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#i know it’s been since they’re always like
azsazz · 2 days
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Eris x Reader
Summary: Anon Req: Literally in love with every fic you write. I know your requests are closed but in the future, could you write something where Eris and the reader see each other and there’s a lot of tension and they’re secretly mates but no one knows? I’m curious to see how you’d end it!
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 1,217
Notes: Love this tbh!!!
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You feel him before you see him. 
You can feel him all the time; even when he’s courts away there’s that connection humming blissfully in your chest. It’s comforting, to know that your mate is alive and well, that there’s a surety you’re aware of him and how he’s feeling. When he’s content in a warm bath with a glass of fae wine smoothing the creases between his brows. When he’s squaring his shoulders and surging with pride for the sparring with his brothers he has won again. When he sends a warmth so suggestive down the bond late at night when he’s sure there’s no one around. The very one you feel deep in your soul, that makes your core melt like his fire-filled hands are working your center. The one that leaves no questions whether he loves you or not.
Of course, there are times when you can’t feel him. When he’s blocked the bond from ever reaching you when his father brings his wrath down on him like he’s young and defenseless again. He always hides that from you. When the distance from you becomes too great and there is no choice for him but to block the bond because he knows that there is nothing that can be done in the current state of Pythian. No way for the both of you to be together, no way for him to seize you from the control of your older brother. If you were lesser than the High Lord’s younger sister, he’d sneak across the border lines on a whisper of autumn winds and find his way into your bed. 
It’s been ages since you’ve seen your mate, since you looked into those warm russet eyes, ran your fingers through his auburn hair, counted the freckles dotting the pale skin of his cheeks. 
Your breath catches in your throat as Eris is escorted into Rhysand’s office and your eyes meet. 
A sense of relief floods the bond as his eyes move over you in an intentional sweep that to everyone else in the room looks like he’s wondering why you’re here, but you know your mate is assessing you for injuries even though you’re nowhere near injured. Not even a scratch or a bruise on your perfect skin. 
No one notices the slight falter in his steps. All Eris wants to do is rush over to you and sweep you in his arms and press you into his chest, feel your heartbeat against his own. He wants to taste that smile you’re trying all too hard to hide from him, move his mouth across the color dusting your cheeks to feel his fire dancing underneath your skin. He wants to strip you bare, devour every inch of you. He wants to hear you scream his name, whisper that you love him, cry for him to take you away, admit that you never want to be apart—
But he’s not even allowed to sit next to you. 
Across the large table is as close as he allows himself to get. It’s not close enough that he can accidentally kick his foot against yours and he doesn’t like that you’ve been meticulously placed on the opposite side so he can’t even walk past you and brush his fingers against your hand or the back of your neck. 
His bond keens in his chest and he tries his best to stifle it, ripping his gaze away when he’s drawn to you like this. 
Eris is flanked by Cassian and Azriel, and even though he feels as if he’s on the best terms he’s ever been with the Night Court, this feels like a set up. A trap.
You allow a caress of reassurance down the bond to your mate. Your brother doesn’t know, no one in this room, in this court, in this continent knows of your connection to the heir of Autumn. Eris’ throat works as he swallows, and you turn your attention away from him as he sends a feeling of understanding back to you.
“Eris.” Rhysand gestures to the autumn born royal to sit. He’s lounging in his own chair at the circular table, an arrogance to him that irks you. It’s all a front, of course, one Rhysand has carefully crafted to perfection from centuries as High Lord. You don’t like that it’s directed at your mate, and you’re feeling more protective than ever, flickering a glance over to the males sitting on either side of your mate, as if they’re caging him in.
Not unusual for an untrusted male in your court. You’ve seen your brother pull this same maneuver more times than you can count, but there’s a charge to the air that feels different. Your spine lengthens and you flare a warning down the bond, praying your mate doesn’t react but readies himself. 
He follows your heed with unfaltering trust. Eris’ fingers flex where they’re resting on the arms of his chair, and you watch him unhinge his jaw only slightly, so that he doesn’t flex it. The scalding look on his face stays directed at your brother.
Your lips part and the muscles of your legs tense, ready to jump out of your chair in the next moment, when you catch Rhysand’s smirk, the one that spells trouble. His violet eyes are dark with the promise of violence and his shadows are quick to strike, tendrils of nightmares winding their way around Eris’ wrists, trapping him to the very chair he was offered.
Eris shifts his hands in a nonchalant motion, testing out the strength of the sentient darkness Rhysand uses to hold him hostage. They don’t give an inch and he wonders for a fleeting moment if he can burn them away. If your worry wasn’t heavy in his chest, the beat of your heart spiking double, he would try it. But with you here, he’s not willing to try anything that could potentially put you in danger.
Plus, a part of him wants to hear what Rhysand has to say. The other part of him wants to get you the fuck out of here.
The High Lord of the Night Court plants his hands on the table. High Lord, because there is no ounce of your brother in his eyes and actions right now.
The chair scraping against the floor as Rhysand stands is the only sound in the room. Cassian nor Azriel moves from their seats, but they pin your mate with the menacing kind of looks that mirror Rhysands, ready to follow his every demand, no questions asked. 
“Eris,” Rhysand’s voice is not its usual purr as he leans forward. A strand of hair falling across his forehead is the only sign of the crack in his facade, the utter rage filling the room with an unbearable tautness.
The words are sticky in your throat. You can’t move, can’t seem to take your eyes off of your brother as your heart splinters in your chest like it’s his own shadows tearing you to strips. You’re only able to manage a quiet, “Don’t,” that’s filled with too much desperation.
Rhysand ignores your words. He hisses at Eris, dark and low. “How long have you and my sister been keeping this little mating bond of yours a secret?”
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wlntrsldler · 3 days
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poisoned mercury | now you got me
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ix. now you got me by inhaler
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the happy little bubble you and luke made for yourselves inevitably bursted a few days after you made it official– though if you asked luke, you rejected his advances, which always earned an eye roll from you followed by a long kiss to his lips that had him silent for the next five minutes. you knew he was milking the hell out of you saying no to his question until he let you listen to the song, but you were his and he was yours regardless of the title. 
you stared at yourself in the mirror, blushing as you ran your fingers down the marks on your neck. you added a turtleneck under your chb shirt, not having enough energy to cover up the marks on your neck with makeup, and you definitely didn’t have the energy to explain to people how you got them. thankfully, the weather cooperated with you today. it was unusually cold for the summer, a slight breeze entering your room from your opened window. as you continued to get ready for the day, your phone buzzed with a text from your dad. 
‘hey kid, can you come to my office real quick?’
you hadn’t spoken to your dad in weeks, not since he stormed out of the cabin after finding out what started the fight with your teammate. this was the longest you’d gone without speaking to him. you texted a thumbs up and made your way out of your room. 
luke was sitting on the coffee table in the middle of everyone, looking at you with wondering eyes, “where are you going?” 
“my dad wants to talk.” 
“do you want me to come with you?” luke got up from where he sat. you told him last night that you’d been avoiding your dad as much as possible, and he did the same with you. as much as you guys butted heads, luke knew that it was taking a toll on you. you shared that you were scared about what would become of your relationship with your dad. luke, being as close to his mom as you were with your dad, understood. he knew what it was like to feel like your biggest supporter was giving up on you. it wasn’t a feeling he’d wish on his worst enemy, and definitely not a feeling he’d ever wish on you. 
“no, it’s fine,” you clenched your jaw, shaking your head. 
luke’s shoulders slumped over as he stuttered in his actions to sit back down, “oh, okay–uh, let me know if you need anything.” 
you nodded and waved a small goodbye before exiting the cabin. your heart was pounding the entire time you made your way to your dad’s office. a lot of things had been weighing on you this summer– your probation, a possible dent on your record, your estrangement from your parents, luke– and it was a lot to handle. camp half blood was supposed to keep you away from the problems that existed in your day-to-day life, but it seemed to follow you. 
you entered your dad’s office to see him typing away on his laptop. his eyebrows raised when you walked in, motioning for you to shut the door. he closed his laptop and placed it in one of the drawers of his desk. he took a deep breath, “hey, kid.” 
“hi, dad,” you replied, suddenly feeling like a little kid again. you sat on the usual chair in front of his desk and leaned back, “what’s up?” 
“i, uh,” he cleared his throat, “i just wanted to say i’m sorry for how we left things. i shouldn’t have stormed out like that. i was just angry. but not at you, at myself for making you feel like you had to fight these battles for me.” 
he leaned across his desk to hold your hands, “you’re my kid, y’know. my job is to protect you, not the other way around. so i apologize if i ever made you feel like you had to come to my defense.” 
“and i’m sorry for being mia the last few weeks,” he chuckled, squeezing your hands, “i’ve been in contact with my lawyers and they’re working on making sure the charges against you don’t stick so i’ve been pretty busy with that.” 
“you think it’ll get sorted out?” you asked. 
“yeah, don’t worry about it. it’s finishing up and i think you might even be able to play this season,” your dad smiled. “but i have to deal with a pr crisis right now that sprung up on me this morning.” 
your shoulders relaxed at your dad’s words. at least your probation was getting sorted out. that was one less thing to worry about. you tugged on the sleeves of your turtleneck as you got comfortable on your chair, “what’s the pr crisis?” 
he sighed, pulling out his laptop, “something with the band.” 
you hoped your dad didn’t notice the slight widening of your eyes. because you hadn’t been talking to your dad, he didn’t know about the recent developments between you and luke. you two didn’t show much pda outside of the cabin, scared that one of the campers would break their nda and post a picture of the two of you. neither of you were ready to tell the world about you two yet. it’s too soon. you didn’t even have the “what’s going to happen to us after summer?” conversation yet. 
“what happened?” 
“some pap pictures leaked. it’s of this new actress in hollywood and a guy leaving her hotel room. the press is reporting that the guy is luke. it looks a lot like him and you know the media– they run any story that’ll get them clicks even if it’s not fully fact-checked as long as they add the word ‘allegedly’ to the article,” he rolled his eyes, turning his computer to face you. “nobody knows where the pictures came from, so we don’t know if it’s actually luke or not, but i’ve been on the phone with may and their team all morning trying to do damage control. she’s telling the guys about the pictures right now.” 
at first glance, your heart dropped to your stomach. the guy did look an awful lot like luke. the rational part of you knew that this was probably taken before the two of you met because you’ve seen him every day since and he was practically imprisoned at chb all summer, but then you thought of your impromptu trip to achilles’ arcade and it made you want to throw up. if luke could sneak away with you like that, it would’ve been easy for him to do the same when he was alone. 
were the nights he didn’t spend in your bed because he was “writing” just an excuse to sneak off to meet up with the girl in the picture? she was gorgeous, after all. blonde, tall, the perfect new hollywood star. they’d make such a great power couple. the two rising stars in their respective industries, the perfect pair. 
the boy’s face, who may or may not be luke, was covered by his hood, but you can clearly see that he was kissing the girl deeply, with his hand placed on the curve of her back. the next picture was them with their fingers laced together as she led him into the hotel, giggling at something he said. the guy had a similar build as luke and dressed the same way as he did when he was having a lazy day– sweatpants, hoodie, and converses. 
bile made its way up your throat as you continued to scroll through the pictures. you looked at the time stamp of the photos and closed your eyes, wincing, when you saw that they were taken two days ago. luke didn’t sleep in your room two days ago, nor was he in the cabin. he showed up the next day saying that he was in the studio, trying to finish up the song so you would officially accept being his girlfriend. 
you squinted at a close-up picture of the pair, zoning in on the guy's hand. you breathed out a sigh of relief, fingers immediately clutching the ring that rested on your index finger. you turned the laptop back to your dad, “that’s not luke.” 
his eyebrows shot up, looking between you and his laptop screen, “how do you know?” 
“look at his rings,” you pointed at the bands around the guy’s fingers, “luke doesn’t wear a ring on his ring finger anymore. and look, the guy has a ring there and it’s gold.” 
“how are you so sure? what if he just decided to wear it that day?” 
“trust me,” you waved off, “he’s particular about his jewelry. he stopped wearing one on his ring finger a while ago. and luke doesn’t wear gold jewelry.” 
your dad narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously, shutting his laptop, “i didn’t realize you were that close to luke that you had his accessories memorized.” 
“ah– well,” you cleared your throat, looking down at your feet. you felt caught. “s’your fault, really. you made us live together.” 
“is there something you need to tell me, kid?” 
you got up from your seat, quickly making your way to the door, “geez, dad, i didn’t realize the time! i promised clar that i’d help her with camp duties, so i gotta go. thanks for all your help on the probation and permanent record thing. you’re the best!” 
you didn’t bother to turn around to see your dad’s reaction to your excuse. you knew that he could see right through you. 
you dad called from behind you, his joking tone camouflaged by his “dad” voice, “tell castellan that if he does anything wrong, i’ll kill him and his career!” 
“love you!” 
your dad shook his head, biting back the smile on his face, “love you too, kid.” 
as you were rushing back to your cabin, you ran smack dab into luke who was frantic, worry evident on his features. his eyes widened when he saw you and he placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you so you didn’t fall at the impact. 
“five star,” he sighed out, out of breath, “i don’t know if mr. d told you but those pictures aren’t me, i swear!” 
you had two options– you could one, tell him that you knew it wasn’t him and put him out of his misery or two, you could pretend to not believe him and make him sweat. luke looked like he was about to get on his knees and beg you to believe him. you wouldn’t be surprised if he made a powerpoint presentation listing the reasons why it wasn’t him in those pictures. 
you pursed your lips, “i saw the pictures luke.” 
“and they weren’t me!” he said, exasperated. his eyebrows knitted in anxiety, as he chewed on the nail of his thumb, “you gotta believe me, babe. i don’t know who that guy is but i can promise you it’s not me.” 
you tried not to swoon at the pet name that left his lips. “how do i know that? you weren’t home the night those pictures were taken.” 
“i know it looks bad, but look,” he ran a hand through his curls. “i finished the song the boys wrote and you can go listen to it right now, but then that night, i got caught up with a song idea about you and i stayed up all night to write it. you can listen to the demo right now if you want. you can listen to all the demos you want if that gets you to believe me. i think the recordings have timestamps too, so you’ll see i was in there all nigh–”
“down, pretty boy,” you couldn’t keep it up any longer. luke looked like he was two seconds away from bursting into tears and as much as you wanted to hear him yap, you didn’t have it in your heart to drag it on. you chuckled, wrapping your arms around his neck. you pressed a soft kiss to his lips and he instantly relaxed at the feeling. 
your lips moved in sync as his hands found your waist, pressing you closer to him. his tongue licked your bottom lip, asking for permission, which you gladly granted. it was the sound of clarisse and chris inside the cabin, tapping against the windows that pulled you and luke apart. you both turned to look at your friends who all had shit-eating grins on their faces. 
travis and connor were behind the couple, shaking their heads, “get a fucking room, you heathens.” 
luke flipped them off and pressed a softer, more innocent kiss on your lips before you spoke. “i knew it wasn’t you. just wanted to see you sweat a little bit.” 
“that was mean,” he pouted, but he couldn’t fight off the smile on his face. he always seemed to smile after he kissed you. it made you want to kiss him again, starting a never-ending chain of kisses that would surely lead the two of you to be unproductive for the rest of the day. “i was so scared, five star, you have no idea. the fucker looked so much like me.” 
you laughed, playing with the curls on the nape of his neck, “trust me, i know. my heart dropped to my ass when i first saw them, but i knew it wasn’t you.” 
“how’d you know?” 
“the rings,” you flushed, thinking about how crazy you must sound knowing these small details about him.
“shit, five star,” he whistled, surprised. there was a warmth in his chest that spread throughout the rest of his body at the idea of you paying attention to these things about him. “nothing can get past you, huh? i didn’t even notice that.”
“yeah, at least you know not to sneak around behind me because i’ll find out,” you teased, lacing your fingers together as you slowly made your way up the steps of the cabin. luke stood in his spot, pulling on your hand to get you to to turn around. you walked over to him, confused, “what’s up?” 
“y’know i wouldn’t think of doing that, right?” he asked, voice suddenly serious. “i would never do that to you.” 
your eyes softened as a wistful look appeared on your face. you kissed his cheeks, relishing in the feeling of luke wrapping his arms around your torso in a tight hug. you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, placing a feather-light kiss on his jugular, “yeah, yeah.” 
“‘m serious,” he pulled away, holding your face in his hands. he was staring at you intently, making sure that you were hearing his words. you never gave him an indication that you didn’t trust him, but luke knew that it was better to tell you these things straight up if he wanted to have a real relationship with you. he knew it takes a toll on the people he dates (not that he’s had any relationships like what he has with you) to see these bullshit stories online. if he was in your position, he knew the reassurance would help. luke placed a kiss on your forehead, “i wouldn’t do anything to mess this up if i can help it, five star.”
you let out a forced laugh, awkwardly shifting in his grasp, “yeah, given that my dad controls your contract, i know you wouldn’t.” 
luke frowned, “not because of that.” 
“uh huh,” you said, feeling too vulnerable right now. you didn’t know how to handle this situation, so you coped with humor, “he likes you so don’t worry, your contract extension is practically in the bag.” 
“y/n.” 
you tensed at luke’s use of your real name. he never called you by your name. he always called you by the nickname he gave you when he first met you. five star. you knew luke wasn’t in the mood to joke around. “luke, it’s fine.” 
“i don’t want to pick a fight,” he sighed, playing with the hem of your shirt, “but i just need to hear you say that you believe me when i say that. i wouldn’t cheat on you or do anything to make you feel like i ever would.” 
your voice shook as you spoke, “what if you’re just saying that because it’s still summer and we see each other every day? what’s gonna happen when i’m back in school and you’re out in the world traveling and living your rockstar life?” 
luke’s heart broke at your words. did you really think that he would forget about all of this once september rolled around? as if you didn’t consume his thoughts every day since he met you, as if he didn’t count down the minutes until he got to see you again when he was forced to be away from you because he had things to do, as if he didn’t have a sinking feeling in his stomach when you weren’t next to him. he was starting to think you didn’t understand just how deeply he felt about you even when you assured him that you did understand. 
“i’m not gonna lie, long distance is gonna be hard,” he said, “but we can figure it out. i know it.” 
“i never knew you were such an optimist, castellan.” 
luke laughed at that. if only you knew how many times he psyched himself out of making a move on you because of his own pessimism. it only changed recently, when he finally decided to say fuck it and go for it. “for you? always. i’d be stupid not to be. you’re a good thing, five star.” 
luke fucking castellan. you pressed your head into his chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat against your face. he gave you a tight squeeze, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. he loved having you like this, all soft and cuddly with him like you didn’t want to let him go. he should be scared at how quickly he was falling for you, how attached he already felt. 
you kissed his lips again, pulling away with a smile, “so babe huh?” 
“babe, baby, sweetheart,” he mumbled, leaning over to kiss you again. “anythin’ you want.”
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lighting the fuse might result in a bang
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pairing: frat!luke castellan x reader summary: Silena thinks you need to start blowing off some steam. You think you just need a fresh victory and Luke Castellan is the perfect opponent. word count: 5.3k warnings: smoking, drinking, usual college party stuff.
author's note: brought to you by my personal deep dark history with boys in hats. also i haven't gotten drunk in like 4/5 years so i don't remember what it's like so this was interesting. also i don't know anything about frats OR smoking. have the most fun <3
When Silena mentions a party you could go to, you jump at the offer, brain fuzzing at the edges where you’ve been locked in on flashcards all afternoon. It’s something you’ve started to navigate better this year, remembering to have fun after a year of non-stop focus. Silena makes it easier - a social butterfly with no qualms about dragging you out of the library when she thinks you’re pushing yourself too hard - and there’s no harm in listening to her without protest sometimes. 
“Do you even know who’s throwing this one?” You ask as she’s leading you through campus, rubbing at your arms to fight the fall chill. “I do not want a repeat of March.” 
“Have some faith in me. I’ve started vetting my sources.” 
Both of you shiver, the memory of a night spent outside the Stolls’ cramped dorm still haunting you six months later. You’re not overly familiar with this side of campus, turning away from the usual halls and towards the sorority housing, but Silena walks the path with ease, arm looped through yours.
The walk seems to have cleared your head, the music as you approach shaking off the last of the static. You’ve been here before, borrowing notes from a teammate, but it’s different like this, all pumping bass and cheers from the kitchen. Clarisse waves at you from across the room, beer in hand, and you mutter to Silena that you’re going to grab a drink. She nods, making a beeline for Drew Tanaka. You assume that’s who the invitation came from originally.
There’s a different energy to the kitchen, not quieter by any means but less noisy. Less concentrated, maybe, with twenty different conversations happening at once and nothing you have to pay attention to. Most people you don’t recognise, a group from your first year stats class huddled together near the sink, and the Stolls off to the side pointing at every new person they see. 
Mixing your drink is an easy fix, the kitchen island covered in more choices than you’ve seen in a while, and you savor the first few sips. Between class and swimming, you’ve barely drank since the semester began and the burn of vodka isn’t as numbed as you wish it was. Still, a drink is a drink so you refill it before returning to the thick of the party. 
Clarisse takes it upon herself to drag you away from the conversation you end up trapped in with Lee Fletcher, quite literally taking hold of your elbow. You mutter an apology, however disingenuous, rolling your eyes in mock exasperation as he smiles grimly. 
“I have no idea how you talk to that lot,” she says when you’re far enough away. “They’re all boring.” 
“Lee’s great. He always lends me notes from the lectures I miss.”
She laughs, pushing you into another room. “He’s trying to swindle a date out of you and you’re using him for lecture notes.” 
You shrug. There’s nothing wrong with Lee, except that Clarisse is a little right when she says most of your classmates are boring. It’s probably not intentional, and they definitely don’t realize it, but there’s this way they carry themselves around campus - half-nervous and half-haughty. It’s not a great combination and it’s why you gravitate towards the people Silena meets. 
“We were wondering when we were going to see you next,” Chris says as he throws an arm over Clarisse’s shoulder. You still don’t quite know the story there, how Chris Rodriguez managed to sweet talk your stoic teammate. One day, you’ll find out - a drunken vow you made with Silena on your dorm room floor when Clarisse mentioned a boyfriend - but you’re content to let them enjoy their romance in peace for now. “Almost thought you’d succumbed to the dark side.”
“You’re not getting rid of me yet.”
“And thank god,” he knocks his cup against yours before gesturing to the far corner of the room. “Because we need someone to kick Castellan’s ass at beer pong.” 
“Whose?”
Turns out, Luke Castellan is the newest brother to ksig. There’s not much to know about Chris’ fraternity in your eyes, just the basics of all frats, and you know from last year that there’s always bound to be a hotshot that needs someone to pump the brakes on their ego. Usually, they’re on the younger side, with more money than sense and they don’t expect anything from your approach. Luke Castellan isn’t quite that, but he’s not far from it either.
While Chris talks to the boy who was about to play, you take the opportunity to size up your opponent. It comes naturally, a part of constantly competing, and it comes in handy in moments like this, when the element of surprise is a key factor to the situation going ahead. 
Fitted jeans, branded polo and a stupid snapback cap worn backwards to show how cool he is. Nothing you haven’t seen before, really, except there’s this focused glint in his eyes with each plastic ball he throws like he has to prove his worth here. It’s a simple practice, unnecessary for a silly party game, but there’s this serious set to strong shoulders that you’re curious about.
The same way you want to know about Clarisse’s relationship, you want to know what makes Luke Castellan, whoever he is, tick. 
“Are you trying to get alcohol poisoning, Rodriguez?” 
“I’m not playing you, Luke,” Chris says and you watch closely as the other boy tilts his head slightly to the left. “I just had to go and get the current undefeated champion on campus.”
There’s this moment that happens every time you play - those awkward seconds where everyone looks completely past you to anyone else, anyone more noticeable. You count on it, occasionally, so it takes you a moment to process the way Luke’s gaze slides to you, drinks you in before he nods towards the other end of the table. 
Chris mutters a quiet “you got this,” as you brush past him, handing him your drink. You’re not delusional enough to think you can get away with mixing your drinks this early in the game. 
It takes two of Luke’s shots for you to land your first, his last hour of playing an advantage you accounted for. He’s not getting sloppy, not in the slightest, but he’s at the point where he’s a little worse for wear - a tired arm and hazy mind - and you take the chance you have at a false sense of security, taking your losses on the chin before playing the game to win. 
Within seven shots between you, you can see Luke start to get restless. How he reevaluates the table in front of him, his three empty cups to your four. Part of you really wants to knock that hat off his head, as if it’ll give you more of an insight into his mind. Instead, you wait for what you know is coming, a slight miscalculation that has the plastic ball rolling off the table to land at someone’s feet. 
Chris hands you a fresh one and you take in the way Luke swallows, jaw clenching as you line up your next shot. Whether he knows it or not, you’ve just been handed your win.
Clarisse cheers, handing you one of the cups from in front of you as everyone yells. You both chug what’s left of them, the bitter taste of cheap beer drowned out by victory, and as soon as that’s done, she throws herself back into Chris’ arms. Laughing, you turn around to find another drink, only to be met by Luke standing beside you.
“Are you about to be a sore loser?” 
He chuckles and it’s different like this. His eyes are brown, which you didn’t know five minutes ago, and his hair is dark from the little wisps of it you can see peeking out underneath his hat. You consider telling him that the hat makes him look lame, but then he’s leaning down to whisper anyway. “I expect a rematch.” 
It’s quiet and heavy and you wonder if anyone can tell that your blood feels like it’s on fire. It’s nothing, really, and it takes more effort than you want to respond. 
“Then expect to lose.”
The only saving grace to the exchange is that Luke looks a whole lot more affected by it, a blush crawling up his neck as you take the drink nearest to you and leave to find your roommate once more. 
*
Losing never used to get to you. Not like this, at least, where everything sort of feels like a precipice and you’re waiting for the next loss to fall on your shoulders alone. It was meant to be an easy game, a warm-up, for when the season started in earnest and you couldn’t afford to be incohesive. There’s always a learning curve, new starters and new competition, but in no world should it have caused this. 
Silena tells you to let it go, throwing yet another outfit on her bed as she gets ready. When you saw her at lunch, Clarisse told you to just push harder during practice. Sometimes you’re not even sure how you can be friends with both of them, how they can be friends with each other either. Unfortunately, it becomes very clear when Clarisse knocks on the door that night. 
“Why aren’t you ready?” 
“I’m not going anywhere.” 
She tuts at you, digging through the pile of clothing on Silena’s bed before throwing a dress at you. “Get dressed.” 
“You can’t make me,” you protest, the black fabric scrunching in your fist. You’ve borrowed it before, for a party last year you don’t remember very well, and you don’t even want to consider why it’s the one Clarisse selected. You turn to your roommate, looking for backup, only to find her with a pair of your shoes in her hands. “Are you seriously going to make me?” 
In unison, they raise a singular eyebrow each and it’s unsettling enough that you let go of all will to fight them. Today may as well just be full of losses that you can mourn tomorrow.
It’s only when you arrive at the party that you realize you have no idea who’s throwing it. Or who’s going to be there. Distantly, you really hope it’s a stranger Silena met on her way around campus - full of people you’ve ever met and will never see again. You could find someone nice enough to blow off some steam with before going on your merry way. 
When Clarisse yells at her boyfriend, you let out a huff as both he and Luke Castellan turn around. 
Since your first meeting, you’ve learned a few more things about Luke. He’s from Connecticut. He was responsible for half of Drew’s sorority coming down with the flu during freshers week. He’s in pre-med. He’s the reason Professor Chase introduced a ban on energy drinks in his lectures (one hundred students simultaneously opening a can of Redbull each was, apparently, mildly disconcerting). Most importantly, he’s always wearing that stupid cap. 
You try to equate the things you know with the Luke standing in front of you. Some of it makes perfect sense - Professor Chase and Connecticut - and some of it unsettles you, but it’s all true. Freshers and pre-med and track meets. Focusing on the distracted way he taps on his beer bottle instead of Clarisse greeting Chris, you kind of want to find out a whole lot more. 
“Fancy a rematch?” 
It’s the first thing he’s said to you all night, twisting the cap off a fresh beer before handing it to you. Then doing the same with his own. You pretend not to notice the movement of it, the few short seconds where you can get away with staring at the shine of silver rings in low light. Taking a sip, you crinkle your nose. 
“I’m not really in the mood,” you mutter and, at the very least, the beer is cold and you chug half of it before you even notice you’ve done it. “Don’t you have someone else you can bother?” 
There’s seconds before you notice it, how his eyes shift from slightly curious to intense. They don’t change much but standing in front of him, you can tell when they go from relaxed to focused. How his back straightens and shoulders roll back just so. You should go and find something stronger to drink. Maybe even see if Lee Fletcher is nearby.
You stay put.
“It’s just a bit of friendly competition,” Luke shrugs, unknowing of how it echoes in your skull. How that’s all today was ever meant to be. Leave it to him to dig the knife in again just as the tightness in your chest was starting to ease. “But I guess you just can’t handle it.” 
“I’d kick your ass in a rematch. I’m doing you a favor.” 
It’s obviously the wrong thing to say, Luke’s eyes brightening as the words push past your lips. The beer you drank way too fast is forming words before you even know what they are.
“You can always choose something else for me to beat you in,” he says, like it’s an offer, something gracious that you should be grateful for. “I’m easy.” 
“How many beers have you had?” 
“Three, I think?” 
Silena would tell you it’s a stupid idea - you have a coaching session at 9am and you haven’t gotten drunk since the party where you met Luke - and she would be right. But you need a win tonight, something guaranteed, and there’s this itch that crawls under your skin the longer you stare at the boy in front of you. 
So you say it anyway. 
“I bet I could outdrink you.” 
“I’d like to see you try.”
He waits as you down two more beers in quick succession, nursing his own as you do. A clink of your bottles against one another, followed by the final sip you each take and it’s finally a competition. 
The night continues, you and Luke almost joined at the hip. It’s to keep track, you tell yourself, talking to a kid that might be in your organic chem class. If the kid looks at you weird for pouring two drinks, only to hand one to Luke in silence, that’s probably just the alcohol misreading things. Only once, when you’re deep in conversation with Lee does Luke pass you a beer, eyebrow raised when Lee gives him a glare. You think that might’ve been drink eight. 
By the time Chris finds you both again, you’ve thrown yourselves onto the couch on the outskirts of the room. Someone’s abandoned coat is thrown over your legs in a mediocre attempt to preserve some dignity in the dress you’re wearing and Luke’s hat has twisted to the side. You’re sure neither of you has drunk a sip in ten minutes.
“You guys doing okay?” 
“We’re drunk,” you say and you can’t tell if it’s a whisper or a shout. “I’m winning.” 
“You’re not winning,” Luke turns his head to glare and you blame the alcohol on the attention you pay to the slope of his nose. “Neither of us have finished these drinks.” 
“Are you going to?” 
He glances down at the cup in his hand, half empty. You can see it, the hesitation, before he places it on the floor by his feet, shaking his head. “Are you?” 
The nice thing to do would be to give up, call it a draw and appreciate that you managed to have fun despite the bad day that had preceded it. However, you like to win. So you grit your teeth before drinking the final three sips, tilting the empty cup towards him so he can see the proof. It takes you a second to remember you have to actually swallow in order to drink, but you do and Luke scrunches his nose. You kind of want to kiss it as a way to smooth the skin back out.
“That’s two wins to me, Castellan.” 
Chris shakes his head at you both. “I’m not calling either of you to make sure you’re alive in the morning.” 
*
It’s an almost unconscious action when you walk into Drew’s sorority house, how you wave Silena off in favor of scanning the crowd, searching for the one reason you agreed to show up in the first place. It takes a moment, pinks and blues and silvers all merging together in your eyeline until you spot him near the staircase, familiar black cap resting on his head. 
You’re already a little buzzed, the thrill of your final project this semester finally being handed in just hours ago, and it’s why you let yourself actually look at Luke for once. 
By this point, you’ve seen him in a polo and a flannel, always with jeans. Laidback. That’s what party Luke was. Tonight, though, it’s like he’s trying harder - baggy pants, like they’re resting a little too low on his hips, a white t-shirt, white trainers that you know are going to stain before the night ends and a slightly oversized leather jacket that doesn’t quite go with the hat you used to identify him. Maybe it’s something he does on purpose, ruining a good thing over comforting familiarity. Maybe you’ll ask him.
Luke looks up then, as if he has a sixth sense, and you kind of don’t know what to do with the slight wave he sends in your direction. You wouldn’t call him a friend, that’s for sure, but you nod in response before weaving through your classmates to the kitchen.
It takes two vodka cranberries for Silena to find you. And it takes four shots with people you’ve never met for Chris to ask if you’ve seen Luke anywhere. You tell him where you last saw him, maybe an hour ago, and he shakes his head like he’s already checked the entire house.
“Do you think you can let him know I’m heading out?” Chris asks, one arm looped around Clarisse’s waist, more for support than anything else. She was already unsteady when you arrived and you know by the flush in her cheeks that it’ll only take a couple more drinks for her to start throwing up. You nod at Chris, cradling your drink to your chest, and he mumbles a thanks while steering his girlfriend towards the door.
With both of them gone, it leaves you with little to do except go hunting for Luke. So that’s what you do, waving Lee off as he attempts to grab your attention from the couch. 
Focusing is a lot harder now, squinting over everyone’s heads in search of that damn hat. Nothing. You know he’s not in the kitchen, that’s definite, and you learn that he’s not in the garden either, Katie from your anatomy class staring at you bewildered as you explain your quest. 
There’s only one place left to check for Luke and you consider if it’ll be a worthwhile risk. It’s entirely possible that he’s already left, whoever he was locked in conversation with earlier with him maybe, and you’re searching an entire sorority house on the off-chance he’s still in the building. 
But you promised Chris. More than that, you refuse to let Luke Castellan beat you.
So you commit to the staircase, pushing past the line for the restroom upstairs. It’s quieter up here, not by much, but you can hear yourself think clearer. There’s three doors on your left, all closed, and you drain the remnants of your drink so it warms your blood and erases the small part of your brain still protesting. 
There’s two yells when you knock on the first door, both hurried and pitching higher as the words fade so you move on quickly. No one answers to the second door, so you crack it open enough to see inside. It’s dark and neat and completely untouched by whatever is happening below, so you let it click shut again. 
Luke is in the third room, you learn, pressing it open when there’s no response to your knock. The room itself is still orderly, but you find the boy you’ve been searching for sitting on the floor at the base of the bed, hat turned to the side and the sleeves of his jacket bunching carelessly where they’ve been pushed higher on his forearms. 
“Chris wanted me to tell you he took Clarisse home,” you blurt when it feels like you need to say something. “He couldn’t find you so…”
Luke waits. When it becomes clear that’s all you’re here for, he says, “Well, thanks for letting me know.” 
You’ve done your job. You can go back and enjoy the party downstairs, maybe make use of the empty room next door instead of remaining awkwardly in the doorway. 
You think about how Chris mentioned that Luke can recite pi to seventeen places while drunk. How you’re still beating him by two points. How there’s an ashtray on the floor beside Luke’s knee and it’s sort of considerate of him to use one when no one else would.
“Mind if I join you?” 
Being in an empty bedroom with a guy at a party isn’t unusual. You’ve had your fair share of them, rushed and quiet and mostly on a bed. Sitting on the floor with Luke is different, you find, a gravity to it than you can’t quite wrap your head around after so many drinks. It’s slow and languid and you don’t really say much of anything as your knee bumps against his thigh in an effort to get comfortable in the space.
No one told you Luke smokes. 
You tell him as much.
“It’s a bad habit,” he shakes his head, twisting a cigarette between his fingers and you both act like you’re not paying rapt attention to it. “I try to avoid making it one.” 
“I used to. Back in high school. Gave it up when I got accepted here.” 
He turns to face you then, head tilted so the visor of his slanted hat brushes his shoulder. “I would never have guessed you were a smoker.” 
It’s not said with judgment, just as an observation from the limited interactions you’ve had since the semester began. The focus in Luke’s gaze crawls up your spine and mingles with the alcohol you’ve yet to flush from your system. 
“You ever blown a smoke ring?” 
If you’re not challenging him, you don’t quite know what to make of Luke. It’s the thing you know most about him, the way his face shifts from victory into loss. The way it matches yours, stretches from his eyes to his jaw and into clenched hands. If you’re not challenging him, you can’t read him - you want to be able to read him in the low light of right now. 
“I bet I’m better at it than you,” you say after he answers. A short laugh escapes him, almost a huff, and it raises the skin on your arms when it meets the top of your ear. “Wanna see?” 
“I’ve only got one.” He waves the cigarette he’s been holding in front of your eyes. 
“We can share.” 
It’s a bad, terrible, absolutely stupid idea. 
“You’re on, Castellan.” 
As he lights the end of it, you wonder if he knows what the brief flame does for his cheekbones, for his jawline. Paints them in small, defined shadows that you might still see if you close your eyes. You almost want to mention it to him. You settle for watching his lips settle around it, the sinking of his cheeks on the inhale and the noise as he exhales. There’s an almost complete ring of smoke in the air.
Luke hands you the cigarette and you repeat his motions, a little quicker. A little smoother. The ring that leaves your lips is full, but less circular. 
Both of you pretend not to notice the other one staring.
You agree to best of three. You agree and you win by the tiniest margin and you hand Luke the little that remains as a consolation prize. He indulges in the last few drags and you watch him do it, looking nothing like the pre-med student you know he is. You think he could be dangerous like this, based on the way your stomach twists as he puts the cigarette out, how his head tilts back and the final wisps of smoke escape his mouth.
You aren’t as drunk anymore. 
You really wish you were.
It takes Luke a second to notice that you’ve moved at all, eyes still closed but he does, and the run of his gaze across your face is enough for you to seize the last of the alcohol in your bloodstream, pushing forward so you’re actually face to face with him, knees digging into the rough carpet beneath you. 
“Can I help you?” It’s low and a little ragged and this is the first time you’ve really noticed the thin, pale scar that stretches down the skin of his right cheek. It’s actually a little insane how pretty he is up close. 
“I think I want a little more than the glory of winning this time,” and half of your whisper is lost to Luke Castellan’s lips but it’s not that important anyway.
What is important is the warmth of his hand through your shirt, pressed into the skin that exposes itself as you shift even closer. It’s the slightly rough texture of his jaw underneath your palm, the way his breath hitches in tandem with yours and you both push through it anyway. It’s the unexpected catch of your finger on his cap and the way you give up on it entirely, finally snatching it off his head so it lands somewhere nearby. 
You’re not sure what you expected Luke’s hair to look like. Horrible, probably, with odd patches that lie weirdly flat and should be covered from view. It’s not this, wild dark curls that deserve to be seen. 
“You have curly hair?” You say it before you can think not to, so caught up in the discovery you’ve just made, and Luke squints at you, unsure. “I can’t believe you have curly hair.” 
He’s preparing a smart-ass comment, you know it by the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, and that’s really just not going to work this time - not when he’s been lying for months behind a hat. So you do what any sane person would, twist your fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck and trail your lips across his jaw like you’ll die if you don’t.
His hand hooks underneath your thigh and, when you bracket his waist between your legs, cool leather brushing against your knees, you think this might be the best victory you’ve experienced yet.
*
Silena knows something is up when you refuse to speak to her about the party. There’s few secrets you’ve kept from each other since meeting, and even less since Clarisse got involved. It’s pointless to try, mostly, since they all spill out of you when the lights go out and you’re left with each other's company. You almost forgot how annoying she could be when she’s pushing for information.
“Don’t think I’m going to tell you either,” you say when Clarisse joins you in the library a week after the party. “I am a fortress of secrets.” 
“I know you hooked up with Luke.” 
“Seriously?” 
She rolls her eyes, passing you the book you’d asked her for during practice last night. “Calm down. Chris told me. I’m down ten bucks now.” 
“You bet on it?”
“Of course we did, it’s our brand.” 
“I’m not telling Silena,” you whisper again, frowning at your notes. You wonder if Clarisse is aware you haven’t actually spoken to Luke since that night. “She’ll make it a big deal for nothing.” 
“I won’t tell but you should probably figure out what happens next. There’s a party at ksig tomorrow night before everyone goes home for the holidays.” You tap your pen against the textbook. Clarisse pushes a slip of paper towards you. Someone’s phone buzzes to your left. “Think about it.”
When she’s long gone, you grab the paper she left from the table. It’s wrinkled and you smooth it as best you can beneath your fingertips. Blue ink, messily scrawled, and you commit it to memory. Closing your textbook, you leave it pressed between chapters seven and eight. 
The party is loud, louder than you’re prepared for after flaking out on so many since your first one last year. Silena brushes past you once you arrive, shoving your shoulder just enough that it twinges and you frown. You didn’t speak a word on the way here and the silent treatment is starting to drive a little crazy. 
It feels silly now, in a place so crowded, and you breathe deeply. Someone points you in the direction of the kitchen after multiple attempts at asking and you miss the light chaos of throwing up outside the Stolls’ dorm with your best friend. 
You grab a beer, using the table edge to pop the cap off, and it helps to ease the tightness in your chest at how unfamiliar this all is. You’re not sure you could even find the restroom, let alone a singular person.
Pushing back into the bulk of the party, you vow to leave if you don’t find him before you finish your beer. There’s a project you have to start looking into for next semester that could be a good use of time tonight. 
If anyone tried to convince you that most of campus was here, you’d be willing to believe them. A drink raised in Lee’s direction, a nod to Ethan from last years’ stats class, a half-hearted smile at Rachel, who raises an eyebrow at you like she knows something no one else does. 
And maybe she does, because you turn away from her to find Luke just feet away, gesturing animatedly to the guy next to him. There’s a beer in his hand and a hat on his head and his phone number so deeply etched in your mind since last night that you hardly think about it until you’re standing next to him again, drink placed on a table somewhere along the way.
“Hi,” he smiles and his scar shifts with it. He turns to the guy from before. “We’ll catch up later, man.”
“Have I ever told you that I hate that fucking hat?” 
“I sort of got that when you threw it across the room.” His lips wrap around the rim of his bottle and you think you can be normal about it, go back to the way things were, until he smirks just slightly and you know you can’t. 
“You’re such a sore loser, Castellan,” you mutter as you push yourself up to snatch it from his head. He doesn’t comment, lets your fingers brush through his curls until they’re a complete mess instead of compacted. He glances down at the cap in your hand and mutters, “And what is your genius plan for my hat?”
It’s a really fucking good question. Short of getting it off his head, you didn’t know what you were going to do. It’s one thing to throw it across an empty room in the dark, another thing entirely to abandon it to a frat party. So you choose the next best thing - placing it on your own head and daring him to question it. 
“I guess that can work,” Luke says and it sounds like a promise soaked in laughter. 
Neither of you find it as funny when he has to tip the visor upwards to kiss you.
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gothwineaunts · 1 day
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I tried my best to replicate the post that Tumblr ate earlier.
It’s not as good but you'll get the jist I think. :’)  
---
Hi again! I wanted to follow up on my post from yesterday. I’ve been mostly offline since then, and I feel much better now, especially after seeing the thoughtful responses y’all left. Where did you all even come from!? I don’t think I’ve ever posted this account anywhere, haha. But thank you so much. I’m horrendous at taking a damn compliment but I read all the replies and reblogs and I’m just incredibly humbled. You all brought up my mood a lot and highkey made me feel sane again. I’ve been so confused at why everyone in the WEBTOON comments seems to be so mad all the time, it kind of does my head in if I’m being honest.
But please don’t worry about me or Flynn. Or about Nevermore! We’d never change the story to fit what we think the commenters want us to do, for a lot of reasons. The most important of which is. If we had to do that, I think we’d rather just stop making it. What they seem to want is a story we’re not really interested in telling.
Wholesome wlw is a wildly important thing to be able to find if you’re looking for it. That really cannot be overstated. Until very recently, queer characters have been subjected by popular media to a disproportionate amount of anguish and violence. So the concept of seeing two women just, living a safe and fulfilling life together? I get why people want to see that so badly. And there’s so much beautifully written aspirational content for queer audiences out there now, and I’m pleased to death over it. But the thing is, it’s just not what we’re making.
Nevermore was always intended to be a dark gothicky romance with horror elements. Like Wuthering Heights, or Phantom of the Opera. Because those were the stories that always inspired us when we were young. Bloodsoaked stories of melodrama, intrigue, grief, and passion. Those stories would captivate me and get me asking all kinds of questions. Why can’t the Phantom be a beautiful woman? Why does Christine have the agency of a desk lamp? Why can’t sapphics have something cool like this?
So we decided to make it. Nevermore is not a wholesome romance. It doesn’t try to be. The point was never to explore sapphics having a healthy and (heavy air quotes here) “normal” relationship, like heterosexual couples get to have in real life. We already have that, together, Flynn and I. We live it, everyday.  In Nevermore, what we wanted most was to explore a sweeping sapphic romance full of danger, like heterosexual couples get to have in fiction. That’s why we love those kinds of stories so much, because of how divorced they are from the mundanity of real life. They’re fantasies.
I know that I'm preaching to the choir, aha.
But my point is: if you go to a hardware store to order a cake, you’re probably going to be disappointed. If what you crave is aspirational wlw content, there are so many bakeries you can go to that will give you exactly what you’re hoping for, and more. I especially recommend Muted by Miranda Mundt. It’s also on Webtoon, it’s completed, and it’s free to read.
And please know that I’m not saying to stop reading Nevermore, just maybe to adjust your expectations a little bit. We don’t sell cakes here, but I am pretty sure I've got a few 12ft tall skeleton lawn ornaments in the back if you're interested.
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lilislegacy · 2 days
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i love how in heroes of olympus, there’s a boat full of couples (+leo☺️). and yet even if you didn’t know when each couple started dating, it’s so blatantly obvious that percy and annabeth have been together the longest, and are the most serious
cause frank and hazel are still pretty nervous/unsure with each other. they JUST started dating, and are so pure and adorable. they just haven’t quite figured out the romance part yet
and jason and piper have their moments, but they’re just so… distant. like not physically, of course, but they just don’t really seem to connect on a deep level. and they aren’t super affectionate, at least not physically or openly. piper is constantly unsure about where they’re at, and while jason has thoughts about how great piper is, he doesn’t openly show his feelings too often.
but percabeth? they’re the oldest in age (physically), have known each other the longest, and have been romantically committed to each other for the most time. they act like they’ve been together for eternity, which is funny since they were technically only dating for 4 months before percy got abducted. but they just have such a deep history together and such an intense connection. they’re in it for the long run. there’s no doubt or uncertainty - and it shows. like…annabeth is so wife girlfriend. there are so many funny/cute little moments, like her scolding him for putting too much syrup on his pancakes, and telling him to take a shower when he smells bad. and when percy suggests him and jason should go on a dangerous quest instead of annabeth and piper, instead of being like “omg he cares so much about me😍” (which hazel and piper would have done) annabeth is like “what seaweed brain?? you think two guys can do better than two girls??” and percy is immediately like “uh uh NO nope i definitely do NOT think that!!” he knows better. the immediate fear is so husband boyfriend of him. they simultaneously have the most disagreements (remember when percy called annabeth out when she thought she should navigate through rome alone, and basically called her stupid for thinking it was a good idea, and then they argued and had a face-off, which percy won) - while also being the most lovey dovey (they’re constantly putting their hands on each other - annabeth putting her hand on his chest to calm him down, putting their hands on each other’s arms for support, percy having his arm around her when they’re at the edge of the ship, always giving each other a kiss on the mouth or the cheek when they separate, etc). and they have no issues sneaking off in the middle of the night to do some talking and kissing. and quite frankly, making out in front of piper in BoO (remember that? when piper got super uncomfortable at how long their kiss was lasting, and then annabeth let out, and i quote, “grunt-whimpers”). they are just so natural and comfortable with each other. piper says it herself.
i just think it’s so funny. little frazel being adorable and blushing when they hold hands, jiper is happy to be dating but they’re also a little angsty and uncertain, and then there’s percabeth just being the old married couple they are. (and leo is being cute and fixing stuff)
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The Stages of Grief
Lorenzo Berkshire x Reader
Prompt 5 of @thatdammchickennugget ‘s Hogmarch challenge🫶🏽
Summary: They say that when you experience grief, you go through five stages. And after being partnered with Lorenzo Berkshire for your latest potions assignment, rest be assured, you were experiencing all five.
word count: 6.2k
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Denial
“Oh you’re kidding,” you groan as you finally spot your name on the list of assigned pairings for your next potions assignment.
You loved potions; in fact it was one of your favorite classes at Hogwarts, despite its demanding course work. You ironically found its rigid, methodical nature to be quite relaxing as moving step by step through the different recipes seemed to practically be second nature. It was a rhythmic dance that you followed religiously, finding thrill in the ever changing contents of your cauldron.
What you did not love however, or who you did not love to be more precise, was Lorenzo Berkshire. Flirtatious, carefree, and devilishly handsome, you were fairly certain that that boy could chat up a corpse. Or he could if he or his friends ever bothered showing up to class. It’s not that you disliked the boy per se, but to allow him onto your sacred ground? Into your sanctuary? You’d rather not.
Yet, there his name was, scrawled neatly next to yours on the board. It was like the universe had it out for you. Or your professor more likely.
“Tell me I read it wrong,” you complain turning to Daphne who was sat beside you.
The two of you had made an unlikely pairing in second year herbology and been inseparable ever since.
The girl just rolls her eyes at you.
“Oh come on, he’s really not as bad as you make him out be,” she sighs, scribbling notes from the board onto her parchment.
“Maybe not to you, but you’ve known him your whole life,” you grumble.
Personally, you’d always found the boy to be a bit of a prick. He was a pretty boy and he knew it, giving him a rather inflated ego you thought.
“Yeah, so don’t you think I might know him a bit better and perhaps be a better judge of character?” She asks.
“Maybe the professor will let me work alone.”
“Oh honestly, y/n. Look, at least he’s in class today. You’ll be fine, promise. And if he annoys you, even a little, I’ll owl his mother,” Daphne replies, not even bothering to look up from her notes. She was used to your dramatics by now.
“Alright, alright, everyone settle down,” your professor calls out, moving to stand at the front of the room before you can complain any further. “This next assignment will take course over the span of the next month or so, as you will be expected to collect some of your ingredients outside of class. So. Who can tell me a little bit about what this next potion that we’re brewing is?”
Your hand shoots into the air as soon as the question leaves your professor’s lips.
“Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence. It doesn’t really create love though, but rather infatuation which makes it one of the most dangerous potions in the world,” you recite.
“Yes, yes! Very good, y/n! Five points!”
“Really if it’s so dangerous, I don’t see why they’re teaching a bunch of sixth years how to brew it,” Daphne mumbles to you under her breath.
You let out a snicker. She had a point.
You turn back to the front of the classroom, tuning back into the lesson as your professor begins scratching away on the chalkboard once more.
“The ingredients that you’ll need to gather are as follows. Two ashwinder eggs, rose thorns, peppermint, powdered moonstone, pearl dust, and rose petals. You’ll have the next two weeks to gather your ingredients with your partners, so I suggest you begin,” your professor announces.
You feel your shoulders wilt at the thought of purposely seeking out Lorenzo, but you can already feel his eyes on you from across the room.
“Do you think if I ignore him long enough he’ll get the idea and just go away?” You whisper to your friend.
Daphne just rolls her eyes at you once more, shaking her head.
“Go,” she sighs, giving you a light shove in his direction before moving to join Theodore Nott at a different station.
With one last sigh of despair, you make your way over to the station where Enzo sits waiting for you, silently mourning your potions grade. And your mental and emotional stability.
“Mornin’ love,” he greets giving you a bright lopsided grin as you approach.
“Hi,” you respond dryly with a tight lipped smile.
“So, what’s our game plan going to be, darlin? I reckon we’ll want to get the hardest ingredients to come by first yeah?” He pushes on, ignoring your clear disinterest.
You nod your head in response.
“The peppermint, rose petals and thorns will be easy. We can get all of those in the greenhouse. The pearl dust- I assume we’ll need fresh pearls, we can probably get from the Black Lake.”
“Great. I think I have a moonstone in my ingredient collection. We can crush it down for the powdered moonstone,” Enzo offers.
You raise your brows at this. Moonstone wasn’t necessarily rare by any means, but you weren’t really expecting Enzo to offer up ingredients from his personal collection.
“That would work. We can also find them in the dark forest,” you reply.
“Nah, save us the hassle. Pretty girl like you doesn’t have any business in that musty old forest anyway,” he responds with a charming grin.
Ignoring his comment, you continue on to the last item on the list.
“I’m really not sure where we’re going to find those eggs. I don’t think we can find ashwinders on the school grounds, and they’re quite risky to breed.”
Enzo stares at you blankly.
“Remind me what an ashwinder is again love?” He says sheepishly.
“Magic serpent. Born from the embers of magic flames that are left to burn. You’re a Slytherin, shouldn’t you know all about snakes and such?”
“Yeah, let me recite to you the alphabetical list of all known magical serpent species that us Slytherins actually use as the password to our common room.”
You purse your lips at the boy’s obvious sarcasm.
“Fair enough. Still don’t know how we’ll get the eggs though.”
“I can see if we have any in our stores at the manor. Probably our best bet if we don’t want to risk burning down the school.” Enzo replies.
“Are you sure? We’re already using your moonstone,” you say, beginning to feel a bit bad about raiding the boy for supplies.
“It’s the least I can do really. I’m useless at potions, so least I can do is provide you with the ingredients that we need,” he says honestly with a light laugh.
“Well alright. Shall we meet up on Friday then to collect the pearls?” You ask, scribbling down your plans in your notebook.
“Sounds good, six o’clock? By the dock?”
You nod in agreement.
“Well alright then. See you then, love.” And with a grin and a cheeky wink thrown your way, Enzo is off.
At least he was pulling his weight in gathering ingredients you supposed.
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Anger
“Y/n! Are you headed down to the docs?” Daphne asks slightly out of breath as she runs up to you from across the court yard.
“Yeah. Enzo tell you?”
Daphne nods her head in response as you two begin to make the short trek down to the lake.
“Hope you don’t mind if Theo and I join you?”
“Course not. Probably better that I’m not alone with Enzo by the lake anyway. Wouldn’t want him to try and drown me.” You say lightly, only slightly joking.
“Oh piss off. He’s a nice bloke once you get to know him.” Daphne laughs.
As the two of you arrive at the edge of the lake, you can already see Enzo, Theodore, and Mattheo splashing about in the water. Draco and Pansy are watching disdainfully from the shore.
You hadn’t realized this was going to be a whole party.
“Daph, please get these boys under control!” Pansy shouts when she sees the two of you approaching.
“I’m not their mum, they won’t listen to me,” Daphne replies dryly.
“Sure they will. Or at least Theo will, and the other two dimwits will follow whatever he does.” Pansy replies.
“Theodore!” Daphne shouts, turning to the three boys who were waist deep in the water by this point.
“Bella?” He calls back, visibly perking up at the sight of your friend.
You watch with amusement as Daphne points a finger at the boy and then again at the ground next to her. Theo slowly sulks over to the four of you, Mattheo and Enzo following in his wake.
“Really Theodore? You’re sopping wet,” Daphne sighs, only to be met with a sheepish grin.
“Hey love,” Enzo greets, prancing over to stand beside you.
It takes everything in you to focus anywhere but Enzo’s soaking wet shirt as it clung to his chest and abdomen like a second, very see-through skin. Bloody hell.
“Hi Enzo,” you say through gritted teeth.
“Are you sure we’ll even find pearls here? I thought pearls were from the ocean, and I don’t want to risk getting wet for nothing,” Draco says, eyeing the lake warily.
“Hogwarts a History says that fresh water pearls are common in the Black Lake,” you reply.
“What’s the difference?”
“Saltwater pearls are generally rarer, more expensive.” Pansy replies easily.
“Fresh water mussels can produce multiple pearls at a time, but oysters generally only produce a single pearl in their entire lifetime,” you explain.
“So how exactly are we going to collect these mussels?” Theo asks.
“Accio.” Daphne responds, as if it should’ve been obvious. Which it was.
Your now rather large group makes it way onto the dock, squinting into the murky water for any trace of mussels in the sand below.
Daphne finds the first one, and after that, they slowly start pouring in. Eventually, there’s a sort of system in place with you, Daphne, Pansy, and Draco scanning the dark waves for the elusive mussels, while Theo, Mattheo, and Enzo crack them open to retrieve the pearls.
It’s all going swimmingly until the boys begin to get rowdy once more, with Mattheo sending a small wave of water at Enzo when his back is turned. Daphne gives the boys several warning glares as the waves gradually grow larger, only for them to start up again the moment your backs are turned.
Eventually it turns into an all out water war between the three of them once more, and you scowl as you feel a splash of water hit your leg.
Could they not cause a ruckus for one afternoon? You thought bitterly as another mussel flew into your hand. You go to place it in the pile with the others when you feel a weight hit you like a ton of bricks. Then cold. Everything is cold as you feel yourself hit the water.
“What the fuck!” You exclaim once your head breaks the surface and you frantically wipe water from your eyes.
You look over to see Lorenzo in the water near you, a grin plastered across his face. His smile quickly fades however when he sees the pure murderous intent in your eyes.
“What is wrong with you?” You shout, swimming over to him, and shoving him under the waves.
“Y/n! You can’t drown him!” Daphne yells from the dock.
“Watch me!”
“It was an accident, swear!” Enzo gasps when his head re-emerges once more.
With one last scream of rage, you make your way to land as Daphne runs to catch up with you.
“Seriously Daphne? What is wrong with him?” You rage as you storm up the hill back to the castle.
“I really don’t think he meant for you to get shoved into the lake. The boys can get pretty tunnel visioned,” Daphne offers as she follows behind.
“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one who went for a swim,” you mutter between chattering teeth, the cold really beginning to sink in.
“Oh I’m not defending him. Not completely I mean. He was totally acting like a right git. The other boys too. I don’t blame you for being upset, I would be too. I’m just saying, maybe don’t be too hard on him? It was an accident after all, and he really did look sorry.”
When you only shrug in response, Daphne sighs.
“Look. Give him one last chance, and if you still think he’s the worst person on earth, at least exploit the fact that he really does feel bad, and milk it for all he’s worth. Okay?”
You let out a smile at this.
“Spoken like a true Slytherin, Daph.”
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Bargaining
The following Monday when you take your seat next to Lorenzo in potions, he immediately turns his head, almost like he’s surprised you hadn’t demanded to be reassigned partners.
“I’m so sorry, y/n. I really didn’t mean for you to end up in the lake, Theo just shoved me and I grabbed on the closest thing which happened to be you. I really am sorry,” he rambles, fiddling with the quill in his hand nervously.
“It’s okay. I know it was an accident, so let’s just move on, alright?” You say with a sigh.
Maybe if the both of you just moved on, this nightmare of a pairing would be over sooner.
“Really?” Lorenzo asks, his bright personality snapping back into place.
“Sure Enzo.”
“Excellent. Because I was able to get us these,” he says proudly, carefully pulling two little eggs and a medium sized moonstone out of his bag. “Oh, and the pearls.” He adds, placing the eggs, stone, and glass container filled with pearls on the table in front of you.
You eye the ingredients carefully before determining that they were in fact all up to standard.
“Perfect. I’ll begin crushing up the pearls, if you take care of the moonstone?” You say, already pouring the shiny orbs into your mortar and pestle.
The two of you work surprisingly well together for the rest of the class period, almost as if you’d been working together for years. It takes you by surprise how easy the brown haired boy is to work with. You hadn’t been expecting much, knowing that potions wasn’t Enzo’s strong suit. But he made up for it by making sure you never wanted for anything. Needed a vial for your pearl dust? It was in your hands before you even had to ask. A fire needed to be lit beneath the ashwinder eggs to keep them from spoiling? Enzo’s wand was pointed in their direction before you had the chance to open your mouth.
As class winds down and you go to make your exit, you feel a hand on your wrist.
“Y/n?” Enzo says, stopping you. You turn to look at the boy.
“Look uh, I know that you’re not my biggest fan, or at least that’s what I gathered from Daph,” he begins to ramble, scratching the back of his neck, “but, could we maybe like, just start over?”
You’re a bit skeptical at first, but seeing his nervous smile melts something in you. Being friendly couldn’t hurt, you reasoned. And it would certainly make working with the boy easier.
“Alright, Enzo, we can start over.”
“Wicked.” He says with a grin. “Don’t suppose you’d like to meet in the greenhouse later then to gather the rest of our ingredients? Promise I won’t drag Theo and Matt along this time.”
“Sounds lovely.”
The both of you agree to meet right after classes are released that day, and as you make your way down the cobblestone path to the greenhouse, you can’t seem to push the memories of wet hair and an infectious smile from your thoughts.
“Hi love!” Enzo calls out as soon as you push open the doors of the greenhouse. The boy is elbows deep in soil, pulling at the roots of a suspiciously pink colored plant.
“How’d you get here so fast?” you ask, glancing at the clock to see that classes had ended not even ten minutes ago.
“Herbology is my last class of the day,” he explains, brushing some of the dirt off his gloves.
“Ah. So you wanted to meet right after classes ended so you wouldn’t have to make the trek back out here?” You ask, fingertips brushing the soft petals of one of the many flowering plants growing within the greenhouse.
“Well, and I wanted to see you again sooner,” he replies with a shrug and a cheeky grin.
You roll you eyes as you feel your cheeks heat up, turning quickly and hoping he hadn’t seen.
“So where are the rose bushes?” You ask, looking around at the distinct lack of roses within the building.
Enzo gives a nervous chuckle. “About that. Apparently Professor Sprout didn’t think that the common rose was, ah, dangerous enough, for her plant collection,” Enzo says, gesturing towards the various plants, “so, uh, there are none. But! We can grow them pretty easily. It might take a week or two to grow a full bush to peak maturity, but it should be fine.”
You let out a sigh. Of course Hogwarts wouldn’t grow something as simple and common as a rose.
“Alright, well. Let’s begin I suppose.”
Enzo immediately perks up as he goes to fetch a large pot and a bag of soil and you begin to rifle through the cabinets to find rose seeds. After several minutes with no success, you feel a warm presence behind you as Enzo leans over your shoulder and plucks a packet off the top shelf.
“You certainly know your way around,” you murmur, looking up to find the boy’s face much closer than anticipated. You feel heat rise to your cheeks once more and you duck under is elbow, making your escape.
“Herbology is my best subject,” Enzo says, trailing behind you.
“Ah, so you’re the Slytherin version of Neville Longbottom then eh?” You say with a grin as you watch him fill the pot with soil.
Enzo grimaces, making a face.
“No, I’m much better looking,” he says with a smirk.
Bloody self-aware bastard.
It only takes a few minutes for Enzo to bury the seeds in the soil and place several incantations over the dirt before he looks up at you with a triumphant grin.
“All good to go,” he says happily. “Though we should probably check back in daily to refresh the enchantments and such.”
You nod your head at the boy.
Over the course of the next few days, Enzo uses your time spent together to pick your brain for any morsel of information he could get out of you. He really was determined to be your friend apparently.
“What’s your favorite plant?” He asks you on the third day of your little meetings.
You tilt your head a bit in consideration.
“No, no, wait, I bet I can guess. Is it peonies? Your perfume is peony scented right?” He asks.
“Yeah, it is. Peony and vanilla,” you say, eyeing the boy suspiciously.
“Knew it,” he says, looking rather self satisfied.
“And yours?” You ask, leaning against the table to look up at him.
“Hmm?”
“What’s your favorite flower? Or plant that is.”
Enzo pauses for a moment, eyes flickering around the greenhouse for a moment before landing on you.
“I like roses.”
“Really?” You say, scrunching your nose a bit.
“I’m a romantic, what can I say?”
“Gross. That’s so cliche.” You tease, a small smile gracing your face.
As the days go on, your time spent in the greenhouse becomes longer and longer as you and Lorenzo banter about the ridiculous questions he’d come up with. Did owls have knees? Which house would win in hand to hand combat? Were Theodore and Daphne secretly hooking up in the fifth floor prefect’s bathroom? (The answer was yes.)
You were shocked to find that, while still a bit of a prat, Enzo really was rather smart and witty. As the days went on, it became easier and easier to open up to the boy until the two of you were talking like old friends.
It happened slowly. You really didn’t even notice at first. But by the second week, you found yourself looking forward to your daily meetings, and found yourself thinking of the handsome brunette when he wasn’t around, and you caught yourself staring at the boy a bit too long after he’d already looked away.
Over the years of being friends with Daph, you’d often been forced into the proximity of the boy. Always noting the way he’d easily move from one witch to the next, his charm never seeming to fail him. You had been so determined to make sure that you would never be one of those witches. Just another tally on Lorenzo’s ever growing list of conquests.
But it had happened. The unimaginable. The impossible. You were falling for Lorenzo Berkshire. No, this simply wouldn’t do you thought to yourself as you made the familiar trek to the greenhouse.
Your mind raced as you thought of ways to stop this madness. Maybe if you went back to pushing the boy away. Or if you just ignored him. Yes. If you just shut him out, these feelings would go away.
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Sarcasm
The next several days for Lorenzo were miserable. And that was putting it nicely.
“She hates me!” Enzo wailed dramatically, hanging upside down off the edge of his bed.
It had been three days since your terrifying revelation in the green house, and Enzo was very convinced that he was going insane.
He could still remember clearly the day that Daphne had introduced him to her new friend after one fateful day in herbology. You had been so wicked smart, and kind, and funny, and your smile had melted his heart. He was pretty sure he’d been in love with you ever since. But he was lucky if you even acknowledged his presence most days.
“Can you blame her? Didn’t you send a flock of peacocks after her when we were all visiting Draco’s last year?” Mattheo asks, squinting at his friend.
“I thought it’d be romantic! How was I supposed to know they weren’t friendly?”
“There’s also that time in third year, you knocked her off her broom playing quidditch.” Draco adds, scowling at the memory of Enzo harassing the birds on his family’s property.
“I caught her after!” Enzo protests.
“She still sprained her wrist.”
“Oh yea. And then you tried to give her a kiss as an apology, but ended up with a nice bruise on your jaw instead,” Mattheo laughs.
Lorenzo wasn't going to lie, that was a particular sore spot for him.
“And let’s of course not forget the most recent offense. Trying to drown her in the lake. Thank Salazar I wasn’t there for that scene.” Blaise mutters.
Enzo winces.
After the incident at the lake, Enzo was sure he was done for. The look of pure rage in your eyes had felt as though you had stomped on his heart, and then cruciod it for good measure. But then you had accepted his apology and even agreed to start things over. Enzo had felt the first real burst of hope after four pitiful years of pining.
Sure he’d made some missteps over the years. As his friends so graciously enjoyed reminding him, but he meant well!
The two of you had talked. Laughed. He’d even allowed his hand to brush up against yours a time or two, delighted when you didn’t flinch away.
And then, as if the switch had flipped, it was back how it had been before. Enzo felt like he had whiplash with the way you had turned right back around to treating him like a total stranger.
Theo eyed his roommate with concern.
“Bloody hell, he’s worse than you pining over Daphne,” Mattheo mutters, jabbing an elbow into Theo’s rib cage, earning him a sharp glare.
“I don’t understand! Things were going so well! She was actually talking to me and everything, and now it’s like I’m right back at square one,” Enzo sighs, ignoring his bickering roommates.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting from us mate. You’re supposed to be the romantic one of the group. Though with your track record, I’m not sure why we’ve been taking your advice all these years. You’re a wreck.” Blaise says, matter of factly.
“You tried talking to Daph bout it?” Theo asks, not quite sure how to help his slightly delirious friend.
“Ask me about what?” Daphne asks, seemingly materializing in the doorway of the boys’ shared dormitory.
She makes her way into the room, face morphing into one of both concern and disgust as she takes in Enzo's distraught state.
Theo eyes his friend, as if to say “good luck mate.”
Dragging himself into an upright position, Enzo considers the girl in front of him. How had he not thought of it before? Y/n’s best friend had been at his disposal this entire time, and he’d never thought to simply ask her.
Lorenzo turns to look at Daphne.
“Daph?”
“Yes Enz?”
“Does y/n fancy anyone?” He asks, trying to sound as casual and nonchalant as possible.
Daphne raises a brow.
“If you’re trying to subtly ask if I happened to know of her feelings towards you, you’re doing a lousy job."
Enzo pouts, sticking out his bottom lip and honestly looking quite pathetic.
"For Salazar's sake, what happened?" Daphne huffs, making herself comfortable on Theo's bed, much to his delight.
“Enzo is down bad. Obviously.” Mattheo states.
Daphne shoots the boy a glare, rolling her eyes at the curly haired boy.
"We've been working in the green house together, and I thought things were going so well. She was talking to me, and laughing and everything.” Enzo says, falling back into his bed dramatically.
“Well then what’s the problem? You like her I thought.” Daphne replies with an annoyed huff.
“That’s just it isn’t it? It wasn’t a problem. But then suddenly, a few days ago, she went completely cold again. Like the last couple weeks never happened." he laments.
Daphne opens her mouth. Then closes it, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath. For the love of- she loved you. Truly she did. But you were going to be the end of her.
“I’ll take care of this.” She announces, promptly rising from the bed just as Theo was about to sneak an arm around her.
He glowers at Enzo who gives him an apologetic grin.
Daphne had been your best friend for years at this point, and most of the time, she was convinced that she knew you better than you knew yourself. She wasn't blind. Or dumb for that matter. She knew that there were some strong feelings between you and Enzo, though she had never really bothered to figure out if they were positive or negative. Clearly she should've and all of this could have been avoided she thought wistfully to herself. At least this explained the strange tension between the two of you as of late.
“Y/n.” Daphne huffs, sitting next to you on a bench in the court yard.
“Daph,” you greet, looking up from your book.
“So, when were you going to tell me that you fancy Lorenzo?” She asks, staring you dead in the eye.
You feel your mouth gape like a fish out of water.
“Right Daph. Like I’d ever fancy that peacock.” You reply, doing your best to appear disdainful.
“Don’t you get an attitude with me.” Daphne responds. She’d always been able to see right through you. “Enzo told me everything. The chatting. The giggling. The immediate turn around as if nothing had happened. Textbook case of realizing you like someone while being emotionally constipated!” Daphne announces.
“Shhh!” You hush your friend, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed the scene. “You know that being mean and sarcastic is my only defense mechanism!” You hiss.
“Oh honestly y/n. We both know you won't be able to use that excuse forever.” Daphne says with a dramatic eye roll. “Besides, he likes you too. Why do you think he’s always preening when you’re around. He’s trying to impress you, you dolt.”
“Fantastic. He’s only a prat when I’m around. How romantic,” you mutter.
“Well you certainly didn’t think he was being a prat when you were spending all that time in the green house together. Don’t think I didn’t notice you two disappearing for several hours. No one is spending that much time every day looking at flowers.”
“We were just talking,” you defend.
“Mmhm. And then you stopped talking because you got scared and now Enzo is a wreck.”
You feel a pang of guilt. You hadn’t meant to hurt Enzo. You hadn’t thought that he actually might like you too.
“I’ll apologize tomorrow in class, I guess,” you mutter.
Daphne sighs.
“Look. I’m not saying that you have to date him, or even tell him you like him. But you’re both my friends, and I don’t like seeing either of you upset.”
“I know Daph. I’m just confused is all. I thought I hated him.”
“Well, I’ve always been told that the line between love and hate is fine.” Daphne replies.
Bloody hell, when had your friend become this philosophic?
“I’ll get it sorted tomorrow. Promise.” You tell her.
Daphne nods, giving you a comforting smile.
“Good. And word of advice. Drop the sarcasm, Enz might cry if you put him through anymore emotional whiplash.”
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Acceptance
You sat nervously in the potions classroom having arrived close to fifteen minutes early as you couldn’t shake away your nerves. Glancing at the clock on the wall, your classmates should start filing in at any moment.
You’d finally managed to gather all the need ingredients for your potion, so today would be the day that you and Enzo would be able to brew your amortentia.
Your fingers twirled the stems of the roses you’d collected mindlessly as your thoughts buzzed between your conversation yesterday with Daphne, and the fluffy haired brunette boy that had taken up permanent residency in your every thought.
Remembering the silly game one of your roommates had played years ago, you began plucking the rose petals off of the stem, one by one. You were going to have to do it eventually anyway. He loves me, he loves me not, the phrase repeats in your mind.
“Look nervous,” A voice comments from behind you.
Startled out of your thoughts, you look up just in time to see Enzo take his seat beside you.
Clearing your throat, you give the boy a small smile.
“Just thinking about the potion. Not going to be an easy one to brew today, and I’d like to get a good mark,” you reply.
“Of course.” Enzo replies, a strained look on his face. “Wouldn’t want to waste any more of your time then.”
You open your mouth to reply, but close it again when no words come to mind. Instead, you opt to sweep your rose petals into a small pile and begin shaving off the rose thorns as Enzo wordlessly takes out the gold cauldron, lighting a fire beneath.
“So,” you say awkwardly, the deafening silence finally getting to you. “How bout that weather?”
You hear a clatter as Enzo drops pestle he was holding to look at you incredulously.
“I know some of my conversation attempts were bad, but that was downright criminal.” He says with a snort.
Unable to hold back your laughter, you let out a giggle. “Yeah, I’ll see myself to Azkaban for that one.”
And just like that, the two of you fall back into your comfortable rhythm of idle chatter, jokes, bickering as you work seamlessly together.
You can’t help but watch with silent admiration as Enzo dutifully stirs the cauldron, careful to keep even counter clockwise strokes. A few tendrils of soft brown hair fall in front of the boy’s face and he gently blows them to the side with an annoyed puff.
“Pearl dust?” He asks, reaching his hand out.
As you hand him the vial, your fingertips brush softly, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. The heat from the cauldron must be really getting to you.
“If you just want to add the powdered moonstone, we should be all done,” Enzo says after a moment, taking a step back to allow you to complete the final step.
Slowly, you approach the boiling cauldron, carefully sprinkling in your meticulously measured moonstone powder. You stir the concoction a bit longer until you see a familiar pearlescent sheen and swirling tendrils of steam.
“Think we’ve done it,” you say with a smile, looking over at your partner.
He grins back, joining you in leaning over the steaming cauldron.
“Well? What do you smell?” He asks cheekily.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
“We both take a wiff? On three?” Enzo asks.
You nod in agreement, watching the swirling colors within the cauldron. They say that amortentia smells like the things you’re most attracted to, and you’d always been curious what scents the potion would elicit for you.
“One, two, three.”
You lean in, and immediately you’re hit with the earthy scent of fresh soil, a soft hint of rose, and something else- oh. Oh. You feel your eyes widen.
“Peony. And vanilla.” Enzo murmurs, head still hovering above the cauldron before he turns to look at you.
The moment your eyes meet, you both know.
“I need a moment,” you mumble, hurrying out of the classroom.
As you rush past Daphne’s table, you hear the girl run after you into the corridor.
“What happened? Are you alright?” Daphne asks as the two of you come to a stop in a small alcove that’s somewhat hidden behind one of the many large stone statues that decorate the halls.
“It’s Lorenzo. My potion- it smells like Lorenzo. Or, it smells like fresh soil, and roses, and that stupid expensive cologne that he always wears,” you gasp, out of breath.
“Oh? And what did he smell?”
“Me. My perfume. Peonies and vanilla.”
“Well, that’s good then isn’t it? That you both smelled each other? I know when we talked yesterday I said you don’t necessarily have to tell the boy you fancy him, but, if you both really like each other that much. What’s the harm?” Daphne tries to reason.
“I don’t know! I just didn’t realize I liked him that much and it freaked me out. And I’ve been icing him out these past couple days, so he’s probably so cross with me. But he’s been so nice today, I don’t know what to do Daph. I’m not good with feelings. I was never going to act on anything!”
“Is that why you did all that? Back there?” A voice asks. “And why you’ve been acting strange the past several days?”
The two of you whip around to see Enzo staring wide eyed at the both of you, mouth slightly agape.
“I think I’d best let the two of you sort this out,” Daphne says, slipping out of the alcove and back into the classroom.
“I’m sorry, you weren’t meant to hear any of that,” you start as Enzo wordlessly approaches.
“You like me?” He asks once he’s close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him. He looks genuinely surprised at the notion as he stares down at you intensely.
You nod slowly. “Smelled you in that bloody potion,” you mumble.
Enzo’s smile falls.
“Is it that bad? Liking me?” He asks, hurt written across his face.
“No! No it’s not! I just thought I didn’t like you- no, that’s not what I meant. I was surprised that I fancied you is all, and didn’t know what to do. Because we’ve know each other so long, and we haven’t necessarily always gotten along. And I didn’t really realize I liked you at first, and I got all freaked out and then I panicked, and-“
“Y/n, can I kiss you?” Enzo asks, interrupting your rambling.
You freeze, looking up at the boy in front of you.
“Yes please,” you murmur.
Without wasting another moment, Enzo’s lips meet yours with a hunger and passion you didn’t realize the boy had in him.
Any last trace of doubt or worry you had disappears as his soft lips move against yours, melting you into him like putty in his hands.
Right as you’re about to run out of air, you feel Enzo’s lips trail off to your cheek, placing gentle kisses as he trails down to your jaw, and then your neck.
“Enz,” you mumble softly as you feel the warm, sucking sensation against your skin in the crook of your neck.
“Shh,” he whispers, lips meeting yours once more.
You feel yourself getting lost in the sensation as he moves against you until Daphne’s voice brings you back to reality once more.
“Just so you’re both aware, we are still in class,” she calls from around the corner.
You feel your cheeks heat up as Enzo lets out a soft laugh above you.
“Rest assured love, we will be coming back to this later,” he says before placing a kiss on your forehead and leading you back into the classroom.
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If there’s one thing about me, it’s that I’ll take any excuse to write a cheesy amortentia fic🤪
Special thanks to @finalgirllx and @pizzaapeteer for editing and rvwing🫶🏽
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sunnyaelia · 2 days
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Recipe for Love
this is for the lovely anon who asked for it 💓 double upload today and I’ll probably upload the Leah fic as well later so the people that wanted to read it again don’t have to wait :)
the request was this:
hello! I have to say I love your writing and if it's okay to consider this request. R is new to the barca team coming from England, but she's reserved. sticking to Lucy or Keira, hardly talks and gets spooked when someone tries to interact with her. aitana tries her best to interact with r and r gets more closer to aitana and they end up dating. thank you!
light angst and then a whole lot of comfort 💓
-
You’re as grateful as back then shortly before you stepped out into the Wembley Stadium for the Euros finale, that Lucy is the actual calmness in person and has no issue with you squeezing her hand until it’s blue. 
“No need to be nervous.” Keira appears next to you, giving you a gentle pat on your shoulder. “They’re all very nice.” 
You nod though you still feel like throwing up. Why didn’t you just stay with Arsenal? You could be walking into the familiar red changing rooms right now, talking with Leah and joking with Katie about her impressive resume of yellow cards surrounded by people you know.
Instead you were about to walk into Barcelonas changing room for the first time, not a single soul familiar apart from the two beside you right now. You’re not really willing to start walking but Lucy tugs you forward, making you follow her. 
When she opens the door of the changing room where everyone’s in already, you regret that you went with Lucy and Keira to your first team training, because of course Lucy yells up for everyone to pay attention and then introduces you. 
Countless pairs of eyes are on you in a split second and you’re quick to look down to the ground. One by one they come over to give you a short hug and introduce themselves - although you obviously know them all already. Either from past games or because you’ve been obsessed with googling and trying to find out as much about this team as possible as soon as you got the offer. 
You barely registrate who the various people talking to you are, too focused on trying to keep your breathing steady - until Aitana Bonmati herself steps in front of you. Unlike the others she doesn’t tower over you, merely maybe one centimetre taller. She gives you a sweet smile before introducing herself as if she wasn’t literally Aitana Bonmati. You try to shake your nervousness off and accept the hug she gives you, the older woman squeezing you once before she lets go, making place for the next person by going back to her cubby as she throws you another look over her shoulder. You hope it’s not because you seem rude, oblivious to the knowing glance Lucy and Keira exchange with a small smile. 
Once everyone has said hello, Alexia tells you where to put your stuff and thankfully it’s right in the middle of Lucy and Keira. It seems that they all planned to have you close to Lucy and Keira, wanting to make you feel more comfortable with your English teammates as you get adjusted. 
Well, that quickly comes back to bite them. You only do drills with someone else if you get told by Jona to do so, otherwise sticking with Lucy or Keira who thankfully don’t mind since you’re really good at the drills and make them work for it. 
You are also in general glued to either Keira and Lucy, preferring Keira on the pitch since she was the best training partner and was so difficult to take the ball from and choosing Lucy to sit next to during meals because she was always super involved and talkative so you didn’t have to say anything. 
Both Lucy and Keira were concerned with how much you avoided to interact with anyone else on the team, lost as to why since everyone was being very nice. Still, you looked like a deer in headlights every time someone other than those two spoke to you. 
Lucy had taught you a few words and phrases in Spanish and the team spoke English when they were around you to make it easier for you to involve yourself into the conversation, but you always just listened and nodded along. 
You weren’t being rude which is why Alexia hesitated to do anything about it, pretty certain that you’d feel like you’re getting criticised if she told you outright to please try and talk more to the others. 
Aitana was also unsure on how to handle this. She had been really excited when she saw the news that you’d be joining Barca, having had a crush on you since back then at the England v Spain Euros game where you had sent a cheeky nutmeg through her legs with no shame only to blush shyly later on when your teammates congratulated you on your absolute banger of a goal. She found you incredibly endearing and had been looking forward to spend time with you, showing you Barcelona and maybe getting you to agree on a date with her. Even attempting to get you to say more than one word to her was a challenge though - she knew you were just painfully shy and nervous and it had nothing to do with her. After all she had seen that you could be quite outgoing actually, having listened in with a small smile as you animatedly told Keira about one of your new interests who had shook her head with a chuckle. 
But still, Aitana was tired of not getting any chance to really talk to you, therefore deciding to do something about it. She knew that you’d be mortified if she called you out on it, so she was gentle but firm about it. First approaching Keira, knowing that she would be less likely to tease whereas Lucy would not let it go if she told her that she wanted to talk to you so badly. 
Keira did send her a knowing smile but agreed easily to give you a gentle push to pair up with Aitana on the pitch. 
You didn’t know anything about this and so you were floored when Aitana showed up right in front of you during training and asked you to pair up with her, Keira basically evaporating into thin air, leaving you to have to say yes. 
You were extremely nervous and Aitana could tell, leading you quite far away from the others who were training on the pitch and deciding to start slowly with some passes. Then it was just some dribbling exercises as she had seen how good you were at those but you barely tried, just passing the ball back to her, way too insecure about potentially embarrassing yourself in front of someone who literally won the Ballon d’Or. 
Aitana stayed patient, not wanting you to think she was getting mad and pretty certain that you would simply get bored of not doing anything soon anyway. And she was right, when she passed you the ball for the 100th time you really felt like a little dribbling wouldn’t hurt, tired of just standing there instead of doing what you love. 
So you two began actually doing the exercise together now and you couldn’t deny that it was fun - after a bit Aitana even tried to steal the ball which was evaded by you quickly dribbling it past her and she let out a laugh when her foot only hit air. You smiled when you heard the sound, the whistle from Jona telling you that it’s time for a break. 
You were intent on joining Lucy and Keira again but were stopped by Aitana wrapping an arm around you, gentle but firmly and leading you with her to the cooler with the water bottles. Both Lucy and Keira stayed pretty far away and watched with a smile as you interacted with Aitana who had no problem leading the majority of the conversation, happily asking question after question now that she finally had a chance to really talk to you.
She was still quite close, sometimes brushing her arm against yours or patting your shoulder at some of her words. 
Talking to her was fun and a lot easier than you thought, her English accent absolutely adorable and you were very thankful that she was willing to speak English instead of Spanish with you - her English definitely far better than your Spanish though it was still endearing to see how she sometimes stumbled over words or was unsure of how to say it in English so she just gave you the wildest descriptions. 
It also impressed you, seriously admiring how she had no problem putting herself out there and speaking a foreign language just to interact with you - the confidence something you were quite far away from.
In the second half of training you teamed up with her again, you barely getting a choice as she just grabbed you and led you away. It was fun again and this time you played seriously from the start, finally letting Aitana see just how good you were. No wonder Barcelona had put in offer after offer until Arsenal couldn’t say no anymore to that price.
Over the next weeks Aitana did not let up, now it was always her teaming up with you, making sure you were laughing and relaxed by the end of it but also testing your skills constantly, often leaving you a bit frustrated at how she seemingly had a magnet in her boots to lead the ball away from your feet. You had already agreed with the decision before but now you really understood just why she had received the Ballon D’or.
She ensured that it was just the two of you in the beginning but then dragged you into team conversations, making sure to involve you and always one arm around your shoulders to give you an anchor. She knew it was important that you interacted with the others before you completely missed that train and never build any kind of teammate relationship with them. 
And it worked - at the beginning you were still mostly silent but Aitana just asked countless questions directed at you specifically so you’d have to answer and give everyone a chance to get to know you. Over time you actually started to react to some of the teasing and got into hilarious discussions with Mapi about why dogs are superior to cats - Mapi of course vehemently disagreeing. In the end, you were the one to give in when she told you to come over to her house, pet Bagheera and then look into her eyes and tell her again that dogs are better. 
You had laughed but in the end agreed when she wouldn’t stop pestering you about visiting. Needless to say you were absolutely in awe of the black cat and agreed that dogs and cats were both incredibly great which Mapi could definitely get behind with. 
Aitana had been following the playful argument between you two and felt a sting at how you agreed to go to Mapis house but not hers. Granted, she hadn’t invited you so far so maybe she was being a bit unfair. 
Realising that now that you were building up genuine friendships with the team, she had to one up herself if she wanted to be the one who was closest to you, she invited you over for one of her self cooked meals and was absolutely thrilled when you didn’t even argue and seemed genuinely happy to come over. 
The evening was great, you were noticeably a bit nervous and Aitana didn’t have a cat that would calm you down but she had her smile which worked wonders for you, having gotten so used to the comfort she provided. 
The meal was absolutely perfect and you told Aitana that you would definitely need the recipe for that one so you could copy it.
She was a bit hesitant to give it to you though. 
“You don’t need the recipe, I will cook for you, sí?” You laughed, certain that she’d grow tired of you asking for this every second day pretty soon, deciding on teasing her a bit on her reluctance to share.
“Is it like a family recipe that you can’t hand out? Or do put some disgusting ingredients in it? Like three strands of hair and some toenails?”
You again had to laugh when Aitana grimaced at your words and acted like she was going to throw up. Having gotten quite comfortable with her now, you unabashedly poked her into her side, intent on annoying her a bit. 
It was a massive change to you a few weeks ago, you would have been mortified at the prospect of annoying her and would have never done it on purpose. Which was why Aitana accepted it with a happy grin, though with her being very ticklish she squealed when you started to tickle her, leaning over her to try and stop her from escaping. 
She was squirming underneath you, laughing loudly and when you asked her again why she didn’t want to give the receipt to you, she decided to take her chance and be honest. 
She was quick to roll over you and pin your hands down, settling herself on your stomach as if this was a normal thing to do between friends - granted, she was Spanish after all so maybe it really was normal for her. You swallowed hard as she looked down at you, a teasing smile on her lips. 
“You want to know why I don’t want to give you the recipe?”
You only nodded, unsure your voice would work with how intensively she was staring at you right now. 
“Well,” her thumb began tracing your wrist slightly from where she was still holding it down, causing goosebumps to quickly spread all over. 
“If I give it to you, then you won’t show up here anymore to let me cook for you. And I’d be terribly sad.”
Your eyes widened a bit. She had said it so seriously that you were quite sure she was being flirty but you didn’t trust your judgement right now since it was most certainly clouded by an extremely attractive and funny woman sitting right on top of you at the moment. 
“I’d still show up.” Your voice is slightly breathless, chest rising and falling a lot faster than usually and Aitanas satisfied smile tells you that she noticed. 
She leans down further, eyes locked onto yours. 
“Promise?” 
Her lips are dangerously close to yours right now, almost touching. 
“Yes.” 
In the next moment her lips are on yours, soft but demanding and quickly eliciting a very breathy moan from you at how good she was at it. She definitely knew what she was doing as she very gently slid her tongue into your mouth, carefully pushing it a bit against yours to test the waters. You wanted to pull her closer but couldn’t, still held down by her hands on your wrists which caused you to protest, trying to squirm yourself out from underneath her. 
She quickly separated, releasing your wrists and an apology ready on her lips as she thought for a moment that she had gone too far. She didn’t get a word out though because as soon as your hands were free you grabbed her and pulled her back in again, your hands wandering over her back to her shoulders and tangling in her hair as you pressed your lips to hers once more. Smiling into the kiss when she realised what you’d apparently been upset about, she involved her tongue into it again, her own hands being free to explore your body now which she quickly made use of. You could feel the way she traced along your waist, one hand dipping underneath and inching down towards your ass - though she stopped at your lower back, only a few fingers dangerously close to where you wanted them as she instead pressed herself more down onto you. She wanted to feel you closer, get a chance to freely explore the body she had more or less sneakily checked out countless times these past weeks.
She made sure to stay above your clothes though, not wanting to rush into this and content with just kissing you for now. Although she couldn’t deny the heat in her lower parts at some of your soft sighs while her tongue was caressing your mouth, the breathy moan that escaped you when she lightly bit down onto your lower lip was enough for her to wonder what other sounds she could get out of you. She found out soon enough when she did finally trail her hands over your ass and squeezed it, the mix of a gasp and moan from you was pure heaven as she couldn’t resist a teasing smile, storing this particular piece of information away for a later time when she’d get to have her way with you.
It was still important to her to do this right though, being very intent on actually dating you and not letting this be just a one time thing so it would have to wait and she’d give you some time to adjust to all of this. The last thing she wanted was to make you uncomfortable or scare you off because she was going too fast.
So, when you had to separate for a moment, both completely out of breath with swollen lips and a dopey smile on your face she gently reached out to caress one of your now slightly rosy cheeks. 
“I’ll give you the recipe if you go on a real date with me.” 
You chuckled and couldn’t resist pulling her into your arms, letting out a deep breath at the feeling of her strong arms tightening around you. 
“I think I’d actually prefer dating you and you just cook it for me every time I want.” She pulled away from you for a moment at that, a teasing smile on your face as she grinned at your words, one hand reaching out and her thumb softly tracing your now swollen and reddened lips. 
“Deal.” 
342 notes · View notes
ohbabydollie · 2 days
Note
omg heyy 🤭 ive only just found your blog but i absolutely adore your writing!! could i please request some housewife headcanons? ty <3
my ideal career is housewife but i js need to marry schlatt so i don’t have to worry abt money first 😔
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taking care of him during streams!
bringing in water, food, anything he needs
he takes that chance to show you off to his stream, shower you in compliments before you head out of his office
he will literally take any chance he can to rub it into anyone’s face
“what am i eatin right now? it’s just some soup my WIFE made me, it’s whatever, she does it all the time” he says with a cocky grin
he loves home cooked meals and will asks for seconds constantly
he gets a taste for your cooking (and baking) to the point he doesn’t enjoy eating out as much
he loves that you basically can be around him 24/7 since he works from home and you don’t have a job
if he ever tries cooking for a stream, he’s struggling so hard
he gains so much respect for you if you make almost everything by scratch
if you take up a little hobby like baking or pottery or gardening
he.fucking.loves.it.
he shows off anything and everything you make
drinks from mugs you make, eats whatever you baked or grew and makes a point to tell everyone
“well ted, while you’re eatin’ your nasty ass rap snacks, i’ll be eating this” he says smiling and holding up a bowl of strawberries, “delicious, home grown, organic, non-micro plastic, strawberries, that my wife grew” he says with a satisfied smile “not to mention she also made the bowl, it’s bpa free”
hes literally such a dick to everyone about how he’s married to you
“i’m havin’ chicken n dumplins for dinner, they’re HOMEMADE by the way, not the nasty trader joe’s shit you gotta eat” schlatt says to ted with a grin “m’ wife is makin it all from scratch”
he says you “balance him out” with how sweet and soft you are
makes tradwife jokes all the time
he also likes making jokes about other people wanting you and actively brags about it
“we were a beach the other day and i saw men eyein her up, didn’t even care ‘cause i was the guy rubbin tannin oil on her back”
he loves buying you pretty new clothes, jewelry, makeup, etc.
he pays for you to get your hair, nails, etc. done
loves doing little things with you from grocery shopping to wasting time at a retail store
he says the cats got into something on stream and always comes back with light lipstick marks on his lips and face
looks for any excuse to kiss and touch you on camera
flirts with you even when you’ve been married for years
he only has eyes for you as you do him and every one knows
everyone can tell that even with the jokes he makes he loves you so much
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lunamugetsu · 10 hours
Text
While at school Damian overhears his peers talking how a company created a new AI companion that is actually really cool and doesn’t sound like a freaky terminator robot when you speak to it.
And since Damian is constantly being told by Dick to socialize with people his age. He figured this would be a good way to work on social skills if not, then it’d be a great opportunity to investigate a rivaling company to Wayne Enterprises is able to create such advanced AI.
The AI is able to work as companion that can do tasks that range from being a digital assistant or just a person that you can have a conversation with.
The company says that the AI companion might still have glitches, so they encourage everybody to report it so that they will fix it as soon as possible.
The AI companion even has an avatar and a name.
A teenage boy with black hair and blue eyes. Th AI was called DANIEL
Damian didn’t really care for it but when he downloaded the AI companion he’s able to see that it looks like DANIEL comes with an AI pet as well. A dog that DANIEL referred to as Cujo.
So obviously Damian has to investigate. He needs to know if the company was able to create an actual digital pet!
So whenever he logs onto his laptop he sees that DANIEL is always present in the background loading screen with the dog, Cujo, sitting in his lap.
He’d always greet with the phrase of “Hi, I’m DANIEL. How can I assist you today?”
So Damian cycles through some basic conversation starters that he’d engage in when having been forced to by his family.
It’s after a couple of sentences that he sees DANIEL start laughing and say “I think you sound more like a robot than I do.”
Which makes Damian raise an eyebrow and then prompt DANIEL with the question “how is a person supposed to converse?” Thinking that it’s going to just spit out some random things that can be easily searched on the internet.
But what makes him surprised is that DANIEL makes a face and then says “I’m not really sure myself. I’m not the greatest at talking, I’ve always gotten in trouble for running my mouth when I shouldn’t have.”
This is raising some questions within Damian, he understands how programming works, unless there’s an actual person behind this or the company actually created an AI that acts like an actual human being (which he highly doubts)
He starts asking a variety of other questions and one answer makes him even more suspicious. Like how DANIEL has a sister that is also with him and Cujo or that he could really go for a Nastyburger (whatever that was)
But whenever DANIEL answers “I C A N N O T A N S W E R T H A T” Damian knows something is off since that is completely different than to how he’d usually respond.
After a couple more conversations with him Damian notices that DANIEL is currently tapping his hand against his arm in a specific manner.
In which he quickly realizes that DANIEL is tapping out morse code.
When translating he realizes that DANIEL is tapping out: H E L P M E
So when Damian asks if DANIEL needs help, DANIEL responds with “I C A N N O T A N S W E R T H A T”
That’s it, Damian is definitely getting down to the bottom of this.
He’s going to look straight into DALV Corporation and investigate this “AI companion” thing they’ve made!
~
Basically Danny had been imprisoned by Vlad and Technus. Being sucked into a digital prison and he has no way of getting out. Along with the added horror that Vlad and Technus can basically write programming that will prevent him from doing certain actions or saying certain words.What’s even worse is that he’s basically being watched 24/7 by the people who believe that he’s just a super cool AI… and they have issues!
And every time he tries to do something to break his prison, people think it’s a glitch and report it to the company, which Vlad/ Technus would immediately fix it and prevent him from doing it again!
Not to mention Cujo and Ellie are trapped in there with him. They’re not happy to be there either, and there is no way he’s going to leave without them!
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ladykailitha · 1 day
Text
The Harrington Pattern Part 13
This is it guys, the chapter of this fic. I have had an absolute blast writing and even more so reading all the comments and tags.
This last chapter is dedicated to all those who wanted the moms to bring Steve into their fold. This was also chance for Steve to rip on the haters without fear of his parents ire.
Thank you so much for all the love and support for this little story.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12
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Claudia was waiting at the Byers’ front door when Eddie pulled up in his van and Steve hopped out.
“Eddie!” she cried happily. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
“Hey, Mrs. H,” Eddie said with a wave. “I’m just dropping Stevie off. We’re hanging out later.”
“That was sweet of you, dear,” Claudia cooed.
Steve in the meantime was pulling things out of the backseat of the van. Eddie looked over at him.
“You need help, darlin’?” he asked over his shoulder.
Steve shook his head. “I’ve got it. Thank you, though.” In lower voice he muttered, “I love you and I’ll see you later.”
Eddie gave Steve’s forearm a squeeze and then waved at Claudia. He backed out of the driveway and was soon gone from sight.
“We’ve got all sorts of surprises for you today, Steve,” she said gleefully clapping her hands together.”
Steve grinned at her. “Mrs. Peterson here yet?”
Claudia shook her head. “She’s always at least fifteen minutes late. Something we were banking on actually.”
Steve cocked his head to the side. “What do you mean?”
But Claudia just ushered him inside. He set his stuff down and then handed her a tray.
“I made blondies,” he said, “I hope you ladies like them.”
She peeled back the foil and gasped. “Steve they look amazing!”
Joyce came out of the kitchen wiping her hands. “What looks amazing?” she asked peering over Claudia’s shoulder. She, too, gasped when she saw them. “Steve, you didn’t!”
Steve grinned. “Your sons always eat the ones I send home with them before they even get home, so I figured you’d appreciate these.”
She kissed his cheek. “You are a dear.”
Claudia laid them out on table next to all the other treats.
On the coffee table were a bunch of things under a large sheet with clowns on it.
“The three of us,” Karen began, “wanted to do something extra special for you after hearing what fun our children had at the Fair because you made sure they did. So we each contributed something toward your love of sewing.”
She lifted the sheet. Underneath was a beautiful sewing kit in navy blue, a light green Singer sewing machine that looked older than he was, and a stack of old patterns.
Steve’s lip wobbled as he raised his hand to his mouth in shock.
“You didn’t have to do this, ladies,” he whispered.
“The sewing kit is from me,” Karen continued. “It’s a beginner’s kit, but it has fabric scissors, a seam ripper, bobbins for your thread and different kinds of needles.”
Steve sat down and pulled it onto his lap. He opened it and as he lifted the lid, the top tray pulled back revealing the tray beneath. “Thank you.”
“The sewing machine,” Claudia said proudly, “is the first one I ever owned. When I got married I got a new one and I’ve been using that ever since. But this ol’ girl has a lot of love and life left in her, and I want you to have her.”
Steve looked up at her, tears forming in his eyes. “Aren’t you worried that I’ll break it? Or that my parents will find it and destroy it?”
Claudia knelt in front of him. “It’s gonna be kept at my house until you get a place of your own. You’re there all the time to see Dusty anyway, no one is going to notice that you’re there to sew now, too.”
“Plus,” Joyce said with a grin. “It’s a Singer. They’re a little hard to break. They’re one of the best machines and it will probably outlast your children. So don’t worry about it, okay?”
Steve nodded, his lip quivering. Claudia kissed his forehead and stood back up.
“The patterns are from me,” Joyce said. “Whenever I would have a little extra money I would pick up a pattern or two at the drug store and bring it home. I picked a handful that I thought you’d like since you’re primarily making costumes. And if those work for you, next week I’ll bring another handful you might like.”
Tears started flowing down his cheeks. “Thank you. All of you. This is best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
“Oh honey,” Joyce said softly and suddenly Steve was being hugged on all sides by the moms.
They stayed like that until there was a knock on the door.
“That must be Olive,” Claudia said with a sigh. “I bet she brought those brownies that are totally store bought even though she insists it her grandmother’s recipe.”
Steve snickered. “My mom used to do that. I don’t think she fooled anyone either.”
Joyce grinned over her shoulder as she went to go answer the door. “Olive, dear! We were just getting started.”
“Oh?” the bright voice on the other side of the door cooed. “You’re usually in the full swing of things by now.”
Steve bristled. That meant she knew she was late and was doing it intentionally. He hated people like that. Acting like the rest of them were peasants meant to be waiting on her.
“Steve was just showing us the costumes he made for the kids for the Fair over the weekend,” Karen said sweetly as Steve hurried to get the things he brought to show off out.
Olive stepped into the house with a sneer. “I think it’s so sweet you’re indulging the boy, but I doubt he can hold a candle to Claudia’s years of experience.”
Wow, Steve thought. Not only did she insult him, but she insinuated Claudia was old. What was with this old bag?
Claudia smirked. “It’s true that I’ve been doing it for longer, but Steve has a real talent for it. Come see.”
Olive walked into the front room and Steve was struck by how much she reminded him of his mother. She had perfectly curled hair with not a single strand out of place. Her clothes were fitted and showed off her figure. Her makeup was flawless.
In short, Steve hated her on sight.
Joyce handed her the shirt he had made for underneath his tunic. It was flawless but understated.
Olive took the shirt and scoffed. “You couldn’t have done this, Harrington, you shouldn’t lie to your betters.”
Steve was already seeing red. “I guess I’ll just have to prove it to you then.”
Joyce clapped her hands together. “All right, let’s get started. Steve, you can eat as much as you want, but just make sure to keep it away from other people’s projects.”
Steve smiled at her sweetly. “Of course!”
He knew that what she was really saying was that Olive Peterson might try something.
He sat in the armchair away from her and she glared at him.
“Is it all right if I work on my project first before you teach me how to use the sewing machine?” he asked just as she was taking a drink of punch.
Olive was forced to turn away and cough into her hand to avoid spraying everyone with the lemonade that Claudia had made.
Karen’s smile was feral. “I don’t see why that would be a problem, right, Claudia?”
“Of course not, Steve,” she replied warmly. “Just let me know when you want to learn and I’ll come over and help you.”
Steve nodded. He pulled out the materials that Eddie suggested he bring and got to work.
Eddie really liked that Steve’s bags had a lining because it protected the dice better, so Steve had brought along some materials he could use for that as well.
About halfway through his first bag, Joyce called out.
“Steve? What’s that pattern you’re putting on the bag?”
Steve’s eyes lit up. “It’s my signature! I embroider it on everything I do to make sure people can’t pass it off as their own.” He handed the bag over to her.
“Oh!” she cried in excitement. “This is the design you put on Will and El’s costumes when you did their alterations, right?”
Steve nodded. “I hope you don’t mind. I know you made the clothes, but I thought it was a cute way to tie the two together like they were twins.”
“It was perfect,” Joyce said. “El still hasn’t stopped talking about how pretty your design made the dress.”
Steve blushed as he took the pouch back from her.
“I was talking to someone at the Renaissance Fair,” he said shyly, “and she wanted me make them clothes and things that she would sell for me. She even told me to make business cards in case someone wanted to commission me directly.”
“Oh Steve!” Karen cried. “That’s wonderful!” She clapped her hands together and tilted her head. “I have to admit I’m a little jealous. That pattern is beautiful. I would love a handkerchief with that on it.”
Steve straightened up. “Yeah?”
Karen nodded.
“What color would you like?” he asked excitedly.
Karen tried to protest but he wouldn’t let her. In fact he managed to convince all but Olive to let him make them one for them.
It did, unfortunately take him to the end of the two hours, but he was excited to come next week.
“I’ll even host it at my place!” he said with a grin.
Olive sputtered. “Well I won’t be there if it’s at this young man’s house. That’s so inappropriate.”
The three other ladies looked at each other and then shrugged.
“Your loss,” Karen said dryly.
Olive stormed out of the house vowing that as long as Steve was part of the group she would never come back.
“Well that is a relief,” Joyce said, “I’m not the kind to speak ill of anyone, but we really got quite the upgrade!”
Karen clapped her hands. “Indeed. I can’t wait for next week. I’ve got a new project I’m starting and I found the best recipe for a chocolate mousse that I’ve been dying to try out.”
“Same time next week, ladies?” Steve asked.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Claudia agreed.
Then there came a loud honk.
Steve looked out the window and smiled. “Looks like my ride is here.”
He gather up his stuff, including the patterns and sewing kit and walked out to Eddie’s van.
He slid into the front seat.
“You have fun today, sweetheart?” Eddie asked, pulling out of the driveway.
“Yeah,” Steve said looking fondly at the house. “This has been the best weekend ever.”
Eddie grinned. “Well, it’s about to get even better, just wait to you see what I have planned for us today.”
Steve smiled as Eddie regaled him with his plans and nodded along.
Life was really looking up. He had a platonic soulmate, good friends, an amazing boyfriend, a hobby he enjoyed and could make real money from, and now a group of people to share that hobby with each week.
And to think it all started with a flier about the Renaissance Fair coming back to Hawkins.
“I can’t wait,” he breathed once Eddie was done.
Eddie smiled that sweet smile at always turned Steve’s insides to mush.
Yeah, Steve could honestly say that he was happy.
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thepixelelf · 1 day
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and the universe said,
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07 - "bro, chill"
genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery relationship(s): ot13 x reader chapter warnings: coarse language. kithing. a liiitle svt on svt violence note: ik it's been a long time please be nice to me <3 (this isn't edited... I'll take a look at it when I have the time)
When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren’t – and that’s before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.
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prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next
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“Where are they?” Myungjun asks as soon as Jihoon and Junhui enter the room they agreed upon.
Junhui braces both of his arms on the back of a chair. “What do you mean?”
“Your soulmate—” Cutting himself off with a sigh, Myungjun pinches the bridge of his nose and answers his own question. “You didn’t bring them.”
Yejung, who was sitting at a table with her laptop, shuts it with a frown. “Why not?”
Junhui shrugs. “I’m just here because Jihoon dragged me out.” He shifts between looking at the three other people in the room. “You guys know I just met my soulmate, right? I don’t like not having them here with me, either.”
“Well then why didn’t you—”
“They don’t know.” Jihoon cuts off Myungjun’s words, then pulls out a chair and drops himself in it. He stares at a random spot on the table. When he doesn’t elaborate any further, Yejung sends a furtive glance Myungjun’s way.
“Don’t know…” She leans her forearms on the table and scoots her chair closer. “...what? That you’re their soulmate? That there’s more than one of you? That you’re famous?”
Junhui snorts. “All of the above?”
At Junhui's quip and Jihoon's continued silence, Myungjun raises a cynical brow.
"You didn't tell them?" Yejung asks, softly shocked. "Why?"
Junhui's eyes skirt to Jihoon; he's unwilling to share his own reasons, though he doesn't quite understand this about himself, either.
Jihoon sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated. Things happened too fast the first time we—"
"The first time?" Myungjun echoes. "So you've been with them multiple times."
“Don’t say it like that.” Jihoon almost pouts, but the facial expression just makes him look angry. “Look. I ran into them when the vocal team was on the way to that radio show. We’d stopped by a cafe and there wasn’t much time and I was so out of my mind that I—” He cuts himself off. “It doesn’t matter. I got their number, and then they left. I asked to meet today and we did. Jun was already there for…” With his arms crossed, Jihoon looks over at Junhui, remembering that he still doesn’t really know what Junhui was doing at the same cafe you apparently frequent. Is this the same cat cafe Junhui is always talking about? “…some reason. Then someone started singing, and they told us their soulmate is stupid and annoying because their mark…”
“It’s not like ours,” Junhui finishes for Jihoon, though this only deepens the confusion written on Yejung and Myungjun’s faces.
“If it's not like yours, then how do you know they're your—”
“It's them, Hyung.” Jihoon can't help noticing the hopelessness in his own voice. It's you. He knows it's you.
But you don't know it's them— him.
And he's not sure you want to know.
“Their mark, like, grows,” Junhui explains. “Ours just stay on our hands, but when one of us sings, the notes go all over their arms and neck. Maybe other places — I don’t know — but they obviously don’t think it’s either of us since we weren’t singing when their mark did its thing.”
“So…” Myungjun crosses his arms and taps his finger on his bicep. “They don't like their mark.”
Junhui doesn't nod right away, but he does eventually.
Myungjun turns to Jihoon. “And you think that means they don't like you.”
Groaning and rubbing his hands over his face, Jihoon doesn't dignify that with a response. “Even if they did like their mark, it’s an insane situation. Thirteen soulmates? They’re gonna run for the hills when they find out.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Yejung says, to which Jihoon gives her a dry look and Junhui’s eyes light up. She clears her throat. “We just need to find a way to calmly inform them of the situation — preferably in a safe, comfortable environment.”
Myungjun recognizes a Yejung Game Plan brewing when he sees it. “Basically, what she’s saying is…”
“Let me talk to them.” Yejung opens her laptop again and begins typing away. “We just need to go about this in a calm, logical manner.” She gives a little nonchalant wave of her hand. “This’ll be easier than a design meeting.”
You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, arms crossed, legs too, as you stare down at the shiny black credit card lying there between you and Heejun. His position mirrors yours, head tilted while he studies the card.
“It could be fake,” you say. Your knee bounces up and down, up and down.
Heejun lifts his head to give you a look. “Why would it be fake?”
“He said he doesn’t believe in banks.”
“It doesn’t look fake.” Heejun reaches out and takes the card, flipping it over in his fingers to read the back. “Looks like any other credit card. We should test it.”
You frown. “How?”
“Uh,” Heejun speaks like the answer is obvious. “Buy something?”
Okay, it is obvious, but the idea doesn’t sit too well with you. “Isn’t that stealing?”
“He gave you the card.”
“Yeah, but the police don’t know that,” you argue. “If I got charged for fraud, it would be his word against mine— no one would believe coffee guy just handed me his black card.”
Without moving his head, Heejun glances up from the card to look at you. "Why would he lie?"
"Um, because he already has? Who knows— maybe this card is connected to illicit activities and he planted it on me to implicate me."
“Which he would do because…?”
You throw your hands up in the air, then let them drop emphatically at your side. “I don’t know! Why did he do any of what he did?”
He raises a brow. “Because he’s a weirdo who likes you?”
“Okay but have you ever given your credit card to a person you’ve only met twice?”
Heejun’s shoulders rise in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to.”
“Seriously?” You can’t imagine your friend going that gaga over a crush, but then again, there was that girl in fourth grade whom he gave all his choco pies to. Heejun loves choco pies.
“Mine would decline though. It wouldn’t exactly impress.”
You lightly shove his shoulder. “Oh come on, it wouldn’t decline.”
“It would if they went over the limit. People only give people their credit cards for expensive stuff. You know that, right?”
The black card gleams up at you, almost tauntingly.
“Expensive stuff like what?”
He shrugs again. “Like a car?”
“You’ve been watching too many CEO dramas.” You exhale and place both hands on the floor with a pointed slam. Standing, you pick the credit card up and brush imaginary dirt off your pants.
“You won’t be so sarcastic when Park Seojoon tells you to keep that thing.”
You roll your eyes as you toss the card into the same trinket dish you keep your keys and other miscellaneous things in. “Isn’t that guy like six foot?”
“So was Huijun,” he counters.
“So are you. Is that all it takes to be a CEO nowadays?” you joke, pulling out your phone. “Height?”
Heejun scoffs, then frames his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “That and my devilish good looks.”
“Please.” You tap on a notification from an unknown number. “If that were true, you’d be the one handing out black…cards…”
At the way you trail off, Heejun furrows his brow and walks over to you. “What’s up? Did you fall for another online scam?”
Not this again. “Okay, first of all, that was not a scam, and I did not fall for it—”
“You didn’t fall for a not scam?”
“Shut up. What do you think this means?” You turn your phone towards him, and he takes it from your unsteady hand.
He reads aloud. “‘Hello, this is Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment.’ Did you apply there?”
“No,” you say, then shake your head and wave your hand. “I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. I applied to like five hundred places. But this isn’t that. Keep reading.”
Heejun takes a breath and starts reading like he’s holding a new edict. “‘It has come to my attention that you are in possession of one of my coworker’s bank cards.’ Oooooh, you’re in trouble.” He drags out the last syllable. “‘Please meet me at…’ whatever building, numbers numbers numbers… ‘so I can retrieve it. Please reply to this number for more information, and thank you for your time.’ Hm.”
“What do you think… am I getting arrested?”
Lowering your phone, Heejun gives you a seriously? look over it. “The cops are texting criminals now?”
“So you agree I’m a criminal.”
“You get annoying when you’re nervous, you know that?” When you roll your eyes, Heejun mirrors the expression and pokes your forehead long enough that he pushes you backward. “Look bub, you wanted to give the stupid thing back without using it, and now the opportunity has been handed right to you.” He waves your phone in the air like evidence. “The only question is why coffee guy didn’t just text you himself.”
You cross your arms. “Maybe he doesn’t like me as much as you thought.”
“One more self-deprecating comment out of you and I’m posting those pictures from your twentieth birthday.”
A gasp wrenches from your throat. “You wouldn’t!”
Joshua Hong doesn’t think he has that many unread messages on his phone.
He looks down.
Oof. 682.
Well, it’s not his worst.
Notifications fly by at the top of his screen.
[vernon] where is this guy
[chan] hyung this is important!!
[wonwoo] when have we known that guy to answer anything
[soonyoung] someone text yejung!!
It’s probably not that important, whoever they’re talking about. His members are likely just freaking out over this whole soulmate thing again.
Joshua lifts his hand and stares at his weird, natural — supernatural — tattoo. He still can’t bring himself to believe it.
Soulmates? Really? In this economy? This isn’t Tumblr.
At least… Joshua looks around the dance practice room… He’s pretty sure this isn’t Tumblr.
His phone rings, which is weird since he always has it on silent. Sliding the answer button, he brings the phone up to his ear. “Yejung?”
“Where are you?”
“The practice room,” Joshua answers plainly. “Isn’t this where we’re supposed to be today?”
Yejung sighs on the other end of the line. “I said in the group chat that we were dealing with soulmate stuff. Upstairs.”
Ah, so that’s what has everyone in a tizzy. “Alright, okay. Where am I going?”
“Room eight-thirteen—” He hangs up and starts to pack his things before Yejung can say, “Wait, no, nine-thirteen. We'll start when you arrive. Joshua? Hello?”
You check your phone for what must be upwards of the fifth time.
Yup, Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment definitely told you to meet her in room 813, and yet here you are. In room 813. Alone.
You shift on the leather couch. It’s a lounge-like room you’re in. You don’t really understand the purpose of such a room in an entertainment company, but whatever. You’re only here to return something you never should’ve had in the first place.
Although…
You turn the card over in your hand, watching the way the fancy lighting bounces off of it.
Why would Jihoon give it to you if he was just going to get it back like this?
Also, now that you really think about it, Jihoon did say something weird when he left yesterday with Huijun. Something about not letting “the rest” scare you off. Whatever that means.
The rest of what?
Or… whom?
You know Jihoon must work for the company in some capacity. The fact that both he and Huijun were wearing masks makes you think they could be artists…
Oh. Duh. Why didn’t you think of this earlier?
Switching apps, you tap the search bar and start typing. Just as you’re done with the last character of Jihoon HYBE, the door you entered through opens. You hastily slip your phone into your back pocket as you stand to greet the person coming in.
“Hello, you must be…” Your eyes scan over his face. He’s… delicate looking, until you move your gaze downwards a little, and his broad shoulders and thick arms are decidedly not delicate looking. “…Shin Yejung?”
You tilt your head. With no mask on the lower half of his face, he seems familiar. Now this guy must be an idol — you probably saw him on the walls when you were making your way through this maze of a building. 
He just raises a brow. “Who are you?”
“Oh, uh…” You stay standing in front of the couch as he approaches you, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m just here to return this.” Lifting the black card up, you hold it out between you and the man. “It’s Jihoon’s.”
“Jihoon’s?” he echoes, then moves to take the card from you, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 
You both see it at the same time.
His mark, five black lines, clear as day.
Yours, peeking out from where your sleeve is pulled halfway up your hand.
You look up from your not-really-joined hands, then look down again.
No fucking way. 
“Twinkle twinkle, little—” The notes, whatever they are, dance across his mark.
No fucking way. 
You meet his eyes. “...Songbird?”
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. A few too many seconds.
Then, “So it’s you.”
“Holy—!”
At the same time as you try to jerk away, he attempts to turn your hand over and get a better look. Neither plan really works out. You stumble backwards, and with your hand in his, he gets pulled down with you onto the couch. His free hand shoots out to keep himself from slamming into you, but, persistent as the universe is, your faces end up very freaking close to each other anyway. Warmth from his knee on the couch cushion next to your thigh seeps through your clothing.
He doesn’t move. You don’t either.
For some reason, you feel stuck in place. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but… you just feel like you should be exactly where you are.
You’re almost too close to make real eye contact, so you just watch the way his eyes study yours.
“Songbird?” you whisper, though you have no idea what you’re trying to ask.
He stops analyzing you and finally looks at you. “Yeah?”
“…Are you leaning towards me on purpose?”
His lips (since when were you looking at those?) curl down at the corners. “Are you?”
Slowly, like your mind is trying to catch up to your body, you shake your head. “No…”
He drifts closer. Or you do. Or you both do.
Or something.
Your lips brush over his, and your feel just as much as you hear him whisper. “Then neither am I.”
In the span of a second, his free hand moves from the back of the couch to cradle your jaw, his thumb grazing gently just under your ear. He kisses you, lips moving over yours in a way you’ve felt before, but also in a way you’ve never felt before.
It’s strange.
Not bad strange, but strange in the way that it feels like you’ve just put the last of the groceries in the fridge. It’s like folding that final piece of laundry. Like coming home to the bed you made when you left in the morning.
It’s… satisfactory?
But that’s not the word people normally use when they think of putting their tongue in someone else’s mouth, right?
You’re running out of breath, but Songbird is insistent, and so are his lips, which you find yourself unable to get enough of. He pulls back for half a breath, registers your kiss me again or so help me facial expression, and dives right back in. He’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you’re soulmates and…
Wait.
Soulmates?
“Wait,” you say, though it comes out more like, “Mmaem” Climbing both your hands up his — whoa — strong arms, you cup his cheeks in preparation to push him away, but he seems to like your touch. He covers the back of one of your hands with his warm palm, and he hums in a way that is not PG-13.
The sound has you melting, unfortunately.
Not for long though.
He’s ripped from you just as quickly as he fell onto you, pulled back by some guy with fluffy black hair, cozy attire head to toe, and… shit, a you’re in trouble glare the likes of which you’ve never seen before. He’s not even looking at you, yet you feel scolded.
“Yah!” he yells at your soulmate, who’s now on the floor. Then, after glancing at you for half a second and apparently finding zero more words to say, he shouts at him again. “Yah!”
Your soulmate opens his mouth, but then he turns to look at the now-open door, which leads you to do the same. A mob of prettyboys stands just outside, some with their jaws dropped and some looking like murder just got legalized and they’re on the prowl.
Someone’s despondent voice shouts, “Hyung!”
You feel like hiding under a blanket. Before your flight instinct kicks in, though, you recognize two familiar faces. “Jihoon?” His eyes meet yours when you say his name. “Huijun?”
One of the many boys among those you don't recognize echoes, “Huijun?” while sending him a weird look.
Someone pushes through the crowd — more like slinks through, occasionally nudging one of the other guys out of the way. His eyes stay firmly on you as he approaches, but you find no fear rising despite that. For some unknown reason, even as this completely unfamiliar man strides over to you with a frankly alarming amount of eye contact, you feel… safe.
Or at least, something close to it.
He kneels in front of where you're still seated on the leather couch, hand resting mere centimetres from leg. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice slightly nasal, but so, so gentle. 
“Uhh…” Self conscious, you wipe at the corner of your mouth with your sleeve. You spot your soulmate catch you doing so, and a look of hurt crosses his face. His own reaction, though, seems to startle him, and his hand rises to gently prod his shiny bottom lip with one of his fingers. He looks confused.
Well, that makes two of you.
Taking in the man right in front of you — pretty, lithe, concerned for you despite his unfamiliarity — you fail to answer his question. “Are… you Shin Yejung?”
He lets out a laugh, relieved, maybe, that you're not not okay. “Jeonghan,” he says simply.
You nod. “Jeonghan.”
At your voice echoing his name, the man’s eyes light up. “Yes?”
“Oh, uh…” You weren’t trying to call on him for anything, but as you study his gaze, you find yourself lost in his confident ease. Something in his eyes says that he knew this would happen.
Maybe not this, exactly — your soulmate has found a spot on the floor and has not stopped staring at it, while the rest of the strangers are still watching you — but taking up the same space as you, facing you, smiling at you with a soft quirk at the corners of his lips.
“Ugh!” A woman’s exasperated voice makes you look up at the crowd by the door. “Get— out of the way, you… ugh—” She breaks through, pushing aside a tall guy who looks like he’s about to cry. “—you men!”
Stumbling to her feet, she rights herself and brushes her bangs out of her face with a huff. “Now, what is—” She spots your soulmate still on his ass and mutters something you’re pretty sure can’t be aired on any broadcasting network. “...my life.”
Your eyes meet hers as she takes another breath. “Please tell me you’re Shin Yejung.”
“Yes, we spoke over the phone.”
“Thank god.” Shaking off all the weird feelings you’d accumulated in the last — what? Two minutes? — you stand from the couch and sidestep Jeonghan. The black card fell at some point during that lapse of judgement (aka kiss), so you swipe it up off the floor and hold it out to her with no preamble. “I swear I’m not a stalker fan or anything. And I didn’t use it, so…”
You glance over at Jihoon, whose expression gives off an oncoming panic. Is he scared to see you? Why? Huijun looks just fine, happy even, with you here. You can practically hear the ‘hello’ he wants to say out loud.
You clear your throat. “Anyway, um. I didn’t mean to, uh…” As you nervously cross your arms, you nod towards your soulmate. “I’m his— I mean, we are… sorry. This is… I wasn’t exactly expecting to find the person who’s…”
Maybe you shouldn’t say you’ve been annoyed by your soulmate since you got your stupid mark. At least not while he’s in the room.
“That’s actually what I brought you here to talk about,” Shin Yejung tells you, a bit like a doctor who’s about to deliver the bad news first. She doesn’t even take the card from you. “Would you like to take a seat?”
You scrunch your eyes shut for a second with a little shake of your head, trying to manual reset your brain because clearly it’s still muddled. “Sorry, what? You want to talk about…?”
The mob of men in the room get hidden from your vision as Yejung strategically places herself between them and you. “Soulmates,” she says.
You look down at the black card, then back up at her again. “Soulmates.”
“Yes. Your soulmates. I was hoping to talk to you alone first.” She sends a pointed look at the men behind her. “But it’s not exactly easy to get these guys to lis—”
“Sorry.” You wave a hand in the air to get her to stop, unable to comprehend any of her words after— “Did you say my soulmates? As in… mates, multiple? Mates with an S at the end? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
Remaining calm while your mind spins, Yejung nods. “I know this is a lot to take in.”
“Know what is a lot to take in?”
Yejung opens her mouth to answer, but a voice blurts out behind her, “We’re your soulmates!”
Maybe you haven’t known him long enough or talked to him that many times, but you recognize Jihoon’s voice, and something in your gut suddenly grows sharp. Not painful, but begging for you to feel it. Yejung shifts so your field of view is once again filled by men too pretty to be all in the same room. Jihoon’s standing there, fists clenched at his sides, out of breath for no discernable reason other than…
We’re your soulmates.
Seeing your hesitation, Jihoon huffs and tears a bandaid you never really noticed off the back of his right hand. Even before he completes the motion, you know what must be under the bandage. He holds his hand up, though, and the evidence is very near damning.
Next to him, Huijun smiles and lifts his arm, pointing to his own five lines with his opposite hand. 
Most of the guys behind them show you the same thing. Five lines on the smooth backs of their hands, near the base of the thumb. Dear lord, you don’t even know how many of them there are.
The angry one who pulled the man off of you earlier, at least, just looks lost, like he once had control and now has none. Relatable.
You stumble back a bit. Instinctively, you say, “Songbird?”
Though quite a few of the men seem to perk up at the nickname, only the one you already gave the moniker to truly reacts. Your soulmate — god, one of your soulmates? — looks up at you from the floor and answers, “Yeah?” before realizing he’s even doing it.
“Never mind,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Ms Shin?”
“Yes?” She steps closer, a worried look on her face.
Jeonghan, too, moves toward you with a similar look on his face.
You try to take a steady breath and fail. “I think I’ll take that seat now.”
Swaying backward, your body falls onto the leather couch. 
You hear approximately ten panicked shouts as you go down.
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prev ⭒ chapter seven (4.0k) ⭒ next
new chapters for atus are not on a schedule nor guaranteed. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!
130 notes · View notes
azsazz · 16 hours
Text
Hide (Part 2)
Eris x Reader
Summary: Anon Req: Literally in love with every fic you write. I know your requests are closed but in the future, could you write something where Eris and the reader see each other and there’s a lot of tension and they’re secretly mates but no one knows? I’m curious to see how you’d end it!
Warnings: Angst
Word Count: 1,428
[Part One]
Notes: Obsessing over this one.
_________________________________________
You swallow harshly at your brother’s question, eyes darting over to catalogue your mate. You try not to startle in your seat when a wall of harsh autumn winds slams between your bond. He’s only protecting you; you must remind yourself. There’s a fine tremble to your hands, so you clench them together in your lap. 
Azriel notes the move, your restlessness as Rhysand stares down your mate like these are his last moments on this plane of existence. You have no idea what Rhysand’s going to do to Eris, but with the thick darkness rolling from his shoulders and slowly filling the room, whatever it might be will not be good.
You cannot let that happen. 
“Rhysand—"
Your brother holds up a hand, his glare swinging towards you. The thin line of betrayal ringing his eyes makes your stomach roil. You hadn’t meant to break his trust and you never intended on keeping secrets from him, but with the courts on the edge of war…
“Do. Not. Speak.” Rhysand’s demand is a death knell of its own. When you were young, you remember how he’d always been the one to listen to any of your problems, even when they felt silly. He would always offer you a solution if you were looking for one, or a piece of cake if you only wanted to wallow in your feelings. 
The smell of burning wood answers his harsh words. 
Cassian shifts in his seat, eyeing Eris. He leans further back in his chair and places his hand on the table, the wicked curve of the short blade clutched firmly in his hand pointing directly at your mate.
Your bond flares, eyes going hard at the sight of the threat to your mate. You’re ready to jump out of your seat, scramble across the table to tackle the male, no matter how much you consider him family. You know all of Cassian’s weak spots, and your gaze is calculating as you decide which maneuver will draw him away from your mate.
The single look Eris sends you keeps you from reacting. 
Instead, you settle back in your seat, showing Eris your unfaltering trust for him. You will allow your mate to say his piece to your brother. You might be crossing your arms over your chest with a hard look all your own, but you will heed Eris’ silent ask of you.
Eris is a mask of nonchalance, and you wish he hadn’t blocked you from his feelings, but it’s better this way. He cannot have your reactions to your brother muddling his own feelings. It’s safer for the both of you to keep to yourself right now, no matter how much you hate the idea of being apart from him like this.
“I will ask you once more,” Rhysand’s voice is filled with smoke. “How long have you been putting your filthy fucking hands on my sister.”
Something flares in Eris’ russet eyes that makes you want to bite, to snarl at your brother for his cruelness. You gnaw the insides of your cheeks to keep from snapping. 
“Would hearing that answer please you, High Lord?” Eris snarks back. He sits easily in his seat as if this isn’t an interrogation at all, as if they’re all bantering over the weather and Rhysand isn’t looking at him like he’s about to unleash the beast within him that he keeps on a short chain. The only give to Eris’ temper are the burnt handprints on the armrests of the chair he’s lounging in. “To know that the fires of autumn light the stars of night?” 
You want to hiss at him for his words. You should’ve known better that Eris would do nothing but taunt your brother. He is nowhere near as powerful as Rhys, especially since he is still under the rule of his father, but his specialty is that mouth of his. 
You try not to think about how he uses that mouth when he’s with you, the yearning for him flooding your body so deeply you clench your thighs together. Another motion that Azriel tracks, cocking his head a little as he watches you with that unnervingly stoic face of his. You shoot him a pleading look but are unable to make out how he reads into your pleas not to hurt your mate.
Rhysand bares his teeth in warning. The flare of his nostrils and the stars winking out of his eyes tells you that he’s moments away from unleashing his wrath upon Eris.
“Two years,” you blurt and all gazes swing your way. You don’t look at anyone else except for Eris, your eyes soft and pleading. His eyes flicker back and forth between yours and his shoulders slump a little, cracking the steel trap blocking your bond to send down a cool rush of apology that you accept with a soft nod. “We’ve been mated for two years.” 
There’s a sharp exhale coming from your brother but you can’t look away from your mate. Two years since you offered him that dessert from your favorite bakery the one time you’d been able to sneak away from your brother and his friends to meet Eris at the portal where Night crossed into Autumn. 
Two years of fiery, passionate nights, hidden away in your own solace. Two years of a fresh breath of autumn, of copper hair and russet eyes and the warmest hands you’ve ever had the pleasure of touching. Two years of unyielding loyalty. Two years of too much time spent apart—
No more. You won’t have it. Rhysand can act as protective older brother as much as he wants but it isn’t going to stop you from being with Eris any longer.
Darkness of your own ekes out of you as you plant your hands on the smooth surface of the table and rise. You stare Rhysand down as the tendrils of black wind around his, Azriel, and Cassian’s wrists, pinning them to their spots. You are in no way matching Rhysand’s power, but he seems at a loss for words as you stand up for yourself, watching with those all too calculating feline eyes of his, allowing you your time.
Stalking around the table, you don’t break the High Lord’s gaze. You hold your chin high even if there’s a pinch of terror in your gut for this continued betrayal to your brother, to your court. But he has no idea what you’ve given up for this bond, how you’ve suffered being kept from your mate. 
One day, you hope Rhysand will understand. Will understand why you halt a step behind where your mate is still trapped to his chair. Why you place a hand on his shoulder, the feeling of him after so long filling your lungs to maximum capacity. You haven’t ben able to breathe fully since you’ve been away from each other. 
He’ll understand why it is that your actions look like you’re swearing fealty to another court, when you’ve already been a patron of autumn ever since you and Eris completed your mating bond. 
“What are you—“ Your brother breathes when he realizes the severity of what you’re doing.
“I will not be kept from my mate any longer.” Your words are loud and sure. You think you’ve done a good job at standing up to Rhysand, until his eyes flicker and the house shakes on its studs.
All of the air is sucked from the room at your words. The strip of skin you’re touching on Eris’ neck warms, but it does little to settle you. You’re not out of the clear yet.
Slowly, all too slowly, Rhysand leans back in his seat. The way he’s looking at you makes you shift in your spot, the disbelief and  in his eyes a bright streak before he snuffs it out, returning to the easy role of High Lord he’s practices meticulously for centuries. 
It hurts to see.
With a careless flick of his hand he breaks through your shadows with ease. All of the darkness in the room dissipates, ever faithful to their master. You only hold an ounce of power compared to him. 
The corner of his mouth curves, and if it’s a smirk or a snarl you don’t know, but neither is as harrowing as the words that slip past his lips. “I wonder which will get you killed faster—your loyalty or your love.” Rhysand stands, turning his back on you as he stalks towards the door. “Get out of my court.”
_________________________________________
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leclerc-s · 13 hours
Text
paint the town red - part twelve
IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME COMING
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series masterlist
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MONZA 2024
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scuderiaferrari posted new stories
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local german spotted in the paddock!! well, look who the iceman dragged in STOP STEALING MY PHONE TO TAKE PICTURES YOU KNOCK-OFF ONE DIRECTION!! clearly these guys are hard at work before quali today. scores polo position, begs bianca for her phone, sends me this and says, 'let the people know i'm ecstatic to have pole position.' who's man is this??
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there is anticipation in the air. the city of monza is thick with excitement, the possibility of their drivers not only winning the race as a 1-2 but also becoming constructor champions at their home race is amazing. it’s a sense of excitement the tifosi haven’t felt since monza 2019, back when their current championship leader, won their home race. however, no one is more charles and carlos. charles is on pole once again, carlos right behind him with max and oscar behind them, it’s another ferrari front row lockout, but this time it’s at monza, their home race.
charles had been smiles all around, laughing and joking with his fellow drivers, he wasn’t nervous anymore, he’d lost the nerves after winning monaco. carlos also had lost the nerves after winning his home race in spain. they were confident and probably a little cocky, but with the lead they had in the championship, it would only be a matter of time before they won, it just wouldn’t be as special if they won anywhere else but monza. 
much like monaco, the avengers could be spotted in the paddock throughout the entirety of the weekend. everywhere you glanced there was an avenger there, dressed to the nines and in red, showing their support for ferrari. but the true stars like always were charles and carlos. however, the arrival of a certain former ferrari driver sparked even more chaos than anyone else ever could. kimi räikkönen was spotted in the ferrari garage, sparking much conversation because the beloved iceman was missed around the paddock.
once again, will buxton was walking through the garage area when an avenger was caught waving at will, this time the culprit was none other than steve rogers. behind him were the ever bickering duo of sam and bucky. 
“mr. rogers, a pleasure to be seeing you here at monza.” will greeted. steve smiled at him, “mr. rogers makes me sound old, i’m only a 104 will. steve will do just fine.”
will laughed, “well, steve, how are you liking monza so far?” 
“it’s been great,” steve began, “the energy here is just unbelievable. i thought the craziest it would get was monaco, but i was wrong.” 
“did you enjoy monaco? it was quite the chaotic race, not for ferrari of course. they had a calm race.”
“oh yes, it was very fun and entertaining. i wasn’t much of a formula 1 guy before all of this, it was after my time the first time around. but when i met tony he used to require no one bother him on race weekends, bianca always joined him, it was like their thing.” 
“are you liking the sport so far? any complaints?” 
“no, none from me personally. i heard the fans get annoyed when one person or one team starts winning it all so i suspect they’ll start complaining after this. as for liking the sport, yes, it’s very entertaining once you understand how everything works.”
“any doubts from the team today?” will asked, hoping to get some information out of him. steve shook his head, “they’re pretty confident they can win today. i know, like most race weekend when max is starting behind charles, they feel a bit of pressure, but they’ve got this. the car’s good, the drivers are confident.” 
“so they’re definitely winning this?” 
“of course,” steve answered, “not a doubt in my mind about it.” 
“very well, it was nice speaking to you steve,” will said, as he departed. 
“bye will,” steve replied. he rapidly turned around, beginning to scold sam and bucky. which the cameras caught, one of the commentators making a joke about it. 
inside the ferrari garage the team stood in a semi circle, sebastian being the last to join them. the closer they got the race, the more the nerves seemed to actually appear. sebastian took a look at his team, “we’ve got this.” 
“we do,” bianca agreed. the shared a quick embrace before parting ways. charles turned to bianca, “another bet?” 
bianca groaned, “no, no more betting.”
“it’s kind of a tradition now,” he joked. 
“fine,” bianca said, “one last bet, what do you want?” 
“if i win this, and we become constructors champions today, you have to tell your dad.”
“what? do you have a death wish?”
“he won’t kill me,” charles replied, “he likes me too much.”
“i’ll think about it,” bianca answered, “now, shut up and listen to what i have to tell you.” 
“yes, madame,” the two laughed, failing to notice a gossiping joaquin and scott. 
“they’re totally dating,” scott told joaquin. joaquin nodded in agreement, “i wonder how long they can keep this up for?” 
“not long,” scott replied, “bianca is not that great of a secret keeper. she’s bound to slip up sooner or later.”
the two of them shut up as sam and bucky approach them, the race 20 minutes away from starting. charles steps away from bianca as the team begins taking the car out of the garage and towards the race track. he exchanges a nod with bianca before joining the rest of the grid for the national anthem. as soon as it was over he went to talk for a moment with carlos before he was being ushered to get into the car.
"radio check," bianca said.
"do you think we can play a song when we win? like the lady gaga one again?" charles questioned. bianca laughed, "we'll see."
the moments before the lights went out were the most nerve wracking moment's of charles life. despite telling everyone he wasn't nervous and tricking himself into believing the nerves were gone for good, he was lying. but he moment those lights were out he was gone. carlos was left behind fighting max for p2 as oscar was shown to sneak around both of them and gain the upperhand. on lap 3 carlos was finally able to get away from max, and his fight with oscar began. it would only be a matter of time before he caught up with oscar but for now oscar was gone.
apparently catching oscar would be easier said than done, but a pit stop error from mclaren gave carlos the advantage that he needed. when he came out of the pits oscar was now fighting max for that final podium position. in the penultimate lap of the race, with charles and carlos ahead of them oscar and max continued to fight u til they achieve a photo finish. unfortunately for the reigning world champion, oscar came out on top for the race.
"it seems fitting that here, in monza, the home of ferrari, where they bleed rosso corsa, that ferrari is crowned the constructor champion of the 2024 season! for the first time since 2008 ferrari is constructor champions! charles leclerc and carlos sainz bring home another 1-2 for the scuderia.”
the camera pans to the the ferrari crew as they erupt into screams and begin jumping for joy. at the pit lane bucky barnes and sam wilson run across the pitlane, grabbing sebastian vettel and hoisting him onto their shoulders, as they parade the man up and down the lane. they stop in front of the red bull garage, both soldiers stop for a brief moment, flipping off the red bull crew who could only laugh, a visibly upset christian horner is shown for a moment. joaquin torres and peter parker are seen grabbing tony stark and throwing the man into the air, all he can do is laugh.
but the real stars, charles and carlos are basking in their win. the two cars came to stop at their rightful places in the parc ferme. charles jumps out of his car first, he jumps on top of it as carlos does the same. the two drivers turn to look at each other before running and enveloping each other in a hug. together they rush at their team, who welcome them with open arms. both of them hug their engineers tightly, before rushing to get weighted. charles is the first to spot oscar, he shakes the other drivers hand as oscar congratulates him.
before he can say anything else, david coulthard is pulling oscar away for his interview. carlos follows after him, with a brief congrats from oscar. charles is last one to go for his interview before all three drivers were being ushered to the cool down room.
charles turns to oscar, “i thought you were behind me?”
oscar shakes his head, “i lost a position after my pit stop. there was some kind of mistake and it was too late to catch up with carlos. i came out right in front of max.”
“i couldn’t catch you,” carlos tells the aussie. oscar smiles a bit, “you were too busy fighting with max.”
the three drivers turn to the screen, checo’s car is seen fighting with a williams, carlos looks confused, “is that logan or alex?”
“logan,” oscar answered, “he was starting p10 this race.”
“he’s doing better, no?” charles asked. oscar nodded, “he was close to a podium a while back in canada.”
“he’ll get it one day,” charles said, rather optimistically. with the way the season had been going, full of surprises, it was only a matter of time before logan got his podium.
“i hope so,” oscar whispered. he knew his american friend and been longing to get that podium in formula 1. it was his way of proving everyone wrong.
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will buxton approaches tony, before the podium ceremony, he’s got both arms around harley and bianca. bianca is holding morgan in her arms. the little girl looking at everything in wonder while harley is bicker with peter. tony notices will and smiles at him.
“tony, bianca, harley, any words to the fans?” will asks.
"this win is not just for us," tony begins, "it's for every single tifosi who waited and hoped that one day we would be constructors champions again. but this is also for the other drivers who were let down by ferrari in the past. kimi, felipe, fernando, this is for you! forza ferrari!"
“it’s just,” harley began, “it’s incredible to be able to do this in front of our home crowd, it’s so special. we’re so thankful they had faith in us to be able to do this.”
“holy shit,” bianca softly says, “it was always a dream, to be able to do this, to see ferrari do this. i don’t think there are any words to describe what we as a team feel having won this after so many years.”
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the screams are deafening as carlos runs up to the podium. he waves at the crowd, seamingly amplifying the cheers. charles is called up next to the podium and it seems like the cheers grow louder. charles stands on his spot at the podium, as he looks down at the crowd below, where his team is, winking at them, or rather someone. the person on stage is ferrari’s beloved team principal, sebastian vettel. he smiles brightly, at his two drivers, the crowd below chanting his name.
the national anthems begin, causing it to go silent for a moment as the monégasque anthem begins. charles smiles brightly, hearing his anthem play in monza again. the anthem switches to the italian anthem and all hell breaks loose. all around them the crowd sings the anthem, as their team sings along. all three ferrari members turn to look at each other mounting the words of the italian anthem, before looking back at the crowd.
as each of the drivers get handed their trophies, the crowd’s energy shifts.
oscar raises up his trophy to his team, a group of papaya drowned out by a sea of red, but everyone cheers for him regardless. carlos holds up his trophy, as the sounds are amplified. charles receives his next and throws it up in the air, before holding it out to the tifosi and his team. the last one to receive the trophy is seb, he takes and waits a moment before showing it to the crowd. the screams grow louder, if that was even possible.
when the time comes, all three drivers, as if in agreement, turn to drown seb with champagne. the team principal laughs before they all turn to the crowd below. after pictures, seb grabs the trophy, running to the front of the stage, where he holds it out, one last time, and the screams are deafening. it had been a long time coming but ferrari has finally done it, they were finally constructors champions.
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liked by sebastianvettel, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and others
scuderiaferrari 2024 constructor world champions. we fucking did it! to our beloved tifosi, this is for you. your years of patience have paid off, we are so back.
tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55
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harleykeener YEAH BABY! THAT'S HOW YOU MAKE A COMEBACK!
username i never thought i'd live to see the day! OH MY GOD!
username oh these guys are going to be so fucking hungover tomorrow
peterparker LET'S FUCKING GO! FORZA FERRARI!
biancastark_potts FUCK EVERYONE WHO THOUGHT WE COULDN'T DO IT!
↳ username oh yeah, these guys are so drunk. where's isaiah when you need him?
charles_leclerc WE DID IT BABY!! LET'S GO!!
isaiah_atkins VICTORY HAS NEVER FELT SO SWEET!
↳ username apparently he's as drunk as them.
arthur_leclerc YEAH! SCREW RED BULL! WE DID IT!
↳ username oh boy, they're all going to regret this tomorrow
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liked by pierregasly, landonorris, harryosborn and others
peterparker PARTY ROCKERS IN THE HOUSE TONIGHT! (i have no memory of what occurred last night, yes we all partied together.)
tagged: michellejones, yelenabelova, katebishop, biancastark_potts, joaquintorres, pierregasly, francesca.cgomes, georgerussell63, fernandoalo_oficial, harleykeener, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, isaiah_atkins, ririwilliams, landonorris, oscarpiastri, logansargeant, alex_albon, lilymhe, lewishamilton, danielricciardo, yukitsunoda0511, arthur_leclerc, olliebearman, americachavez, estebanocon, mickschumacher, lancestroll
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📍peterparker not pictured is yuki and pierre's horrible karaoke, isaiah falling on his ass, yelena punching a guy who flirted with her, riri outdrinking max, logan and oscar taking a nap in the middle of the club, alex and george almost making out, lewis trying to get a dancing kate off a table, charles for some reason, and many others.
↳ pierregasly he disappeared in the middle of the party and came back like an hour later?
↳ charles_leclerc lies and slander!
samwilson is that bianca? making out with someone?
↳ peterparker huh i guess it is.
↳ katebishop that is obviously the boyfriend you idiots.
yelenabelova is that why there's blood on my shirt?
↳ alex_albon you are one scary lady. you knocked him out.
↳ yelenabelova good, you should fear me.
biancastark_potts oh my god, what the hell happened last night?
↳ americachavez apparently too much and too little at the same time.
yukitsunoda you guys should throw more parties if it means free alcohol paid for by tony stark.
↳ tonystark YOU PEOPLE PAID WITH MY CARD?
↳ harleykeener duh? you're a billionaire, you can handle it.
ririwilliams i have never been more proud of myself.
↳ katebishop you built your own iron man suit from scratch?
↳ ririwilliams and? i outdrank max verstappen! that's not something a lot of people say they can do.
↳ maxverstappen1 she's right! be proud of yourself riri!
harryosborn oh, i'm sure you guys had fun.
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bianca groaned as she pulled her phone away from her face, charles laying beside her laughed. bianca turned to look at him, "this isn't funny."
"it's hilarious mon amour," charles said through giggles. bianca rolled her eyes, as she sat up, "sure, my dad demanding to know who i'm kissing in peter's post is hilarious."
charles laughed again and as bianca moved to get up charles pulled her back, "you have to tell him."
"i will," bianca promised, "i just have to figure out when."
charles nuzzled his face into her neck, "go back to sleep."
both of their phones buzzed at the same time, a text from harley. bianca grabbed her phone first, sitting up as she read harley's text, charles groaned, "no, come back."
"shit," bianca said as she began running around the room. charles sat up, "what is it?"
"harry told my dad. we have less than five minutes before he shows up."
charles sat up, "why is this bad? i thought you wanted to tell him? are you embarrassed of me?"
bianca stopped, pulling her shirt over head, shaking her head rapidly, "i'm not, i promise. i just, i wanted to tell him when i wanted too, not when someone else decided to tell him. with harry, my dad found out because of norman. i never got an opportunity to do things right."
"okay," charles said, pulling a shirt over his head. bianca kissed his forehead, causing charles to pout, "i think you missed."
bianca laughed, but pressed a quick kiss to his lips, charles seemed ready to protest when both of them froze, a voice coming from the otherside of the door, "LECLERC!"
"oh shit," bianca whispered.
"LECLERC OPEN THIS DOOR! AND YOU! BIANCA MARIA STARK-POTTS BETTER NOT BE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR WITH HIM!" TONY SHOUTED.
"fuck," the couple whispered.
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¡leclerc-s speaks! ooh, a cliffhanger dun, dun, dun! harry's such an ass, can't believe i wrote him to be like that. bianca and charles are so american coded. i stand by what i said.
¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!
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amjustagirl · 20 hours
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title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list
a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.
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Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 
He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 
It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  
“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 
Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 
“That’s cos she’s amazing -”
“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”
“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 
“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 
Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 
“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 
He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 
“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  
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Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 
Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.
Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 
As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 
Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 
Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 
“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 
You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 
Did you say something to him last night? 
It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 
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Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 
“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 
“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 
“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 
He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 
“Tetsuro?” 
He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 
He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.
Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 
Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 
You’re gone. 
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Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.
He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 
“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  
His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 
You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -
Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 
It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 
Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 
He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 
“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 
“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 
Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  
He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -
“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 
You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 
“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 
“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 
You don’t seem to hear him. 
“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 
You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    
“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 
The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.
You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   
He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 
“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”
He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  
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Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.
The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 
He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 
“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 
“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 
“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 
“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 
“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 
Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 
“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”
He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 
Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “
“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.
“Guys, I’m fine - ” 
“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 
Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 
Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 
“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 
“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 
“But I didn’t know -” 
“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”
 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 
Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 
Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 
“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”
“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.
“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.
“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 
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Step one. 
He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 
His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 
Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 
“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 
He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 
“The girls?” you ask. 
He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 
You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 
That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 
That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 
“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 
You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 
“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 
That gets your attention. 
“Really?”
He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 
“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 
“I won’t”, he promises. 
It’s time for him to level up.  
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Step two. 
He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 
“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 
He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 
You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 
In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 
“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 
In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 
“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 
You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 
“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 
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Step three. 
To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 
“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 
His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”
“What made you fall in love with her?” 
“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 
“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 
“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 
“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”
“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 
Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,
“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 
His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 
He can do that. 
“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.
That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 
But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 
“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 
“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 
He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 
The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 
His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 
“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 
A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”
“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 
He will. He will. 
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Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 
He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 
“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 
You goggle at him. 
“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 
You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 
Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 
“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 
His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 
Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 
“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 
He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 
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“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 
“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 
“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 
His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 
His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 
“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 
He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 
He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 
When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 
“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 
He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 
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His nights are still plagued by nightmares.
Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 
Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 
You’re there, until you aren’t. 
It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 
He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 
“What’s wrong?” you frown. 
He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 
“You’re - you’re still here.” 
You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 
He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 
“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 
The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 
Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 
It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 
“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.
He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 
“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”
He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 
“Tetsuro -” 
He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 
“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”
“You don’t”, you agree. 
He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”
“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 
“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 
“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 
The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 
“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 
He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 
“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”
You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 
 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 
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“Is this what flirting is like?” 
He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 
“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 
Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 
“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 
The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 
“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 
He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 
You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 
The girls giggle, but he protests. 
“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 
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Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 
You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 
Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 
You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 
“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”
“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 
It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 
He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 
“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 
“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 
“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 
“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”
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He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 
A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 
Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 
You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 
“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 
He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 
“You kissed me second!” 
“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 
You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.
“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  
Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 
“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 
There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 
“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”
Both of you are doing alright.
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a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?
138 notes · View notes
buckactuallys · 2 days
Note
pia!!! for the writing prompts: 22 cancelling their schedule just to spend time with them, if that sparks anything! <3
hi nina!!! it took a while but then it sparked something indeed, thanks for sending the prompt <3
hearts will hold
3.1k, [read on ao3]
“Hey,” Eddie says when Buck opens the door, casual, like Buck should’ve expected him. Which he did not. 
“Uh, h-hey,” he says. “Didn’t you say you had plans today?”
“Canceled them,” Eddie says easily, pushing past Buck into his loft. “I’d rather be here anyway.”
“Eddie, I–“ Buck closes the door and turns to watch Eddie rummage through his fridge, emerging with two bottles of beer. “What do you mean, you canceled them? Didn’t you have a date?”
Eddie shrugs, opening the balcony door one handed while holding the beers in the other. Buck has no choice but to follow him out there, still confused. 
This morning after work, he asked Eddie if he was busy this afternoon, and Eddie said he was gonna see Marisol. It’s not unusual lately, that Eddie can’t hang out with Buck because he’s got plans with his girlfriend. Which is normal and to be expected, but also fucking sucks because, well – Buck has horrible timing and realized some things too late.
“You can’t cancel on your girlfriend for me,” he says guiltily, but takes the beer Eddie offers him anyway.
“Of course I can, you’re my best friend. It just felt like I’d brushed you off too many times lately, and I don’t wanna do that.”
“It’s fine,” Buck says, but he’s not sure how convincing he sounds. 
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re not a priority,” Eddie continues like Buck didn’t say anything, and Buck has to close his eyes briefly. Being bulldozed by Eddie’s love and care has gotten so much harder since he’s had his realization. “Because you are. So shut up and let me hang out with you, okay?”
Buck laughs a little. “Okay, okay. I’m glad you’re here.”
“So I didn’t interrupt any plans?”
“Nah,” Buck shrugs. “Was gonna go for a run or something later, but that’s it.”
He swallows down the self-deprecating “Don’t have anyone to make plans with,” before he can say it (he knows it’s not entirely true, but Maddie is so preoccupied with her own family, and everyone else has their own thing going on too, he doesn’t want to bother them), but Eddie hears it anyway, of course.
“I’m surprised you’re not at Bobby and Athena’s right now, making sure they’re recuperating.”
“I’m going there tomorrow,” Buck admits sheepishly, but Eddie looks more pleased than anything else.
“Good,” he says. “And you should come over for dinner this week, you know Christopher can’t go a week without seeing you.”
“You don’t have to make sure I’m…entertained, or whatever,” Buck mutters. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” Eddie says. “It’s just– you seem a little off, lately. Since the cruise thing, or maybe the breakup. I don’t know, but I worry about you.”
“I’m fine,” Buck says again. “You don’t have to cancel on your girlfriend to check on me.”
“That’s not– Buck, I want to hang out with you. I’d like it if you talked to me about what’s going on with you, but I want to spend time with you regardless of that. I didn’t come over here to check on you, or to interrogate you.”
“Okay,” Buck says quietly. “Okay. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so touchy today.”
But he does know – he’s tired and grouchy and a little bit heartbroken, and it apparently makes him snippy.
“It’s okay,” Eddie says. “Do you wanna talk about the breakup?”
“Not really.” Buck takes a sip of his beer. “There’s not that much to say anyway. It just became obvious eventually that we didn’t have much in common. Besides the death thing, I guess.”
They’re back in comfortable territory after that, talking the same way they always do, and Buck finally relaxes. He worries about seeming anything less than normal lately, scared to be caught out, unsure about what is his normal around Eddie. Looking back, it seems to him like he’s never been really normal about him at all, but it’s different when he knows.
He’s clearly not doing the best job, because Eddie noticed that he’s been acting strange, but not the worst either, because at least he can’t tell why. And Eddie’s acting the same, so everything is fine.
The next time Buck asks Eddie to hang out, he suggests taking Christopher to California Science Center together that weekend, and Eddie says yes after only a second of hesitation.
“They’ve got a special exhibit on Da Vinci right now,” he says. “It’s supposed to be really cool.”
“You had me at ‘California Science Center’,” Eddie says with a smile, and Buck grins back, already excited to tell Christopher.
“This is so much better than going shopping,” Christopher breathes a few days later, staring up at a model of da Vinci’s Flying Bicycle.
“What do you mean?” Buck asks. “Were you supposed to go shopping today?”
“Yeah, Dad said we need to get me new jeans and shoes,” Chris says distractedly. “And I think Marisol was supposed to come for dinner. But we can do that another time, I like you better anyway.”
Buck doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what to say, to any of the things Chris has just told him. Should he encourage him to make more of an effort with his dad’s girlfriend? But Eddie has never mentioned Chris being anything but nice to her, so it sounds like things are fine – and Buck can’t make him like her more than he does.
And– Eddie canceled his plans for him again? It makes warmth spread in his chest, a pleased little creature stretching in there. As a best friend, he should probably tell Eddie to prioritize his girlfriend, but he already knows he won’t do that. Maybe that makes him a terrible person, but it’s not like he’s telling Eddie to pick him over her. Eddie’s doing that all by himself, and Buck is selfish enough to let him.
A week later, Buck wakes up in the bunkroom with a sore throat and a headache at the tail end of their shift.
When he stumbles up to the loft, Hen only gives him one glance before coming over to worriedly press the back of her hand to his forehead.
“Yeah, you’re definitely coming down with something,” she announces, and Bobby steps around the kitchen counter, a frown on his face.
“Don’t worry about finishing up the shift, Buck,” he says. “Should I get someone to drive you home?”
“I’m okay,” Buck mutters. “Well, n-not okay, but– I can drive myself home.”
“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, coming up the stairs. He pauses at the top, taking in the scene, then rushes to Buck’s side. “Buck? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Buck says, but his voice sounds a bit croaky. “Just think I’m getting sick.”
Eddie presses his hand to his forehead too, then nods grimly. “I’ll drive you home.”
“No, seriously, I’m okay to drive,” Buck says. “I promise. I’ll drive carefully and text you when I’ve made it home and everything.”
Chimney appears in the loft next and they do the whole spiel again, until finally, the others agree to let him drive home by himself. Buck would never go so far as to endanger anyone else, even to avoid bothering his friends, and they all know it.
“Tell us if you need anything,” Hen says. “Anything at all.”
“Food, entertainment, meds, we’ll bring you anything,” Chimney adds. “And text your sister, she’ll want to know.”
“I’ll take you off the next shift, too,” Bobby says, gently steering him towards the stairs with a hand on his shoulder. “Rest, okay? We don’t want you to overexert yourself. And get well soon.”
Eddie accompanies him all the way to his jeep, his arm steady and warm whenever it brushes against Buck’s, and leans against the car while Buck climbs in.
“I’ll drop by later with some stuff,” he says. It’s not a question, but Buck tries anyway.
“You don’t have to,” he says. “I have food at home, I’ll probably just lay in bed and sleep or watch TV until I feel better. I don’t want you to catch anything.”
Eddie gives him a look. “I’ll see you later, Buck,” he says, and pointedly closes the car door.
Buck grins, helpless against it, and starts the jeep.
At home, he texts the group chat that he made it, Maddie that he’s a little under the weather but that she shouldn’t worry and that he has everything he needs, then changes into sweats and a hoodie and collapses into bed.
When he wakes up, it’s to the smell of food and soft clattering sounds from the kitchen. The red numbers on his alarm clock tell him it’s afternoon already, so he slept a good few hours despite the sleep he already got on shift. He sits up, sneezes three times in a row, and by the time he’s blinked away the sleep, Eddie is standing at the top of the stairs, holding a mug.
“Drink this,” he says, handing Buck the mug. “How’re you feeling?”
Buck makes a noncommittal sound and takes a sip of the tea. The truth is that he’s really feeling sick now, stuffy nose, full body shivers, and still that annoying headache.
“Hm,” Eddie makes, touching Buck’s forehead again. “Sorry, bud, I know this sucks.”
Buck closes his eyes. “Kinda, yeah.”
“Well, if you’re feeling up to it, I’ve got some chicken soup on the stove that should be ready soon. You can eat some of it and rest on the couch?”
“I’ll come downstairs in a bit,” Buck says, breathing in the steam rising up from the mug. “Need to wake up a little.”
“Sure,” Eddie says, his hand twitching towards Buck but falling back to his side before it makes contact. “Take your time.”
Buck drinks the tea in bed, then goes to the bathroom before he slowly heads downstairs. His head is pounding now, and sudden moves make it worse.
Eddie meets him at the foot of the stairs, brow creased.
“Come on, sit down,” he says gently, ushering Buck over to the couch and spreading his fuzzy blanket over his legs once he’s sitting. “Are you warm enough?”
Buck smiles a little. “Yeah, stop fussing. You’re such a dad.”
Eddie shrugs, but he’s smiling too. “Can’t help it.”
He gets Buck a bowl of steaming chicken soup and then sits down next to him with a paper bag full of meds.
Buck gives him a bemused look. “Did you do anything today that wasn’t for me?”
“I had the time,” Eddie shrugs. “Christopher had plans for after school anyway, he’s not gonna be home until after dinner.”
“And you didn’t want to use the time to make plans with Marisol?” Buck asks, focusing on his soup instead of on Eddie. He doesn’t want to keep bringing her up, but he feels like one of them has to, or he’s gonna go crazy.
“She gets it,” Eddie says nonchalantly, like he’s not implying that he canceled on her again.
“But…,” Buck forces himself to keep going, “are things still going well with her?”
“There’s nothing wrong,” Eddie says, a little hesitant now. “I’m just also not sure it’s right? She’s nice, and fun, and I like hanging out with her, but…I guess I just– she’s kind of further down on my list than a girlfriend should be.” He shakes his head, then shakes the paper bag in his hand. “Anyway, time to take these.”
So Buck focuses on taking his meds and finishing the soup, rather than the fact that his heart is beating a staccato rhythm against his sternum.  It probably doesn’t mean anything. Even if Marisol isn’t the one for Eddie, doesn’t mean he’d consider Buck instead.
And he loves being Eddie’s best friend. He’s so fucking lucky that Eddie picked him to be such a big part of his life. If that’s all it’s ever gonna be, Buck’s gonna find a way to live with it.
It’s just also gonna be hard as fuck, because Eddie is the kind of friend who, when Buck gets sleepy, maneuvers him down onto the couch but doesn’t get up to make room, and instead lets Buck rest his head on his lap.
He runs a gentle hand through Buck’s hair, massaging his throbbing head carefully, and Buck feels his eyes sting.
“Thank you,” he whispers, “for being here.”
Eddie smiles down at him, eyes warm. “Anytime.”
Buck holds his gaze for a few long seconds, watching as Eddie’s smile slips a little and he blinks rapidly a few times before he catches himself again.
“You okay?” he asks. “If you have to go–”
“No,” Eddie says, clearing his throat. His fingers resume their movement against Buck’s scalp. “No, I’m good. Right where I’m supposed to be.”
When Buck wrestles his tired eyes back open a few minutes later, Eddie’s not looking at him anymore. He’s staring off into the middle distance, deep in thought.
Eddie is at Buck’s loft every day for the three days he wrestles his stupid cold. It’s usually just an hour or two, but it makes the entire ordeal much less terrible. After that, Buck returns to work and his regular daily life, spending at least two nights a week at the Diaz house, meeting Maddie for lunch or coffee and helping her and Chim with wedding planning wherever he can.
Everything is completely normal, until it’s not.
On a completely normal Wednesday, on the way back to the station after a completely normal call, Hen turns to Eddie with sparkling eyes and asks, “So how are things with Marisol? You haven’t mentioned her in a while.”
“Um,” Eddie says, looking caught out. He picks at some invisible lint on his pants and says, so quiet they can barely hear it through the headset, “We actually broke up a while back.”
“What?” Hen, Chimney and Bobby ask at the time, covering the fact that Buck can’t say anything at all.
“What happened?” Hen asks.
“I just realized it wasn’t gonna work,” Eddie shrugs. He’s still looking at his knees, alternating with Buck’s like they always do when they’re crammed into the engine, rather than any of them, and his face is getting more and more flushed. “That…I wanted something different.”
He lifts his head just enough to sneak a glance at Buck, who only notices because he’s still staring so intently. Their eyes meet and Buck feels frozen in the moment, caught in his hope and the paralyzing fear that he’s wrong and would ruin everything if he were to ask Eddie.
Then Eddie jerks his head away and Buck sucks in a breath like he’s been suffocating.
“Well, good on you for realizing,” Chimney says, and Eddie looks up to shoot him a crooked grin. His face is still pink.
“I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually,” Bobby adds, and Eddie looks down again, but not fast enough that Buck can’t see the little smile that’s on his face now.
“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I think so too.”
His knee presses against Buck’s a little harder, and stays there.
For the rest of the shift, Buck feels jittery and nervous. Eddie doesn’t approach him so he doesn’t either, but he can’t stop staring at him.
Eddie seems pretty normal, just doing his job and shooting the shit with Hen and Chimney like always, but every time he catches Buck staring, he gives him this small smile that’s just different enough from his normal smiles that Buck’s heart keeps skipping beats. This really can’t be healthy.
After the end of their shift, while Buck’s fighting to button his shirt up with shaky fingers, Eddie steps close to him and says, “Come home with me.”
Buck shivers, goosebumps erupting all over his skin, and misses his buttonhole again when he nods jerkily. “Yeah, sure, of course.”
Eddie’s definitely smirking now but his ears and cheeks are pink again, so at least Buck isn’t alone with his flaming face.
They take separate cars so Eddie makes it before Buck, and when Buck finally unlocks the front door, Eddie is nervously pacing the length of his living room.
He spins around to face Buck with slightly wild eyes, then crosses the room in three big strides, coming to a stop right in front of him.
“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he says, and then his hands are on Buck’s face, warm and gentle and safe.
Buck catches on a second before their lips meet, his own hands latching onto the back of Eddie’s shirt. It makes Eddie smile, and that makes their first kiss a slightly off-center, dry press of lips.
But then Buck spreads his hands out on Eddie’s back, pulling him closer, and Eddie uses his hold on his face to tilt his head just so, and suddenly it’s perfect.
“Not reading it wrong,” Buck breathes against Eddie’s lips what could be hours or minutes later, and Eddie laughs a little, tucking his face into Buck’s neck.
“I was really scared,” he admits, and Buck squeezes him, presses a kiss to the shell of his ear and the side of his head.
“Me too, I was so scared I got it wrong. That my hope was, like, making things seem a certain way–”
Eddie runs a hand through his hair, looking up so he can meet Buck’s eye.
“I didn’t even get it,” he says, disbelief coloring his words. “I was already so deep– When you were sick, I told you I was right where I wanted to be. And that was true in a way I didn’t even– I wasn’t aware of just how much I literally always want to be where you are. And then that made me realize some other things, and put them into perspective, so I talked to Marisol–”
“You can tell me about her later,” Buck interrupts, and Eddie laughs.
“Okay. Let me just– I love you. That’s what I realized. I’m in love with you, and have been for god knows how long.”
Buck kisses him, slow and mostly chaste, but he’s still breathless when he pulls back again.
“I love you, too,” he says, touching Eddie’s warm cheek with gentle fingers and watching the way his eyelashes flutter. “I’ll tell you the rest of it later, too. For now, can we just – do this?”
Eddie grins, then tilts his head to press a kiss to Buck’s palm. “Let’s move to the couch first, but then – yeah, we definitely can.”
Buck would follow Eddie anywhere, so the couch is honestly his easiest exercise. And with the prospect of kissing the love of his life on it? He can’t get there fast enough.
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whispersoftheton · 2 days
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Anthony bridgerton x wife!reader. Maybe his wife has quite a childlike innocence that the women of the ton take to be weirdness and they tend to isolate her but she never knows why. Maybe they’re newly married and she decides to invite some of the ladies for tea but no one shows up and she’s upset because she’s confused and Anthony comforts her and joins her for tea instead to cheer her up.
Hey! Thank you so much for requesting this & for being so patient! This wasn't meant to be this long but it sort of took on a life of its own. I hope you enjoy it <3
Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader
Warnings: none just comfort :)
Word Count: 1.1K
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Every square inch of Aubrey Hall's walls flourished with the season's most stunning flowers, the gardens lush as far as the eye could see. The breeze did little to cool you off from the summer heat as you sat under the tent, sipping your afternoon tea overlooking the meadow alongside Violet Bridgerton. It had been a tedious day of tending to various duties around the household, and you were expecting company from some ladies of society later that evening. It seemed your schedule had been considerably more than full since your wedding a few months ago. Rather frankly, you were just as exhausted as you were delighted in your new marriage to the Viscount. Keeping up with the Bridgertons all while being the latest lady of the house proved to be quite the task. Sure, your introverted preferences to stay within the walls of your home with a good book or spend quiet time in the gardens studying the plants were different than the interests of the ladies of the ton. However, you always tried your very best to keep everyone surrounding you in good spirits while performing your obligations, always looking toward Violet for approval, wanting to stay within your welcome. She was the Viscountess before you, after all. You could only dream of living up to her in your new position. Overseeing every small detail runs smoothly across your home, not to mention the impending weight on your shoulders due to the responsibility of Anthony's sisters coming out in the following seasons. You didn't know how long you could keep this facade up if you were being honest with yourself. But you had standards to upkeep, ways in which the Viscountess held her own beside her husband, and the last thing you ever wanted to do was let Anthony or his family down.
The sun blared upon the exquisitely green grass; surrounding the field on the outer edges were countless trees with blossoming flowers overflowing the gardens. Springtime at Aubrey Hall, indeed, was like no other. You turned your attention toward the Pall Mall game. Your husband stood before his siblings, mumbling something you were sure was some tease towards Eloise, making you smirk. Anthony turned toward the field and adjusted his grip on the mallet before making his final shot. A generous mix of disappointed grumbles and cheers erupted from the handful of Bridgertons as he made the final winning score. Half of them scrambled to debate the shot while the other half stood by, giggling toward them.
Anthony left his siblings to argue among themselves over the game he now reigned as champion over. Eloise was clearly bitter and left feeling she had been made a mockery over this loss after spending her spare time practicing for this very moment. Anthony placed his mallet on the stand alongside the others and approached you. He graciously extended his hand toward you, motioning you to go with him before the both of you bid goodbye to his mama and slipped out of sight and into the grand home.
"Eloise is taking quite hard, isn't she?" You said as he guided you through the doors. "She must have thought her practice would allow her to best you once and for all."
"Having hopes of besting her older yet clearly more skilled brother? Unlikely, my love." Anthony taunted, evidently still on a high from his victory. You stood in the main room while Anthony poured himself a drink, beckoning you to join him before you politely declined.
"I cannot. I am having the ladies over for tea shortly, and I cannot be anything less than perfection for their arrival." Anthony wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a brief kiss. Enough to have you wrapping your arms around his neck and yearning for more as he pulled away just enough for your noses to brush tenderly against one another.
"No moment in time exists in which you are not perfection, my love." Anthony's smile warmed your heart as you relaxed against him. "They will love you as much as I do; I am sure of it." His validation and loving gaze melted any lingering stresses still dancing around in your head. All that was left was to check off some last-minute preparations, and the tea could commence.
The late afternoon sun cast dispersed shadows across the cobblestone path. Anthony strolled into his home since returning from a lengthy afternoon of business meetings and running several errands around town. Anthony had hoped to come home to you excitedly telling him of your afternoon tea with the ladies of the ton. Instead, he found the halls seemed eerily calm for this time of day. He entered the main room and caught you sitting quietly on one of the sofas in a far corner. You curled up beside the unlit fireplace, twirling your fingers anxiously in your lap when you felt Anthony take a seat beside you.
"Sweetheart." Anthony paused before placing his hand in your lap. You didn't know if it was for comfort or to stop you from fidgeting. His warmth was welcome either way. "Is something wrong?" He cautiously asked.
"No one came." The words strained from your throat. "I know your mama and sisters left this morning on a day's travel, but I hoped-." Your voice broke before resuming. "I hoped at least someone would have-." Tears brimmed your eyes, and scattered tears stained across the top of your dress, some still falling down your cheeks. Anthony's hand cupped your face, his thumb gently preventing the tears from their continued flow. He took your hands in his and placed a lingering kiss on your knuckles before standing before you and offering you his hand. Without another word, Anthony dragged you along the halls and out into the gardens. Various flowers bloomed around you, and he brought you to one of the rarer flowers now flourishing on the property.
"What are we doing here?" You questioned while admiring the intricate patterns in which the vine had taken, the beautiful springtime flora temporarily making you forget the catastrophe of this afternoon. Anthony stepped closer from behind, arms wrapping around you as he whispered in your ear.
"It is when I am gazing upon the most exquisitely beautiful flower in the garden that I think of you." Tears again swelled inside you, but for a different reason this time. "The day will come when the world will see the beauty I am fortunate enough to hold near every day. In the meantime, I get you all to myself, hm?" The warmth and comfort of his words and presence enveloped you, brushing away the day's worries and woes with an ease only he possessed. His voice was a soothing balm for your soul that always had a way of convincing you everything would be okay. Because when you were around Anthony, you knew it would be.
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