#yes I know there's no tea depicted here

[lurkingshan]

A Brief History of Queer Representation in Modern Kdrama

Earlier this week, totally unrelated to Heesu in Class 2, @twig-tea and I were making a list of kdramas with proper queer representation, because Twig loves to track queer things and I love to make highly specific lists. In light of all the discussion around Heesu and its appeal to a mainstream kdrama audience, we thought it would be helpful to share as context for what Heesu’s creators set out to do, how it compares to Love in the Big City and its goals, and why both shows are so significant for those who are not as familiar with this media landscape. We wrote the below together (strap in, folks, it's a long one).

As always, let us be clear what we are talking about with this list. We’re only looking at modern mainstream kdrama, so this list is not inclusive of Korean queer cinema or QL dramas, both of which have a rich history of their own. And when we say queer representation, we mean canonically queer characters that are acknowledged as such in the text of the show, if not by saying the words, at least by openly acknowledging same sex attraction. If there’s anything we know about queer people on the internet, it’s that our community can read gay subtext into anything, but that’s not what we’re doing here. For this list we are only interested in depictions of LGBTQ+ people that are clear and spelled out for anyone watching a show.  In addition, for the purposes of this list we are talking about intentional inclusion of queer characters with a proper role in the story, not nominal nods to queer people existing (like every Hong Seok Cheon cameo in a drama), comedic gender bending without real reckoning with sexuality (ala The King’s Affection), use of queer people as the butt of a joke (glaring at you Vincenzo), queerness in psychosexual dreams to titillate and generate buzz (hiiiii Friendly Rivalry), or subtextual gay tension between two same sex actors who happen to have chemistry (waves hello to The Devil Judge). The point of this exercise is to chart the evolution of significant queer representation in kdrama—both good and bad—not to document every gay character that ever appeared for two seconds on screen. That said, while Shan has watched several hundred kdramas and Twig has tried to watch everything gay on the planet, it’s possible we missed something that should be here, so let us know if you think we did (though please do mind the criteria and don’t send us an impassioned essay about why Beyond Evil should count). 

With that, let’s begin our walk through of the last two decades of queer characters in kdrama. 

Coffee Prince (2007) 

Among the most famous dramas on this list, Coffee Prince kicked off queer rep in modern kdrama with a classic gender bender in which Go Eun Chan, a girl, pretends to be a boy for Reasons. But what made it stand out is that her love interest falls for her while he still thinks she’s a man and has a whole sexual identity crisis and bisexual coming out process. Choi Han Gyul (and Gong Yoo), you will always be famous! This show was sincerely groundbreaking, not only for depicting a male romance lead struggling with his sexuality, but also including lots of gender fuckery for the female lead. It’s still one of the most significant queer kdramas ever made.

Life is Beautiful (2010) 

This show is notable for how high it set the bar and how nothing has reached it since. Yang Tae Sub is our central character in this 63-hour ensemble family drama, and his arcs struggling with the closet, falling in love, coming out, commitment, and marriage (yes: marriage! In 2010!), are surprisingly realistic and touching without being too cliche. Kyung Soo and Tae Sub start as a casual hookup, and they have to recalibrate as their feelings change (and yes, they kiss on screen and the show is clear that they have sex throughout the series). They fight, they make up, and as their relationship deepens they have other problems in their lives they support one another through—their gayness is not the only or even the most interesting thing about them. It’s also notable that both of these actors (Song Chang Eui and Lee Sang Woo) were established kdrama stars before taking these roles. 

Secret Garden (2010)

This het romance features a side character (played by our beloved Lee Jong Suk) who is a young musical prodigy pursued for his talents by the second lead, a senior musician. Over the course of the story we learn that he’s gay and harboring feelings for his would-be mentor. His plot is minor, but he ends the story happy and successful in his career, if not in a relationship. It’s small scale representation in the grand scheme of things, but one of only a handful of decent depictions of a gay person in kdrama at that point.

Reply 1997 (2012) 

This wildly popular drama (at the time, it was one of the highest rated cable dramas in history) that spawned two follow-up iterations features a gay character, Joon Hee, who is in love with his long time best friend, Yoon Jae, and confides his feelings to their other best friend, Shi Won. Of course, this show is ultimately Yoon Jae and Shi Won’s love story, so Joon Hee does not get his happy romance ending, but his friends and the show treat him with kindness and compassion, and his character was well received by audiences. 

Reply 1994 (2013)

Similar to its predecessor, this drama featured a side character with a gay subplot, but this time it was more about questioning his identity. Bingguere is a character whose arc is all about his confusion and indecision, and that extended to his sexuality when he struggled to understand his attraction to the male lead. Ultimately, he moves past those feelings and we learn his partner in the future is a woman, and the drama doesn’t really clarify where his sexuality landed. It’s kind of weak in terms of explicit queer rep, but showing a man grappling with his sexuality in a very popular family drama still feels significant.

Seonam Girls High School Investigations (2014) 

While most of their content is limited to two episodes of this 14-episode high school drama, Eun Bin and Soo Yeon have, to our knowledge, the first lesbian kiss on Korean television, which earns them a place on this list. They are an established couple struggling with how their relationship is a risk for them (because it can be and is used against them). Their relationship doesn’t survive to the end of the series, but they are treated with compassion and their humanity is underscored by the narrative. They also spark an important conversation among the main characters about whether they should be helped because they’re gay, which was a little better intentioned than it was executed, but the show had the spirit. 

Perseverance Goo Hae Ra (2015)

In a show about aspiring musicians forming a group to take a second shot at stardom, Jang Goon (portrayed by solo idol Park Kwang Seon) is one of the core group members with a heartwarming arc about acceptance. His story is about his father coming to terms with him being an idol and being gay. He has a one-sided confession scene that is decently done, and the scene where his father accepts him knowing the truth (after having been outed against his will) is genuinely moving. It was also touching to see the girl who originally crushed on him support him once she found out about his sexuality. 

Hogu’s Love (2015) 

This drama was considered progressive for its time, as its core plot is about Hogu, a man who decides to support his first love when he finds out she is pregnant with someone else’s child. In addition to that, side character Kang Chul has an arc where he experiences attraction to Hogu and tries to sort out his feelings, considering whether he identifies as gay before ultimately deciding he does not. It’s not the best rep we’ve ever seen, but it was part of an interesting attempt by a drama to explore complicated social and identity issues.

The Lover (2015)

Lee Jun Jae and Takuya (played by Lee Jae Joon who was also in the gay film Night Flight (2014) and Takuya of jpop group CROSS GENE) are roommates in this series about four couples in an apartment building. Their story starts as a comedy, in which Jun Jae and Takuya end up in ship moments that are played off by the narrative as jokes and misunderstandings, but then they catch feelings for real. We see one of the characters struggle with his queer awakening and there is a happy ending. Using the actors’ real names was a choice, and led to some seriously disruptive RPF shipping; but it was refreshing to have an active idol not only play gay but in a romance with a happy ending. 

Prison Playbook (2017)

Another ensemble show with a queer side character; Loony, one of the main character Je Hyuk’s cell mates, is notable for his queerness not being used as a joke and not being the core of the character’s arc. Instead, this character struggles with addiction and how that affects his relationship, which is only incidentally gay. His story is moving and well developed, especially considering the size of this cast, but it doesn’t get a ton of screen time.

Romance is a Bonus Book (2019)

The queer rep in this drama is minor but overall positive, as we learn that the male lead Eun Ho’s ex-girlfriend, who he is still friendly with, ended their relationship because she fell in love with a woman. The show presents her as a lovely person who helps the female lead several times and is happy in her lesbian relationship, and we even get to see her with her partner briefly. A small win for sapphic representation in a very popular Netflix drama.

Moment at Eighteen (2019)

Jung Oh Je (RIP Moonbin) is a side character friend of the main lead. His sexuality becomes part of the plot when he is confessed to by a friend of the female lead, and he admits that he has a crush on the second male lead (Ma Hwi Young). While the characters in the show are mixed in their response, it’s clear the story is on the side of treating Oh Je with compassion. 

Be Melodramatic (2019) 

This is an ensemble show centered on a group of friends who move in together to support a grieving young woman, Lee Eun Jung, and one of the housemates is her younger brother Lee Hyo Bong, a gay musician with a long-term partner. He is a side character and his most significant plot is about supporting his sister, with his sexuality and relationship part of his characterization rather than an active story thread. It’s a positive depiction and the way his sexuality is presented as just part of who he is felt significant at the time. 

Love with Flaws (2019) 

Joo Won Suk (RIP Cha in Ha) is one of the FL’s older brothers, and while not the focus of the drama he gets his own fully developed arc, including the mentorship of queer side character Choi Ho Dol. The queer rep in this show covers suicidality, the loneliness of the closet, bullying, solidarity, and fear of parental shame. That makes it sound depressing, but it’s a hopeful story about the character moving out of depression and into self-acceptance, has one of the best scenes depicting gay acceptance from a father in any show, and both Won Suk and Ho Dol have a happy ending (including for their romance). 

Itaewon Class (2020)

The first drama on this list to feature a transgender character, Itaewon Class is about a group of social misfits trying to launch a restaurant on a trendy street in Itaewon. Ma Hyun Yi, a transgender woman saving money for her gender affirming surgery, is among the gang. Her story is not a big focus for the drama, but she gets a nice arc about coming into herself and gaining recognition for her talents as a chef, and the other characters always respect her identity. It’s pretty solid representation for a side character.

Sweet Munchies (2020)

This drama tries to tackle the problems of homophobia and appropriating queerness but misses the mark on both. The queer character in this show, Kang Tae Wan, is here to function as a driving force and conscience for the main male lead and female lead; he’s essentially the second lead but never had a chance (though he didn’t know it, since the main lead is pretending to be gay for clout). Tae Wan is a good character, but the narrative doesn’t care much about him or about queer people in general, it’s focused on how heterosexuals experience queerness. Not exactly amazing queer representation, whatever its intentions.

Run On (2020) 

This drama features both a gay character and an asexual character, both of whom are written respectfully and get proper coming out scenes. There is also some messiness around one of the main characters appropriating queer identity as a way to avoid the pressures of her patriarchy, and the drama knows she’s wrong for that. This was one of the first instances of a kdrama acknowledging queer people as a regular part of the world around us and not singular oddities, and it was nice to see multiple facets of queer representation in one show.

Mr. Queen (2020)

This gender bender retains its place on the list because the main character (a man who awakens in the body of a Queen during the Joseon dynasty) openly struggles with his gender dysphoria as well as what it means that he’s attracted to a man, and these struggles are present for the bulk of the show. The character also has sex with both men and women while in that body. It’s one of the better representations of gender swap and feels queer, even when the relationship on screen has the guise of heterosexuality. 

Mine (2021)

In this drama about ambitious women married to powerful men who struggle to break free from their constraints, one of the main characters reunites with her first love—another woman. The drama follows Jung Seo Hyun as she struggles to acquire the power she needs to live as she wants, and she ultimately achieves her goal, reuniting with her lover at the story’s end. It’s the first kdrama with a lesbian character in a major role who gets her happy romance ending. 

Move to Heaven (2021)

Despite only being featured in episode 5, this was a good story that garnered a lot of attention in a popular Netflix drama, so for cultural impact reasons alone it belongs on this list. We start the episode with Jung Soo Hyun’s death, but this is a show about finding closure after death, so for once this death doesn’t feel like bury your gays. This is a compassionate tragedy in which we see how fear held Soo Hyun back from his relationship with Ian Park while he was alive, but his belongings at death indicate he was getting ready to face his fear and move to the US to marry Ian after all. Through the main characters of the show, Ian gets the closure of knowing Soo Hyun loved him. 

Nevertheless (2021) 

Yoon Sol and Seo Ji Wan have a typical plot for side characters (they’re in the female lead’s friend group) with a friends-to-lovers arc that depicts the fear and frustration when both friends are closeted and uncertain about risking the friendship but reach the point where they can’t pretend anymore. Since they’re both women, this felt pretty radical. They got a good romantic arc and a happy ending, if not a lot of screen time.

Under the Queen’s Umbrella (2022)

In this sageuk, the fourth prince is living a double life, hiding away makeup and women’s clothing that they wear in secret. The character is depicted as trans, but given the setting, explicit language and modern terminology (including altered pronouns) are not used in this side plot. When the prince’s mother finds out, she supports her child to have an artist paint a portrait of their true self, and ultimately, the prince leaves the royal family to go live a more authentic life in isolation in a bittersweet resolution. 

A Time Called You (2023)

The queer rep in this drama comes in the form of a brief backstory montage for two gay characters, one of whom (Yeon Jun) is in a coma. We learn that he ended up in this state after getting into a car accident while in the process of confessing to the guy he mutually liked (Tae Ha), who was killed in the accident. From there, Yeon Jun’s body is taken over by a heterosexual character (it’s a whole time loop thing). This entry is mostly notable for featuring a high profile cameo from Rowoon playing Tae Ha, and unfortunately, for being a fairly textbook example of the bury your gays trope. In 2023!

Wedding Impossible (2024) 

This disaster of a drama purported to finally feature a gay character in a prominent role that drove the narrative—in a story about Do Han pretending to marry his longtime friend to avoid being forced to marry another woman—but Do Han ended up a minor side character in his own story when the show chose to focus nearly all its attention on his brother’s het romance. Worse, the other characters treated him terribly and the story blamed every problem on his sexuality. This show was straight up homophobic and it was a significant regression for queer depictions in mainstream Korean media. 

Bitter Sweet Hell (2024)

image credit @respectthepetty

Choi Doi Hyun (played by Park Jae Chan of Semantic Error) is the closeted son of the main character, struggling with how hiding his secret affects his school life and his relationship with his family. His story ends happily with Jun Ho in the US, which felt like a win after the above history with kdrama, but because his secret being his queerness is hidden for most of the story, we don’t get to see it inform the narrative much except in retrospect. 

Squid Game 2 (2024)

The most recent entry on our list features Park Sung Hoon as Hyeon Ju, a transgender woman who enters the life or death game at the center of this drama to earn money to move to Thailand and get gender affirming surgery. While her inclusion wasn't entirely groundbreaking, Hyeon Ju was a well-developed character with a sympathetic backstory who quickly became a fan favorite, notable given Squid Game's popularity and broad international audience. 

Bringing Better Queer Stories to Mainstream Drama Audiences

With all that context established, we have been contemplating how queer creators in Korea can reach a wider audience with their stories and ensure queer representation in kdrama is both more common and more authentic. We look to Love in the Big City and Heesu in Class 2 as a start, as we would argue that both shows exist in the gray space between mainstream kdrama and kbl. They both leverage kdrama style and structure to tell queer stories that include, but are not limited to, gay romances. They both had unusual distribution and battled to even get released and in front of an audience, with LITBC rushing its episodes out amidst public protests and Heesu sitting on the shelf for two years before being quietly released on a streaming platform. And they both had goals to reach an audience beyond the usual BL viewers, albeit with wildly different tones and themes in their stories. The BL audience is too niche to effect the social change that queer creators are seeking, and the limited runtime, genre tropes, and laser-focus on romance means it is harder to make wider social and cultural points in a BL story (it doesn’t hit the same when gay characters are treated as human in a story that takes place in the no homophobia BL bubble). And as we’ve seen from this walk through the past, there are real limits to queer representation that is not created by queer people or informed by their lived experiences.

As you can see from reviewing this list, these two shows were the first kdramas in well over a decade (after the only other example, Life Is Beautiful) to center on a gay main character whose journey drove the story, and they were doing this in the context of a media landscape that rarely elevates queer people beyond minor side plots, still regularly fumbles on respectful representation, and in which representation seems to be getting worse. Love in the Big City set out to show a young queer man’s life in all its glorious messiness. Go Young was not an easy character, and the show did not hold back on his flaws or shy away from either the joy or the struggle he found in his sexuality. Heesu is about a younger character and so his struggles are centered around coming of age and first love, but it similarly depicts a beautifully flawed young gay man coming to terms with himself and asks the audience to empathize with and care about him as his loved ones in the story do. Where LITBC uses a unique storytelling structure to draw in the viewer and highlight what makes Young’s life feel different, Heesu roots itself in familiar drama beats and queer-coded side plots in the hopes that the audience will see and be comforted by the familiar in Heesu’s world. 

Both of these stories, in their own way, speak to a mainstream audience and ask for queer existence and queer humanity to be acknowledged. And this does not make them problematic as queer works, because they accomplish their goals of speaking to a wider audience while still being true to queer experiences. Given how scant decent queer representation has been in kdramas over the last twenty years (consider the size of the list above against the fact that there are well over 1500 modern kdramas, and so few of the above listed characters are mains or even significant sides in these dramas), more shows like LITBC and Heesu are needed to bridge this gap. We sincerely hope they find the support they need to get made.

[mylove-iv]

⠀𐔌 . ⋮ promised to me .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ʚ imperial guard! hoshina soshiro x fem! reader ɞ

synopsis: you are presented to the Emperor of Japan in marriage to better your clan's standing and boost the Imperial family's backing. hoshina soshiro is your assigned escort, guarding you day and night yet turmoil brews in him as he comes to realize that his heart yearns for you, the bride-to-be of the Emperor.

genres: romance, a smidge of angst.

content warnings: unclear timeskips, mild descriptions of blood, mild depictions of abuse (not from soshiro), morally grey! soshiro ૮꒰ྀི⊃⸝ ⸝ ⸝⊂꒱ྀིა.

word count: 3.15k words.

author's note: ngl, this was supposed to be a more dark! soshiro fic but he turned out more grey haha ᡣ𐭩.

‎‧₊ ─ masterlist .ᐟ ༘

When the Emperor called Soshiro for an audience, he wasn't expecting his breath to be taken away.

But as Soshiro looks at you, he found it somehow hard to breathe when you entered his vision, bathed in swathes of the finest silk and rouge painting your lips oh so prettily like camellias blooming in the harsh winter.

And it was as if the words on his tongue suddenly dissolved when you had paid him a small yet sweet smile, your eyes ever so kind.

But it was your smile that seemed the most unforgettable to him.

He was hypnotized and completely enamored but he's startled from his thoughts when the Emperor then introduces you as Lady Fujiwara, his promised bride to help him solidify the Emperor’s seat and someone Soshiro is tasked with guarding.

Hoshina Soshiro, head of the Imperial Guard, knows that coveting something that does not belong to him would be a crime with the price of seppuku and his clan’s honor being tarnished. He knows better than to fall prey to his greed, he knows.

Yes. He thinks as he gazes at you. It would be treason.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Throughout the days that had passed, Soshiro, in his dedication to his Emperor and in his efforts to smother his greed, guarded you silently where ever you went.

But one sunny day in your private garden was he taken aback when you had offered him a seat at your quaint table, insisting he sit for tea.

He sighs through his nose before relenting and a small smile appears on your face as you pour him a cup of tea. “Here,” You pass him a book, to which he recognizes as Tachibana Akemi’s latest book of poetry.

“I mustn’t, my lady.” He gently holds it back to you, words firm and unyielding.

You don’t spare him another glance as you flip another page of the current book you’re reading. “I saw you eyeing it while I was reading it yesterday, Hoshina-san.” You murmur softly, a teasing lilt accompanying your words.

Soshiro’s eyes widen and as he’s about to apologize, you huff a small laugh. “Don’t apologize or I’ll be upset.” At your words does Soshiro zip his lips shut.

Your smile widens as your eyes twinkle forcing Soshiro swallows thickly, “You’re my personal escort, Hoshina-san, I think the distance between us is no longer needed, no?”

Your gaze is insistent until Soshiro relents, sighing silently before flipping to the first page and only then do you beam brightly, pushing your plate of strawberry daifuku in his direction as he thumbs the dried camellia flower you tucked between the pages to act as a bookmark.

And before he knows it, the silence between you completely dies down as you discuss the meanings of Tachibana’s poems, the ice between you breaking and is replaced with an air of comfort and ease.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

A couple of weeks had passed since you arrived from Kyoto, settling in the Imperial Palace nicely as Soshiro strode ten steps behind you, his katana strapped to his waist securely as his vermillion eyes never strayed from your form.

But the harsh thuds of arrows hitting their wooden marks rouses him from his staring as he sees you gazing at the archers in the courtyard shooting, longing and nostalgia filling your eyes.

“My lady?” Soshiro hums thoughtfully, his maroon eyes gently tracing then soft curve of your nose before dipping lower to your plush lips.

You’re startled from your reverie before your apologetic eyes fly to meet his, a shy smile adorning your embarrassed face. “My apologies, Hoshina-san. Let’s resume our walk, shall we?”

Silently nodding at your command, Soshiro can’t help but think of the longing that had flooded your gaze when you looked at the archers earlier and before he knows it, the words are tumbling from his lips, “Do you practice the ways of the bow, my lady?”

Sunlight leaking through the shoji doors paint your face beautifully, so much so that it has Soshiro at a loss of words yet it is the bright smile tugging at your lips is what causes his heart to seize momentarily.

“I do. I did,” You trail off, eyes dimming visibly. “Before I was taken here to the capital-“

Soshiro catches your eyes widen at your mistaken and he quickly understands; you, the Emperor’s chosen bride, speaking of the marriage that was arranged against your will to the Emperor’s head guard.

He smiles gently before kneeling before you, his hand encasing yours as he places a soft kiss atop your knuckles, “At ease, my lady, for I will not let any harm come to you, even if it is from the Emperor.” Soshiro promises to you, honest eyes looking up into yours that it has you visibly relaxing.

You bend down slightly before your free hand gently cups Soshiro’s face, your thumb tracing his cheekbone causing his breath to stutter. “Thank you, Hoshina-san. I’ll be in your care.”

Against his better judgement, Soshiro allows himself this moment of respite before he leans into your palm, savoring your warmth.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Later that night, when the moon is high in the night sky, Soshiro gently rasps his knuckles against your shoji doors. His keen ears pick up on your faint yet sweet, “Come in.”

Allowing himself into your chambers, his vermillion eyes flit over to see your form seated on the engawa, overlooking the garden.

“My Lady,” Soshiro murmurs quietly, willing his heart to stop beating so quickly when you look up at him with a bright smile, your eyes crinkling softly in what he hopes is happiness.

“Hoshina-san, what brings you to my chambers this late?” You ask and when Soshiro brings the arrow and quiver of arrows in hand to your attention, he revels in how your eyes sparkle with excitement.

“For you.” He sends you a cheeky grin that has your cheeks flushing beneath the moonlight.

Smiling oh so sweetly that it has Soshiro’s heart floundering, he swears you’ll give him a heart attack when your hands linger on his briefly as you gently take the bow and quiver from his hands.

And he watches entranced from his seat on the engawa when you shoot consecutive shots hitting their marks, arrows all firmly embedding their heads into the bamboo fences meters away.

“You’ve a good eye and arm, my lady.” Soshiro hums and you turn to him, a cute, mischievous grin on your face that he finds absolutely endearing.

“My tou-san tells me I’m a better archer than my nii-san but hush, don’t tell him I said that.” You tease lightly as he chuckles.

As you settle yourself back on the engawa next to him, Soshiro can’t help but see the stray strands of hair loosened from your ponytail.

Impulsively, Soshiro leans over, his fingers tucking the offending strands behind your ear and his body freezes when you turn towards him, your noses brushing as he had misjudged the distance between you.

Your eyes seemed a bit dazed at the close proximity yet Soshiro can’t help but stay rooted in place, greed unfurling at how close you are.

“This is a sweet gesture I find absolutely endearing, Hoshina-san.” You murmur, smiling sweetly that it has him swallowing thickly.

Almost drunk off the sweet scent of camellias and spiced sugar you emanatw, the words slip between his lips before he knows it. “Soshiro.”

Your smile softens, eyes overflowing with warmth that it has his heart rate spiking. “Then, I’ll be Y/n to you, Soshiro.” His name on your tongue is honeyed and cloying, and his desire to hear his name tumble from your lips more often grows. “Thank you, Soshiro.”

Gently without allowing his eyes to leave yours, he grabs your hand before bringing it up to his lips, placing a sweet kiss to your knuckles.

“Anything for you.” Soshiro whispers reverently, his heart brimming solely of you.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Days thereafter does Soshiro see an unspoken softness between you both and he isn’t blind to how his heart treacherously leaps whenever a bright and happy smile lights up your face whenever you see him.

Between accompanying you outside on walks, sipping tea beneath the cherry blossoms with a book in your hands, and late night archery competitions between you both, Soshiro unknowingly falls for you amidst haikus, arrows, and fragrant camellias.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

As he stands guard outside the shoji doors of your quarters, they push open before your attendants exit and only then does Soshiro peer into your quarters

His breath suddenly hitches as he sees you dressed in a deep, wine-red houmougi as pearls and golden laced flowers decorated your hair beautifully, your lips and cheeks tinted with rouge that it has Soshiro’s mind blanking.

Beautiful. He finds himself thinking as he holds out a hand for you to take but something feels unsettlingly off.

You settle your hand in his gracefully, your eyes not meeting his. “The Emperor requested my presence at dinner. I assume his duties to the state were fulfilled.” Your words are a quiet murmur, subdued in the way Soshiro knows that isn’t like you.

“Yes, the turf wars in the western regions have been repressed and settled.” Soshiro mutters lowly as he escorts you to the banquet hall, his hand never leaving yours.

“I see.” Your words are nothing but a noncommittal hum. And as you both arrive to the doors to the banquet hall, Soshiro is about to let go of your hand but his eyes widen as you squeeze them gently.

You’re still staring straight ahead at the doors and a beat of silence passes before your tired eyes are meeting his and Soshiro feels a twinge in his chest as he sees an undercurrent of fright in your eyes.

But before he’s able to inquire if you’re feeling okay, you abruptly let go of his hand as your features settle into a collected mien. You nod your head to the door attendant before entering.

Soshiro sees the way the Emperor’s face lights up at the sight of you but he misses how your eyes flare with disgust before dimming. He feels his heart ache and Soshiro is forcefully biting his tongue, the taste of iron startling him back to his senses.

Fool, she is not yours to covet. He chastises himself as the doors slam shut.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

When the dinner came to a close, Soshiro was there offering his hand to escort you back to your quarters yet you walked ahead as an unsettling silence settled between you.

He stares at your back, a flurry of thoughts rushing through his mind as he ponders a way to break the silence as he wishes to hear your thoughts.

Your thoughts of the book you read earlier, the change in season, or the dinner you just had with the Emperor-

I could love you more than he ever could, if I allow myself.

Soshiro’s own traitorous thoughts shock himself as his mind becomes a frenzy of a storm, guilt and greed intertwining in a confusing dance and Soshiro loses himself to the storm in his mind.

But he’s pulled out of the tempest when you gingerly cup his face, his panicked eyes staring into your worried ones.

"Soshiro?" You call softly and his heart seizes.

A chill dances down Soshiro’s spine as the realization slams into him. He’s knows, he’s aware.

Catastrophically aware.

He rips himself from your touch and bids you a quiet farewell, missing the hurt visibly flashing in your eyes.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Soshiro has been avoiding you and he knows that you know. The air between you has stilled and gone stagnant. And like the coward he is, Soshiro doesn’t even try to mend the burnt bridge between you.

Instead, unknowingly, he adds more fuel to the fire as he orders guard shift changes, rotating with officers under his command to stand by and guard you.

And only when the moon is high in the night sky, does Soshiro stand in to be your guard, away from your kind eyes and unknown to you.

Despite the distance, he still reads the reports noting what you’d done for the day, an odd feeling of longing filling his chest all the while he is ignorant of the dangers you’d faced at the hands of the Emperor while the sun brightly shone.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Silently stalking to the guard stationed outside of your quarters, Soshiro motions for the guard shift and his officer in question nods mutely before bowing and walking away.

His wine-red eyes peer at the shoji doors that separate you both before he heaves a silent sigh. You fool. Soshiro thinks bitterly before straightening up.

But the loud crash of porcelain breaking quickly catches his attention and before he knows it, he’s drawing his katana as his other hand slams the shoji doors open.

Your startled and tear-laden eyes meet his panicked red ones and once his mind registers that there’s no immediate threat in the near vicinity and that tears are rolling down your cheeks, his heart begins to ache.

But a surge of rage begins to boil in him as his eyes narrow on the darkened bruise cuffing your wrist.

“What happened?” He mutters lowly, stalking closer and before you’re able to try to cover the offending bruise with the sleeve of your silken juban, he gently grasps your hand.

“Hoshina-san, it’s none of your concern.” You mutter weakly, face turning away from his as you attempt to weakly take your hand back from his grips.

His grip tighten only briefly before he’s grabbing your chin with his free hand, forcing your teary eyes to meet his.

"Who did this to you?" Soshiro murmurs softly, his thumb tracing the bruise.

Your eyes narrow and despite the tears glazing them, he can see how they flare with frustration. “Why do you care?” You snap harshly.

Soshiro’s red eyes flash darkly as he pulls your face close to his, your lips barely brushing. “Why do I care? Why do I care?” He laughs coldly.

“Are you a fool, Y/n?” Soshiro snarls and despite all his attempts to keep his voice level, the desperation in his tone is palpable—almost as if he was pleading. “I—“

“Finish that sentence, Soshiro, I dare you.” You scowl but Soshiro can’t bring himself to even do it.

“Which bastard hurt you?” His voice dips lower, edged dangerously with outrage as he chooses to ignore the previous conversation.

Hurt floods your eyes and he feels you weaken in his hold, your eyes fluttering to a close as tears freely roll down your cheeks. “The Emperor. He was the one to brandish that bruise on me.”

Soshiro stills, his breath catching as his blood runs cold before a heated implosion of rage swelters in him. “A fitting punishment for me attempting to put off the wedding.” You laugh weakly.

His angry eyes flit to yours yet none of the heated fury is not directed to you but that bastard he swore his allegiance to. “Why?”

You look up into his eyes deeply and Soshiro finds himself drowning in them. “Because I fell in love with you and I knew no end to desiring you.”

He swears his heart stops as he registers your words.

Inhaling shakily, you turn away and refuse to meet Soshiro’s eyes. “You have no idea how often I have wished to have you near me.” Your words a weak, broken murmur.

Soshiro can only stare at your face as you continue, “I thought of you softly from time to time. But I knew- I knew that you’d rather cut off your hand before you would ever reach for me.”

He feels dizzy from your words and before Soshiro is able to formulate a cognitive thought, a simple ‘no’ tumbles from his lips.

You shake your head, not allowing yourself the slightest bit of hope, “You swore your allegiance to the Emperor.”

Honor be damned.

Soshiro cups your face softly, forcing your eyes to meet his and his heart feels full. “It no longer matters.” He firmly murmurs, his intense carmine red eyes staring deeply into yours.

He sees your eyes gleam with hope but his heart drops to see them dim, “Regardless of me loving you, Soshiro, the wedding ceremony is tomorrow morning and if I do not marry the Emperor, I will be condemned to seppuku.”

“My loyalty lies with you.” Soshiro whispers softly, his words are a firm promise. “For you are the one I lo-.”

“Don’t, Soshiro.” You pull away from his embrace and his heart aches as you steel your gaze directed at him. “I am not so foolish to damn the man I love to death either.”

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

Morning had come sooner than you had wished and soon, your attendants swarmed your quarters as they prepared you for your wedding.

Amidst the commotion, you found yourself wishing to see Soshiro once more but you shake the thought off, chastising yourself that it would be his blood on your hands if the truth were to ever reach the Emperor’s ears.

Camellia scented oil was lathered on your skin, rouge dusting your lips and cheek as various golden hair ornaments adorned your hair and before you knew it, you stood in the Shinto Shrine awaiting your future husband.

The weight of the iro-uchikake you’re wearing seems heavier in your heart as the colorful kimono is embroidered with deep-red camellias, an ironic reminder of Soshiro’s bright, vermillion eyes.

But you’re torn from your musings when the doors open and you’re expecting noble men, clan heads, and the Emperor’s cohort to witness the ceremony but you’re confused to see what you recognize as Soshiro’s own battalion of guards flood the shrine chamber.

Their dark formal kimonos all bear the Hoshina clan crest and you spare the Shinto priest an alarmed look as Soshiro’s battalion of soldiers silently stand at guard, not one of the men uttering a single word of explanation.

Your eyes snap to the doors when you hear the Shinto priest gasp and all you see is Soshiro striding towards you with an air of calmness, his ruby eyes solely focused on you.

The men around you salute at the sight of their captain and as Soshiro stalks closer, you see splatters of red painted across his cheek. Yet none of that matters as your heart treacherously thunders at the sight of him so close, almost within reach.

“I am here to take my bride, she was promised to the Emperor.” He murmurs softly as meets you at the podium, kneeling before you as he reaches for your hand, to which he places a sweetened kiss on.

Soshiro smiles against your knuckles, his red eyes flooding with blatant love and devotion and it’s all directed at you.

“I am the Emperor now.”

© 2025 𝐌𝐘𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆-𝐈𝐕. do not copy, repost, share, or translate any of my works to tiktok, instagram, and/or any other websites/platforms.

[wafflefries13]

Rose With(out) Thorns (Riddle x Reader)

Summary: Riddle needs help putting off his mother's plans to set him up for an engagement, so what better way than to fake date NRC's favorite magicless prefect? Things can only go well. (No, they can't.)

AN: Fake dating, yay! Had the idea for this a long while back, finally got around to writing it. And, like most of my fics I'm finding out, it kind of got away from me. I hope at some point, probably some time in book 7 here, we finally get a confrontation with Riddle's mom. I hate Riddle's mom, all the cool bitches I know hate Riddle's mom.

Warnings: Depictions of a toxic family environment, AFAB reader with she/her pronouns.

When Riddle had pulled (Y/N) aside after classes, she didn’t expect to be sitting in one of Heartstabuyl’s tea rooms, a cooling cup of herbal tea placed in front of her. (Y/N) sipped the tea, observing Riddle. His mouth was pulled into a small frown, eyebrows furrowed in determined concentration. His hands were clasped behind him and he was pacing so much (Y/N) was worried about him wearing a hole in the rug. It had almost seemed like he had forgotten she was there. 

“Riddle?” She prompted gently. 

Riddle jumped, startled. (Y/N) really did think he had forgotten about her. His face turned pink, blushing up to his ears. He cleared his throat, promptly sitting down in the chair across from her.

“I have a favor to ask of you,” He said, swirling a spoonful of honey into his tea. She tried to not take it personally that he wouldn’t meet her eyes. 

“Something going on with Ace and Deuce?” She asked, jumping to the most logical conclusion. “I don’t mind meditating.” 

“No, thankfully, both of them have actually been rather pleasant as of late. This is of a more… personal nature.” 

“Oh? Are you doing okay?” She set her cup down, leaning forward. 

His blush went from gentle pink to strawberry red. “I - ahem, yes, no, I’m fine, it’s not that I don’t - what I mean to say is, ah, well…” Deciding there was no elegant way to put it, Riddle’s shoulders slumped as he stared dejectedly into his tea. “It’s my mother.” 

(Y/N) immediately tensed. “Oh.” 

The last time (Y/N) had thought about Riddle’s mother was when he was about to leave for winter break. She remembered how quiet he had been, not even bothering to reprimand the excited first years running around the mirror chamber like excited kids. (Y/N) had taken advantage of his momentary distraction to snatch his phone from his dazed hands and entered her number. 

“In case you need anything,” She had said. “Or, you know, you just miss me too much and want to say hi.” 

He really did blush way too easily. 

Of course, any plans for talking on the phone were quickly eliminated by the events at Scarabia. When (Y/N) finally did get her phone back, she found a couple of missed calls and overly formal texts from Riddle’s number, buried in between the frantic messages from Ace and Deuce responding to her SOS. 

Back in the tea room, (Y/N) set her cup down, leaning forward to meet Riddle’s eyes. “Hey,” She said gently. “You know if I can do anything for you I will.” 

“It’s not that easy,” He said. “My mother asked me to come home for the long weekend coming up. And I highly suspect she wants me there to… try and arrange a match.” 

“A match? Wait, like getting engaged? Aren’t you kind of young for that?” 

Riddle shrugged. “It would definitely be a long engagement, but it’s not uncommon to have a match set up years in advance, especially between prominent families like mine.” 

“How very Jane Austen.” 

“Sorry?” 

“An author from my world, she wrote romances. Anyway, sorry, keep going.” 

“Well, I agree that it seems soon. To be fair, Mother was trying to set something up before I came to Night Raven College as well. Being accepted to such a prestigious magic school only elevated my prospects, as she put it. She wants to establish a solid match with another high ranking family, setting my future in stone. Especially after everything that happened at the beginning of the year.” They were both quiet for a moment, fighting off memories of Riddle’s Overblot. “I…” Riddle continued. “I don’t think anyone back home knows.” 

“Oh. Well, it’s like personal medical information, right? Even if it’s magical or whatever it’s still your mental health. You don’t owe anyone that.” 

“I don’t think that’s why she hasn’t told anyone. I know it might be hard for you to believe after everything that’s happened this year, but Overblots are still considered rare. Not many survive the process. And those that do, well, they aren’t looked upon as kindly as you’ve looked upon us.” 

(Y/N) set her cup down hard. “That’s not fair! It’s not some moral failing. You and everyone else were - are - dealing with really tough emotions! It’s not right to just ignore trauma and your feelings, that’s what led to everything happening in the first place!” 

“I’m glad you see it that way. And, if I’m being honest, public perception of the emotional stress that can lead to an Overblot and those who make it through the process are gradually being seen with more sympathy. Like you said, it’s a mental health issue at the core. But older communities like the one I grew up in are slower to accept new social views.”  

(Y/N) sat back. “I’m sorry, Riddle. That sounds really hard.” 

“Thank you,” Riddle breathed. He cleared his throat. “Well, that sort of awkwardly leads to what I was wanting to ask you in the first place.” He cleared his throat again, nervously looking around the room. Finally, steadying himself, he forced himself to meet (Y/N) eyes. “I would like you to come with me and act as my partner.” 

(Y/N) felt her head go light and heart jump. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?” 

Riddle’s confidence cracked as he looked away again. “In so many words, yes.” 

“Wow. Forget Jane Austen, this is more Meg Ryan territory.” Riddle blinked. “Never mind, forget it. I mean, not what you’re talking about, just, it’s not what I was expecting you to say.” 

“It’s not the most conventional request, to be fair. But I’ve turned this over in my head for days and I can’t see any way out of it. My plan is to show I’m taken, dissuade the marriage market. It will be one less thing for Mother to hold over my head. I’ll probably have to deal with it eventually when I graduate but I don’t even want to consider getting engaged right now, for economic, political, or whatever other reason. I’ve never been overly fond of the prospects my mother has introduced anyway. Not that I want to pressure you or anything! I completely understand if you wouldn’t feel comfortable for any reason and I completely respect your decision-” 

“Well, hey, don’t answer for me, now.” (Y/N) reached forward and touched the back of Riddle’s hand, jolting him out of the spiral he was throwing himself in. He jumped at the contact. “It’s unorthodox, but since when has anything here been orthodox? Of course I’ll help, Riddle. I can’t guarantee I’ll be very good at it, but I’ll do my best.” 

Riddle blinked at her for a moment, registering her words, then the tension practically floated off his shoulders. “That’s - that’s great, thank you.” 

“Hey, what are friends for? Besides, this will make a great story to tell the guys later.” 

Riddle scowled, blushing again. “Don’t.” 

~~~

A few days later, (Y/N) and Riddle stood in the mirror chamber. They had come up with a cover to tell everyone while they were gone. Since (Y/N) technically didn’t exist in Twisted Wonderland, not having any government papers or even a birth certificate, Riddle suggested they visit Dinah, the capital city of the Queendom of Roses and his home city, to petition at an official government building for temporary citizenship.  It was really only a half truth. If they had time between the deception, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to try. 

Grim was staying at Heartstabuyl with Ace and Deuce, although it would be more accurate to say with Trey, since he was clearly the one in charge while the House Warden was away. 

“And make sure to do that reading for History of Magic,” (Y/N) was saying, fiddling with Grim’s bow and magestone. “I marked the pages and put highlight tabs on the parts you need to take notes on. And don’t eat too many sweets, you’ll give yourself a stomach ache again. And don’t stay up too late or else you won’t have the energy to do anything during the day and you’ll throw off your whole sleep schedule. And-” 

“Mrow!” Grim cried, batting her hands away. “I get it, I get it! I’m not a little kid, you know!” 

(Y/N) smiled softly, scratching behind his ears. “Of course I know. You’re a big full grown dire beast who doesn't need anyone to take care of you. Why, I bet when I come back you won’t need me to cook for you anymore or make sure you wake up on time. You probably don’t even want a souvenir!” 

“No, no! I like your cooking! And you better bring me something back, henchhuman!” 

“Of course, Grim.” 

Like a parent sending their child to school for the first time, (Y/N) and Grim detangled themselves from each other. Grim floated back with Ace and Deuce, who also required promises of souvenirs, and gave a final wave. (Y/N) waved back before stepping through the mirror portal after Riddle, luggage in hand. 

There was always a strange feeling when going through the mirror, far spaces being squished together in a more convenient and transversable state. If (Y/N) hadn’t already been dragged underwater to swim through the depths unbothered, she would have compared it to being surrounded by water. Instead, she would more closely compare it the moments after a fall or jump, when totally suspended in the air with no tether. A slight jolt of the stomach at first, a feeling of weightlessness, a rush of cold along the spine, and then they were there. 

(Y/N) still wasn’t completely sure how the mirror portal worked, or how it chose where to deposit someone, considering there wasn’t always a mirror on the other end. She knew it had something to do with the magestones NRC students wore on their armband, and that it helped to leave and come back from the same place, but other than that it was just another magic mystery she didn’t want to think too hard about. 

(Y/N) shook her head as she stepped from the portal back on solid ground. Bright sunlight warmed her skin as she blinked and looked around. (Y/N)’s first impression of Dinah was a memory of a picturesque depiction of Victorian London. The street in front of them was wide, paved in even brick. There were store fronts painted in bright warm colors with big display windows, buildings stacked high with higher chimneys on top. Men and women strolled along the street, seemingly dressed to the nines for a perfectly ordinary outing, with top hats and long coats, bustled dresses in fanciful colors and feather hats. 

A pair of horses pulled a dark blue omnibus carriage down the street, hooves making a pleasant ‘clip-clop’ sound as they meandered. It made (Y/N) wonder about the technological advancements of Twisted Wonderland, not for the first time. She had remembered how surprised she had been to see that cars existed in Sunrise City, when previously the only methods of transportation she had seen had been brooms, ghostly carriages, boats, and mirror portals. She frowned at the memory of Leona teasing her about her surprise. 

“We have our own carriage,” Riddle told her, mistaking her expression as she watched the omnibus. “Mother sent it to collect us. It should be here - ah, there.” Riddle lifted his hand in greeting to the approaching carriage. 

A white horse pulled a ruby carriage with a stenciled rose against a six-pointed starburst emblazoned on the doors. There were two men in stately red velvet livery on the carriage, one at the front, flicking the reins and lazily holding a horse whip, and the other holding on the back above the wheels. As they pulled along the sidewalk, the driver nodded and the footman jumped down to formally bow. He lugged their luggage atop the carriage, a barely noticeable judgmental sneer pulling at his mouth as he handled (Y/N)’s. While Riddle’s bag was neat and new, as beautiful as it was practical, (Y/N) had foraged hers from somewhere deep in the depths of Ramshackle dorm, among the abandoned rooms and chests and closets with all manner of ragged treasures. The carriage rocked as they climbed in, sitting on soft overstuffed bench seats facing each other. Riddle knocked against the roof when they were settled and the carriage rumbled forward. 

(Y/N) stared out the window, marveling at everything they passed. “Hey, how far is Trey’s family bakery from here?” She asked. 

“Hmm? Oh, not far, but I’m not sure we’ll have time to go by. I’m not sure Mother would approve of it.” 

(Y/N) turned back to Riddle, noticing how he gazed out the window without really seeing anything. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, knee jittering with nerves.  

She reached a hand forward and touched his jumping knee, causing him to startle. “Hey,” She said softly. “It’s going to be okay. You got me here with you, right? And-” She rummaged through the pocket on her NRC uniform, the most formal attire she had for making a good impression. She pulled out a small Moleskine notebook, proudly displaying it. “I’ve been taking notes! I have a bunch of the Queen of Heart’s rules here. I don’t have nearly as many memorized as you do but I figured a cheat sheet wouldn’t hurt.” 

Riddle looked at the notebook for a second before smiling in relief. “Thank you, (Y/N). I’m sorry, I haven’t been a very good host so far, have I? Especially considering what you’re doing for me.” 

(Y/N) switched sides, landing heavily next to Riddle as the carriage went over a bump. She lightly knocked his arm with the back of her fist. “I told you it’s fine. I’m happy to help out. I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you so uptight before, and that’s saying something.” 

Riddle frowned. “I’m not uptight.” 

“Sure you’re not, teapot tyrant.” Riddle huffed and turned away. “Hey, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Seriously, though, are you doing okay?” 

Riddle fiddled with his fingers, choosing his words carefully. “The last time I came home, over winter break, my mother and I… well, it wasn’t a fight, exactly. An argument. That just so happened to lead to raised voices. And some harsh words. And maybe some things that are hard to take back.” 

(Y/N) wasn’t really sure what to say to that. She sat back, focusing on the rumbling of the carriage beneath her. She noticed Riddle fiddling with his fingers again, picking at the skin around his nails.  She slid her hand into his, holding it tight between them. She stared straight ahead, ignoring Riddle’s look of shock, no matter how cute his rising blush made him look. She squeezed his hand once, looking out her window. Riddle watched her face in profile, feeling the warmth of her hand in his, their shoulders occasionally bumping each other with the rocking of the carriage. He turned back to his own window, squeezing back.  

A short while later, the carriage pulled in front of an elaborate townhouse. It had a beautiful red brick facade with white trimming around the windows and door. Ivy climbed elegantly up one side of the building There was a waist high black wrought iron fence around the perimeter, and the small yard in front was studded with blooming red rose bushes with butterflies elegantly flitting from flower to flower. And, while it was undoubtedly beautiful and picture perfect, (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel a little put off by the whole image. It seemed too perfect, not a blade of grass out of place or a bruised petal. Even the butterflies felt like they were on a preapproved flight path. Despite the fresh air outside, it was stifling. 

As the footman on the carriage unloaded their bags, (Y/N) made a move to pick hers up, only for a valet to swoop in and effortlessly scoop up both bags. He turned and marched back through a door that seemed to shimmer out of nowhere, disappearing behind the ivy when he went through it. 

“A servant’s entrance,” Riddle told her. “There are several through the house. It helps keep everyone separated.” 

“I could have gotten my stuff,” She said. “It’s heavy.” 

“You’re a guest. It would be impolite to expect you to carry your own things.” 

A man in a crisp black suit with a gold pocket watch dangling from the front breast pocket opened the door, bowing low with a hand on his chest. “Welcome back, Master Riddle.” He said. The man looked up, sweeping a quick but appraising look over (Y/N). “And this is Miss (Y/N)?” 

“Yes, hello!” (Y/N) greeted, smiling brightly. She walked forward, taking hold of the man’s hand and with both of hers and shaking it. She missed the choking gasp Riddle let out behind her. “Just (Y/N) is fine. It’s so nice to meet you! This is a lovely home. I’ve never been to Dinah before, everything is so beautiful! I’ve only been to the Queendom of Roses once before, in this place called Clocktown for a festival, but it’s so much different here.” 

The butler nearly reared back at her greeting, going stiff as a board, but too polite to all together flinch and snatch his hand back. He merely retracted his hand, looked once at Riddle, then gazed straight ahead impassively. “Yes, well, welcome to the Rosehearts townhome. I hope you… enjoy your stay, Miss (Y/N).” 

(Y/N), determined to push through the awkwardness she could sense building, replied chipperly, “Thanks!” And strode inside without looking back. 

“Thank you, Edgar,” Riddle said as the butter closed the door behind them. “Do you know when Mother and Father will be home?” 

“Dr. Rosehearts was called in for a last minute surgery and I believe Mr. Rosehearts is at his club. They both planned to be home for dinner to meet you and your… guest.” 

The only way (Y/N) could think to describe the townhouse was grand. A grand sweeping staircase to the second floor, marble flooring of black and white checkered tile, two rooms on either side of the entrance hall stuffed with comfortable furniture with lace, one room farther to the back half-hidden behind the staircase, and decorative oil paintings. 

“Wow,” She said. “This is where you grew up?” 

“Partially, yes,” Riddle said. “We have a country estate as well, but the hospital is in town and Mother always wanted to be present for the social season.” 

“Ooh, a country estate and the social season. Look at you, sounding all fancy.” 

“Well, excuse me for being raised in polite society, unlike some people.” 

“Hey!” (Y/N) laughed, playfully shoving him as he grinned back. 

Riddle’s eyes cut back to Edgar the butler, watching the two of them with a critical eye and raised eyebrow. Riddle cleared his throat and schooled his face back to a serious expression. “I’ll show you your room, (Y/N). It’s upstairs.” 

“Was it too much?” (Y/N) asked as they ascended the staircase, out of ear shot from Edgar. “I was trying to make a good impression.” 

“People don’t tend to be as friendly with strangers here,” He said. “When you meet my parents it would be better to wait for them to act first.” 

“So no big hug?” She laughed at Riddle’s glare. “Don’t worry, I’ll be picture perfect polite tonight. I know it’s important to you.” 

“Thank you. To be honest I still feel awkward about all of this.” “I could say ‘what are friends for’ but I think we’re a little past that. It’s not like I’m getting nothing out of this. This place is like a fancy hotel!” She pushed open the door to her room, bright with the sunlight streaming in across a bed with a large fluffy white duvet across it. (Y/N) spun around, falling against the bed with a ‘poof’ of the down feather pillows. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so soft,” She sighed. Suddenly she sat straight up. “Oh, oh! Show me your room!” 

“What?” 

She jumped up, taking his hand and pulling him back down the hall. “Come on, let me see your room! I want to see what you’re like when you're not at school.” 

“Much the same, I promise.” 

His eyes cut to a door down the hall and (Y/N) grinned wickedly. Ignoring Riddle’s sound of protest, she threw open his door. 

She faltered a bit as she looked inside, stomach squeezing with that same unease she felt from outside. Spartan wouldn’t be the right way to describe Riddle’s childhood bedroom. Sure, there was plenty of stuff in it, a neatly made bed, an expensive looking desk with a glass hooded reading lamp, plenty of books filling shelves, and a polished wardrobe. But it felt so bare. It felt more like a catalog picture than someone’s own bedroom they had grown up in. (Y/N) looked back to Riddle, who was looking down as if ashamed, like his room was full of trash rather than uninspiringly neat. 

(Y/N) forced a smile to her face, closing the door. “Well, show me around. Back in my world, houses like these would have a bunch of secret passages, maybe a couple of ghosts. But I guess ghosts aren’t all that unusual here.” 

“I think your home has more ghosts than mine,” Riddle said. “As for secret passages…” 

(Y/N) clapped her hands together. “Yeah?” 

Riddle smiled slyly. “Sorry, none of those either. Unless you’re thinking of servant’s doors, but I don’t think they would appreciate us meddling.” 

“Aw, boo.” 

“No pun intended, I’m sure.” 

“Don’t put words in my mouth.” 

“How about the garden? It’s out back. I’ll have someone bring us tea. It’ll give us a chance to strategize.” 

The garden was nestled in the backyard of the townhome, bordered by high fences separating it from the other townhomes. There were, unsurprisingly, rose bushes in raised wooden boxes. White gravel pathways cut through each of the boxes, strolling under a trellis wound with flowers. To the back of the garden was a small glass greenhouse, filled with different medical herbs and plants along with scientific equipment for study. There was a small table on the back porch underneath a pergola wrapped with ivy. After Riddle gave (Y/N) a tour of the gardens they sat down and a maid brought out a white China teapot, pouring tea into delicate blue and white tea cups. (Y/N) inhaled the steam, letting the warmth and sweet notes of the tea fill her lungs before taking a sip. 

“Thanks!” (Y/N) said to the maid who blinked before bobbing a nod and rushing off. (Y/N) made a note to herself that the servants here had a habit of avoiding eye contact. “Okay,” She said, taking a blueberry scone from a plate the maid brought with the tea. “What’s our game plan?” 

“Well, my mother is obviously the one to impress. I don’t believe Father will have much to say, he usually defers to her. That’s usually a good plan with anything, deferring to her, I mean. Safe topics of conversation include the weather, recent medical innovations, and the health and travel of neighbors. It’s best to avoid personal topics like parliament, gossip, or personal questions. It’s also best to avoid discussing novels, Mother says they fill one’s head with fanciful ideas and nonsense.” 

“Okay, so when would be the best time to brag about you?” 

Riddle’s teacup clattered against the saucer. “What?” 

“Well, you’re my fake boyfriend and I’m trying to look good in front of your mom, so it makes sense if I talk you up, right? Like how you’re a great dorm leader, that dressage stuff you’ve been doing in the equestrian club, how you’ve been helping other students study. Cater told me about how you set up a Magicam account just to help him study, that was super cute.” 

“I’m, ah, not actually supposed to have a Magicam account, educational or otherwise, so it’s probably best not to bring that up. Mother says social media rots your brain.” 

“I mean, sometimes, yeah, but it can be fun too. And I know you still post sometimes. I follow you.” 

“You do?” 

“Of course I do! Those study tips didn’t just help Cater. Plus I like to see what’s going on with you. Not that you post stuff very often or anything, but I did like that picture from the last Unbirthday Party with those cupcakes you made.” 

Riddle waved her praise off. “They weren’t anything special. Most of the frosting was smudged all together anyway.” 

“Oh, don’t sell yourself so short. You don’t have to be perfect at everything, especially the first time around. And I thought they were cute.” She fished her phone out of her pocket, quickly swiping to the picture they were talking about on Magicam. It was a close up of Riddle, smiling, face smeared with red frosting. Trey was caught mid-laugh, handing him a napkin. Ace’s hand was blurred with movement in the lower right edge, having snagged a cupcake from the tray Riddle was holding, covered with cartoon rose dotting liners. It was obvious that the red and white frosting on top was meant to replicate delicate rose petals, and while some of them looked presentable, most had been piped with a shaky hand, leaving too much or too little frosting for the petals. “See? Cute.” 

Riddle’s hand darted forward to push the phone down. “Yes, sure, fine, you made your point! I knew I should have taken that down.” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

Riddle sighed, accepting defeat. “Fine, yes, just don’t bring it up at dinner.” 

“If you don’t mind me saying, it doesn't seem like there’s a lot of wiggle room for conversation here. What do you usually talk about when you come home?” 

Riddle took another sip of tea. “My studies, mostly. Class rankings, the local social season, applying for medical colleges, that sort of thing.” 

“What about your friends at NRC? Or all the weird and exciting stuff that happens? Like when we all went to the ghost realm at Halloween, or Fluer City at Halloween? Wow, a lot of crazy stuff happens around Halloween, huh?” 

“That’s all superfluous. My grades and plans for the internship fourth year are more important.” 

“Riddle.” (Y/N) reached across the table, taking Riddle’s hand. “That stuff is still important, you know. We’ve gone through a lot of crazy stuff, a lot of it dangerous and scary. It’s okay to talk about that. There’s life outside of classrooms.” 

Riddle looked away but squeezed her hand. “I know. And I’m getting there, with priorities and understanding others. But this sort of thing is important to her. And I still want to impress her, to have her be proud of me. Despite everything.” 

(Y/N) pressed her lips together. She wanted to say something supportive, something wise, something to make everything better. But nothing seemed right, nothing to encapsulate the pity and support (Y/N) felt all at once. In the movies or on TV, there was always some sort of all encompassing resolution, a final speech to make everything better. But she couldn’t find the words, couldn’t seem to express exactly how she felt. That Riddle didn’t need to constantly try so hard, to always make himself a perfect image for others to view. That he was allowed to like the things he liked, no matter how trivial or silly they seemed. Make bad frosted cupcakes, learn dressage, play games, be a teenager like everyone else for once. That she had such strong feelings for him, faults included. But nothing seems right. So she just squeezed his hand back. 

“Master Riddle,” A voice said, startling them both. Edgar stood at the door, casting a permanently judging look at the two of them. “Doctor and Mr. Rosehearts have returned. They have requested your presence in the dining room.” 

Riddle jumped up, smoothing his outfit even though it was spotless. “Right, well, (Y/N), I suppose it’s time you meet my parents.” 

Now that the time was actually here, (Y/N) didn’t expect to feel so nervous. Well, maybe nervous wasn’t the right word. Sure, she was anxious, hoping to make a good impression and help Riddle with their plot, but there was something else mixed with it. A kind of dread at coming face to face with a woman she had only ever heard bad things about. This woman, whether intentional or not, set the ground for Riddle’s Overblot. She was not an insignificant part of his emotional distress, his stress, the walls he put up around himself. How were you supposed to feel about a person like that? Especially when the object of that stress still so strongly wanted her approval? 

Edgar escorted them to the dining room where the table was already set and a maid and footman were starting to set out the first course. (Y/N) felt her heart jump unpleasantly in her chest as she came face to face with Dr. Rosehearts. The older woman’s steely gray eyes locked on to (Y/N)’s directly as she stepped in the room. She felt like her skin had been peeled back and every dark and unpleasant thought she had ever had had been thrown on the table for everyone to inspect. Dr. Rosehearts’ otherwise perfect cupid’s bow mouth was pulled into a tight frown. Her red hair, matching perfectly to her son’s, was pulled back in a tight bun clasped at her neck, a deadly looking sharp hairpin keeping it together. She looked elegant and flawless, more like an expensive bone China doll than an actual living breathing person in front of her. (Y/N) almost jumped in surprise when she finally noticed Riddle’s father. He was reading a newspaper, sharp cheekbones and tired, watery eyes under wavy mousy brown hair. Other than a brief flit of his eyes as the two of them entered, it was almost like he didn’t notice them at all. 

“Riddle,” His mother said, standing and turning to her son. (Y/N) felt like a stone had been removed from her chest as Dr. Rosehearts’ eyes finally left hers. “Welcome home. Take a seat.” 

Riddle marched over to his seat opposite his father, sitting with a ramrod straight back, looking straight ahead. (Y/N) faltered for a moment, wondering if she should sit next to Riddle or Mr. Rosehearts. The second of hesitation was noticed by Dr. Rosehearts, whose mouth ticked in annoyance. Riddle subtly nodded his head to the chair across from him, next to his father. (Y/N) scuttled over, pulling the chair out with an undignified squeak against the floor. Mr. Rosehearts looked up at her as she sat down, blinking like she had materialized out of thin air. 

“Mother, Father,” Riddle said, voice stiff. “Allow me to introduce my partner, (Y/N) (L/N), Ramshackle Dorm Prefect at Night Raven College. (Y/N), this is my mother, Dr. Victoria Rosehearts, and my father, Mr. Albert Rosehearts.”  

“Please to meet you,” (Y/N) said, giving what she hoped was a bright and welcoming smile. “Thank you for having me.” 

“Yes, well,” Dr. Rosehearts said. “I must admit it was a surprise when Riddle told me he was bringing a guest home for  the holiday.” 

“Well, Riddle always talks so fondly about Dinah and I haven’t traveled too much, so I couldn’t help but impose. You have a lovely home, by the way.” 

“I do wonder,” Dr. Rosehearts said, ignoring (Y/N)’s attempted start at conversation. “How a young girl such as yourself comes to attend an all boys school?” 

“To be totally honest I’m not really sure myself,” (Y/N) said, laughing through the awkwardness of Dr. Rosehearts intense direct gaze. “We’ve been trying to figure that out since I first got here. It’s been kind of a struggle getting a hang of everything, considering I can’t even use magic, but I-” 

(Y/N) was interrupted by the clatter of Dr. Rosehearts’ spoon clattering against her soup bowl. Even Mr. Rosehearts looked up, suddenly intrigued. “Did you say you can’t use magic?” Mr. Rosehearts said. 

(Y/N) gulped, looking quickly at Riddle who was going pale. “Well, no, I can’t. I’m sorry, I thought you knew. I’m not even from this world. Dimension? Anyway, magic doesn't exist in my world. Somehow one of the black carriages swept me up and brought me here. No one can figure out how or why yet, not even our Magic Mirror. Our headmage has been trying to research it but I guess there’s not a lot of studies on interdimensional travel.” She tried to laugh off the heavy atmosphere. “But no, no magic. Can’t even ride a broom, which is a shame because that’s the one thing I would really love to do.” 

Dr. Rosehearts cleared her throat, dabbing her mouth delicately with a napkin. A maid hastily rushed in to clear her soup. “Well, I suppose Night Raven College’s admission requirements have become quite lacks as of late, having common folk mingling with upper crust society and nobles, not to mention allowing fae folk. I suppose anything is possible at this rate.” 

(Y/N) scowled, finding herself blurting out her next statement despite Riddle’s miniscule shake of the head. “Hey, everyone works really hard at NRC. Where they’re from or their family doesn't matter, they’re all great mages. Besies, it’s the Magic Mirror that chooses people. It’s able to see everyone’s potential. And with everything that’s been going on this year everyone’s only gotten better. It’s amazing some of the stuff I’ve seen them do.” 

“Oh?” Mr. Rosehearts said, folding his paper closed and leaning forward. “Has it been an interesting year?” 

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I don’t know what a typical year at a magic school is like, but to me it’s been insane! There was one time where one of our dorm heads got kidnapped by a ghost bride to marry him, and everyone got together to try to woo her away. She ended up slapping half of them and freezing them in place. Oh, Riddle was here, he had this amazing red velvet suit. Or one of our magestones got stolen by a fairy queen and we had to stage a whole heist to get it back. Our coach, Coach Vargas, had these camps to test people’s abilities and survival instinct when they couldn’t use magic. But then he dressed up as a monster and ‘kidnapped’ a bunch of students so everyone else had to come rescue them. The next camping trip he got one of our other professors in on it too. And every once and a while we’ll have this Culinary Crucible that they had to change the judging for because everyone kept cheating, but-” 

“My!” Dr. Rosehearts suddenly exclaimed. “I don’t believe I remember the last time we had so much chatter at a mealtime.” 

(Y/N) felt her face heat up, but she wasn’t sure if it was from embarrassment or anger. 

Mr. Rosehearts, who had been nodding along to (Y/N) recollection of events with rapt attention, cleared his throat with a cough, leaning back in his chair and taking up his newspaper again. “Yes, well, youth these days,” He said, noncommittal. 

Despite the fact that a maid had just brought out the next course, Dr. Rosehearts stood. “I find I’ve lost my appetite,” She announced. “I will be retiring early tonight. Riddle, we have an appointment at the Lorina Hotel tomorrow for high tea. Make sure you and your guest wear something presentable.” With that, she swept from the room without another word. The silence that followed was brittle, like ice on a lake right before someone plummets through it. 

“Well,” (Y/N) said, breaking the quiet. She stood, walking over to Dr. Rosehearts abandoned plate and picking it up, dumping the roasted chicken and vegetable onto her own plate. “More for me then.” 

~~~

Later that night, (Y/N) had apologized to Riddle no less than twelve times. She tried to defend herself, that she was taken by surprise that his parents didn’t know about her unique circumstances, that she was annoyed how dismissive Dr. Rosehearts had been, that she just started talking and couldn’t figure out how to stop. Not that any of it really excused her behavior, she knew. She felt like she had let Riddle down, ruining whatever chance, no matter how slim, of this being a peaceful visit home. And, while Riddle had repeated every time that it was fine, that she was okay, that he should have prepared her better, she still felt bad. 

(Y/N) had never been to a high tea before. She wasn’t 100% sure what to wear, especially with Dr. Rosehearts’ comment from the night before. And it wasn’t like she had an extensive wardrobe to choose from in the first place. Thankfully, their alchemy teacher with a penchant for fashion design had somehow grown fond of her during the school year, providing her with a few outfits to help her fit in better outside of school.  The next morning, she pulled a dusty blue sundress with little white buttons out of her luggage. She had a pair of sandals more suited to the beach than a hotel, but they fit the theme better than her school loafers. She slipped them on and hoped no one would look down. 

Tea was scheduled for 11 so (Y/N) decided to find Riddle and try to get a better lay of the land before they headed out. He didn’t answer her knock, which she thought was strange as Riddle wasn’t the type to sleep in, even if he was home on break. She felt strange wandering through the house. Every once and a while she would see a maid or footman dart out of one of the hidden servant’s doors, but before she could start a conversation or ask where her hosts were they would duck their heads and disappear. 

She eventually found Mr. Rosehearts in the breakfast room, which was the same as the dinning room but with a changed name for some reason. The thick curtains had been thrown open letting light pour in across the spread on the table. Despite the fact that there was enough food to feed at least ten people, Mr. Rosehearts was the only one present, absentmindedly nibbling on some jam slathered toast. 

(Y/N) forced a smile to her face. She might have ruined her first impression with Dr. Rosehearts last night, but Mr. Rosehearts had at least seemed intrigued by what she had to say. “Good morning!” 

Mr. Rosehearts jumped, dropping his toast jam side down on the spotless table cloth. “Oh! Good morning.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The last thing she needed right now was to turn both of Riddle’s parents against her. 

Mr. Rosehearts waved her off, gingerly picking up the toast and plopping it on his plate. “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just not used to company in the morning, is all. Not that I mind it. Please, sit.” 

“Is everyone else still asleep?” (Y/N) asked, scooping up some chive studded scrambled eggs on her plate. 

“Oh, no, Victoria doesn't believe in sleeping in. It disrupts the normal circadian rhythms, you know, especially for teenagers like you and Riddle. No, she and Riddle were speaking in her office.” 

“Oh.” (Y/N) suddenly didn’t feel very hungry anymore. “I think I need to apologize.” Mr. Rosehearts looked up, blinking owlishly. “I was rambling last night, at dinner. I shouldn’t have been so argumentative, especially since I’m a guest in your home. I’ll be putting a better foot forward from now on, promise.” 

“Oh. Oh! Oh, no, please, think nothing of it. Actually,” He leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I was hoping you could expand on some of those stories you started last night. Just between you and me, I happen to have a penchant for gossip.” He patted the newspaper beside him. Now that (Y/N) got a closer look, she realized it was a society gossip column. She smiled, getting Bridgerton flashbacks. 

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of stories. Do you want to start with Fleur City almost burning down or Magicam Monsters taking over NRC?” 

Meanwhile, Riddle sat in an uncomfortable straight backed chair in his mother’s office. Various papers floated around the room, magically organizing themselves in various case files. A free-standing pen signed Dr. Rosehearts’ signature across multiple forms. Despite the warm morning light filling the room, Riddle felt chilled. 

“I wonder,” Dr. Rosehearts said, sitting behind her large mahogany desk, hands clasped in front of her. “About the company you have chosen to keep while away at school.” 

“(Y/N) is a respectable person,” Riddle said. “She was just thrown off last night. She’s still not used to many of our customs. She’s a fast learner, however, she’s acclimated remarkably quickly to life here. Given that she has no base of knowledge for many of the classes at Night Raven College she has good grades and-” 

Dr. Rosehearts held up a hand, stopping Riddle with the words of praise in his throat. “The way the ones you associate with act reflects on you, Riddle. It also reflects upon me and the whole Rosehearts household. You should know better by now.” 

Riddle felt his face flush, looking down. “Yes, Mother.” 

“Really, Riddle, I didn’t think you’d be the type to fall for any pretty face. And how much do you actually know about her background, anyway? You said yourself she’s not from here. Who knows what kind of manipulation she might be playing at, using our good name against us?” Riddle bit his tongue, your defense springing into his mouth. “I’m just trying to look out for you.” 

“Yes, Mother, I know.” 

“Wonderful.” Dr. Rosehearts stood, Riddle following. “We’ll continue to house Miss (Y/N) here during the break, it would be bad form to throw her out at this point, but as soon as you return to school I expect you to end this frivolous excursion.” 

Riddle felt his heart drop into his stomach. “But, Mother, I-” 

“No buts, Riddle,” She said sternly. Riddle immediately looked down, avoiding her cold iron gaze. “I know best for you. You’ll do as I say. We have a plan for you, remember? There’s no use upending your future over some fleeting fancy. And besides, there are many wonderful eligible ladies here in town. We’ll be meeting a few of my top choices for you at the hotel. And we’ll be attending a ball tomorrow night.  Your friend is not invited, by the way.” 

Riddle drew in a sharp breath, a million things he wanted to say racing through his mind. His mother had arranged a meeting with bachelorettes when he had told her he already had a girlfriend? He realized with a sinking sensation that no plan he and (Y/N) would have come up with would have been good enough for his mother. She had her plan and nothing would be able to change it. He suddenly had the sensation of floating, no, falling, with no anchor or safety net. His stomach flipped and a rush of cold descended over his body. 

“Yes, Mother,” He only said. 

Dr. Rosehearts nodded definitively. She swept from the office, Riddle following close behind with downcast eyes. They both paused on the stairway, startled by the sound of laughter floating out from the breakfast room. Riddle pushed past his mother into the room. (Y/N) and his father sat at the table across from each other. His father’s head was thrown back, eyes closed and mouth open in a raucous laugh. Riddle couldn’t remember the last time he heard his father laugh like that, or even laugh at all. (Y/N) was in the middle of a story, hands animated. 

“So of course the referee asked who he is, because their team didn’t have anyone signed up for an alternate, and Leona goes and uses my name! Like no one would recognize the second prince of the Sunset Savannah. And you know what, no one did!” 

Mr. Rosehearts put his hand against his chest, trying to regain his composure. “And then? Did you at least win?” 

“Oh, of course, yeah! And then we all had to run away in this jeep Leona was driving right when it started to rain. I’ve heard Checka still calls him ‘Unca (Y/N)’ sometimes.” 

Mr. Rosehearts looked up, noticing Riddle and Dr. Rosehearts standing in the doorway. “Oh, Victoria! (Y/N) was just telling me the most wonderful story. Did you know she’s friends with Prince Leona of the Sunset Savannah? And the Asim heir, they donated at the last charity gala you attended, didn’t they? It’s amazing the adventures children can get up to now a days-” 

“You’re very chatty this morning, Albert,” Dr. Rosehearts cut him off. “This much noise in the morning is quite unusual, don’t you agree?” 

Mr. Rosehearts’ face dropped and he squirmed in his chair. He picked up his newspaper, flipping it so a person couldn’t see what he was reading. 

(Y/N) frowned at the sudden change of mood, but gave Riddle a warm smile when she saw him. It was amazing how he almost immediately felt lighter. He really hoped he wasn’t blushing again. “Hi!” She chirped, standing. Riddle felt a rush of mixed emotions. Part fluff at (Y/N) smiling at him, beautiful in her sundress, part embarrassment knowing it was exactly the wrong thing to wear, and no doubt his mother had clocked that immediately. 

Riddle reached for a cheese danish. His mother’s hand snapped out, swatting his hand away. “You’ll have sweets at the hotel,” She said, sniffing. “You don’t need the extra sugar, especially this early in the morning.” 

‘Then why have it on the table?’ (Y/N) thought uncharitably. She went over to Riddle, linking her arm through his, pulling him away from Dr. Rosehearts. “You’re sweet enough already, Riddle. When do we head out?” 

Later, as they were waiting for the carriages to head to the hotel, Riddle pulled out and quickly ate the danish (Y/N) had slipped in his pocket. 

~~~

The Lorina Hotel stretched high above their heads. (Y/N) leaned back to take in the full scope of it. The facade was clean white bricks with dozens of windows glinting in the sunlight. Each story was capped by marble carvings of lions with wings, jumping fish, and flowers. 

“No time for gawking,” Dr. Rosehearts said, straightening her gloves. “We have people waiting for us.” 

“We do?” (Y/N) asked, purposefully ignoring Dr. Rosehearts thorny glare. “Are they your friends, Riddle?” 

“Not in so many words,” He replied. 

A finely dressed doorman opened the door to a lavish lobby. Before (Y/N) had a chance to ‘gawk’ again, Dr. Rosehearts swept them off to a side room. She gave their name to a waiter at a podium. The man skimmed the list of reservations in front of him, looking down his nose at (Y/N) and her uncovered shoulders. While (Y/N) was too enamored observing her surroundings, Riddle noticed. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and brought it around her shoulders. The man sniffed. He led them through the tea room to two tables situated against a large window. They sat by a large window opening onto a courtyard in the middle of the hotel. Guests strolled across the green lawn, admiring flowers. Dr. and Mr. Rosehearts sat at their own small table while Riddle and (Y/N) were directed to one that had three other residents already. 

“Riddle!” One of them called, smiling up at him. “How lovely to see you again.” 

(Y/N) felt Riddle stiffen beside her. “Hello, Lily, Rose, Violet. It’s nice to see you all as well.” 

(Y/N) slipped her hand into Riddle’s, who jumped in surprise, before inserting herself in the girls’ line of sight. “Hi! I’m (Y/N), Riddle’s girlfriend. It’s nice to meet some of his friends from home!” 

All three girls, in Victorian inspired puffed up dresses with more lace and tulle than (Y/N) had ever seen before and large elaborate sun hats to match, startled, blinking at her as if she had appeared out of thin air. 

Almost in sync, the three of them whipped out decorated fans. “Oh, hello,” Violet said. “We weren’t aware Riddle was bringing a guest.” 

“You’ll just have to put up with me then, I guess.” Riddle pulled out her chair and, with a surge of confidence and a sideways glance at the three girls, (Y/N) quickly kissed his cheek. (Y/N) smiled at the shocked gasp they let out as Riddle’s face turned red. She couldn’t help but reveal in Dr. Rosehearts’ glower as Mr. Rosehearts discreetly smiled into his tea. “So, how close is this to the unbirthday parties at school?” 

“An unbirthday party?” Lily said with a chuckle. “Isn’t that a bit juvenile?” 

“If by juvenile you mean really fun and a great excuse to dress up then yes, I suppose it is.” Under the table, Riddle squeezed (Y/N)’s hand, in warning or thankfulness she wasn’t sure. The three girls looked at eachother, flicking and fluttering their fans with precise motions. 

A waiter brought a pot of tea to the table which he dutifully poured in everyone’s delicate tea cups. Another waiter brought a high stacked tower with tiny cakes and sandwiches. (Y/N) tried to cut down on her abrasiveness for the rest of the tea, not wanting to make Riddle uncomfortable. Although, to her it seemed the three other girls were doing a great job of that on their own. When they weren’t speaking to each other about him without his input, they chatted about things that had been happening in Dinah during the social season, then acted surprised when neither (Y/N) or Riddle could contribute to the conversation. 

After a while, and two pots of tea, Riddle excused himself. A tense silence dropped over the table like a heavy curtain. The three girls continued casting knowing glances at each other, snapping and waving their fans. 

(Y/N) spread her hands on the table. “Look, I know just enough about fan language to know you’re talking about me, but not enough to know what you’re saying. So if you have something you want to say you might as well come out and say it.” 

“You’re rather blunt, aren’t you?” Rose said with a sniff. 

“Among many other things.” 

“We were just wondering,” Violet said smoothly. “About your pedigree. It’s unusual enough to have a girl attending an all boys school, so we surmised you must have a particular magical talent.” 

“We all attend Lady Dormouse’s Finishing School, you see,” Lily said with a saccharine smile. “It’s a far more… elegant education.” 

“Well, I don’t know about elegant,” (Y/N) said, pointedly ignoring Rose’s smirk when she said under her breath, “Clearly.” “But Night Raven College is a great place. Sure, it’s a minefield half the time and considering I can’t do any magic so half of the assignments are almost impossible, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I’ve made amazing friends there, and, of course, I got to meet Riddle. That’s the best part.” (Y/N) smiled wistfully. 

The girls across from her all dropped their jaws at once. “You can’t use magic?” Violet gasped. 

“Surely you know a simple zephyr spell? Or can light a candle?” Lily asked. 

“Nope, not a thing. Don’t have one drop of magic in my whole body.” At this point it almost felt like a mark of pride. And she was beginning to relish the shocked expressions people made. 

Violet reached forward and gently touched the back of (Y/N)’s hand. “You poor thing,” She said, voice breaking. Rose had pushed herself as far back in her chair as she could, as if magiclessness was contagious. (Y/N) could practically see the gears turning in Lily’s head as she considered such a thing being possible. 

(Y/N) looked out the window to the courtyard, trying to avoid Violet’s overly sympathetic gaze. She perked up when she saw a few uniformed staff members setting up small white arches in the grass. A flock of pink flamingos waddled on tall, thin legs around the fountain. One of the staff members gently cradled a small wooden box where a hedgehog poked its nose out. 

“Hey, Riddle!” She called as Riddle walked back to their table. “Check it out, they’re setting up croquet! We should see if we can play.” 

Riddle’s face lit up. “Really?” He asked, craning his neck to look out the window as the first round of players took their marks. He quickly looked back at his mother and schooled his face to a more serious expression. “That is, I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“Oh, I’d love a good game of croquet!” Rose said, clapping her hands. She stood, going over to Riddle and touching his shoulder in a way that made (Y/N) grit her teeth in annoyance. “I was the undisputed champion at Dormouse. You will play with us, won’t you, Riddle?” 

The group exited to the courtyard, Mr. Rosehearts quickly arranging for a game with the attendants. The girls had huddled around the green, watching the previous game. Riddle was looking down at his feet, fiddling with his fingers, pulling at the skin around his nails. 

“Hey!” (Y/N) said, slinging her arm around Riddle’s shoulders. “I am here to make sure you have fun, fake relationship or not. So come on, let’s have fun! Plus, I have no idea how to play this game.” 

“Well,” Riddle said. “The first thing is to choose your flamingo mallet.” He effortlessly snatched a flamingo by the neck, turning it so he held the legs. The flamingo immediately went ramrod straight. 

“That doesn't bother them or anything, right?” (Y/N) asked, looking dubiously at the remaining flamingos. 

“Not at all. They’re specifically trained for this. Go on, try one.” 

“Okay…” (Y/N) tried to replicate the quick movements Riddle had made when grabbing his flamingo. The bird she was aiming for dodged her hand. She grabbed again. Another miss. She heard the girls tittering with laughter. (Y/N) huffed, trying to snatch at the flamingo with both hands this time. The large bird squealed, flapping its large wings as (Y/N) wrestled it. The flamingo squawked and (Y/N) squawked back in defiance. Riddle quickly came to her rescue, grabbing the flamingo and performing the same practiced motion. The flamingo immediately went rigged, but (Y/N) couldn’t help but notice the defiant glint in its eye. 

“Thanks,” (Y/N) mumbled, plucking stray feathers out of her hair. 

Riddle stifled a laugh behind his fist. “Not a problem. The rest of the game is pretty simple. You want to hit the hedgehog through the white pickets to the end of the lawn, then again on the way back. The fewest hits win.” 

“Right, sure. Sounds easy enough.” When Riddle went to take his first hit, (Y/N) whispered harshly to her flamingo mallet, “Don’t mess this up for me.” 

After the others had taken their turn, (Y/N) stepped up to the first hoop, her hedgehog rolled into a ball in front of her. She carefully angled her flamingo down, tapping the head against the small animal. ‘Just like mini-golf,’ She thought to herself and swung gently. She heard giggling from the spectators. She looked down, seeing her hedgehog in the exact same place. Only, no, it was about an inch to the left, away from where she had hit. She tapped her foot, swinging again, this time keeping her eye on the spiky ball. Yup, there, again, it rolled ever so slightly the other way. 

“My ball is cheating,” (Y/N) said, pointing at the innocent-looking hedgehog. 

“It’s a poor craftsman who blames their tools,” Dr. Rosehearts replied from the sidelines. 

“I don’t think that applies here, but sure,” (Y/N) mumbled. 

She squared her feet, tightening her grip on the flamingo’s legs. She tried a harder swing this time. It connected, sending the tiny hedgehog tumbling. Before (Y/N) could celebrate her victory, the animal swung out in a large arc away from the pickets, slowing to a stop right by Dr. Rosehearts’ feet. (Y/N) scowled, going over to stand by Riddle’s parents while the rest of the group took their turns for the second round. 

“You know,” Dr. Rosehearts said softly to (Y/N) when Mr. Rosehearts walked off to get some tea. “Lily’s father is a minister in parliament. She’s an especially accomplished pianist and frequently has requests from the royal theater company to play.” 

“MmHmm,” (Y/N) hummed. 

“Violet recently won first place in a national equestrian show jumping competition. Her father is a colleague of mine, an orthopedic surgeon, and her mother is a most accomplished florist.” 

“Neat.” 

“Rose is an absolute gem, of course. Extremely high marks with practical magic, and her embroidery has been displayed as far as the Sunshine Lands. She’s also wonderfully organized and an exemplary hostess. I can see her managing a fine house one day.” 

“Maybe, but Rose Rosehearts is kind of clunky, don’t you think? Or redundant? One of those.” 

Dr. Roshearts sniffed. “She also has a firm grasp on language and elegance.” 

(Y/N) opened her mouth to say something she knew she would probably regret when the referee called for her turn. Dr. Rosehearts inclined her head and took a step back, giving (Y/N) room to swing. 

“Alright,” (Y/N) said softly to the ball and mallet. “The arch this time.” 

She aimed, taking in a deep breath as she swung. She looked around the green, not seeing her hedgehog rolling towards or away. It also wasn’t stuck in its place at her feet. Suddenly, the flamingo began to writhe in her hands, flapping its large wings to bat fiercely at her face. She coughed on feathers, trying to hold the distressed animal as far away as possible. Peaking out from one eye, she saw the hedgehog clinging to the flamingo’s neck, climbing up and down while the bird desperately tried to escape its tiny claws. (Y/N) shook the bird, reaching out to try and dislodge the hedgehog. That only seemed to make it worse as both animals began to panic. The flamingo kicked out causing (Y/N) to drop it. With an unholy squawk, it leapt out of her hands, flapping and dancing, colliding right into the gawking Dr. Rosehearts. The red-haired woman shrieked, several hotel attendants coming to her rescue, trying to grab the flamingo. (Y/N) couldn't help but notice Mr.  Rosehearts watching the whole spectacle with fascination from the tea cart. 

As the attendants apologized profusely to a fuming Dr. Rosehearts, (Y/N) made her way over to Riddle and the three gasping girls. “Well,” She said. “I don’t think I’m very good at this game.” 

~~~

When they got back to the townhouse, (Y/N) had another round of apologizing to Riddle. 

“I really didn’t mean for that to happen,” She said. She didn’t say she felt somewhat satisfied to see Dr. Rosehearts in distress, plucking stray feathers out of her hair and clothes the whole ride home. “I don’t know what I was doing wrong. I hope I didn’t embarrass you too much.” 

“I know it’s not your fault,” Riddle said, pulling off his tie. (Y/N) was sitting on the bed in his room as he watched her in the mirror on his bureau. “The hotel should have vetted their animals better.” 

(Y/N) bit her lip. She gave a mirthless laugh. “Our plan isn't going very well, is it?” Riddle faltered, dropping his tie. He turned around to look at (Y/N). Her mouth was screwed up in a tight frown, her eyes misty, and she clutched the duvet tightly. “Sorry. I really wanted to make you look good. I wanted to try and seem like the perfect girlfriend, but I just kind of made everything worse. I wanted to show you that I-” She suddenly cut herself off, looking up and meeting Riddle’s eyes. Her face grew hot and she looked away. “Sorry, don’t listen to me, I’m rambling.” 

More than anything, Riddle wanted to ask her what she was going to say. More than anything, he wanted to say something back, something that had been stuck in his mind well before he asked for her help in their plot. Something that made his heart speed up with her every kind word and action, that made him feel pleasantly light-headed whenever they were close, that caused his chest to fill with pride as she worked tirelessly to defend him during the trip. But his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He could still feel the iron-hot glare from his mother on the carriage ride back from the hotel. And, beneath it all, a simmering fear that their ploy was really just a ploy, that (Y/N) was just an exceptionally good actor, that there was no way she could feel the same way about him that he was realizing he felt about her. 

He tapped his foot, coming over to sit next to (Y/N) on his bed. “There’s a ball tomorrow night,” He said, not looking at her. “Mother, Father, and I are invited. Mother… asked if you would be alright remaining at home.” 

“Oh,” She said, and Riddle tried not to flinch back at her tone of voice. “No, yeah, I get it. Hey, I don’t even have anything to wear. So, yeah, it’s fine.” 

“It’s not,” Riddle said, his harshness even startling himself. He cleared his throat, starting again. “It’s unfair to you. I shouldn’t have dragged you all the way out here. This whole thing was a bad idea to begin with.” 

“Oh,” (Y/N) said again, another fractured syllable. She stood. “Well, yeah, fine. I guess the idea of us being together is a bad idea.” 

Riddle felt a jolt in his chest. “No, wait, (Y/N), that’s not what I-” 

“No, I get it. Why would someone like you want to be with someone like me in the first place? You’ve got a plan all figured out, right? NRC then internships then becoming a world famous doctor. And what do I have to offer you? I can’t do magic, I don’t have any family, I definitely don’t have any money, I have no idea what I’m even going to do over the summer break. And it’s not like I fit in with your world, anyway. Not just Twisted Wonderland, but the whole life you want for yourself. It’s fine, I get it.” She stood, pacing, hot and angry tears pricking her eyes. She took a deep, rattling breath to steady herself before turning to Riddle face to face. “I won’t get in your way anymore. But I do want to say that you deserve better than how you’ve been treated. You’re not your mother. You deserve someone who sees how amazing you are by yourself, not some mold other people try to put you in. You’ve worked so hard these past few months to be a better person and I- I just hope you find someone who recognizes that.” Without another word, (Y/N) rushed out of the room. She nearly collided with Dr. Rosehearts in the hall before muttering an “excuse me” before throwing herself in her room, locking the door. 

Dr. Rosehearts lifted her chin, walking the few steps forward to Riddle’s room. She didn’t bother knocking and just stepped inside. Riddle was sitting on the edge of his bed, face buried in his hands. 

“I’m glad you’ve come to see reason, Riddle,” She vaguely praised. Riddle looked up at her with red rimmed eyes, checks flushed. “We’ll leave for your suit fitting in the morning. Don’t be late.” 

“Yes, Mother,” Riddle mumbled. The sound of his door clicking shut ricocheted around his ears. 

~~~

“I messed up,” (Y/N) said. “I really messed this whole thing up.” 

It was the next day. She’d barely slept the night before, not bothering to go down to dinner last night or breakfast this morning. Eventually, she heard the front door open and close, watching Riddle and Dr. Rosehearts board a carriage to go out. She lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, and called Cater. 

“I mean,” He said. “It’s not the best, that’s for sure.” 

(Y/N) had called Cater after a moment of desperation, eager for someone to talk to and express her frustrations. She trusted Cater enough to know he wouldn’t immediately run off and tell everyone about the plan and would be patient enough to listen to her vent. He had also lent a sympathetic ear in the past when she had gotten overwhelmed by the strangeness of her new world and missing her old one. She could practically see him twist a lock of hair around his finger as he talked to her. “But it’s not all your fault. Riddle could have stepped in to help, you know.” 

“He’s just… under a lot of pressure here,” She said. “I guess I had this idea in my head of what it would be like. But, man, do I hate his mom.” 

“We all do, sweetheart.” 

“I feel like I kind of abandoned him, though. But he basically disinvited me from my last night here so how am I supposed to feel?” 

“Hmm. Do you know where the party is supposed to be tonight?” 

“At Rose’s place, bleh.” 

“Well, you could always crash it.” 

(Y/N) sat up. “Crash? I can’t do that, I’ve embarrassed him enough already.” 

Cater huffed in frustration. “Honestly, you’re both so blind I don’t know how you stand it.” 

“What?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought you said the reason you went there in the first place was to help Riddle.” 

“I did - I am - but-” 

“And what? You’re just going to let one bad game of croquet take that from you?” 

“It wasn’t just that game, I-” 

“And we both know Riddle’s blind spots. Sure, he’s been better about all that rule stuff and chilling out here at school, but being back in the middle of all his trauma is different, you know?” 

“I - You know what? You’re right.” 

“Of course I’m right, I usually am.” 

“Riddle acts like he’s in charge all the time, I forget that we’re practically the same age. And everyone needs help, even when they’re too stubborn to admit it.” 

“Yes, exactly! Stubborn is practically Riddle’s middle name!” 

“Which means,” (Y/N) stood. “I’ve got to be stubborn back! If Riddle can’t ask for help then I need to be a good girlfriend and recognize he needs it and do my part!” 

(Y/N) could feel Cater’s smirk in his next words. “Ooh, his girlfriend, huh? I thought you were just pretending?” 

“Oh, you know what I mean. Thanks, Cater. I’ve got to go get ready. I have a party to crash!” 

“I’m going to need every detail when you get back!” 

(Y/N) quickly hung up, dialing another number. “Hi, Vil? It’s (Y/N). I have a really big favor to ask.” 

~~~

Riddle stared into his flute of sparkling wine, watching the few remaining bubbles rise and pop. It was flat by now and he hadn’t taken a single sip. The last rays of sunlight glowed gently against the surrounding townhouses that Riddle could see out the large bay windows of the ballroom. Couples twirled together along the floor to the elegant music from a string band. A long table was precisely set with way too much food, even given the substantial size of the party. His father mingled across the room with several other gentlemen from his club, doing his best to blend into the curtains. Riddle stood dutifully next to his mother who was speaking to Rose’s mother. Rose herself hovered next to him. He floated in and out of their conversation, only picking up about every fourth word. He wore a dark red velvet coat with a tight white starched collar that he kept tugging at to keep from strangling him. 

“And then,” Rose was saying. “Betty walks in with a yellow checkered parasol! Can you imagine? For an autumn leaf viewing picnic? Honestly, I’m surprised she had the nerve to stay around for as long as she did with that sort of faux pa.” 

“MmHm,” Riddle replied, swirling his glass causing a few errant bubbles to meander to the surface. 

“Really, the only thing that might have been more embarrassing is if she brought a chestnut tart! Oh, are you alright, Riddle?” 

Riddle coughed, clearing his throat as his face turned red. “Yes, fine, just remembering something unpleasant.” 

“Well, I’m not sure how you could think of anything unpleasant with me around,” She said, clutching his arm to pull him closer to her, batting her eyes. Her eyelashes were so long Riddle had a single terrifying impression of spider legs. 

Riddle cleared his throat again, more uncomfortable this time. “Yes, I can’t imagine.” 

Rose pouted and opened her mouth to say something else only to be interrupted by the round of gasps and murmurs that swelled from around the room. At the top of the grand staircase leading down to the ballroom, a footman was taking a dark traveling cloak from a newcomer. The cloak fell away to reveal the elaborate dress underneath it. The bodice was a rich crimson red with puffed sleeves at the shoulders, leading down to illusion sheer sleeves with tiny intricate beading twinkling down to the tight clasps at the wrists. The skirt bloomed out from the waist, layers upon layers of fabric resembling a large upside down rose. The red from the top continued down the skirt in an almost dripping effect, the rose petals turning white at the bottom as if they were being painted. The rose parted just at the knees to allow the wearer more freedom of movement, revealing sheer stockings with the same bead work. 

Riddle shoved his glass into Rose’s hands, ignoring her shocked look. He strode forward, cutting through the crowd. As the new figure descended the stairs, he met her, extending his hand to take hers. 

“Hi,” (Y/N) said, smiling gently at him. “I’m not too late, am I?” 

“No,” Riddle breathed. “You’re here just in time.” 

“Excuse me!” They both turned to see Rose and her mother coming over, frustration on Rose’s face and confusion on her mother’s. 

“I’m sorry,” Rose’s mother said, eyes darting to (Y/N)’s and Riddle’s held hand. “This is a closed party.” 

“She’s with me,” Riddle quickly said. He saw his mother furrow her brow and press her lips together. He continued, meeting her gaze. “This is (Y/N), my girlfriend. She’s my guest.” 

There was another small round of exclamations around the room. Rose crossed her arms while her mother blinked in confusion. “Oh, well, then please, by all means, welcome.” 

(Y/N) bobbed a curtsy, “Thank you.” 

“Would you like to dance?” Riddle asked. 

(Y/N) smiled and Riddle felt like his heart would explode. “I’d love to.” He led her to the dance floor. The band, which had paused at her entrance, started up again with a waltz.“I should warn you,” (Y/N) whispered to him as they took their place. “I have no idea how to do any of this.” 

“That’s alright. Just follow my lead.” 

“Riddle, I’d follow you through the Land of Ghosts and back if you asked me to.” Riddle tripped over his own feet, (Y/N) catching him in a spin and laughing. 

“I like your dress,” Riddle said, trying to regain his composure. “I didn’t see it before.” 

“Thanks, it’s a loner. I have friends in high places. Vil, I mean Vil.” 

Spectators watched the couple in a not at all elegant dance across the floor. “Oh, Victoria,” Another socialite's mother said, coming up to her. “You must be so proud. She seems like such a lovely girl. And Riddle looks so happy!” 

“Indeed,” Dr. Rosehearts replied with a steely stare at the couple. She noticed the flush on Riddle’s cheeks, his eyes closed as he laughed at something (Y/N) had said. (Y/N) took a wrong step back, bumping into another couple dancing behind them. She watched them apologize, (Y/N) saying something to the other couple that made them laugh and wave a pleasant goodbye. Dr. Rosehearts ground her teeth, nose screwing up in frustration. 

The song ended and Riddle and (Y/N) exited the dance floor. They’re faces were both flushed, glowing underneath the chandelier lights. (Y/N) felt her heart flutter pleasantly as she watched Riddle, a rare genuine smile across his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. She could always tell when it was a sincere smile whenever a tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows leaning to his left eye. She wondered what it meant that she had studied his face so intently to notice that. 

Dr. Rosehearts interrupted the conversations happening around her by walking away, striding with her head held high to Riddle and (Y/N). (Y/N) noticed her first, taking a side step closer to Riddle and meeting the older woman’s stare with unabashed defiance. Dr. Rosehearts ground her teeth again. 

“Riddle,” Dr. Rosehearts said. Riddle jumped, just now noticing his mother’s presence. His body immediately stiffened, shoulders going back to make a conscious effort to stand straighter. “Lewis and Carol were looking for you.” She waved her hand over to the other side of the ballroom. “I thought I might have a chat with (Y/N).” 

Riddle started to stutter a response before (Y/N) laid a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s okay,” She said. “Go on, I’ll catch up with you later.” Riddle looked between the two women, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, before nodding hesitantly and going over to see his old middle school classmates. 

(Y/N) plucked a glass of cider from a passing waiter. She wondered briefly what the drinking laws were here. 

“Well,” Dr. Rosehearts said, clasping her hands in front of her. “You certainly know how to make an entrance to an event you weren’t invited to.” 

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” (Y/N) said, swirling her glass. “I’m Riddle’s plus one. He wanted me here.” 

“Yes, I suppose it is very kind of him to humor you.” 

“Well, someone in your family needs to have a sense of humor, right?” 

“Hmph. Riddle has a plan, you know. He can’t be distracted by frivolities.” 

“You have a plan, you mean. Riddle can do whatever he wants. He’s exceedingly capable, smart, and an amazing mage.” 

“Thanks to my careful tutelage.” 

“Despite your ‘careful tutelage’ I’d say.” 

Dr. Rosehearts eyes flared. “You know nothing about my relationship with my son. My son.” 

“Oh, I know plenty.” 

“And I know my son. Believe me, your relationship, or whatever you want to call this, is just some passing fancy. He’ll get over it soon and come back to me with his senses intact.” 

“At least my relationship with him didn’t lead to his Overblot.” 

There was a snapping sound, a shatter of glass, and a gasp from across the ballroom. Riddle whirled around. His mother stood over (Y/N), her hand raised. (Y/N) clutched her cheek, already turning red from Dr. Rosehearts’ slap. 

“How dare you?” She shouted, now drawing every eye around the room. “My Riddle was perfectly fine until the moment you showed up at that school. He was obedient until you started influencing him!” 

“And that’s all that matters, right? That he is obedient to you. That he does whatever you say. He’s not your doll for you to play with, he’s a living breathing amazing person you just refuse to recognize has his own thoughts and life outside of you!” 

“I won’t take criticism from some magicless interloper who cavorts with fae and meddles with every aspect of a world she doesn't understand!” 

“Well, that’s just the beginning of your issues, isn’t it? You’re so stuck in your own head you refuse to recognize when you’re in the wrong and actively hurting the people around you!” 

Dr. Rosehearts took in a sharp inhale, raising her hand again. 

“Mother!” Both women turned to see Riddle rushing over to them. 

(Y/N) immediately blanched. “Riddle, I’m sorry, I-” 

“Riddle!” Dr. Rosehearts cut her off, jabbing a finger at (Y/N). “Control this wretched girl!” 

“I will do no such thing,” Riddle said defiantly, putting himself between his mother and (Y/N). He turned to her, lowering his voice. “Are you alright?” 

(Y/N) blinked at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” 

He gave a decisive nod and turned back to Dr. Rosehearts. “Mother, you need to apologize.” 

Dr. Rosehearts gaped at him. “Me? Apologize to her?” 

“You’ve been nothing but hateful since (Y/N)’s arrived. She’s our guest and someone extremely important to me. You could at least have the common courtesy to be polite.” 

Dr. Rosehearts’ face was cherry red. “How dare you speak to me like this! I’m your mother!” 

“And nothing she said was untrue!” Dr. Rosehearts flinched back. “All my life, all I’ve wanted was to please you, to make you proud of me. I worked so, so hard. It crushed me, it destroyed me, that I couldn’t meet your impossible expectations! And I just thought that was how the world was, set in rigid rules, and anyone who couldn’t follow every last one was a bad person. I ruined friendships, I ruined myself, I almost ruined everything when I Overblot!” Another round of gasps rang from around the room. (Y/N) slipped her hand into his, squeezing in reassurance. He squeezed back, soldiering on. “I’m not a son to you, I’m a project! I’m some doll you parade around and pose however you want without any actual care for the damage you might do! (Y/N) has shown me I can be a better person, that I can be who I actually want to be! Except I have no idea who that person is because you’ve broken me into your specific mold for so long. She’s stayed by me, my friends have stayed by me, no matter what. For the first time in my life I feel content with myself, like I can actually breathe. And you act like that’s a bad thing.” Riddle was breathing hard, hot tears starting to spill from eyes. “Well, I’m done. I’m done trying to please you. I’ll never be good enough for you. And that’s fine. I don’t want to be. Now I just want to be good enough for myself. Let’s go, (Y/N).” Still holding hands, the two swept from the ballroom, the party goers parting for them like the Red Sea. 

Dr. Rosehearts’ face was red with rage, eyes darting around the room from each pitying, concerned, and judging face of the attendants to her son’s retreating back. She was breathing hard, head fuzzy, vision going blurry around the edges. Stepping forward, she slid her hairpin from her perfectly maintained bun, a magestone embedded at one end. She took a solid step forward, pointing it at Riddle. “Riddle-!” 

“Victoria!” She froze at the sudden exclamation. She turned, seeing Mr. Rosehearts staring steadfastly at her. “That’s enough.” 

She stopped, looking down at her hand, at her wand, at what she was about to do. She gasped, dropping the wand so it clattered against the marble flooring. The sound echoed in her ears. 

~~~

It was starting to rain outside. Riddle shrugged off his jacket, holding it above the two of them to huddle beneath it. 

“I don’t think we would be able to take the carriage back,” He said. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I want to go back to the townhouse anyway.” 

“No problem,” (Y/N) said, pulling her phone out of an invisible pocket. “Give me a second. Hi, Hornton? It’s (Y/N).” Minutes later, a private carriage from the Lorina Hotel was pulled alongside the cafe’s outside seating where Riddle and (Y/N) had taken up temporary shelter. “Friends in high places,” She said as they climbed inside. 

The two were quiet as the carriage rumbled on. They sat next to each other on the bench seats. Riddle leaned his head on (Y/N)’s shoulder as she rubbed circles in the back of his hand. They exited soon after at the hotel, a doorman holding an umbrella over their heads as they rushed inside. 

At the front desk, the concierge and manager were talking in animated whispers, jolting up to paste on bright smiles as the two approached the desk. “Hello!” The manager said, a little too enthusiastically. “Checking in under Draconia?” 

“Yup, that’s us,” (Y/N) said, holding Riddle close. “Two rooms, please.” 

“Ah, well, of course, you see,” The manager stuttered. (Y/N) suspected they didn’t often get calls from foreign royalty as it was throwing the poor man off this game. “Unfortunately, as I mentioned to his majesty on the phone, we only have one room left available.”

“Oh. Well, if it’s a double that will work fine, too.”

The manager cringed. “It’s a single bed, Miss.” 

“Ah.” (Y/N) said, head starting to spin. She tried to quickly problem solve in her head. Could she call Horton back and ask him to make reservations somewhere else? Or would that be rude? Just the thought of going back to the Rosehearts townhome made her skin crawl. 

“It’s fine,” Riddle said. “We’ll take it.” The manager looked relieved as he handed over the keys. “I’ll need to make a phone call as well, to have our things brought here in the morning. Do you have anything we could use for the night?” 

“Of course, sir! Please, take it with our compliments.” 

They handed over two sets of monogrammed gray pajamas. A bellhop led them to the elevator, pushing the button to their floor. 

“I guess you’re right,” Riddle said. “It does pay to have friends in high places.” 

For some reason, that comment, along with the building stress of the night, broke the tight bundle of nerves (Y/N) had lodged in her chest. She started giggling, not being able to stop or catch her breath. Riddle soon followed, both of them almost doubled over with impractical laughter. They continued to their room, a patron from next door sticking his head out at the noise. Their laughter died down when they came into the room, both setting eyes on the single bed at the center. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” (Y/N) said, pointing to the adjoining bathroom. Riddle just nodded, tearing is eyes from the bed and trying very hard to look anywhere else. 

In the bathroom, (Y/N) peeled off her dress, feeling kind of bad about haphazardly throwing it over the towel rack to hang. She turned the water on to almost scalding, letting it rush over her in an attempt to beat the chill that had settled in her bones, only partially from the rain. After her shower, she changed into the provided pajamas. They were warm and soft against her skin. She hesitated before exiting the bathroom. 

Riddle jumped when she came out, and she wondered if she should have knocked first. She saw he had pulled the duvet and one of the massive pillows off the bed, laying them out on the floor. “You can take the bed tonight,” He said. “I’ll sleep here.” Without waiting for her protest, Riddle went into the bathroom locking it behind him. She soon heard the sound of rushing water from the shower. 

‘Well, that’s not very fair,’ She thought. She drug off the remaining blanket from the bed and the other pillow, creating her own spot on the opposite side on the floor. Riddle was the one who just had his whole world tossed around. It was only fair if he got the bed for the night. A few minutes later, Riddle left the bathroom in a cloud of steam. He was rubbing his hair with a towel. He looked confused at (Y/N) on the floor on her side of the bed. 

“I’d say you can take the bed,” (Y/N) said. “But I know you’re too stubborn and chivalrous for that. So I’ll stay down here too. That way we’re even.” 

“You don’t need to do that for me,” Riddle said. 

“I want to.” 

Riddle stared at her. (Y/N) could almost see the thoughts turning in his head. He nodded once, going over to his side of the bed and laying down on the improv sleeping mat. (Y/N) reached up and switched off the light. A soft glow from the street lamps came in through the window, the rain softly padding against the glass. (Y/N) could see Riddle through the space under the bed. He was staring straight up, hands clasped tightly against his stomach. 

“Riddle-,” She started. 

“I’m glad I said it. I think I’ve been wanting to say all of that for a long time now. And I don’t think I would have been able to if you weren’t there, if I didn’t know I had your support. So thank you.” 

(Y/N) thought hard, turning his words over in her head. ‘Screw it,’ She thought. She got up, dragging her blanket and pillow with her. She went over to Riddle’s side of the floor/bed, dropping her stuff next to him and laying back down. She turned on her side to look at him, meeting his wide confused eyes. 

“Riddle, I think I’m in love with you.” Riddle sputtered, choking on air, but now that she had started, (Y/N) knew she had to power through. “I mean, I’ve never really been in love with someone before, but I’m pretty sure that’s what this is. My feelings for you, I mean. It started off with just really admiring you. I know the beginning of the year was really tough and I can’t imagine what it was like to go through all of that. But ever since you’ve been working so hard, and I can see that, everyone can see that. You’re smart and brave and stubborn as hell, which I got to admit I kind of like. I love how I can tell when you get genuinely excited about something or that smug grin you get when you’re right about something. You’re a great house warden and a good friend. Not to mention you’re really cute. So, yeah. I just needed to say that. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same, I understand. Or you don’t want to give me an answer right now. I don’t mind waiting, if it’s for you.” She laid on her back, staring at the ceiling, heart thundering in her chest. The silence of the room was only broken by the soft pitter patter of the rain.  

“(Y/N)?” Riddle said softly. (Y/N) turned on her side so the two of them were facing each other again.  “You know I’m not good with talking about my feelings. I still have a hard time deciphering them myself, to be honest. But one thing I’m absolutely certain about is how I feel about you. I love you. I have to admit, I had ulterior motives when I asked you to come with me for this. I thought maybe it would be some sort of test run for an actual relationship, which now, saying it out loud, I realize how awful that sounds, and I’m sorry. I love how I feel around you, like I can be the greatest person in the world. I love how kind you are, how ready to jump into action, how ready you are to help no matter what. I love how steadfast and brave you are in what must be a terrifying situation, not knowing anything about your surroundings or having the same tools as all of us to combat it. And you’ve basically taken on raising Grim by yourself which I know can’t be easy with having that extra responsibility all of a sudden on top of everything else. I know I might not be the easiest person to be around. I’m stubborn, like you said, and I can get angry easily. Obviously my family is a complete mess. But, I hope, despite everything, you can still accept me for who I am and for who I want to be.” 

“Riddle, I already said I love you. Of course I accept you. I wouldn’t want it any other way.” 

Despite how flustered it made him, Riddle wouldn’t want to be pried out of each other’s arms as they fell asleep for anything in the world. 

~~~

It was sunny the next morning, the rain from the night before lending a pleasant coolness to the air. Staff from the Rosehearts’ townhouse had dropped off Riddle and (Y/N)’s packed bags that morning and the newly formed couple was getting ready to head back to their starting point for the Magic Mirror to bring them back to school. (Y/N) tried to buy some fancy chocolates from the hotel for the boys back at NRC, but the manager and staff had shoved the boxes into her hands at no charge. 

“Compliments to friends of the Draconia family!” He had said. 

As they got ready to head out, they heard someone call from behind them, “Riddle!” 

They turned around, seeing the Rosehearts’ carriage come down the street, Mr. Rosehearts leaning out of the window, waving. He jumped out as the carriage rolled to a stop, jogging over. 

(Y/N) took a step in front of Riddle. “Do you want me to deal with it?” She asked. 

“No, it’s fine,” He said. “I’ll only be a minute.” Riddle left his bags with (Y/N), who watched Mr. Rosehearts’ approach with a critical eye, and walked over to meet his father. “Father. I’ll be heading back to school soon. I don’t want to be late.” 

“Right, of course, I won’t take up too much of your time.” He seemed nervous, not meeting his son’s eyes. Finally, he took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize, Riddle.” 

Riddle blinked. “Apologize?” 

“Yes, and it’s a long time coming. I’m afraid I haven’t been a good father to you. I saw the kind of stress your mother put you under, how controlling it could be. And I ignored it. I should have been better for you, stood up for you more. You’re my son, Riddle, and I love you. But I haven’t acted like it for a long time. I hope, one day, we can start again and you can forgive me.” 

“I-” Riddle was at a loss for words. “I can’t say it will be soon, but I appreciate you saying that. I hope you can understand.” 

Mr. Rosehearts smiled wide and nodded. “Yes, of course. We’ll go on your time.” 

Riddle looked back at the carriage. “Is Mother here?” 

Mr. Rosehearts’ face dropped, looking away and rubbing the back of his head. “No, she’s still at home. We’re actually going to… spend some time apart for the foreseeable future.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s for the best. I’ll be out at the country estate if you need anything.” He winked and whispered conspiratorially. “To be honest, I’ve always wanted to get into ornithology. I hear there’s a rare variant of the jubjub bird in the area I’ve been dying to get a look at.” 

The two separated, Mr. Rosehearts to his carriage and Riddle to (Y/N). “You okay?” She asked. 

“Fine. I think things might be looking up, actually.” 

She bumped him with her hip. “Well, you’ve got a super cool new girlfriend now, so I sure hope so.” 

Riddle chuckled, linking their arms together. They stepped back through the portal to school, confident that no matter what trials and tribulations would come next, they would face them together. 

[entwined-fxte]

never let go.

a/n: listen i know i just wrote nightmare trope on my other blog but this is for my fragmented dreams fans (it's me i'm the fan). also BIG shoutout to that anon a few days ago cause i wasn't feeling motivated until i saw that in my inbox anon u are my whole world

content: soothing a certain doctor after a hard night.

WARNINGS: brief depictions of a nightmare (zayne's pov)

zayne × gen!reader (you/your).

fluff + comfort.

it was hard to see zayne like this. already exhausted from long nights of risky procedures, he could barely get any rest from his nightmare plagued mind. day after day, you saw the fatigue building up, his eyes dull no matter what he did. you decided you'd seen enough, and if anything, you were sure that he'd had enough as well.

luckily, it wasn't hard to get zayne to accept an invitation to stay overnight at your place. perhaps it was the tiredness that made his mind bleary, having him say yes before he even realised. or perhaps it was the idea of having you around him; sleep wasn't easy whether he was alone or with someone else, but zayne couldn't deny that you being close soothed his mind ever so slightly.

“ready to go home?” you poked your head through his office door, catching a glimpse of a the tail end of a yawn.

zayne turned his head to look at you, gaze foggy as he tried to process it all. he gave a low hum in return, pushing his chair back to give him room to stand up. “you're earlier than i thought you'd be.”

you slipped through the doorway, shutting it behind you with your foot as you made your way in. “i cleared the wanderer zone pretty quickly. after all, i'm a really good hunter,” you laughed, setting your backpack down on the ground to stretch.

“really now?” the corners of zayne's mouth curled up in amusement. you wondered when the last time he really smiled was. he stifled another yawn as he hung his lab coat up, exchanging it for a grey cardigan. “let's get going.”

you ordered delivery to your apartment while zayne drove back to your place. the silence was comforting, and yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more going on in zayne's mind that he let on. as you stepped out of the car, you shot the doctor a worried look. “i know you're usually not talkative, but is there something that's bothering you?”

zayne said nothing, instead shrugging his bag onto his shoulder and nodding towards your building. although quiet, you were certain you heard him whisper a low “later,” as he locked the car doors and headed off.

the delivery man caught you just before you closed your front door, handing the bag off to you before scuttling away. the sight made you laugh, and to your delight, zayne was also chuckling under his breath. after a moment, you shuffled him inside, setting the food down on the counter and your bag next to the couch. “you shower first, zayne. i'm gonna make some tea first.”

“sure.” with muffled steps, zayne disappeared into the washroom, leaving you to your own devices. it wasn't long before there were two cups of tea on the counter, and you carefully sipped yours while waiting for zayne to finish. he was silent when he came out; you didn't realise he had finished until you felt his arms wrap around your waist and his nose bury into your hair. you placed a hand on top of his, ghosting over the backs of his knuckles as he spoke. “you’re warm.”

“mmhmm. and as per usual, you're freezing.” you craned your neck up to look at him, reaching up with your other hand to trace his jawline. “here’s your tea. you can go ahead and start eating if you're hungry, too. i should freshen up.” zayne made a quiet sound of affirmation, slowly releasing you from his grasp while you shifted off your chair. a part of you hurt to leave him like that, but you figured that the sooner you could finish your night routine, the better.

you came out of the shower not long after, padding back into the living room to find zayne sitting comfortably on your couch with a book open. “zayne,” you called softly, waiting for him to turn his head up at you. when he did, you grabbed at the spine of the book, folding it closed before taking it away from him. “i invited you over to take it easy, not to read the medical journals you snuck back with you. did you even eat anything?”

zayne hummed in response, as he always did. “yes. i set aside your favourites already.”

“that wasn’t exactly necessary,” you mumbled. “anyways, it’s getting late. aren’t you tired?”

he placed the book down on the coffee table, shoulders slouching as he leaned forward. “it’s nothing more than usual.”

“liar.” with your lips pressed into a thin line, you leaned down towards the raven haired man, poking at his forehead accusingly. “you actually look even worse than usual.”

“how kind of you.” you tapped at his forehead a few more times, only stopping when zayne took your hand in his and pulled it down. you could hardly feel the way his fingers tightened around yours, but his expression gave him away.

with a sigh, you took your free hand and ran it through his hair. “come on. if i can protect linkon city from wanderers, i think i can protect you while you’re asleep.”

in a rare moment of vulnerability, zayne pressed further into your palm, exhaling softly as he did. “then i suppose we can give it a shot.”

cheering internally, you couldn't help the smile that creeped onto your face. the hand that zayne had trapped in his began to pull him up from the couch, waiting until he was steady on his feet before leading him to your bedroom. once inside, you crawled on top of the mattress, never once letting go of him as he followed suit. the last remaining traces of the sunset glow slowly disappeared from sight, leaving your bedroom under the gentle cascade of moonlight. you let go of zayne for a second to hop off the bed again, switching off the ceiling light and then returning to lay down next to him.

a low chuckle sounded from his chest as you bounced in your spot. “well? what's your great plan this time?”

“the plan is to wait until you fall asleep.”

“and do you expect that to happen soon?”

“i do.” you adjusted yourself onto your side. with some effort, you threw the blanket over yourself and zayne, burrowing your body in for a brief second before stretching out and beckoning to him. “come here.” zayne didn’t bother with a response, only giving you an unreadable look. but after a few seconds, zayne resigned, bringing himself towards you. you couldn’t help but give him an exasperated look when he stopped further from you than you wanted. “closer,” you murmured, sliding an arm around his waist and tugging him in. “i can’t hold you if you’re so far away.”

a sigh slipped past his lips. yet despite the way he sounded annoyed, zayne accepted the invitation, tucking his head down into the dip of your shoulder as he wound his arms around you. legs became tangled in seconds, and you could’ve sworn you felt him sigh in relief when you started carding your hand through his hair. “so your plan is to make sure i can’t run away,” zayne hummed against your skin. you laughed at the accusation, and for a fleeting second, zayne felt like the sound could heal him from anything.

“i might as well try to keep you from working.” were it possible, you would have pulled him closer. instead, you settled by pressing your lips to the crown of his head. “sleep, zayne. i won’t let go.”

the words echoed in his mind, resonated in his heart; but the next time he opened his eyes, there was only an empty space next to him. “y/n?” panic rooted in his chest, sitting upright to find nothing but silence. zayne climbed off the bed, fear driving him to look through the windows. outside, wanderers flooded the streets, turning it into a sea of black. for a moment, zayne caught a familiar face; and he could do nothing but watch as you were drowned in the abyss.

you kept stroking up and down his back rhythmically, attempting to soothe zayne’s restless movement. eventually, his eyes flew open, gaze misty as he suddenly gripped onto you. you waited until his breathing steadied, continuing to draw circles into his skin even after he had calmed. “another nightmare?”

zayne exhaled deeply, turning his face down so he could press his forehead against your collarbone. “you didn’t let go.”

your other hand returned to his head, playing with the hair at the base of his neck. “i told you i wouldn’t.” the way zayne shivered didn’t go unnoticed. unsure if it was the cold or his fear, you tightened the blanket around the both of you as best you could. “go back to sleep. it hasn’t even been two hours.”

zayne spoke again, barely audible. “will you let go?” and then he felt your chin, gently moving side to side across his head.

“not in a million lifetimes.”

silence fell like snow, with only the sound of your intertwined breathing filling the room. with a final sigh, zayne closed his eyes and pressed himself into you, searing your warmth into his soul as if it were the last time he could.

and this time, when zayne dreams, he dreams of a certain hunter, and of a field of jasmines.

a/n: happy actual first post!! the urge to write "rei" instead of zayne and "MC" instead of "y/n" was ridiculously high. also his new card?!?#?@?@: i'm on the ground ......

reblogs are really appreciated (´ω｀) ♡

[lightbluetown]

i saw some people say ed and zheng are master strategists while stede is just some guy with ridiculous luck, but i think that's unfair. sure stede's ideas are insane, but they fit the looney tunes ass universe of ofmd perfectly. they're mostly well-thought-out, well-executed and they showcase stede's strengths and growth! so allow me to talk about them:

1- ghost of the forest - 1x02

a fuckery™ before stede even knows what a fuckery™ is! this is amateurish and stupid in every way. he's not even threatening izzy with a real dagger-- that's a letter opener. does izzy actually believe that stede has a huge crew hiding behind the bushes? doubt it! but this weird little act is enough to establish stede as a (ridiculous) pirate figure to the legendary izzy hands and to accomplish his goal of taking a hostage back

2- lighthouse - 1x04

imagine coming up with the exact same idea at the exact same time as the most brilliant tactician of the seven seas! we don't know who came up with which parts of the plan (honestly it was probably mostly ed) but this is still bloody impressive

3- stark revelations - 1x05

stede's first big success! he uses his knowledge of the aristocratic world to get a shipful of rich assholes to destroy each other, but he's also showcasing what sets him apart from them: this plan only comes to fruition because stede talks to frenchie, olu and abshir as equals. as people he can learn from, as sources of inspiration

4- duel with izzy - 1x06

this one was absolutely unhinged, but its success was far from dumb luck. only stede could think of using a brazillian cherry wood mast and ed's weird stabbing lesson to win a duel, and that's what makes this plan so undeniably stede and brilliant

5- faking his death - 1x10

i love that he just had to "die" in the most dramatic way possible. a heroic fight (tiger), a realistic accident (carriage) and the most cartoony death in the book (piano)... not only is his triple-death able to convince everyone in barbados that he's dead for good, it also allows him to have closure with his family. it's filled with stede's ridiculous unique flair, but it's designed to be a fuckery™ through and through. ed would be SO proud

6- stealing jackie's indigo dye - 2x01

quick little stealth mission. did ricky manipulate stede into trying this out? sure. did ricky also ruin it? absolutely. but it was working until then! the swede isn't part of stede's crew at this point, but his respect for stede is what gets him to cooperate and risk his relationship with his beautiful wife. also, it's thanks to his love for fine things that stede immediately recognizes the value of "blue dirt"

7- prison break - 2x03

in my eyes no scene depicts stede's growth better than this one. knocking zheng's entire crew out with tea is the most stede thing out there, and this plan uses the cherry wood mast as well! this plan relies on stede's (unrealistic) tea knowledge, overly-fancy ship and ability to coordinate his crew. what makes it breathtaking is that he secretly sets this plan into motion while actively mourning the "death" of the love of his life. he's putting his life on the line to rescue ed's "killers" because he's emotionally mature enough to look at things from their perspective and forgive them

8- inciting a mutiny - 2x06

yet another brilliant plan that could only be executed by stede. this entire episode revolves around his idea of "turning poison into positivity" and here he, well, fights poison with positivity. stede captains his pirates with respect and care (best he can) which just so happens to be the opposite of ned. he exploits this and gently gets ned's crew to turn on him. he singlehandedly saves himself and his entire crew from a notorious pirate! oh he also literally invents walking the plank right after this

9- "it's only suicide if we die" - 2x08

okay, yes, this one didn't go that well (sorry iz). but it's not like ed, zheng or anyone else had any other ideas! stede's weird suicide mission, for the most part, worked. they needed to get through british soldiers to reach their ship and they did exactly that. if only they'd remembered to check if ricky had his gun... oh well, you live and you learn

sure, ed and zheng are legends and stede is a silly newbie with wild luck. but he's also quick-witted, creative, confident and brave! he's a damn good captain and he deserves to be recognized as a good strategist!

[guiltypleasurecreative]

Best Friend Vacation

Best friends Harry and Y/N have been the best of friends for nearly a decade. They’re such close friends they take an annual vacation together, just the two of them. This trip, however, may just be the one that changes things.

Contents: Explicit depictions of sex, fluff

6.6k words

“Oh, my goodness. Harry! This is so nice!”

“Yeah, I think this is the nicest one yet.” Harry set the luggage just inside the door of the cabin you rented for the week. It had been a long drive, but it was still early afternoon—plenty of time to relax and enjoy the day.

You couldn’t say anymore who’s idea it was, but for the last five or six years you and Harry have taken a friends vacation together. One year, you invited some mutual friends, and it wasn’t as fun or relaxing, so you stuck to just the two of you. Things were so much better this way.

After nearly nine years of friendship, you two were super close. You two hung out most weekends and recently had spent many weeks planning this trip to a forested mountainous town close enough to the coast that you could smell the salty ocean air.

“Which room do you want, Harry?”

“I wake up earlier than you, so I want the one with the view. I want my morning tea with a view.”

“I can enjoy the same view when I wake at noon.”

“I’m calling it, Y/N,” he smiled at you and picked up your bags, setting them into the other room – the one without a view, apparently. “Look! Yours has an en suite with a big bathtub.”

You walked further into the room and saw there was a large claw foot tub. “Wow, I don’t remember this on the listing.”

“Me either. Maybe its new and they just haven’t updated the listing yet?”

He turned around to face you, but you only shrugged.

“Let’s put the groceries away, and we’ll figure out what to see first. Maybe we just hang out here and jump in the jacuzzi?”

“Are you hungry?” Harry asked as you entered the house. You’d spent the afternoon in the jacuzzi with a bottle of Moscato. When the bottle was empty you and Harry decided it was time to go inside.

“Getting there.”

“Let’s get cleaned up then I’ll make dinner?”

“Sounds good.”

When you got out of the shower you heard the sound of chopping coming from the kitchen.

“Hey.” Harry greeted you while chopping heirloom tomatoes. “I thought we could have something light. We have burrata and pesto so I’m making a nice tomato salad. I’ve got some garlic bread in the oven.

“That sounds lovely. What can I do?” You took the towel from your hair and draped it over a chair at the kitchen counter.

“Nothing. Go pick a movie.” He smiled as he mixed the tomatoes in with the pesto then seasoned it with salt and pepper.

“What do you feel like watching?” You walked to the living room and turned on the giant television.

“Whatever. What about that movie you were telling me about on the drive up?”

Harry put the burrata in the center of a serving plate and the tomatoes around it. Harry always had a knack when it came to making food look as good as it tasted. On another plate he piled the garlic bread then took it out to the living room where you sat on the couch, remote control in hand.

“Can you grab us some drinks?” Harry asked as the plates on the coffee table. He looked up and saw that you had on a very tiny pair of pajama shorts.

“Of course. Beer okay?”

“Y/N, didn’t you pack any pants? You’re not even wearing socks!”

“I was hot after my shower!”

“Yeah, but as soon as you sit down, you’re gonna get cold. And what are you gonna do? You’re going to tuck your cold ass feet under me!”

“But you’re always so warm!”

“Y/N...get socks at least.” Harry was behind you in the kitchen now grabbing two small plates and utensils.

“Yes, dad.” You smirked, knowing you were annoying him.

“Fine, don’t listen. But you can’t tuck your cold feet under me and I’m not letting you warm up your fingers on me either.”

“Just grab me a blanket if you’re so worried, damn.”

Harry smacked your ass then called you a brat under his breath.

“Bastard! I almost dropped the bottles!” Harry only turned around and winked at you in response.

Harry sat on the couch. When you sat down, he handed you a plate then served you.

“This was a good idea, Har. Something nice and light after all that crap we ate for lunch.”

“Actually, I wanted something lighter because I want ice cream with all the toppings later.”

You rolled your eyes and pressed play on the movie.

The two of you ate in a comfortable silence.

“Pause it for me please? I’m going to put the leftovers away.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks. And get some socks! It still gets chilly at night.” He smacked your ass again as you got up from the couch.

“Are you going to bitch at me every night? We are never taking a vacation in the Spring again. Summer only.”

“Then I’ll just bitch at you about staying hydrated in the heat.” He smiled up at you as he laid down on the couch.

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m your best friend. You know you love me! Hurry up, the plot was just getting good.”

You put the leftovers away then went to your room to grab socks out of your luggage. When you returned to the living room you sat down by Harry’s head and made a big show of putting on your socks.

Harry smiled and gave your thigh a light squeeze. “Thank you.”

The movie was pretty good, not what you had expected, but it was enjoyable. When it was over you stood up and stretched, looking down at Harry.

“I think I’m going to bed. You want me to get you some ice cream before I go?”

“Nah, I don’t really feel like it anymore. I think I’ll go read my book. Thanks.” Harry stretched before standing up, too.

“Alright. Good night, Har.”

“Night. Sleep well.” He kissed you on the top of your head and squeezed your shoulder before walking to his room.

When you reached your room, you took your time washing up then climbed in bed. You scrolled your phone for a bit, but you couldn’t quite relax. Thankfully, you brought your toy with you.

You got out of bed and looked for it in your luggage. Quickly, you realized it wasn’t in that particular bag, so you searched your other bag, but had no luck. In frustration you flipped on the bedside light and dumped both bags onto the bed.

A few minutes later you were folding your clothes and putting them back in your luggage, defeated. A knock on your door startled you.

“Y/N?”

“Come in.”

“Everything okay? I got up and saw your light was on.” Harry was dressed in sleeping pants with a matching unbuttoned shirt. He had obviously just thrown it on just to leave his bedroom.

“I forgot my vibrator,” you sighed.

Harry chuckled. “Oh, no. A sexually frustrated Y/N is no fun at all.”

You rolled your eyes. “Go to bed, Harry.”

He sat down on the bed, watching you put your things back into your bag. “Oh, come on. Don’t get all bent out of shape. You still have hands.”

You stopped what you were doing just to smack Harry in the arm. “You think if that worked for me, I’d be upset right now?”

“What? So it won’t feel as nice. It’ll still take the edge off.”

You put your bags away and flopped on the bed next to Harry. “No, like, I can’t get there at all without help. Trying just makes me more frustrated.”

After a moment of silence, you reached over to turn off the lamp on the bedside table. “You staying or going? I’m just going to go to sleep.” You didn’t wait for an answer before you settled under the covers again and prepared to sleep.

“Would you like my help?”

With a hearty laugh you swiped your hand down Harry’s face. “Close your eyes and go to sleep Harry.”

“No, I’m serious. Thinking about your toy got me all worked up, too.” You didn’t respond so he continued. “My hand isn’t as fun either. Why don’t we help each other out?”

Is he for real?

“Harry, did the heat from the jacuzzi get to your head?” You chuckled and reached out for his hand and closed your eyes again.

“No, but all my blood is rushing south. Maybe that’s it.”

You opened your eyes again and looked down at his pants. The room was dark, but you could still see he wasn’t lying. He was sporting a bit of a hard on and you let out a breathy laugh. “You’re ridiculous sometimes, you know that?”

“Mmm. Night, Y/N.”

Harry said good night but made no move to go back to his bed. You two had slept together on who knows how many occasions. It was never a big deal, but tonight felt different. You had never fallen asleep next to him while he had a hard on. Or at least not that you knew of.

The two of you laid together quietly before you spoke up. “Okay. Let’s help each other out. I’m not gonna sleep in this state. You can’t be too comfortable either.”

“Y/N?”

“Oh, come on. You make the suggestion then get shy on me? Besides, we’ve seen each other naked before.”

“You’ve seen me because you never knock anymore, but I don’t recall ever seeing you,” he said with a laugh.

“Wow, Harry. Thanks. Good to know it was memorable.”

“I’m serious! I don’t remember. When?”

You turned your body to face him, and he did the same.

“You’ve seen my breasts I don’t know how many times!”

“Breasts don’t count! You’ve seen mine too.” Harry laughed again.

“We really lack boundaries, don’t we?” You giggled.

“Nah, I think we’re just comfortable with each other.”

“Maybe,” you laughed, “but breasts count.”

“Breasts do not count,” Harry countered.

“Okay, well, this is your chance to see the rest of me. Are up for it?”

Harry sat in silence for a moment. “I’m game. My situation hasn’t gone away yet.”

You laughed, “I can’t believe we’re gonna do this. We’re so stupid.”

“We’ve been stupider,” Harry answers, causing both of you to laugh harder.

Harry cleared his throat in an attempt to stop his laughter. “So, we’re serious about this?”

“Yeah, why not. We’ve been stupider right?” You smiled at your best friend.

“Like that time we got lost in Rome after letting our cell phones die?” Harry sat up and put his hand on your knee.

“God, that was so dumb. I still don’t know how we managed to find our way back to the hotel.”

The two of you broke out into a fit of laughter again.

“So. Any hard boundaries? Things that you like?”

“Harry, I’m not discussing my kinks with you. We’re just going to scratch this itch and go to bed.”

“Okay, okay. You afraid I’ll judge you if I find out you like your hair pulled?”

You were a little surprised. “How did you know that?”

Harry shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

“Ugh, you know me too well.” You got comfortable on the bed and Harry moved to stand on his knees between your legs. He rested his hands on your knees.

“That I do, but I still don’t know where you draw the line.”

“Uhhh. I like dirty talk, but nothing degrading. Nothing rough. I don’t like pain.”

“I could have guessed that,” Harry chuckled.

“What about you? Any no-goes?”

“No, I’ve always really enjoyed wherever the act takes me,” he laughed.

“You’re such a man,” you joked.

Harry shrugged out of his unbuttoned shirt. “Do you…want me to play with you?”

“That feels a bit too intimate, don’t you think?”

“More intimate than sex? Not really. And unless you want to start this with no warmup all dr—”

“Okay. Uh, you could…you could touch me?”

“Sure.” He kissed your forehead and moved from between your legs to lay down beside you. He looked in your eyes as he rested his head on your pillow. He rubbed your stomach, just below your navel. When he moved his hand in gentle circles, his fingers grazing the waistband of your shorts.

“Wanna take these off?” His voice was soft and quiet.

“Yeah.” You looked down at your waist where Harry’s hands still laid. You lifted your hips to take off your shorts and underwear.

Harry groaned and looked back up at your face. “Can I go lower?”

You nodded, not saying a word. He slid his hands lower, barely grazing over your clit on his way to run his fingers between your folds. Your mouth fell open with a sharp intake of breath. His face mirrored yours, clearly drunk on your pleasure.

He played with you for a bit as both of you watched his fingers dip low to gather your arousal and bring it to your clit. He felt amazing. You closed your eyes and focused on your growing pleasure.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” You opened your eyes and focused on his face. You could see his arm flexing out of the corner of your eye and it was driving you mad.

“It’s getting painful.” He chuckled uncomfortably.

“Fuck! Sorry!” You got up on your knees, forcing Harry to pull his hand away. “Lie back.”

Harry laid on his back and tucked an arm under his head, watching you.

“Can I take these off?” You kneeled between his legs with both hands on his pants.

“’Course.” He lifted his hips to help you take off his pajama pants. You tugged his pants all the way off of his legs. When you looked back up at him, he had his fingers pressed to his face. “You smell really good.”

You shuddered. It was always such a turn on when a partner enjoyed the smell of you. Without taking his eyes away from you he licked his fingers.

You let out a moan. “Really?”

“It’s a huge turn on for me.” Harry had a broad grin on his face.

“Me too. Never thought we’d know that about each other.”

Harry laughed, prompting you to laugh, too. When you felt a throbbing in your core you decided to get serious.

“Spit.” You held your hand out to his mouth. Harry furrowed his brows. “I mean, unless you like it dry.”

Without taking his eyes away from yours he sat up and spit in your hand. Jesus, that was hot. You brought your hand to the tip off his penis and began to rub him. Your other hand went between your legs to rub yourself. Harry’s eyes fluttered closed and his head fell back on the pillow. When he began to feel dry again you switched hands, bringing the hand covered in your arousal up to his dick.

Harry groaned loudly. “That is the hottest thing anyone’s ever done for me in bed.”

You smiled and hung your head. The feel of Harry’s dick in your hands was such a turn on and you could feel yourself getting closer to your release. You loved it when your partner moaned in bed, it was probably the sexiest thing a man could do in bed. Every sound that fell from Harry’s lips spurred you on.

“Ah—sh—it’s getting dry again.” Harry sat up on his elbows.

You nodded without a word and switched hands again, covering him in more of yourself.

“Y/N, are you still taking the pill?”

Both of your hands stopped moving. “Huh?”

“You’re still on the pill, right?”

“Yes. Yeah.” Your brain was too fuzzy with pleasure to figure out why he was asking.

“So, let’s like, actually do it.”

“Do you want to?” Your heart was still pounding in your chest. You could have come just like this, but you couldn’t turn down intertwining your bodies, feeling full.

“I think that’s pretty obviously a yes. You can feel how hard I am right now.”

You laughed and took your shirt off, just remembering it was still on when the fabric painfully rubbed against your nipples. Harry moaned at the sight of your bare breasts.

“Shit. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you, Y/N?”

“At least you’ll remember seeing me naked now,” you laughed.

“I never forgot! I just said breasts don’t count.” He ran both hands down your sides. “You haven’t answered me yet.”

“Yes.”

“Regularly?”

You laughed remembering all the times he had to remind you to take your pills in the past. That was so long ago now; you had gotten much better at taking them regularly and on time. “Yes.”

“So, what’s stopping us then?” Harry sat up and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Nothing.”

Harry smiled before pressing his lips to yours. He guided you down on to your back and climbed between your legs again. His kisses trailed from your lips, down your neck, then to your chest. You relished the feeling of his lips on you and running your fingers through his hair. Damn, was he good in bed.

“I wanna try something.” Harry was breathing heavily.

“Anything.”

Harry wasted no time bringing his lips to his to your nipple causing you to cry out. He propped himself up on one arm and brought his hand between your legs. His fingers slid into you and his thumb rubbed your clit.

“Ah! Harry, that feels really good.”

“Good.” He pressed another kiss to your chest.

All too soon you felt that familiar tension building then spilling over. You had one of the best orgasms you’ve had in who knows how long.

Harry pulled his fingers from between your legs and brought them to his lips. Once he had sucked his fingers clean, he brought himself to your entrance. “You’re still okay with this?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought his body flush against your chest. He easily slid into you, filling you up. Harry pumped his hips, pulling in and out of you slowly while moaning. His breath on your neck was heavenly.

“Y/N, what’s your favorite position? What will make you come again?”

“I don’t know. A partner has never given me two in one go,” you answered.

“Jesus, Y/N. What kind of losers do you sleep with?”

You laughed but before you could even respond Harry had pulled out of you and was flipping you on to your stomach. He pulled your hips up just a bit so he could slide back in. He placed a hand on your ass and pushed you back down flat against the bed. His hand ran from your ass to your shoulder, massaging as he kissed the nape of your neck. With one last kiss he laid his body flat over yours.

“Cross your legs at the ankle and squeeze your legs together.”

You did as you were asked and thought you were going to come again. Your core was so tight he could barely move himself inside you. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he slipped a hand between you and the bed to rub your clit. He continued to press soft kisses to your back as he slowly thrust in and out of you. You could feel how wet you were.

“Y/N, I’m close.”

“Harry, yes. Just use me.”

“No—ah, I need to see my girl’s face when I come. It’s kind of my thing.”

“Lie down,” you commanded.

Harry traded places with you then you grabbed his dick again and lined it up with your center. You sank down on him slowly, enjoying the sight of him coming unraveled.

He held on to your thighs until you placed both your hands over his and brought them to your breasts. “Keep touching me.”

Something about watching your chest rise and fall while you rocked your hips had Harry needing more. He grabbed you by the small of your back and pulled you close to him. He sat up and leveraged the headboard to thrust up into you, his hands back on your hips.

Eventually he felt the need to hold you even closer. He wrapped his arms around your torso and buried his face in your neck. When that wasn’t enough, he placed one hand on your ass helping you to grind into him. He brought his other hand up your spine and grasped the back of your neck.

“Y/N, quick—do I need to pull out?”

He sounded out of breath, and all wound up.

“No, Harry, just come.”

With that something in him snapped. He grabbed your head in both his hands, roughly dragging his thumbs over your lips. “Y/N, look at me.”

You grabbed his face too and held his stare as you felt his warm release spill inside you. He continued thrusting until he was spent, never letting go of your face. When he stilled, he rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

He was the first to break the silence. “Well, that was quite something, huh?”

You laughed. “Jesus, Harry. You should just wife me right now because I don’t know how anything would ever feel that good ever again. You’ve ruined men for me so you should take some responsibility.”

Harry laughed that gorgeous full-chested laugh of his then tapped your thigh, indicating he wanted you to get off his lap. “Ah, careful, Y/N.” He was so sensitive over his penis sliding out of you. “I’ll be right back.”

You nodded and laid down on the bed. You told yourself that in a second you would get up and clean yourself, but for right now, you just needed a minute to catch your breath.

Harry got out of bed and slipped his pants back on. His first stop was to the hall closet for a hand towel. Next, he went to the kitchen and filled two glasses with ice and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel’s Tennessee Honey from the freezer. He turned on the tap in the kitchen sink and waited for the water to warm up. While he waited, he grabbed a bar of dark chocolate, knowing you couldn’t handle straight alcohol without something sweet.

Harry grabbed a serving tray off the counter and loaded everything on it before checking the water temperature. It was warm enough to sting his hand – just the right temperature for you. He soaked the towel thoroughly then wringed it out, trying not to burn himself on the hot water. How you enjoyed water that hot was beyond him.

When he got back to the room you were still in bed.

“Here, take this.” Harry set the tray on the bed and handed you a glass of ice. He filled it with chilled whiskey.

“Thank you, Harry. That’s so thoughtful.” You took a sip and grimaced even though you enjoyed the flavor.

“But wait! That’s not even the best part yet!”

Harry pulled the warm damp cloth from the tray and grabbed you by the back of your leg, just under your knee. It was one of your sensitive spots and was almost enough to make you want round two. He began wiping your thighs and cleaning you up.

“Wow. Aftercare? I’m impressed, Har. You this nice to all your partners?”

“A few,” he smiled up at you when you brought your glass to his lips and tilted it to give him a drink. You watched his throat as he swallowed. “Usually, I wear a condom so there isn’t this big of a mess.”

“Just a few? Aren’t I lucky, then?”

“You got that right,” he winked. “Only the best from my best friend. Look!” Harry reached behind him then held up the bar of dark chocolate. “I even remembered that you can’t drink it straight without something sweet.”

You giggled. “Wow. VIP treatment tonight.”

Harry finished cleaning you up the chucked the towel into a hamper near the bathroom door. You sat up and poured him a glass which he gladly accepted then laid down. You broke off a piece of chocolate and held it out to him. He grabbed it with his mouth and thanked you.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Harry asked even though his mouth was still full of chocolate.

You sat up and faced him. “Depends. Do you wanna stick close and go into town or do you want to take a little drive to the coast?”

“Mmmm. That’s a tough one. Why don’t we play it by ear?”

You playfully nudged him. “You mean you don’t have tomorrow all planned out already? Another?”

“Yes, please.” Harry held his mouth open waiting for another piece of chocolate.

“If we stay in town, we can go to that cute little restaurant we saw on the way up.” You tapped his shoulder as if it would jog his memory.

Harry nodded his head but otherwise stayed quiet. He finished his drink then set it down on the tray at the end of the bed.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I need another shower. I worked up a good sweat and now my skin feels all tight and sticky.”

“Can I join?”

“That depends. Are you going to want the temperature scalding hot?”

“Maybe. But I know you love it when someone washes your back for you.”

“Alright, you can come with. But I want you to scrub my back really well. Few minutes at least.” Harry had a playful look in his eyes.

“Deal.”

“Well alright then. Lead the way,” Harry followed behind you, watching as you opened the glass door to the spacious shower and turned on the water.

You stuck your hand under the water and looked at Harry. “This good?”

Harry leaned into the shower stall, a hand on the small of your back. “I guess. Unless you’re willing to turn it down just a tiny bit?”

“Not a chance.” You stepped into the shower under the stream of water. He always knew you were beautiful, but tonight was something else.

“You’re making me want another round,” Harry smiled as he slipped off his pants and stepped in the shower, closing the door behind him.

“Funny, I was thinking that earlier when you were cleaning me up.” You twirled your finger in a motion that asked him to turn around. “Pass me the body wash please.”

Harry passed the bottle and waited until he felt you press a soapy loofah to his back. You placed your other hand on his back to steady yourself as you ran the loofah over his back and sides.

“You know, that was pretty good for me, too. Maybe we can do it again. I mean, there’s no harm, right?”

“Yeah. Until one of us gets into a new relationship,” you agreed.

Harry laughed, “Why would I need someone else?”

You hit him on the back with the loofah before scrubbing him. “What do you mean? I’m not sleeping with you while you’re sleeping with someone else.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, why would I need someone else when I have you? With you I have companionship, someone there when I need them. You give me advice and now I know that we can have some of the best sex I’ve ever had together? What more do I need? We already kind of plan our futures with the other in mind. So… why involve anyone else? I have it made now.”

Both of you laughed.

 “Here. You finish up.” You handed him the loofah and grabbed the shampoo. You began to wash his hair.

“What about love? You can live without someone to romantically love?” You ran your fingers through his hair, cleaning his curly brown locks.

“I don’t know, Y/N. You keep screwing me like that I think I could get to romantic love. I already love you; I just need a couple more orgasms like that to tip me over the edge.”

You held his arms for stability as you bent forward laughing. He held you back and joined in your laughter.

“You’re terrible. Wash up.” You pushed him under the water and watched as he closed his eyes and washed the shampoo from his hair.

“’Kay, your turn.” Harry lathered his palms with shampoo and worked it into your hair by massaging your scalp. You hummed with pleasure, loving it when someone rubbed your head.

“Remember Adriana?”

You didn’t open your eyes to answer him, “Of course. You were crazy about her.”

“I was. But we agreed we weren’t the best for each other.” Harry began to clean the rest of his body. “We actually argued once because she thought we were too close.”

“Sorry, Harry. She wasn’t too far off the mark, though. I mean, look at our history. And then this evening—” You trailed off not finishing your thought.

“Can’t argue that,” Harry chuckled.

Harry placed a hand on your waist to trade places with you so you could rise off.

“I think I’m good without a girlfriend. How about you? Think you’ll get back into the dating game?”

“I don’t know.” You turned to look at Harry. “Done?”

“Yeah. I’ll grab our towels.”

You turned off the water and Harry took a step outside of the shower stall and handed you a towel.

You continued your thought as you dried yourself. “I mean, I think I’m good for now. You’re right that we already have a lot of the components that make a relationship fulfilling. I wouldn’t mind exploring a more physical relationship with you because I already know I can be open and trust you.”

Harry grinned from ear to ear. “I’m always right.”

You playfully smacked his chest and moved past him out of the shower.

“Love you, Y/N.”

You smiled at him but didn’t say it back.

“Y/N! I said I love you.”

Again, you didn’t respond, only nodding. You knew Harry could not handle it when you didn’t say it back.

“Y/N! Say it back!”

Instead, you wrapped the towel around you tighter and scurried back to bed.

“Brat! Come here and say it back to me!”

Harry followed after you and grabbed you with both arms causing you to yelp. He pinned you to the bed and tickled you.

“Say it back, Y/N. Say you love me back and you can end this.”

“Harry, please!” You cried out between giggles.

“Just say it. Three words and I’ll let you go.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

“Wrong.” He wrapped your hair around his hand to expose your neck. He blew raspberries on the sensitive skin behind your ear.

“Okay, fine! I love you! Are you happy now? Shit!”

Harry playfully pushed your head into the bed and rolled off of you.

You acted mad but Harry knew better. “Was that so hard?”

“No, but I can’t let you have everything so easily. Someone has to keep you in check.”

“So like you. Difficult for no reason.” Harry winked but you still threw a pillow at him.

“You sleeping here?” You had already hung your towel up in the bathroom and crawled in bed again.

“Might as well. I’m already here, right?” He got in bed and pulled the blankets up to his waist. “Do you mind if I sleep naked?”

“I don’t think that after today you ever have to ask that question again.”

Harry chuckled. “Come here. Since we’re being touchy feely, I want to cuddle you in my sleep.”

You scooted closer and relaxed into his arms, your back against his warm chest. He swung a leg over your legs.

“Don’t get upset when my morning wood pokes you.”

“Harry! You’re terrible! Go to bed.”

“Y/N? Wake up. Your breakfast is gonna get cold.”

You opened your eyes to see that Harry had made omlettes with the leftovers from last night’s dinner.

“See, this is why I took the room with the view. I had tea in my room and still had time to make breakfast before you woke up. You missed a hell of a view.”

You smiled, and looked over at the clock and saw it wasn’t yet 9:00. “Dude, it’s still so early, I’m sure the view is just as nice now as whenever the hell you woke up.”

“You’re something else. Scoot over, would you?” He got in bed and handed you a plate then grabbed his from the bedside table.

When breakfast was done you put the dishes in the kitchen then brushed your teeth. You had yet to get dressed after last night’s shower.

“Hey, Y/N? I’m feeling very frustrated again.”

You laughed, “are you now?”

“Come here.” Harry patted the bed beside him.

When you came near enough, he placed a hand on the side of your face and pulled you in for a kiss. You laid on the bed next to him and he immediately brought a hand between your legs.

“Are you always so eager?” You smirked at him and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“You have no idea. You better get used to it. Especially if you insist on walking around with nothing on.”

Any response you had dried in your throat. Your mind couldn’t focus on anything else other than the growing pleasure between your legs.

“Y/N. I want to try something with you.”

Harry looked at you nervously, but you only smiled. “Anything.”

“You’re going to regret having said that,” Harry said with a mischievous grin. He laid down on his stomach between your legs. “Still with me?”

“Yes.” You could barely breathe. The anticipation only made you more wet.

Harry wrapped his hands around your thighs and began to kiss your legs, making his way to your core. You let out a low, breathy moan. Even when he was teasing Harry was amazing. Without warning he licked your folds, causing you to cry out. He sucked on your clit before lapping up more of your arousal. He added his fingers and slowly pumped in and out of you, watching you squirm.

“Harry. Come here. I need to feel you.” You ran your hands through his hair.

Harry seemed to be ignoring you. He licked at your insides while he continued to pump his fingers. You caught how he was grinding his hips on the bed and felt a shiver run through your body.

“I’m so close,” you panted.

Harry moaned in response then brought his thumb up to rub your clit. His tongue was still lapping at your folds and licking your insides. Before long you felt yourself shaking as you climaxed.

When your legs had stopped trembling Harry climbed up your body. He kissed you deeply and pressed his body to yours, grinding against your hips. You were so slick he plunged into you without having to guide himself into you.

“You feel so good, Y/N. I’m never leaving this spot between your legs.”

As Harry pumped into you, you thrust to meet his hips. Deep and desperate moans filled the room along with the sounds of your bodies slapping together and the bed creaking.

“Fuck, I’m getting close.”

You wrapped your arms around him in response and dug your heels into his ass in an attempt to bury him deeper within you.

“Y/N, do I have to pull out?” Harry was panting, not slowing his pace at all.

“Inside. Always inside. Give me everything you got.”

With that, Harry came. He drained himself inside of you, his hips only slowing to a stop when he became too sensitive. Harry kissed you with a big smile on his face then laid down next to you. He rubbed your lower stomach—something you could get used to.

“You know, if we keep going raw like that we’re going to end up with an unplanned pregnancy. Especially with how forgetful you are with your meds.”

You smacked his chest playfully. “Hey! I am so much better now. It’s been ages since I’ve forgotten.”

Harry smiled and kissed you on your forehead.

“We should probably invest in condoms. I’m going to want to do this all the time. We could put them on an auto delivery.” You giggled and interlaced your fingers with Harry’s.

“Yeah. I’ll look into it as soon as we get back home.” Harry fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. “Or I could just get a vasectomy. Unless you want kids. Do you want kids?”

“Harry!” You burst out laughing. “We just started this…friends with benefits thing yesterday. Now you’re talking about vasectomies and children?”

“It’s a conversation we should have if we’re going to be sleeping together. Have you changed your mind since the last time we talked about kids?”

“You’re right,” you sighed. “Uh, no. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Well, your whole ‘if it happens, it happens’ stance is not a solid plan.” He laughed before kissing your forehead. “Such a wishy-washy approach could make things difficult later if something unplanned does happen.”

“What would you do if we go back home, and a couple weeks from now I miss my period. What do you want? Could you raise a kid with your best friend?”

“Absolutely. We’d be great parents.”

“Be serious!” You laughed, causing Harry to laugh too. You cuddled up to him and rested your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and gave you a loving squeeze.

“So, we actively take steps to make sure it doesn’t happen. Which may or may not include a vasectomy so I can keep enjoying you without a barrier between us.”

“Sounds like a solid plan.”

“But it still doesn’t address the unplanned. What’s our move then?”

“Um…then we have a child. We raise it with all the love we can.”

“I can handle that.”

Harry rested his head against yours and went quiet again. You were rubbing his arm when Harry blurts out, more to himself than to you, “what if we just get married now?”

“The fuck is going on in your head that that is where you ended up?”

“No, listen. I’ve been telling you for years your insurance is too expensive, whereas mine is quite reasonable. If we do become parents-to-be it would be so much cheaper and convenient to have you on my insurance plan.”

“So, I’ll join your insurance plan. Why do I have to marry you for that?”

“Because I don’t have the option to add best friends to my plan. Immediate family only like spouses.”

“Okay, well, if that happens Vegas is only a 6-hour drive from home. We’ll get married and I’ll get on your insurance plan. Deal?”

“Deal.” He snuggled you closer.

“You know, if this is your idea of pillow talk, I no longer wonder why your relationships haven’t worked out.”

Harry playfully shoved your face away onto your own pillow. “Brat.”

“Damn. Maybe we should get married. Think of what we’d save not paying for two mortgages.”

 “Now you’re talking. I’ll start planning the wedding.” Harry chuckled then winked at you.

“You should probably start planning for a future where I leave you and move across the country because you drive me insane.”

“So, what’s the plan for today?” You looked up at him expectantly.

“Shower first?”

“Fine. But this time you have to scrub my back!”

Part Two

[queers-gambit]

The Black Dread part three

prompt: after word is sent for Dragonseeds to raise up, you shockingly claim The Black Dread. knowing your stance would all but determine the war, both Alicent and Rhaenyra send emissaries to persuade your allegiance through means of marriage. when tragedy strikes, you fly to war. -> in this part - you and Aemond get to know one another.

pairing: Jacaerys 'Jace' Velaryon x female!Tyrell!reader pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!Tyrell!reader -> hair color specified reader -> technically Targaryen!reader -> ALL characters aged 18+

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

series masterlist:The Black Dread part two: read here part four: read here

word count: 4k+

note: ALL characters are aged up - they are NOT minors

warnings: it's not much!!! cursing, ye ol’ flirting without chaperones, temptation / feelings are hard, romance, small angst, eavesdropping, men being gossipy little cunts who talk shit, broken family dynamics, we see a little more into big!sister!reader, depiction of medical phenomenons to a child.

Monday -

Eyme had been your lady's maid for years now, to the point the pair of you had formed an intimate relationship. Granted, Alora had been your closest companion since childhood, Eyme was close to an additional guardian; a kind and sweet soul that helped guide you through life. This mornings, she stood behind you, brushing your hair, watching you in the vanity mirror as you could not hide the deepening thoughts that melted your brain.

Even if not so obvious, she could read you like a book.

"You ready for today, dearie?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes, as I'll ever be," you mused, finding her gaze over your shoulder.

"Who is it you'll see today?"

"Prince Aemond. It's strange, you know? Picking between two Princes of the Realm when I was run out and humiliated during courting seasons at the Red Keep. What a rush, finding a husband the old fashion way; by being a bargaining chip in war," you mocked with a roll of your eyes.

She chuckled, securing the long, golden-red tresses, "No, the Gods were saving you for this moment. You'll turn the tides, my darling, in this war, in history, in the Targaryen lineage - "

"What does that mean?"

Eyme sighed, "We both know the rumors, darling girl. About the Black Queen's sons?"

You waved her off, "Oh, that's petty business - not our own."

"I'm just saying, you will change a lot of fates with your choice between the Princes."

"That's pressure I never imagined."

"You will make a handsome match to either," she assured softly. Eyme tied off your hair, fixed minimal make-up over your skin, and helped you dress in something comfortable with sensible shoes. Just outside your door, your usual household guardsman, Bryer, escorted you to your father's old office chambers to go over accounts for the day with Maester Keiff Foral.

It was there Aemond found you.

"I do not mean to interrupt," the Prince stopped short in the doorway, "I was a bit turned around - I can leave, if you could direct me - "

"No need, my Prince, please, come in," Maester Foral insisted, taking up several tomes and scrolls. "I'm on my way out, please sit. Could I send some tea up?"

"That would be nice, thank you, Maester," you agreed, shuffling a few accounts on the grand desk you sat at. "My Prince, I must apologize, unfortunately, being Lady of the House does not come with days off."

He hummed, "I understand that. Is now a bad time, my Lady?"

"No, you are most welcomed," you gestured him forward. "I need but a few moments to clean this up - "

"Take your time," Aemond smirked gently. "I had an idea, in fact, that might be of interest? Since you're in this clerical mindset?"

"Oh? I would like to hear it."

"Would you say you are proficient in High Valyrian? Being a Dragon Rider and all?"

You chuckled dryly, nodding, "Uh, well, no, I only know but a few words, and even those, I murder the pronunciation."

"Would you like to learn?"

"I need to," you nodded, "but it is also a personal desire of mine, yes."

"Is it too forward to ask if I could interest you in but a few lessons?"

There was a knock at the door as you left paperweights on the few stacks of parchment you had been reviewing, calling, "Come in!"

"My Lady," Eyme spoke softly, entering with a tray of tea, "Maester Foral sent me."

"Thank you, Eyme. But I think we might take this in the library, yes?" You asked Aemond, standing from your seat.

"Yes, if that's acceptable," he nodded, following your lead.

"Oh?" Eyme asked, scurrying out the door when Aemond held it open for you both.

"The Prince is kind enough to offer me lessons in High Valyrian."

"How nice," Eyme complimented, leading the way down the corridors. "Gods know you could use the lessons, she sounds like a drowning cat, my Prince - "

"I do not!"

"You have the attention span of a passing squirrel! It'd be a miracle if you could focus!"

Aemond found your relationship with 'the help' strangely cozy, something he wasn't sure how to feel about. He did not comment and instead smiled politely, but mostly just listened to the two of you bicker lovingly and wondering what kind of Princess of the Realm would speak so candidly to the commoners. The One-Eyed Prince reminded himself that the Tyrells weren't prominent in court and still considered 'low born', trying to cut you some slack when he accounted for your lack of royal decorum.

In the library, Aemond's nose turned up ever so slightly at the - by comparison to that of the Red Keep - minuscule space and minimal literary options. You and Eyme set up the tea at a table as he browsed the limited selection, doing his best not to literally pet a finger over the wood and through the dust. He heard you dismiss your handmaiden and asked over his shoulder, "Are you sure about these lessons, my Lady?"

"Why would I not be, my Prince? I ride a Dragon of Old Valyria, do I not?" You quipped.

"Yes, but it would appear your selection is vastly... Limited," he frowned, gesturing at the shelf he inspected. "It would seem you do not have... Anything on the subject at all."

"I've already pulled the literature," you told him smugly, his hair fanning around his shoulders as he turned to look at you in what appeared to be surprise. He discovered your fists on the table, candles arrayed for ample lighting, and stacks of books spaced out around you, the teapot, and cups.

"I see," He smirked in return, making his way back towards the table. "Is there a reason you've already arranged them?"

"In truth, I might be one of the few who frequents the library anymore," you shrugged, gesturing him to a seat. "And with my new acquaintanceship with Balerion, I've been the only one with need to refresh their memory on the histories of Valyria."

Aemond hummed and gazed over the spines of the books, nodding before making a selection. "I'm familiar with this volume. It's a good introduction," he opened the book with a rickety spine.

"That's been read," you eased, pointing to the pile he chose from, "those have all been read, actually."

"Very good," he nodded, storing his selection and turning for the other pile. You realized how much you liked his praise. "Anything you wish to disclose before we dive in?" The Prince distracted your rampant thoughts.

"I'm familiar with the histories, it's the language and pronunciations that I struggle with."

"It's not a language for the faint of heart."

"So I've discovered. I've oft heard it said immersion is the best educator, yet none in these parts can speak enough for me to practice with."

Aemond nodded, "Well... Should you choose to return with me to King's Landing, there's plenty to practice with."

"Oh?" You chuckled.

"Well... At least there's me," he purred, making a new selection and pulling the book closer. "Here we are," Aemond opened it, careful of the fragile pages. "This is good for what you need to know with Balerion."

You leaned forward on the table, smiling gently and listening intently; following his finger over the inked words on parchment as he began his lesson. In the candlelight, shadows contoured his face in an eerily handsome cast.

Wednesday -

It was difficult to remain so unbiased when both Princes were bringing their A-game; and it seemed, Aemond honed in on your lack of Targaryen experience to romance you with your birthrights. On Monday, Aemond had spent hours with you in the library, pouring over old tomes; patient in his lesson, trying to ensure you knew basic and important commands for when riding Balerion. And now, he was ushering you off the Keep's grounds to where the dragons were planted outside the gates.

"I must confess, I'm a bit nervous. Where are we going?" You laughed gently, the ground still slippery from early morning dew.

"For a flying lesson."

"Oh, no, no - I've only rode once and I'm fairly certain I blacked out for most of it."

"I can see why," Aemond mused, approaching the great ebony beast resting in the valley, "you don't even have a saddle, what terrible discomfort."

"Oh, well, I've sent ravens to King's Landing, asking any saddlery of his left be sent."

"Good," he praised, petting over the hand you had curled around his bicep. "He's... Larger than I would've imagined."

"He's a sweetie - " And of course, in that moment, Balerion lifted his head and bared his teeth in warning. You yanked Aemond to a halt, "But also conversationally temperamental."

"I was merely curious to see him with my own eyes," Aemond admitted. "He's greatly impressive."

You smiled, "Gorgeous, no?"

"I'd say."

"Did we come all this way to gawk at him, or...?"

"No, no," Aemond cleared his throat, "I thought perhaps I could tempt you into a flight on Vhagar. She's the closest thing in size and speed to Balerion, thought it might be good practice."

"You mean...?"

"By yourself? No, no, I'll be there, but yes, you'll need to know how to fly."

"I'm sure I could figure it out. Right?"

"If you'd like to take the chance," he agreed.

"All right," you took a breath and exhaled deeply. "All right, yeah, sure, let's do it." Balerion growled again, his eyes ablaze like the fire brewing in his chest; snorting in warning. In High Valyrian, you called, "Be calm, my friend."

"He's very protective of you," Aemond noted.

"As he should be," you smirked. You told your dragon, "We're visiting with Vhagar, be still. We'll be back."

After The Black Dread grumbled and lowered his head, the Prince offered his arm, "Right this way, Lady Tyrell."

You chuckled and let Aemond lead you upward, Balerion's growl vibrating the ground you ascended to hike out of the crater. You made idle chitchat as you walked, learning about his family unit and his influence in this war - but he seemed to shut down around that subject, so, you steered away.

Vhagar was impressive in size, but in earnest, a fraction of your beast. She was a sleepy old lady, Aemond rousing her with words you now understood and repeated after him - per his direction. You laughed, "You're a thorough educator."

"You're a dedicated student."

Sharing a smile, you watched him encourage his dragon into consciousness; telling her they were going for a fly and to behave. Carefully, Aemond showed you how to climb the rope ladder to mount Vhagar's saddle, giving a small but genuine chuckle when you teetered for balance and he needed to stabilize you. Together, with Aemond sat close behind you, showed you the ways in which a Targaryen Dragon Rider could control and hold onto their mount. He latched you to the saddle for safety and then himself; pressed so close, it was surely indecent.

Before anything could be said, Aemond was encouraging Vhagar to her feet. "Gods be fucking good!" You yelped at the sensation, grabbing onto the arm Aemond anchored your waist with. "Oh, fuck, okay, yeah, all right, this is fine," you muttered, nodding as you forced yourself to get used to the fact that you were a Dragon Rider now - an elite group amongst those who even ruled the Realm.

"You're all right," Aemond muttered in your ear. "I've got'yah." You gulped a little when Vhagar shook out her sleepy hide. "Ready?" He asked, repeating himself in High Valyrian.

You agreed in the same Tongue, "Ready."

Within moments, Vhagar was taking off over the grounds and into the air. You gasped shrilly and held on where Aemond placed your hands, trying to remember what he taught you - but every rational thought was out of your head in that moment. "Open your eyes," Aemond chuckled, hot breath fanning your neck and cheek, "a Dragon Rider must be alert at all times, open your eyes, my Lady."

"Oh, this is fucking scary," you breathed, doing as he said and letting your eyes pop open.

"What a mouth on you," he teased.

"We're in the bloody air! There's no place for decency up here!" You squealed, calming down enough to pant lightly and take in the sights around you. "Oh, wow... Wow, would you look at this..."

"Gorgeous, no?" He teased your words from earlier.

"Just - wow," you could only answer, Vhagar leveling out to flap her wings lazily.

"Vhagar," he commanded in High Valyrian, "higher."

You held onto the saddle as the dragon soared into the clouds, making you giggle a little from the strange sensation of flying through them; Aemond smiling against the shell of your ear. When you broke the seam of clouds, the sun was rising at the perfect moment to give you a shining display of brilliant blues, pinks, oranges, and yellows all painted in the sky and clouds.

"Hold here," Aemond instructed through the flight. "Lean left." "Lean back." "The dragon and rider must bond, they'll take verbal command." "Use this reign when in a fight - this one for altitude - hold here for casual cruising."

You soaked up his words like a sponge.

"Remember to breathe," his words tickled your ear, large hand splayed on your waist. "Keep your heels down, planted - like a horse, good, good, that's good."

Your head turned to watch his other hand 'check' your legs, ensuring they were in the right position on the saddle. When his gaze lifted, it was almost too natural for your foreheads too meet and press together. "It's improper..." You whispered, "But I feel the innate desire to kiss you, I think."

"Perhaps it's only improper beneath the clouds. There's no place for decency up here, right?"

You chuckled, "Right, but it's still improper of me as an unmarried lady no matter if above or below the clouds. I will resist, I'm sorry for voicing such desires."

"Don't apologize," he whispered, both content to simply be for a moment, "it's something I want to do as well."

"Looks like we're both being tempted," you tisked, pulling back. "Can I ask you a serious question?"

"Of course."

"What does life look like if your side is victorious in this war?"

Aemond pondered for a moment, offering, "I cannot say. Though, my brother is but a puppet."

"And you the master?"

"Amongst others, I suppose," He admitted, though it stuck in your mind. "Though, I suppose, life would be simple enough with Aegon on the Throne - there'd be no further challenge to his seat. We would live as comfortably as possible."

You hummed and decided to test your new knowledge. Picking up the right rope-reign, you commanded in High Valyrian, "Back to the Keep, Vhagar."

"Very good," Aemond chuckled, then repeating your command - as his dragon didn't listen to anyone other than him. Once on the ground, Aemond walked you through proper landing skills and then the dismount by unhooking all belts and climbing off the rope ladder.

Once safely away from his dragon, you chuckled, "Is it like that every time?"

"Like what, my Lady?"

"The rush? The adrenaline?"

"I'll let you know if it ever wears off."

You were beginning to think you'd have to 'let him know' if your budding affection for him ever began to 'wear off'. The One-Eyed Prince escorted you back into the Keep.

Saturday -

The Tullys House words were, "Family, Duty, Honor," and while you were a Tyrell and Targaryen, you held these words dear to your chest. You would always place your family above your duty and honor; your duty above yourself.

The night prior, your little brother began showing signs that he was starting an "episode", the kind term to his "fits". It worried you, but there was little to be done for now; so you told the staff to alert you to any changes he might have. You had plans to see Aemond one last time, so you left them directions on where to find you.

You were exhausted by the week's events; where your duties didn't stop, you were entertaining the Princes, and playing mother to a child not yours - though, that, you wouldn't give up or exchange for the world.

Still, you made an effort to visit with the Princes after their effort to travel to Highgarden.

Family. Duty. Honor.

So, the pair of you met in the lush gardens of your home, showing the Prince the vast array of different vegetation your family could boast. You spoke of little things from your youth to aspirations later in life; from favorite foods to how war might affect your marriage. All good things, all proper logistics needed considered before committing to lifelong matrimony. The peace shattered when Eyme came sprinting through the gardens, "My Lady! My Lady!"

"We're here," You turned immediately, Aemond's brow furrowing. "What is it?" You demanded when the handmaiden was within sight.

"It's - It's Ryden, my Lady, it's your brother - "

"I have to go, I'm so sorry," you bid Aemond, patting his arm as you disentangled yours from his. "I'm so sorry, my Prince, but my brother needs me. Please, en-enjoy the gardens! The fruits are edible, you must try them! I'm so sorry, again!"

He didn't get to answer as you intercepted Eyme and started up the path she had come barreling down. Aemond stood there, dumbfounded, blinking in shock before scoffing gently. He didn't even remember hearing what the problem was, only that it was something with your brother - then you were leaving. Without a thought, no other information requested. Aemond found this response dramatic as he returned to his guest chambers.

Later that evening, when your brother was safe in bed and under the watchful eye of Maester Keiff Foral, you decided you owed Prince Aemond an apology and explanation. You decided to seek him out in his guest chambers, sending for a reserve of sweet Dornish wine; approaching the cracked door when voices spilled into the hall in an echo.

Unfamiliar booming laughter accused, "Perhaps the Tyrells have taken a page from the Targaryens! And they love one another deeply! Too deeply!"

"Oh, please," Aemond was heard, "it was more panic than anything. It begs the question why she is caring for a child not her own? Am I foolish to think the Lady's reaction was extreme? Dramatic?"

"No, it sounds as if it was," the voice of Aemond's household guardsman, Criston Cole, was heard - possibly indicating the two were alone. "But women usually are, my friend. Why would the Lady Tyrell be different?"

"Her beauty might give her a pass," Aemond mused, "though, little else. Should hear the way she speaks to the castle staff, Cole, it's as if they're friends."

"Once she's out of her element, she'll calm down and depend on you, my Prince, she'll come to follow the rules. Then, I suppose all that's left is to thank the Targaryen whores for such a pretty bride," Cole snickered.

"How's that?"

You were repulsed by what you were hearing yet could not walk away, intrigue rooting your feet.

"You heard your mother," Cole lamented in amusement, "the Vanished Princess was granddaughter of Old King Jaehaerys, sister of the Queen Who Never Was."

"Mhm," Aemond agreed.

"She broke off her engagement to a Northern Lord, married some Tyrell instead, and was overlooked in favor of Viserys. But before that, she was disinherited and became a whore, all promiscuous and rebellious. At least Lord Tyrell managed to wrangle her in, right? Saddle such a ridden filly?"

"Unless you believe the rumors that say the Vanished Princess was pregnant already and Lord Tyrell raised the bastard as his own out of the goodness of his heart. Or that he was infertile, a eunuch, the rumors are vast - "

Cole cut Aemond off, "It still gives Lady Tyrell Dragon Blood, and we need her dragon, my Prince. So, bastard or not, we need Balerion on our side, it's in the Realm's best interest you cast aside your prejudice and conclude romancing her."

"She makes her decision tomorrow."

"So go to her tonight."

Your face pulled in a look of disgust, stepping back a few steps and loudly approaching. You knocked heavily on the door, letting it swing open further to reveal yourself to the two scheming bastards. Your hand discreetly held up to halt Eyme before she was in view, intercepting the decanter of Dornish wine before it could be delivered.

"My Lady," Cole jumped to his feet.

"No, please, don't get up, I will not be long," You spoke diplomatically, waving the guardsman back to his seat. "I merely wished to offer my apologies to the Prince again, explain what caused me to leave in such a dramatic fashion."

The two didn't seem to pick up on your choice of words.

"As most of the Realm knows, my father has been sickly for quite sometime and as his firstborn, his responsibilities fall unto me. My father is now fully disabled and bound to a bed, but for years, he's been friendly with Death. He's not long for this world, and without our mother, I am all my brother has. He's just a boy of 10, named Ryden. When he was about 7, he fell from a tree and hit his head, where now, he suffers from some affliction that gives him what we call 'episodes' or 'fits'. Any could be his last and it takes a team to pull him out of them. I apologize for my abrupt departure earlier, my Prince, but Ryden began having symptoms last night and I knew today could get bad; so I wanted to be there - since he has nobody else."

Family. Duty. Honor.

"Oh," Aemond blinked, slowly standing from his seat, "no, no, my Lady, please, do not apologize. Is your brother all right?"

"I appreciate the concern - yes, he's all right now. I have assigned a trusted few to the nightshift in preparation for the morrow. I trust your company will be present?"

"Of course," Cole agreed, looking rightfully shellshocked.

"Right. Then, goodnight, I shall see you both tomorrow afternoon."

Aemond might've opened his mouth to stop you, but you were rushing from the room and shutting the chamber door with a loud, reverberating clang. It was your silent way of saying, 'That's how you close a fucking door!'

You seethed against the wood for a moment, feeling your lip authentically twitch in pure rage; movement catching in your peripheral and alerting you to another presence.

It was Eyme, still holding the wine.

Swiftly, you lifted a silencing finger to your lips and ushered her back several feet. She followed suit, hustling along your side when you changed direction to head for your chambers instead. You were huffing and puffing with exertion when you reached your private salvation, facing Eyme in anguish as tears filled your eyes.

"What did I miss?" She asked softly.

"Much I care not to repeat."

"If you do to me, you need not to anyone else."

You mulled over her words, nodding along. "You knew my mother, didn't you, Eyme?" You asked instead.

Your handmaiden set the wine to a table and sighed, "Aye, I did. I adored the woman, we knew one another in youth and she brought me here when she married your father."

"Would you pour a glass?"

She nodded and did as bid, handing you the chalice; pausing, then pouring her own. Eyme deflated into one of your armchairs, asking, "Why do you ask, poppet?"

You gulped about half the wine, swallowing bitterly. "I think I wish to address rumors of her... I know what I wish to say, would you help me write it out? Tell me what I missed?"

"What brought this on? What did you hear Prince Aemond say?"

"For that, we'll need more wine," you muttered, going to open your door to flag a passing maid as Eyme gathered parchment and a quill with ink.

It was a long, sleepless night.

part two: read here

part four: read here

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

The Black Dread series masterlist

[emjayewrites]

written in the stars • ibou konate series (2/16)

GIF by suckmyarschkarte

SYNOPSIS: When duty and destiny collide, Liverpool defender Ibou Konaté finds himself married to a stranger. Their modern values clash with ancient traditions as they navigate a world where neither fully belongs - too faithful for some, too progressive for others. Between Premier League pressure and painful family expectations, they must discover if an arrangement made by others can transform into a love written by their own hearts.

PAIRINGS: Ibou Konaté x Rabia Amal Hassan Farah (fc: @/kingedna_)

WARNINGS: mentions of religion (Islam), fluff, non-sexual intimacy (i.e. kissing, hand holding), very loose depictions of sex (this will not feature smut)

TAGLIST: @kj77 @ibouchouchou, @lev-1-1, @irishmanwhore, @jessnotwiththemess @peyiswriting @tsukishimawhore @themaster2007-blog @sucredreamer @muglermami @rougereds @eriks-girl @amirawrah @t-bpe @butterpas2 @cleverwinnermak @coffeevacation @alika-4466 @thepointlessideas @iamryanl

A/N: Hey everyone, please note that this story is different than others as it will not include explicit smut. It will be some closed-door love scenes to be respectful of his faith. I've done a lot of research on Islam and Ibou, but please let me know if anything is incorrect.

Part II: Football Wife

The Uber driver kept glancing at her in the rearview mirror. Rabia pretended not to notice, focusing on the unfamiliar streets passing by outside the window. Liverpool in daylight was a different city entirely – less mysterious than her rainy arrival had suggested, more vibrant with its mix of historic buildings and modern life.

"First time in Liverpool?" the driver finally asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

"Yes," she replied, now familiar with the question. "Just moved here."

"From where, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Dubai most recently. But I grew up in Belgium."

"Long way from home then," he observed. "What brings you to our city? Work?"

Rabia hesitated, weighing her answer. "Marriage, actually."

"Ah, love!" The driver beamed. "Powerful thing, that. Got me to move from Glasgow twenty years ago for my wife. Never regretted it."

Love. The word hung in the air, neither confirmed nor denied. Easier to let him assume than explain the complexities of an arranged marriage to a stranger.

"We're here," he announced as they pulled up to a stylish café on Bold Street. "Leaf's brilliant for lunch. Your husband's got good taste."

"My friend chose it, actually," Rabia clarified, gathering her bag. "But thank you."

The café was busy with the lunch crowd – a mix of professionals, students, and shoppers seeking refuge from Liverpool's perpetual threat of rain. Rabia scanned the tables, anxiety fluttering in her chest. She'd only met Magi briefly at the wedding, and now she was meant to have an entire lunch with her – the veteran footballer's wife guiding the rookie.

"Rabia!"

She turned to see Magi Salah waving from a corner table, looking effortlessly put-together in a modest but fashionable outfit – dark jeans, an oversized cream sweater, and a beautifully arranged hijab in a complementary beige.

"You found it!" Magi stood to greet her with a warm hug. "I was worried you might get lost."

"Thank goodness for Uber," Rabia admitted, settling into the chair across from her. "I haven't quite figured out Liverpool's geography yet."

"It took me months," Magi confided with a sympathetic smile. "Mo kept finding me in random neighborhoods when I first moved here."

There was something instantly comforting about Magi's presence – a warmth and authenticity that put Rabia at ease. Here was a woman who had walked this path before her, navigating the strange intersection of faith, football, and foreign culture.

"I ordered us some tea," Magi gestured to the pot between them. "Hope that's okay. This place is known for their blends."

"Perfect, thank you."

After placing their lunch orders, Magi leaned forward slightly, her eyes kind but direct. "So, how are you really doing? And you don't have to give me the polite answer. I remember those first weeks all too well."

The simple question, asked with such genuine concern, nearly undid Rabia's carefully maintained composure. How was she doing? She barely knew herself.

"I'm..." she began, then stopped, reconsidering. "Actually, I'm not sure. Everything happened so quickly. One minute I was running my boutique in Dubai, the next I'm a footballer's wife in Liverpool."

Magi nodded understanding. "The whiplash is real. One day you're yourself, the next day you're 'Mrs. Whatever' and everyone has expectations."

"Exactly!" Relief flooded Rabia at being so perfectly understood. "And I keep thinking I should have a handbook or something."

"Don't tell me you've been watching those awful WAG shows," Magi groaned.

Caught, Rabia felt heat rise to her cheeks. "For research purposes only."

Magi's laughter was bright and genuine. "Oh honey, those shows are about as realistic as thinking all Muslims are the same. Pure fiction dressed as reality."

"I may have taken notes," Rabia admitted sheepishly.

"Burn them," Magi advised, eyes twinkling. "The real handbook is much simpler. Be yourself, support your husband, and ignore the noise."

"The noise?"

"The press, the fans, the critics, the so-called friends who suddenly appear when your husband gets famous." Magi's expression turned more serious. "Our husbands signed up for the spotlight. We just happened to marry into it."

Their food arrived – vibrant salads topped with grilled halloumi and pomegranate seeds. As they ate, Magi shared stories from her early days as Mo's wife, the culture shock of England, the challenges of making friends in a new country.

"The football world is... different," she explained. "Not bad, just different. There's this strange bubble where normal rules don't quite apply. Money, fame, pressure – it changes the dynamics of everything."

"I'm worried about fitting in," Rabia confessed. "I don't know anything about football beyond the basics."

"You don't need to," Magi assured her. "Ibou doesn't need another coach or analyst. He needs a wife – someone who sees him beyond the game."

"That's the tricky part," Rabia said, pushing a piece of cheese around her plate. "We barely know each other. The whole arrangement happened so fast."

Magi didn't seem surprised by the mention of arrangement. Mo had probably filled her in on the details.

"Mo and I had an arranged marriage too," she revealed, confirming Rabia's suspicion. "Not exactly the same – we'd known each other's families for years – but still, not the romantic fairy tale people assume."

This was news to Rabia. The Salahs always seemed so naturally connected, so in sync. "Really? But you seem so..."

"In love?" Magi smiled. "We are now. But it took time, patience, and a lot of awkward conversations." She reached across the table to squeeze Rabia's hand briefly. "Love can grow from respect and friendship. Sometimes it's stronger that way, because you build it deliberately instead of falling into it blindly."

Something loosened in Rabia's chest at these words. Permission to take time. Acknowledgment that what she and Ibou were navigating wasn't abnormal or doomed – just different.

"How did you... I mean, when did you know it was becoming more than arrangement?" she asked, unable to keep the question inside.

Magi considered this, her expression softening with memory. "There wasn't one moment. It was a collection of small things. The way he remembered how I take my tea. How he called his mother for my favorite recipe when I was homesick. The look on his face the first time I cheered at the right moment during a match." She laughed softly. "I'd been practicing, you see. Learning when to cheer. And he knew it, and appreciated the effort."

"Ibou seemed happy when I remembered something about an upcoming match," Rabia offered, thinking of their morning conversation.

"See? Those little bridges you build toward each other – that's where it starts."

They talked through dessert and second cups of tea – about practical matters like matchday protocols, about the best places to shop in Liverpool, about the challenges of maintaining faith in the spotlight. Magi offered advice without being preachy, shared experiences without suggesting they were universal.

"The most important thing," she said as they prepared to leave, "is remembering that your marriage is yours. Not your parents', not the community's, not the public's. What works for Mo and me might not work for you and Ibou."

Outside the café, they exchanged a warm hug.

"Call me anytime," Magi insisted. "Seriously. Middle of the night identity crisis? I've been there."

"Thank you," Rabia said, meaning it deeply. "For lunch, for the advice, for..."

"Understanding?" Magi supplied with a gentle smile. "That's what friends are for. And you need friends here, outside of just being Ibou's wife."

As her Uber carried her back through Liverpool's streets toward her new home, Rabia felt lighter than she had in days. She wasn't alone in this strange journey. Others had walked this path before her and found not just contentment but joy.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Ibou: "Training finished early. Coming home soon."

Such a simple message, yet her heart quickened reading it. Home. Their home. Where they were building something unique – not a fairy tale romance, but perhaps something equally valuable.

A marriage of choice, even if the initial choice hadn't been entirely theirs.

Rabia was halfway through a virtual tour of her boutique when she heard the front door open. She'd been FaceTiming with her assistant Nadia, checking displays and approving new merchandise arrangements, her laptop open to spreadsheets of quarterly sales figures.

"He's home," she whispered to Nadia, suddenly conscious of how domestic that sounded. "I'll call you back later."

"Give that husband of yours a proper kiss!" Nadia teased before Rabia could end the call, her voice loud enough to possibly carry beyond the living room.

Mortified, Rabia quickly hung up, setting her phone down just as Ibou appeared in the doorway. His hair was damp from a post-training shower, his training gear exchanged for casual clothes. He looked tired but content, his eyes brightening when they landed on her.

"Back early like you said. How was training?" she said, closing her laptop.

"Slot satisfied with the preparation," he explained, setting down his gym bag. "Says too much training makes legs heavy for match."

"How thoughtful of him." She smiled, surprised by how genuinely pleased she was to see him. Lunch with Magi had left her feeling more settled, more open to possibilities.

Ibou gestured to her computer. "I interrupt your work?"

"Just checking in with my assistant. Making sure the boutique hasn't collapsed without me."

"And has it?"

"Not yet," she laughed. "Though apparently one customer threatened to never return because we didn't have her size in our new abayas."

"Terrible crisis," he agreed solemnly, though his eyes crinkled with amusement. He hesitated in the doorway, as if unsure whether to join her or give her space. "Your lunch with Magi was good?"

"Really good," she nodded. "She's wonderful. Gave me lots of insider tips on footballer wife protocol."

"Protocol?" His eyebrows shot up in alarm. "There is protocol?"

"Oh yes," she said, keeping her expression serious. "Very strict rules. For instance, I'm only allowed to wear team colors on match days, must learn the offside rule within thirty days of marriage, and am required to bake cookies for the locker room once a month."

Ibou's face went from concerned to suspicious to amused in the span of seconds. "You are teasing me."

"Maybe a little," she admitted with a grin. "Though Magi did have useful advice."

"Such as?"

"That every football family finds their own balance," she said. "Some wives are completely involved in every aspect, others maintain separate lives entirely. She said what matters is finding what works for us."

He nodded thoughtfully. "This makes sense. No one solution for everyone."

"She also mentioned you and Mo have been talking about us," Rabia added with a raised eyebrow.

Ibou had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Just... comparing notes? This is wrong English maybe."

"Comparing notes on your arranged wives?" she pressed, though her tone remained light.

"More like... asking advice," he clarified. "Mo has successful marriage. I want same."

The simple honesty of that statement disarmed her completely. "I want that too," she admitted softly.

A moment of understanding passed between them, neither quite ready to define what "successful" meant in their context, but both acknowledging the shared goal.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, changing the subject. "I can make early dinner."

"I'd love to see these cooking skills you mentioned," she said, closing her laptop. "Need help?"

In the kitchen, Rabia discovered that Ibou wasn't just being modest – he moved with confidence, preparing ingredients for what he called "footballer pasta" with practiced ease.

"Secret of professional athletes," he explained, dicing vegetables with surprising precision. "Carbs, protein, simple."

"And here I thought you all had personal chefs," she teased, perching on a barstool at the kitchen island.

"Some do," he conceded. "I prefer to know what goes in my food."

"Control freak?" she suggested playfully.

"Defender," he corrected with a small smile. "Always preparing, always careful."

Something about that resonated with her – this instinct to protect, to prevent problems before they arose. She recognized it in herself too, in how she ran her business, how she approached relationships.

"Did you decide if you'll come to match?" he asked, focusing on stirring the sauce.

The question caught her off guard. "I... hadn't thought about it. Should I?"

"Only if you want," he said quickly. "No pressure. But I can arrange ticket. Good seat."

"I'd like that," she decided, surprising herself with how much she meant it. "Magi offered to sit with me, actually. Said the first match can be overwhelming."

His expression brightened visibly. "This is good! She will explain everything."

"Hopefully she can explain why grown men fall down clutching their legs when barely touched," Rabia teased.

Ibou gasped in mock offense. "This is football slander! In my own kitchen!"

"Our kitchen," she corrected automatically, then froze, realizing the casual claim she'd just staked.

Instead of awkwardness, his face softened. "Yes. Our kitchen."

They ate at the kitchen island rather than the formal dining room, the pasta simple but delicious. Conversation flowed more easily than it had before, perhaps because of their separate experiences today – her with Magi, him with training – giving them new things to share, new perspectives to offer.

"Magi mentioned something interesting," Rabia ventured as they finished eating. "She said you and I are both overthinkers. That we probably spend too much time analyzing and not enough time just... being."

"Mo says same thing," Ibou nodded, seeming unsurprised. "Says I prepare too much for life. That some things cannot be tactically planned."

"Like arranged marriages?" she suggested with a wry smile.

"Exactly like arranged marriages," he agreed. "Though imam did good scouting, I think."

That made her laugh – the football metaphor perfectly capturing their situation. "Excellent transfer window strategy."

After dinner, they fell into a comfortable routine – Rabia insisted on washing dishes since he'd cooked, while Ibou made tea. They settled in the living room afterward, the evening stretching before them with no particular plans.

"Magi also mentioned I should see where you work," she said, curling up on the sofa with her tea. "Is there a way to tour Anfield when it's not match day?"

The question clearly delighted him. "Of course! I can arrange private tour. Show you everything – training facilities, locker room, pitch."

"I'd like that," she said, finding it was true. Understanding his world seemed important, even if football itself held little inherent interest for her.

"Tomorrow after match, maybe? If not too tired?"

"Sure, though shouldn't you rest after playing?"

"Light movement is good," he assured her. "Prevents stiffness."

They spent the evening making plans for the weekend – the match, the tour, perhaps exploring Liverpool a bit if weather permitted. It felt surprisingly normal, this domestic planning, this carving out of shared experiences.

Later, as they prepared for bed, Rabia found herself watching Ibou's reflection in the bathroom mirror as he brushed his teeth. There was something endearing about seeing this side of him – not the polished professional athlete or the formal groom, but just a man in pajama pants with toothpaste foam on his lip.

"What?" he asked, catching her gaze in the mirror.

"Nothing," she said, then decided on honesty. "Just... this is nice. The everyday things. They're making this feel more real somehow."

He rinsed and considered her words. "Real is good?"

"Real is good," she confirmed. "Better than the strange limbo of 'married but not quite' that we've been in."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. "We find our way," he said quietly. "No rush, but no standing still either."

"Exactly."

That night, as they settled under the covers with their usual careful distance, something felt different. Not a dramatic change, but a subtle shift – like pieces of a puzzle slowly moving into alignment, not quite fitting yet, but getting closer.

Progress wasn't always grand gestures or passionate declarations. Sometimes it was sharing pasta at a kitchen island, making weekend plans, or simply acknowledging that reality – with all its mundane moments and awkward adjustments – was better than any artificial perfection.

Small steps, but deliberate ones. Moving forward together.

Rabia had expected noise, crowds, perhaps some aggression — the stereotypical football atmosphere she'd seen in movies. Instead, what struck her first was the reverence. Fans in red filing into the stadium with something like pilgrimage in their movements, scarves held aloft, voices joining in songs she didn't recognize but felt the power of nonetheless.

"It's something, isn't it?" Magi said beside her, guiding her through the VIP entrance. "First time I came, I actually cried. Mo still teases me about it."

"It's... not what I expected," Rabia admitted, unable to stop herself from taking photos of everything—the pitch emerging like an impossible emerald as they entered their section, the stands filling with rivers of red, the massive scoreboards, the intense focus on the players warming up below.

Their seats were perfect — not too ostentatious in a private box, but excellent views in a section clearly reserved for players' families. Magi introduced her to a few other wives and girlfriends who welcomed her warmly but without fuss, respecting the overwhelmed look that must have been evident on her face.

"Don't worry about remembering everyone today," Magi murmured. "There's time for that. Just enjoy the experience."

Rabia nodded gratefully, her phone constantly in hand, capturing everything. She'd been careful with social media since posting their wedding photos—a decision that had resulted in an explosion of new followers and messages ranging from congratulatory to invasive. Today she was taking photos just for herself, to remember this first.

On the pitch, she spotted Ibou among the warming-up players, his tall frame unmistakable even at this distance. Something fluttered in her chest watching him — pride, perhaps, or simple recognition that this man who kissed her forehead each morning was about to perform for thousands.

"They're quite good, you know," an elderly gentleman said from the seat behind her, noticing her focused attention. "Your Ibou especially. Rock solid at the back."

"Thank you," she replied, uncertain how else to respond to this casual assessment of her husband's professional abilities.

"We were all quite happy to see the wedding photos," the man continued with genuine warmth. "Lovely couple. About time he settled down with someone special."

It was such a normal conversation — the kind any new spouse might have with a well-wisher — yet in this context, from a complete stranger, it reminded Rabia of her new public-adjacent status. The wedding photos she'd posted had apparently been widely shared among Liverpool supporters, who now felt a distant familiar connection to her.

"Liverpool fans are quite protective of their players," Magi explained later, seemingly reading her thoughts. "Especially the ones like Ibou and Mo who represent their values off the pitch too. Faith, family, work ethic — it resonates here."

As the match began, Rabia found herself drawn in despite her limited understanding of the game's nuances. Magi proved an excellent guide, explaining key moments without overwhelming her with details, pointing out Ibou's specific responsibilities in defense.

"Watch how he organizes the line," she suggested as Manchester City mounted an attack. "He's constantly communicating, positioning everyone."

Sure enough, Rabia could see Ibou directing traffic, pointing, shifting slightly, making minute adjustments that somehow neutralized the threat. It was like watching a chess master anticipate moves three steps ahead — analytical, precise, intelligent.

Just like he was at home, she realized. The defender mindset Ibou had mentioned — always preparing, always careful — wasn't just his football identity. It was simply him.

When he made a crucial tackle that had the crowd erupting in approval, Rabia found herself on her feet cheering without even realizing she'd stood. Magi caught her eye with knowing amusement.

"Happens to all of us," she laughed. "One minute you're just being supportive, the next you're screaming about offside traps."

The atmosphere built as the match progressed, Liverpool taking the lead, then City equalizing, tension mounting with each passing minute. Rabia found herself genuinely invested, stomach knotting with anxiety during dangerous moments, breath catching when Liverpool attacked.

"Is it always this stressful?" she asked during a brief lull.

"Always," Magi confirmed. "You never get used to it. Mo plays hundreds of matches, and I still feel sick with nerves every time."

In the eighty-third minute, with the score still level, Ibou rose highest at a corner kick, his powerful header sending the ball crashing into the net. The stadium exploded, a wall of noise that Rabia felt physically, vibrating through her body.

Without thinking, she grabbed Magi in a tight hug, both of them jumping and screaming. Around them, complete strangers were embracing, crying, celebrating as if a war had been won rather than a point scored in a game.

"That's his first goal this season!" Magi exclaimed, her voice barely audible over the continuing roar. "What perfect timing!"

Rabia couldn't stop smiling, her heart racing with vicarious joy. On the pitch, Ibou was being mobbed by teammates, his usual composure replaced by pure elation. She captured the moment on her phone, wanting to preserve this image of her normally controlled husband in a moment of unbridled celebration.

When the final whistle blew — Liverpool 2, Manchester City 1 — the release of collective tension was palpable. Rabia found herself exhausted just from watching, from the emotional investment she hadn't expected to make.

"So?" Magi asked as they gathered their things, preparing to head to the family lounge where they would meet the players after their media duties. "What did you think?"

"I think I understand why people care so much now," Rabia admitted. "It's not just a game, is it?"

"Not here," Magi agreed, gesturing to the still-singing fans slowly filing out. "Not to them."

The family lounge was another new experience —children running around excitedly, partners waiting with varying degrees of patience, staff ensuring everything ran smoothly. Rabia found herself hanging back slightly, still uncertain of her place in this established community.

"Mrs. Konaté?"

She turned to find a club staff member approaching with a smile.

"Ibou asked me to show you to a slightly quieter area," he explained. "He thought you might be overwhelmed by all this on your first visit."

The thoughtfulness of it — Ibou anticipating her discomfort even in his moment of triumph — touched her deeply. The staff member led her to a smaller side room where a few other people waited, mostly older family members who similarly seemed to appreciate the calmer environment.

When Ibou finally appeared, hair still damp from his shower, he scanned the room immediately, his face lighting up when he spotted her. He moved toward her with purpose, seeming to forget anyone else was present.

"You came," he said simply, as if her presence was the real victory of the day.

"Of course I did," she replied, suddenly shy under his intense focus. "Congratulations on your goal. It was incredible."

"You saw?" His smile widened, impossibly boyish for someone of his stature.

"The whole stadium saw," she teased. "We all went a bit mad, actually."

"We?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly pleased.

"I may have caught the football fever," she admitted. "Temporarily."

He laughed, the sound rich with genuine happiness. For a moment they just looked at each other, sharing something new and undefined — a joy that belonged to both of them, experienced from different perspectives but connected nonetheless.

Then, with a glance around to ensure they weren't creating a spectacle, Ibou bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead — their now-familiar greeting. But then, he added a gentle kiss to each cheek, lingering just a fraction longer than usual.

"Thank you for coming," he murmured. "It means... a lot."

The simple sincerity in his voice, the warmth in his eyes — it created a flutter in Rabia's chest that had nothing to do with football excitement and everything to do with the man standing before her.

"I'm glad I did," she said softly. "Though fair warning, I took about three hundred photos and will probably require detailed explanations of at least half the things I saw today."

"Deal," he agreed immediately. "Full tactical breakdown later. But there's someone I want you to meet," Ibou said as they navigated the stadium corridors, his hand a gentle presence at the small of her back. "Many someones, actually."

Rabia felt a flutter of nervous anticipation. "Your teammates?"

He nodded, looking slightly anxious himself. "Is important. They are like family."

She understood then – this wasn't just casual introductions. These were people who mattered to Ibou, whose approval and acceptance would impact their daily lives.

"Lead the way," she said, straightening her hijab slightly and squaring her shoulders. First impressions mattered.

The players' lounge was less chaotic than the family area, with teammates gathered in small groups, some with partners and children, others clustered around a table laden with food. The atmosphere was relaxed but energetic – the satisfied exhaustion of men who had accomplished something difficult together.

"Ibou!" A tall player with an impressive beard approached them first, clapping her husband on the shoulder. "Man of the match! And this must be the famous Rabia."

"Virgil," Ibou made the introduction, "my wife, Rabia. Rabia, this is Virgil van Dijk, our captain."

"The defender who taught my husband everything he knows?" she responded with a smile, recalling details from Ibou's many tactical explanations.

Virgil laughed appreciatively. "I like her already, Ibou. She knows who the real talent is in our backline."

"Do not encourage his ego," Ibou groaned. "Is already too big since he became captain."

The easy banter between them gave Rabia a glimpse into their relationship – respectful but comfortable, the kind of friendship forged through shared challenges and triumphs.

"Welcome to the madhouse," Virgil said warmly. "If you need anything at all, let me know."

"Thank you," Rabia replied, genuinely touched by the sincere offer.

One by one, Ibou introduced her to his teammates. Trent, the local boy with a cheeky grin who immediately proclaimed himself "the cool uncle when you two have kids." Mo and Magi, reuniting with them with the ease of established friendship. The manager, Arne Slot, offering a thanks for "supporting Ibou through this important season."

What struck Rabia most wasn't just the welcome she received, but the clear respect everyone had for Ibou. There were no inappropriate comments or suggestive looks, no assumptions about their relationship – just genuine pleasure at meeting the woman their teammate had married.

"Your Mo had something to do with this, I think," she whispered to Magi during a brief moment alone as Ibou was pulled into a conversation with Slot.

"Perhaps a small warning went out," Magi admitted with a smile. "But honestly, these are good men. They understand faith and family better than most teams."

A younger player approached them – the striker who'd scored Liverpool's first goal, Rabia recalled.

"Mrs. Konaté," he greeted her in careful French. "Je suis très heureux de vous rencontrer."

"Merci," she replied, pleasantly surprised. "Your French is quite good."

"Ibou has been teaching me," he explained, switching back to English with a shy smile. "Said it would help my game to understand his callouts better."

This small revelation – that Ibou took time to teach a younger teammate, that he spoke about her enough for the boy to know French would please her – warmed her unexpectedly.

Across the room, she caught Ibou watching her, a mixture of pride and nervousness in his expression. She gave him a small thumbs up, and the relief that washed over his face was almost comical.

"He was terrified we'd scare you off," Trent confided, appearing at her elbow with a plate of food. "Made us all promise to be on our best behavior. No football stories involving swearing or injuries."

"Really?" she laughed, glancing back at Ibou who was now deep in conversation with Mo but still stealing glances her way.

"Oh yeah. Gave us a proper team talk about it yesterday. 'My wife is coming tomorrow. She is intelligent and cultured. Do not embarrass me with your terrible jokes.'" Trent's impression of Ibou's accent was terrible but endearing.

"He said that?" The thought of Ibou preparing his teammates to meet her, just as carefully as he prepared for matches, sent another wave of warmth through her chest.

"More or less. He really wants you to feel welcome." Trent's usually playful expression turned more sincere. "We all do. Ibou's one of the good ones."

"I'm beginning to see that," she said softly.

Eventually, Ibou made his way back to her side. "Everything okay?" he asked quietly. "Not too overwhelming?"

"Everything's perfect," she assured him. "Your teammates are lovely."

"They are on best behavior," he said suspiciously. "Especially Trent. What did he say to you?"

"Only nice things," she promised. "Though his impression of your accent needs work."

Ibou groaned. "He did not."

"He did," she confirmed with a laugh. "But it was quite sweet, actually."

As the gathering began to wind down, Rabia found herself in conversation with several of the partners – discussing everything from Liverpool's best restaurants to reliable home services. There was no interrogation about her background or relationship, no judgment about her arranged marriage – just practical welcome and genuine inclusion.

"Ready to go?" Ibou asked eventually, appearing at her side. "Or you want to stay longer?"

"I think I'm ready," she admitted. The day had been wonderful but exhausting – full of new experiences, new people, new emotions.

As they said their goodbyes, Rabia was struck by how natural it felt already – this integration into Ibou's world, this extension of her own. These weren't just his colleagues; they were a community that touched every aspect of his life. And now, by extension, hers.

In the car on the way home, comfortable silence settled between them, both processing the day's events.

"Thank you," Ibou said finally as they neared their house. "For coming. For meeting everyone."

"Thank you for scoring a goal on my first match," she replied with a smile. "Setting a high standard for future attendance."

He laughed, then grew more serious. "They liked you. I could tell."

"I liked them too," she said honestly. "They respect you a great deal, you know."

He shrugged modestly, but she could see the pleased expression he tried to hide. "They are good people."

"And they clearly received very strict instructions about meeting me," she added teasingly.

"Trent talks too much."

"It was sweet," she assured him, reaching over to briefly touch his arm. "That you cared so much about making it comfortable for me."

The simple touch – initiated by her for perhaps the first time – hung between them for a moment, significant in its casualness.

"Of course I care," he said quietly, his eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to the road. "You are my wife."

Four simple words, yet they carried weight. Not just duty or arrangement or obligation, but genuine concern for her happiness, her comfort, her integration into his world.

As they pulled into their driveway, Rabia realized something important: for the first time since their wedding, she didn't feel like a visitor in Ibou's life. Today, she had glimpsed what it might mean to truly be his partner – to share in his victories, to know his friends, to understand his passion.

Another threshold crossed. Another small step forward.

The excitement of Saturday's match against Manchester City, which was Rabia's first live football experience, had barely settled when Liverpool's punishing schedule continued. Sunday had been recovery for Ibou, Monday a light training session, and Tuesday more intense preparation for their upcoming midweek fixture against Newcastle.

Just a few days into her introduction to football life, and Rabia was already beginning to understand the relentless rhythm that would govern their lives together.

This Wednesday morning, however, brought unexpected respite. Slot had granted a rare day off after cancelling their scheduled afternoon session, wanting players fresh for tomorrow's final tactical preparation before the Newcastle match.

"So you actually get to stay home all day?" Rabia asked over breakfast, still adjusting to the unpredictable nature of Ibou's schedule.

"Unexpected gift," he confirmed with a smile. "Weather too bad for training, Slot says. Better to rest."

December in Liverpool was proving to be exactly as everyone had warned — bitter winds, horizontal rain, and darkness that seemed to lift for only a few hours each day. Nothing like the bright Dubai mornings she'd left behind.

They'd fallen into the beginnings of routine already, even in these early days of marriage. Fajr prayer before dawn, side by side on their prayer rugs with the proper distance maintained between them. Breakfast together if Ibou didn't have early training. Separate work during the day — Rabia managing her boutique remotely, Ibou at the training ground. Reconnecting in the evenings over dinner and quieter activities.

Today's unexpected togetherness disrupted these nascent patterns, creating space for something new to emerge.

Rabia's phone buzzed on the counter, her mother's contact photo appearing on screen. She turned it face down with practiced quickness, a gesture that didn't escape Ibou's notice.

"Everything okay?" he asked carefully.

"Just my mother," she sighed. "Again."

"You don't want to speak with her?"

"Not really," Rabia admitted. "Not when I know exactly what she wants to talk about."

Though they'd been married only weeks, the expectations were clear — consummation, pregnancy, continuing their respective family lines. Traditional expectations that had followed them despite their otherwise modern approaches to faith and life.

"Ah," Ibou nodded understanding. "My mother similar. Already asking when we will give her grandchildren."

The elephant in the room — their still-unconsummated marriage — seemed suddenly larger in the morning light. They'd established a careful routine of distance since the wedding night, neither pushing for more until they'd built something beyond arrangement.

"Does it bother you?" Rabia asked suddenly, the question escaping before she could reconsider. "That we haven't..."

"No," he said simply, his eyes meeting hers with calm sincerity. "Our marriage, our timeline."

The simple statement — acknowledging both the situation and her autonomy within it — loosened something tight in her chest. For all his traditional faith, Ibou had never once made her feel that her primary value lay in physical obligation or childbearing.

"Thank you," she said softly.

After breakfast, they settled into a comfortable coexistence — Rabia with her laptop at the kitchen island, managing emails and video calls with her boutique staff, Ibou reviewing match footage in the living room despite his supposed day off.

The call to Dhuhr prayer provided natural structure to their day, bringing them together for wudu and prayer before separating again to their respective tasks.

"Do you always watch this much footage on your days off?" Rabia asked later, finding him still focused on his tablet, notebook filled with observations.

"Newcastle has tricky forwards," he explained, not looking up. "Need to understand patterns."

She watched him for a moment — the intensity of his concentration, the methodical way he noted timestamps and positions, the seriousness he brought to his profession even in these private moments.

"You're very dedicated," she observed, settling beside him on the sofa, though maintaining their usual careful distance.

"Job is privilege," he said simply. "Must honor with full effort."

Another piece of understanding slotted into place — his work ethic, his sense of responsibility, his commitment to excellence in his chosen field. Values that mirrored her own approach to her business, creating another point of unexpected connection.

The afternoon brought Liverpool's weather to its full December potential — rain lashing against windows, wind howling through the garden trees, darkness falling by mid-afternoon.

"Too awful to go anywhere," Rabia noted, peering through curtains at the dismal scene outside.

"Good day for movies," Ibou suggested, finally setting aside his match analysis. "Your choice."

They settled in the living room with tea and the box of Lebanese sweets Magi had sent home with them after the match, debating film options with the easy conversation of people slowly becoming comfortable with each other.

Rabia's phone buzzed again — her mother, persistent as always.

"I should answer," she sighed, reaching for it.

"Want privacy?" Ibou offered immediately, already moving to stand.

"No," she decided after a moment's consideration. "Stay."

Something shifted in his expression — appreciation, perhaps, for being included rather than excluded from this family interaction. For being treated as her partner rather than an adjacent presence.

"Mama," she answered, switching to Somali as she always did with her parents. "Yes, I know, it's been a few days..."

The conversation proceeded exactly as Rabia had anticipated — inquiries about her health thinly veiling the real questions. Was she adapting to married life? Was everything "normal" between them? Had she seen a doctor about prenatal vitamins?

"It's only been a few days, Mama," she said finally, reverting to English in her frustration, conscious of Ibou pretending not to listen. "These things take time."

"A few days is plenty," her mother insisted. "Your cousin Kidada was pregnant within six weeks of marriage."

"Everyone is different," Rabia maintained, drawing strength from Ibou's solid presence nearby. "We're focusing on settling in first."

When she finally ended the call, she let out a long breath, letting her head fall back against the sofa cushions. "That was exhausting."

"You handled well," Ibou said quietly. "Very diplomatic."

"I didn't tell her we're still in separate corners of a king-sized bed," Rabia pointed out with a small smile.

"Perhaps best," he agreed, returning her smile with one of his own. "Some things are just for us to know."

Just for us. The phrase lingered between them, highlighting the privacy of their unconventional arrangement, this marriage developing according to its own unique timeline rather than external expectations.

As afternoon deepened into evening, they moved through the now-familiar patterns of dinner preparation and Maghrib prayer, finding comfort in these shared rituals despite the newness of their relationship.

"Newcastle tomorrow," Rabia noted as they cleaned up after dinner. "Will it be as intense as Manchester City?"

"Different challenge," Ibou explained, sliding into analyst mode with evident comfort. "City plays possession, Newcastle more direct. Quick counters, physical style."

"Should I be nervous for you?" she asked, only half-joking.

His smile was warm and genuine. "Already worried about defender husband?"

"Professional interest," she corrected with mock seriousness. "I've invested in Liverpool merchandise now. Need to protect my investment."

That made him laugh — the full, rich sound she was hearing more frequently as they grew comfortable with each other. "Smart businesswoman, my wife."

My wife. The casual claim still sent a small flutter through her chest, even after these weeks of adjustment. Not because it declared possession, but because it acknowledged connection — this arranged union slowly transforming into chosen partnership.

Later, as they prepared for bed in their now-familiar routine — taking turns in the ensuite bathroom, changing in separate spaces out of continued modesty — Rabia found herself reflecting on how quickly they'd established these rhythms together. How natural it felt already, this sharing of space and time, this gradual building of understanding.

As they settled under the covers with their usual careful distance, Ibou turned to her with thoughtful eyes.

"Liverpool weather is terrible," he observed. "Dubai much nicer this time of year."

"Definitely," she agreed, thinking of sunshine and warm breezes.

"Perhaps after holiday fixtures," he continued. "We visit your boutique? You check on business, I see where my wife built her empire."

The suggestion — this interest in her world, this acknowledgment of her professional accomplishments — touched her deeply. "I'd like that," she said softly. "Though your schedule..."

"We make work," he said with simple certainty. "Important to understand each other's worlds."

Rabia found unexpected contentment in these emerging patterns — these daily rituals that were gradually transforming strangers into partners, arrangement into choice.

Not the passionate love story she'd secretly read about in novels as a teenager, but something perhaps more durable. A foundation built brick by careful brick, a structure designed to withstand whatever pressures came — from family expectations to Premier League schedules to their own evolving feelings.

Tomorrow would bring another match, another step in their journey of understanding each other's lives. But for tonight, in this warm space they'd created together, they had built something neither had quite anticipated: the beginnings of a marriage becoming genuinely their own.

___________________________________________________________

Rabia bobbed her head to Burna Boy's latest hit, her AirPods drowning out the pre-match commotion around Anfield as she followed Magi through the VIP entrance. Second match as a footballer's wife, and she'd already learned the essential survival toolkit: noise-canceling headphones, Liverpool scarf (stylishly draped rather than wrapped superfan-style), and a fully charged phone for the inevitable slow moments.

"You're getting the hang of this," Magi observed with approval, noting Rabia's more relaxed demeanor compared to the wide-eyed overwhelm of her Manchester City debut. "Love the outfit, by the way."

Rabia had put genuine thought into today's look — a burgundy hijab that complemented Liverpool's red without screaming "team merchandise," paired with designer jeans and a cream oversized cashmere sweater. Modest, practical for December's bite, but stylish enough to hold her own among the fashion-conscious WAG contingent.

"Professional obligation," she replied with a grin. "Can't have people saying the fashion boutique owner doesn't know how to dress for football."

They settled into their now-familiar seats, Rabia immediately pulling out her phone to capture the pre-match atmosphere for her Instagram stories. Her business account had seen a surprising uptick in Liverpool-based followers since her marriage became public —potential customers she wasn't about to ignore.

"Brand building never stops," she explained when Magi raised an eyebrow at her careful composition of stadium shots. "This is definitely untapped marketing potential."

"Smart," Magi nodded appreciatively. "Mo's always saying I should monetize my cooking posts."

The players emerged for warm-ups, and Rabia instinctively scanned for number five. She spotted Ibou immediately, and she was surprised at how quickly she developed a strange sixth sense for locating him in a crowd.

"Does it ever feel surreal?" she asked Magi, eyes still tracking Ibou as he went through defensive drills. "Watching thousands of people cheer for your husband?"

"All the time," Magi admitted. "Especially when they scream his name. I still think 'yes, that's what I call him too' like it's our private thing, even though it's literally on his shirt."

The observation made Rabia laugh. Three days ago, she'd absentmindedly called him "Ibou" while on a video call with her assistant Nadia, who'd immediately teased her about the casual familiarity with her arranged husband. The nickname that had felt so formal at their wedding was becoming comfortable on her tongue, a small sign of their evolving relationship.

"Newcastle's in good form," warned the elderly gentleman who'd befriended Rabia at her first match, leaning forward from the row behind. "Their striker's scored in the last four matches."

"Ibou's been studying their patterns all week," Rabia found herself replying with unexpected confidence. "Says their movement is predictable if you know what to look for."

The words felt strange in her mouth — football analysis she'd absorbed from Ibou's constant match study around the house. She'd started paying attention despite herself, finding the tactical side more interesting than she'd anticipated.

"Your man's got a good head on his shoulders," the gentleman nodded approvingly. "Always thinking, that one."

Wasn't that the truth. Ibou's analytical nature extended far beyond football — she'd discovered his penchant for chess apps, strategy games, and historical documentaries that he watched with intense concentration. That serious, thoughtful side balanced by unexpected moments of playfulness that were becoming more frequent as they grew comfortable together.

Just yesterday, she'd come downstairs to find him dancing in the kitchen to some French rap song, wooden spoon as microphone, completely lost in the moment until he spotted her. Instead of embarrassment, he'd pulled her into an impromptu dance party, twirling her around the kitchen island until they were both breathless with laughter.

"My husband is the biggest dork," she'd gasped between giggles.

"And all for you," he'd replied with that disarming smile.

The memory warmed her even as Liverpool's December chill seeped through the stadium. The Ibou who existed only in their private moments — the one who made terrible puns in mixed French and English, who could recite entire scenes from Marvel movies, who sometimes hummed under his breath while analyzing match footage.

The Newcastle match unfolded at a frenetic pace compared to the tactical chess match against City. End-to-end action had even Rabia on the edge of her seat, her playlist abandoned as she found herself genuinely invested in the flow of play.

"I'm actually understanding what's happening," she whispered to Magi with surprise after correctly anticipating an offside call. "Is this what becoming a football person feels like? Should I be concerned?"

Magi laughed. "Stage one of football wife transformation. Soon you'll be yelling tactical instructions like you've got a coaching license."

When Newcastle scored first, Rabia felt the goal like a physical blow — especially seeing Ibou's frustrated gesture, the slight drop of his shoulders before he immediately rallied the defensive line. She was learning to read his body language on the pitch, the subtle tells that differentiated disappointment from determination.

"He'll be insufferable tonight if they lose," she muttered, surprising herself with how accurately she could predict his mood already.

"Welcome to the club," Magi patted her hand sympathetically. "Mo doesn't speak for hours after a loss. Just sits watching replays like he can change the outcome through sheer willpower."

Liverpool equalized before halftime, easing some of the tension, but the second half remained a nervy affair with chances at both ends. Rabia found herself clutching Magi's arm during a particularly dangerous Newcastle attack, only releasing her death grip when Ibou made a perfectly timed sliding tackle to clear the danger.

"That's my husband," she exclaimed with unexpected pride, joining the roar of approval from the crowd. "Did you see that tackle?"

The match ended in a frustrating 3-3 draw after a wild second half — defensive errors from both teams creating a chaotic, end-to-end spectacle that had Rabia emotionally exhausted by the final whistle.

"Is it always this stressful?" she asked as they gathered their things.

"This is actually mild," Magi assured her. "Wait until knockout stages in the Champions League. I've been known to hide in the bathroom during penalty shootouts."

In the family lounge afterward, Rabia found herself more comfortable than her first visit — recognizing faces, exchanging greetings with other partners, feeling less like an intruder in this strange football world.

When Ibou appeared, his expression told her everything about his mood — the tightness around his eyes, the slight downturn of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders. Three goals conceded was a personal affront to a defender's pride.

"Hey," she greeted him softly, reaching out to briefly touch his arm — a small gesture of comfort they'd established in these early moments. "You played well."

"Not well enough," he replied, though his expression softened at her touch. "Three goals, Rabia. Poor defending."

"I don't know, that tackle in the second half was pretty impressive," she offered. "Even I could tell that was perfectly timed, and I thought offsides was a disease until two weeks ago."

That surprised a laugh out of him — the reaction she'd been hoping for. "Offside, singular. Not offsides."

"See? I'm learning," she grinned, pleased to have momentarily lightened his mood. "Though I'm still not convinced the referee actually understands the rule either."

His laugh was fuller this time, drawing curious glances from teammates unaccustomed to seeing Ibou's serious post-match demeanor crack so easily.

"You are silly woman," he told her, shaking his head with amusement. "Making jokes when I should be analyzing mistakes."

"Plenty of time for analysis at home," she assured him. "I expect a full tactical breakdown over dinner. With diagrams."

"As you wish," he replied with mock seriousness, though his eyes crinkled at the corners — that special smile she was learning belonged just to her.

On the drive home, Rabia connected her phone to the car's sound system, scrolling through playlists until she found the one she'd created specifically for post-match moods — upbeat enough to lift spirits but not so energetic as to seem dismissive of the disappointing result.

"Your music is good," Ibou commented as an Afrobeats track filled the car. "Always perfect for moment."

"Music therapy," she explained. "Different playlists for different moods. My college roommates used to tease me about it."

"What is playlist for arranged wife driving home with football husband after disappointing draw?" he asked, his tone playful despite the lingering frustration from the match.

"Still working on that one," she laughed. "It's a very specific category."

At home, they fell into their post-match routine —Ibou immediately queuing up match highlights on his tablet while Rabia ordered dinner, neither having energy to cook after the emotional rollercoaster of the game.

"Your tackle really was impressive," she mentioned later as they ate takeaway Thai food in comfortable silence. "Even that old gentleman behind us said so, and he seems to know his football."

"Harold," Ibou supplied. "Season ticket holder for forty years. Knows more than most coaches."

"Well, Harold thinks you're brilliant, so clearly the three goals weren't your fault," she declared with finality.

That earned her another of those special smiles — the ones that reached his eyes and softened his whole face. "You defend me better than I defend goal."

"Someone has to," she shrugged, stealing a piece of chicken from his plate. "You're too hard on yourself."

"And you," he observed thoughtfully, "are not at all what imam described."

"Oh?" she raised an eyebrow. "And what did the imam say about me?"

"Serious businesswoman. Dedicated to faith. Suitable temperament for footballer wife." He counted off the attributes on his fingers. "Nothing about wild sense of humor or music therapy or stealing food from husband's plate."

"Disappointment?" she asked, only half-joking.

"Pleasant surprise," he corrected, his eyes warm as they met hers. "Very pleasant surprise."

Later, as they prepared for bed with their now-familiar choreography — taking turns in the bathroom, changing in separate spaces, maintaining modest boundaries despite weeks of marriage — Rabia found herself reflecting on how quickly they were learning each other's rhythms. How natural it felt already, this sharing of space and emotion, this gradual building of understanding.

"Harold invited us for tea next week," she mentioned as they settled into bed with their usual careful distance. "Says his wife wants to meet the woman who's 'brought young Konaté out of his shell.'"

"Carol makes best scones in Liverpool," Ibou replied through a yawn. "We should go."

"Look at us, making couple friends," she teased gently. "Very domestic."

"Terrible, isn't it?" he mumbled, already drifting toward sleep. "Next we get matching sweaters."

"Don't tempt me," she warned. "I know very good knitwear suppliers."

His sleepy chuckle was the last sound before comfortable silence settled between them — another day navigated together, another small brick added to the foundation they were building.

two weeks later….

"And you haven't kissed properly? Not once?" Dr. Yasmin's perfectly arched eyebrows shot up, her stylish glasses slipping slightly down her nose. "When you say 'not intimate,' what exactly do you mean?"

Rabia twisted the ring on her finger, suddenly fascinated by the intricate silver pattern. Four weeks of marriage, and she was sitting in a counselor's office explaining her lack of a love life. Not exactly how she'd imagined spending her Thursday afternoon.

"He does this triple-kiss thing," she explained, gesturing vaguely toward her own face. "Forehead first, then right cheek, then left. Very French. Very... proper."

"But not on the lips?"

"Definitely not on the lips," Rabia confirmed with a slightly nervous laugh. "Not anywhere else either. We've got this invisible force field down the middle of the bed. Very sci-fi, very unsexy."

Dr. Yasmin tried to maintain her professional expression, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She'd been recommended as the best Muslim marriage counselor and was uniquely qualified to understand both faith and local context.

"My cousin Amal calls it our 'three-kiss maximum policy,'" Rabia continued, filling the silence with nervous chatter. "Says we're the most PG-rated newlyweds she's ever heard of. Which, coming from the girl who installed a dating app on my phone the day before my nikkah, is really saying something."

"And how do you feel about this arrangement?" Dr. Yasmin asked, setting her notebook aside and leaning forward slightly. "Not your cousin, not your family—you."

The question caught Rabia off-guard. How did she feel? The careful choreography of their shared life — separate sides of the bed, bathroom turns taken with military precision, that careful distance always maintained — had become so routine she'd almost stopped questioning it.

Almost.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Sometimes it makes sense — we're still getting to know each other, building trust. Other times it feels..."

"Yes?" the counselor prompted gently.

"Ridiculous," Rabia blurted. "Like we're following some rulebook neither of us actually wrote."

---

Across the hall, in a similarly comfortable office, Ibou was navigating his own version of this conversation with Dr. Mahmoud, the male counterpart in the Muslim counseling practice.

"Let me understand," the counselor said, leaning back in his chair as he rubbed his salt-and-peppered beard. "You've been married four weeks, and you've never kissed your wife properly? Just this—" he mimicked the three-kiss gesture with his hand, "—forehead-cheek-cheek routine?"

Ibou rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he couldn't seem to shake. "Correct. Just forehead and cheeks. Is respectful, yes?"

"Respect is excellent," Dr. Mahmoud nodded. "Essential, even. But I'm curious what's holding you back from more... traditional expressions of affection?"

The question hung in the air between them. What was holding him back? Not lack of interest — Allah knew that wasn't the problem. Every morning when Rabia emerged from the bathroom, hijab freshly arranged, eyes bright with the day's possibilities, it took genuine effort not to cross that invisible boundary they'd established.

"Want to do right by her," he finally said. "Not rush. Not pressure. She didn't choose me, not really."

Understanding dawned in the counselor's eyes. "You're concerned about consent in an arranged marriage."

"Yes," Ibou admitted, relieved at having his jumbled feelings so precisely articulated. "She agreed to marriage, but not specifically to me. Just to suitable match."

"Have you discussed this with her directly?"

"Not exactly," Ibou shifted uncomfortably. "We talk around it. Make jokes sometimes. Never directly."

"And are you attracted to your wife, Ibou?"

The question was asked without judgment, but Ibou felt his ears burning nonetheless. "She is beautiful," he said simply, the inadequate words failing to capture the way his chest tightened when she laughed, or how he found himself watching her hands as she worked, graceful and precise in everything she did.

---

"Of course I find him attractive," Rabia was saying across the hall, trying not to sound defensive and failing spectacularly. "Have you seen him? Those shoulders? Those cheekbones? Those ridiculous ears that twitch when he's embarrassed?" She caught herself, realizing she'd gestured rather dramatically while listing her husband's physical attributes.

Dr. Yasmin's smile was knowing. "It's okay to acknowledge physical attraction to your husband, Rabia. It's natural and healthy."

"I know that intellectually," she sighed, slumping back in her chair. "But growing up, there was always this emphasis on modesty and restraint. 'Good girls don't think about those things.' 'Save it for marriage.' Well, now I am married, and I still find myself holding back, like I'm waiting for... permission? Which sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud."

"Not ridiculous at all," the counselor assured her. "Many women from conservative backgrounds struggle with this transition. You've spent years building mental boundaries around physical desire, and those don't automatically disappear with a marriage certificate."

Rabia nodded, relieved at being understood without judgment. "Plus, we didn't choose each other in the traditional sense. Sometimes I wonder if Ibou would have picked me if given complete freedom of choice. If he's holding back because he's... settling, in a way."

"Have you asked him?"

"Oh, no," Rabia laughed nervously. "We're still in the 'please' and 'thank you' phase of marriage most days. 'Pass the salt' and 'did you see my phone charger?' Not 'do you actually desire me or are you just fulfilling a religious obligation?'"

---

"I worry about being footballer," Ibou confessed, leaning forward in his chair. "In this world, many temptations, many... opportunities with women. Some teammates, not all but some, they treat women as... disposable."

Dr. Mahmoud nodded understanding. "And you don't want Rabia to feel that way."

"Never," Ibou said firmly. "She deserves better. Deserves to be cherished, not just... desired."

"Those aren't mutually exclusive, you know," the counselor pointed out gently. "Physical desire for your wife can coexist with deep respect. In fact, our faith encourages husbands to satisfy their wives both emotionally and physically."

Ibou knew this intellectually, had heard it in pre-marital counseling sessions back in France, but the practical application felt more complicated in this specific situation.

"I think," Dr. Mahmoud continued thoughtfully, "that you might benefit from some more concrete guidance."

He reached into his bookshelf and selected a slim volume with a tasteful cover. "This was written by a respected Islamic scholar and his wife, specifically addressing intimacy in Muslim marriages. It's very practical while remaining true to our values."

Ibou turned the book over in his hands, reading the subtitle: "Guide to Intimacy in Islamic Marriage." His expression must have betrayed his surprise because the counselor chuckled.

"Everything discussed is halal," the counselor assured him. "Many couples find it helpful in navigating these waters, especially when they come from backgrounds where such topics aren't openly discussed."

---

Across the hall, Rabia was staring wide-eyed at an identical book in her hands, having just flipped to a chapter titled "Physical Pleasure: A Gift to Be Shared."

"We can do this?" she whispered, eyes scanning a particularly detailed section about foreplay. "All of this is... allowed?"

Dr. Yasmin nodded, her expression kind but matter-of-fact. "Everything described there is halal between husband and wife. Our faith doesn't discourage pleasure — it simply contains it within the sacred boundary of marriage."

Rabia continued turning pages, her expression cycling between surprise, curiosity, and something approaching embarrassment. "So he's supposed to... touch me? In all these places?"

"Foreplay is not just permitted in Islam, it's encouraged," the counselor explained. "The Prophet, peace be upon him, emphasized the importance of a husband ensuring his wife's satisfaction. Many hadith speak to this directly."

This was revelatory information to Rabia, whose sexual education had consisted primarily of warnings about what not to do rather than guidance on what was permissible and even celebrated within marriage.

"My mother never mentioned any of this," she murmured, still processing.

"Many mothers don't," Dr. Yasmin acknowledged. "Cultural taboos often override religious teachings in this area, unfortunately. It's one reason books like this exist — to realign our understanding with what our faith actually teaches rather than cultural restrictions that have been added over time."

---

"The book explains everything much better than I could," Dr. Mahmoud was telling Ibou. "But I want to emphasize one point: communication is essential. All the knowledge in the world won't help if you and Rabia aren't talking openly about your needs, boundaries, and desires."

Ibou nodded, already feeling somewhat overwhelmed by the direct nature of the conversation. On the pitch, he was confident, decisive — a leader organizing the defensive line with clear communication. In this realm, he felt like a rookie facing his first Champions League final.

"What if she's not ready?" he asked, the question that had been circling his mind for weeks finally finding voice.

"Then you continue to wait," the counselor said simply. "But you won't know unless you have the conversation. And that conversation will be easier if you're both informed about what's permissible and encouraged within our faith."

---

"So what do I do with this information?" Rabia asked, closing the book after glimpsing a chapter titled "Positions of Pleasure" that she wasn't quite ready to explore in her counselor's office.

"Take it home. Read it together if you're comfortable with that, or separately if you prefer. Use it as a starting point for conversation." Dr. Yasmin's tone was practical, normalizing what felt to Rabia like uncharted territory. "The important thing is to start talking openly about your expectations, desires, and concerns."

"And if we're both ready to... move forward?"

"Then you do so at whatever pace feels right for both of you, knowing that physical intimacy is a blessed part of your marriage, not something to feel guilty or uncertain about."

As their session wrapped up, Rabia tucked the book into her bag, still processing the paradigm shift it represented. Years of "not until marriage" messaging had prepared her for permission, but not for the active encouragement of physical pleasure she'd just encountered.

When she emerged into the waiting area, Ibou was already there, looking slightly dazed himself. Their eyes met briefly before both glanced away, a shared awkwardness hanging between them despite having just spent an hour discussing intimacy with strangers.

"Good session?" she asked lightly as they walked to the car.

"Informative," he replied, his ears that telltale twitch that she'd come to find endearing. "Yours?"

"Same," she nodded, wondering if the identical book was hidden in his jacket pocket as securely as hers was tucked in her bag. "Very... educational."

The drive home was quiet, both lost in their own thoughts, the unspoken hanging between them like a physical presence. Rabia found herself stealing glances at Ibou's profile as he drove — the strong line of his jaw, the focus in his eyes, the large hands that handled the steering wheel with the same precision he brought to everything.

Hands that, according to chapter three, were supposed to be quite active in ensuring her satisfaction.

The thought sent heat rushing to her face, and she turned to look out the window, watching Liverpool's winter landscape blur past while her mind raced with new possibilities.

Four weeks of marriage, and it felt like they were starting over with new information, new understanding, new potential for what their arranged beginning might evolve into.

"Hungry?" Ibou asked as they pulled into their driveway, breaking the contemplative silence.

"Starving," she admitted with a small smile, grateful for the mundane question grounding her racing thoughts.

Rabia had faced down ruthless business competitors, negotiated rental contracts that made hardened real estate agents cry, and once talked her way out of a speeding ticket in three different languages. Nervousness wasn't her thing.

Yet here she was, hands actually trembling as she applied another layer of her favorite perfume to her wrists, then behind her ears, then — after a furtive glance at page 47 of Dr. Yasmin's book — a light spray between her breasts.

"Layering scents creates an enticing sensory experience," the book had advised in its matter-of-fact tone. "Areas where blood vessels run close to the skin will naturally warm the fragrance, releasing it gradually throughout your time together."

A date. She was going on an actual date with her husband of nearly eight weeks. The absurdity of it made her laugh out loud in the luxurious bathroom of their Doha hotel suite, the sound echoing slightly against the marble.

The Premier League's winter break had aligned perfectly with her need to check on boutique expansion plans in the Gulf. When Ibou suggested coming with her, extending the trip to include a few days in Doha after her business in Dubai was complete, she'd been surprised but pleased.

"Actual vacation," he'd said with that small smile that still did funny things to her heart. "No football, no design meetings. Just us."

Just us. The phrase had taken on new meaning since their separate counseling sessions two weeks ago. They hadn't discussed the identical books they'd both received — not directly — but something had shifted. Their careful choreography around the house remained, but the invisible barrier seemed less rigid somehow, the air between them charged with new awareness.

And then this morning, Ibou had casually mentioned over breakfast that he'd made dinner reservations. "For tonight," he'd clarified when she looked confused. "Seven o'clock. Restaurant with nice view of the bay."

"Like... a date?" she'd asked, the word feeling strange on her tongue when applied to her own husband.

His ears had that telltale twitch. "Exactly like date," he'd confirmed. "Proper one. Long overdue."

Now, with just an hour before they were supposed to leave, Rabia was in full panic mode, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. She'd packed for business meetings, not romance — her suitcase full of modest but professional attire suitable for Dubai's fashion scene.

The beige dress and matching abaya she'd finally settled on was elegant enough for a nice restaurant but hardly seductive — a standard piece from her work wardrobe. Practical Rabia would have been satisfied with this. Date-Night Rabia, an alter ego she hadn't known existed until approximately three hours ago, was having a full meltdown.

At least I put on heels. Small miracles, Alhamdulilah.

"Stop being ridiculous," she told her reflection firmly. "It's Ibou. You live with him. You've seen him in his Star Wars pajama pants."

But that was precisely the point — they'd skipped all this. The getting-to-know-you dates, the nervous anticipation, the gradual physical progression that normal couples experience. They'd gone straight from strangers to spouses, building a domestic partnership without the relationship foundation beneath it.

Until now, apparently.

Rabia reached into her toiletry bag and pulled out two small books that had traveled with her to Qatar, hidden beneath her skincare products like contraband. Dr. Yasmin's clinical but eye-opening "Guide to Intimacy in Islamic Marriage" and Amal's pre-wedding gift, "The Good Muslim Wife's Guide to Modern Marriage," which had proven surprisingly less ridiculous than its pink cover suggested.

She flipped to the dog-eared page in Amal's book, a chapter titled "Dating Your Spouse: Keeping the Spark Alive."

"Many arranged marriages skip the courtship phase," she read for perhaps the twentieth time. "Creating intentional date experiences allows couples to develop the romantic connection that might have come before marriage in other circumstances."

The advice had seemed sensible when she'd read it in the safety of her home office. Now, facing the reality of an actual romantic evening with the man she lived with but hadn't so much as properly kissed, it felt terrifying.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Amal: "Did you wear the perfume like I told you? The jasmine one drives men WILD."

Rabia rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. Her cousin had appointed herself unofficial marital advisor since learning about their "three-kiss maximum policy," sending increasingly unsubtle hints about everything from lingerie to bedroom techniques.

"Focus on connection, not perfection," she texted back instead, quoting Dr. Yasmin's more measured advice. Then, after a moment's hesitation, added: "But yes, I'm wearing the jasmine."

Three rapid-fire responses came in succession:

"GET IT GIRL"

"FINALLY"

"Send updates or I disown you as family"

Shaking her head with fond exasperation, Rabia returned to her preparations. Hair already styled in loose waves that would remain mostly covered by her hijab but might peek out enticingly (according to page 52). Subtle makeup that emphasized her eyes, which Ibou had once offhandedly mentioned were "very expressive" (an observation she'd replayed approximately nine thousand times in her head).

The final touch was her hijab — a silk one in deep emerald that complemented her skin tone and, she'd noticed, matched a tie Ibou sometimes wore. The subtle coordination wasn't accidental — another tip from one of the books, though she couldn't remember which one at this point.

A knock at the bathroom door nearly made her jump out of her skin.

"Rabia?" Ibou's voice came through the door. "Reservation is soon. You okay?"

"Fine!" she called back, voice unnaturally high. "Just finishing up!"

She took one last look in the mirror, adjusted her hijab slightly, and took a deep breath. "It's just dinner," she reminded herself. "With your husband. Who's seen you with the flu. Who you've lived with for weeks. Who—"

The mental pep talk dissolved as she opened the door and saw Ibou waiting in the bedroom area of their suite. He'd changed into a thobe that emphasized his athletic build, his usually wild curls somewhat tamed into waves, his expression a mixture of nervousness and appreciation as he took in her appearance.

"You look beautiful," he said simply.

"You too," she replied, then winced. "I mean, not beautiful — handsome. You look handsome."

His smile was warm, reaching his eyes in the way she'd learned meant genuine pleasure rather than polite acknowledgment. "Ready for our first date, wife?"

The way he said "wife" — not as a title or status but with a warmth that suggested genuine connection — made her nervousness shift into something more like anticipation.

"Ready, husband," she confirmed, reaching for her small evening bag where she'd tucked a travel-sized version of the jasmine perfume. Just in case.

As they left the hotel room, Ibou offered his arm — a gesture he'd never made before, creating a physical connection that remained respectful but crossed their usual careful boundaries. After a moment's hesitation, Rabia slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the solid warmth of him through the fine fabric of his thobe.

Six and a half weeks of marriage, and this simple touch felt more intimate than anything they'd shared before. She wondered if he could feel her pulse racing through the point where her hand rested against his arm.

If he did, he was gentleman enough not to mention it.

The books had been clear on one point that both authors, despite their different approaches, agreed upon completely: marriage wasn't just a legal contract or religious obligation, but a relationship to be nurtured, developed, enjoyed.

And tonight, under the Doha stars, Rabia was finally ready to begin that part of their journey — the part where arrangement became choice, where respect became desire, where carefully maintained distance gave way to intentional closeness.

Her first date with her husband awaited. And despite all the backwards steps that had led them here, she couldn't imagine a more perfect beginning.

______________________________________________

The restaurant Ibou had chosen was exactly the kind of place that would have intimidated Rabia before she built her business — all understated luxury and impeccable service, perched on the forty-second floor of one of Doha's glittering towers. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city's spectacular skyline and the dark waters of the bay beyond, dotted with the lights of boats and distant shores.

"How did you find this place?" Rabia asked as they were led to a corner table that somehow managed to be both private and perfectly positioned for the view.

"Research," Ibou replied with that small, pleased smile that appeared whenever he'd successfully surprised her. "Many hours reading reviews. Wanted somewhere special."

Of course he had. Ibou approached everything — from defensive positioning to restaurant selection — with the same methodical thoroughness. She shouldn't have been surprised that he'd apply that same attention to detail to their first proper date.

The maître d' pulled out Rabia's chair with practiced elegance, and Ibou waited until she was seated before taking his own place across from her. A small, traditional courtesy that nonetheless made her feel oddly cherished.

"The chef has prepared a special tasting menu," the maître d' informed them. "As Mr. Konaté requested."

Rabia raised an eyebrow as the man departed. "You arranged all this in advance?"

"Of course," Ibou nodded, as if pre-planning a multi-course meal at one of Doha's most exclusive restaurants was completely standard date procedure. "Wanted everything perfect."

"For a date with your wife," she teased gently. "Who you already live with."

His expression turned more serious, those expressive eyes meeting hers directly across the table. "Especially for that reason. Makes dating more important, not less."

The simple sincerity of his statement caught her off guard, quieting her nervous tendency toward deflective humor. "That's... actually really thoughtful."

"I can be thoughtful," he defended, though his slight smile took any sting from the words.

"I know," she assured him, remembering countless small kindnesses he'd shown over their weeks together — preparing her favorite tea without being asked, recording a fashion documentary he'd noticed her reading about, always ensuring their prayer rugs were positioned where the morning light would warm them in Liverpool's winter chill.

A server appeared with a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne, presenting it with the same ceremony that would have accompanied the real version. Another thoughtful detail — the festivity of celebration without compromising their principles, though in Doha, all restaurants naturally served halal food and non-alcoholic beverages anyway.

As their glasses were filled with the sparkling liquid, Rabia found herself studying Ibou in the restaurant's soft lighting. She'd grown accustomed to seeing him in training gear or casual home clothes, his athletic frame always partially concealed by flattering attire. The thobe revealed a silhouette she knew too well now — broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, long legs arranged with unconscious grace.

"You're staring," he observed, a hint of humor in his voice.

"Just thinking," she replied, their usual exchange making her smile.

"Always thinking," he completed the familiar routine, raising his glass. "What shall we toast to?"

Rabia considered this, lifting her own glass. "To doing things in our own order?"

"Perfect," he agreed, eyes warming as they clinked glasses. "Our own timeline."

The first course arrived — delicate seafood presented with artistic flair — creating a momentary reprieve from the unexpected intensity of their exchange. Rabia was grateful for the distraction, using the time to regain her equilibrium. This was Ibou, she reminded herself. The same man who argued with her about which Marvel movie was best, who sometimes fell asleep on the sofa with match analysis playing on his tablet, who hummed unconsciously while brushing his teeth.

Except it wasn't quite the same Ibou, was it? This version was... intentional. Present in a way that transcended their comfortable domesticity. His focus entirely on her rather than divided between her and football or her and prayer schedules or her and the hundred other things that usually occupied his analytical mind.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," she said impulsively.

His eyebrows rose slightly. "We live together. What don't you know?"

"Lots, probably," she pointed out. "We skipped all this, remember? The real, unfiltered getting-to-know-you conversations that normal couples have before they start sharing bathroom cabinets."

He considered this, head tilted slightly in that way he had when processing a new tactical concept. "Fair point. Something you don't know..." He thought for a moment, then his expression turned more serious. "Why I agreed to arranged marriage, perhaps?"

The question caught her interest immediately. They'd never directly discussed their reasons for accepting the arrangement, both seemingly content to focus on building their present rather than examining their past decisions.

"Tell me," she encouraged, genuinely curious.

Ibou set down his fork, gathering his thoughts. "Football career is... complicated for relationships. Many temptations, many women interested in status, not person. Teammates with broken marriages, affairs, drama." He shook his head slightly. "Watched this pattern for years. Decided I wanted something different. Something with foundation. When imam suggested arrangement, timing felt right."

"So you chose arranged marriage because it seemed more stable?" she asked, trying to understand.

"More honest," he clarified. "Based on values, compatibility, not just attraction or convenience. No illusions or games. Clear purpose from beginning."

She hadn't expected such a thoughtful explanation, though perhaps she should have. Ibou approached everything in life with careful consideration.

"Your turn," he prompted. "Why did you agree?"

She thought about offering something light, some easy explanation about family expectations or practical considerations. But his honesty deserved reciprocation.

"I almost didn't," she admitted. "I was going to tell my parents no, but then I saw your football highlights."

His eyebrows shot up. "My highlights changed your mind? You don't even like football!"

"Not the football part," she clarified. "There was this moment after a big win. Liverpool had just beaten... I don't remember who. But the cameras caught you helping an elderly steward who'd slipped in the rain. You made sure he was okay before you celebrated with the team. It wasn't staged or showy, just... kind."

Ibou looked genuinely surprised. "I don't even remember that."

"That's why it mattered," she explained. "It wasn't for the cameras. It was just who you are."

Something shifted in his expression — a softening, a vulnerability she rarely glimpsed beneath his composed exterior. "So you agreed to marry me because I helped old man in rain?"

"I agreed to marry you because that moment suggested you might be someone worth knowing," she corrected gently. "Worth taking a chance on."

Their gazes held across the table, the background noise of the restaurant fading as something unspoken passed between them — acknowledgment, perhaps, that their arrangement had always contained seeds of choice, of active decision rather than mere acceptance.

The arrival of the second course created another welcome moment to regroup, the rich aromas of perfectly spiced lamb giving them both something to comment on beyond the unexpected emotional territory they kept stumbling into.

As they ate, conversation shifted to lighter topics — Rabia's meetings in Dubai, Ibou's relief at the break from Liverpool's demanding schedule, mutual amusement at how their families had apparently formed a cross-continental alliance in their campaign for grandchildren.

"My mother asked if the English weather was affecting my, quote, 'marital abilities,'" Ibou revealed with an eye roll. "Suggested I eat more dates for stamina."

Rabia nearly choked on her water. "The fruit kind, I assume?"

"Definitely the fruit kind," he confirmed, his ears doing that endearing twitch that never failed to charm her.

They were halfway through the dessert course — an elaborate concoction involving rosewater and gold leaf — when Ibou's expression turned more serious again.

"I have question," he said, setting down his spoon. "But is perhaps too direct for date."

"Now you have to ask," she insisted, curiosity piqued. "You can't just say that and then not tell me."

He hesitated, then met her eyes squarely. "Are you happy? With this arrangement? With... me?"

The question caught her completely off guard. So much so that her first instinct was to deflect with humor, to make some quip about his cooking skills or hogging the bathroom. But the genuine uncertainty in his expression stopped her.

"Yes," she said simply, then realizing the inadequacy of the single word, continued: "Not in the way I expected, maybe. Not in the fairy-tale sense. But in a real way that keeps surprising me. I'm happy with how we're building something neither of us could have predicted."

Relief visibly washed over his features. "Good," he nodded. "Me too."

"Why do you ask?" she pressed gently. "Have I given you reason to think otherwise?"

"No," he assured her quickly. "Just..." He seemed to struggle for the right words. "In football, even when things work well, we always look for improvement. Areas to develop. I want same for marriage. Not just functional. Exceptional."

There it was again — that earnest sincerity that repeatedly caught her off guard, that transformed what could have been awkward conversations into moments of genuine connection.

"Exceptional is a high bar," she observed, though she couldn't help but smile at his ambition.

"You deserve high bar," he said simply.

The rest of the meal passed in a pleasant blur of excellent food and increasingly comfortable conversation. By the time they stepped out of the restaurant into the warm Doha night, something had shifted between them — a new ease, a shared understanding that hadn't existed before.

Instead of heading directly to the elevators, Ibou nodded toward the observation deck that wrapped around the building. "Walk? View is better at night."

Rabia nodded, and they strolled together along the glass-enclosed pathway, the city spread beneath them like a carpet of jewels. Without conscious thought, she found herself moving closer to him, their arms occasionally brushing in a way that sent small currents of awareness through her.

"Thank you for tonight," she said softly as they paused to admire a particularly spectacular vista. "It was perfect."

"Not over yet," he reminded her, his voice equally quiet.

The simple statement hung between them, charged with possibilities neither had openly acknowledged. The books, the counseling sessions, the growing awareness between them — all creating a foundation for whatever came next.

"No," she agreed, gathering her courage to look up at him directly. "Not over yet."

Ibou turned toward her, his expression a mixture of determination and uncertainty that she imagined mirrored her own. "Rabia," he began, then seemed to reconsider whatever he'd planned to say.

Instead, he reached out slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, and brushed a strand of hair that had escaped her hijab back behind her ear. The simple touch — so ordinary in most relationships, so extraordinary in theirs — sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the air-conditioned observation deck.

"Cold?" he asked immediately, misinterpreting her reaction.

"Not cold," she managed, finding her voice despite the sudden dryness in her throat. "Definitely not cold."

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by something that looked remarkably like hope. His hand, which had retreated after fixing her hair, returned to gently cup her cheek, thumb brushing her skin with exquisite care.

For a moment, Rabia thought he might kiss her properly — his gaze briefly dropping to her lips before returning to her eyes. The public setting of the observation deck seemed to register then, reminding them both of their surroundings in conservative Doha. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead, then to each cheek in their now-familiar pattern.

But this time, each kiss felt different — imbued with new meaning, with intention, with promise for more when they were in a more private setting. The triple-kiss that had become their ritual transformed from polite greeting to something that felt like a placeholder for desires not yet expressed.

When he pulled back, his eyes held hers with unmistakable meaning. "When you're ready," he said softly. "When we're somewhere more private. If you want."

Six and a half weeks of marriage, and her husband was asking permission for their first real kiss — not demanding it here and now, but offering the possibility for later, respecting both her comfort and their surroundings.

"I want," she confirmed quietly, her usual eloquence deserting her.

Ibou's smile in response was worth every moment of the nervous anticipation she'd felt preparing for tonight. He offered his arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow as they made their way back to the elevators, the simple contact now charged with new awareness.

What awaited them back in their hotel room remained unspoken but newly possible — not rushed, not pressured, but available when they were both ready. Their own timeline, as they'd toasted earlier.

But for now, the warmth of his arm under her hand, the memory of his meaningful triple-kiss still tingling on her skin, and the promise of more to discover about each other — both emotionally and physically— felt like exactly enough. The perfect ending to their first date, and perhaps the perfect beginning of something neither had quite anticipated when they'd signed those marriage papers six weeks ago.

TO BE CONTINUED….

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part eighteen

summary: you showed him colours he knows he can't see with anyone else.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.8k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: hiii posting this early bc bestie and i are ab to start a 24 hour readathon! if i'm not active for the next day, that would be why. anyway wish us luck!! also i didn't edit this as thoroughly as i should have so i'm sorry lol

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

You called out of work indefinitely, after that. You didn't want to quit, you wanted to love your job and you honestly couldn't see yourself doing anything else but right now, you just couldn't. Luckily, the girls who worked down at the library were incredibly understanding according to Lennox, who was sent to deliver your letter of leave and apology.

It had been close to a week when you finally ventured out to the back porch to read rather than rotting in bed all day staring at the ceiling. Your mother made you tea, and insisted she come sit with you. You enjoyed the company.

"Would you like to talk about it?" She asks, just as you're turning the page. Under normal circumstances, you'd resort to Romeo and Juliet, but now you feel like you couldn't stomach it. So, Much Ado About Nothing would have to suffice.

"I'm okay, Ma." You say softly, giving a slight shake over your head as your eyes fly over the faded lettering on the page.

"Lennox told us what happened, you know." She adds after a beat of silence.

You look up at her, frowning. "I'm sorry. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone."

"Don't be, dear." She shakes her head quickly, gently resting a hand on your thigh. "I wish you had told us. I wouldn't have invited him in that day, I could have told you he stopped by and we could have made a plan. I shouldn't have sprung that on you."

You sigh, pursing your lips and closing your book. "I didn't want you to dislike him, that's why I didn't tell you. I thought... I wanted to come home with at least something positive to talk about. And I thought that if I gave it enough time, thinking positively about him, I could try to contact him without seeing... that."

She smiles sadly at you. "You really love him, huh?"

"How could I not?" You admit quietly, staring at the cover of the book on your lap. "He was the first person there to show me kindness, to make me feel like I wasn't alone." You explain. "It felt... Like Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers, because of course I didn't think I could really have him. I was living in a dream, in a way."

"And now?" She prompts you to continue, thrilled that you are finally opening up.

"Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps."

She chuckles, gently rubbing your leg. "So that's a yes, then."

"How I wish it was not." You groan, reaching for your cup to drown your predicament in tea.

"Your brother," She sighs, gently removing the book from your lap. "came home that night just... just shaking with anger. And he looked me and your father in the eyes and said he was going to kill Coriolanus. He was set on it." She explains, and you look at her.

"He said that?" You ask, and she nods.

"I could see it in his eyes, he meant it, and we were so confused. Because, after all, it had been Coriolanus and Sejanus who came to the door seeking help for you, and your father told me Coryo looked like a ghost- bless him." She chuckles slightly.

"What I mean is... Your brother is not immune to violence, either. He would hurt someone for you, I know it. Just because you don't wish him to, doesn't mean he doesn't love you so much that he would do anything." You mull over her statement, chewing passively on your lip. "And boys... boys just do things differently than you and I would. Or Lucy Gray would. I bet if you asked her about Billy Taupe, Tam Amber, or little Clerk Carmine, that she'd tell you they've all had their moments. But boys aren't treated fair in this life, so sometimes, they don't fight fair."

"Coriolanus killed someone, Ma."

"Why?" She asks. "Lennox told me you saw it. Why did he kill that boy?"

"Because..." You shake your head. "He was trying to kill him, first."

"Okay, well-"

"But that I can understand, given the circumstances." You quickly explain, guilt settling in your stomach like a weight as you put your mug back down. "It was after. Bobbin had so clearly already passed on, and he hit him again. It was anger, and it was not necessary. A waste of precious time he didn't have but he did it anyway and that... that scared me."

She hums, listening to you intently. "If it helps, dear, and this is my honest feelings... I still think he is a good man, with a good heart." She says. "I know what you've seen is... gosh, it's unfathomable, and I wish I could take that pain from you, but I really do think that if you still feel anything for him you should talk to him."

Your eyes snap up to hers, and you look scared.

"I've only met him once, but gosh, the way he looks at you, and how he spoke about you, he thinks you put the stars in the sky." She grins, trying to relax you by taking your hand. "No problems have ever solved by hiding. And even if you turn out to be correct, that he's never been who you thought he was, you'll get peace by having answers. And even so, he deserves that peace too."

"I... I'll think about it." You nod softly, reaching for your book again.

"Hello? Boys?" Lucy Gray calls out, walking into the small house Coryo and Sejanus have been occupying.

"In here!" Sejanus calls back, and she follows his voice into the small kitchen where he's attempting to make something to eat.

"Ooh, what's for lunch?" She asks, sitting herself down at the dining room table.

"Eggs... I think." Sejanus laughs. Lucy Gray had been coming by to try and keep them company, and she did really like spending time with Sejanus. Coryo didn't have a whole lot to say, though.

"Yum." She giggles, sitting up straight to look into the pan. "Where's Coriolanus?"

"Guess."

"On the back porch staring at the trees?"

"Pretty much."

Lucy Gray sighs, pushing herself up. "Okay, well, The Covey and I are going to the lake tomorrow. It's a hike out, but it's beautiful. You guys should come."

"I'll be there, but I don't know if we can convince blondie." Sejanus nods toward the back door.

"Oh, I'll convince him." She smiles smugly, brushing past him and out the door.

Lucy Gray finds out quickly that apparently she had guessed wrong- he was sitting on the porch, like he had been every day, but today he was reading rather than just staring out at the mountains. "What are ya readin'?" She asks, standing in front of him.

"Nothing that's any of your business." He grumbles, not looking up from the pages of the worn down book.

She leans over him, attempting to read it upside down. "Ah." She grins. "Romeo and Juliet? Good choice."

"What do you need, Lucy Gray?" He asks, closing the book and glaring up at her.

"I've come to extend and invitation to you, we're all going to the lake tomorrow. I think you should come."

"No, thank you."

She rolls her eyes, arms crossed over her chest. "You didn't chop off all those beautiful gold curls just so you could never see Y/N again, did you?"

His eyes visibly brighten at that, only for a moment. "She's going?" This was the chance he was waiting for. He intended to go to your house that following morning, maybe pick up flowers on the way, a book, or some kind of peace offering, but Sejanus and Lucy Gray shut that down very quickly. Even though he cut his hair almost as soon as he got back to this dump they called a house, they said you still needed time.

"Mhm." Lucy Gray nods, smiling at him knowingly. "She hasn't been working, so I was able to book her for the day."

Had Lucy Gray talked to you about this yet? No. But she knew it would do him some good to get away from this house for a day, whether you were there or not, and she knew that deep down you would want to see him again. A group setting was the best way to do this for everyone. She knew he would be easy to convince, but getting you to agree would be the hard part.

"Okay, okay yeah. I'll come." Coryo nods, looking down. He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he feels like he should be doing something to prepare somehow.

"She's still... sensitive. So be nice."

"I have never not been nice to her."

"Never said you have." Lucy Gray raises an eyebrow at him. "I meant be careful. She may not want to talk to you. I won't tell her you're coming so I can at least get her out the door."

"Why not?" Coryo asks, immediately knowing how stupid that sounds when Lucy Gray lets out a laugh. "I mean, I don't want to scare her off, so she should know. Please be honest with her." He pleads.

Lucy Gray's eyes soften at that. "Okay, you're right. But I'm not tellin' you if she says no. You still have to come." She points at him and he sighs.

"Okay, whatever. Sure."

"You're both just rotting and making it worse for yourselves. You need to get out." She says as she walks back inside, leaving him alone to read.

Coryo smiles to himself as he picks the book up again, continuing where he left off even though he's already read it five or six times.

"You're gonna be fine just fine, Y/N/N. I promise." Lucy Gray assures you as you walk down the path toward the forest where the Covey and Sejanus were waiting. With Coryo.

"I won't let him near ya." Lennox adds, kicking a rock aside as he walks in front of you and your friend.

"Whatever you want, sweetheart. If you want space, tell him. I talked to him about this. He knows not to push you." Lucy Gray whispers to you and you nod, teeth digging into the softness of your cheek.

"I know." You say quietly, arm wrapped around hers. You loved going to the lake, and you've been a couple of times since you've been back, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't hesitant to bring him with you. If it goes poorly, you don't know if you could ever go back.

"Yeah, I gave him a stern talkin' to. Put the fear of god in him, he'll be on his best behaviour." She giggles.

"You didn't actually scare him, did you?" You laugh nervously.

"Of course I did." She says, but you know she's just joking.

"Is Billy Taupe coming?" You ask her after a moment.

Your friend wrinkles up her nose and shakes her head. "No, lord, no." She chuckles. "He's off with that Mayfair. Real class act, they are."

You giggle, squeezing her arm. You take it as they're broken up, at least for now. "I'm sorry, Lucy Gray." You add and feel her shrug under your grip.

"I'm done with him this time." She tells you, shaking her head. "I can't trust him no more."

"One foot in sea and one on shore." You comment and she looks at you, a smile pulling on her lips as she gently pulls you closer, leaning her head on your shoulder.

"Y/N!" Maude Ivory greets the two of you first, running up and throwing her arms around your waist. You jump slightly at the sudden contact, making every effort to catch her with nothing more than a slight gasp and a smile. "I've missed you!"

"Hello, dear." You chuckle, running your hands over the length of her blonde hair. "It's only been a couple of weeks, and you do know where to find me."

"Your friend has a gift for you, come on." She grins, letting you go only to grab your hand and pull you up the rest of the hill.

When Coryo sees you, his instinct is to push his hair back out of his face. That can't happen, so he settles for shifting on his feet and gripping the flower he's holding in his hand as you avoid his gaze and he avoids your brothers. Of course you would hide from him- he doesn't fault you for it. You were nervous, he could tell. And of course Lucy Gray neglected to tell him that Lennox was coming, though, he understood why.

He just wished you were angry at him. That would be far preferable to you being afraid.

"Y/N, hi." Sejanus greets you and you smile at him, giving a quiet wave as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. You packed your book and a blanket with some cherries you picked from the tree behind your house to share with everyone. You can see in your peripheral vision that Coryo has gotten a haircut, but you can't bring yourself to look at him just yet. Or comment on it.

"Alright, let's get movin'! The sun is only up for so long." Lucy Gray claps, not forcing you to have to say hi to Coriolanus before she's urging the group on.

Coryo looks at you as everyone else starts walking, and you nod through everyone to go ahead of you. You hate the idea of having people behind you that you can't see.

Then, finally, your eyes land on him. He smiles, hoping you would want to walk with him.

"Go ahead." You say softly, quickly looking up ahead and Lennox has stopped to wait for you.

"Oh, uh, this is for you." Coryo takes a step closer, holding the yellow daisy out to you that he picked on the walk out. Apparently, you didn't want to walk with him- you just didn't want him behind you. That was a thousand times worse.

You look down at it for a moment, reminding yourself quickly to take it instead of just staring. "Thank you." You reply quietly, delicately plucking the flower from his hold.

"Yeah, of course." He grins, not wanting to give up your attention just yet. "I... I'm really glad you agreed to come."

"It'll be nice. The lake is beautiful." You tell him, glancing over at your brother.

"Come on!" He calls out, impatient. "They're gonna leave us in the dust."

You hold back a sigh as you feel Coryo's eyes on you. You guess you will be walking with him, after all. "Coming!" You smile at him.

It's fine- he's fine. He won't hurt me.

You look up at Coryo, and his eyes are still on you. "Shall we?" He grins, gesturing to the path ahead of you.

Okay, he looks normal. His eyes are normal. Blue, sky blue. Gentle.

"Let us go." You grin at him, holding tightly onto the strap of your bag as it rests across your chest. You look back down at your feet as you walk, mindful of the roots and sticks that may trip or scratch you. You spare a glance at his feet as he joins your side on the narrow path.

Lucy Gray knew that even with her warning that Coryo would likely corner you, but she kept a close eye on you even from up ahead while she talked to Sejanus and practically dragged Lennox along with them so he would give you at least a little bit of space.

You walk in silence for a long time. The trees get thicker as you separate from the meadow and the town, isolating you only further, but you didn't feel unsafe. Not really.

Coryo would take what he could get, but he had to try to talk to you eventually. When he planned out this trip in his head the night before they were set to board the train, he had hoped that the days and nights would be spent together. That you'd say you understood, that you were happy and okay and yes! You would love to take him to the lake you frequented, just the two of you, and 'Oh, we should bring a picnic and just spend the whole day there. It will be so much fun!' And he'd get to see your smile without it quickly fading and he could hold your hand and get that second kiss that he never thought he would receive and everything would be perfect.

He never considered himself much of a dreamer, but something about you made that change. After he got to feel his lips on yours, then on the soft skin of your shoulder and his hands on your waist or locked in yours, there was no going back. He was all yours.

"So," He starts talking after only about an hour of walking. You were almost there, so you took a sharp breath in. You could talk for forty minutes. You could do it. And you wanted to, you remind yourself. "This is quite a hike, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes." You nod. "But we aren't far out now. It's worth it, I promise." You say, eyes still locked on the ground just in front of you.

"Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful walk, just... long." He comments. "And lots of bugs."

"Yes..." You chuckle nervously.

"What's it like?" He asks, desperate just to continue to hear your voice,

"The lake?" You ask, risking a look up at him. His lips form into a smile and he nods, urging you on. "Well," You swallow, trying to organize every detail you remember from last summer, before the games. "The water is very blue, and quite clear. There's a dock, we have the most fun jumping off of it."

Coryo watches your expression intently, trying to inhale every word. You pause, and your face lights up with remembered joy. "My Pa put a rope swing up here for us kids when we were young, and a few summers ago I went to take it- I climbed as far back up as I could before jumping. Then, I felt the branch jerk and I grabbed it tighter, it ended up wrapped around my leg on the way down and I got stuck." You recall the injury, but you're almost laughing. "I got this massive red burn all up the inside of my thigh, and then Lennox ripped the thing down." You giggle, and Coryo swallows. "He was joking, just pretending to even though it was my own fault, but the branch broke clean off and me and Lucy Gray tried to jump out of the way and ended up falling straight into the water."

He laughs with you at that, shaking his head. "Well, I hope your leg wasn't serious." He watches you and you're quick to shake your head.

"No, gosh no." You giggle. "Not worth pulling the whole thing down over, but it wouldn't have been kind to the next kid who swung- that's for sure. So it was probably for the best."

"Fair enough." He shrugs, eyes still glued onto you.

"I'd rather get a burn then have that big ol' thing fall on Maude Ivory or CC. They were just little at the time." He nods. That sounds just like you.

"So you've been friends for a long time, I take it?"

"Well, yes. Since they got stuck here, pretty much."

"Stuck here?" Coryo asks, looking up ahead at the group that was still just within sight.

You look up as well, just to make sure they weren't in earshot. "The Covey isn't District." You explain, voice lowered. "They used to travel everywhere to perform, but then when they got here peacekeepers rounded them up. Executed all their parents, and the kids got stuck here." You tactically leave out the part about his father being the commanding officer at the time.

"Oh."

"I think that's why Lucy Gray can't get over Billy Taupe." You add quietly, watching your friend as she laughs with Sejanus up ahead. "He's one of them, they have so much history. They're on and off, but she'll never abandon him. Not when they've been through so much together. They're the oldest- they've had to take care of the rest of them for almost their whole lives."

Coryo doesn't know what to say. "That's... yeah. I can imagine it would be hard to move on when they're so tied to each other."

You hum in agreement. "Anyway, we met when they were begging outside the market. They set their instruments up and were playing for tips just so they could eat, so my parents stopped and invited them for dinner. They've been with us ever since."

"Your parents are really good people." He comments.

You look up at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I told you that, didn't I?"

"Well, you told me they weren't rebels. That doesn't mean they're saints." He jokes.

"Feels like anyone less than a saint these days is considered a rebel for one reason or another." You argue, but there's no harshness at all behind your tone.

"Regardless, your parents are safe." He says, hoping that you've forgotten about his father being a peacekeeper general.

"Well, thank you." You laugh slightly, shaking your head. "How is Tigris, by the way? And your Grandmother? Have you spoken to them since you've been away?"

"I've called a few times, yeah. They're doing well." Coryo smiles. "Tigris is taking some time off, she's working on some different projects at home."

"I'm glad to hear that." You smile. "They must be missing you."

"So they say, yeah." He chuckles.

"It's hard to be away from home." You tell him. "I know it all too well."

His smile drops steadily, but he just nods. "Yes. At least I have the guarantee of returning."

You try so hard to steer every conversation you have away from the games, but it never seems to work. People have so many questions, so many comments, and it's a shame that Coryo is no exception. You suppose that was inevitable. He's one of very few people who somewhat know what you went through.

You really wish you had met him some other way.

"I'm sorry." He quickly apologizes, sensing your shifted energy. "That was... I shouldn't have said that."

"No, no. It's okay." You insist. "I just... Everyone wants to talk about it all the time. I can't escape it."

"I should have known better. I'm sorry." He says again, taking in a deep breath. "I wanted to be different. I try so hard to not make you think about it and I should have remembered that before I said anything, I just-"

You shake your head, frowning as you look up at him. "I wouldn't expect you to." You tell him. "If I'm honest, you're the one person I think I am okay with discussing it with."

Coryo has to fight back the smile threatening to pull at his cheeks from the relief. You weren't planning on never talking to him again. This was a great sign. He opens his mouth to speak when he hears shouting from up ahead.

"We made it!" Lucy Gray cheers, and sure enough, he can see the lake appearing through the trees.

"Coryo, you gotta see this!" Sejanus's voice follows.

"We made it." You smile, happy to change the subject. "Come on, the water is going to feel so good."

Then, you're jogging up ahead of him and pulling your bag off to leave on the dock.

taglist: @soulessjourney , @that-veela-girl ,  @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs , @maysileeewrites , @baybieruth , @kitscutie ,  @fratboyharrysgf0201 , @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @drewsandsebastianswife , @niicole-87 , @queenofshinigamis , @innercreationflower , @nallasstuff , @scorpiolystoned , @iovemoonyy , @thatmarvelchick19 , @wearemadeofstardust0 , @regulusblackcore , @puredreamagination , @fantasticchaosthing , @becauseseaotters , @secretsicanthideanymore

okay suddenly tumblr isn't letting me tag more people than this so i just made some cuts unfortunately :') i just left the max amount of people i could whose users i recognized and see in my notifs all the time :) if you're not on here and you should be i'm so sorry!

also this taglist is closed now!! if you’d like to get a notification when i update, turn on my post notifications!! i promise i won’t spam y'all :,)

[president-coriolanus-snow]

So here's the tea.

For three weeks I've had this image as my desktop background at work

This has not been an issue for the 3 weeks I've had it up, so about a week ago I'm talking about Isaac with a coworker and for the first time I mention that Isaac (this character) is gay. He's in a relationship with a man.

Now, one of my other coworkers starts glaring at me at this point, they go for break, and when they come back from break, I'm getting hauled into HR.

Now HR Is requesting I change my desktop background, and you'll never guess why.

Apparently it's depicting racism.

........ Okay, not sure how anyone came to that conclusion but it gets worse.

So they ask me to change it, I told them I'd like to file a complaint against the person who complained for being homophobic, because the image wasn't an issue until they found out the character is gay.

They asked me to be the bigger man, I said I'm not bending to homophobia.

So this escalates, cause if they don't make me change it then it's consider a racial complaint, if they make me change it it's a homophobic complaint.

Anyway, they eventually get to me agree to change it. So ... naturally being the chaotic son of a bitch that I am. I change it to this image.

Same character, just gayer.

Now I'm getting hauled into another HR meeting about how I can't have this character, because it's still considered racist and it's making "people uncomfortable".

Okay .... so I said to her "It's specifically this character, you're considering this racial?" she goes "Yes." I'm like "So I can pick another character?" She goes "Yes, so long as it's not this character."

Okay.

So I change it to this.

Same actor ..... different character.

What's gonna be racial about this Debbie?!?!

So I get hauled into HR AGAIN .... and I'm being told that I need to change it because the positioning is "Too suggestive" and not appropriate for work. I wasn't aware yoga was consider suggestive, but here we sit.

So .... okay, if it's the position they have an issue with ...

I can close his legs .... that's fine.

Anyway long story short, Brandon Scott Jones has been banned from my work place.

The best part is - the complainer left their computer unlocked when they left today so I changed their desktop background to this

They don't know how to change their desktop background on their own - enjoy!

(Get you a job where you're humble enough to know you're replaceable, but confident enough to know that replacing you would be a pain in the ass for the company enough so that you can get away with this shit)

[luzial]

s i ckcfgic sick fic

After some deliberation, it was determined the best way to do this was to let both Solas and Ellana get sick (one at a time, so then they each get a turn as caregiver as well). Thank you for the very timely prompt, anon.

Full text below, also on AO3.

------

Solas rolled onto his side, burying his face in Ellana's hip where she sat upright beside him on the bed.

"I'm dying," he croaked out, his throat on fire with the effort.

"You're not," Ellana said. She sounded very certain, and perhaps slightly cross.

"How can you be certain?" He tugged up his blanket until it covered his ear. Sweat was pooling between his shoulder blades and on the backs of his thighs, but his body seemed certain that he was, in fact, freezing and he should ask Ellana for yet another layer of blankets.

"You've already been to the doctor. He didn't say anything about you dying. I'm pretty sure he would have mentioned it."

She was certainly cross.

"I should sleep on the sofa," Solas offered, making a perfunctory effort to sit up. "I'll only make you sick as well if I stay here."

"No," Ellana replied decisively, a hand on his chest to push him back down. "I'll be fine. I never get sick. I absolutely refuse to get sick. You should try it."

Solas was confident it didn't work that way, but he lacked the energy to debate her at the moment and had no real desire to move to the sofa. He wanted to stay in bed, hugging Ellana's legs while feeling absolutely miserable.

"I can't sleep," he complained some time later.

His head was still under the blankets but he heard Ellana set her cell phone on the nightstand.

"Can I get you something?" she asked. "Do you want some tea? Or water?"

"No."

"Crackers? Soup?"

"No."

"I don't think it's time for another dose of medicine yet."

"No, not for another hour."

"I can grab my laptop if you want to watch something?"

"No."

Ellana sighed. "Is there something you want to read?"

"No," he groaned into his pillow. "Unless …" he said as an idea occurred to him. "Would you read to me?"

She didn't immediately respond and so he tightened his grip on her leg, hoping to convey the urgency of his request. He was suddenly certain that this would be the thing that would finally make him feel a bit better.

"I can. Did you have something specific in mind?"

"There is an issue of The Orlesian Historical Review on my desk that I haven't had a chance to read yet."

She hesitated again.

"You want me to read you articles from an academic journal?"

"Yes," Solas nodded against her leg. He wanted it very badly.

Ellana sighed again. "Alright," she said, beginning to stir beside him.

"Don't leave." He held tight to her legs.

"Solas. You do understand that unless you've trained Parchment to fetch things from your desk, I'm going to need to get up."

"I know." He dug his fingers into her thigh.

Ellana leaned over him, chuckling. "It'll be a minute. Not even a minute. Just let me go." She briefly placed her lips to his forehead, then abruptly pulled away.

"Oh," she said, the touch of her lips suddenly replaced by back of her cool hand against his skin. "You're actually really warm." She sounded worried. "Here, I'll get you a cold washcloth while I'm up."

He let out a low whine as she eased his arm off her and finally slipped out of the bed. In truth, he was feeling a good deal better than he had an hour before. But if Ellana thought he seemed worse, if she had determined he needed additional care, who was he to argue?

When she returned, she put a few extra pillows behind him so he could sit up without feeling the iron bars of his bed poking at his back. She arranged the washcloth on his forehead before sitting beside him again and opening the journal to an article on the prevalence of swans in early Storm Age woodcarvings found in southern Orlais. Solas happily closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillows.

"'The carvings at the recently discovered remains of the Avery estate in Montsimmard depict two members of the genus Cygnus facing one another, their wings outstretched. While some have argued -'"

"Wait," Solas peeked at the journal in Ellana's hands through half-lidded eyes, lifting his head only just enough to see over her shoulder. "Was there a footnote in that sentence?"

"How could you possibly know that?" She angled the text away from him.

"It had the cadence of something that needed additional clarification," he said.

"Yes," she bit out. "There's a footnote."

"Would you read the footnotes as well, please?"

She stared at him, her lips forming a tight pout as he watched her cheeks grow red. "All of them? Even the citations?"

He did want all of them, even the citations, but he was enjoying himself too much to risk pushing her too far. "The content footnotes will suffice," he said.

Ellana took in a deep breath. "This is a note after the bit about the genus Cygnus: 'As the carvings were not embellished with color, there are difficulties in determining which species is represented. While the Empress Swan was, and remains, the most common species found in southern Orlais …'"

Solas watched her as she read, entranced by the movements of her mouth and the way she swept her hair back behind her ear each time it fell forward when she leaned over the journal. He chuckled when she added editorial quips to the text (to 'give it some flavor,' she said), though he quickly lost control of his laughter as it shifted to a hacking cough. He wished he could hold her close to him and feel the cool press of her skin against his own; he wished he could kiss the corner of her mouth where it pinched each time she made a joke. He sighed loudly, his frustration getting the better of him.

"You sound worse," Ellana said, all the amusement gone from her face as she looked over at him. She ran a hand from his forehead down his cheek and it was perfect, just perfect, Solas thought.

"I'm going to get you a glass of water and your medicine, and then I really think you should try to go back to sleep." Her eyes were so wide, her mouth curved down in a little frown, so concerned, so tender.

"I will try," he said. It sounded very brave to his ears.

Once he'd taken his pills and finished the full glass of water (Ellana insisted, and he was delighted), Solas settled down beneath the covers. She left again, carrying the empty glass back into the kitchen. When she didn't immediately return, he called out her name. When she didn't reply, he called it a few more times.

Finally, she reappeared at the door with her open laptop balanced in one hand.

"I was coming back," she assured him. "I just wanted to watch something while you slept - unless you think the noise will bother you."

"It won't," he said. He had no real intention of sleeping, anyway. He merely wanted to lie beside her. Parchment, perhaps sensing his mood, hopped up onto the bed, made several small circles, and then found a comfortable spot pressed up against his legs.

Ellana slid beneath the blankets, perched the computer on her lap, and then draped her arm above his head on the pillow. Very responsibly, he did not turn to kiss her fingers, though he easily could have.

"What will you watch?" he asked.

"I thought I should finally check out that version of Inquisitive Hearts you and Dorian are always talking about," she said. "The Antivan production."

Solas knew he would not sleep now, even if he had been tired. He was far too invested in seeing Ellana's reactions to the film, though he might have to at least pretend to doze off occasionally. As slowly as he could, so as not to disturb Parchment, he angled himself toward her and hooked a knee over her leg. He heard the swell of familiar music as the film began.

-------------

Three days later, Solas returned from an afternoon in his office at the university to find Ellana sitting on his sofa with blankets piled on top of her. When he approached her, he realized she was also wearing several layers of clothing and had somehow convinced Parchment to sit on her lap.

"Why is your house so cold?" she complained.

"You're sick," he said immediately.

"No, I'm not."

"Have you taken anything?"

"No. Because I'm not sick."

She sneezed loudly, several times in a row. Parchment hopped down off her lap, clearly offended by the display. Ellana stared up at him as if daring him to contradict her.

"Come," Solas said, reaching down a hand to her. "You should be in bed."

"Well if that's what you wanted, you could have just … oh shit, it's freezing!" Ellana winced as her bare feet touched the floor.

"It isn't," he said, putting a hand behind her back to balance her. "But I will get you a pair of socks."

She was shivering when he finally managed to convince her to get into bed, so he piled the extra blankets on top of her. He brought in her laptop because she insisted she was still going to conduct the two remote interviews she had scheduled for the afternoon, even though she sounded increasingly congested (and ridiculous, and a bit endearing) with each passing minute. He considered pointing this out and decided against it - she would only become more insistent that she needed to stick to her schedule.

Solas tried not to hover outside the closed bedroom door while she finished her interviews, noting the increasing frequency of her sneezes and, now, coughs as well. Once he was certain she was done, he knocked on the door to bring her a cup of hot tea.

"Thanks," Ellana said, her voice hoarse. "I'm just going to take a quick nap and sleep it off. I'll be fine in a couple hours."

"Are you certain you don't want to take something first?"

"No." She coughed. "It's not …" she coughed again, "… that bad."

"And if you wake up and it's worse, will you take something then?"

"Sure. I guess," she shrugged before dissolving into a coughing fit and shrinking below the covers. She was snoring lightly not long after.

Solas used the hours she was asleep to clean. The house had become somewhat disorganized while he'd been sick, during which time Ellana had managed to do a load of laundry but not to put it away. He also noticed a few items in the kitchen had not been returned to their usual places. She'd been apologetic about the state of things, but he knew the blame was partially his as well - he'd wanted her to keep him company for as much time as she would allow.

With the laundry folded and the kitchen thoroughly cleaned, Solas peered into the bedroom to check on Ellana. She was lying face down, had kicked off several layers of bedding, and had her arms and legs splayed across the entire mattress. Parchment was perched on her lower back, purring loudly enough that Solas could hear it from the door. He hurried in to move the cat off her.

Ellana slept well into the evening, emerging from the bedroom with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders sometime after sunset. She insisted upon eating the soup he'd made at the dining table, though he'd found a tray to use so she could stay in bed if she preferred. She shuffled into the bathroom after she ate and returned with a selection of medicines that she spread across the table. After some consideration, she finally chose one of them and then immediately returned to bed.

Solas joined her a few hours later. She had managed to confine herself to one side but was tossing and turning constantly, her cough keeping her half awake. When he finally decided it would be best to move to the couch, she grabbed him around the waist with both arms and sleepily murmured, "Stay," so he did.

In the morning, he left her only long enough to take a shower. But when he opened the door from the bathroom he found Ellana at the front door, fully dressed, and attempting to pull his heavy winter coat over one of her arms. She already had it half on, but it was so large on her that it fell down to her ankles, and she was struggling with the second arm because her hand was lost somewhere in the first.

"What are you doing?" he said, baffled.

Ellana looked up at him and her face was deathly pale. Her eyes were only slightly open and sweat beaded on her forehead. "I'm going to the store," she said with something he imagined was supposed to be a smile but actually looked a bit harrowing.

"Ellana …" he began, uncertain what to even say.

"Do you need anything?" she asked before she hunched over, coughing uncontrollably, and reached out a hand to balance herself on the door.

"Oh, come on, Solas!" Ellana objected as he carefully escorted her toward the bedroom. "I just want to go outside for a few minutes. Sun is supposed to be good when you're sick, right?"

After a long negotiation, he situated her on the bench in the garden still wrapped in his winter coat, with a blanket beneath her and two more on top. He then hurried back into the kitchen to make tea and collect the medicines she'd left on the dining table. It was time, Solas decided, to take matters into his own hands.

While Ellana sipped her tea and blinked sleepily in the sunlight, Solas scoured his phone for some way to set a timer. Eventually he found it and set individual, labeled alerts for each of the medications he handed over to her.

"See?" she said as she finished her tea. "I told you the sun would help."

"Taking something to treat your symptoms is what helped," he muttered under his breath as he took her mug into the kitchen to refill it.

He sat beside her on the bench until she began to fall asleep, then took the mug from between her hands when he saw her head slump forward to her chest. When he felt certain he wouldn't wake her, he carried her back to the bed.

By the third day Ellana had a little color back in her cheeks and the medicine was keeping the worst of her cough under control. She was, however, far more congested than she had been at the start, and Solas had to make a trip to the store for more tissues when she went through everything he had in the house.

He knew she must be over the worst of it when, while he sat beside her on the bed and read through the latest issue of The Orlesian Historical Review now that he could better focus on it, he suddenly felt Ellana's hand slide from where she'd rested it on his chest down into his lap.

"Ellana!" Solas grabbed her and laced her fingers with his own to keep her from pulling away.

"What?" she groaned, then sniffled loudly. "It might help. You don't know. Please, I can't just sit in bed all day. I'm so bored."

"Flattering," he told her. "And yet not the solution to your problem."

She huffed with frustration and curled up closer to him, bringing their clasped hands down to rest against her chest.

"I'm dying," Ellana proclaimed with another round of sniffles.

"I know," Solas said as he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her against his chest, and placed a kiss to her forehead.

[overseer-picard]

Here's question that's been ping-ponging around in my head - purely for the funsies:

Out of all the mirror-verse, who's evil counterpart had the biggest glow-up (not necessarily that they look better, just that they look freaking cool)

Alternatively, who looks worse?

YES. The evil glow ups. This answer will be neither simple, nor brief.

First off, just to be clear, these are all based on the mirror universe characters created by Diane Duane in the book "Dark Mirror", which was a continuation of the mirror universe introduced in TOS. IDW then created a comic series and that's where I'm pulling this art and my opinions.

First and foremost: I love all the insane muscles. 100% amazing choice to have a whole universe of protein infused gym bros.

Picard: Slight glow-down. I know a goatee is the signature look of villainy, but it's kind of the only thing different about him. To quote Brent Spiner, when showed these comics at a con, "that's just how Patrick already looks". I think it would've been neat to see some leftover Borg tech utilized here, or even something cool with his artificial heart (permanent gun-hand powered by his heart, Iron Man style, OR a replicator hand than only makes cups of tea).

====================

Riker: Glow-up. I think the injured eye and scar is a really cool look and they lean into his intimidating size. I will say the beard braids are... interesting. I think I like them because they feel pirate-y, and that's an appropriate vibe for the setting.

====================

Data: Glow-up. From a visual perspective, it's awesome. The Borg bits look so cool, BUT I feel like there could've been something more interesting that ties into his character thematically (bits and pieces of real humans? yikes, that's grizzly).

====================

Beverly: Glow-down. Sure she looks more evil, I suppose, but she just looks like her Prime self but severe. I feel like there could've been something more to do here. She's "the captain's woman" and is a doctor without morals, so maybe some questionable visual or neural augments? I'm not quite sure.

Wesley: BIG Glow-down. I hate this look, it just screams... early 2000's Disney high school bully. I'm also not a fan of how his character was depicted in the stories. If anything, with who Wesley is in the prime universe, I think having him remain a moral constant would've been interesting since he is capable of becoming a Traveler and therefore, transcends space and time.

====================

Geordi: Glow-down. I think Geordi is my least favorite design after Wesley. The bald look and the funky visor just don't do it for me, it feels very Marvel villain to me. I honestly love the idea of the Empire openly using all sorts of Borg tech and I know Data already has dibs on that, but Geordi IS the tech guy, so letting him go crazy with the bionics would've been cool.

====================

Worf: Neutral. I know we see a very different Worf in the DS9 mirror universe but in the TNG one, he's actually a shockingly tragic character. The Klingons are enslaved by the Empire and he's actually one of the only characters who has a moral conscious. His design is just.. Klingon who isn't in Starfleet. Not sure how I'd change anything, but I'm always down for lots of scars.

====================

Deanna: Glow-up. This design leans into her character weaponizing her sexuality. Troi is quite possibly the most evil of all the mirror characters and she knows it. I think her design is pretty fun overall and ties into the character very well.

====================

Look at all these murderous, vascular cuties.

All art is by JK Woodward, except the Picard one which is by Zach Howard.

[shegatsby]

Hi,

could you please write a Hannibal one-shot, where he is in love with Alana‘s best friend? He met her after she picked up Alana from one of his dinners? And Alana often tries to set them up, with the reader being pretty stubborn, but after a while, finally gives in?

A/N: Hi, thank you for this request. Don't wory guys im getting to your other requests as well. xxx

''Pretty please!'' you heard Alana's honeyed voice yet demanding. You were at home, minding your own business, reading and drinking your wine when suddenly your friend Alana called, asking you to pick her up from a friend's dinner party. ''What happened to your car?'' Alana paused for a second, she came up with a quick lie ''Broke down a week ago.'' you looked outside the window and saw the darkness, under the yellow street lights one could see snow. ''Send me the address.'' Little did you and a certain gentleman know that Alana had a cunning plan. You wore a simple outfit, black jeans, a burgundy sweater, with your keys you left the comfort of your home.

The drive was 20 minutes, when you parked you felt as if you have entered Dracula's castle. ''The owner of the house must be into architecture.'' you thought.

When you rang the bell you had a feeling that tonight something strange would happen but you pushed that feeling away, no need to be paranoid.

A tall man answered the door, and made you freeze for a second. He was much taller than you, his maroon eyes seemed like the pits of a deep wheel, observing you and calling for you, ''Hello, I am Doctor Lecter. Please come in.'' you walked in with a bluch on your cheeks, you weren't sure why you were flustered. He took your coat, ''I am Y/N Y/L/N, Alana's friend. Here to pick her up.'' you said calmly as he took your coat you didn't notice but his eyes closed for a second to smell your scent and he found himself intrigued. ''Please follow me.'' you did as he said, he guided you to the grand living room where Alana was sitting by the fire place, as soon as you entered you were struck by the ambiance. The inside made you feel like you were in a museum, the walls were dark blue which held paintings from renaissance era, mostly depictions of ancient Greek tales. You fund yourself standing in front of the painting of ''Leda and the Swan''

''You are interested in fine art I take it?'' you heard Hannibal say with a cool yet interested tone. Before you could speak Alana's voice was heard ''Yes, my friend is deeply interested in art.'' you gave a threatning look to your friend and turned to Hannibal, ''Yes, I'm in awe of what men can create.''

Hannibal found your answer daring, you could see his eyebrow twitch, ''If you have to I would love to offer you a warm cup of tea?'' he offered kindly, you looked at Alana, wondering if she had to go home immediately but she nodded in agreement. ''I would love that. Thank you.''

''I will be back shortly.'' he declared and left you alone with Alana.

Alana had a strange look on her face as she sat by the fire again, ''He is fine isn't he?'' she asked trying to conceal her smirk, you rolled your eyes and sat next to your friend. ''What's your angle?'' you turned to your friend, obviously she was after something. Her blue eyes had a strange shimmer. Hannibal walked in with a silver tray that had three cups, you noticed how he held the tray elegantly his three piece suit made him look like a member of a royal family far away from here. You noticed his accent, he must be from Lithuania, an exotic place and exotic man...

''Thank you.'' you said she handed you the porcelain cup, it smelled divine, ''My pleasure.'' he responded kindly. It also tasted divine.

Even though you had spent thirty minutes there you loved the conversation, he was konwledgeable about everything and he was willing to listen, you noticed how focused his eyes were on your reactions and face.

You dropped your friend off and drove back home. When you climbed the bed your mind went back to tonight's events. Doctor Lecter's demeanor made you aware of him, he was there and dominant. It triggered you in an exciting way.

The next morning you went to work, you worked at a bookshop, the owner was an old lady who needed help and you started working, it had been 2 years and you were comfortable there.

As you placed the books on the shelves you heard the door open, a dominant voice called in a disbelief ''Miss Y/LN?'' you turned to owner of the voice, ''Doctor Lecter?'' you were startled to see him there, ''H-hi, how are you?'' you stood up to approach him, he was wearing a long black coat, black leather gloves and a dark red scarf, he immediately took off his gloves and extended his hand eagerly, ''Its lovely to see you here Miss, I'm very well, what about you?'' he smiled and you swore his eyes shimmered with an emotion... a powerful one.

''I'm doing great, what brings you here?'' you asked in a curious manner.

''I'm on a break and I thought I should look for a new book to read. I had no idea you were working here.'' Lie... Last night ss soon as you left he did a deep dive search on you and thanks to your Instagram he found a lot about you.

''What a grea idea. Anything speacial in mind?''

He looked around for a second, ''I would love to hear your recommendation.''

He was looking at you so intensely, ''Well,'' you started, ''My favorite is Great Gatsby by Fitzgerald.''

He took a step towards you, once again you were reminded how tall he was, tovering above you, ''May I ask why?'' his dark mind observing you, ''Its a love story and im sucker for those,'' you chuckled which earned you a grin from him, ''There was a line there which stroke a cord with me,'' you stopped to think for a second, trying to remember, ''He looked at her the way all women want to be looked at by a man.'' you gave the quote, ''Its just.. a great story.'' you were gas and his eyes were matched, lighting you up.

''Its a shame,'' he made you focus on him, you thought he was going to humiliate you, ''All the credit goes to Fitzgerald in fact his wife Zelda was the one who he stole the ideas from.'' your eyes lit up, he knew.

''Another white man getting a credit from something a woman had done. Same old story.'' you commented, he raised his hands as defending in a sarcastic manner, ''You said it, not me.'' you laughed at his reaction.

After talking for a while he offered you something, ''I will be throwing another dinner party next week. I would love to see you there.''

You smiled gently, ''I would love that.''

The entire week you pondered upon what to wear, and the day finally came. Alana was at your home watching you get ready, ''Wow, he really invited you huh? I knew he was interested in you since the second he saw you.''

You rolled your eyes, ''Its not like that, he is friendly.'' you protested as you wore a nice black dress, ''I know him, he never invites other than his work friends, you are the first person from outside his work and... you know what? You'll see what I'm talking about.'' Alana raised her hands in a weary attitude.

When you entered his home you understood what Alana was trying to say, everyone came from a successful background and they were all one way or another his colleagues, she was right. You were an outsider. Alana introduced you to her team she kept talking about, Will Graham, Jack Crawford and others, you had a nice chat when Hannibal approached, his eyes first landed on Will, who waa talking to you, and then you. ''I see you met my close friends.'' he said greeting you, ''Will was just talking about a case you and him worked on.''

His stood next to you and his hand went to the small of your back, you didn't understand what was going on, but he was directly facing Wil.. ''Please Will, go on.'' his tone was careful. ''Uhh-'' Will froze for a second, he looked at you and Hannibal and then smiled understandingly. You still didn't understand what was going on but let it go.

The night was vibrant, you met most of his colleagues and they were nice and kind but everytime he introduced you to someone new he would place his hand on your back and stood there like a statue.

When the night came to an end Alana left you with him, you decided to help him in the kitchen, he gave you an apron and you got to work. He played some classical music, you heard Hildegard Von Bingen and smiled to yourself, he noticed, ''I love Hildegard.'' you explained shortly. Together you worked in silence, ''Thank you for helping.'' he said gently and you smiled kindly. He offered a glass of wine and asked you to wait in the living room, the fireplace was lit, you decided to stand by the tall window and watch the serene night.

Hannibal walked in with two glasses and for few seconds he watched you, you looked calm and content. He approached and offered you a glass, ''Thank you.'' he smiled kindly and decided to stand next to you, a question was nagging you, ''Alana said that you usually invite your colleagues.'' you began, ''That is true.'' he said waiting for you to continue, ''What am I doing here then?'' you asked turning to him, looking at him under your lashes, ''I wanted you to mee to my friends and be a part of my life.'' he was so frank that it caught you off guard, '' You have captured me the moment I had met you Y/N, you don't have to say anything just think about it.''

''Yes.'' you found yourself saying, ''I want to be with you too Hannibal.''

He smiled lovingly and leaned in for a kiss.

Thank you for reading. :)

[nattikay]

actually no wait holdup, I stumbled across some "Na'vi redesigns" recently, and while I don't want to make a stink about it on the actual redesign posts themselves because I don't want to antagonize the artists, who are clearly skilled in their own right, I do have something to say on the topic. While there is of course nothing wrong with re-designing characters or species for fun, there seems to be this condescending attitude surrounding Na'vi redesigns in particular, especially ones that make them significantly more monstrous/non-human, about how they're "better" than the canon designs for being less humanoid but....

y'all. Though there is a lot of cool speculative biology in Avatar, Avatar at is heart is not meant to be a speculative biology documentary, it's meant to be a story.

y’know, it’s interesting, there’s a section in Anomaly Inc’s epic eight-hour Avatar defense in which he’s refuting The Critical Drinker’s Avatar video. Paraphrasing a bit because I don’t want to dig through eight hours for this one line, but there’s a point where Critical Drinker says “if the Na'vi looked like this, or this, or this [showing images of much more monstrous alien designs from other movies], Avatar would be a very different movie”, and Anomaly Inc responds, “no actually, if the Na'vi looked like xenomorphs nothing in the plot would change, it would just be a whole lot less pleasant to look at.”

And you know what? They’re both right. Anomaly Inc is correct that giving the Na'vi a more monstrous design would not affect the plot itself, but Critical Drinker is also right (though perhaps not in the way he intended) that it would make Avatar a different movie. A WORSE MOVIE.

Yeah, I said it. Because plot is an important element to a movie, yes, but it’s not the only important element. Film is a visual medium, and therefore design is very important too, and it’s not arbitrary: the design of your characters should be used to support the story you’re trying to tell.

The story of Avatar requires the audience to empathize with the Na'vi. We’re supposed to be able to relate to them, to see ourselves in them. We’re meant not to see them as just “aliens”, but as people, because recognizing them as people emphasizes the wrongness of the RDA’s treatment of them. Blowing up the village of a clearly humanoid species is going to hit the audience much harder than blowing up the nest of scary-looking aliens, even if we know the aliens are smart and have their own culture etc. (not to say that blowing up the “nest” wouldn’t still be bad, of course it would be, it just wouldn’t invoke quite the same gut reaction in the viewers and yes that matters in a story).

A more monstrous design would not only not support the Na'vi’s narrative role, it would actively hinder it. Like it or not, general audiences would have a much more difficult time connecting with the Na'vi if they were depicted as hunched-over four-eyed hexapods with gaping jaws and the inability to make human facial expressions. Making them more humanoid makes them much easier to read and therefore to emotionally connect to. And no, Mr. Drinker, making your protagonists appealing to look at is not “lazy dirty manipulation”, it’s character design 101.

And don’t get me wrong, there’s certainly a place for more monstrous-looking sapient alien species in fiction! And if that’s your cup of tea by all means go nuts! Make that alien species! Flesh out their culture! That sounds awesome! I know I’ve definitely seen some cool and interesting ones out there!

….but I just don’t think that Avatar is that place. And that’s ok. There’s a place for “monstrous” aliens (sapient or otherwise), but there’s a place for humanoid aliens too, Avatar is the latter and there’s nothing wrong with that.

…all that to say, my stance on Na'vi redesigns is heavily dependent on the attitude behind them:

“Here’s a Na'vi redesign because I thought it would be a fun challenge and look cool!” Awesome, go for it, have fun! :D

“Here’s a Na'vi redesign because the canon designs are dumb and lazy and mine is way Better and More Original because it looks more like a movie monster, the filmmakers were so stupid for not making them look more like this, I’m just Fixing It” shut up

[wirywyrm]

I want to share more stuff about my Tav, but I’ve been too busy to draw as of late, and even then, I still haven’t shared much about his character beyond the surface level. He has depth- I swear 🥲. I’m just more confident when it comes to making silly little doodles than actually writing/depicting compelling character interactions. I have so many comic scripts and unfinished wips…

ANYWAY. I saw this OC tag game circling around that was originally made by Clericblood and figured it would be fun to fill out, + it gives me an excuse to info dump about Arthur some more. So, here's some more info about my Tav.

General:

Name: Arthur Tavener Alias: Tav Arthur goes by “Tav,” an abbreviation of his last name, Tavener, as a nickname instead of “Art” or “Arty” because he lost those other nicknames to the fey. A piece of advice Arthur would give is don’t get drunk in the woods, and especially don’t play a game of cards with a suspicious man you encounter while drunk in the woods. Gender: Cis Man Age: 45 (≈29 physically) Spoken Languages: Common (Faeruni), Dwarfish (Dethek), and Elvish (Espruar). Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Occupation: Adventurer. Arthur’s background is listed as an entertainer, but he wasn’t famous, wealthy, or part of a band, circus, or actor troupe. Arthur was more or less a traveling busker. His main revenue was whatever coins people would toss him after a performance. So, apart from entertaining, he’s done his fair share of odd jobs and quests to get by.

Favorite: 

Colour: Red Entertainment: Playing card & dice games, sharing stories, reading. Pastime: Journals, restores/mends old books, practices playing the lute, and hums or whistles pub songs, bard tunes & sea shanties. Foods: No strong preferences, he will eat literally anything. Drinks: Cider, Ale, & Tea.

Have They…

Passed University: No. Arthur spent a couple years studying at the bardic College of New Olamn, but dropped out before he graduated. Had Sex: Yes. Although he hadn’t had any long-term relationships prior to Gale. Had Sex in Public: No. Gotten Tattoos: Yes. Arthur has three tattoos. One on his chest, one on his left arm, and one on his lower back. Gotten Piercings:Yes. His ears are pierced. Gotten Scarred: Yes. Arthur has plenty of scars from beast & blade alike. Although only below the chin. He takes particular care to heal any injuries that would result in facial scars, as he doesn’t want to come across as intimidating or unapproachable. For the same reason, he also doesn’t typically introduce himself as an adventurer or sell-sword (because given what the average dnd party gets up to on the Swordcoast, they probably have a very mixed reputation). Had a Broken Heart: Yes. Arthur’s lost a fair amount of friends and family over the course of his life.

Are They…

A Cuddler: Yes. Scared Easily: Yes. Arthur is often scared, especially given the scenarios he’s regularly placed in during the events of BG3 (& even before that), but he does his best to hide it. Arthur will grit his teeth and grin through the most terrifying situations- cracking jokes even when wounded. He prefers to not worry others and keep spirits high. Even if, as a result, he’s neglecting his own well-being. Jealous Easily: Somewhat. Arthur will get jealous when it comes to certain things, but he rarely acts upon that jealousy. He particularly gets a little petty in the company of nobles, sorcerers, and those Arthur believes have had things handed to them on a silver platter. However, getting to know someone will change his opinion of them regardless of any initial jealousy. For example, Arthur liked Wyll despite Wyll being the son of a duke, both due to Ulder Ravengaurd's history as the son of the blacksmith from the lower city and Wyll’s as a folk hero / The Blade of Frontiers. Trustworthy: No. Arthur is unquestionably good aligned, but I would not consider him entirely trustworthy. Arthur primarily trusts his own judgment when making decisions. Even in the case of his party members, if he suspects their end goals do not align with his own and he cannot persuade them to change course, he will potentially go behind their backs or act against them. He’ll actively manipulate, lie, steal, and backstab if he thinks it’s necessary. To answer the question more plainly, if your character is good, yes, you can generally consider him trustworthy; if they’re more neutral or evil, absolutely not.

Family: 

Sibling(s): He probably has several half siblings, but there aren’t any he personally knows.  Parents: Beatrix Tavener, Human (F), Lorin Goldwalker, Sun Elf (M). Although Arthur’s relationship to the guardian-figures in his life is complicated. Arthur’s mother died when he was young. His father was a deadbeat. He was taken in by a party of adventurers for a time. Then, he was primarily raised throughout his teens by his grandparents. Who- are not around anymore given they were human, and Arthur’s over 40 years of age. Children: Maybe? (I’ve been debating wether or not Arthur and Gale would adopt Yenna- the girl who can stay in your camp/get kidnapped by Orin in Act 3). Pets: Formerly. Arthur used to have a dog named Japer. He probably wouldn’t be able to keep Scratch, or the grown up owl bear cub, due to city laws in Waterdeep. Us & Shovel are more like summons. Grub would count - if he adopts Yenna. Lastly, Tara would not allow Arthur to call her his pet. Gale Could. Tav would have very cross tressym he’d have to appease.

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 6

Christmas Day, and the final day (supposedly)

Word count: 4.8k (damn that's more than I originally intended to write for this part)

Warnings: unrealistic depictions of winter in Britain (it snows a lot), swearing, Lockwood gets a hug from reader's mum and can't cope, lockwood's lack of sleep is brought up, reader has Feelings and can't cope, Stephanie and Linda are bitches again and get an awful gift for reader, body image issues, lockwood shouts at Steph, mentions of Lockwood's family (and them being dead), Stephanie (she's a warning all on her own tbh), cliffhanger of an ending

the picture doesn't really match the vibes but it's one of the few where he's not wearing a suit 🤡 (but also look how babygirl he looks)

(image credit to lavenderghostco on pinterest)

series master list

Lockwood hadn't slept.

Instead he had spent the night trying to get Y/n to hear him through the locked bathroom door, but then when he'd heard quiet music playing and realised that she'd taken her walkman with her and was sleeping in there he had given up, shifting to lean his back against the door and pull his knees up to his chest.

Then he had used the rest of the night to go over what had been said between the two of them, and how horribly wrong it had all gone.

Why couldn't she have waited another two seconds for him to finish talking?

And why couldn't he figure out how to properly apologise to her?

When the sun had finally risen and slightly blinded Lockwood as it streamed in through the curtains that hadn't been properly closed the night before, he stood up, shaking out his stiff limbs and stretching. He got changed into some fresh, more comfortable clothes, having stayed in his suit from the day before all night, and headed downstairs to make a cup of tea.

"Oh, hello Anthony!" Emma said when he walked in to the kitchen. "Are you... alright?" She was frowning, likely because the dark bags under his eyes were far more prominent from the severe lack of sleep.

"Yes, I'm alright thank you. Just didn't sleep too well last night." He smiled at her.

"Oh dear," Emma replied, putting the kettle on. "Is Y/n alright?"

"She's fine. She did sleep in the bathroom though because she felt a bit sick, but she was out like a light right away." An easy lie to tell about the situation they had found themselves in, and Emma was too distracted making tea to detect any falsehoods.

"As long as the two of you are okay now then that's all that matters. Here's a mug for you, love."

"Thank you." It was strange how easily he got used to being part of this family. He was moving around the kitchen with Emma as though they had been doing it their whole lives, and he suddenly felt a pang of pain as he remembered doing the same things with his own family. Lockwood stopped, staring down into his tea that was now swirling around in the mug and blinking away the tears that threatened to fall.

"Anthony? What is it, dear?"

"It's nothing," he said, wiping at his face quickly and offering up a smile. Emma saw through it, though, and placed a hand on his arm. A similar scene flashed through his mind from last night, and his chest ached even more at the memory of Y/n instinctively comforting him and how he had likely ruined any chance of that happening again.

"Aw, love. I know we don't really... know each other that well, but if you ever want to talk to me about anything you know that you can, right?"

"Yeah, thank you, Emma," he replied. For some reason he felt the need to step forward and wrap his arms around her, but after a few seconds of Emma standing still he awkwardly pulled back, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "S-sorry. I don't know-" he was cut off by her hugging him just as tightly as she had Y/n when they first got to the house, and although he couldn't breathe too well he felt... at home.

"Never apologise, love," she mumbled into his hair, squeezing tightly. "Like I said, if you ever need me, you let me know." she stepped back then to hold him by the arms and look him in the eyes. Lockwood nodded, suddenly feeling five years old again, and dried his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. "Alright?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Now, you take this up to Y/n and make sure she's somewhat dressed and downstairs, because I think everyone else is starting to get up now and we'll do presents in a bit."

Lockwood took the mug and picked up his own tea, heading out the room after a quick thanks to Emma. A thought struck him as he carefully carried the mugs upstairs, and he really hoped that Y/n had presents because otherwise they would be in deep shit.

~~~

"Y/n?" Lockwood's voice tentatively called out. She huffed from where she laid in the bathtub wrapped up in blankets. What did he want? "Y/n? I've... I've got tea for you out here. I'm just gonna leave it on the bedside table for you. Uh, your mum also said that we're gonna do presents and stuff in a bit so... come down when you're ready I guess." He paused for a moment, then said "Do you... do you have presents? Because I didn't actually get anything and now I'm starting to feel bad because your parents are actually really nice and so are your siblings and-"

"Lockwood! Shut up! I got presents, alright?!" She shouted, getting out of the bath. She bundled up the duvet and pillow and opened the door to a slightly dishevelled Lockwood, pushing past him to chuck the blankets on the bed and grab some clean clothes from the suitcase. He had clearly been running his hand through his hair from the way it was sticking up at funny angles, and the bags under his eyes were far more prominent. She frowned, wondering if he'd had any sleep at all last night.

"Alright, I uh... I'll just..." he walked into the bathroom, everything about his movements more unsure and nervous than Y/n had ever seen him.

She changed into the clothes she had picked up, and only realised once the jumper was pulled over her head that it wasn't her jumper she had on.

It was Lockwood's.

She didn't have time to change before he unlocked the bathroom door and came back into the bedroom, stopping short in his tracks when he looked up and saw her stood in the middle of the room in his jumper. "I- This wasn't deliberate."

"I know," he said quietly, and she almost scoffed when he looked at her with sadness in his eyes. What right did he have to look that way when he had said those words last night?

"You're right. I won't ever like you in the same way as the others."

They had played over and over as she tried to get to sleep, wondering how he had managed to sink to an even lower depth in causing her pain than he had before.

"Here," she said when the silence grew uncomfortable, bending down to grab the group of wrapped gifts at the bottom of the case and handing a few to Lockwood. "We should head down I suppose."

"Don't forget your tea. I'll uh- I'll see you down there," he offered up a small smile as he left.

As soon as the door shut behind him she heaved a sigh, eyeing the tea on the bedside table sat right where Lockwood had said it would be. There was no point in letting it get cold, so she waited until the mug had been drained before leaving and going downstairs.

~~~

The tea had been a good way to start preparing herself for Christmas Day with her family, but on seeing Lockwood again (despite it only having been about five minutes) she could feel herself drowning at the prospect of having to fake this relationship for another few hours. At least it was only a few hours, since they were catching the only train running on Christmas Day that afternoon.

"And the last one for you, Y/n! Sorry, Anthony, you've only got a couple because we had no idea what you wanted and only found out you were coming a few days ago!"

"Oh, you didn't have to get me anything at all, Emma, really," he beamed, and Y/n wondered how he could act so well. He had always had a flair for the dramatic, leaping at the chance to put on an accent for reconnaissance for a case, or coming up with ridiculously fabricated tales of fights with Visitors to boast to Kipps, but that wasn't anything compared to hiding the fact that he had argued with the daughter of the woman he was smiling at, and was pretending to date her and love her regardless.

"I won't ever like you in the same way."

That had hurt the most, and Y/n had spent much of her time awake attempting to figure out why. It wasn't the entire sentence about Lockwood not liking her in the same way as Lucy, George, and Holly, as that hadn't been the part that had been on repeat. No, for some reason it had been his admission that his feelings wouldn't change from the hatred they shared that made her want to rip her heart out every time she saw his smile.

"Nonsense!" her mother said as she sat back in her seat. "Alright everyone, get stuck in!"

The next ten minutes were a frenzy of paper being ripped into and presents being opened, and Lockwood and Y/n were curled up on the loveseat like they had on the first day quietly working their way through their piles. At least they had an excuse for not talking to each other, since their presents were taking up the majority of their attention.

At least they ought to have been.

One of Lockwood's arms was around her waist, hand resting lightly on her thigh while he watched her unwrap her remaining gifts. He had long since finished, having thanked Emma profusely for the box of chocolates and ten pound note that he'd been given. Y/n was finding it difficult to concentrate with Lockwood's warmth behind her, and he was doing that thing where he stroked his fingers over her skin. His hand had moved from her thigh to her stomach, fingers drifting under the fabric of the jumper she had accidentally stolen from him and tracing patterns absentmindedly. It seemed to be something that happened any time they were in this sort of position, and she was frustrated at how much she enjoyed it.

"You alright?" he whispered.

"Yep." She didn't look back at him, instead focusing on the plain envelope she now held in her hands and frowning at it.

"Oh!" Stephanie cried out, and Y/n had forgotten just how annoying her voice was since they had barely interacted the day before. "That's from us! It's... well. Why don't you open it up?" If the smirk on Stephanie and Linda's faces were anything to go by, it wouldn't be Y/n's favourite gift she received this year.

"What is it?" Lockwood asked from behind her, peering over her shoulder at the piece of card that had been inside. "A coupon or a gift card or something?"

"Gym membership, Lockwood. They got me a gym membership." Dammit, her voice was shaking and her eyes were prickling with unshed tears, and worst of all she knew that Lockwood could tell. She hated that she leaned ever so slightly further into his body. She hated that when he brought his free hand around her to properly wrap her in a hug she was painfully aware of Stephanie and Linda watching every movement, and could feel their judgement of her body.

Then she hated that she felt safe and protected in Lockwood's embrace, like nothing could hurt her as long as he was holding her.

There was nothing wrong with how she looked, and it wasn't her fault that Stephanie was a size 2 (probably, Y/n had never bothered to ask) and liked to gloat about it frequently, but the cut ran deep and had done for years. When Y/n stood up and left much like she had on the first day, she wasn't surprised to see the triumphant look on her cousin's face.

~~~

Lockwood was fuming, but this time he couldn't set anything on fire.

To be fair, he hadn't been allowed to set anything on fire the previous times it had happened, and multiple of those accounts of arson were Lucy's fault, not his, but he still wanted to burn something.

How dare they give a fucking gym membership as a Christmas present?! What did they think they would achieve in doing so?! Stephanie and Linda clearly looked proud of themselves, and the sight of their faces made Lockwood feel sick when he remembered how Y/n's body had tensed up and curled into him more at the piece of card in the envelope.

Taking his chance after Y/n left the room, Lockwood stood up, then headed over to Stephanie. "Can we talk?" he asked, although the tone he used made it clear that he wouldn't be taking no for an answer. He led her out into the hallway, then into the kitchen for good measure, and his remaining restraint snapped with the sound of the door closing. "Are you out of your mind?" He hadn't shouted, instead keeping his voice as calm as he could, but he knew that his anger was barely contained behind his gritted teeth.

"I don't know what you mean," Stephanie simpered, and Lockwood took a step closer to her.

"A gym membership?!"

Steph shrugged. "She needs it. She's really let herself go the last-"

"No, she hasn't. And I would fucking know, because I live with her. She is perfect the way she is, alright? And you have no right - absolutely none - to give her that sort of thing as a Christmas present. It really just proves that you have no idea who she is, and that you're a fucking terrible person."

"Oh, like you're so honourable!" she spat.

"What's going on?" Emma's voice sounded, and the kitchen door opened to show the rest of Y/n's family that were still in the house. "Why is there shouting?"

"Y/n's little boyfriend here is accusing me of not knowing my own cousin!"

"Because you don't!"

"And you know more about her than me, do you?!"

"It looks like it, yes!"

"Everything was so much better before you turned up, do you know that? Why don't you scurry back to whatever shithole you and your parents live in and we'll carry on with our lives, yeah?" Lockwood flinched.

"Stephanie! Linda, please, can't you do something?!" Emma pleaded. She sent a quiet apology to Lockwood, looking distressed at how quickly Christmas Day had fallen into arguments.

"She's right, Emma. If he wasn't here then everything would be right again. Why don't we keep Y/n here for a few more days, and he can go back to his sad little life with his parents." He flinched again, barely having time to compose himself before Linda was smiling sweetly at him.

"I would, Linda, but I am not leaving my girlfriend here with you."

"Well," Stephanie started. "Why don't you invite your family up here then? I'm sure we'd all love to meet the people that raised such a... lovely... person!"

"Once again, I would," Lockwood said, as nonchalantly as he could, "but I very much doubt that you'd find much to talk to them about."

"Are they deaf or something?" Lockwood saw Y/n through her brothers' bodies, and she was trying to push past them to join him in the kitchen.

"Something like that," he smiled, hoping they couldn't see the sadness in it. Technically his family was deaf, since they were unable to hear anything on account of the fact that they were dead. Y/n stumbled forward, having finally been let through, and she righted herself and walked over to where Lockwood was stood.

"You alright?" she asked, her voice quiet so that only he could hear. "Just heard them mention your family and stuff, and Steph can be really mean about literally everything and I didn't want you to be on your own for that."

"Oh." He blinked in surprise. He hadn't thought that she would care too much since she'd ignored him and hated him thoroughly since last night. "I'm alright; I can deal with it, don't worry." His smile was soft, and for a brief moment he thought he might be breaking through to the Y/n he had come to know over the past two days before everything went wrong, but then the blinds were snapped shut and he was blocked out again.

~~~

Lunch was interesting.

Emma and Ben had slaved for hours to get everything ready, having left the morning celebrations at various points to put things in the ovens, or chop things, or do anything that was needed, and mid-afternoon their hard work was served up on huge plates to the family.

"Thank you, this looks incredible," Lockwood said, and Emma grinned.

"You're very welcome, Anthony!" She sat down in her seat, making sure everybody had food on their plates before taking up her cracker. Y/n's grandparents needed her brothers talking directly into their ears to explain what was happening over the noise of everyone else, and it took a full five minutes to get everybody with crackers in hand and arms crossed over before they could be pulled.

Hats were put on, and pictures taken on the family camera (and then Y/n asked Will to take some on her personal camera too), and finally they could start eating. People read out their jokes and trivia, and while the laughter of various family members was loud, Y/n couldn't help but feel like it was all muffled and distant. She was underwater again, her ears filled with water as she tried swimming up to the surface, but the weight of her cousin's gaze was dragging her down into the depths again.

Then a hand was on her arm, gentle but enough of a pressure that she was being pulled upwards, and Lockwood's voice was in her ear.

"Hey, are you alright? You zoned out for a minute there and I had to rescue your potato from going off the side of your plate."

Sure enough, her fork was pushing the contents of her plate closer to the edge, and she quickly let go of her cutlery to stop it. The knife and fork landed with a clatter, and while conversation didn't stop, it did die down as people looked in her direction. "I'm fine," she replied, knowing she was the opposite. Lockwood appeared to know too, because he was still frowning.

"Are you su-"

"Yes," she said harshly, and he flinched back.

"Okay, sorry." He turned back to his own food, and they didn't speak for most of the rest of the meal.

~~~

"Book!"

"Play?"

"It's a book, you idiot!"

"John, don't call Sam an idiot!"

"Mum, you can't talk when doing a charade," Will said, and he received a glare in response.

"How do you reckon the others are getting on with their holidays?" Y/n asked, and Lockwood was surprised at her question.

"I imagine they're all having wonderful times," he replied, revelling in the smile that graced Y/n's face. It was a shame that the cause of the smile wasn't him, but he only had himself to blame for that.

"That's good. At least most of the company is enjoying Christmas."

Somewhere in the house, a phone started ringing. Ben got up to answer.

"I'm enjoying it," Lockwood said, and Y/n swivelled in her seat a little to look at him. "Besides the obvious, of course."

"Me?"

"No," he huffed. "Why do you keep thinking that you're the last person I want to spend Christmas with?"

"Because you literally said that you wouldn't enjoy a second of it?"

"Well that was a lie, wasn't it? Honestly, do you not remember anything I told you last night about me having a nice time here instead of the usual shitty Christmases since I was six?" That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Y/n froze up and stopped smiling.

"I remember last night, yeah," she mumbled, turning her back to him again. Shit.

"Thinking about it," he said, attempting to salvage the situation, "I haven't seen any baby photos of you yet."

"Be my guest." Her tone was bland, and Lockwood started internally cursing himself for bringing up the night before.

"Y/n, I'm sorry for what I said, alright? I was a dick and I should have explained myself better. Would you-"

"THE BIBLE! IT'S THE BIBLE!"

"YES!"

"WHAT?! THE BIBLE? THAT'S A CHARADE?!"

"Would you hear me out? Please? When we get a moment later," he asked, trying to mask the amount of desperation in his voice.

"You better have a good excuse, Anthony, because you really hurt me, and if you fuck up again I'm leaving."

"Leaving? What, like leaving the house?"

"Leaving the company."

Lockwood thought his heart might give out. "Wh- wha- what do you mean, leave the company?"

"I can't keep doing this, okay? I can't get up every morning just to be verbally abused by you all the time. It's not healthy for me, at all. I have to look out for myself, alright?"

"...Right. Yeah, no, that's... that makes sense." He was still reeling from her confession, so when Y/n's grandmother Jean tapped him on the shoulder he nearly jumped out of his skin. Y/n hadn't noticed, instead joining in with the ongoing game of charades.

"Why don't you take this, dear," she said, giving him a wink and handing over a sprig of some sort of plant.

"Uh... thank you?"

"Mistletoe. You know, it was originally a sign of peace, and if people met underneath it then they had to stop fighting, no matter what. Sounds like you two might need it," she smiled, but unlike Stephanie or Linda there was only love behind it. Lockwood stared down at the plant he held in his hand, but when he went to thank Jean for the gift she had already gone back to whatever conversation she was having with Tom, her previous chat long forgotten.

"I've got some news," Y/n's father Ben exclaimed as he walked back into the room, and everybody turned to look at him.

"What is it? Why do you sound so worried?"

"Nobody is going to be able to travel anywhere for about a week. I just got a phone call from Ted at the office." Lockwood felt Y/n tense beside him, and he tried not to do the same.

"What do you mean, Dad?"

"Snow warning. Weather officials are saying that a snow storm is going to hit us today and we'll all be snowed in. All trains are cancelled for the next week, and then after that it's unclear."

"What? So we're stuck here for another week?" Y/n asked, and Lockwood heard the panic creeping into her voice. This wasn't good at all, especially since he and Y/n now had to continue faking it for an extra seven days when they were back to hating each other. He needed to fix things and fast, or this holiday would continue to derail and end in flames.

"Sorry, love. I know you wanted to get back before the New Year."

"Yeah," she whispered, looking down at the ground. "Shit."

~~~

"Can we... can we talk?" Lockwood asked once they had a moment to breathe. After the news that they would be here for another week Y/n had excused herself and headed upstairs, and Lockwood had apparently followed.

"What is there to talk about, Lockwood?"

"Well don't we need to rethink? Originally we were only here for three days, and that was manageable. Now we're here for an extra week minimum? I don't know, call me crazy but I really do think we need to figure out how we're going to do this." He was running his hand through his hair again (what was in his other one, was that mistletoe?), but he stopped when Y/n looked him dead in the eyes and answered him.

"You're crazy." She didn't even know why he had the plant, unless he was planning on kissing her again and then ripping her heart out afterwards. Y/n went over to the windows to pull open the blinds the rest of the way to ignore the memory of his mouth on hers. They hadn't been properly closed the night before, and with how the sun rose directly through the windows Lockwood had probably been blinded by it that morning and woken up. He looked far too sleep deprived for him to have woken up at half seven in the morning though.

"Ok, well at the very least can we talk about last night?"

Y/n had stopped by the windows, staring out at the landscape and ignoring Lockwood's question.

"Y/n?"

"Holy shit." Where normally the view was the lake nearby and the forest in the distance, rolling fields spreading out in the foreground, now it had been coated in a blanket of white as far as the eye could see.

"What is it?"

"Just... just come and look." He did, hesitantly coming over to stand beside her and drawing in a breath at the landscape.

"Holy shit."

"That's what I said. Fuck. I was hoping it wouldn't be that bad and we could still find a way to get home."

"Yeah, we're not going anywhere in this. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" she frowned, turning her head to look at him. "You're not the snow god who deliberately penned us in my family home for an extra week."

"No, I'm not." Lockwood went quiet, staring out the window but not actually seeing anything, his eyes unfocused as he got wrapped up in his head. "Can we talk about last night? Please?" Y/n looked out the window again.

"What for? I think you said everything I needed to hear."

"I didn't, though. You didn't let me finish saying what I was going to say before you went and shut yourself in the bathroom." His tone was desperate, and Y/n half thought he might start getting on his knees and begging. A memory came back to her of her doing the same thing only a few days ago when she begged him to come with her on this mad venture. He'd been laughing then.

"Well I don't know that I want to know what I missed."

"I was going to say that I won't ever like you in the same way as the others, because I can't. I don't think I realised that until it was too late, but I can't like you in the same way I like George, or Lucy, or Holly, because I think that I'm-"

"Right!" Stephanie shouted, shoving open the door. She stopped short at the sight of Y/n and Lockwood stood so close together, and then again at the pain on Lockwood's face. Y/n hadn't realised that as Lockwood had been talking, he had been inching closer in his attempt to get her to listen to him. They were practically touching now, and Stephanie glanced between them both until they stepped back a little. "You two," she said, jabbing a finger in their direction once she'd remembered what she was there for, "have ruined my Christmas, I hope you know that!" Y/n shared a look with Lockwood. "So watch out, alright? Because I'm coming for you both!" she shrieked, and slammed the door on her way out.

Y/n and Lockwood stood staring at the door for a while before Lockwood spoke up. "Did she seem okay to you?"

"I think she's having some sort of breakdown."

"I thought so too."

"Sort of looked like a banshee or something."

"Especially with the hair all crazy like that, did you see?"

"She'll definitely have a breakdown when she sees that birds are nesting in it, for sure." It felt easy all of a sudden, and conversing with Lockwood wasn't as hard as it had been a couple of hours ago. There was hope, she realised. Hope that he really did have something nice to say. He wouldn't have looked quite so ridiculously desperate for her attention otherwise. She ignored the way that butterflies started fluttering in her stomach at the thought of Lockwood craving her attention so badly. Before this whole ordeal she would have simply felt smug about having the upper hand.

"I really didn't mean it in a hurtful way, Y/n. Although I can see how it came across like that."

"Well what did you mean, Lockwood? Because you did hurt me. And now we're fucking snowed in for a week longer than we planned and Steph is on a rampage. And when Steph is on a rampage she will absolutely have what it takes to uncover this whole fake relationship thing, despite having, like, zero brain cells the rest of the time."

He sighed, clenching his jaw in frustration. "I can't feel the same way because I'm pretty sure I've-" he paused, then took a breath. Why was he taking so long to say something that could make their entire situation easier? He looked uncertain again, and Y/n started feeling nervous.

Lockwood was never uncertain. He was Anthony bloody Lockwood.

Then when he spoke, she realised why.

part 7

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