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suugarbabe · 3 months ago

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Origin Stories

(part 4)

summary: it's second year, and baby matty is hopeful that this year will be just as good as the last. what could screw up getting away from his home, being back with his friends, being with you and finally trying out for the quidditch team. probably the chamber re-opening.

warnings: some classic magic child abuse, angst, hurt but comfort, sad baby matty, and draco being a dick

an: as always thank you to my love @musingsofahufflepuff for his magnificent idea contributions, helping me edit, our constant yaps to help build the story & helping motivate me <33; yes there is another part, there will always be more

You had convinced your parents to get you to the platform about half an hour sooner than they did the year before. They had heard you drone on and on about your friend Mattheo all summer and how important it was that you get the same car.

“It’s tradition mum, I can’t break it! I need to make sure I get it for us,” you gave your mum a big squeeze and she hugged you close. Your dad gave you a brief hug as well and then you headed on to the train.

You made your way down the aisle of the train, passing multiple open cars on your way. You entered the last compartment, walking up to the second to last door on your left.

Opening it swiftly you nearly jumped, not expecting someone to be in there. Hand on your chest you breathed deeply, “Salazar’s sake, Matty you scared me.” Mattheo continued to look out the window, chin seemingly sitting on his fist and elbow on the armrest of the seat, “Sorry.”

You sat down next to him, digging into your pants pocket, “I got you some fizzing whizzbees..” You pulled the packet of sweets out and sat down next to him. You held the packet towards him, “They’re still your favorite right?”

Mattheo turned towards you, his head still down, “Yeah, they’re still my favorite.” You handed them over gently, “Are you mad at me or something?” Your brain instantly went to the worst thing, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Theo had written to you over summer holiday, as soon as it started. He said that it ‘probably wasn’t the best idea to try and write Matt as his mum would not be too keen on it.’ But maybe he was wrong, you should’ve tried. Now Mattheo was angry, he couldn’t even look at you.

Mattheo shook his head in answer to your question. “Then why won’t you look at me? I wanted to write, I really did but-” Mattheo cut you off, “Was probably best you didn’t.” He looked up at you finally, allowing you to get a full view of his face for the first time.

There was another one now. A scar. It was the same side, but below his eye. This one went clean down his cheek from right under his eyelid to just below the apple of his cheek bone. “Oh, Matty,” you reached your hand out like you were going to touch it; Mattheo flinched back.

You pulled your hand back quickly, “M’sorry, I didn’t mean-” He cut you off again, “No, s’fine, I’m sorry. It just gets some getting used to that not everyone is out to hurt you. I’ll be better tomorrow, promise.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms, “Why did she do it? I know it was your mother. What now?” Mattheo pulled his legs up, wrapping his arms around his knees and holding on to his wrist, “I just…didn’t want to do something she asked.” Kill someone. That’s what she had asked him to do.

“Bella, please. Not yet. He’s just a boy,” Draco’s mother, Narcissa, pleaded with her sister. She looked at Mattheo, the fear in her young nephew’s eyes. Even down at his side, his wand hand was trembling.

Bellatrix did not seem to have the same soft heart as the younger Black sister, “It must be done, Cissy. It is his destiny. His father is still gone, so he must step in for his duties until he returns.” Bellatrix held steadfast to the curse that kept the muggle man suspended in front of them, body twisted and contorted.

Mattheo didn’t know who the man was, or why his mother chose him. He could be a nice man for all he knew. Knowing his mother he was probably someone random, chosen specifically to test Mattheo; to see if he would be up to the task for that of a young Dark Lord.

“You know the spell, dear boy,” Bellatrix leaned down towards his ear, “kill him, Mattheo.” With a shaky arm, Mattheo raised his wand. He pointed it towards the man, whose eyes were now boring a hole into Mattheo’s.

Mattheo opened his mouth, “A-Av..Avada..” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say it, couldn’t kill this man he didn’t know. Couldn’t kill something or someone for no reason. Someone defenseless, who didn’t hurt him, didn’t threaten him. How could he?

“Oh you useless boy, out of my way,” Bellatrix shoved Mattheo aside and to the ground. Her wand hand pointed straight at the muggle man as she said the curse effortlessly, “Avada Kedavra.” A bolt of green light shot from the tip of her wand and hit the man square in the chest.

His body hit the ground with a hard thud.

Bellatrix then stalked over to her son, boots clicking against the marble floor like a time bomb waiting to blow up in Mattheo’s face. Mattheo tried to crawl backwards until his back hit a wall.

Bellatrix pointed her wand straight at his face, “What a pathetic disappointment you are.” In a swift motion, a clean cut was made below his right eye. A hiss left Mattheo’s mouth as his hands covered the bleeding wound.

Narcissa ran over to Mattheo quickly, “Bella! How could you? Your own son?” Bellatrix looked at him with a look that could only be described as disgust, “No son of mine would be so weak.” As she walked away, she shouted over her shoulder, “You can fix him up, Cissy…but leave the scar.”

But he couldn’t tell you that. No, you’d think he was crazy, or worse…be scared of him. “Matty…I’m so sorry,” the frown you wore nearly shattered him. Mattheo shrugged, “S’okay, you actually helped me through it.”

You tilted your head slightly, “Whaddya mean?” Mattheo put his hand inside his cloak, pulling out the stuffed dragon you had made him last Christmas. “He, erm, got me through some tough nights.” The three in a row that Mattheo cried himself to sleep after the incident specifically. But you didn’t need to know that detail.

Your frown grew into a grin and Mattheo seemed to relax a little more, “I’m so glad he helped, that’s the whole reason I made him for you. A little extra pal when I’m not around.”

Mattheo smiled shyly, tucking his dragon back between his robes right as Theo and Enzo burst into the space. “Oi oi! Whatcha reckon, mates? No longer bottom feeders this year, what’s our new titles, hmm?”

“Git one and git two have a nice ring to it, aye Matty?” You pointed at each boy across from you respectively, Mattheo laughing in the process.

Theo would have none of it, “Scusa! I will not have you put me together with him!” Theo tore the leg off his chocolate frog, who was already missing its head, before tossing it in your general direction.

A pout fit itself upon Enzo’s lips, “Why do I gotta be git two?” Theo raised his hand to smack Enzo, but the latter boy must have worked on his reflexes over the summer and was able to dodge. Mattheo stifled a laugh, “Gettin’ quicker, Enz.”

Enzo nodded, “��ve got to be, quidditch tryouts this year!” At the sound of sport Theo and Mattheo bound into a long conversation. You, on the other hand, began to drown them out. Instead, you dug out your new Defense Against the Dark Arts text, an overly cheery wizard on the front, and started flipping through different pages.

You felt yourself drift off during a debate that broke out on if the Chudley Cannons were going to best the Montrose Magpies this year. The boys must have let you sleep the rest of the ride, as the next thing you knew you felt yourself jolting forward before an arm wrapped around your middle.

Mattheo quickly pulled his arm away once you’d settled, “Erm, sorry.” His cheeks tinted the lightest shade of pink as everyone began to stand. The four of you followed the crowd of students off the train and onto the platform.

You peaked at the group of first years being led to the boats by the gameskeeper, Hagrid. Turning back you grabbed lightly onto the hood of Enzo’s robe so as to not lose your friends in the crowd. As second years you got to take the carriages and skip the water ride.

Approaching the long line of carriages waiting for students, Mattheo stopped in his tracks. Leading each carriage was what looked like a horse with a skeletal body, its face having reptilian features. On its back sat wide leathery wings like that of a bat. Upon his abrupt halting, Enzo, and therefore you, bumped roughly into his back.

“Oof, sorry mate. Why’re ya stoppin?” Enzo brushed himself off, you doing the same. Mattheo just shook his head. If no one else was going to mention the death horses then neither was he.

The ride to the castle and walk to the Great Hall held idle chatter. Mattheo slumped on the bench of the Slytherin table, leaning his chin in his hands as his elbows rested on the table top. He hated that you couldn’t sit with them. And he hated that the Hufflepuff table was all the way on the other side of the Great Hall.

Theo shoved one of Mattheo’s elbows out from under him, his head falling slightly before he straightened himself up. “Nott, what the hell?” Theo nodded towards the other side of the hall. Mattheo turned, seeing you waving enthusiastically.

Mattheo waved back, albeit a little shyer than your display. You then pointed to his left, meaning you wanted Enzo’s attention for some reason. Despite the growing heat in his chest, Mattheo complied, smacking Enzo in the shoulder.

He had about the same reaction as Mattheo originally, but looked for you across the hall all the same. Once you knew you had Enzo’s attention you waved as well. However once he began waving back you turned your hand round, choosing now to give him the middle finger with a wide grin.

Enzo gasped slightly, turning towards his friends, “Did the little badger just flip me the bird?” Mattheo kept his eyes on the table, not trying to hide his smile in the slightest. Theo just shrugged, “If you don’t deserve it now I’m sure you will later.”

The rest of the sorting ceremony and feast went on without much excitement. The new DADA professor was announced with a chorus of swooning sighs that had Mattheo rolling his eyes unamusedly.

Prefects led each house to their dorms after the meal concluded. The new slytherin password was pura sanguinis (pure of blood). Mattheo rolled his eyes again. Instead of staying up with the others he decided to go straight to bed.

Pulling his dragon back out from his robe’s inner pocket he sat it on his bed as he changed. With all the others still in the common room catching up, Mattheo was left alone. He crawled under his duvet, pulling it tight up to his chin.

Once all good and snug, he pulled your dragon close to his chest. He hoped tonight would be the first peaceful sleep he got since leaving Hogwarts for summer. And even better, the sooner he slept, the sooner he could wake up. And hang out with you again.

Mattheo woke about two hours before the others. He had showered and gotten dressed before anyone else in his dorm had even subconsciously thought about waking up. He wanted to get to breakfast early. Partly to make sure that you guys got your same spot (it was crucial) and (more) partly to possibly get some one on one time with you before everyone else made their way up to the great hall.

If there was one thing Mattheo had learned about you over the last school year, it was that your excitement often kept you from sleeping. So he really shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was to find you already sitting (in your group’s spot) at the Slytherin table.

A lone Hufflepuff in their black and yellow sweater sitting at the table with a green and silver runner lying across it. Mattheo walked over with a growing grin, taking his rightful spot next to you on the bench, “Morning. Really thought I’d beat you here.”

You turned to face him, now straddling the bench, “Couldn’t sleep, too excited. How’re you? Better than yesterday?” Mattheo’s face heated slightly, but he nodded, “Yeah, much better now that I’m here.” You smiled a little bigger at this, Mattheo mirrored your expression.

Mattheo could tell you wanted to say something more, or maybe ask him something. You were gnawing on your bottom lip and looking around a lot. “Was there something else?” Mattheo’s heart rate rose, wondering what you could be nervous about asking him.

Stuttering through your sentence you asked him shyly, “C-could I, erm, do you t-think I could give you a hug?” Your cheeks blushed and Mattheo could feel his face falling to one of shock. “I just..” you were gnawing on your lip again, “I just missed you a lot over summer, and I couldn’t write so we didn’t get to talk at all and…if it’s a weird ask I understand. I’m still learning wizard friend protocol.”

Mattheo couldn’t help but smile at your ramblings, “There’s no wizard friend protocol.” There was a long pause then. You still obviously waiting for him to answer your original question. His skin felt like it was getting warmer, he’s never been asked that by anyone before.

He doesn’t think he’s ever actually been hugged before.

He wasn’t sure he wanted you to know that, though if he said yes you might find out right away. You spoke up first, “S-sorry, I dunno why I asked, it was weird, wasn’t it?” Mattheo shook his head, “No, no I’m sorry. I missed you too. Terribly so, actually,” he scratched the back of his neck nervously, “y-you, erm, you can give me one. A hug.”

Your smile returned then, leaning forward and wrapping your arms around Mattheo’s shoulders and pulling him into you. He felt a little awkward, not knowing what to do with his arms. He’s seen people hug before. He tried to mimic that.

Wrapping his arms around you as well, giving a small squeeze as you did.

It was over quicker in real life than it probably felt in his head. He felt warm all over after. You just remained smiling, turning back towards your plate and starting to fill it with food. Mattheo turned and did the same, Theo and Enzo entering the great hall looking still half asleep.

“Well don’t you two look cheery,” you teased as the last two to your foursome joined you for breakfast. Enzo gave a grunt as he made himself tea. “Vaffanculo,” Theo grumbled, leaning his head on his fist and closing his eyes again.

Mattheo stifled a laugh but you narrowed your eyes, “Don’t you curse at me, Theo.” Theo peeked an eye open, eyebrow raised, “I did not curse.” You just shook your head, “Lie. I looked up all the Italian curse words this summer so I’d know when you were trying to be sneaky.”

Theo rolled his eyes. However, Enzo found this thrilling news, “Oh that’s perfect. He’s been saying shit around us for years.”

“You’ve never thought to, I don’t know, try and translate what he’s been saying?” You looked back and forth between Enzo and Mattheo. The latter boy giving a noncommittal shrug, “Too much work.”

You shook your head at them all, “Ridiculous, the lot of you.” There was a brief silence as you all loaded your plates before you spoke again, “Anyone else notice the new pompous arsehole that will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?”

“Oh so I’m not allowed to curse but you are?” Theo complained. You just rolled your eyes, “You can’t curse and try to hide it.” Enzo interrupted your spat before it continued further, “I noticed him. It’s hard not to when our entire collection of text for that class is his bloody smiling face.”

Theo rolled his eyes, “I’m not opening a single one of those books this year. There’s no way we’re learning anything. Matt over here could probably teach us more than that loser.”

Mattheo shifted a little in his seat, trying to hide any uncomfortableness with a smirk, “Probably, but I’m not teaching anyone else but you three.” The four of you continued to laugh and make fun of Lockhart until you noticed Enzo dropping small bits of food into his shirt pocket.

“Erm, Enz…what’re you doing?” You were looking at him curiously, but that seemed to give him no indication of what you were wondering about. “Hmm? I’m eating breakfast like the rest of you?”

Mattheo gave an incredulous look, “I think they’re talking about you stuffing food in your pocket, mate. What’re you doing? Saving a snack for later?” Enzo gave a small laugh, “Ohh, no, no. That’s Mocha’s breakfast.”

The three of you just stared at him blankly. Enzo shook his head with another small laugh before sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a small light gray frog with brown and black branding. “A tree frog?” Theo sat up a little straighter, “aren’t those things poisonous?”

Enzo huffed out a laugh, “Mocha is a mission golden-eyed tree frog. And she only secretes poison if she feels threatened.”

“A milk frog named Mocha…” Mattheo was doing his best to suppress a smile. “Yes,” Enzo smiled proudly, “I got her this summer, was a birthday present to myself. I’m a father now.” The rest of you groaned.

“Aren’t frogs supposed to eat like..bugs and stuff?” Mattheo inquired. Enzo shrugged, “I give her bugs too, but sometimes she likes a special treat. What kind of father would I be to deny her of that?”

Theo quickly tried to change the subject, “So..quidditch. We’re all trying out this year, yes?” Mattheo and Enzo nodded enthusiastically, “Tryouts will simply be a formality, they’d be stupid to not let us on the house team.”

Theo turned to you, “What about you, badger, trying out for your house team?” You barked out a laugh, “Merlin, no. Won’t catch me dead on that pitch.” The three boys looked at you with slight shock.

“But, erm, I’ll be supportive of you guys. What positions are you trying out for?” Your question seemed good enough distraction, Enzo going into a long spiel about trying out for chaser. You really did your best to pay attention, Enzo saying something about practicing all summer and learning a new move that should ‘really help him outshine anyone else’.

Theo mentioned that he was going for keeper, but wasn’t hellbent on definitely making the team. “I just think it’d be a fun time, yeah?” Mattheo and Enzo nodded. “And what about you, Matty? What position are you trying for?”

He shrugged, “Probably beater. Might be helpful in getting out frustration.” You frowned briefly, but Enzo and Theo both gave a small laugh.

“So you’ll watch us try out then, little badger?” Enzo asked enthusiastically. You gave a smile, “Sure, Enz. I’ll come watch.” Mattheo felt that pulling sensation in his stomach again. It was mixing a little bit with anger, but he wasn’t sure why. Enzo was his friend. You were his friend. You guys could be friends too, then. Right?

Mattheo was starting to believe that second year was going to be far better than last year. So far he had transfiguration, charms and potions with you, and now he was on his way to DADA with you, Theo and Enzo.

“I bet you ten galleons all he does is talk about himself,” Enzo started placing bets as you all walked into the classroom. Once through the doors you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling. On either side of where the desks in the classroom sat were a line of photographs of Gilderoy Lockhart posing in front of different adventure spots.

Even more horrifically was a large 12-foot tall framed painting of himself painting…himself in another smaller canvas.

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s taking that bet, mate,” Mattheo’s grin was large as he sat down on your right. Theo and Enzo sat at their own table on your left. Enzo opened his mouth to respond only to be interrupted by your new narcissistic professor and his grand entrance from his office.

“Let me introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher…me,” Lockhart declared from the top of the stairs. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five times winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile award,” he punctuated his speech with a toothy grin.

Half of the class seemed to swoon at Lockhart’s theatrics. You and the rest of your friends sat chin in hand, bored looks on each of your faces. Halfway through Lockhart’s speech about himself and all his glorious defeats Enzo was lightly snoring.

Mattheo and Theo were not much better. Matty’s head slipped from its place in his hand, his jerking down slightly before he sat up straight again, “What I miss?” You laughed lightly, “He actually just performed all the unforgivables.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, “Are you fucking with me?” Rolling your eyes you stifled another laugh, “Of course I’m fucking with you - oh no…that..that is not good.” Mattheo turned to where you were worriedly staring.

Lockhart placed a large bird cage full of cornish pixies on the table next to him. Most of the class started laughing. “Cornish pixies?” Seamus, a Gryffindor student asked in amusement. “Freshly caught cornish pixies,” Lockhart corrected, “laugh if you will Mr. Finnigan, but pixies can be devilishly tricky little blighters.”

You pulled on Mattheo’s robes, “We gotta get out of here.” Lockharts hand was on the latch to the cage of pixies, Mattheo just smiled, “What’s wrong? Badger afraid of some little pixies?”

Shoving Theo awake you turned to Mattheo with a glare, “This badger happens to be pretty proficient in magical creatures, you fucking knob. And those pixies are bloody riled up good. We need to leave.”

“Rilassati, amico,” Theo groaned, looking like he was about to fall back asleep. You scoffed, “No, Theo, I will not relax. Ugh, why are you lot not listening to m-” Lockhart flicked open the cage.

In an instant, roughly fifty cornish pixies barreled out of the cage and around the room. Students were shrieking and ducking under desks. One grabbed onto Hermione’s hair and Potter used his textbook like a beaters bat and thwacked it away.

Neville, another Gryffindor student seemed to be getting the worst of it, being lifted up by his ears by several pixies before being dropped to hang on the chandelier by his robes.

“Fuckin’ Salazar, look what they did to Longbottom,” Enzo pointed at the stout boy now dangling. At that same moment, two pixies began to grab and pull on each of Enzo’s ears. “Hold on, mate,” Theo reared his hand back before smacking Enzo hard on the back of his head.

Both pixies let go and flew away as Enzo nearly smacked his face on the desk in front of him, “What the hell, Theo?”

“Come on,” you pulled both Matty and Theo with you through the doorway, Enzo following quickly behind, still rubbing the back of his head. “No, that’s alright. You lot just go on without me, I’ll stay here with the pixies who tried to attack me.”

“Oi! I got them off of you didn’t I?” Theo had a small smirk on his face. “You didn’t even hit them, you just hit me!” Enzo shouted with a pout.

You fell in step with Enzo. “Awh, poor thing,” you cooed, “did big, bad Theo hurt your head?”

Enzo grumbled, “He’s not big.” Theo let out a laugh, flexing his muscles, “Not big huh. We’ll see on the quidditch pitch this weekend.” Theo and Enzo started laughing and shoving each other. Trying to one up back and forth the rest of the way to the great hall for lunch.

“Are you still gonna watch me tryout?” Mattheo asked, his shoulder bumping yours briefly as he came to walk beside you. A warmth spread through your chest, “I said I would, didn’t I?”

Mattheo grabbed your arm, halting both of you from following the others into the great hall, “Do you pinky promise?” He held out his hand, pinky out, just as you did to him the year before.

You hooked your pinky with his without any hesitation, “Yeah, Matty. Pinky promise.”

October in Scotland could be a hit or miss when it came to the weather. Thankfully, the day of the Slytherin quidditch tryouts were sunny with just barely a breeze. You sat on the wooden bench of the tall stadium seats, watching a decent sized group of students fly around and ‘warm up’ for whatever the tryouts were going to entail.

You hugged the cardigan you were wearing a little tighter around as a particularly large gust of wind blew by. Marcus Flint, the current captain, shouted out plays and orders for everyone to follow that was more confusing than when Theo spoke strictly Italian.

Mattheo hovered in front of Flint, Theo and Enzo on either side as they were given instructions for tryouts. Apparently they were going to go at it like a scrimmage, Marcus splitting the teams up to go against each other.

It didn’t go unnoticed that one side heavily outweighed the other in talent and age, but Mattheo wasn’t too worried about it, he felt confident in his abilities as a beater. Thankfully, he and the other boys were on the same side.

Despite their younger age, the three of them were quite good at their positions. Enzo’s current smaller stature than the older students was given him an advantage in diving between attempted blocks and avoiding bludgers on his way to the goal posts on the other end.

Theo’s ever growing limbs were assisting him in blocking the posts on their end. Mattheo flew back and forth across the pitch, tracking both bludgers and their directions, whacking them towards the other team's players when needed.

On his way back towards his own team’s side of the pitch he flew by where you were sitting. You gave an enthusiastic wave as he did, him doing the same when he noticed what you were wearing.

Green wasn’t typically a color you wore, considering your house was Hufflepuff. Mattheo also couldn’t recall your initials being L.B., or your family crest mimicking that of Berkshire. Were you wearing Enzo’s cardigan?!

“Matty, behind you!” you were pointing over his shoulder, clearly distressed by whatever was headed his way. Turning he saw the black iron ball whizzing in his direction. Gripping the bat, Mattheo swung with the full force of his frustration, the bludger launching towards an older Slytherin on the other team.

He heard you cheering, and deep down he knew it was for him. But all Mattheo could think about was you in Enzo’s clothing. If you wanted to wear something to support them, why didn’t you ask him?

Another bludger was coming near, Mattheo smacking it away with great force once again. He had plenty of green clothes you could’ve borrowed. He was practically bred to be a Slytherin.

Mattheo was losing sight of the purpose of the game, strictly seeking out the bludgers himself just to beat the hell out of them into another direction and chase them down once more. You said yourself that he was your best friend, wouldn’t you borrow from your best friend?

Flint called the game, saying he’d seen enough. Everyone flew back down to the ground of the pitch, forming a small huddle. Mattheo was ignoring everything said, still reeling internally about what he could have done to make you feel like you couldn’t ask him for something.

“And for beaters, we’ll take Bole and…Riddle,” Mattheo was snapped from his thoughts as Flint announced he had made the team. Theo and Enzo clapping him on either shoulder in congrats.

“Good job, mate,” Enzo smiled at him. “Bravo, amico,” Theo gave him a small shove. Mattheo allowed himself to smile at his feat, “Thanks, erm, did you guys make it too?”

Theo and Enzo both looked confused. “What, were you not listening? You are the only small person that made it, the class under,” Theo shook his head with a laugh.

“Theo, mate, you can’t call them that. Those ‘small people’ are goblins. Mattheo’s a wizard,” Enzo wore a shit eating grin.

Too focused on his sarcasm, Enzo didn’t notice you walking up behind him. That is, until you landed a particularly hard flick on the side of his head, “You’re an idiot, Berk.” Theo roared with laughter, “That’s one, badger. Now you’ve only got one free flick left from last Christmas!”

“How are you gonna injure me when I lent you my best cashmere jumper to support us,” Enzo wore a wounded pout. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “You basically forced me to wear it. Can you believe he told me I couldn’t wear my own house colors? Like I’d somehow be bad luck?”

So you didn’t ask, Enzo was just a prat, good to know. “I’d say if anything, you being there was good luck, I did make the team after all,” Mattheo was grinning now, true and genuine after his earlier worries were squashed.

You flushed slightly at his words, feeling it reach up near your ears. You would play it off as a cause from the wind if anyone had said anything, but thankfully no one seemed to notice.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in. We’ll make it next year and then we’ll really be unstoppable,” Theo hoisted his broom over his shoulder, Matty and Enzo doing the same as you all headed back towards the castle.

Enzo and Theo, per usual, started walking ahead. Leaving you and Mattheo in makeshift seclusion. “You looked pretty impressive out there,” you linked your arm with his as you walked.

Mattheo did his best to stay relaxed, “T-Thanks, erm,” he cleared his throat, “thank you. And, erm, thanks for coming and cheering us on.” He ran his hand through his curls before pulling them down slightly.

“I wouldn’t miss it. Not when it was something important to you.”

His face immediately flushed. He could feel it all over, from the tips of his ears, across his nose, even down his neck. You had to have noticed, but you didn’t mention anything. Instead you just allowed the peaceful silence to fall over the two of you for the rest of the walk.

The best part about October at Hogwarts was the very end. The very last day to be specific. Because the last day of October meant one thing: Halloween Feast. And while Theo and Enzo, and many more students, were chattering about what food the castle elves would be cooking up, Mattheo could only think about one thing.

You two couldn’t enjoy it together.

Special event feasts meant you had to sit at your house table. Mattheo hated that your house table wasn’t his. But that didn’t stop him from sitting where he could look for you.

Nearly willing you to look his way. You always did. And you always waved. It made his heart happy. He still couldn’t believe he was able to make a true and genuine friend. One who didn’t care about his blood status, who his parents were, what he was destined for.

Theo gave Mattheo a quick nudge with his elbow, pulling him back to reality with those around him. The feast was now apparently over, Mattheo had barely eaten anything.

As the four tables of students slowly became a giant mass, Mattheo’s eyes never left your form. Weeding through students as if they were nothing in order to get to you. “Matty, hey!” your hand rose high in a wave, Mattheo pretending like he wasn’t already looking in your direction.

Theo and Enzo were quick to appear behind him, immediately speaking as if they were already in the middle of a conversation with you, “So we’re going to a party, yeah?”

Mattheo shot you a questioning look, you rolled your eyes. “A party Theo? How are second years supposed to get into a party?” Mattheo threw an arm around your shoulder, facing the two, “Yeah, what bright and brilliant idea have you two concocted in order to get us in?”

“Why do we want to get in?” You add on. You’re all moving with the crowd from the great hall towards the main split off of corridors for all the houses. Enzo lets out an exasperated sigh, “Because I heard a bunch of fourth years that were going talking about it and they all sounded very excited. Must be a good time.”

You glanced at Mattheo, a smirk forming on his lips, “And where is this party taking place exactly?”

“Ravenclaw Tower” “Gryffindor Tower”

Theo and Enzo spoke both simultaneously and opposite. You and Mattheo exchanged a glance, “So neither of you know. Are you even sure you heard the right information?”

Enzo opened his mouth to reply when the four of you all seemed to run into the people just ahead. Hushed whispers fell over everyone, and for good reason. High on the corridor wall in front of all the students was a message seemingly written in blood.

The chamber of secrets has been opened…enemies of the heir…beware

Mattheo grew rigid. He glanced around the crowd of students. No one seemed to be staring at him, which was good. Then the nasally sound of his cousin rang over the crowd.

“Enemies of the heir, beware? You’ll be next, mudbloods!”

A scowl flashed across Mattheo’s face. You grabbed his arm, “Leave it. He’s not worth it.” Mattheo looked at you, your eyes seemingly pleading for him to just let it go.

Dumbledore’s voice then boomed over all the murmuring. “Prefects lead your houses back to your common rooms. The fun seems to be concluded for the night.”

Enzo let out a groan, “So no parties?”

Mattheo slumped into the puffy yellow sofa in the Hufflepuff common room. You sat next to him as Theo and Enzo sat in two adjoining lounge chairs across from you. “Sorry you lost the game, Matty,” you really were empathetic, even if you didn’t know what was going on.

“Match,” Enzo corrected, "It's called a match not a game”.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes, “M’still sorry.” Mattheo shrugged. The match wasn’t really on his mind. At least not in the way that everyone was probably thinking.

Last week someone had started a rumor that Mattheo was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets. That he was the heir to Slytherin and the one who’d been threatening everyone.

When a first year with a camera was rumored to have been petrified a few days ago, everyone started to avoid him like the plague. Everyone except you, Theo and Enzo. There were even a few other Slytherins that had actually congratulated him, whispering to him students he should attack next.

Theo encouraged those students to shove their wands up their ass.

Before the match this morning Mattheo had found out that it was Draco who had started the rumor. He immediately wanted to pulverize his weasel of a cousin but you had encouraged him to ‘channel his anger towards the bludgers instead’.

Mattheo had planned on doing just that. But it didn’t seem like he really needed to. Any time he flew near someone they almost immediately went the other way. He could only assume they were thinking what the rest of the school was, too.

“I honestly thought the rumor Malfoy spread would’ve helped you guys win today, just have you fly by anyone with the quaffle and they’d avoid it,” Enzo meant it as a positive comment. Mattheo hadn’t mentioned to anyone that he technically was the actual heir.

But he wasn’t the one who opened the chamber. He hadn’t even heard of it before it was written about in blood on the walls.

“Golden boy Potter always manages to get the snitch though doesn’t he,” you huffed out annoyed, “even breaking his bloody arm in the process.”

Mattheo ran his hands through his curls, “Can we talk about something else besides the match…and people thinking I’m on a petrifying spree or something.”

The barrels to your common room rolled open, a group of fifth years coming in. They stopped short seeing three slytherins sitting on their sofas. A sour look crossed over the tallest one’s features.

“Who let the killer in our common room?” a few of his friends snickered behind him.

You were immediately on your feet, wand drawn, “Go fuck yourself, Cedric!” Enzo stood up with you, “Yeah, Diggory, ya cockwomble, how about you all go have a group wank and leave us alone.”

Cedric gave Enzo the finger, which the younger boy gladly returned in double and a show of his tongue. The older Hufflepuffs went off to their rooms, leaving the four of you alone in the common room once more.

You sat back down, immediately apologizing for your housemates. Mattheo waved it off, more so secretly thrilled that you defended his honor. Theo brought everyone’s minds back to center, asking the real question, “Enzo what was that word you used? Cockwiggler?”

You and Mattheo couldn’t suppress your laughter, Enzo rolling his eyes, “It’s cockwomble, mate. It's like…an idiot, a person who’s being an idiot.”

Mattheo shook his head, “You’ve gotta be fucking with us, Enz. There’s no way. You made that shit up on the spot.” You agreed with Matty, “Yeah, Berk. I swear you’re just saying shit with confidence and assuming everyone else won't question it.”

A playful argument then ensued, everyone asking Enzo what other words he’s been making up. As Mattheo readjusted in his seat, a letter fell out of his robes. You grabbed for it, seeing the front for only a brief moment before Mattheo was snatching it from your hands.

“What’re you doing? Did you reach in my robes?”

You looked at him confused, “What? Of course I didn’t. What’s wrong? Who’s that from?” Mattheo could feel the other two staring now. The earlier light hearted conversation now traded off for this one.

“It’s from my mum,” Mattheo held the letter face down, choosing to stare at the broken wax seal of his family crest instead of his mother’s scratchy scrawl. Enzo inhaled through gritted teeth, his face in sort of a grimace. Theo just looked like he felt sorry for him.

You wore a small frown, clearly remembering the terrible things Mattheo’s mother has done to him over the last year. “Are you in trouble?”

Mattheo shook his head, “Kind of? But not really. She just sort of said that ‘my presence wasn’t necessary during the holidays’. It’s fine. I don’t want to be around them anyway. Especially fucking Malfoy.”

You nodded in agreement, it seemed to be what Mattheo needed. But your heart ached at the thought of him staying at the castle for the holidays.

Eventually the conversation shifted, Mattheo saying he was tired and should probably head back to the dungeons. You walked them to the barrel door, before walking directly to your desk in your room and grabbing a quill and parchment.

The rest of December until break was not very kind to Mattheo. Another student, a Hufflepuff this time, became petrified. If people were weary of him and the boys hanging in your common room before, it was extremely frowned upon after that incident.

You had suggested just hanging out in their common room instead. Mattheo was extremely against this at first. Stating that there were ‘too many people who thought like Draco’ and that you would stick out like a sore thumb in your yellow and black attire.

When you suggested just borrowing a sweater or two of his, he came around.

That was how you were able to get into their dorms without much question to help Theo and Enzo (mostly Enzo) finish up their packing for the holiday break. “Merlin, Enz, did you even start packing before we came up here?”

Enzo threw a pile of clothes near his trunk, “Nope.” Theo grumbled at him in Italian and Enzo just stuck out his tongue in response.

“Did you at least remember to pack your frog?” you were teasing him, assuming Mocha was already somewhere safe like his pocket. Enzo turned around at the mention of his amphibian child.

He patted the shirt pocket on his chest, then picked up his robes and started feeling in each of those pockets. “Merlin’s beard…I’ve lost my daughter. Holy Helga, I’ve lost Mocha. Mocha! Where are you sweetie? Daddy’s worried about you!”

He started lifting the pillows of his bed before turning behind him and tearing apart Theo’s as well, to much protest. You started to look around the dorm when you noticed Mattheo smiling.

Walking over to him you crossed your arms, “What did you do?” Mattheo didn’t make eye contact. Instead he just kept smiling, holding his gaze towards something higher, almost like he was trying to concentrate on keeping a spell going.

Following where he was looking you saw Mocha floating a few feet above Enzo’s head. Having enough of the Slytherin shenanigans you poked Mattheo between his hip and ribs, the boy letting out a small yelp, however you succeed in breaking his eye contact.

Mocha landed right atop Enzo’s head. He was so relieved to see her he didn’t even question how she got there.

Once you had assisted in getting them somewhat organized you had walked with the three Slytherins to the carriages that would take students back to Hogsmeade station.

Theo and Enzo had gotten in with a few other Slytherins, Enzo abruptly wrapping his arms around you in a farewell hug.

You, of course, hugged back after the initial shock wore off. Enzo went to do the same to Mattheo. Who immediately held up his hand to stop him, “Absolutely not.”

You stood with Matty as the carriages rode off. Watching them get smaller and smaller the farther they got away.

It took him a moment before he realized you were still standing next to him. “W-what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you have gotten on the carriage with them?”

You gave Mattheo your biggest smile, “Oh, didn’t I mention it? I’m staying here too. We’re going to spend Christmas together.”

#year two is heeeeere #thoughts thoughts everyone?#slytherin boys #origin story series #origin stories #matty riddle #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #enzo berkshire #theodore nott #theo nott #lorenzo berkshire #x reader

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erabu-san · 7 months ago

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Emilie's hobbies !

She loves collectin some newspaper article

HC, she has scrapbooks pretty aesthetic one,

another notebooks but more like a professional archive with more text and detail (like a journal)

and a whole pounch full of already cut article but she didn't glue it yet

#my art #genshin impact #genshinimpact #emilie #emilie genshin #genshin impact emilie #oH BTW I HAVE HEEEEER !!!!!!!

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kookyburrowing · 8 months ago

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Different Languages AU Part 1: Wait, Fuck, They Don't Speak Basic?

First things first motherfuckers, let’s get one thing straight: Basic as a language does exist in this AU! It’s just less common outside of the Core/Mid Rim. SO. What does that give us? Well, it gives us way more interesting conflict, for one thing, and for another, so many languages. Let’s get crackalackin!

In the Outer Rim, Huttese is largely The Language To Speak. If you don’t speak Huttese, you might as well just hurl yourself into the nearest bottomless pit now and save yourself the time and trouble. Even in the Core and Mid Rim, Huttese is a very common language just because of how useful it is if you ever find yourself in the Outer Rim. Most bounty hunters (i.e. Jango Fett, just for one completely random example) speak Huttese fluently, alongside their native languages. Naturally, then, this is a language Anakin is very familiar with. In fact, when he became a Jedi, it was the language he knew the best, and most people thought his speech was stilted in Basic because of this. He spoke Basic maybe once every month on Tatooine—can you blame him?

In the Mid Rim, each planet has their own language and conversations between diplomats are typically done as they are on Earth—via interpreters, to avoid any misunderstandings. Padmé, for instance, does speak Basic, but that is the language she would use in the Senate, not on Naboo. The same goes for Palpatine, but we’ll get to him in a minute, because he sucks and I want to not talk about him for as long as I feasibly can.

The Core means Basic, Basic, Basic, because of just the sheer number of people making it necessary. Coruscant is a weird case because of how communities develop there. Since it’s kind of like a gigantic version of a modern city (I’ll use NYC as an example because I know it the best), it’s broken up into enclaves. Cultures clump—it’s a thing. Some neighborhoods in NYC are predominantly Jewish, some are predominantly Italian, the list goes on. The same goes for Coruscant, although on a supersized scale. There’s some areas where non-Mandalorians need not apply, some where everyone is a Twi’lek or Togruta, some where everyone is a Mirialan, et cetera. Also, Coruscant dialects of certain languages are very much a thing.

Anyway. Let’s talk Kamino, because that’s why I started this to begin with!

Jango Fett is a Mandalorian. He’s also a bounty hunter. He’s from Concord Dawn and was a True Mandalorian. Therefore we can guess he probably at the bare minimum speaks two dialects of Mando’a (Concord Dawn, True Mandalorian) Huttese, and has at least passing Basic. He probably speaks more than that given how well-traveled he is, but those are the ones I can name for sure. So Jango Fett, who speaks Mando’a and Huttese and Basic, encounters Count Dooku. Count Dooku is from Serenno, but he was also a Jedi, so he probably speaks Serennese, Basic, Huttese, and a few more. He may even speak Mando’a, but his dialects wouldn’t be likely to overlap with Jango’s. Count Dooku tells Jango to go to Kamino and let them clone him in exchange for an exorbitant amount of money. Jango does, because Jango is a thinking human being and thinking human beings under capitalism do not turn down exorbitant amounts of money in exchange for what amounts to (at most) being a three or four-time sperm donor.

And on Kamino, our intrepid Mandalorian encounters something a bit weird. The Kaminoans, being that they are an extremely isolated species and thus have absolutely no reason to have developed humanoid vocal chords, have to rely on droid translators. Cool! This means Jango can speak to them exclusively in his native language (Concord Dawn Mando’a), and they can speka to him exclusively in theirs, and everyone’s largely happy. Jango negotiates the finer points of the contract, acquires an infant who he names Boba, and calls up some old friends (and acquaintances) to teach the clones to kick ass. He informs them they don’t have to worry about speaking Basic, so they don’t bother speaking Basic.

Thus, we have our setup. The Kaminoans have no reason to make the clones speak Basic because literally none of these outsiders are bothering to inform that oh yeah there’s this whole common language thing going on, and said outsiders have no reason whatsoever to tell them because it would ultimately just be an inconvenience. They’ve got a good thing going, and Jedi are required to speak more than one language anyway. The clones can definitely find at least one in common!

So the clones learn to speak Mando’a, understand Kaminoan, and speak and/or understand one extra elective language. Most pick something weird because they can—everyone around them speaks either Mando’a or Kaminoan so why would they bother with languages they don’t care about, like Basic? Unfortunately for the Kaminoans and the trainers in equal measure, they do also realize that in order to express themselves in private they need their own universal language, so they acquire one. They just call it clonespeak to keep things simple, and for most of them, that’s their native language. They feel most comfortable speaking in it because that’s the language they associate with safety and with their siblings/parents.

Thus: the predicament.

Obi-Wan arrives on Kamino. Obi-Wan is a Jedi. Obi-Wan speaks Basic.

Uh-oh. See, Jango is out of practice—the Kaminoans can’t make those noises. Boba’s language skills begin and end with Mando’a and some random bits of clonespeak right now—he’s kind of conversational with Huttese but every once in a while he just throws in a Mando’a word or an idiom in clonespeak and Jango has to take a minute to breathe lest he slam his head straight through the wall in frustration because he doesn’t understand clonespeak. And so much performing of charades, many awkward moments, and exactly one sentence in Basic later, Obi-Wan is heading back to Coruscant with several questions.

First: why the fuck did Sifo-Dyas order an army who didn’t speak Basic? No one knows. No one can find any records of this order, for one thing. No one knows who Tyrannus is, for another.

And second: what languages do the clones speak? Obviously, Mando’a is amongst them, but Jango’s extremely intensely staring son also spoke another, infinitely weird language and no one can find any record of it, and not even Jango seemed to understand him. Do they understand the Kaminoans’ clicking noises? Are they just mute? Is it constantly Shut The Fuck Up Friday up in there? What is going on?

The Council loses their collective minds. Shaak Ti is about ready to haul ass across the galaxy to collect these poor, lost young men—Plo Koon is right there with her. Yoda is—well, Yoda is swearing loudly in several dead languages right now. Mace Windu, ever the voice of reason, just has one thing to say: how about they meet the clones, first. Before they panic.

In the face of this intense, all-consuming, glorious sensibility, the Council collectively shuts the fuck up. They decide to let things run their course.

And then Geonosis. Quickly, Yoda collects several hundred clones, manages to communicate to one of them—who speaks a really weird, ancient, and fucked up dialect of Basic that could basically scan to Elizabethan English, and whose name is probably Kowalski—what he needs, and that one tells an older, larger and more intimidating one. Then that one yells a lot in a language Yoda has never heard before, and several hundred clones are suddenly hauling ass into gunships.

Enter one Anakin Skywalker and one Padmé Amidala, who are about to acquire some friends, none of whom understand a word they’re saying. They fuck some things up, get strapped to some poles to be devoured by Space Beasts of some sort, and then escape.

Battle of Geonosis happens. Mace Windu quickly discovers that the answer to the question what do the clones speak is effectively every language except Basic, and the answer is also supremely inconsistent. He is Suffering. He is Experiencing The Horrors. Obi-Wan is likewise fighting for his life because he speaks a fancy-ass dialect of Mando’a that the clones don’t understand. This is because they, like normal people, don’t talk like dignitaries on diplomatic missions.

Moving on! Obi-Wan gets assigned Alpha-17. Alpha-17 is a demon. Actually. He probably speaks Basic but refuses to out of spite. This is the biggest asshole to ever stomp his way into a Venator and terrify Anakin Skywalker into cowering submission. (He may even be why Anakin behaved like that as Vader. We will never know!) Like most clones, Alpha-17 speaks four languages. Clonespeak, Mando’a, Kaminoan, and Huttese. In that order. So he has no real trouble communicating with either Anakin or Obi-Wan.

What he does have, though, is a surplus of kids. Like it or not (he insists he doesn’t) they are his kids, and he wants them to have a shot at having a moderately tolerable existence. Enter everyone’s favorite group of six weirdos: Wolffe, Ponds, Fox, Bly, Cody, and Rex.

Wolffe is easy. He’s horrible with languages, and so gets sent to Plo Koon, who speaks through a translator anyway. Add Mando’a to the translator, and bang! Easy. Done. They understand each other perfectly.

Ponds is also easy. He, being sensible, learned Basic, so he goes to Mace Windu, who is equally sensible (and grateful for the easy transition).

Fox, who is a scheming little shit and also just so happens to speak Naboo, get sent to Coruscant. The Chancellor can’t get one over on him if Fox can understand every word he says, and most Senators have protocol droids with them for translation anyway.

Bly speaks Ryll, so she gets Aayla Secura. Again, easy.

Cody, on the other hand? Cody speaks the same languages as 17. Cody has a favorite younger brother who needs guidance. Cody, therefore, gets deposited with Obi-Wan, and Rex? Rex gets Anakin.

But the issue with Rex is he and Anakin have no language in common. Rex’s elective language was Togruti, and like the rest of his batch he also speaks Tusken sign. Because his batch are a bunch of assholes who wanted an extremely private way to talk.

So. Anakin and Rex start off the war with no way to communicate! None! Literally not one language in common!

And they do try to communicate—via charades, via text, et cetera—but they don’t really have access to translation software on a regular basis and thus things become complicated.

Things are made even more complicated by the fact that Rex, like Wolffe, is shit at language learning. Anakin, who isn’t, could try to learn clonespeak, and does! But when you can’t communicate with the person teaching you it is immensely slow going.

And thus, our premise is complete. How do you run a war with someone you can’t talk to?

Well, it depends. If you’re Anakin, you say, maybe I can figure a way around this.

If you’re Pong Krell?

I dunno man. Yell? Yeah, that sounds about right.

#hahaha #heeeeere's nonsense!#lee writes #different languages au #star wars #tcw #jango fett #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #alpha-17 #commander cody #captain rex

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askkrathotelsmaid · 23 days ago

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Pinocchio entering our homes back again like:

#heeeeere's the little boy ♡#lies of p #liesofp #lop #pinocchio #lies of p game

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sam-reid · 2 months ago

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Julien smiled and stood back against the mantel, folding his arms, and the tiny candle flames danced, as if he were solid flesh and had stirred the air. And solid enough he seemed in his black wool coat and silk shirt. He wore long trousers and old-fashioned button shoes, polished to a perfect luster. As he smiled, his gently lined face with its curling white hair and blue eyes seemed to grow ever more vivid.

Ted Levine as Julien Mayfair MAYFAIR WITCHES 2.02: TEN OF SWORDS.

#old man julien is heeeeere #drinking smoking AND cannibalism all in his first episode? who's doing it like him #julien mayfair #mayfair witches #amc immortal universe #anne rice #the lives of the mayfair witches #ted levine #tvedit #witchesnet #cinemapix #cinematv #dailyflicks #filmtvcentral #lgbtqedit #tuserlivia

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mossytrashcan · 1 year ago

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my feelings towards genya rivals that of a melodramatic scene kid romance song. if that makes any sense

#I SCREAMED OUT “GOD YOU VULTURE BRING HER BACK OR TAKE ME WITH HEEEEER”#yknow the vibe #genya safin #shadow and bone #sage’s art tag #grishaverse

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millennium-queen · 8 months ago

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Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with gold, it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise.

#peeta mellark #the hunger games #THG Peeta #my art #the hunger games peeta #HEEEEERES LUUU #did you miss me?#I know I’m just doing more sad conceptual Peeta stuff #but that’s my comfort zone I can’t help iiiiit

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mapofsouthdakota · 11 days ago

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Caleb’s headcanon -

The Vanguard

Synopsis: You’ve arrived the onsen. Together with Caleb. And you are roleplaying your way through the evening. Or are you?

Details: Medium 2300ish w. Romance. Banter. Undressing and nudity. Sexual tension. Teasing. Small pecks. Did I say romance?

(This is a continuation of the onsen series. Check Onsen mist ch. I if you want fuller context and a longer slow burn).

The Yearning: @gavin3469 @mcdepressed290

Onsen heat | Chapter II

The hallway leading to your suite is silent, muted in that expensive kind of way, where even your footsteps feel too loud against the polished wooden floors. Heat hangs heavier here than in the reception, wrapping around you like a thick, unseen presence. Hinoki wood lingers in the air, its scent mingling with something softer—apple blossom, steam, the faintest trace of mineral-rich water drifting from deeper within the onsen.

It’s warm. Comfortable. The kind of warmth that belongs to Caleb. And maybe that’s why he fits here so easily.

His presence melds seamlessly into the quiet hush of the corridor, an easy, unshaken confidence in every step, like he was always meant to be here. There’s no hesitation in his stride, no second-guessing in the way he moves—a careless ease softened by something deeper, something that lingers in the curve of his smirk, in the effortless way he takes up space.

The soft glow of lanterns casts flickering gold against his skin, the polished wood beneath your slippers muffling each step, and in the distance, steam rises in delicate tendrils, curling around like an embrace—framing him, claiming him, as if he was always meant to be here.

Which is ridiculous. Because Caleb wasn’t supposed to be here. This was supposed to be your retreat. Your quiet moment alone. And yet, here he is.

The receptionist finally stops at the suite’s sliding doors, turning back to you both with that same warm, oblivious enthusiasm.

“And here we are!” She gestures toward the wooden plaque beside the door—a delicately carved inscription of the suite’s name.

“This is one of our most exquisite rooms, traditionally inspired but designed for modern comfort. You’ll find your private onsen just beyond the back terrace.”

She smiles, then adds, almost conspiratorially, “Ah, and a bit of extra luck for you both! This room is said to be particularly popular for couples. A place of connection, of intimacy.”

You nearly trip over your own slippers.

The fabric is soft beneath your feet, the whisper of movement barely audible, but the moment crashes like a cymbal in your head.

Caleb’s hand finds the small of your back, a steady, assured touch—warm, firm, as if the role of doting partner isn’t something he’s wearing like a mask, but something he could wear as easily as his own skin.

“Sounds perfect,” he says smoothly, his voice a lazy drawl, rich and weighted with something unreadable.

And you can’t even protest it. Because he makes it sound so natural. You do look like a couple.

Not just because of the years of practice, the seamless rhythm of falling into this act whenever needed—but because you do fit together. His ease, your reaction. His warmth, your instinct to melt into it. His hand against you, your pulse tripping beneath your skin.

The receptionist beams, clasping her hands together. “Breakfast is served from seven, and if there’s anything you need—extra towels, more tea, anything at all—please don’t hesitate to call.”

You nod, about to thank her, to get through this last interaction so you can breathe, step inside, recalibrate—

And then Caleb moves.

His hand lifts to your face—slow, unhurried, deliberate. The shift in proximity sends a shiver rippling through your skin before your mind can even catch up.

Fingertips barely graze your cheek, a touch so light it’s almost imaginary—too much, too little, all at once.

A single strand of hair—gently swept behind your ear. A fleeting gesture, practiced and effortless, and yet—

The air changes.

Violet eyes find yours, sharp, watchful, gleaming beneath the lantern’s golden glow. He sees the moment your breath hitches, the unspoken pause between heartbeats. Caleb sees how something flickers there—not just amusement, not just knowing.

The receptionist, completely oblivious, only smiles brighter.

You return her smile—soft, breathless, something warm and natural, like the part was written for you and you were always meant to play it.

“Thank you so much,” you say, voice light and sweet, slipping into the role like a second skin. And then—just to sell it, just to make sure there’s no suspicion lingering in the receptionist’s mind—

You let yourself lean into him. Just a little. Just enough.

The shift is subtle, barely perceptible, yet it feels like crossing a line neither of you have acknowledged. His fingers linger, the touch featherlight but deliberate, his thumb grazing the delicate skin beneath your ear in a way that feels intimate, instinctual—like second nature.

Then—so soft you almost wonder if you imagined it—he dips his head, pressing the faintest kiss to your hair. A whisper of warmth, a touch so fleeting it could have been nothing.

And then, just as easily as it happened, he pulls away.

Without meaning to—without even trying—the two of you radiate something unmistakable. Not a couple, but something dangerously close. Something unspoken, unresolved, and yet impossibly easy.

And the way he’s looking at you now—like he knows it just as much as you do—only makes it worse.

The receptionist sighs, absolutely glowing. “Oh, newlyweds are always my favorite guests,” she coos, voice full of genuine delight.

Caleb hums in agreement, shifting just slightly, tilting his head as if considering something.

“She’s easy to spoil,” he muses. His tone is light, playful, smooth as silk. But something in his eyes is sharper. “Wouldn’t dream of letting her go without.”

Your breath catches. It’s playful. Just a passing comment. Except it’s not. Not anymore.

The receptionist sighs, positively delighted, then bows slightly.

“Well, I won’t keep you two any longer. Enjoy your stay.”

And with that—

Click.

—————————————————————————

The sound of the latch falling into place is deafening.

The role is over. The act is done. But Caleb still hasn’t let go of you.

His arm remains a solid presence at your waist, his body angled close, too warm, too steady. And you know—without even looking—that he’s grinning.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales a low chuckle, his voice rich with amusement, deep enough to curl along your spine.

“For a second, I thought you were about to break character.” He pauses, eyes flicking over you, watching—too closely, too knowingly. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “I was starting to think I’d have to carry the whole performance myself.”

You feel it before you hear it—that smug, self-satisfied tone, the way he’s relishing this moment, stretching it just to see how you’ll react.

And then—because of course he does—he doubles down.

“Was it too soon for you to be an actress again, Pips? Should I have prepared cue cards?”

You inhale sharply, resisting the urge to whip around and glare at him. Instead, you roll your shoulders back as if that might shake off the ghost of his hand still lingering at your waist.

“Says the man who completely overplayed his part.” You step out of his hold, finally putting space between you, though you don’t dare look at him yet.

Caleb makes a sound—a soft, feigned gasp of offense.

“Overplayed?”

You finally glance at him, only to immediately regret it. Because—of course—he’s watching you with that infuriating smirk.

You cross your arms. “I fit the blushing bride perfectly, thank you very much.”

Caleb grins, all sharp amusement, tapping a hand against his chest as if to emphasize the blow. “Oh, no doubt. You even sold the little breathless moment—real commitment to the role, Pips.”

Your jaw tightens. Oh, he’s enjoying this way too much. You shove him—or try to.

He doesn’t budge an inch.

“Shut up,” you mutter, stepping away with all the composure you can muster.

You don’t look at him. You don’t need to. You can feel his amusement, crackling like static in the air, humming before a storm.

Before you can react—before you can even breathe—Caleb’s there. His presence pressing into your space, effortlessly overwhelming—a gravitational pull that leaves no room for escape. Warm breath ghosts over your skin, slow and deliberate, curling against your lips as a promise.

“Oh, I’ll shut up,” he murmurs, voice low, rich, edged with taunt.

His long lashes graze your chin as he leans in, the faintest tickle against your skin, fleeting, almost unreal. A whisper of warmth—his lips barely brushing yours, so soft it could have been imagined.

And then—just as easily as he entered your space—he’s gone.

Your fingers twitch at your sides—one hand clenched, resisting the urge to reach for something, while the other hovers near your lips, grazing them lightly, tracing the lingering heat he left behind—soft, searing, impossible to ignore.

And then—you see it.

The way his own hand lifts, thumb dragging across his lower lip, slow, absentminded. His tongue flicks out, a fleeting, instinctive motion against the very spot, as if chasing the sensation without thinking—like you’re still there, still pressed into him. Unconscious. Effortless. Maddening.

Your fingers curl, caught between reaching for him, reaching for something to throw, or reaching for a pillow to scream into. And when he doesn’t glance back—when he doesn’t acknowledge what just happened with so much as a smirk—it only makes it worse.

But he’s already moved on. Already turned away, peeling off his jacket like nothing just happened, like he didn’t just press himself into your space and leave you unraveling.

You exhale sharply, forcing the moment out with your breath, willing your pulse to settle.

Fine.

You shift your focus—drag your attention away from the way his back moves beneath his layers, away from the way his fingers run through his damp hair, away from the way he exists so effortlessly in your space.

And instead—

You take in the suite.

It’s—overwhelming.

The floor is smooth, dark wood, polished to a delicate sheen that catches the soft glow of paper lanterns, their golden light casting long, fluid shadows along the walls. A low, impossibly large bed stretches along one side of the room—bigger than three of your own—draped in plush down duvets and an overabundance of pillows in muted, earthy tones; cream, deep browns, gentle sage.

It looks too comfortable, too easy to sink into.

But the true indulgence—the one that makes something in your chest tighten—is beyond the massive sliding doors.

They dominate the far end of the suite, their wooden frames enclosing translucent panels, filtering the glow from within, casting the space in a dim, amber haze. Beneath them, delicate curls of steam escape, twisting in the air like a whispered invitation.

And through the faint openings—The onsen waits.

A private pool of dark, glassy warmth, nestled against smooth stone, illuminated by the flickering glow of hanging lanterns. The water looks still and deep, a contrast to the chill pressing against the world outside, and for a moment, the sight of it steals your breath.

Stillness settles over you, thick like honey, wrapping around your senses, lulling, whispering—urging you not just to relax, not just to indulge, but to sink into it with him.

You hear the rustle of fabric and a soft thud. Then, the muffled sound of Caleb’s satisfied hum as he moves deeper into the bathroom, flicking on the light, his presence still bleeding into the space even though he’s not beside you anymore.

A cabinet creaks open. Something shifts, then clicks shut again. Then—his voice, light and entirely too pleased with itself.

“Oh yeah—this is an upgrade, alright”

A distinct flick of a switch, the quiet rush of water from the tap, and then the sound of him flicking through things with the ease of someone who has already made himself at home.

Your brow furrows. What is he even doing in there? Lining up the bath oils by scent strength? That was his five minutes of shutting up, alright. Yet you cant help but answering—

“Hey—what are you doing?” The words leave your lips before you even fully process them, your voice tangled between disbelief and sheer bafflement.

From inside the bathroom, Caleb’s shameless laughter echoes off the walls.

“Taking a shower. The lady said we had to rinse off before jumping in, remember?”

Oh.

Right.

The realization slams into you all at once—you hadn’t been listening to the receptionist at all. Too busy pretending to be a bride, pretending Caleb’s hand on your waist wasn’t making your entire body hum.

A slow exhale, a silent attempt to ground yourself. Let him shower first, step outside, take in the view—regain some mental clarity. Easy.

And then you see him. Or rather, you see too much of him.

The lean, sculpted lines of his body shift with ease, each movement effortless yet impossibly strong. The dog tag catches the light, the silver glint stark against his skin, drawing attention to the solid plane of his chest. It rests where it always does—settled against muscle, the small apple charm nestled beside it, its ruby-colored stone flickering like a captured ember.

And before you can fully recover from the sight of his torso alone, he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers—

And then he catches you staring.

Time slows.

His violet eyes lock onto yours, a flicker of awareness passing through them. His chest rises and falls in a slow, measured breath. The heat in the room feels thicker now, heavier.

And you don’t move. Because you’re aware.

Aware of how much he’s changed over the years, how he’s gone from that playful, wiry boy to someone devastatingly built. Aware of the way his body commands attention, the way it’s become so much harder to pretend Caleb’s body is just any body.

And judging by the slight flush that dusts his ridiculously sharp cheekbones, he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He rubs a hand along the back of his neck, ruffling his damp hair in an almost sheepish gesture.

“Heh. Got a little carried away.”

The moment cracks.

You inhale—sharp, quick, a little shaky. But you run with it. “No, no—go ahead. You first.” You wave a hand, forcing your voice into something casual, light, easy, as if your entire world wasn’t just momentarily upended.

Caleb studies you for a second longer, like he’s considering something, his gaze assessing, flickering over your face as if he can hear the thoughts scrambling through your head. His hand, still resting at the back of his neck, slowly drags down, fingers skimming over the ridge of his collarbone before trailing lower—down the solid plane of his chest, over the defined lines of his abs, easy, unhurried, thoughtless.

Then, after what feels like an eternity, he nods.

“If you insist.”

But you both know the truth. You hadn’t been looking away.

And now, as you turn on your heel, desperate to salvage some composure, your pulse is hammering because you’ve never had to work this hard to pretend Caleb’s body is just friendly territory.

“Of course, you get first dibs on the shower,” you remark dryly, layering the sarcasm thick to cover up the fact that your brain is still short-circuiting. “I’m sure this wasn’t your plan from the beginning at all.”

Behind you, he chuckles.

The sound is low, indulgent—just amused enough to make your stomach twist.

Then, the shower turns on, steam curling into the air, and you exhale sharply, setting your hands on your hips as you stare out at the onsen. The lanterns flicker, their reflections fracturing across the water’s surface, and you inhale deeply, trying—failing—to center yourself.

You need a plan. Something.

You could keep it the way it’s always been—full of longing, full of tension, but never stepping over the line. A careful dance of proximity, stolen glances, lingering touches that never truly mean anything. Just circling each other, always close, never colliding.

Or—

You could drop the dance entirely. Commit. Acknowledge that this is different, that something has shifted, something unspoken pressing against the edges of every interaction.

But acknowledging it means opening a door you might never be able to close. The thought alone makes your chest tighten. Your fingers flex at your sides.

Bend to the moment, or fight against it?

Chapter III

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Writer’s note: Ouffff I had too much fun with the role playing and the undressing scene and I just didn’t have it in me to cut it. What is it with me and this slowburn bahh. I hope you stick with me until we get "there" if you know what a mean *snortlaughs*. As always: inspo track listed below. Okey then, thank you for reading pt 2 🫶🏻

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