment,” Theo said, tilting his head, “where I get to meet laid-back, irresponsible you?”
You chuckled, stepping closer without even realizing it. “Oh yes. Prepare yourself.”
His lips parted like he wanted to say something else—something reckless, something honest—but the sound got stuck somewhere in his throat.
The winter air was cold.
But between you and Theo, something warm buzzed to life in the space that wasn’t quite small enough to hide it anymore.
As the rest of the counsellors trudged up the hill—laughing, dragging luggage, calling out greetings—you finally felt the camp shift from quiet stillness to the familiar warmth you’d always associated with it. Soon enough, you all dispersed to drop your things into the separate men’s and women’s cabins, wooden doors creaking as everyone claimed bunks and swapped stories over the dividing walls. Somewhere down the corridor you heard someone shout that they’d already lost their toothbrush. Another had brought three bottles of wine “for emergencies.” The nostalgia in the air was thick enough to taste.
By the time night fully draped itself over the campgrounds, the entire group had gathered outside again, orbiting lazily around the stone-ringed fire pit that sat at the heart of the clearing. The bonfire was still unlit—a dark circle of logs waiting patiently for someone to give it life. Instead, the scene was lit by the soft glow of lanterns scattered around the circle and the silver wash of the moon overhead. The sky out here was impossibly clear, glittering with constellations you could never see back home. The stars looked so close they almost hummed.
Laughter spilled freely among the group—loud, bright, effortless. You sat cross-legged on a patch of cool grass, leaning back on your palms, listening to everyone recount disastrous camper stories, inside jokes, embarrassing summer memories that had somehow become legendary. Someone did an impression of the head staff member. Someone else nearly snorted whiskey through their nose. The air buzzed with that cozy, irreplaceable kind of happiness that only resurfaces when people who lived the same memories come back together.
Every now and then, you’d catch yourself glancing across the circle… only to find Theo already looking at you.
And each time, he looked away a second too late.
When the laughter finally ebbed into something softer—gentle chatter, small groups breaking off into quieter conversations—the clearing settled into a comforting hush broken only by the breeze slipping through the pines.
“Maybe we should light up the bonfire,” Theo murmured into the lull, his voice low and warm as he leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees.
A few people hummed in agreement, some too relaxed to get up, others distracted mid-conversation. You pushed yourself to your feet, brushing grass from your palms. “I’ll go find some logs,” you offered, already turning toward the tree line.
Before you could even add, Anyone wanna come?—before you could even take a full step—
Theo stood up.
Not casually. Not reluctantly. Immediately.
The lantern light caught on the curve of his jaw as he rose, and the sound of leaves crunching under his boots filled the quiet space between you. “I’m coming with you,” he said simply.
Not a question. Not a suggestion.
Just a quiet certainty that made your heart jump against your ribs.
You swallowed, suddenly aware of the cold on your cheeks and the warmth rising beneath your skin. “Okay,” you murmured, trying (and failing) to sound unaffected as your face heated, a slow, traitorous blush spreading from your neck to your ears.
Behind you, the counsellors barely noticed—still engaged in their own small worlds—but you felt Theo’s presence like gravity itself. The soft glow of the lanterns made his hoodie look darker, his eyes brighter. He stepped beside you with that familiar, easy gait, but there was something else simmering under the surface. Something warm. Something deliberate.
As you walked toward the shadows of the tree line—just the two of you—the laughter behind you faded, replaced by the distant rush of the sea and the whisper of winter wind through the branches overhead. The world seemed to shrink to the sound of your footsteps, the faint crunch of pine needles, and the unspoken awareness hanging quietly between you.
And god…
you could swear your cheeks were still burning.
The forest swallowed you almost immediately, the lantern glow faded behind you, replaced by darkness that wasn’t quite black—more like deep navy, softened by moonlight that filtered through the branches in fractured beams. The path was narrow, lined with frost-tipped grass that crunched under your shoes as you walked. Your breath puffed visibly in the cold air, drifting away like ghostly ribbons.
Theo kept pace beside you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, but not close enough to touch. Yet every time your shoulders shifted, every time your hands swung at your sides, you swore there was a pull—a gravity between you threatening to drag you closer. He cleared his throat softly. “You definitely came prepared.” He nodded at your scarf. “You look like you’re ready to survive a snowstorm.” you smirked at his teasing comment “I am trying to survive one. It’s called December, Theo.”
“You can’t handle hot and cold weather,” he teased, bumping your shoulder lightly with his, still keeping a reasonable distance between the two of you, the touch sending a quiet jolt through you.
“I can handle them just fine,” you shot back, crossing your arms dramatically. He side-eyed you, amused. “Two summers ago you announced that walking around naked was the only logical solution to the heatwave.” Your cheeks flamed. You barely remembered saying that—but he clearly remembered every word.
“I can handle hot weather, not a heatwave” you argue and he just laughs.
You turned to glare at him, but realized too late how close he’d drifted. His face was inches from yours, eyes bright with amusement, with warmth, with something deeper that made your stomach swoop. “You just have to be dramatic then, hmm?” he hummed, still teasing you. “That’s part of my charm” your elbow nudged him. “Can’t argue with that” he laughed quietly—head ducking, eyes lingering on you for a second too long before he looked away, kicking at a fallen branch like he needed something else to focus on.
While collecting wood, your hands brushed his twice—once when you both reached for the same branch, once when he handed you a log and let his fingers linger longer than necessary. Little touches, feather-light, but hot enough to make your pulse stumble.
The forest around you felt like a cocoon—quiet, intimate, the darkness closing in gently as if protecting whatever was happening between you.
“So,” Theo said after a long silence, swinging a piece of wood over his shoulder casually. “You think the camp’s rules apply all year round?” Your heart gave a stupid, traitorous jolt. “I mean we are at the camp’s premises, they should apply” you explain shortly, feeling flustered.
“Then why are we smoking and drinking without supervision?” he asks you, his voice curious, that gentle tone that made your stomach flip.
“I don’t know” You looked up at him. The moonlight cut across his jaw, his cheekbones, making him look impossibly sharp, impossibly warm, impossibly close, a smile grows on your lips “it’s a sworn secret between counselors, nobody has to know”.
He returned the smile, his eyes lit up, shining just like the stars above “oh” he murmured “I see”.
“What?” your brows furrow, he kept his eyes forward, but he drifted closer. Close enough that your arm brushed his with each step. “We can break rules,” he said, voice like a warm exhale in the cold, “as long as we don’t get caught.”
“I guess” you still look at him, intrigued. He turned his head toward you, eyes dropping—unmistakably, undeniably—to your lips, just for a second, but enough to knock the breath out of you.
“Good to know,” he whispered.
The moment broke only when he nudged you lightly with his elbow. “C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s bring these back before they start telling ghost stories about why we disappeared.”
You laughed—weakly, breathlessly, but genuinely. And as you walked back to camp side by side, his fingers brushed the back of your hand again, so subtly you could’ve convinced yourself it was an accident. But your heart knew better.
The bonfire crackled like it had been waiting all year for this moment. By the time you and Theo returned with the logs, the others had already arranged chairs in a loose circle, laughter echoing through the clearing in warm waves. Someone had found an old speaker and was playing the camp’s unofficial anthem—a nostalgic, overly-cheesy acoustic song that somehow made everyone feel sixteen again.
The both of you placed the logs by the pit, and when you leaned down to stack them, his hand brushed the small of your back, guiding you gently away from a stray ember. Your heart flipped, stupidly, recklessly. No one noticed—or at least no one said anything—as Theo crouched beside you to help build the fire. His shoulder bumped yours with deliberate nonchalance every now and then. You tried not to read into it. You failed. Miserably.
Once the fire finally roared to life, flames dancing like excited ghosts, the counselors drifted into easy conversation. Stories from last summer. The “you had to be there” moments, always retold in dramatic fashion. Someone passed around cups of cheap whiskey that burned pleasantly in your chest.
Theo claimed the seat next to you, even though there were other empty chairs. Of course he did. Hours blurred. People drifted off to bed in pairs or in stumbling clusters, leaving the fire to burn low and lazy. The music faded. The laughter softened. The sky above stretched endlessly, clear and sharp with stars that looked close enough to touch.
Only you and Theo stayed. The quiet was comfortable. The kind of quiet that felt earned. You nudged your foot against his. “Still awake?” He looked over at you, the firelight flickering gold across his cheekbones.
“Not tired.” You tilted your head, studying him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” His voice dipped lower. “Just… content.” Your heart did that swooping thing again. “is that so?” you pushed the fluttering feeling in your heart away. “Mhm” His expression softened as he mumbled, “You’re… you’re good company.”
Something about the way he said it—quiet, almost careful—made your stomach twist. The fire popped, sending sparks swirling upward like tiny stars trying to rejoin the sky. You hugged your knees to your chest, warming your fingers by the dying flames. “It’s nice being back,” you said softly. “I didn’t realize how much I missed this place.” Theo nodded, watching you more than the fire. “Yeah. Same.”
You huffed a frustrated breath. “I just wish the camp didn’t shove rules in our faces 24/7. Half of them are ridiculous.”
Theo laughed at that—but it wasn’t his usual teasing laugh. It was quieter. Almost struck. You blinked at him.
“What?” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nothing.”
“Tell me.” He hesitated. For the first time tonight, he looked unsure. Vulnerable.
You leaned closer. “Theo.” He exhaled slowly, the air leaving his lungs in a white cloud. “That rule…” he murmured, voice roughened by the cold and the whiskey.
"Which one?” you chuckled at yourself, there were so many at this point, you had lost count. He smiled at your comment, it was small, kind of apologetic, “You know which one” his voice softened and so did his eyes.
That shut you up, stole your breath from your lungs. The counsellor no-relationships rule. The one you’d both tiptoed around since you became counsellors. The one carved into your spine every time he looked at you like this.
“It’s stupid.” he added and you swallowed, your heart rate elevating.
“Yeah, but it exists for a reason.” you felt every nerve, every follicle on your body, suddenly aware of the way your chest heaved up and down with each breath.
“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe it’s just stopping people from… I don’t know… something good.” Your pulse thudded painfully.
“Something good?” you repeated, tilting your head slightly.
He finally met your eyes. And it hit you all at once—the weight of the months apart, the texts he never sent, the cheek-kiss he replayed in his head until the memory wore thin.
“I missed you this semester,” he said quietly. “More than I should’ve.” The world seemed to go silent—like the trees leaned in to listen. You didn’t speak immediately, you couldn’t.
The honesty in his voice cracked something open inside your chest.
Theo quickly looked away, like he regretted saying it the moment it left his mouth. “Forget it. I’m tired. Or drunk. Probably both. Just ignore me.”
You reached out before you thought about it, fingertips brushing his wrist. He stilled. “I’m not ignoring you,” you said softly. “I just— I wasn’t sure you felt that way.”
He let out a weak, breathless laugh. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on telling you.”
“Why not?”
“You know why,” he muttered, and you knew. You knew exactly why he shouldn’t have told you, you know exactly why you shouldn’t let him sit so close to you when the only thought that occupies your mind is how it would feel to kiss him.
All of this is wrong. “And because I didn’t want to ruin anything.” he added, feeling embarrassed. Your chest tightened. “You haven’t ruined anything.”
He turned back to you slowly, searching your face for something—permission, reassurance, maybe a reason to hope.
For a moment, neither of you said a word. And the space between you felt like a held breath.
The fire cracked again—this time loud enough to echo off the dark treeline—sending a shower of sparks spiraling upward like a handful of tiny orange shooting stars flung into the sky. They rose, and fell, and faded, but neither of you lifted your gaze to follow them. Not when the real electricity was sitting between you.
You were both unnervingly still. Too still. The kind of stillness that only happens when two people know the next breath might change everything.
Theo’s knee brushed yours again. A tiny touch. Barely a whisper of contact. Except this time… he didn’t pull back. He didn’t flinch or shift or pretend it hadn’t happened. He just let it sit there, warm and solid against you, quiet but intentional—as if his body had decided it was done lying for him.
He wasn’t even pretending to watch the fire anymore. His face was turned toward you completely, the glow of the flames painting his jaw in soft gold and turning his eyes a deep, devastating honey-brown. They were wide, almost vulnerable, soft at the edges… like some invisible internal battle had finally ended, and he’d lost on purpose.
Your heartbeat stumbled. Then steadied. Then crashed into a frantic rhythm so loud you swore he could hear it.
“Theo…” you breathed, barely a word, more of a tremor. You didn’t know if you were asking him something, warning him, or simply saying his name because you suddenly couldn't.
He swallowed, hard. His throat bobbed visibly, the firelight catching on the tiny shift of muscle.
Then he exhaled—a shaky, quiet release, like he’d been holding his breath for hours.
“I don’t think I know how to stop wanting you.”
The confession didn’t land like a thunderclap. It wasn’t sharp or dramatic. It was soft. Bare. Raw. A truth that had been bleeding through the seams for weeks. It hurt with how honest it was. Everything inside you went still, then clenched tight, like your ribcage wasn’t sure whether to expand or collapse.
Your chest tightened. Your stomach dipped. Warmth flooded you and chilled you at the same time. Theo’s expression—Fuck. It nearly undid you. He looked terrified. Like he regretted letting the words slip but also relieved that he didn’t have to keep swallowing them down anymore.
You didn’t breathe for several seconds. Neither did he.
Then something inside you gave way. Quietly. Inevitably. Like the final thread of a tightly pulled rope snapping, sending everything tumbling in slow motion.
Your hand rose before you even realized you’d decided to move. Fingers trembling, you reached toward him—hesitant, almost reverent—and brushed your fingertips against his cheek. Testing him. Testing reality. Testing whether this moment was truly happening or if exhaustion had finally made you delusional.
Theo’s breath caught. A small, broken inhale. His eyes fluttered shut for a fleeting heartbeat, as if your touch physically staggered him. “Theo—” you whispered again, but this time it came out softer. Fragile. Needy. Like you were confessing something in return without saying the words out loud.
He leaned into your palm—gently, tenderly, as though he’d been starving for that touch and was terrified he’d imagined it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice cracking around the edges. “I know I shouldn’t say that. I know the rules. I know this is stupid. I just—”
You didn’t let him finish. “The rules can go to hell,” you breathed and the world went quiet.
The second the words reached him, something shifted. You felt it. Like the stars paused mid-shimmer. Like the fire held its crackle. Like the entire night inhaled sharply and waited. Theo stared at you—stunned, undone, eyes flicking down to your lips in a way that made your pulse stutter violently.
Then he cracked. Not audibly. Not dramatically.
But something in him broke open—softly, fully. His hand lifted to your cheek, fingers trembling as they swept along your jaw. It wasn’t the hesitant touch of someone afraid—you realized with a shiver—it was the touch of someone who had already fallen and couldn’t hide it any longer.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice low and desperate. “Tell me to stop and I will.” Your breath hitched. “Shut up and kiss me,” you whispered, voice unsteady with want.
Your fingers curled into the front of his jacket, tugging him closer without hesitation, a soft, helpless sound slipping from your throat—half relief, half craving.
And that was all he needed.
Theo kissed you.
Not with hunger—not at first. Not with urgency or recklessness. He kissed you like something sacred. Carefully. Deeply. With a slow, aching tenderness that felt like he’d been holding it inside his chest for months and could finally breathe it into the world.
His lips were warm despite the cold, moving against yours like he was memorizing the shape of you. One hand stayed anchored at your jaw, the other sliding to the back of your neck—gentle, protective, almost worshipping—as if he was afraid you’d slip out of his grasp if he wasn’t holding you steady. You kissed him back just as hungrily, just as softly, your heart thundering so hard you felt it in your fingertips.
When he finally drew back—barely an inch, breath still ghosting your lips—his nose brushed yours in a tiny, trembling nudge.
“I’m screwed,” he whispered, a breathless, helpless laugh tangled in his voice. “I’m so—so screwed.” You couldn’t help the smile that bloomed across your lips, shaky and overwhelmed. “We both are.”
Theo’s soft laugh puffed across your mouth, his eyes glued to yours like he didn’t dare look anywhere else. Like he couldn’t.
Then he leaned in again. This kiss wasn’t hesitant. It was warm. Deep. Melting.
Your fingers slid into his hair, and he made a sound—quiet, low, shaky—that sent a sharp flutter down your spine. His thumb stroked your cheek, slow and reverent, like he’d dreamed of this and wanted to memorize it perfectly.
When the two of you finally parted, breathless and flushed in the glow of the dwindling fire, nothing felt the same.
The night felt charged. Changed. Like the stars knew. Like the trees knew. Like the world had tilted, just a little, just enough.
Theo looked at you with such softness it nearly broke you.
“Whatever happens tomorrow” he murmured, brushing his thumb once more across your cheekbone, “I’m done pretending I don’t feel this.”
You were done pretending too.
So under the quiet, crackling embers—under pine-scented air and moonlight and the delicate beauty of a rule finally shattered—you kissed him again.
Slow. Careful. Devastatingly tender.
Like a promise neither of you dared say out loud, but both of you unmistakably meant.
thank you @pizzaapeteer & @yuunarii-arii for tagging me, i love u both so much <3
search; song, color, vibe, outfit, art, quote to make your own pinterest mood board! just pick the first pics that pop up and post them in that order !
lots of blue and brown going on we love it (and that art is so pretty what, im eating it rn as we speak)
npt: @leeny-leens @rose-of-the-grave & anyone who just wants to join in <3
