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svnflowervol666 · 4 years ago

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Ma Petite Chérie: Christmas Now (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Read more from this little universe, Ma Petite Chérie, in my masterlist!

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Their first Christmas as a family of four. Underwhelming gifts, naughty kitchen counter shenanigans, being suspicious of Santa Claus, baby kissies, oat milk.

Author’s Note: Baby bub is here! I’ve been so excited to finally be able to write about them, and I’m even more excited that you all get to read about them! This is the second part of my Christmas bits for this year. Unlike the last one, this one is obnoxiously adorable and no where near as upsetting (I really hurt my own feelings with that one). Reblogs, likes, tags, and feedback of any kind is always greatly appreciated! If you don’t see me before the year is up, I want to wish you a Happy New Year! Enjoy, take care, and tpwk.

“Two.”

“No. One.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“Four.”

“Now that’s just bein’ greedy,” Harry spoke in a wounded tone with his brows furrowed together as if he were genuinely offended.

“But if Santa’s coming tonight and bringing more presents, why can’t I open these ones right now?”

Tallulah was on her knees in front of the sofa, fingers laced together with her chin resting on top of them. She was quite literally begging her father, who sat above her with one leg crossed over the other and an arm slung around his wife, to allow her to open the gifts that were prematurely nestled underneath the festive fir tree in their living room. Well, they weren’t married yet, but Harry couldn’t help that he preferred how the word felt rolling off of his tongue than “fiance.”

“Because they’re Christmas presents,” he stressed.

“Makes no sense t’ open them the day before.”

His freshly six-year-old daughter clearly didn’t like that answer - the pouty jut on her lip and subsequent huff told Harry all he needed to know.

“I already told ya, sweet pea. You can open one tonight. That’s it. The rest are for tomorrow.”

“Fiiiiiine,” the small girl said, although it was implied in her tone that it very much was not.

Tallulah hobbled over to the tree whilst still on her knees, and began riffling through the small litter of perfectly wrapped boxes to inspect which one would elicit the most satisfaction on her end. She seemed keen on a rather large one, decorated with tartan print and a red gift tag that read, “To: Lulah, From: Daddy & Mummy.” What she hadn’t realized, though, was that Harry had already made the selection for her.

“Not tha’ one,” Harry reprimanded over the steaming mug of coffee in the hand that wasn’t rubbing circles on Y/N’s shoulder.

He typically strayed away from caffeine this late in the evening, but he knew he was in for a long night of waiting up until Tallulah was fast asleep so he could take on the role of Santa and deliver all of the gifts he had promised her for being good enough to make an appearance on the Nice List. Knowing how much shit he had packed in his office that stayed locked this time of year, he really wasn’t sure how he was going to do it successfully.

Another exasperated sigh left his eldest child’s lips, to which she replied, “But this one’s the biggest.”

“But it’s not the one we want yeh t’ open, Lulah. ‘S the one with polar bears on it,” Harry stated, though not with full confidence.

“It is the one with polar bears on it, right?” he whispered to Y/N.

This earned a laugh from Y/N, who muttered a quiet, “Yes,” in return. She laid her head in the crook of Harry’s neck, basking in the warmth that radiated from his body. He smelled like cinnamon and the nutmeg-flavored coffee beans he’d ground up just a few minutes before, and maybe a hint like baby barf.

Tallulah scavenged the space under the tree like a predator hunting its prey - all on the lookout for the present fitting the description Harry had given her. Harry and Y/N found themselves thoroughly entertained by watching her overturn almost every gift, and shared a similar giggle when she narrowed in on the box in question before letting out a victorious, “Aha!” into the room only lit by a firelog in the chimney.

“Grab the one for Olive too, please. Don’t want her feelin’ left out,” Harry called out to Talulah.

“Okay, daddy!”

Her small arms stretched to the limit, trying to grab both packages without toppling over onto the others. Tallulah noted that they both felt the exact same underneath the wrapping paper, only her baby sister’s was much smaller than the one addressed to her.

“They feel like clothes,” Tallulah stated matter-of-factly as she took back her place on the floor with both presents in hand.

Harry sighed, leaning down to rest his mug near his feet against the sofa.

“Good grief. Just open it, will yeh?”

She needed no further instruction. Her fingers dug into the paper, piercing it with her nails and ruining the pastel blue parchment that was covered in dozens of cartoon polar bears partaking in various yoga poses. When Tallulah was able to tear the gift away from its wrapping, her hands grasped something soft.

“It’s....pajamas.”

Her tone was flat and unamused. Harry sensed her disappointment, though in his heart he certainly felt like he’d done a great job concocting his plan to have her open this particular gift on Christmas Eve.

“Yeah, but they’re Christmas pajamas. Don’t yeh want t’ look nice when Santa comes to visit tonight?”

This seemed to...disturb Tallulah. That was really the only way to describe how she looked at her dad - with her eyebrows scrunched up and her normally-plush lips pressed together in a thin line.

“...He’s gonna come in my room when I’m sleeping?”

Y/N hadn’t meant to, but a loud cackle erupted from her chest, which jostled the four-month-old baby girl that had the beginnings of sleepiness settling into her body. In contrast to the laugh from Y/N, Olive let out the tiniest of shrills, obviously upset that her mother had interupted the peacefulness she’d felt whilst being curled up against her chest.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, bubby,” Y/N cooed quitely, quickly moving to pat her daughter’s bum and comfort her.

“Mummy didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Y/N pressed a quick kiss to the sparse tufts of hair atop Olive’s head before returning her attention back to Tallulah.

“Lulah, I promise you that Santa will not come in your room while you’re sleeping. What your dad means,” she snuck a glance in Harry’s direction in which he smirked back at her, “Is that you want to look nice on Christmas morning, don’t you? You know Nana’s gonna take a thousand pictures of you and Olive tomorrow, so now you don’t have to change when she gets here, yeah?”

Tallulah nodded, though it didn’t do much to lift her spirits. She fumbled the cream-colored thermal set adorned with gold stars between her fingers, the motion she was always somehow doing whether it be to her dad’s t-shirt while she laid next to him during a movie, Y/N’s lotus pendant when she was smaller and could fit on her chest, or otherwise.

“Plus,” Y/N added, a hint of irony in her voice, “I’d imagine the presents Santa’s going to bring you are much less boring than this.”

They shared a knowing smile, Tallulah’s cheeks growing rosey and her eyes twinkling at the mention of the magical, bearded man.

“I’m offended,” Harry scoffed.

“Really thought those pajamas were proper cute.”

“They are cute, daddy!” Tallulah chimed in, “I like them a lot. Thank you.”

It appeared that the young girl had realized her moping about not receiving the nail polish kit she’d asked for didn’t do her any good. And whether Harry was joking about being upset or not, she’d never want to hurt her dad’s feelings. He’d raised her too kindly to do otherwise.

“You’re welcome, bug,” Harry smiled at her.

“Let’s help Olive open hers, yeah?”

“I bet it’s pajamas,” Tallulah mumbled under her breath.

That earned her a light tug on one of her two braided plaits on her head from Harry. The two of them chuckled at each other, their faces almost looking like identical portraits of each other.

“Humor me for a second then, Lulah. ‘S your sister’s first Christmas.”

Tallulah scoots over on the floor to stand on her knees, this time by Y/N’s legs as she turned Olive around to sit up straight in her lap. Olive, who was once determined to fall asleep right there on the couch beside her mum and dad, was now awake and had taken an interest in the crinkling sound of the wrapping paper on the gift her big sister placed on top of her chunky thighs.

“Here, Livvy,” Tallulah cooed, “You tear it like this.”

She tried to show Olive how to tear away the present by ripping it halfway open, but her effort proved to be unsuccessful the second Olive managed to get her fingers around a scrap of paper and immediately placed it in her mouth. It appeared that Olive was much more interested in the gift wrap than she was her early Christmas present.

“Well, there goes that,” Harry said as he fetched the then soggy parchment from his infant daughter’s lips, making somewhat of a disgusted face as he wiped the excess drool on the leg of his pants.

Tallulah takes the honor of opening Olive’s present for her, and is unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes when her eyes meet a set of thermal pajamas like the ones she’d just received herself, only Olive’s were green with tiny, silver stars. She’d parted her lips to make an undoubtedly flippant comment, but Harry cut her off before she even had the chance to mutter the first syllable.

“Don’t do it, stink head,” Harry quipped, reaching for the discarded paper that was scattered on the rug beneath him so he could put it in the bin later.

“How about you go put on your lovely new pajamas so we can get everything set up f’ Santa to come, alright?”

“Okayyyyyy,” the small girl grumbled before snatching the thermal set from the floor and darting off to her room.

“That didn’t really go the way I hoped,” Harry mumbled as he reached over to take Olive from Y/N.

“It’s Christmas, baby,” Y/N reminded him.

“Kids want toys, not pajamas.”

“Yeah but,” Harry focused his attention at worming the tight-fitting pajamas up his baby girl’s abnormally chubby legs.

“’S what mum used t’ do for us when we were little. Always got pajamas on Christmas Eve. Figured it’d be nice t’ do it for the girls, too.”

“It is sweet, Harry. Just wouldn’t expect a six-year-old to be that enthused about it,” Y/N snickered.

Harry hummed in agreement, his tongue poked out as he fed Olive’s arm into the tight sleeve of her top, struggling a bit to get her balled up fist through the other side.

“Ahh, there we go. Thank god ya only have t’ wear these tomorrow, Chunk. They’ll be too snug by next week.”

“Leave my fat baby alone,” Y/N scolded.

“There’s nothing wrong with being well fed,” she added, leaning over to lightly pinch on her daughter’s round tummy in an attempt to get her to smile at her.

A gummy grin took over Olive’s features at the sight of her mother, a true mummy’s girl at heart. She was much like Tallulah in many ways, but so different at the same time. Olive was still nearly bald, whereas Tallulah’s hair grew like a sprout when she was Olive’s age. Tallulah had always been teeny tiny, no doubt due to her premature birth, and Olive clearly made up in weight for what Tallulah lacked when she was a baby. They both loved cuddles with Harry and listening to the sound of his voice as they fell asleep, but it always puzzled him when Olive didn’t respond to some of his antics in the way that Tallulah had.

“‘M not bein’ mean. I’d jump on the chance to suck on your tits all day if I could, too.”

“Har-” Y/N began to reprimand him about how she can’t say that because there are little ears in the room, but was stopped short.

“I’m back! Can we set out the cookies now?”

Tallulah breathed heavily as if she just sprinted a marathon into the living room.

“Sure can,” Harry responded.

“Come tell Livvy good night first, though. Mummy’s gotta feed her and put her t’ bed.”

She smiled at the mention of her little sister, whom she was always keeping at an arm’s reach. If Tallulah was awake, she was in the same room as Olive. It made Harry’s heart ache in the best way to watch the two of them interact with each other. The feeling he felt when he first saw Olive in Tallulah’s arms at the hospital never subsided. He was absolutely besotted for his girls.

“Bonne nuit, ma petite soeur,” Tallulah whispered to Olive, reaching down to hug her sister and kiss the crown of her head, which she happily accepted in the form of weaving her pudgy fingers into Tallulah’s braids and pulling them rather harshly.

Before he handed her off to Y/N to be fed and put down for the night, he gave Olive a kiss of his own.

“Bonne nuit, ma petite chérie.”

“‘How do you know Santa likes oat milk? Did he tell you that? Luna at school told me he likes chocolate almond milk.’ What kinda shit is that?!” Harry exclaimed with a mouth full of sugar cookie and in the quietest voice he could muster.

He’d just spent the last hour with Y/N, silently digging Tallulah’s gifts from Santa out of his office and placing them underneath the tree. Thankfully, he hadn’t tripped over his own feet and woken her up or else he would have cried right there on the spot.

All Y/N could do was giggle back at him from where she sat on top of the counter, bare legs swinging as she had a mouthful of the very same oat milk in question swishing in her mouth.

“She’s asking too many questions n’ I don’t like it one bit.”

“Think she’s just growing up, babe. The magic doesn’t last forever. She’s about at that age. Probably only have one or two more Christmases before she figures it out.”

Harry stared at the remaining half of the frosted cookie Tallulah left for Santa in his palm, eyes quiet and sullen.

“Don’t like that one bit, either,” he muttered.

“I know you don’t, bubby,” Y/N cooed, pulling Harry into her so he stood between her parted legs on the countertop.

“But you’ve still got Olive.”

He seemed to perk up at that, looking up at her through thick lashes with a smirk.

“Just Olive? We stoppin’ there?”

“I mean,” Y/N pursed her lips.

“Wouldn’t mind trying for a boy.”

Harry placed his hands on either side of her thighs, stroking her skin with his thumbs.

“Might not happen on the first go, though,” he tisked.

“Could take havin’ a few more for that t’ happen. Yeh alright with that?”

“As long as you’re not tired of me by then, then sure,” Y/N jested.

“’M never gonna be tired of you.”

He leaned in close to her, touching his forehead to hers. He was a split second away from kissing her, but then Y/N spoke up again.

“Harry,” she called out.

“Hmm,” Harry’s voice oozed with desire and darkness beginning to turn his eyes a deep shade of juniper.

“Can I please have a bite of your cookie?”

He softly bumped his forehead against hers as they both broke out into a fit of chuckles.

“Allumeuse,” Harry uttered, raising the sickeningly sweet cookie to her lips.

She chewed the baked good tantilizingly slow, making a scene of rolling her eyes back and moaning as if the taste was euphoric.

“Tu aimes ça,” she snided.

“Je fais.”

The two sat in silence after that, finishing up what was left of the small plate of sweets Tallulah had left by the chimney. It wasn’t often that the house was this quiet. Normally, there was a crying Olive to attend to or a needy Tallulah begging for one of them to get more paper out of Harry’s office printer so she could draw pictures of the plants in their garden out back. It would have been eerie, had the multi-colored lights from their Christmas tree not illuminated the majority of their open living space. The twinkling bulbs brought a sense of peacefulness about them. Maybe it was the season, or maybe it was because they’d been feeling so grateful for their small family as of late.

“Honey,” Harry broke the silence.

“What?” she looked up from where she’d been fussing with the hem of her shorts decorated with tiny snowflakes.

“Yeh got a little,” he gestured to her mouth before bringing his thumb to the corner of Y/N’s mouth.

Harry swiped a rogue dollop of blue frosting that rested there and pressed it onto her tongue. She wrapped her lips around his digit, sucking lightly to remove the sticky icing from his skin. Her eyes met his, not once straying as he applied just the slightest bit more of pressure with his thumb. He noted the way her breathing slowed and how she gently shuddered when he tightened the grip of her jaw with the rest of his fingers.

“So pretty,” he purred, marveling at the sight in front of him.

God, how Harry wished it weren’t just his finger resting on the soft, welcoming warmth of her tongue.

Y/N slid off his thumb with a calculated pop of her lips, licking them to ensure she’d rid herself completely of any stray crumbs.

“Kissy?” she posed, smirking.

“I’d be pretty rotten if I said no,” Harry replied before pressing his mouth against hers.

She wrapped her arms around him, forcing him to stand flush against the counter and even closer to her body. He teased her with this tongue, gliding it along the plush skin of the inside of her lip. Y/N welcomed him and parted her lips enough for Harry to get through. Both of them taste the saccharine remnants of the cookies they’d shared, and soon all that’s heard in the house are the suckling noises and heavy pants coming from Harry and Y/N. It’s not loud enough to be a disturbance, but it’s just enough to have them both yearning for more.

“Talk t’ me, lapine,” Harry broke away from her for long enough to mumble one sentence, still pressed against her lips.

“Tell me what yeh want.”

“Want you,” Y/N said in a shaky exhale, chasing Harry’s mouth to reconnect with her own.

“Yeah?” he taunted.

“Want me right here in the kitchen?”

“Ideally, no. But I wouldn’t stop you.”

She parted her legs even wider, attempting to rut against the thick fabric of Harry’s fleece sweatpants. Her center met something stiff and Harry pulled her even closer by the flesh of both bum cheeks, massaging them with his massive palms in a manner that he knew drove her mad.

“That’d be pretty naughty of us, wouldn’t it? Not sure if Santa would approve of that one.”

Before she’s given a chance to respond, Harry snuck his hand between their thighs and began softly petting Y/N over her shorts. Her head fell back in pleasure, temporarily detaching her lips from Harry’s. She knows she can’t make a single sound or else she’ll wake up the entire house so she just sits there with her brows furrowed, silently gasping and letting these sweet, broken moans spill from her throat that spur Harry on even further.

“Can feel you even through your fuckin’ shorts, Y/N,” he grunted, slowing grinding against his own palm that was the only thing separating him from her heat.

This time, it’s Y/N that reached between them, feeling for the stifness that lies between his legs. She wraps her fingers around him through his sweatpants, leisurely tugging at his cock. Harry’s all but forced to begin sucking on the sensitive skin of her neck to keep himself from crying out at the contact, working at blossoming deep lilac and mulberry colored bruises there.

“Bet you could cum just like this, couldn’t you?” he muffles into her collarbone.

Y/N hummed, crossing her legs around Harry’s back as he began to focus his attention to rubbing her clit over the material of her shorts.

“Bet you could too,” she whined.

“’S that what you want, hm? Want me t’ make you cum without even touchin’ you right?”

“‘M not gonna have a choice if you don’t do something else pretty soon.”

She sped up the work she’s doing near Harry’s crotch, paying mind to what she can make of his tip between his boxers. With her thumb, she rubbed expert circles around him, massaging him in the way that he’s doing to her. Both of them could feel it, the slow build up of pressure deep in their abdomen - a coil winding tighter and tight with the threat of snapping.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N.”

He was biting her neck now, completely consumed by the feeling of both the damp patch seeping through Y/N’s shorts and onto his fingers and the precum dripping onto her more delicate ones through his sweatpants.

In an attempt to not embarass himself like a horny teenager, Harry withdrew his hand from in between her thighs and places it around her bum all in the same breath. Y/N sighed defeatedly at the loss of friction against the place she needed it most, dropping her head into Harry’s shoulder and whining rather noisily. Before she even has the chance to curse him for stopping, he scooped her off the counter with all of his strength and began walking both of them to their bedroom so he could fuck her properly.

Their lips detach when Harry drops her onto the bed and a woosh of air leaves the down comforter, causing the hem of Y/N’s top to fly up and expose her tummy. She still wore the deep, almost-metallic stretch marks she’d acquired when she was pregnant with Olive, but it wasn’t with shame. Her and Harry had a talk not that long ago about how much he loved them because it reminded him of how much he cherished watching his baby girl grow before she made her grand, earthside appearance. She’d not mentioned the slightest bit of disdain for them after that.

Just as Harry tugged his jumper over his head and threw it off somewhere that he’d worry about in the morning, his eyes caught the digital clock that rested on the wooden night stand on his side of the bed.

“’S past midnight,” he said with a lopsided grin, climbing on top of the girl he vowed to spend his last dying breath beside.

“Yeah?” Y/N asked, for the life of her unable to understand why that was relevant when just minutes ago, he was rutting into her hands and aching for release.

“Yeah,” Harry smiled against her lips.

He pulled up once more to add, “Happy Christmas.”

She had half the mind to smack him, but all she did was shake her head and smile.

“Happy Christmas, Harry. Will you please fuck me now?”

“Think I can manage that.”

It was the first of many Christmas presents for Y/N.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #dad!harry #dad!Harry styles #dad!harry styles x reader #dad!harry x reader #harry styles smut

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hhjs · 4 years ago

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summary ➝ "I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigating the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

"Look here, dummy!" He slaps your pointer finger jokingly, grumbling under his breath. Taking your palm and slowly splaying out the digits. Traces the rough pads against its silky texture, a map to somewhere, a blend of blue and pink, silhouettes reaching out for each other when the world intends to tear them apart.

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love meant to be understood.

It was meant to be felt.

word count ➝ 16.6k words.

alternatively➝ university premise.

genre ➝ angst, romance??? comedy??? a smidge of drama??? idk

pairings➝ han jisung. x fem reader.

warnings ➝ recreational drinking, use of profanity, suggestive.

note➝ i suspect that i have a vague emotional attachment to this. Please note that it used to be a jeonghan fic originally but is now rewritten. i've been toying around with my writing style, idk if this has met what's expected :c but... this piece is a proper example of the idiots to lovers trope.

a huge thanks to @emhpathy for beta-reading.

also i felt indolent and didn’t edit. :(

loosely based on the Coldplay song in question, ‘A Message’.

After.

The air smells like seasalt. Like having a foamy blanket of waves draped over your face until you let go, slowly, let all the air leave your lungs.

In the distant rhythm of the rattling wind, you can barely hear the ring of childish laughter. It's an old bicycle Minho last rode when he was 13. Jisung's driving too fast. But you don't care, you don't care because you feel just so alive. You can feel your heart on your tongue. Under your fingertips. Inside your chest.

You can't believe it's true. Can't believe this is your life. Can't believe you're real.

The city is a haze of blue and yellow and red. Jisung slows down by the sidewalk, leaning into the wash of colours and it stains the side of his face a little. The breeze is caressing his hair. Patting stubborn gelled strands out. His shoulders rise and fall with every little movement, upwards and downwards. When he breathes in and when he breathes out. Everything seems to slow down. Every second feels like a minute. Every minute like an hour.

Then suddenly- and it surprises you a little - Jisung pauses, cranes his neck back to smile at you. It's lopsided, toothy. He looks so much younger. Suddenly, so utterly boyish. You commit the sight to memory, the sliver of his teeth, the glint in his eyes, the curl of his mouth -

You hope you never forget this.

Because this is how you know. This is how you've always known.

You wouldn't change anything. Even if you could go back.

Not for a second. Not when it hurt. Not when it was hard.

Not even once.

...

Bach's Toccata & Fugue in D Minor.

You're in your bedroom, you can hear the music in your head, the crescendos and diminuendos, the feather light piano, the strum of a guitar and the gargling of a trumpet, fingers buzzing with an intense desire to write it all down. But then the sound of an organ rips through the air, the curtains pull apart. Your bedroom floor gives away from under your feet. There is a stage, there is an audience impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say.

So you run, run, run home.

You remember standing in front of your mum's bedroom. Knocking. When she lets you crawl back under the covers and she runs a caressing hand down your back, you say nothing. (There seems to be a gaping hole in your chest. And you don't understand it. Like something's missing.) . When she traces the shape of your jaw and says trouble sleeping? you say nothing. Then the rain pelts the windows, the curtains are pulled; suddenly it's so much darker, so much colder, you place a hand over your heart and then look up at her, up to her large, concerned eyes and say, "It hurts."

But it's okay. It's okay. You'll forget all about it by tomorrow morning. Because your mum smells like home, like the earth after it rains. It's okay because the world is less scary when you're a kid. When you don't understand.

Then you're on a train, it skids against its tracks and your hand hurts from holding onto the handle for too long. You hold your draft against your ribs.There are too many people. Shoulders. Heads. Standing. Sitting. Their lives are different. Even when they're together.

From here, you can make out a woman stroking her toddler's cheek, a teenager with a copy of A Tale Of Two Cities in hand, a tall man, with his head hung low. He is smiling down at his lover. His fingers splay against her throat. She is looking at him. They say nothing.

She stands on her toes and kisses him. And something inside you suddenly comes alive, an absence, tries to gnaw its way out of your ribcage. Tries to tell you I've never left.

The train finds itself in the belly of a tunnel. Outside, it's so much darker. So much colder. There's a blinking streetlight ahead. Yellow and lime green. It must have been raining. You don't know your stop.

All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players. This is a stage.

The passengers are impatiently staring up at you, watching you, measuring you and you don't know what to say. You can't run this time.

(You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. You need to get out of here. This city. Something is missing. Something is wrong. You need to get away.)

Now you wait for a room. A door. A bed. And miss your mother with an intensity that's akin to taking a punch to the gut. You don't remember what the earth smells like anymore. Everything in the city is platform and concrete. And soot rising from tall chimneys.

Suddenly, you can't believe childhood is over.

Spurts of light found themselves against the hallway ceiling, you wondered how long you'd been thinking about that nightmare for it to take so much of your attention. A mic involuntarily roars to life, reminding you that you were still at the varsity and you had to find Jisung.

Which sounds easy, had it not been for your history with him. Avoiding him was getting progressively hard a task to maintain because you were in the same department, sharing minor courses that prompts you to think that nothing much had changed and you'd be lying if you said you mind. He is a stubborn page which keened on flipping over in the youthful chapters of your life, refusing to be left behind and some part of you is too scared to know what would happen if you had.

You sigh, looking at the clock nailed to one of the pale yellow pillars and then close your eyes to try to ease the tension in your shoulders. Breathing in. Breathing out. This morning, you put on a thin cotton dress but the humidity had somehow prompted it to appear somewhat translucent.

Summer brushes up against the back of your neck, you rub your eyes vigorously, placing your sweaty palms on them, dapples of light settled atop the lids. Coating the little twists of purplish veins pink and white, becoming brighter and brighter and brighter. Any minute now and you would muster up the courage to face him.

You push the field door open.

Football players for the born-again team are loitering about in the heavily populated room, expectants look on most of their faces. You begin to feel twice as much nervous than you did before.

See, the possibility of stuttering nonsensical sentences and potentially embarrassing yourself in front of Jisung and nameless strangers, again, wasn't the most thrilling idea for you but if you don't make the deadline this time on this group assignment, you'll fail your linguistics course, so it would be tough to bounce back from for the both of you.

The coach, who is a lanky man, with an alarmingly ruddy face and tufts of snow white hair spiralling out of his head, experienced a lot of difficulty blowing it away from his line of sight. With the door held back, pressing a curious looking opaque board to his chest, he scans the entirety of the team with an owlish stare, when he was satisfied with the number of persons attending, he stepped in.

"Game starts in 10 minutes." he pauses, allowing the candidates to settle in. A feet away from you, Changbin produces a series of garbled profanities before going back greedily guzzling down the rest of his gatorade.

Once the coach clears his throat, his beady eyes travelling from one curious face to another, flitting between each person, it finds you briefly then it darts curiously across the scenery behind you, as though an explanation for your presence is out there somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

You hold the assignment packet against your chest, feeling the weight of gel blue letters under the rough pad and then slowly fold it open.

Han jisung. You tell him, that's who I'm looking for.

It takes you awhile to navigate your gaze to the owner of the name amidst the maze of students huffing and puffing about schedules and missing lectures and deadlines, some shouldering their way out in bored frowns, some smiling excited smiles, rushing to grab a suitable seat. Like a blur of faces you catch on the subway and eventually forget, the little snippets of another person's life. Glimpses of them from car windows pressed together in traffic, just a few seconds before the light turns green. One minute you think you know them, put yourself in their shoes and imagine their life for them and the next, you go back to being strangers.

To you, Jisung's face is an unmistakable, unforgettable kind of face.

Taunting you from posters of his many swim team accomplishments, under which his name stood in big bold yellow letters, plastered on the noticeboards, on the walls where the paint was starting to crack. The search didn't prove to be very difficult even though he didn't stick out like a sore thumb without his signature bleached blonde hair.

A varsity jacket is discarded on his body. Under the blue and yellow fabric, Jisung's chest rises and falls with every breath, his lanky legs perched up on the bleachers. You wonder how he managed to doze off in the face of all this tension about getting clocked in face with a football.

Aside from by accident, you were positive he hadn't tried to speak to you ever since your previous, unspeakably embarrassing encounter.

That was a long time ago.

It was certain that had it not been for this assignment, things between you would remain that way. In spite of this, you've gathered, because people never stop fawning over this prominent character, that not much has changed since you were in school.

Jisung managed to secure an attention drawing position wherever he went and upperclassmen wanted to be his friend even though he mostly indulged only in his own company.

His head rests on folded arms, his foot is propped up on his knee, which he keeps shaking. Sunlight crawls up the expanse of his exposed cheek, allowing burnt orange to bathe half of his face, ribbons of liquid light tapering to smudges down the side of his jaw and disappearing.

Jisung has a boyish face, his eyes are big and kiddish, paired with a sharp nose and a convenient, small, pinkish mouth inherently pouted out to accentuate his puffy squirrel like cheeks but slimming down around his jaw. His raven hair falls in sleek, wet tufts clinging to his forehead and grazing his rosy cheeks, giving him a strange resemblance to a cherub loitering around in the real world.

Come to think of it, Jisung looks, like he invariably does, just slightly out of place.

You drop your bag on the grass. The action makes an unexpected thump. His eyes stir faster behind closed eyelids, as though he were stirring awake from an ardently produced dream, like a newborn baby, divorced from the worries of the world. Jisung opens one of his eyes, then another, glaring confusedly, his lips pursed in unspoken surprise.

What's the big deal, right? At best, he'll start cooperating with you. At worst, you imagine, he'll toss you across the field for disrupting his sleep.

Of course, no one in their right minds would opt for the latter option, the rational part of you reasons - but you show him the packet, just for safety measures.

"I thought we ought to go over how we're going to work around this assignment and you weren't in class so..." You explain. When Jisung just blinks up at you in a curious fashion, you consider that he might not recognise you at all, that, for some reason, bothers you. "You probably don't remember me I-"

"I remember." He interjects firmly, acknowledging you with a fluent utterance of your name that gives you enough evidence of his claim, followed by a watchful, stoic gaze, he motions for you to take a seat beside him.

You hesitantly sit at the end of the row, keeping a calculated distance between your bodies. You find that even after all this time looking him in the eye was just as unnerving as it had been the first time they shyly flickered back to yours from across a thick spined A levels Calculus textbook. There's still an intimidating air about him, something that seeks to be constantly impressed without asking to.

Jisung sits up straighter, setting both his legs on either side of the bench, he keeps his gaze trained on your face, not looking away once. "Go on." He suggests, his voice low, "What do we have to do?"

You perk up at this, taking the contents out of the packet. Setting them down before you, you reiterate the instructions rendered in class, trying to include every important detail which contributes to the making of the project.

"We have to attach a PowerPoint part too." You paused, "Let's do that bit today."

Jisung listens intently, never cutting you off, he nods occasionally, making suggestions when you were trying to look for suitable loops in your schedules to work on the scheme, you recommended several premises, ranging from cafés to parks to libraries to food courts, even your place because it's the closest from Jisung's flat and he refuses go beyond the distance on a Sunday morning. You casually let in the fact that your flatmate would be there in order to insinuate that you hadn't made the offer because of your previous feelings for him.

You sigh, taking a minute to stretch back and take a deep breath. The bench is cool under your thighs, soft caresses of a warm summer breeze brushing the hair from your face away, pale yellow pours from the canopies, staining the grass, football players prepping in the distance, their zealous partners egging them on with excited smiles, shouting encouragements from the other end of the court. You imagine lying down on the grass, spreading your arms out and not having a care about anything.

"You still wear that bracelet."

"What?" You yawn, brows furrowed in confusion. You look at him from the corner of your eyes, finding that his brown orbs motion to the source of comment, they dart from your cheek to your wrist, where surely the platinum accessory is tied to its loosest hoop, it used to be your go-to add-on in school.

Surprised, you touch the item briefly, before retracting your hand slowly. All you can think is he remembers, he really remembers, "...Yeah."

...

Instead of running about playgrounds with a mouthful of kiddish laughter and building cartoonishly architectured sandcastles, you remember spending most of your childhood with your nose dug deep inside a fairytale, splurging much time on committing the glide of milky pages to memory, eyes widening, face twisting with each vicissitudes of emotions that would come over you with each stage of exploring a story. It was your own little world, a catharsis for all that you were holding inside, a window you could crack open and when the real world felt stuffy.

Fancying Jisung was, your younger self imagined, fantastical, like something out of those fairytales.

You don't know when you started liking him, maybe it was the first time you saw him. It was your last year in school and Jisung's unfamiliar face was a new sight against the fuzzy background of sleepy students pouring into the hallway, it was the kind that demanded to be noticed, even though he simply looked bored with an enormous pair of headphones looped around his thin neck.

Jisung was born to go through life being the embodiment of an all rounder, now that you think about it, there's not a thing he wasn't good at, always having a proclivity to outshine others.

He was a transfer student with stellar grades in spite of mostly routing his interest towards composing obscure music you'd found floating about the net. In all honesty, he truly was the master of all trades and the jack of none and every room was a keeper of attention, enveloped in an intangible but unanimous, wordless veil of interest towards the new character.

But maybe it wasn't as theatrical as you remembered; maybe it was the love at first sight nonsense, maybe it wasn't something you realised overnight, out of the blue, maybe it all happened at a slow, infuriating pace, maybe you started liking him for the small, stupid and unimportant things, like when you dropped your pen, the thin stick rolling away between your desks and he picked it up, flicking it between his fingers curiously, carefully curling his fingers around the metal, observing it before putting it back on your desk, maybe it was in class, when he zoned out in class, not bothering to look apart until he realised it had caught your attention, he then blinked away, the rosy hue of his cheeks more prominent with each passing second, maybe it was when you were sure you were about to flunk the history pop quiz and Jisung whispered the names of warriors and poets and the fallen while keeping his gaze firmly poised on his paper.

You were so shy, cloistered, intensely egregious and he kept seeking you out in some new manner, causing you to be an element of mild interest not only amongst your peers but also people who actively seeked his romantic interest. Although, conversations on your part never stretched beyond differentiation and stealing cautious glances at one another, (which wasn't a shocker because you didn't know how to compute a chat with him and Jisung was unusually timid for someone who acquainted himself with well known rambunctious personalities), you genuinely enjoyed his company.

So you obliged. Even though it was utterly improper and you were sure he liked someone on the cheer squad. It was just that you were a kid and you wanted to wear your heart on your sleeve just once before tucking it away forever.

He poked his head out from the water, wordlessly upon hearing his name, looking at you with a cocked brow and you were quick to say it, like you had to before you ended up changing your mind, it took a lot of courage to mutter a simple confession after all, in spite of the fact you didn't at all picture him reciprocating, whisking you off of your feet with a wide grin, in a grand affirmation of all the rubbish pop culture has spoon fed you.

It was a stereotypical teeth rotting, sweet crush that bound you to want to be around Jisung in a way he didn't, something lodged deep inside of you, the same thing that was childish and clung onto its fairy tales for dear life, hoped that he would share the same feelings, in spite of knowing it was undoubtedly unrequited.

Jisung had an indecipherable look on his face, he parted his mouth to say something but paused as if looking for the right words. He simply settled with a sigh, before lowering his body down into the pool. You replayed the scene over and over again for the rest of senior year, until it drove you to a point of absolute insanity. You even considered googling what a sigh was supposed to convey, if fishing through dictionaries wasn't going to tell.

That was notably the last time you spoke in school.

But your strained relationship stayed with you like an embarrassing tattoo and in trying desperately to conceal it, afraid someone would see too much, know too much, you would only make it more apparent.

You had to push him away to the farthest corner of your mind so you didn't have to wonder anymore, didn't have to interpret every action like your life depended on it - because love to you was so immense that it was overwhelming. You've wanted love to rescue you in some way, looked for it in the soft murmur of pages, in the chilling words to a song you can't seem to forget, you've waited for love like an impatient eagle anticipating its opportunity to leap in and swoop up its shot at satisfying its undying hunger. You needed to uproot those budding feelings before they took abode inside your chest, grew stronger, into something massive, unignorable, something like love.

Avoiding Jisung in hallways, in class and really everywhere was some form of a habit you were developing - but that didn't stop him from entangling himself with your ponderings; you thought of all the things he did without paying much attention to the act, like his petulant whining when he wanted something he wasn't getting, you thought of the way he tapped his pen against the wooden desk, silently eyeing chalky math problems on the board before uttering the answer with an ease only he could carry, you thought of his petulant front during arguments and how he always ended up winning, you just missed being around him without the added tension - which was funny because you're the one to blame for it.

To your knowledge, Jisung didn't know to speak in puzzles, even when he didn't want to say something, he always found an agreeable way to deliver it, often unknowingly wording them as they were, he didn't understand the complexities with which people conversed, needing everything to be black and white, as clear as the summer sky, so everyday felt like he owed you an example of his unintentional transparency, a explanation even though you knew he didn't.

Maybe that's it, you thought, maybe that's all.

(Sometimes you would sense his gaze searing into the side of your face, as if he was on the verge of uttering a greeting.

But graduation came along. And you never heard anything from him.)

You began to understand that all those tear jerking, unhappy endings were inevitable, like not being able to take your eyes off the stage during Giacomo Puccini's Sono Andati, like being exposed to Mimi's excruciating death, losing something you can't put a finger on - and suddenly, the plays, the window, the catharsis wasn't enough, the child in you wanted to scream and kick and throw, the child in you wanted to forge her own ending, the one that made sense, the one you could anticipate.

Running his palms along the cool glass, Jisung pauses from time to time to look at you, as if expecting you to address the elephant in the room, the same elephant that followed you all the way from campus, to his car, to the café downtown. It wasn't until the waiter went away in the pursuit of getting your order did he pose the inquiry.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head slowly, a nervous laugh escaping your lips.

"What's there to talk about? It was a long time ago and I'm over it."

Saying it out loud like this feels weird, it feels so real and disappointing and embarrassing, you feel reduced to a child coming clean about that one time they tipped over a vase and dusted the debris under the rug he is about to step about on, hoping he wouldn't notice.

The statement makes you feel guilty, like you're lying. You don't want to know if you really are.

"Well, does that mean we can be friends?" Mutters Jisung against the opening of his straw, sipping miserly as though not wanting to finish the rest of his Americano. He opens his mouth to say something but stops, looking blatantly confused, like that was the only explanation he had for your fallout. "I don't understand."

Not having thought that far, you stop typing, the click clack of keys muting, Jisung's thick rimmed glasses rest atop the jut of his nose and he's peering over them to look right at you with big wide eyes, genuinely interested in being supplied an answer. The sixteen year old you would be overwhelmed with bouts of fluster right now. But you stopped being that person a long time ago, in fact, that person is to you a bleary recollection of a mere stranger who you thought you saw somewhere but couldn't put a finger on the location.

Shrugging, unsure, the question comes after a lengthy pause, "I guess it does?"

You sit in temporary silence after the short conversation ends, never going off topic again and giving into irrelevant chats even though Jisung is actively trying to initiate conversation about things which had nothing to do with work. You wonder why, wordlessly admitting that it was getting harder to resist the urge to talk to him with every passing second.

His car was parked a few lanes away from the café so you were obliged to walk after getting through the first portion of the assignment.

"So." Jisung starts, biting the side of his cheek, "What have you been upto lately?"

Talking to Jisung isn't as difficult as your younger self made it to be, he could hold a conversation well, jumping from serious topics to lighter ones to keep the balance, making witty comments here and there that had you laughing without really meaning to and every time, you'd catch a look of satisfaction glinting in his eyes.

The pair of you walk by an ice-cream parlour where a short bald man with a perpetually happy face is handing out samples. A mint green board is attached to the appendage of a stall, outstretching from the original store, it says La Petite Glacière.

You raise your brows, literal nomenclature.

"Journalism could suit you." The comment is off-handed, a product of you thinking out loud, imagining Jisung running around with a recorder, with his big, friendly eyes, queries posed with an an easy jovial attitude; it's so befitting, you just couldn't help but notify him. Even if it was an involuntary notification. You left out the part where you always pegged his love for composing would eventually materialise instead, this was unexpected to say the least. But Jisung described music as a getaway, something he was willing to do out of passion and not duty.

It was to his credit that he didn't laugh in your face when you said you wanted to be a playwright, specialising solely in the field of fiction. That's one thing he doesn't have in common with your parents. (Who didn't hesitate to point out that it was an obsolete branch of writing.)

"Yeah?" Jisung grins archly, glancing at you, as insinuating the memory of you playing Iago when you were expecting to land Desdemona is still impressed on him. "I could say the same for you."

You only wave him off, rolling your eyes. Some things are better left forgotten.

It's hot and you're really thirsty. You're knee deep in lengthy conversations engineered to catch up with one another, which consisted of ping-ponging inquiries about everything and anything, like how it was moving away from your family and new hobbies and pet peeves and casual strolls down memory lane but then the tension would settle and you would grow awfully quiet, like you're doing something you aren't supposed to, like you're walking into the inviting mouth a ginormous tiger whilst convincing yourself that it won't gobble you up.

"Okay. I have one." you start, he's nodding in encouragement, "Have you been dating a lot?"

Jisung laughs at your obvious curiosity, wiping his sweaty forehead with a spare napkin, strolling really fast, long legs promoting his speedy gait, you have to jog from time to time to keep up.

"Why?"

He tilts his head to you, the teasing spark in his eyes glinting knowingly, he becomes shorter and grows taller walking up and down the slopes of the bumpy road.

Your eyes widen. You were curious! You haven't spoken to him for a long time and you're just catching up. Exactly, you tell yourself, that's believable, that, you think, makes sense. The other explanation, the one you're deigning to not look in the eye, that a part of you would be disappointed if he had said yes doesn't.

You flounder for a response, something, just a word or even an awkward noise, anything to formulate a proper retort. When that proves to be delayed and difficult, heat begins to pool into your cheeks, shooting up to the back of your ears and budding under the skin of your neck.

"Just asking."

He hums, ghosting his fingers along the small of your back, careful not to touch you as he shoulders his way to your side without bumping you off of your feet, the gesture prompts something inside your gut to twist and twist and twist. "Well...yeah, but it's never been serious."

You're waiting for the red light so you can cross the road to the parking area. Jisung is towering over a sea of the heads, he's not much taller than the average person, hands tucked in his pockets. The wind is messing his hair up to the side, he keeps running his fingers through the stubborn strand to get it to sit right but when the endeavour proves to be futile so he just scoffs, as if berating the strand whilst stubbornly repeating the action.

Looking at him like this, you imagine falling in love with Jisung is easy. Like gliding a hot knife through butter. It must feel just right, even if it doesn't last long, like holding fire in between your palms and pretending you own it, feeling the warmth kissing your skin before it nips and burns, like speeding across comets, stars and the moon, waging wars in the name of romance and producing litanies about love and then - finally, inevitably, unwillingly - letting go, like you always knew you would.

You imagine the aged memories of blurry faces behind cobwebs of raindrops and curtains of mist, the faces of people who he could've loved but hadn't.

And it scares you for some unknown reason.

There's something inexplicably lovable about Jisung, his babyish features have always possessed the tendency to catch you off guard, even though you've known him for a long time; it's gobsmacking and too winning to be real, like something out of a dream, the milky planes of an acrylic face. The smooth buttery texture of his skin, the subtle, narrow jut of his nose, the pouted shape of his mouth and pearly teeth. You think he doesn't know this, doesn't see himself the way you do even when he pretends to be confident with his boastful jokes, they are just jokes after all. Only further evidence of how he doesn't want to believe any compliment rendered his way.

"What about you?" He poses, looking over from the hood of his car while unlocking it from the driver side, "Dating anyone?"

The truth is, you've tried the atrocities of blind dating and online dating and casual dating but they all have been deficient and you're too tired to go through the never ending cycle of being on disappointing dates again: your expectations are too high, some might even say, for the way you seek familiarity with absolute strangers; you're stubborn, awkward and sometimes, simply unapproachable, but for the sake of not deflating your ego, you decide that Jisung doesn't need to know this.

You shake your head, failing to understand why Jisung is grinning through the cracked window, whilst you're pulling the door open and plopping down on the passenger seat.

"Why are you smiling?" You furrow your brows, watching as the lopsided grin grows bigger.

"Because." He shrugs, tucking his hands in his pockets.

"Because?" You look at him expectantly, but he just looks back at you without expanding the brief explanation. You're so close that you can make out the thin layer of mist collecting on his eyelashes, his arched cupid's bow, his eyes have so much brown in them. You'd liken the colour to that of a muddy lake, like the bare earth, they catch sunlight and turn golden, just for a second, for just one second, it looks like what magic must be like. Realising that you have been staring at him for quite long, you tear your abashed gaze away. Piloting it to shift from the buskers to the other cars, buses, pedestrians, traffic lights, looking for a sight distracting enough.

"I'm not telling you!" Jisung mocks your tone like a child with a violent shake of his head, putting his keys in ignition. The engine roars to life, wheezing like a kettle. Why he drives a Comet Convertible when he could've gotten any other alternative is a wonder; not that you mind, you like it, it’s like sitting inside a giant jewelry box, the inside is smooth red leather, velvety smooth black paint on the outside.

"Why not?" You frown.

Jisung rolls the steering wheel with one hand, keeping his eyes trained to the approaching traffic while turning lanes, he giggles, "Because."

...

You'll have to admit that it's quite... challenging coming to terms with being friends with Jisung. Not because he's practically everywhere but just since Jisung tends to demand your attention when he realises he's not getting it.

When you try to dodge him on mornings after he cheats at UNO, scurrying away behind swathes of sleep deprived university students, hoping you don't catch his eye, he calls your name in that loud, clear and intentional way that he does, dragging a heavy arm around your shoulder to squeeze it against the back of your neck before tousling your hair or some other action to effectively ruin your get up. When you zone out in class, musing absently about something that has nothing to do with scale efficiency and accidentally catch his gaze, he winks at you, snapping you right back into attention.

Your friendship is, to say the least, interesting, for everyone around you. It's like everyone is always on the edge of their seats, waiting for a chance to poke fun at your apparent chemistry. It means nothing, you're just friends, you remind yourself over and over again, defensively, succumbing to the urge to grow closer and closer to him without paying mind to the annoying voice in your head.

Jisung texts you in the middle of the night, when he's parked out front, to meet him for a midnight drive out that you're sure no one knows about and you tell yourself you're getting away with it - only to be confronted by a smirking Sunwoo in the morning, likening the situation to a teenager caught red handed sneaking in through the window after a clandestine night of partying.

But you're not spared the teasing even out in the open. Though while you squirm awkwardly, sink into your seat and refute offendedly, Jisung doesn't have a lick of such knowledge or care, he easily slumps against you, resting his head on your shoulder in class and dozing off, indifferent to the multiple pairs of eyes zeroing in on you.

Even though the bartenders smile their coquettish smiles, offering drinks on the house and people laughed a little more than necessary, twirling their hair around their fingers at anything and everything he said, thence offering proper chances to ditch you completely, he remains close to you at pubs, putting his long fingers on your shoulders and resting his chin on your head, shooting some creepy guy who just wouldn't stop insisting on buying you a drink a look that said he wouldn't mind taking a stronger stance, had the creep not backed off. It was what anyone would have done, you tell yourself, ignoring the underlying pang of a gut feeling that begged to differ.

You envy the obvious charm Jisung holds over everyone, easing his way out of the jokes to do whatever he wants, you wonder what he would do if someone asked him if you were just friends, if he would dismiss them with a wave or provide a positive response, if it would hurt, if it would matter.

"Hey!"

You jump at the tone. It's breezy, light and followed by a scoff at the end, you recognise it, sighing once the initial surprise oozes out of you to be replaced with familiarity, Renjun is halfway through a complaint about acrylic paint, his mouth half open while his eyes travel over your head, where you're certain the owner of the voice is jogging up to the pair of you.

"I'll er...catch you later." Renjun purses his lips, while you turn your gaze back to Jisung, he's coming from practice, so his hair is wet, cheeks flushed red, he looks younger like this, completely barefaced. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and light wash jeans, even in such an ordinary attire, a few bypassers' attention latch solely onto him.

The sun has long laid on a cotton soft sheet of clouds, letting a blue evening straighten its back against the dark firmament, the crowd at campus is reducing dramatically, you were walking to the metro, deciding to rest by the park bench as he mimics the pose, sliding from the opposite end when you try to keep a distance.

Jisung nudges you with his shoulder. "We’re having a party at our new place. You should come."

It wasn't willingness that took you to loud premises. You aren't exactly a party animal, far from it, maybe an animal that blends into the background, wordlessly observing masses of sweaty people who will wake up with horrible hangovers the next morning, wishing the night before had never happened. If such an animal exists.

But you're genuinely curious about meeting Minho, who seems to have assumed the position of one of Jisung's best friends while you were absent from his life. You found yourself wondering if he was different from Bang Chan, who in spite of being the former's friend, is someone you could deem yourself more similar to than he is to Jisung; shaking your heads and groaning into your palms, Chan would pinch the bridge of his nose and cautiously glance at you as though to convey You get me, right? while Jisung showered the karaoke bar manager with grandiloquent blandishments into giving extra minutes for a lower price.

Despite this, it is the undeniable but sheer adoration for your fun-loving mutual friend that binds you two together the best, the shared looks of appreciation when Jisung scolds you for neglecting your health, when he surprisingly remembers a minor detail about you or when he indulges in appreciative chats about crayon drawings with loquacious kids who would come running to display their paintings when you were looking to take an indolent walk in the local park, he would listen attentively, moving to a sitting position, nodding his head like he understood what the kiddish gibberish meant; one thing is certain - there was certainly more to Jisung than people pegged and if anything, those undiscovered traits only made him more endearing.

"Okay….but make sure we don't end up playing strip poker or something." You shudder at that thought, grimacing exaggeratedly to make your point.

"Why?" He raises his brows, a small simper playing on his lips to give away that he was only teasing you, "I like that game."

But under all that banter, it was well received that Jisung would never put you to the obligation of doing anything you're not comfortable with, so you just play along, narrowing your eyes, "That's because you're a pervert." You say, stifling a laugh whilst his grin dissolves to drop to a blank face.

Jisung glares at you, nudging you with his knee, effectively putting you on the verge of falling.

"Hey!" You scoff, repeating the action but Jisung doesn't roll across the grass like you wanted, he doesn't even budge. Instead, he laughs at your frustration, shaking his head and glancing back at you with an entertained look in his eyes.

(Something inside your chest is growing, like an epiphany, its vines pushing up against your lungs, your heart, its thornes prickling, injuring the flesh, something that tells you this is so much more to you than you'd admit, you press it down, ignore it; just a little longer, you think, just a little longer before you start to see this for what it is. )

"Why are you staring at me?" Jisung questions, you can't help but notice how he tilts his head, moving his curious face closer to yours, inspecting, like just before he makes his final move and mutters Checkmate but he doesn't actually know what he's doing, doesn't realise the weight of his actions. "Do I have something on my face?" He tilts his cheek to you, as though offering you to examine it and then, immediately his mouth lowers down to form a deep set frown. Is he really that goddamned clueless? Doesn't this affect him at all?

"No." You clear your throat and lean back, moving your weight on your palms, "It's getting late. We should get going."

...

The earliest memory you have is from when you were five, your parents had taken you to the beach and that day, while the sun shone brightly and the sand was warm, like home under your feet, with big curious eyes, you gazed off into the brilliant blue water.

It was just so beautiful.

And you so badly, wanted to wade into the welcoming foamy arms of the sea. If only the immensity of the water hadn't scared you as much as it did, you thought. It was like a blue giant that was reaching to steal the sun off of the sky and if you dared to test the waters, the liquid Goliath could whisk you right off of your tiny feet and drag you into its mouth.

That, you think, is what you're really afraid of, that deep down inside , you never really stopped holding back. That you'll never muster up the courage to do anything you really want.

In the midst of the chaos of an alcohol induced party, your head feels like it's about to explode.

It stopped raining. And you haven't had the luxury of running into Jisung ever since he went off to get a drink for himself.

The windows are open. Though there's not a flutter of a cool breeze or anything. But there are assortments of crisps, juices and other suspicious looking snacks. The cool curve of the stair railing pressing up against your side. It's unspeakably loud. The frat house, as typical as it sounds, welcomes an obnoxiously large crowd, it isn't surprising, considering people here have a reputation for social adeptness, the house being big enough to capacitate a crowd twice as big as its guests is just a plus point.

Once the majority of the crowd had long thinned out to participate in a curious sounding game of beer pong, the aftermath is that everything smells like sweat, vomit or both. You're tipsy, tired and alone. It's been an hour since you arrived. Your patience is wearing thin.

You down the remainder of the watered down scotch, even though the liquid could secure a horrible case of nausea if you couldn't hold your liquor well tonight.

In the mess of too many heads, too many hands and too many bodies, pushing, pulling, dancing and kissing with shocking hostility, suddenly, the view starts to shift, from left to right, from upwards and downwards, like you're on a rollercoaster but without the lap bar. It's certainly a symptom of the splitting migraine you're sporting. It's too loud downstairs for you to summon anyone and besides, the search for a familiar face seems futile.

You fish out your phone, wondering if you should send Jisung a text, squinting at the glaring blue screen but decide against it - hoping to God that you don't walk in on anyone shagging while looking for one of the rooms to crash in.

Now, that...would put them in an awkward position. You mentally high five yourself for the joke.

Though the amusement is mostly transient, soon replaced by a rapid jerk of pain. Wincing in an attempt to stand with little control over balance, you try to ease the pain from your briefly twisted foot.

When you've made it to your desired destination, an inconspicuous looking room at the end of the long hall, you kick off the death traps for heels off of your feet and all but fling yourself on the mattress.

Stacks of comics are carefully placed on the top most shelf of the bookshelf pushed against the wall, their polished spines sticking out.

The rest are overflowing with vinyls, set in alphabetical order. You can tell because each row has a tag taped over its head.

Everything is surprisingly clean, the walls are crisp white, there's a single black wall on which a large painting sits. A night light glows dimly, perched up on the bedside table. Whoever's bedroom this is, has the blandest taste in interior design. Or a lack of it since they moved in not long ago as Jisung informed.

You stare owlishly at the blue ceiling, following the undulating spines of bricks, stacked in. Upwards and downwards. Like a map. Like a staircase to nowhere. Then you close your eyes.

Imagining that you're staring up at the sky at dawn, when it's a swirl of milk tea. Golden. Buttery white. Autumnal Yellow. And pumpkin spice. Brown curls against the background of a milky white firmament and if one bothered to look closer, they'd catch stars peeking from behind slowly darkening clouds, waiting to come out.

When you were a child, you liked to stick a curious index into filled tea cups, as if to study the khaki liquid , not quite grasping the connoisseurship of hot beverages just yet. The experience would always end with a mouthful of biscuits and your grandmum's tickles engendering your stomach to ache a good kind of ache.

Now, the memory prompts you to raise a finger to the air, as if you were dipping your digits into the whirlpool of maroon. For a moment, you feel as if you're still that little girl stuck in someone else's body, like you hadn't grown up at all.

But in the hurtful manner that reality often made itself known, yanking you right back from your dreams, the door creaks noisily and then closes.

Out of the corner of your eye, the character looks more like a funny sketch on a chalkboard than he does a person. All blurry and messy. Like someone tried to rub him out.

The flash of light radiating from his phone, a sliver of neon, silver, you recognise his face, you've seen the same expression right before he's about to choose between his favourite ice cream flavour; eyebrows knitted in concentration, lips pursed, emerging from the shadows. He's typing really fast. You blink, adjusting your vision. The unobstructed sight of his face broadens. "Jisung?"

He looks at you, positioning his phone towards your face to get a good in the barely there light.

"Yeah?"

You furrow your brows in confusion, "What are you doing here?"

"That's a good question." He snorts. "Indeed, what business might I have in my room?"

You jump, sitting straighter, then stand up. Just in case he thinks you're a fucking creep. He probably doesn't even want to be friends with you anymore and you understand, you wouldn't want to be friends with you either. "I...I didn't know."

Jisung laughs loudly at your fluster, rolling his eyes, he plops down, the mattress dipping under his weight, groaning noisily. He pats the spot beside him. "Relax..."

You wear a doubtful look, under the impression that he'd break into a laughing fit with a quip about you caving in so easily. You narrow your eyes even though you're quite tempted to take his offer.

He tuts, yanking you by the arm so you sink down beside him.

"I just saw you coming upstairs, wanted to make sure some asshole wasn't picking on you." He explains, his face contorting to momentary peevishness just at the fleeting thought.

A crappy pop song is buzzing in the background, you can hear it, you can smell the salted popcorn in the air. His fringe is brushed forward, cheeks smoothed over, moisturised, in this intimidating proximity, you pick up that Jisung always smells really good. Like aftershave and something strong, woody, earthy — but just the right amount, not overpowering.

"Have you considered trying something more...erm... colourful?" You scan his room, deciding to change the subject, attempting to dodge the heavy feeling of fluster in your chest; you guess it was showing on your face because the corners of Jisung's mouth begin to quirk upwards. If there’s anyone more awkward than Jisung, it /s definitely you. "This isn't really you."

With his mouth lopsided, his nose scrunching upwards, his teeth showing, his eyes turning to crescents, Jisung chuckles, as if perceiving your attempt to digress but choosing to let it slide.

"Then what is?" He raises a brow.

"I don't know." You pause, trying to picture a suitable tint, "Something bright."

Someone starts blasting Ed Sheeran outside, putting the volume all the way. It creates a proper distraction from the conversation to go beyond simple suggestions, it was a sudden reminder of just how badly you wanted the party to be over.

"You know the more I think about it, the more I come to acknowledge that this is really not my scene." You confess absentmindedly, backing up on the mattress so your feet dangle, your headache kicks back, beating inside your ears, knocking against your skull. You lie back on the mattress, curiously blinking up at Jisung's frowning face.

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" He says, a pinch in his brows pushing the shape up in utter concern.

"Because I wanted to come." You say honestly, prompting Jisung to heave a deep sigh, relief gradually washing over his rigid features, "I don't know, maybe I'm just not fun enough."

"Yeah. That's probably it." He jokes, grinning from ear to ear. But the shape drops immediately when you jut your lip out instead of mirroring the mirthful action. "You really think so?"

He blinks at you, not expecting the forwardness, "No." He says, and you note that this is the most serious Jisung has ever sounded around you.

Your face is growing increasingly hot as the weight of his remark started to kick in. It’s so unfair, isn't it? He has no idea how every little thing he said to you meant so much more than it ought. It hurt when you found yourself automatically deducing his trivial actions, all the while knowing it hadn't meant anything to him. To him, you're just a friend. And you aren't going to let your emotions ruin that, not again.

"What's the party for anyway?"

You furrow your eyebrows in genuine curiosity when the silence has become unbearable. Constantly needing to be disrupted.

"It's a stupid frat house tradition, they do it every time we move."

“Sounds like a cult activity to me."

You hear him hum, as if feigning contemplation, then open your eyes.

"Well, that...That's because it is."

It's very typical of Jisung to try to make jokes whilst trying to keep a straight face. In most cases, he doesn't fool anyone. His voice rises to a cartoonish volume, his mouth pouted out when he speaks as though to hold back a laugh, it’s his eyes, widened, twinkling with a notorious spark in them that ultimately gave it away. In rare instances, however, they deluded strangers into thinking he was being serious when he really wasn't; like that time he told Chan the pool was pre-heated just for the latter, who trustingly dove into the water, to swim up with clattering teeth and ice cold skin to the surface finding that Jisung was grinning deviously. It was an obvious payback for the time the older male hogged Jisung's share of cheesecake as a daring attempt at pranking.

Maybe, you guess, you just knew him too well.

"Interesting." you raise your brows, playing along, "I'm surprised there isn't any nude dancing involved."

"Wow...you sound so disappointed.”

Jisung laughs, his chest heaving upwards and downwards with every laboured breath. It's a pleasant sight, knowing you get to have this moment to yourself. For reasons you'd like to ignore, something inside your chest begins to ache, thrumming against your ribs. It isn't until you put your hands over your face in an attempt to get rid of a thin layer of sweat, do you realise that you were smiling.

When he calms down, he keeps looking at you. "I take that you made the submission?" He presses, knowing well that you were intending to put off the matter from the dodgy look in your eyes. "Right?"

Before, Jisung stubbornly pressed on the matter, it was unheard of for you to allow your writings to be read by anyone other than yourself; it was only fiction, your little secret, you reason, even though you knew the underlying cause of your unwillingness was that you simply cannot take rejection well, it is truly terrifying but an automatic reaction to think that your work is boring and somehow unworthy of praise every time you are on the verge of sharing it. Your parents never showed any particular interest in it and you assumed that was a universal desire.

But Jisung is incredibly obdurate when he wants to be.

Sometimes, you think he's the only person in your life who's truly honest with you, he doesn't shower you in false accolades, not hesitating to rip the band-aid, to point out the less likable bits from the likable ones even if he knew it would make you unhappy. It was interesting prying your wounds open around him, he wouldn't suppress his thoughts and blurt euphemisms like it's going to be okay, he would grimace and gag and then he'd clean them, he would sit patiently with them and try to dress them up for better - and somewhere along the way, while you may have cared about other people's opinions, your concern for what he thinks of you is starting to become far more significant. And it petrifies you. "No."

Jisung shoots you a look of annoyance, staring at you like he's awaiting an explanation. You can sense the lengthy talk coming from the back of his throat, something which surpassed the regular limits of you should do this and you shouldn't do this, he relentlessly pushed you towards your career which you claimed you were passionate about but needed his stern berating often when you would stagger back in indolence and you'd be lying if you said it isn't effective - albeit, the scoldings sometimes led to the two of you bickering back and forth, giving each other the silent treatment until one of you would cave - whatever it was, you know you could never turn down Jisung, even if he was bruising your ego to ask you to get your shit together. "Why not?"

"It's just a stupid draft, Sungie..." You laugh nervously but he doesn't give into the fit like you imagined, instead, he just dons a solemn look on his face, something that seems to show that he'd been peeved by your response.

"No it’s not." He shakes his head slowly and there's sort of a firmness in his retort that surprises you, far from how he usually jokes on about, that tells you there's no room for argument, "It's not stupid at all."

Jisung tears his gaze away, his expression softening once he notes the worried look on your face, it's as though he had suddenly changed his mind about the lecture he was surely planning to give you,

"Look I don’t want to fight.” He sighs, “You’re always talking about how much this means to you and if it’s something that you really want, don't put it off. I'm your friend, I can only encourage you — but at the end of the day, it's your job to pull yourself up. Goes without saying that it’ll be a complete waste if you don’t pursue play writing because you - and I don't care if you don't agree with me - really do have a lot of potential.”

You blink in wonder, ”You think so?"

"I know so."

You don't remember the last time someone said something like that to you, if at all. Tearing your gaze away from him, you’re met with the inability to shake the feeling of craving something you don't want to understand, mired in your own musings and for no particular reason but to avoid the desperation of confessing to yourself of the warm tight feeling inside your belly - you give into the temptation of placing your palm over the nightlight, watching the light turn from bright yellow to muted blue, it stings slightly.

Too cheesy, you would groan out under any other circumstance where you hadn’t been so fazed.

Instead, you just gulp, eyes wide at his forward comment, his praise is the equivalent of being splashed with ice cold water when one is half asleep, now you're all wide eyed and incognisant of what's real and what isn't, it prompts a jolting sensation to traverse all throughout your body, "Thanks."

This scene was no exception, Jisung tips his head back against his palms when he's thinking about something, while keeping his calm gaze posed on you, he smiles, rolling his eyes. “You’re too hard on yourself, loosen up just a little. I'm not always gonna be around.”

You muse that your mum said the exact same thing when you moved away for university but chose not to mention it, it's not true though, you want to say. Because Jisung is always there for you.

See, the universe exists on this dreadful thread of balance and you've been hanging on by your last finger for as long as you remember, taking every step on the basis of a fear of tumbling off to be greeted by the gasps and complaints of an imaginary audience, for the longest time, picturing your play to be dissected like a lab rat, for a delirious critic to point their scalpel and announce, the misshapen heart is here, that's the pudgy head.

But nowadays and you'll never tell him this, when Jisung talks about you like that, you almost believe it, believe in yourself and don't think he understands what it means to you, how grand that is - to imagine seeing your play come to life, something severely intimidating about watching it, spotlight gingerly kissing up the actors' newborn faces as the audience spews quiet comments, critics' expressions morphing with nuanced understanding, the anticipation is tangible, the walls closing in by the second, tension squeezing the air out of their lungs - until the curtains part and a story draws them into another world. Then everything falls into a formidable silence.The inexplicable feeling of being one wrapping its limbs around everyone and cradling them to its chest like a loving mother, awestruck strangers listening in on the heart wrenching dialogues, the belter of a riveting tragedy prompting their hearts to lurch forward and sit on their tongues, then they'll look around, spot bits of you in your characters and think I'm not alone. I never was. (The people you've both never known but known your entire life.)

It's better to slip, to put everything on the line for the sake of making way to what you want on a feeling rooted deep inside your gut than to cower behind the fear of disapproval and have nothing at all. Being brave enough to tell your story is not the absence of that fear which keeps you, but it is telling the tale despite, toppling that fear.

There's something relieving about that theory.

"I want to lie down..." You mewl, in spite of already lying down. It's a sign of how the constant toiling through exams was finally taking a toll on you, the sleepiness coupled with hours long lethargy from the party seemed to be weighing your body down, making your eyelids heavier by the second. He moves your hand, leaning into the light. A wash of colour is spreading across his face for a brief moment, exposing the skin to scrutiny, all veins, curves and crinkles around his eyes. Jisung smiles at you. Your eyes dart all over his face, resting on the curve of his mouth briefly, then his eyes, you catch the yellow flickering in them , the brown turning to dark copper.

Your heart drops to your stomach when he blinks away slowly, the disappointment assuaged by something foreign, dumb and utterly clichéd stirs in the pit of your stomach as his thumb briefly swipes across your knuckles, "You don't say, sleepy girl!" Jisung scoffs, bringing his arm under his head.

Unconsciously, entertaining the thought of staying alone in his room, you find yourself feeling safer because of his presence instead, divorced from prying eyes, "Thanks for staying." You say, wanting to talk to him more and more, contemplating fashions to contribute to the conversation again and again just to cut the silence.

"Well, you had a lot to drink."

He reminds, as if the reason for his staying is that obvious; worry laced in his voice and you understood why - even though you aren't completely doused in a state of inebriation, you kept swaying all the way upstairs.

"But you missed out on.." you drag the consonant unintentionally, "all the fun, though."

"Do I look like I care?" Jisung snorts, staring up at the ceiling, leaning back on his hands and dropping down against the bed, he laces his fingers together over his chest, digging into his pocket and fishing out his phone. It isn’t a question.

His wallpaper is of a kid gazing up from the water, he peers up at the camera, grinning ear to ear. This is definitely Jisung. Because even with his front teeth missing, his smile is all too familiar. His cheeks were chubbier back then, face rounder, softer around the edges. Subconsciously, you rose a finger to poke at his cheek, as if to examine it. Jisung shoots you a glare.

"You were cute."

You coo, leaning onto his shoulder, the closeness should not intimidate you, given the amount of time you spend like this. But it does anyway.

"What do you mean were?” Jisung scoffs, “Nu-uh, still am. I'm the resident cutie pie, if you will." He sings, narrowing his eyes briefly, thereon chuckling at the look of sheer disgust on your face.

You wrinkle your nose, "I can't believe you just said that..."

The rest of the night is spent in a comfortable quietude, except for the times when either of you perk up to initiate conversation and Jisung gives you aspirin for the throbbing migraine.

Your shoulders are touching. Jisung breathes. Slowly. Then fast. Then slow. And then he tucks an earphone into your ear, it was an unspoken ritual you two practised when you were alone, oft in a different venue, sitting languidly about campus, while you read and he winked through the glaring sun to get a distant view of the landscape.

Jisung yawns, the grapple on his speech loosening and loosening.

You remain quiet, closing your eyes again. Words feel liquid in your mouth, letters wobbling on your tongue until you feel like you've lost complete control over what you're thinking of saying.

You can see the scene unfolding inside your head, can feel the earth under your skin, can hear birds chirping, can feel the dusty orange, morning glow kissing your faces. As if you're the only two people there. "Coldplay, right?"

"Uh-huh..." Jisung replies, he sounds unsurprised by your aligned tastes. You look at him and find that he's mirroring you. His long lashes casting shadows on the apples of his cheeks, eyes clamped shut.

"It's beautiful..." You murmur, dropping your head back against the mattress, you think Jisung hums in response but you can't be too sure. It's like you're slowly, slowly and slowly drifting far, far away. Letting slumber wrap its welcoming arms around you.

For a second, you feel the weight on your shoulders lighten, you imagine that you're soaring, soaring, soaring, like you could look down and see the rivers and seas and lakes pulsing against the Earth's body, as though they were a bundle of nerves belonging to a round, green vessel of a body, and somehow - then immediately, you're being pulled to your feet, at great speed, you're falling, falling, falling - so fast that you feel like there's a fire budding inside your lungs, budding under your fingertips, inside your heart.

Then it begins. This must be a dream, this must be a dream, this must be a dream. The soft murmur of scripted words. Parted curtains, an open window allowing you to stare in wonder, dusk stretching across the entirety of the landscape, blue, then pink. You think of the big sapphire sea, the warm sand and someone waiting for you before it. You think, this is it. This is it. This is it. And run, run, run. Sprinting to the broadening view. You recognise the back of his head, the curve of his neck, tufts of raven hair fluttering about, his white cuffed shirt, his footsteps like a trail of breadcrumbs, feet dipped in frothy water, You call his name, surprised but think I knew it, I knew it, I knew it all along. He looks back and smiles at you, offering you his hand. (You're not over him. You don't think you ever were. And this is what you want, you want it so bad, after all this time, are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back? Are you going to hold back?)

Just for a moment, in the split of a second, just now, just once, you aren't afraid.

You jolt awake, the earphone straining against the sudden movement, "Hey." You whisper, looking up at him. His Adam's apple drops with a slow gulp, the rosy colour of his parted lips. The slope of his nose. You don't know when you nuzzled your face into his chest, his long arm is draped around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. Your heart is beating noisily in your ears, on your tongue.

To your surprise, Jisung hums in response, eyes still clamped shut. You're so close, just so close, he brushes his slender fingers against the back of your neck, the touch feather light, as though reminding you that he had heard you. Your breath hitches inaudibly.

"Let's..." You say, with your tongue starting to limp inside your mouth, "go to the beach sometime."

...

A shower is running, loud, water gushing down and thumping against the tiles, the sound echoing and growing thinner by the second.

You sit up on the empty bed, the recollection of last night lodged deep inside your head like a butcher knife.

The realisation that you aren't at home isn't startling as you momentarily grow distracted in examining the room, the photos, the turntable, the white paint, the portraits, a light adjusted above, bits and pieces of a person scattered around.

Jisung's t-shirt is discarded carelessly on his reading table, your eyes widen when you acknowledge the occupant in the shower to be him, leaping up with a haste, everything comes back to you with a force equivalent of pulling the butcher knife out and slamming it right back into your skull.

"It's you!" You gasp, partially because the cheerful exclamation sends pangs of pain to your head, having made all the way to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, only to find Minho whipping up pancake batter in a bowl. As opposed to his old Instagram photos, with the new complementing pink hair, his feline like features are even more staggering, eyes narrowed to amused slits, behind which beady black orbs stare you down in absolute curiosity.

"Right, we met last night." He reminds you, uttering your name quickly, finding that you already recognise him. He holds the spatula up, paused in surprise as if he really wasn't expecting to see you right now, the position only eases when you wave your hands dismissively and say it's not what you think.

He smiles, there's a strange disappointed quality to the demand."Sit down, let's have breakfast."

It's awkward, Minho spares you a few interrogating stares while you silently dig at your meal, the sound of cutlery and ceramic sounding through the open kitchen. You wish Jisung would come down already if the floor beneath your feet isn't going to open up and swallow you whole to save you from this discomfiture.

"They're really good." You nod, shoveling more of the unevenly cut portions of the pancake into your mouth.

"Do you still have feelings for him?"

You choke, coughing on the gigantic bite, patting your chest as you slowly as you begin to regain your composure. Minho's eyebrows are weaved upwards, hinting that he expected an answer despite offering you water. God, he cut right to the chase, you aren't used to people as blunt as that. When you don't say anything, he blinks at you, tilting his head to examine the evasive expression on your face.

"He talks about you a lot..." He notifies, as though it was an explanation for something. Minho's arms are crossed over his chest, proudly before announcing, "I think I practically know everything about you."

Funny, you could say the exact same thing about him. Jisung likes to babble on about people he cares about, which albeit is a handful, you are just as special as any of them. And that reminder as a consequence of his constant prodding makes you a little angry.

"Look, he doesn't like me if that's what you're trying to say." You blurt out, you don't want to get your hopes up. It's weird saying something so grave to someone you only recently came to know. Having already accepted your one sided feelings even though you struggle to try to suppress them and the hopeful part of you reasons that Jisung probably didn’t initiate a kiss because you weren’t exactly sober — but the real reason, and you know this, is that his withdrawal last night was just cherry on top of the big fat I-don't-feel-the-same-way cake.

You made the mistake of ruining your friendship because of a stupid confession in the past and you aren't going to make it again, not when you're closer than ever now.

"That's not what I asked." Minho comments. He is pretty great at appearing intimidating. Or rather, he sees right through you. You can't tell. But he's practically cornered you with his witty questions whilst his perceptive eyes keep an intent watch on you. Minho had a curious quality to him when he looked at things, he seemed to notice everything.

You laugh nervously, rubbing your nape when his gaze is practically unblinking in anticipating a reaction.

"How was your Gimpo trip?" You digress.

Minho's ears perk up, his eyes blown to big, happy circles, he nods his head excitedly, properly distracted from pressing the previous topic further.

The conversation fizzles away in a haze, Minho rambles on in a cheerful tone, his eyes glossed over in enthusiasm. He speaks of his three cats and asks you to commit their names to memory with a dead serious face, moving onto ramble on about his childhood, an entanglement of being the only child who dreamed laboriously of pursuing a career in ballet and succeeded. You listen attentively, not breaking your focus even when he gets up to do the dishes.

By the time Jisung lazily drapes a towel around his neck, all the while hopping down the stairs, you feel like you've overstayed, digging your feet into the heels from last night while Minho holds the door open for you.

"Need a ride?" Jisung asks, standing on his toe to look at you from behind Minho.

You shake your head, suggesting that you were to take the subway instead, keeping your eyes fixated on your sore feet as a reminder that you're opting for the alternative not by choice but because you don't have the energy to render Sunwoo an explanation of where you'd spent the night at with his constant teasing, Tightening the strap around your leg, while balancing yourself with the free arm, Jisung's long fingers quickly grab onto the underside of your arm, letting you balance your weight whilst posing the question, "You’re coming tomorrow for the group study, right?" You ask.

It was an uncharacteristic gesture, outright surprising, because of his renowned proficiency in that class, when Jisung suggested that he didn’t understand the volume of topics you were going over.

Jisung glances cautiously at his best friend, who has a stupid smirk on his face for some reason, like he knows something you don't, “Yeah, yeah...” He says, reaching out to pinch your cheek despite your complaint.

“Are you an alligator?” he calls out, prompting you to shoot a confused look over your shoulder. "What?"

It's just one of those things Jisung says instinctively, his eccentric humour getting the best of him in silences and you, well, you walked right into this one.

"You know...cause I'll see you later!"

In your peripheral vision, you spot Minho pinching the bridge of his nose at the quip, muttering a quick Jesus Christ.

...

During the day, the portrait is much more confusing.

It's carefully placed on the paper covered floor, the room smells like fresh paint and sweat. Jisung suggested that you go paint shopping in the pursuit of looking for a suitable colour to liven up his walls and the end of the semester meant you had enough time to put the purchased product to use.

There is a blob of red on Jisung's jaw and the colour gets smudged all the way to his cheekbone when he makes an unsuccessful attempt to itch the skin with the back of his palm. You don't tell him this.

"I bought it from the local display." He breathes out exasperatedly, the paint roller is placed on the paper, "The artist said it was about an unlikely romance or something like that. Looked pretty dope to me too and—"

"I don't get it." You cock your head to the side and investigate the painting at your feet with an obstinate want to understand how it's supposed to depict love. Or anything that bears semblance to it, you never did have a good eye for art, "It just looks like they slapped on paint."

You sigh, contentedly and think this must be it; because never was love meant to be understood.

It was meant to be felt.

...

"Why do you have that dumb look on your face?"

Sunwoo speaks, chewing through his snack, his fringe is glued to his forehead in a thick layer of sweat. You aren't surprised. The humidity is skyrocketing. A cut in your salaries have made you compromise the use of your obsolete air conditioner. It's a terribly humid Sunday morning and you're getting ready for a trip to Minho's beach house.

It wasn't hard to convince you. Such was possible because Minho's offer was reiterated through a number of ways and people over the span of last week. Even from Sunwoo.

He and the rest of the boys have started to get along pretty well, so well that you often end up acting as an amused spectator, simply watching the boys cosying up to one another while you're effectively camouflaging in the background of utter silence. Your friends teamed up to produce quips here and there, stopping to chuckle into their napkins, cheeks rubicund like ripe apples whenever you went out for dinner. It was becoming a regular occurrence, at this point. Not that you minded; you genuinely enjoy the time you spend together.

As a final move, Jisung reminded you of your slurred request of wanting to go to the beach, beating the purpose of you claiming you wanted to stay home doing nothing when really you were just looking to avoid encouraging how you felt for him. You constantly found yourself suppressing the desire to want more and the last few weeks had been the toughest because you had trouble ignoring how you felt although you were careful not to show it. Jisung was spending more time with you than usual since you were on summer break and were relieved of your studies for a short while. You couldn't forget that night at his place, the memory made your gut wrench in a desire you couldn't fulfill.

But while it was hard being around him, you just knew you couldn't help it.

The trip was, nonetheless, a reminder of how Jisung always gets what he wants, even if it is as easy as snagging his favourite items off of the super store shelf or something which demands more patience to be possessed, something that needs to be drawn out with unwavering persistence.

Come to think of it, you never really understood what it means to live like that.

"What dumb look?" You ask, averting your gaze from your phone, twiddling your thumbs for a response to Jisung's text notifying that they were taking the lead on the journey by setting off earlier than you to set up the place.

It won't take them as long as it will for you because it's a familiar premise for them. Your arm is starting to hurt from holding up your suitcase.

Sunwoo mimics a grin, stretching the corners of his lips awkwardly and flattening his lips like that of a frog, a string of dried milk sits on his chin to finish off the impression. He points to his face, "This one."

"I don't know what you're talking about." You roll your eyes, "Hurry up. Jisung messaged me the location."

Sunwoo nods, then pauses, then his eyes widen, a teasing grin making its way on his face, insinuating that he finally understood why you packed chocolate cake last minute in spite of you not having a particular preference for the item. "Does he know you have a big puppy crush on him?"

Sunwoo makes up for your social ineptness, amongst other things, and there are times when you don't understand what you'd do without him, times when you're relieved he's your friend even though you're essentially opposites - now is, certainly, not one of those times, now you wish he wasn't so close to you to have access to this information without telling.

"Are you hearing yourself? I don't have a crush on him." You lie, glaring at him, when your flatmate ducks his head to display that he didn't quite agree, you groan,

"I don't!"

…

"Do you take me for an idiot?"

Sunwoo pulls his sunglasses down to pretend to study you, his big brown eyes scrutinising you from head to toe. The strong stink of diesel is still emanating in the air in spite of the image of the gas station being wiped out long ago in your peripheral vision. You kind of like it, it contributes to boosting the anticipation of what was to happen when you reach your destination .

"Oh absolutely..." Sunwoo says, driving in the direction of the beach house the GPS pilots him to, Lauv hums faintly from the dusty speakers, the familiar lyrics filling the air whilst you unconsciously bobbed your head. The vague distraction allowed Sunwoo to buy time to gather his thoughts,

"You need to tell him how you feel before someone else does. You need to tell him how you feel, period."

“I'm not doing that again.” you warn him, he speeds down the highway, your beach hat threatening to fly about under the weight of your hands at the sudden gush of wind. "Need I remind you how it went last time?"

"Last time was different."

"How?"

"You barely even spoke to each other!" He exclaims frustratedly, pointing out the obvious, "Now you're good friends and he seems to feel the same way considering he always puts up with you...like...voluntarily." Sunwoo mocks, looking at the corner of his eye to note that you're rolling your eyes in annoyance, "Maybe Jisung's out of his mind."

"I'm not that bad!" You defend, quieting down once again when the memory of your admission flashes before your eyes in vivid details - the years of distance and silence that stretched between you because of it was hard - if that were to repeat itself now, when you're more used to him that you were before, you don't think you could bear it. Or maybe you could but you don't want to.

It's enough to just have Jisung around and not be yours than to lose him by admitting.

"I'm not putting us in that position again just because of how I feel. It's kinda selfish, don't you think?" Your statement has a touch of finality to it that shuts Sunwoo right up, he wordlessly pulls up in front of the huge beach house, another jeep and the Comet Convertible is parked; before which far off near the shore, you couldn't help but notice the two unfamiliar figures by the boys, one of them is wearing a bikini, standing incredibly close to Minho, who's setting up their small grill, the other (and it makes your stomach turn) is talking animatedly to Jisung, he nods and smiles in that way that makes you think you'll never quite stop loving him. Chan is holding up his phone to take a picture.

Sunwoo honks loudly, pulling you out of your trance. You can hear the I told you so sitting on the tip of his tongue when he shoots you a look of pity. You don't like it. The way that makes you feel like a toddler who can't keep herself from sticking her fingers into electric sockets in spite of being precisely instructed not to. Now, you think, the ‘I told you’ so would've been much more agreeable to your pathetic but injured emotions.

Jisung snaps his head around fast, raising his lithe digits to the air, waving at you languidly. The girl spectates the exchange in an engrossed fashion, slowly routing her inquiring gaze to yours in thought. Not all that seemed black and white is black and white between you.

"Are you coming?" Jisung screams over the noise and distance, away from the spot you're completely frozen in.

(A pang in your chest tightens. Tightens. Tightens. And you don't want it to mean something. But it does. It does and it always will.)

...

Minho once learned to set up tepee fires in scout camp, with twigs, a small heap of leaves, wood shavings and loosely screwed newspaper in the centre. Now, he only prides his younger self for setting up the fire once in their backyard and decides roasting marshmallows on the grill demands less of the expertise that he's lost overtime.

"I've actually heard a lot about you before we met." Sunwoo garbles out, clearing his throat.

You've been ignoring Jisung ever since you arrived. Now the group is sat down on the sand, in a misshapen circle, the two girls, now you know their names and the root of their invitation - Junhee and Shoshanna are merely bypassers the boys met when they arrived this morning. They're on a weekend trip like you and their visiting resident is a few houses away from yours. You wanted to act on your peevishness and groan out a loud What are they still doing here? everytime Shoshanna took the seat beside Jisung or asked him to set her marshmallows but that would, amongst other things, make you look like a crazy jealous idiot who has no right to step into a situation of that sort, even though Jisung seemed hesitant, cautiously looking at you every now and then.

Jisung's brows rise and fall, gaze darting between you and your flatmate, surprised, "Is that right?"

Sunwoo laughs, "Yeah." He chews carefully, trying not to choke, as if the source of his knowledge doesn't need to be pointed out.

"Only good things I hope."

Skeptical, Jisung glances at you with a cocked brow, in case you oppose but you avoid his gaze, glaring down at charred marshmallow on the tip of the stick and thinking of ways to strangle Sunwoo, who chuckles at the former's apparent doubt, furrowing his eyebrows in bemusement, "Only good things."

"You're on the varsity swim team, right?"

With a mouthful of food, Sunwoo poses the question, the grin only widens when Jisung replies with an equally enthusiastic nod.

"Did you know that this one can't swim?" He points his marshmallow stick at you, keeping his eyes trained on Jisung's surprised face. "I tried to provide assistance." Sunwoo insists, "But when someone is really bad around water, like screaming at the top of their lungs-I'm going to drown in a kid's pool- bad, it's quite a challenging task."

Minho produces an animalistic laugh at this, patting his thigh like he's rendered a vivid image of your embarrassing experience while Chan shoots you a concerned look, as if sensing an underlying tension in the air that the others can't. You don’t know which one you dislike more.

"I can hear you, you know!" You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Suddenly having lost your appetite.

Sunwoo widens his eyes, with a hand atop his chest, mocking you, "Really?"

You open your mouth to continue bickering with him because it was the only way you could hold yourself back from jumping across the sand and grabbing him by his collar in case that should stop him from further embarrassing you, but Jisung interjects, blinking inquisitively at you.

Jisung pouts. "It isn't that bad, you'll see, we can go for a swim anytime. That's what's the pool for anyway."

"Sungie, I could use a swim now. Can we go, please?" Shoshanna piped up jutting her lip in a way that made her more attractive, she hooked her arm with Jisung, pulling him to her side and he simply blinked at her, surprised by the gesture. Only you called him that — when did she pick that up? Why doesn't Jisung seem to mind at all? Are you seriously seeing what you are definitely seeing?

Without meaning to, you imagine them floating about in the water, while she curled her arms around his neck to keep balance and him leaning down to grin invitingly. And it feels like you're losing something.

You feel yourself jumping up to your feet. The sudden movement gains the attention of all your friends except Sunwoo, who keens on sparing you the smug grin which insinuates that he sparked the entire conversation intentionally. You hope the universe would miraculously render you telepathic powers so he'd start to choke on the stupid marshmallow.

"Uh...I mean...I gotta." You gulp, "I'm going to go grab a beer."

"Wait."

Jisung frees his arm to get to his feet, powdery sand dusted off of his sweats.

"I'll come with you."

You walk in silence, wrapping your arms around yourself. In your peripheral, you catch the sight of his pockets swelled around the area he stuck his fingers in, you don't think Jisung's ever been that quiet. It makes you feel guilty. You're acting out because you simply can't get a grip and it seems to have taken a toll on him. You want to punch yourself in the face.

It's not like you desire to stand in the way of his merry-making, it had to happen eventually, right? Jisung is free to get involved with whoever he pleases. He doesn't know how you feel and even if he did, you don't think he would reciprocate.

And despite everything, your heart still aches for him.

"Why are you avoiding me?" Jisung tells you. There's a sadness to his voice that supplies that you can't escape this conversation because you simply cannot stand it when something prevents him from being his happy-go-lucky self. But you can delay it.

You pull the fridge open slowly, scanning the items, alcohol, milk and a few other things that are necessary to spend the weekend. They definitely were newly bought.

Jisung pushes the fridge door wider, sighing, he pulls a can and hands it to you. "If this is about the girls, I'm not-"

"You don't have to explain it to me, Sungi—I mean, Jisung." You stare down at the perspiration collecting between your fingers and the can, then set it down immediately in fear of it slipping out of your hands. Jisung stiffens at the transition, a faint look of pain flashing in his eyes. What did he do that is so wrong?

You feel horrible for making him feel bad, aren't you supposed to be an adult? Aren't you supposed to have a strong grapple on your emotions? This isn't good for the two of you, you don't want to hurt him because of how you feel, Jisung needs you to be his friend and you can't accept, even after so long, that that's all you are to him.

"I don't think we should be friends anymore."

"What?" He purses his lips, furrowing his eyebrows. "Why?" He provides, raking a frustrated hand through his hair when your mouth parted instead of giving him an answer. "Did I do something? You could have just talked to me about it but..." He muttered shakily, repeating, "Why...this?"

Jisung glares at you, he looks so clueless, angry, blatantly hurt and it's such a selfish thing to ask of him, the least you can do is be honest with him, though you couldn't fight the annoyance from seeping into your tone because he apparently had not a clue.

"God, don't you see it?!" You placed a warm hand against your forehead, "I'm...in love with you...I love you, okay?"

You start to panic when the tense expression melts into his features, replaced by something you couldn't put a finger on, "Don't get me wrong, I don't expect you to reciprocate or anything. It's stupid, I thought I was over you but I'm…I'm not. And I can't...I can't watch you get on with someone who isn't me, especially when…" you trail, preparing to admit the truth to yourself once and for all, "...you don't already love me back. I can't...It'll hurt too much…"

"So...I think...it's better for the two of us to not continue this friendship anymore." You gulp, your palms shaking by your sides, those words have been taking refuge inside you for too long and saying them makes you feel empty, like you've lost something that keeps you grounded and you'd be aimlessly floating about for the rest of your life.

"I know I'm asking for too much…"

Jisung interrupts you with a wry laugh, the sound startling you. He never spoke to you that way, not even when you argued before.

"Yeah, you're right, you are."

"Well, I'm sorry." You breath out.

He leans closer so your hip presses against the cool counter. He drags his fingers from the exposed skin of your collarbone to your neck, tilting your chin up with his thumb while the remaining digits splay against your throat, "Sorry doesn't cut it."

The kiss sends a chill down your spine, prompting you to straighten up from your slumped position. Your knees feel like jelly, like they could collapse any minute. Jisung deepens the kiss, grazing his teeth along your bottom lip, he props you up on the counter and you sense yourself wrapping your legs around his waist, tugging on to his hair to draw out a groan from him; touching him feels so surreal, even though it's a reminder of just how real everything that's happening is.

"I…" he breathes heavily, "I love you. I'm in love with you. I didn't know what to do with how I felt and seeing you again...it just made me realise that I couldn't ignore it anymore. There were times when I couldn't help myself, I felt like I needed to see you when I couldn't, so I did, even if it meant I had to lie. I love taking care of you. I love our dumb inside jokes and I love the way we can't go long without talking. Hell, I love everything we do together." He chuckles, "But I didn't say anything because you told me you were over it. I... just assumed you were only interested in being friends with me." You don't think you've properly registered the sentences, maybe it's the suddenness of it all, maybe it's because you've never actually pictured this. You told yourself, this is how it's supposed to be, that Jisung was never supposed to feel the same. Just with that alone, you had axed your own foot, screwed yourself over more than anyone else did.

Jisung's face breaks into a sudden grin, he pecks your pouted mouth. "But I'm glad I was wrong."

"Did you just kiss me?" You joke, touching his face, tracing your fingers against his cheeks, the skin glossy and pinkish under the touch, his pupils are blown to large black circles, the brown in them barely visible.

"I don't know, did I?" Jisung deadpans, narrowing his eyes jovially.

He eases into the embrace when you slump against him in a tight hug. The chuckle comes out all muffled against the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Hmmm, can't be too sure."

You wrap your arms around his neck, it's like you just can't stop smiling. When you think about it, that's what being around Jisung was like, really. Your digits traverse from the side of his jaw to cup his cheeks, eyes peering into his. You watch as he blinks incredulously, there's something impatient about the way you look at him. Then you tilt your head and kiss him, gathering a faint taste of chapstick whilst your tongue prodded at his bottom lip.

A low moan thrums against his chest, his mind failing to produce a single coherent thought. Because, God, he knows exactly what you're doing.

This time the gesture is needy, desperate, as though to convey a strong desire to be completely consumed by him, to be ruined by him. You raise your hips to brush against his lower abdomen, eliciting a low groan from his throat.

"Baby not here." He breathes out, gauging your intention whilst resting his forehead atop yours. His palm traces the skin of your thighs, travelling up your sides, a free hand which rests at your neck coming to rest at your jaw. His delicate thumb journeys upwards, tugging your bottom lip out and then slowly retracting the digit. Somehow, the gesture makes his eyes darken even more, if that's possible. "Let's go upstairs."

You're so breathless and shocked and have your head stuck way so far up up in the clouds that the statement sounds imperceivable. "What?" You blink dumbly, with your hands on his shoulders.

A husky laugh made reverberates inside his chest, "We can’t...here."

As if on cue, you whimper needily at the weight of the implication. The thought of what is to unfold upstairs making your throat close up. You understood the purpose of his statement, the rest of the boys would soon gather into the beach house because it was getting dark soon, the sky was gargling its throat in the distance too, it would rain and neither of you were keen on PDA.

Jisung's teeth graze along your throat, his fingers around it to keep your head pressed to the door while your thighs are snuggly bracketed around his lithe waist. His need is apparent when he grinds up into your body. You're all but putty under his touch.

It's dark. But you can still make out how absent the room's paraphernalia is, just a bed which is stripped to the bare essentials of a white blanket and scratchy sheet, giving away the fact that visits aren't made too often. You don't care about all that though, Jisung pushes you back against the mattress, pulling his shirt over his head before resuming his position on top of you.

You can't understand how you kept away from him for so long.

...

Between your short, bitten and misshapen fingernails, the word Premiere reads on the tickets in bold red slanted letters.

You can't believe what was once a figment of your imagination, a rubbish script you wrote whimsically on too much caffeine and too little sleep was going to unfold right before your eyes.

It's crowded inside the subway, you stare at the heads, faces, shirts, jackets, arms and legs and your heart is beating too loud, like you ran a marathon or drove a sports car way past its speed limit, rammed it into a tree and flipped it over.

All the world's a stage and all men and women merely players.

(You should be scared, you should be scared, you should be scared.)

Delicate, lithe fingers quickly travel down your palm to squeeze the tense digits at the end, his free hand is rubbing circles on the back of your neck; you stare into those brown eyes and without really thinking, press a quick kiss to his pouting lips, it's difficult, he keeps grinning against your mouth but you pay little attention to those things now.

"That was a good move, champ." Jisung winks briefly, tracing his thumb along your cheek as he nuzzles his nose against yours, "You always kiss people on the subway?"

You grin, with a slow shake of your head, "Just the hot ones."

(This is a stage. And the passengers are waiting. The Tale Of Two Cities. The couple. The mother. Like that nightmare you used to have.

But, you think, it doesn't matter now. It doesn't matter anymore.

Because you've got your silver lining.)

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hamilsquadwritings · 4 years ago

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The Flowers (Philip Hamilton Soulmate au) ~ part 1 ~

A Soulmate AU in which flowers bloom from your left ring finger, coiling up and around your body, Identical to your soulmates. They stop growing when you meet and turn white when you get together

(I decided to work on an old idea I had on my old blog @stargazelaurens and develop it properly)

Words- 2.3k

Warnings- none

Everyone has a small flower on their left ring finger, it's small with long vines and small leaves. They appear between 13 to 16.. they start off yellow, pink or blue. Over time they grow eventually entwining their vines and leaves around your finger, indentical to your soulmates. When you meet your soulmate they stop growing, if there's an age gap the youngers flowers will grow until they match their soulmates. If you get together with them the flowers turn white as a signal that you've found and fallen for your soulmate. Rarely you see someone with almost no markings except their finger, they'd found their soul mate early in life, been in school together or were the children of family friends.

Other times you see someone with the flowers vining their way up the arm and around the shoulder and around their neck, they hadn't met their soulmate and may never.

There's a medical procedure you can get that will halt the flowers, although it's not widely available because it's very expensive and most honestly just don't see the point.

“(Y/N) come on! You look lovely now let’s go. Your sister is meeting her ‘soulmate’ tonight” your mum says, chuckling, she puts quote marks around the word soul mate.

She didn’t believe in them. Even though she’s married her soul mate. Your dad also didn’t believe in soul mates. He believed in marrying for acquisition rather than love. He and your mum's families were close friends growing up next door to eachother. Their fathers were both close friends who were in business together, they arranged for your parents to wed in order to take over the buisness.

When your mother was 14 her flower appeared and with in weeks she noticed it didn't appear to be growing, like at all. This perplexed everyone.. until they realised your father's had stopped growing, he'd had his for a couple of years but honestly didn't care about having a soulmate. He'd been working around the family buisness since he was a preteen and having grown up with your mother he knew he she was a lovely girl and they'd make a happy life together. Your mother's grew to match your father's, their flowers turned white on their wedding day, everyone was shocked when it was realised, soulmates marrying? That was rarely but happened regularly. Arranged soulmates marrying? That was a first...

Your father was keen to attend this ball because they’d already chosen the boy for your sister, Philip Hamilton, the golden boy. Son of Alexander Hamilton, the treasury secretary.

You travelled with your sister and your parents to the ball, once there your parents split off from you both almost immediately to greet your fathers work colleagues which left you with your sister. On the ride over there was an almost tense atmosphere, you don't think your mum minds very much, she knows that it's easier to allow her husband to marry you and your sister off to strengthen his ties with other families. While they may not be soulmates she had every confidence that Philip Hamilton was a lovely boy who would treat your sister like a princess.

“(Y/N) snap out of it!” Your sister says quickly “you’re staring at him…”

“(Y/N) I don’t want to do this” she sighs as you scan the crowd for Philip. You'd only spoken to him briefly during debate club, he was preparing to leave a few weeks after you joined; you'd also seen him at school when he'd made speeches at debate or during school assemblies. You were painfully shy so you'd never approached him before. You also knew what his father looked like from speeches and meetings you father had brought you to. You spot him easily, his dark curly hair bouncing as he throws his head back, laughing at something his father said. You notice the similarity between them. The way they hold themselves; proudly yet somewhat approachable. The way they both look at the pretty lady in the blue dress sandwiched between them, love and adoration engraved on their faces every time she speaks. The way-

“Sorry” you gasp quickly, looking at her, a blush forming across your cheeks

“It’s so unfair…” Your sister starts and you nod, only half listening, the green eyed boy commanding much of your attention

That damn green eyed boy, that perfect green eyed boy…

That green eyed boy you were hopelessly in love with. Such irony graced you the day your father walked in excitedly announcing happily that he’d came to an arrangement with Mr Hamilton. An arrangement that involved both your sister’s and Philip’s hands in marriage.

“Why did he chose you?” You would aloud

“I don’t know” your sister sighs “I just want to go home and see Th- oh fuck he’s coming over here. What do we do?!” She whispers frantically, feeling sick at the prospect of having to talk to him

"Uh play it cool?” You offer weakly

“Good evening ladies”

he’s standing right in front of you

“Miss L/N?” He asks he asks your sister and she nods. He break out in a grin “it’s truly an honour to meet you”

“You too, this is my sister Y/N” she says gesturing to you

“Pleasure” he smiles sweetly as he takes your hand gently and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles as he did with your sister

“Lovely to meet you” you smiles, trying your hardest not to blush

“Would you like to dance?” Philip asks your sister and she reluctantly accepts, leaving you alone in the ballroom.

“Your sister is pretty” a girly, sweet voice chimes from your side “I’m Angelica, that’s my brother Philip” she explains

“I’m (Y/N)” you smile and the pretty girl smiles back “she’s very pretty, he’s lucky”

“He is” she nods “but he’d be luckier with you” she smirks

“What?!” You say quickly, trying to hide your blush “I- i- I don’t know what you mean!”

“I heard what you said!” She says with a triumphant smirks “you like him don’t you!”

“Listen Angelica you can’t tell anyone” you say quickly “my father-”

“Arranged the whole thing?” She wonders and you nods quickly “I figured as much.. I’m sorry (Y/N), I promise I won’t tell anyone! We can still be friends through!” she promises with a sweet grin

And so you were. Over the next few weeks you grew close with Angelica. She was a year younger than you while Philip and your sister were a year older

“Y/N!” Angelica calls as she comes into your room, she often came over to your home in order to escape her younger siblings

“Hi Angelica” you smiles as you stand up, smoothing out your dress

“Are you ready to go to the gardens?” She smiles

“Actually…” You smiles softly “I’ve got a date.. My father wants me to come see a potential suitor, it’s the son of one of his business associates. I’ve seen him at an event and he seems really nice”

“That’s great (Y/N)!” She smiles happily “I’m so happy for you!”

"Thank you!” You smile, she decides she wants to help you get ready and before you know it’s. It’s time for you to meet him…

“Y/N!” You father calls “George is here!”

“Have fun!” Angelica calls as she goes off to find her brother, he's probably with your sister somewhere

“Thanks” you smile before going downstairs.

“(Y/N)” your father smiles “this is George, Mr Eacker’s son, he’ll be taking you out this afternoon"

“Pleasure to meet you miss (L/N)” George smiles as he presses a light kiss to the back of your knuckles

“The pleasure is mine” you smile graciously and curtesy as you smile at George. He’s got kind eyes and a warm smile, maybe this would go okay.. you think to yourself

“Shall we get going?” He smiles.

You spend a lovely afternoon with George. He takes you into the market and you stop to smell some pretty flowers.

“George look they-” you’re cut off with a hand placed gently over your eyes. When you turn around you find George smiling at you, his other hand holding a single red rose and a pretty daisy.

“It would look pretty in your hair… may I…?” He smiles holding the flowers out towards you

“Of course” you blush, closing your eyes.

“Beautiful” george mumbles, placing the flower in your hair and tucks the rose through the button hole of your coat

Thankyou” you smiles as he leads you to a carriage

“You must be hungry or tired?” He asks as he helps you into the carriage you nod as the carriage begins the short join the to his home. Once you get there you’re greeted by his parents. His mother is kind and pleasant bud she isn’t warm. His father, however, barely looks in your direction; just a mere nod. It becomes clear very quickly that they see you as nothing more than a business investment.

“Did our George give you a good time, y/n?” His mother ask

“Of course he did,” his father interrupt before you have a chance to answer the question “he was raised right.”

“Of course” she replies with a nod

“we went to the market and into the gardens” you smiles, trying to start a conversation, all you get is a disinterested ‘oh that’s nice dear…’ So you focus on the dinner in front of you; a delicious roast dinner.

“Would you like some more Y/N?” George asks, but again, you’re interrupted before you can answer the question.

“She’s had quite enough.” his father says “I think you should be taking her home, we’ve got much to discuss”

“Okay pa” George smiles and takes your hand gently “let’s get your home”

“Okay” you smile and put your coat on, saying good bye to his parents before filling George to the carriage.

“I had such a wonderful time today Y/N, I’d love to see you today” he smiles softly once you’re back home

“I’d like that” you smile

“Until then” he smiles, kissing your knuckles before retreating back into the carriage.

You walk up to your front door and it's opens before you can knock

"(Y/N)! You're back!" Your sister smiles happily "how did it go?"

"It was nice.." you smile, Sure George was nice enough but you couldn't shake the cold disinterest from his parents, something about them just seemed off to you. "We went to the market and.." you trailed off as Philip pops up from behind her

"Hi (Y/N)!" He smiles sweetly

"Hi Philip" you mumble back, you could speak to him without blushing now so that's progress..

"I'm going to take angelica home, I'll see you tomorrow my darling" he smiles softly, missing her cheek before he waves at your both, following angelica into the carriage

"Bye!" Angelica yells and waves from the carriage window.

Your sister sighs as she leads you back into the house. She's been pleasant to Philip over the past few weeks but she doesn't have any romantic feelings for him at all. She also hated that he was at the house around you, she knew how much you liked him. Even though you'd been out with George she could see it in your face as soon as Philip appeared moments ago. You loved him

"So how did it go with George?" She asks once you're settled in your room.

"It was okay.." you smile and she raises her eyebrow "I mean he.. he was nice?" You say struggling to find the right words, well words that were 'hes not Philip'. "How's things going with Philip?" You ask curiously, half wanting to know and half wishing to discuss anything else

"He's sweet and everything but I just.. I think he might genuinely like me but he's so polite that who knows.." she sighs softly "it doesn't matter how he feels though, I don't like him in that way, Theo has my heart.."

"I know" you smile sadly. You're about to continue when your mother interrupts

"(Y/N)!" She called up the stairs "there's a friend to see you!"

"Okay!" You call back and head down the stairs. Theodosia Buur is standing in your kitchen

"(Y/N)!" She smiles and hugs you

"Hi Theo" you smile hugging back "how are you?"

"I'm good" she replies with a smile looking around realising your mum had gone back to whatever she had been doing

"Lets go to my room" you grin, knowing shell want to see your sister

"(S/N)!" She calls happily as she follows you into the room

"Theo!" Your sister smiles, scrambling to from your bed and throwing herself into Theodosia's arms.

Theodosia Burr was breaktaking, you'd been the one to introduce them. They fell for eachother almost instantly. Unfortunately they had to hide their relationship, not just from your parents but also the world. That's what made the whole Philip situation so awkward. Philip wasnt just not her type, he'd never be her type.

Theodosia and your sister were soulmates, the delicate shade of purple flowers that adorned their bodies were identical.

The first tiny flower appeared on their left ring finger, a small vine grew from the flower, then another flower formed as it snaked it's way around the finger into the hand and around the wrist onto the arm.

Everyone's flowers few differently, except for your soul mate, theirs grew in exactly the same way and in the same shade.

You hadn't met your soulmate yet. Pink was a common shade. Sure you'd met people who had the same colour, he'll you'd even met people with the same flowers, except one, you had a tiny bud with a second flower right under it on the palm of your hand. They stems were entwined and they both had three tint delicate leaves.

Everyone you'd though could be your soul mate would either have the flower or the bud, one girl had both but the stem hadn't. Een entriwed and there were only 2 leaves on each. You knew the chance of finding them would be nearly impossible but you still had hope. They were out there somewhere right?

#hamilton imagine #philip hamilton #philip hamilton x reader #anthony ramos #hamilton musical #hamilton #hamilton x reader

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doof-doofblog · 4 years ago

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"Another Time, Yeah?"

Tuesday 15th June 2021

(Part One & Part Two)

Hello again everyone, as promised I'm back with another post - 3 blog posts from me this week, that's more than I did last week!! But anyway I'm going to review everything from Tuesday's episodes in this post.

So without further ado, I'm going to begin with mentioning Ruby. The day after her second miscarriage, Martin is surprised to learn that once again she has every intention of going to work and forgetting about the events that have occurred. Martin tries his best to convince his wife to rest for the rest of the day but as Ruby tries to explain her reasons for wanting to go to work, she notices the screen on Martin's laptop, it shows that he's been looking up options for IVF.

Understandably, Martin is trying to help in any way he can to make sure he and his wife have they family they've been longing for. However Ruby makes the valid point that it's not the getting pregnant that's the problem, it's being able to stay pregnant. Martin tries to explain that if they really want to have a family they can consider other options available, but Ruby then drops the bombshell that after everything she's gone through she really can't bring herself to go through any more trauma and loss. She informs Martin that instead of trying to fight to have a family, she's going to embrace the family she already has.

However, later Ruby is seen alone, visiting the memorial that she and Martin created for their lost baby, she gently adds another stone to commemorate the second baby she has lost. As the camera spins we see that just across the patch of grass, Jean is sat on her own but as she turns around and notices Ruby, she joins her. Jean realises exactly what's happening and speaks softly to her. Informing Jean about the decision to not try for another baby and to accept the family she has, Jean makes a very touching statement - "You know what I see? I don't see a woman who's given up, I see a woman who's grieving, and I believe there's still a lot of fight in you!" - as beautiful as those words are, it completely hits Ruby to the core and she softly begins to cry, such a moving moment.

The next thing I'm going to mention is Tiffany and Keegan. It's the day of their photoshoot and Tiffany is completely excited about the press and media attention. Wanting to get her name out there also, she informs Keegan that she's come up with a name for their joint business - Something along the lines of "ButcherBakerBeauty-Baps?" ... (I'm sure they'll come up with a better name eventually!) Suddenly when Tiffany sees herself in the mirror she's horrified to see that the day of their photoshoot she been graced with a spot on her chin, frantically she begins to flap, claiming that she needs to look good for their photoshoot - I have to be honest the main thought that was entering my mind at this point was "The photoshoot isn't even meant to be hers so why is she making such a fuss?" - without meaning to be mean, but I don't know I guess it just didn't sit right with me, she shouldn't be focusing on her and should be supporting her husband instead.

As Tiffany calls her friend in desperate need of some assistance, it seems that her friend manages to get someone round to do Tiffany's make-up. However when Tiffany compliments the stylist's skin, the lady informs her that she does cheat by using injections such as Botox and fillers. Realising that injecting herself with something could change her appearance to the way she wants, Tiffany urges the beautician to use the injections on her for her photoshoot - even though the beautician warns her it can be very pricey! Again, I have to be honest - as soon as I realised that Tiffany was going to ask for injections my mind just went racing - how much do you want to bet that Tiffany is going to become addicted to beauty injections?! It could be a possible new storyline for her which could end with serious consequences?

Even though she is thrilled with the end results, Tiffany is shocked to see the price she has to pay for the treatment and asks whether she can pay half now and pay the rest within in the next couple of days. Later as Keegan and Tiffany are enjoying the photoshoot - the photographer is keen on focusing on Keegan and asking him questions about his business. But when Keegan tries to turn their attention to Tiffany so she can promote her business/brand - you can see that the photographer is the least bit interested.

The next day, as everyone is gushing about the article in the newspaper about Keegan, Tiffany buys herself a newspaper hoping to see a whole page spread of herself and her husband in the newspaper. But she is visibly devastated when she realises that she hasn't even been mentioned and the whole article is about Keegan and his business. She later voices her annoyance and devastation to her friend Chloe, claiming that she has spent a fortune on injections for nothing! But worse still, how is her husband going to react when he finds out she's spending money on things she doesn't need!

Chloe then suggests that in a way to make as much money as she can so Keegan won't suspect anything is for her to flog diet pills. She claims she doesn't know how they work and has never used them but manages to sell them and get decent enough money for doing so. For a split moment I had hoped that Tiffany would know better than to sell some dodgy diet pills, but it looks as though she is very tempted. Later when she meets up with Bernie, she confides in her friend about the money she has spent on fillers to make herself look good for the photoshoot.

Of course Bernie is sympathetic towards her friends, but then suddenly Tiffany starts rummaging in her bag for something and empties out the contents of her bag, quickly Bernie notices the tubs of diet pills she's in possession of and asks where she got them from and whether they work, it's then that Bernie drops the bombshell that she needs to lose weight quickly, and Tiffany is a bit surprised by her choice of words, asking why "Quickly". It's then that finally Bernie feel able to tell someone about her plans and informs Tiffany that she's agreed to be Rainie and Stuart's surrogate, much to her best friend's shock. Tiffany warns Bernie to be careful where Rainie and Stuart are concerned because when she offered to be their surrogate she recalled that they didn't leave her alone. But Bernie is adamant that she needs the money for her family and claims that her Mum believes that she'll be getting a bonus from the call centre. Eventually she practically begs Tiff to allow her to use the diet pills, she claims she can be her guinea pig in a way and will pay her once she's made her money from the surrogacy. Tiffany looks really reluctant to do so but makes Bernie promise that she'll read the instructions before taking them.

Honestly, I fear this is going to be a massive downward spiral for the both of them. Tiffany getting hooked on beauty injections and then Bernadette getting addicted to diet pills and both making themselves ill. What do you guys think?! I'm really intrigued to hear your thoughts on this one!

Elsewhere on the Square, Shirley is still reeling about the news of Linda's pregnancy, she still can't understand why she wasn't told much earlier on when she arrived back in Walford. She admits to Nancy and Frankie that she feels as though her family are shutting her out. I have to say though I loved the banter between the three of them in this scene. Nancy tries to swerve the conversation from her parents sex life to Shirley's own love life and happens to point out that she hasn't been with anyone since Buster!!!

Oh my goodness, do you guys remember Buster??? It was proven that he was in fact Mick's biological Dad, which makes him Nancy and Frankie's Grandad. Hearing that Frankie has a Grandad seemed to excite the girl, but she and Nancy still continue to make fun of Shirley - claiming that for her next birthday they're going to buy her a pair of slippers and a throw as they claim it's time for her to hang up her knee-high leather boots. I do love the jip that Shirley snaps back at them, it makes the whole scene much more comical and the dynamic between them all is just brilliant!

It's then they Frankie points to Terry sat on his own and urges Shirley to ask him for a drink, at first Shirley shows no interest but after being goaded by her Granddaughters, she eventually gets the courage to approach Terry and (in not so many words) informs him that he will be buying her a drink. The one thing that completely confused me though was that Terry called himself by the name "Rocky" as he introduced himself to Shirley, can anyone explain to me why? His name is Terry right? I don't understand where the "Rocky" came from? - Unless it's similar to Callum's name - Callum "Halfway" Highway?!

Meanwhile, as Terry agrees to have a quick drink with Shirley, Sonia is at home prepping a lovely roast dinner meal for herself and her Dad to celebrate and early Father's Day. But back in the pub, as Shirley and Terry begin to chat and get to know each other, Nancy and Frankie keep showering them with drinks. As the sisters notice that they appear to be getting on, Nancy places down another drink in front of them claiming it's on the house, while Frankie sneakily changes the time on the clock.

Terry is adamant he can only stay until 1pm as he has a lunch date with Sonia, but as he looks at clock to see he still has plenty of time, he continues to drink. Unfortunately though, both Frankie and Nancy reveal to each other that instead of giving them single vodka drinks, they've been serving them triple vodka's all shift. Eventually as things get a bit loud, Nancy and Frankie realise their mistake. Shirley and Terry are both drunkenly singing along to "Come On, Eileen!" and then eventually "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)".

I have to admit, even though it was hilarious watching drunk Shirley singing along to the music and having a laugh with Terry, you do feel sorry for Sonia as you realise that Terry has accidentally stood her up for her meal. Arriving at the Vic and seeing the drunken state her Dad is in, she demands Terry to leave Walford and to never come back. Over the next day or so, Terry is desperate to make it up to his daughter and he appears to think that the only way he can do it is to roll out the red carpet in her house for her and make her a meal of her own and instead of calling it "Father's Day" makes it a "Daughter's Day".

As Sonia agrees to give him one final chance, they make it up by taking a selfie together. But when Terry leaves his phone on the table and Sonia takes a look at the picture, she begins to scroll through his phone and sees that there are other photos of houses on his phone. What could these mean? Is he planning on moving to Albert Square for good? OR is he in some kind of business where some of the local properties are going to be knocked down? Who knows?!

The next thing I have to mention is Kat and Phil. Kat is completely excited to learn that things are on the move where her business with Phil is concerned. Phil has confirmed that he has bought the laundrette for their business opportunity and they're just waiting for the paperwork to go through. Only her happiness doesn't seem to last for long as when she enters the café and is confronted by Sharon, it seems that Sharon warns her that anything that Phil is involved in is never legit. Although Sharon's relationship with Phil was completely different compared to Kat's relationship with him, it seems that Sharon's words fill Kat's head with doubt. Eventually she takes it upon herself to confront Phil, claiming she wants to see the paperwork to make sure everything they're doing is legit. She claims that she has already been prison once and doesn't want to end up there again, she needs to be completely certain that going into business with Phil is the right thing to do. I think people are too easy to judge Phil, they should give him a break, he informs Kat that he shouldn't listen to a word that Sharon's said and to trust him, he wants to focus on their future and having something in place for both of their children, but more importantly if she is wanting this as much as he does, then she needs to learn to trust him. I still think that if all goes well for these two, Kat and Phil could potentially be the new power couple on the Square! What do you think?!

Lastly, Callum is still appearing to struggle with the trauma of what happened with his partner. The one person he's been able to confide in is Whitney. After anxiously waiting to hear news about his partner's condition, he was completely relieved when Ash informs him that Fitzy's operation was a success and he should make a full recovery.

As he excitedly informs Whitney about the good news, Whitney reminds him that he should tell Ben now, considering that Fitzy is going to be okay. Callum kind of shuts that comment down and asks Whitney whether she'll accompany him to the hospital to see his partner. However, without their knowledge, Ben sees them from across the Square getting into a cab together, I have to say Ben & Callum's married life hasn't really started off well has it? They've come back from their honeymoon, Phil is still reluctant to talk to either Callum or Ben as he stills holds a grudge against Callum for going behind his back, and Callum has had to deal with the trauma of witnessing his partner being stabbed on the job.

But even though Callum maybe wants to tell Ben about his, Ben did at the start find it hard to accept Callum in the police and had the cheek to ask him to quit, but realising that he loves Callum for who he is and not is job, changes his mind and just requests that Callum never speaks about work to him. So of course, with that in mind, Callum must feel that he has no one else to talk to about recent events, which is why he has leaned on Whitney over the past couple of days. But when Ben sees them getting into that car together, you can tell he's beginning to speculate what they could be up to.

Unfortunately, after returning from seeing Fitzy in the hospital, it looks like it hasn't really helped Callum cope with it, he begins to fret and lash out claiming it was his fault that he's in hospital with wires all attached to him. Almost hurting himself on the garden gate, Whitney acknowledges that she has seen Callum this way before, and it's all down to his PTSD - (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) - we know that he went through it when he was in the army, but now it appears to be resurfacing. The one thing that crossed my mind was, is Ben aware about Callum's PTSD? Has that always been a thing that Ben has known about, I'm a bit unsure?

However, it seems that Whitney is eager for Callum to inform his husband now more so than ever that what's been happening. But when Callum arrives home and Ben asks him how his day at work was, Callum lies to him once again claiming he's had a really busy day and just wants to have a shower alone. Now Ben knows that Callum is lying about being in work, so obviously he's going to be wondering what else he's lying about or not telling him. As Callum makes his way into the shower, Ben grabs his opportunity to search his rucksack and it seems he's completely stunned to find an engagement ring - of course he's going to be completely clueless and wondering why his husband has an engagement ring, but we know that before Fitzy was rushed to hospital, Fitzy gave it to Callum to give to his girlfriend.

I think Callum really needs to talk to Ben soon before he jumps to conclusions and lashes out, accusing Callum of something he's completely innocent of. Overall a good few episodes I have to say, I've really enjoyed being able to type up a couple of blogs this week, I was getting myself a little stressed out that I was so far behind and hadn't posted in a while, but again I want to thank you all for continuing to follow me and show your interest in my blog, it really means the world. Please feel free to send me any thoughts or opinions you may have on the current storylines. Enjoy the rest of your week and I'll be back very soon! Love you all xXx

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evarcana · 4 years ago

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You gave us a moodboard for it but now we want the written tea... Tell us about Ev and Valerius's wedding 💕🥰 (bonus points if it includes behind the scenes)

Aaaaawww💕

Ok, I freaking love this moodboard so you all will have to see it again

Ev x Valerius Wedding

Unapologetically long text under the cut

Wedding preparations

Most of the wedding planning and preparations were done by Nadia and the palace. The couple had ‘a vision’ and Nadia seemed to be the best person to take care of the execution - she was rather excited.

Valerius told everybody that he decides on wine and the ceremony location, passed the list of guests from his side and did his best to appear as busy as possible to avoid any further involvement.

Ev told everybody that she was not a control freak (lol) and felt pretty relaxed about the whole thing. The very same evening Portia had to check every envelope with the wedding invitations and remove personalised notes which were clearly added to some of the invites by Ev. Few examples include: “please try not to get shitfaced at our wedding”, “kindly be advised that the wedding dress code includes (emphasised) a bra”, and “please don’t feel pressured to attend”. Extra ‘0’ also appeared in the quantity section of Valerius’s wine order (not like he complained)

Talking about ‘pretty relaxed’ - as soon as post hen/bachelorette party haze had cleared in Ev’s head, she realised that she did not enjoy public attention that much and she was mildly terrified of the idea of half of (in fact, more like whole of) Vesuvia being aware of her personal life. Strangely enough, she did not have this thought earlier, when the massive banner “That B*tch is getting hitched! Closed on xx.xx - private hire for Ev’s party" appeared above the Rowdy Raven's entrance the very moment some of the ‘bridesmaids’ were given a green light about the party. Anyway, the panic continued...

Valerius was ...nervous. Not like he started doubting the whole decision but he suddenly started thinking that nothing was done right. Were they courting long enough before? Not long enough but went too far? He didn’t ask her parents first - now, forget the courting, that was bad. Where were her parents anyway?

When Ev’s parents actually arrived, Valerius wished she didn’t get in touch with her family for the first time in like 10 years. Why did her family suddenly have so many wedding traditions, the majority of which involved either doing something ridiculous for Ev’s mum or drinking with her father..? ‘Foreign customs’ Valerius had to repeat to himself.

So to make at least something right, he decided that they couldn’t see each other the day before the wedding. And maybe not to stay in the same bedroom for few nights, just to be sure?! Did they spend at least three days arguing about it? They certainly did.

The day of the wedding

The morning of the wedding Ev got separation anxiety a strange feeling that Valerius would not turn up on time- he most definitely got drunk and slept in, she thought. Everybody was telling her that Valerius had never been late in his life but it was not convincing enough for her. She kept demanding wine for nerves and that somebody go to check on him. Why did they not allocate an ‘escort’ for the groom? This was a very good question, somehow everybody presumed that Valerius would have..friends? Or that somebody would volunteer? Didn’t happen. Somehow the only available individual who was not busy and somewhat fit for the job turned out to be ... Valdemar?! Valdemar didn’t care and didn’t want to move an inch until they heard Ev’s “and if the busta - *everybody’s wild protests* tries to run away, you can drag him to dungeons and I don’t care what you do !!!” - *sparkles in the red eyes* “as the bride wishes” - Valdemar was on the way.

Valerius was actually ready when Valdemar arrived, and wasn’t in the particularly bad state - he only verbally abused his servants the entire morning, but when it was time to leave, the signature look of complete disinterest was back. The only Valdemar’s contribution to the wedding was that they removed the wine glass from Valerius’s hand on the way out of the estate.

The ceremony was taking place in one of Vesuvia’s many temples, which was chosen by Valerius. It was the same temple his parents got married in. The formal part of the ceremony (much to Vlastomil’s relief) was to be conducted by Nadia (who also did a very long poetry reading nobody asked for) and the temple official.

Valerius was waiting at the temple’s entrance for Ev to arrive as they were to walk ‘down the aisle’ together. All of the guests has already gathered inside and even outside of temple. Valerius was lost in thoughts wondering what kind of gossip was going around the rows of nobles when Ev’s carriage arrived. Was he left speechless when he saw Ev? Yes and no, he hadn’t actually thought about what she would look like on the wedding day but somehow presumed that for the wedding of this scale the dress would be more extravagant - it was surprisingly simple, all beige only with the glint of gold coming through the lace on the chest and waist, but it was elegant, so very her and looked bare on her body. Luckily the walk from the carriage to the temple entrance was not long, and his thoughts didn’t wonder too far.

The moment they stepped inside and made the first step towards the altar, an audible gasp echoed across the temple: the large room was now filled with delicate clouds glimmering gold and the water started flooding the way to the altar. Valerius gave Ev questioning look, he would of preferred to be notified of any kind of witchcraft in advance. But it was not planned by her - it was a surprise present from Ev’s parents who were keen to make a statement about the bride’s family heritage. The look of the couple literally walking on water reflecting the warm light of many temple’s candles certainly made an impact. Ev had to gently squeeze Valerius’s hand for reassurance.

They both were wearing the golden leaf wreath like headpieces which were to be tied together with red ribbon during the ceremony - as it was the tradition from where Ev was coming from.

The vows were formal (though Ev’s voice was still trembling and people in the front rows might of noticed tears in her eyes) and the kiss was rather modest. As soon as they were pronounced husband and wife, the shimmering clouds cleared, the temple interior suddenly became brighter and thousands of red rose petals became falling from the temple’s dome. On that point Valerius decided that he rather enjoyed all those magical dramatic touches - being married to the witch wasn’t that bad after all.

The celebration and the party part was in the palace. The palace’s ballroom and garden were decorated gold with the touches of red. The palace’s stuff were slightly bewildered by the sheer quantity of wine but the guests loved it. Ev and Valerius spent most of the time politely greeting the guests. At least 10 people were instructed to count how many glasses they had. It was rather tame in the beginning. Everybody was strictly prohibited from telling any even slightly embarrassing stories about the newly weds.

The couple disappeared for a little more than once during the celebration, coming back and pretending that they’ve been there the whole time and whoever was stupid enough to ask question just had too many.

Valerius and Ev left the celebration early and missed some of the highlights of their wedding, like: Ev’s dad, Namar and almost all of the bridal party doing twerk battle, Nadia’s face when Valerius’s mother was criticising the colour of tablecloths, Julian setting the curtains on fire with the fireworks and half of the guests trying to stop the fire with wine - hey there was clearly more wine than water at that wedding.

They were glad that they did not hesitate to leave early - it took Valerius at least 20 minutes to undo all those torturous buttons at the back of Ev’s dress.

#don’t tell me you actually read till the end of this cringe #ev x valerius #evpanopolis #consul Valerius

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official-weasley · 4 years ago

Text

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 5, Ch. 2

PART 5: THE YEAR WHEN EVERYONE FIGHTS Chapter 2 - A Very Quidditch Crush

Penny

Who am I? What's my name?

I am so busy this year that I don't even have time to think about myself. Braiding my hair every morning? No time. Keeping my sister from getting lost around the Castle? No time. Spending time with my friends in any other way that doesn't revolve around studying? No time!

I even thought I wasn't nagging the group about O.W.L.s as much. They quickly proved me wrong when they started to complain about how much I talked about them. I decided to give them a little break as most of them were doing rather well so I went from every day to missing a couple of days per week, not mentioning the O.W.L.s and their importance.

I did, however, take as much time as I could to brew and experiment with potions. I wanted to learn new recipes and it was a good opportunity to talk to Snape about O.W.L.s even though, not much to my surprise, he wasn't as keen about it as I was. I still had access to his ingredients room and he even lent me one of his books about Potions which made me jump as I knew just how rare it was!

I knew I couldn't keep it forever, so I tried memorizing and trying as many potions from it as I possibly could and I wrote to my mum about it every chance I got. To be perfectly honest, she was the only one who shared my excitement about this.

I also took the time to attend as many of Ravenclaw's Quidditch practices as I possibly could. I half pretended to study, sitting on the lower stands and half eyeing Andre. He was so cute and the best Keeper ever, of course!

It seemed that Orion wanted to win the Quidditch Cup this year as they had practice almost every day. I, of course, didn't mind and neither did Nova for some reason. I noticed that after every match she didn't fly from the Pitch but joined the Quidditch commentator, who as I could recall, wasn't as funny compared to how much Nova giggled when he was talking.

After the fifth Friendly, I was pretty sure that Nova's secret crush from last year was finally revealed and I decided to casually ask her about it. I asked her to help me study for Transfiguration O.W.L. in the Library, as I knew she wouldn't be able to refuse, and since I told her all about my crush on Andre last year in the Library it made sense that I would ask her about Murphy there as well.

I chuckled when I saw how prepared she was! She brought 3 books and so many notes for which I didn't even know she was capable of having. I decided to be very cool about the whole thing, I didn't want her to run away after all. So we studied Transfiguration for about an hour, when I closed her book, crossed my arms on the table, and leaned my head on them.

“So...” I started.

“What is that look in your eyes, Penny?” She was suspicious already.

“About your crush.” I grinned and she rolled her eyes.

“You only invited me here to talk about who I fancy, didn't you?” She frowned as she knew what was coming.

“I was just wondering if I can make the same guess list Tulip did last year?” I blinked at her to appear as cute as possible.

“Alright.” She wasn't amused.

“Murphy McNully.” I said casually. She gasped and her cheeks turned tomato red.

“I knew it!” I pointed my finger at her.

“Shh!” I could hear Madam Pince behind us. I turned around and she was glaring at me.

“I knew it!” I repeated when she finally decided to walk to the other side of the Library, this time whispering.

“How do you know?” Nova was stunned.

“I might attend your Quidditch matches to daydream about Andre but I am not blind.” I winked at her.

“How obvious is it?” She sighed.

“Well,” I rubbed my chin, thinking about it. “If you didn't find him so funny talking about Quidditch, since I can't phantom what's there to laugh about, I wouldn't notice at all.” I was sarcastic as that wasn't the only reason I knew. She was also eyeing him during the matches and she flew right past him as much as possible.

“But he is funny.” Nova defended him.

“Nova, there is a 14,5% chance that only you laugh so much when he speaks.” I giggled and she rolled her eyes when I took Murphy's statistics to prove my point.

“Alright, you got me! But promise you won't tell anyone!” She made me swear.

“My lips are sealed.” I dragged an imaginary zipper across my mouth. “But only if you tell me how it happened?”

“Well,” she leaned closer to me to make sure Madam Pince wasn't going to throw us out, “remember how when you asked me about it last year, I was completely clueless who I had a crush on?” I nodded. How could I forget? I was positive it was Charlie and that she just couldn't see past their friendship.

“Well, after one practice I was taking extra time to get dressed because I wanted to be as late for History of Magic as I possibly could.”

“I knew you were being late on purpose!” I gasped.

“And I stayed alone in the tent and Murphy came inside and we talked and I realized that I liked him.” She blushed. That was pretty rare for her. Oh, she was so cute!

“What made you realize?” I was curious.

“He was talking about this Quidditch strategy that he was confident would improve my skills and I zoned out and suddenly realized just how blue his eyes are and what a cute smile he has.” Her face was as red as Tulip's hair at this point.

“Does he know?” I beamed.

“Does Andre know you like him?” Clever girl, throwing that in my face.

“Are you planning on telling him?” I asked, ignoring her.

“Are you planning on telling Andre?” I frowned at her. We were not talking about me and Andre right now.

“For a matter of fact, I am!” I scoffed at her. “We are going to Hogsmeade next week and I will tell him that I fancy him!”

“Wow, very brave of you Penny.” She winked at me.

“Thank you!” I lifted my chin up proudly and as I started to think about what to wear when I tell Andre I remembered that this wasn't about my crush but hers.

“Stop distracting me!” She giggled. “How serious is this crush of yours?” The answer to this question interested me not just because if they started dating, we could go on double dates but also because I knew Charlie fancied Nova.

“I don't know. I am not so invested in these matters like you are, Penny.” She answered honestly.

“Don't you want to know if he feels the same way?” I asked, confused. Nova gave it some thought.

“Not really. At least not yet. I feel too young for this stuff.” It was probably the first time I struggled to understand her.

“So you will just stare at him and giggle at his not so funny speeches all the time?” I raised my eyebrow.

“I guess.” She giggled. Why she would do that for I had no idea. I know we're only turning 16 this year but if you like somebody, shouldn't you let them know?

“You're weird, Nova Blackwood.” Was all I said.

“Good for you to notice after so many years. Can we go back to studying now?” She opened her book again.

Even though she didn't want to act on it right now, I knew she fancied Murphy very much and I knew that sooner or later she will want some advice on how to best approach him.

I was so happy for her, I could see her dating Murphy and I think they would look really cute together. But I couldn't help but feel sorry for Charlie who admitted to me last year that he has a crush on his best friend. Nova liked Murphy a lot but I got a feeling that Charlie was deeper than that even though he didn't want to admit it and was waiting for his feelings to go away.

At first, I was hoping that I was wrong and I was observing Charlie as much as possible, without being too obvious, to see if he still fancied her. Not only did he blush every time he saw her and stiffened every time she leaned on him or hugged him. He also became more awkward around her and I was beginning to wonder if all my friends needed glasses as he couldn't be more obvious.

I decided I wouldn't tell him as I reckoned it would break his heart and ruin their friendship and honestly, wasn't my business and he would probably be as stubborn about it like he was when he told me about his crush. He said that he will never act upon it and, unlike with Nova, I actually believed him. I reckon Murphy is a great mate and everything, but I couldn't help to think that Charlie and Nova were a match made by Merlin himself.

“Penny, are you even listening to me?” Nova poked my cheek.

“Huh?” I rose my head, which was leaned on my closed fist.

“Were you daydreaming about Andre?” She shook her head, winking.

“Yes.” I lied. It was the first time I didn't.

“So, how are you planning to tell him about how much you fancy him?” She asked, making a kissy face.

“I was thinking of inviting him to Hogsmeade and taking him to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop.”

“Take him where?” Nova asked puzzled. I giggled, I knew she wouldn't know where that was.

“It's this cute little tea shop in one of the narrow alleys. It's perfect for dates and a lot of couples go there to snog.” She nodded, knowing immediately why she had never heard about it before.

“You're going to snog him?” Nova raised her eyebrows.

“Well, if he feels the same way after I tell him, why not?” I frowned as she chuckled.“What's the matter with snogging?”

“Oh, nothing. I just think you're adorable!” She pinched my cheeks like my aunt did every time she visited.

“Just go back to reading your book!” I rolled my eyes, trying to focus on reading her notes as it has become apparent she wouldn't give me any more information about her and Murphy.

—

Weeks were passing by so quickly that I felt unprepared for my O.W.L.s I knew we still had plenty of time to study but I was hoping that the teachers would cut us some slack since we had to study for such an important examination.

It seemed, however, that they had more to teach us this year than ever before and the worst of it was that all of the material was also going to appear on the exams. We were all doing a pretty good job. Charlie studied for his Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against the Dark Arts the most, while Nova teased him that there were other subjects to study for as well.

I was doing as good as I could on all my subjects. I was even surprised how good Tulip was doing as I was sure she would refuse to study just like Tonks did.

Speaking of Tonks! She was driving me insane. She didn't want to hear about O.W.L.s at all. She rarely came down to the Lake with us or joined us in the Library and every time I tried to explain just how important this examination was she rolled her eyes and tried getting as far away from me as possible. I started to worry about her as studying in the last week and a half won't help her get through this as it did with regular exams.

However, I was determined I won't give up and stop nagging her. Sooner or later she will have to start studying. Something that wasn't an issue with my little sister who was just the biggest angel when it came to doing homework and studying. What puzzled me though was the fact that she didn't enjoy Potions at all!

I asked her about it once and she threw in my face that not everybody wants to become a Potioneer and I didn't have a choice but to accept that.

I also convinced Andre to start studying with me which was more for his benefit than mine as I could barely focus on anything else but his cute face. I helped him with every subject but I knew we would have to ask Nova for help when it comes to Transfiguration.

The day to tell Andre finally came and I decided to wear my favorite yellow blouse as it was too cold to wear a dress. We walked to Hogsmeade together and I was relieved when I told him where I was taking him and he didn't seem to mind at all.

It went great as usual. He made me laugh and I just loved how much we had to talk about. We got so lost in our conversation that I didn't get a chance to tell him how I feel. I didn't need to do that, however, as our hands brushed while walking back to the Castle, and Andre, looking away, held my hand and didn't let go until it was time for me to go into my Common Room. It was by far, the best day of my Fifth Year.

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yannfredericks · 4 years ago

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PLEASE talk about your polly backstory 👀

omg ty SO much for asking!!! 🥺 (and sorry for taking far too long to answer!!)

To me, polly shows obvious signs of being an only child with a massive inferiority complex instilled by her parents for not meeting their outrageous expectations, but I think that’s only if you’re specifically looking to understand why she is the way she is and not just writing her off as Pretty Popular Girl Is A Bitch :) This has gotten very long so I'll put it under a read more!

So in my mind, she’s not only an only child, but the only gryffindor in an all slytherin family. Her family were ~almost~ in the sacred 28 (which they pride themselves on) and only missed out due to the ‘unfortunate’ choice of partners a very select few of their ancestors made. They weren’t necessarily on Voldemort’s side, but I wouldn’t say that they were overly opposed either, I imagine they mostly kept themselves to themselves and skirted by by keeping up appearances and being friendly with, but not close enough to end up entangled with, pure blood extremist families. So not great people needless to say, quite cowardly too in all honesty for all their ambitions of being amongst the likes of the Malfoys. While this mostly concerns her grandparents, they raised her parents to have the same values and general outlook on life.

So then we come to Polly’s childhood. Her parents never really loved her unconditionally so much as loved the idea of her being the golden child to restore their name and carry on their legacy. Which was unfortunate when she failed to show any signs of magic for the first 9/10 years of her life. They didn’t have any real time for her being a child and mostly regarded her and expected her to behave like a little adult. She didn’t get to play or actually be a child really, she was usually left to her own devices outside of schooling and piano classes and was in many ways, raised by the family house elf Pipsey. Polly mostly saw her parents at the dinner table, for breakfast and supper and had the rest of the day to herself, mostly shut in her room with her piano (which, although reasonably good at it, she grew very quickly bored of). She had a very vivid imagination and grew bored of study and lessons easily. She wasn’t given any dolls but managed to make her own out of the clothes she grew out of, while they weren’t very pretty she loved them and could create stories out of the most mundane things since that was really all she had at her disposal. This carries on for the first 6/7 years of her life, she would create stories in her room for hours and was much closer with Pipsey than her parents knew, which meant that Pipsey was often involved in her (very limited) play time under Polly’s instruction. This lasted until she started homeschool.

She was expected to study every day from the day she started school as her parents demanded excellence, which is where the disappointment started but no where near where it ended. She was schooled in a group of other pure blood girls, the children of her family’s friends, which was where she first learnt how effective manipulation and humiliation was. Actually, that’s not quite true, the first person she learnt that from was her father, who seemed to find endless things about polly childish, unbecoming and disappointing. Her mother wasn’t much better, and the more time that passed without her showing any signs of magic, the more resigned and borderline hateful they became of her, calling her a squib and a ‘failed endeavour’, and unfortunately, as children often do, she started mimicking this behaviour around the other girls and found out very quickly how to get what she wanted. Whether that be to get a specific girl to be her best friend, another to be ignored by everyone, to get answers for the homework, to get out of the homework, or most importantly: frighten the girls out of ever bringing up the fact that she couldn’t do magic. She probably made threatening comments about being very powerful and not trusting herself to use magic around them to cover up the fact that she was coming up nine and a half and still hadn’t had a single instance of magic.

I don’t think she really understood how horrible her behaviour was then and likely thought this was normal behaviour bc the girls she was schooled with weren’t exactly nice either, and when that’s how people behave in your home and in your class/every aspect of your life you tend to make the assumption that that's just how everyone is. It made her feel good in the moment, having power over others often does have a certain appeal, however dark, but I imagine she spent a lot of time thinking about it at night and feeling awful but not being able to articulate why. I like to picture her having long chats with Pipsey and skirting around the subject, wanting to talk about it but being too afraid to find out what was making her feel this way.

Skip forward and her parents began to talk about replacing Pipsey, she’s old and a lot slower these days and far, far too indulgent with Polly. Polly, struggling to get her parents attention at the best of times, begs and begs them to keep her on, begs them to just get another elf to help alongside Pipsey instead of getting rid of her entirely, and when they refuse to listen and send her off to her room, she throws the tantrum to end all tantrums, screaming, crying, kicking, throwing things, all the behaviour she has been taught against suddenly comes tumbling out of her until they all realise that she's levitating their massive heavy wooden bookshelf up and up in a very menacing way over her parents.

It’s not her conscious intention to hurt them, but on a subconscious level it’s definitely her desire to make them feel the hurt, upset, and fear that they’ve made her feel, and I’d consider this the first time we see just how strongly she cares for the people she loves. It’s the fear of losing Pipsey that drives her to use magic for the first time. Her parents are OVERJOYED at this display of magic as they’d honestly almost completely given up on her and decide to keep Pipsey as a reward for her display. Not a great thing bc it instilled in her the idea that she can get whatever she wants if she throws a big enough tantrum and is threatening enough, but on the other hand it teaches her to always fight for what she feels is right so... plus Pipsey is so grateful to Polly for working so hard to keep her (as if Polly would /ever/ let anything stand between her and what she loves)

The magic doesn’t come easily after this though, it comes rarely and is quite difficult for her since she’s been raised to be so reserved and emotionless, but she’s felt it now and manages to achieve the barest of minimums from here on out. I don’t think magic is exclusively connected to emotional states or a persons openness but being closed off has definitely been to the detriment of Polly’s power. She’s got a renewed sense of self worth from the experience though and begins to feel once again like she might be able to make her parents proud.

She gets her Hogwarts letter and it is the happiest she’s ever been and it’s the closest they’ve ever felt like a real family. Everything is perfect until the moment she meets Yann Fredericks on the train and her world image starts to crumble.

Yann is easily the nicest person she's ever met and it's confusing and INFURIATING and she has no idea how to cope with it, but suddenly (and she doesn't know HOW) she has a friend and the sorting hat is on her head and she's in Gryffindor with this boy she's only known a few hours and her entire world is upside down.

That first night she creeps down into the Gryffindor common room because she's so confused and sick with anxiety that she can't sleep, only to find Yann down there too. He also can't sleep, but his reason is that he misses his mums and his sister Leah, and the combination of that mixed with his excitement for the years ahead means that he probably won't sleep for hours. They end up talking about anything and everything until they can't keep their eyes open, and although she's still more nervous than she's ever been, she's also made her first real friend. They end up having long, quiet chats in that corner almost every night for the rest of their time at Hogwarts.

She gathers the courage to write to her parents the next day and never receives a reply, which is a reply in itself, and she's absolutely devastated. Not to mention she's not managing any better with her magic, and seems to be just about the only one with this issue except for:

Albus Potter.

Her homeschool days come back to her and suddenly she's picking on Albus and pointing out all his flaws and the fact that he can hardly manage any magic it all and now no one even notices that she can't get her feather to levitate or a broom into her hands because they're all noticing that in Albus. It's not nice and it doesn't make her feel good, but it's a relief to not have to worry about herself when she's got everyone laughing at someone else's misfortune. And in doing so she makes another friend: Karl Jenkins! Who seems equally as keen to make jokes at the expense of others, and who introduces her and Yann to his friend Craig Bowker Jr.

I could go on and on but it's already taken me like, a year, to answer this!! and it gets a bit more just 'story' rather than 'backstory' from here so there you have it! I'm sorry for taking an absurd amount of time and for rambling so much and probably only making a small amount of sense but there you have it! I love Polly so much and I'm so excited for her to grow, mature and get the help that she needs to become the person that she's meant to be <3 Thank you thank you thank you for asking!! I am literally always down to talk about Polly, or any other member of the gang, and I will endeavour to do better than a year's turn around in future <3 love youuuuu

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wildestheart4ever · 4 years ago

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More Jamie Rogers content, cause I was reminiscing the existence of my little steggy goober. So I wanted to explore what his relationships with the Avengers are like:

Steve and Peggy Rogers: Both Steve and Peggy struggle with the notions of parenthood [Steve never met his father, and Peggy had a complicated relationship with her mother], and both fear failing their little pride and joy in any way. Especially with their very time consuming careers.

Steve is seemingly the more indulgent parent, he likes to spoil his son to a degree, give Jamie everything he never had the chance to get during his own childhood. Jamie and Steve share a love for baseball, and Steve is painstakingly teaching the boy the sport.....he makes it a point to tell others not to judge him when he does it in the suit [considering they all saw the ball he took to his man bits, they refrain from commenting].

Though both are protective, Peggy has been quietly dubbed “Momma bear”, given her penchant for using random blunt objects to club threats in the face when they present themselves as a threat to her child [there’s a tally chart, it’d be funny how many marks she has if it wasn’t so disconcerting].

Dodger: Steve got Jamie a dog the third year after the snap, felt like his son might need a companion and would keep him busy while Steve was occupied with work [Especially during the times Nat would be occupied with the remaining Avengers]. They pass most of that time playing ball

Sam Wilson: Now when Jamie first meets Sam, he’s hanging off Steve’s back [in one of those carriers] and just watching and waving back at the guy trying to keep with his dad. Of course he likes him instantly, cause the dude is nice and funny and put a big smile on Steve’s face [Not many others besides his mum can do that], and kept him company while Steve was hospitalized before Peggy got back.

Probably first on the list of people he’d be comfortable with being left alone with. Besides aunt Nat that is.

Admittedly, Sam’s first thought at meeting Jamie was “So this is the result of a child raised by a greatest generation couple in the 21st century”. He’s spent his free time with the kid with Steve, teaching Jamie how to play baseball for one [Though the following severe sympathy pain once a ball hit Steve’s man bits had Sam a little more cautious when playing with a boy with super strength], he looks at the boy with fondness and amusement [and exasperation, once finding out Natasha had successfully taught the boy how to play poker].

He got kinda teary eyed upon their return to find a quiet colt legged preteen with a resting bitch face to outmatch Barnes’ crying his eyes out into his mother’s shoulder, instead of an cheerful open smiled child. In his defense, everyone’s hearts were collectively broken.

Natasha Romanov: She wasn’t much considered “Aunt Nat” before the events of DC [she, Steve and Peggy seemed more on the friendly co-workers status before that]. Jamie thinks she’s cool tho, and she gives him sweets no matter how many times it exasperates his parents. At eleven, she’s pretty much the only other permanent fixture in his life, and one he is not intent on losing.

Now given Natasha’s experience with Clint’s kids, she’s not all that clueless and awkward when interacting with Jamie. She amused herself with buying him Captain America onesies during his infancy, and sometimes watches him when both Peggy and Steve are occupied [I’m guessing SHIELD sanctioned nannies are only offered when missions are concerned].

Nat lives on and continues being the awesome aunt in his life, and that’s that.

Bucky Barnes: When Jamie was first brought in to meet his elusive namesake, the two did not quite know what to make of each other, Jamie thought the man looked very tired and sad. He still remembers Bucky from their brief interaction following Hydra’s exposure, and he’s joyed to find the man a bit more talkative than the first time around.

Bucky was still baffled by the notion of Steve having kids at all [The fact Peggy survived along side Steve is still another thing he’s trying to wrap his mind around, what’s reckless self sacrificial x2?]. He still gets chills at the thought of their first encounter, and doesn’t like delving into what exactly he was thinking when he saw the boy the first time around. He refuses to take bait to Sam’s teasing on the fact lil Jamie thought he was a cursed prince waiting for true love’s kiss.

Given time - and a lot of it spent in each other’s company when the others are out on secret missions -, Jamie and Bucky taken a shine on the other. Bucky and Sam may have been a bit competitive on who’s Jamie’s favorite [It’s Nat]

Thor: Now Jamie didn’t get much of an opportunity to get to know Thor, so despite his outgoing and precocious nature, the boy is a little timid when it comes to the large alien.

Thor finds the boy endearing and [jokingly] swears loyalty to him upon the day Jamie becomes a warrior himself and looks forward to fighting by his side. Nothing like reminding the mortals around you of their short lifespan, eh?

Bruce Banner: Another fellow Jamie hardly interacts with. He finds the man twitchy and shy, and goes about interacting with him like he were interacting with smth fragile. By the time of the five year skip and he’s a little more sure of his interactions with the man, he a bit weirded out by the man’s.....new development [He finds himself staring quite a lot, despite his father’s scolding]

Bruce - upon being introduced the a fragile two year old - takes to interacting with Jamie with as much care as the boy bestows upon him. He finds him less stressing and loud than one would expect of a toddler, and sometimes wants to toe the line where Jamie is persistently keeping himself in quiet mode, where he can hopefully find a friendly middle ground.

Tony Stark: Jamie isn’t that big of a fan of Tony, the man mostly keeps to his own thing so it’s not like he sees much of him to begin with. Whenever he is in the same room with Stark, the man either pretends he’s not there...or just really focused in his attempts in aggravating Steve

After the snap, it’s plain to say the boy is not fond of Stark. He lost nearly everyone that ever mattered to him, including his mother, and Stark is just raving on taking everything out on his dad for no reason. The fact the man did not want to help five years later didn’t endear him to Jamie much either, and at eleven, Jamie is a broody preteen keen on holding a grudge [Imagine being five and going through that, watching this guy basically blame the whole shitfest on Steve. Yeaaah, that boy was pretty loud in his anger]

Now Tony is hardly an expert in handling children [no Tony, you do not call a boy who expresses missing his absent father a pussy], so he’d be pretty awkward once the Rogers family moves into the tower after the events in DC. Finds himself twitchy at all the child-friendly stuff around the common area [sometimes, toys are accidently left behind for one to slip on], and the most interaction he gets with Jamie is long awkward mutual staring

Clint Barton: Like Thor, he doesn’t have much interaction with this guy. But when he is around, Jamie finds him both goofy and cool, cool especially when Barton saves his little tush from rogue AIs making their first appearance [Just think, you spend a boring grown-up party playing with your toys and emptying the snack trays, fall asleep on a couch, only to wake up to disaster]. At eleven, he feels pity at the fate of the man’s family, offering an awkwardly friendly fist-bump upon seeing him, and silently taking the embarrassing hair ruffling he gets in return.

Jamie is everything Clint expected of a child born from Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter, the boy is quiet, mindfull, and yet incredibly outgoing and stubborn [and temperamental, both parents are stubborn to admitting who he got it from], something he quietly finds amusing.

#My ocs #Marvel Cinematic Universe #Marvel #The Avengers #Captain America #Steve Rogers #Peggy Carter #Steggy #Steve/Peggy #Steve x Peggy #Steggy baby

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skaryskylar · 4 years ago

Text

Toss A Coin To Your Witcher

Pairing: BakuDeku, DekuBaku Switch

Type: One-Shot

Prompt: Twin Stars Week/Day 1-Fantasy

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: All the smut, Minor KiriKami, Dubious Consent, improper Use of Magic

Read on AO3

His stomach growled as he settled into the darkest corner of the inn. The ale in his cup had already gone warm, but he didn't dare waste a drop. It was bitter on his tongue, dry and heavy on the hops. Swishing through his jaws with difficulty, it seeped rather than flowed down his parched throat.

But it was all he could afford.

The pouch at his waist was depressingly empty, silent without the jingle of coin. He needed to sit and wait. See if something cropped up. But the inn didn't seem to be overflowing with those in need. No, it was fool's night. The bard atop a table strummed his lute, singing a tale of a honeyed, fair maiden chased down by a horrible beast of a bear. It was a lewd little ditty. If he could, he'd scrunch his face in disgust.

But that would mean he wouldn't look 'approachable'. In this line of work, and with a pocket as barren as his own, he needed to keep an easy going appearance at all times.

He tried to direct his ears elsewhere. Some of those gathered at the bar-common townsmen and farmers out for an evening drink-were whispering amongst themselves. It wasn't hard for him to pick up on the murmured sounds.

"-'s him. I'm sure of it."

"That's not him! He's short! They say that this Witcher is ten feet tall, wide as a bear and twice as fierce!"

"I heard he's got a hound's gnashing canines for teeth and blackened claws on his hands."

"He walks with a peach-colored wolf. It used to be white, but blood stained the damn thing's fur red so many times it started to grow out a strange, rosy color."

Ochako whined at his feet. Her dark eyes peeked up from under the table, ears downcast. Those assholes. Didn't they know she had a sensitive soul? Smiling at her comfortingly, he scratched behind her ears, a silent apology.

"Fool! He doesn't walk with a wolf! He is a wolf! When the full moon hangs low beneath the clouds, they say he transforms into a monster neither man nor beast."

"Shh! He can hear us! Don't you know he has ears large enough to hear for miles? See how they peek out from that head of dark curls!"

"I keep telling you that's not him! What would the Symbol of Strength, the Slaughterer of Shigaland, the Devil's Wicked Right Hand, Izuku of Yuuei be doing here of all places?"

"Perhaps he's come to slay the dragon."

Izuku perked up at that. His stomach groaned in protest but he had long ago learned to pay hunger no mind in the face of work. A dragon's head huh? That would fetch him a pretty penny. Perhaps enough for him to make it to the next town over with a sackful of dried meats, bread, berry...

And a horse. By the gods, how he needed a new horse. He lost the last one in a nasty encounter with some graveirs a while back. Travelling was a royal pain in the arse without a horse.

He stood to his full height, pushing his day-old ale aside as he made to go stand by the bar, leaning some of his hefty weight against the creaking wood of the counter. It was warmer there. Whether it was the heat of their fearful gazes or the warmth of human touch, he didn't care to find out.

He had something better to focus on.

"What's this I hear of a dragon wreaking havoc on innocent citizens?"

He went for a charming smile. The same that had maidens fall over him all the way from Shiketsu to Aldera. It didn't work. Men were less susceptible to his charm. They took one look into his eyes-saw how unnatural the green was with its sheen and flecks of gold, and knew he was not of their same blood and bone.

(No, he was stronger. Faster. More cunning and full of tricks. Without the folly of their emotions to weigh him down. A symbol of strength just as his master had been a symbol of peace.)

Sure enough, the one closest to him with the greasy black hair and gaunt face took one look into his gaze, and immediately blanched, tugging his mug of ale closer to his chest.

"M-M-Mind yours Witcher! Yer not welcome here!"

"It's not the Witcher." One of his friends snorted into the foam of his drink. "Don't mind a fake trying to trick his way into some coin."

Rather than speak to defend himself, Izuku drew his sword from its scabbard. The inn went silent in the wake of its gleam, watching how the silver glinted and shone even in the dim light. It was a beautiful piece of work, made from the finest goblin ore and elven wood, forged by dwarves in the deepest fires of Mount Rocklock.

It had passed from worthy hand to worthy hand till it found its way into his own calloused grip. The feats performed with it granted it a name fitting for its prestige.

"One for All." One of the men breathed. He reached out as if to touch iy, but Izuku was quick to slide the blade back into its sheath.

"Now," He grinned cheekily. "About that dragon."

The dragon, he learned, was terrorizing the farm lands towards the edge of town. It hadn't done much in terms of fire damage, just a few burnt stables here and there. A rabbit hutch for one man.

But it was surely taking its fill. A shepherd had lost half his flock while they were grazing in the hills, and that was just the beginning of it. Chickens, goats and cows had all fallen under the things clutches. There was no blood spilled so it naturally ate them whole.

But to spite the farmers, the thing had even stolen barrels of cheese and crates of milk, just throwing salt into the festering wounds. Slowly but surely, the little bastard was creeping closer and closer to the main villages. It wouldn't be long before it ran out of animals to eat.

Maybe then it'd decide it fancied human thigh instead of lamb.

"Listen, us farmers, we have a pact," The most reasonable out of the bunch, Inasa the dairyman, approached him with a fresh drink and a hot plate of roasted chicken. He was about to descend upon it with vigor, when a paw reached up to settle on his knee.

Ochako stared at him from under the table, brown eyes wide. Sighing, he split the meat in half, offering her the larger share.

"We'd be willing to pay if you can get the damn thing out of our hair. It won't be much in the way of coin, but you'd be guaranteed food for the next month at least. My wife and I can offer our place for you to rest your head for a night upon your return to sweeten the deal."

Izuku's stomach growled in response, the meager meal having not been enough. He willed an embarrassed blush to fly up to his cheeks, painting the backdrop of his multitudes of freckles a rosy red.

"Sounds like we've got a deal." He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

(If the farmer and his wife renegaded on their part, he would leave them out during the upcoming full moon and have Ochako rip them limb from limb.)

Promise of food stuck fast in his mind, he collected his things and began to walk out. The wolf was quick on his heels, gnawing at an abandoned chicken bone as Izuku adjusted his sword at his hip. He was only a few paces from the door when a voice called out,

"Wait! Witcher! Mister Slaughterer Sir! Wait!"

He nearly didn't stop. If Ochako hadn't spat out her bone to growl, he wouldn't have.

Certainly not for the bard. He was young. Mature in human years but his jaw was still smooth with youth. Neither hair nor scar marred his features, boyish grin bright with a fool's bliss as he clumsily stumbled his way over, golden eyes taking the setting sun's last rays into their depths to shine bright as day in the encroaching darkness.

"Let me come with you."

Izuku smiled.

"No."

Turning right on around, he once again set off on his journey. Ochacko huffed at his side as the bard continued to follow them. He maintained a distance just outside of his sword's reach so if Izuku fell prey to the building desire to turn and gut the man where he stood, he'd have to put some effort in.

And that was energy he did not have.

His stomach rumbled. The wolf at his side gave a keen whine.

"-can sing songs about our travels! Of who we meet and what we dare to do! I heard you're setting out to kill a dragon. Imagine what limericks I could reap from that!"

He pulled out his lute, cleared his throat and sang,

'The dragon with tongue of fire and death

Nearly killed us all with one sniff of its breath'

Izuku stopped in his tracks. He gave the other man a long, soul-searching look. The bard scrambled to get back, saying some nonsense about how he'd work on those horrible lyrics. In his haste, his hat ripped from his head, exposing long locks of flaxen hair, a single stray jagged line of black towards the side. But that anomaly wasn't what caught Izuku's attention: it was the pointed nubs of batlike ears that pointed through the matted fray, of a paler complexion from the rest of the man's skin due to the lack of exposure to sunlight. Immediately, his hands left the lute to cover them up, pulling his green flouncy hat low beyond their tips once more.

"You're an elf."

"Half-elf!" The man protested. "My mum's about as human as they come." After a beat of silence, he picked his lute from the ground, inspecting the wood for damage.

Izuku's smile widened.

A half elf. This was perfect. The only thing dragons enjoyed more than sheep was a roasted, honey-eyed elf. The bard would be a useful trap.

"What's your name stranger?"

"Denki Kaminari."

"You may come along. Don't get distracted, nor can you distract me. Dragons are dangerous after all."

It would've been an easy trip if the fool didn't talk so much. He had an easy voice; it chimed like bells. All the masculine grit stuck to the back of his throat, leaving only light melody to flow from his lips. It made him sound naturally friendly and open. Izuku wished for that. Every tone of his own words had to be thoughtfully considered before he spoke, lest he fall into the same gruff, monotone of his kinsmen.

That wouldn't do. He had to be personable to get jobs. Strong to make results come to fruition and cunning to ensure he always had his way.

His master was not lazy with his tutelage. One could not become the Symbol of Peace without accumulating centuries of wisdom, and that same wisdom was bestowed upon him with each lesson; each fletching of an arrow, crushing of yarrow root in mortar with a pestle, and adjustment of his manner of speech came with some kind of warning. It was the warning that made him careful. It was his care that made him great.

But the bard, Denki, wasn't taught. He wasn't raised as he was. He was just...human. Well, half-human.

And fully annoying. So, so annoying.

Like a pest he flew around Izuku as they walked, commenting on his height, how his arms were twice as thick as his own. He was writing songs as they made their way up the hills to the farmlands.

If he had to hear another comparison of his 'wild, curly locks' to a 'dewy clearing on the first morn of spring', he would cut off his ears and throw them to Ochako to eat. At least then one of them wouldn't be starving.

"And your eyes! Cut from the finest jade no doubt! They say Witchers can see in the dark like a cat. They say your kind prowl the forests at night searching for prey from a young age, and that's how they find you, bloody babes wrapped in wolf skins. Is it true?"

"You are not born a witcher," Izuku said idly, coming to a stop. They had arrived at the appointed farm. He could see the burnt rabbit hatch; how meager the gathering of cows was in the field.

But this story didn't add up.

"Witchers are made. It is not a path suited for every man. Be happy you're a bard."

"I'm terribly fond of my profession good sir. There's nothing the fairer sex fancies more than a man who can sing their troubles away."

"Is that so?"

The scent. The scent was wrong. He knew what dragon smelled like and this wasn't it. There was smoke yes. The anger, of course. The acrid scent of soot and all-consuming fire, but there was a sweetness that betrayed its magical origin.

Dragons did not smell sweet. They smelled like a viper pit after a night of rain, like the petrichor seeping off the ground before lightning struck true. They stank of death and doom with the smoky after notes of all-consuming rage.

At least, that's what he knew from his own experiences. Perhaps this one was a runt.

"They quickly find my tongue has many uses. Singing makes it nimble and quick. Easy to fit in, uh, tiny spaces if you get my meaning."

He did, but refused to give any indication that it was so. Humming good-naturedly, he moved towards the main cottage without a word, letting the bard talk him down the stone path.

If it was a dragon, then the bard would draw him out. If it wasn't, he could still use the man as a distraction as he created a better plan. Win-Win situation.

The woman that answered the door was thin. Her head of hair had already started turning gray, and there were dark circles beneath her fearful brown eyes. She spoke in whispers and murmurs, as though she thought speaking about the dragon itself would bring it back to harm her. Izuku ignored the usual talk about the terror the victim felt, how helpless they were in the face of such a mighty beast, and focused on the facts.

The attack happened two days ago, which meant the scent would still be fresh if he tracked it down. They were missing all their rabbits, half their cows, and a barrel of cheese. The first two was nothing out of the ordinary. Dragons weren't known for having a small appetite.But the barrel of cheese was strange. Even stranger yet was the missing cherry pie.

"I remember leaving it on the windowsill to cool that morning, but when I came back it was gone." She said, pressing a hand to her head.

He would've written it off as a common thief taking advantage of a disaster, if the last detail she uttered hadn't set off all his alarms.

"The worst part was its laughter."

"Laughter?" The bard spoke the question on his mind between bites of apple pie. "What kind of dragon laughs?"

She sighed, pressing her eyes to her hands as if she were about to weep.

(Izuku hoped she wouldn't. He didn't do well with females, nor their tears. They made him...unsettled.)

"It was horrible. My husband and I went out to put out the fire and we heard the thing just laugh and laugh and laugh. It sounded almost human, but there was a darkness to it. It was small, but if you heard it you'd notice. No one, not even the worst of the worst sinners, sounds that evil."

Izuku set off with suspicion in his heart and a bit of dried meats in his pouch. The bard kept trying to break into his head, see what plans he was making behind his 'jolly demeanor' but he remained silent, smile locked to his face as if it were an iron mask. Ochako had no such patience. When the bard got close enough to brush Izuku's shoulder with his hand, she barked and snapped her teeth, sending the man running several paces back.

"Control your dog Witcher!"

"She's a dire wolf." Izuku corrected cheerily. The good little pup snarled her agreement. He didn't need to look to see the man was terrified. The sharp scent of a little piss was one of the wafts in the air.

The trail was leading them into the mountains. It would be a day before they reached the end of it. Izuku would've walked through the night with his wolf at his side, but elves, half or not, were prissy about darkness.

They settled at the foot of the mountain. Izuku set a fire with ease, magic crackling electric green in his palm before shooting out to the bundle of sticks and tinder. Ochako took her place at his back, licking her fur for a quick clean before settling on her paws and falling asleep. Her snores rang out throughout the land, imposing and fearsome, letting all woodland creatures know that a direwolf was present and ready to rip out their throats if they strayed too close.

He could sleep easy so long as she kept snoring.

"Witcher,"

But not as long as the bard insisted on speaking.

"This dragon...I've got my reservations about it. Wouldn't we have seen its claw marks in the dirt?"

"Dragons fly bard." The Witcher answered, eyes shut as he lay against the direwolf's back. She was warm beneath him, fur tickling the skin of his neck as he shifted to get comfortable. There were a few moments of darkness and blessed, blissful silence.

Then:

"I can't get that laughter tidbit out of my mind. What kind of dragon laughs Witcher? Will we face a particularly fearsome one?"

"The fiercest." Izuku replied, because he couldn't resist. The bard's 'eep' of fright sparked a distant amusement in his chest.

"Perhaps if you tell it a funny tale or two, you'll distract it long enough for me to take its head."

He felt the vibrations of the bard laying out a bedroll. (Made of fine material no doubt. Ever the prissiest those elves) The ground gave a slight shake when the man threw himself upon it.

Izuku's eyes remained closed as Denki gave a long sigh.

"Hopefully I'll live to see another night."

Izuku did not hope. He had been told he inspired such a feeling in others but he himself was immune to such irrationality. He was a man of facts, of odds and probability, of notes scrawled on paper well into the night, of the smell of ink lingering on calloused hands.

He did not hope. He predicted, anticipated and prepared.

His odds of survival were high. There was an off-chance he would perish: burning to his demise or falling off the face of the mountain seemed to be the top two contenders for the 'final blow'. But the probability of him strutting out of there with a dragon head slung over his back and Ochako gnawing on rawhide at his side was greater by far.

The bard though?

...Hmm.

The man continued to talk to himself through the night, attempting to assuage his own fears. Groaning, Izuku turned his back on him, and tried to fall asleep to the anxious melody.

The first thing he noticed upon waking was the silence. Ochako's warmth was still at his back. He could feel her chest rise and fall with each breath, but the loud fearsome snores that should've been ringing out were muted. He could taste the magic of the silencing spell in the air before he could taste the bitterness of morning. Hand already at his scabbard, he leapt up, only to get slammed back down by a leather boot.

Crimson eyes cut from ruby and forged in flames leered down at him. The wicked, sharp grin of his attacker loomed inches above, teeth sharp and white blotted red with blood, so close he could taste the copper of it.

He thought of the bard. A quick sniff told him the man was still alive. Terrified, if the whimpers and more than subtle waft of piss meant anything, but still alive.

He quickly scanned the attacker. His chest was bare, golden skin not marred with scar nor birthmark, immaculate and smooth save for the rolling hills of his abs and pink peaks of his nipples, stiff in the mild morning frost. A cape the same color as his eyes gave a few flaps in the easy winds. It was clasped by a silver dragon around the neck, white fur lining the shoulders above his defined collarbone. Clearly a luxury, but not a symbol he could put a royal family name to.

His pants were dark, but made of fine material. He had only seen kikimore silk once before in his life: at the royal wedding of Prince Shoto of Endeavour and Princess Momo of Creati. Her dress had been made from two yards of it and a stunning, hand-sewn lace. It was a white so pure it glistened when the sun hit it, rivaling the shade of the snow as it fell upon the pair underneath their wedding arch.

This was that same material, but dyed a black so harsh it absorbed all color, cuffs tucked into his boots. Lined with that same white fur as the cape, they had spikes beneath their soles. Armor was strapped around the man's knees, sharp points tacked on so they could be used as a weapon if need be, Every inch of this man was a weapon. Sharp. Dangerous.

And he smelled nothing like a human. Izuku didn't recognize this scent. Sweet and sultry, like golden ambrosia presented before an altar, or the exotic perfumes of a passing noblewoman. He had to lean away to catch the fresh winds and clear his head from the hazy mist that threatened to settle over him at the smell of it.

But there was something else on that wind. The smell of a viper pit after a heavy rain. He looked to where the edge of the attacker’s cape billowed in the gentle breeze.

Hmm.

Izuku slipped on an easy smile. It was second-nature by that point, but it only seemed to make the man angry. His eyes narrowed into slits, confident smirk morphing into a bitter scowl.

"Don't play innocent with me Witcher. I've met others of your kind. You don't have the heart for kindness."

Smart one. Arrogant asshole. Izuku made a point to smile harder, quirking a brow in what he hoped would look like a playful jest, as if the man were an old friend rather than the next victim of his blade.

"Now, now. I'm sure we can talk about this-."

He saw the dagger coming down before it was even raised. Heaving, he got the man away from him by turning suddenly, rolling across the ground. Grabbing Ochako by her scruff, he tossed her to the screaming bard and went to face his rising opponent.

Izuku reached for his sword, only to find the scabbard empty.

The other man twirled it about in his hand, checking his reflection in the blade. The tip was already stained red. If the beheaded, mangled deer towards the edge of their camp signified anything, it was that his blade was stolen from him while he slept then used to hunt breakfast.

Which meant that this one who appeared in the image of a man, licking the last of the blood from his teeth, was definitely not mortal. Izuku could sense other life forms even while unconscious. No one touched anything so close to him without his fist closing around their neck. This one was...was...

"Who are you?" The bard yelled. He was bound in rope, hands behind his back and ankles together. His cap still covered his ears securely. Izuku angled himself so the stranger wouldn't see the elf's face, lest he catch the spark in his eyes and begin to suspect.

"I am Prince Kacchan."

"Prince of what?" Denki snorted. "Thieves?"

There was that rage from the farm, smelling of soot and ash. It was thick in the air, hot and violent. Sparks skittered up Izuku's skin as those eyes came to meet him again. They looked him over, slowly, with intention.

Then there was the glint of a smirk full of salacious promise and scandal.

"I think you look better beneath me Witcher."

"I think I'm going to need my sword back Prince Kacchan."

He didn't miss the shiver that racked through the man at the sound of the title. The air was heavy with their auras, challenge and intrigue passing between the two of them, neither willing to drop their masks.

Until a pained roar came down from mountain high, sending birds squawking away from shuddering treetops as the ground rumbled. Kacchan leapt up at once, landing on a branch in a show of nimbleness.

He tossed back a wink.

"Come find me Witcher. I have need for some company." He said before taking off. Leaping from tree to tree, he kept the sword still in his grip as he disappeared into the foliage.;

Izuku bit back a curse. Gathering his things, he used the blade he kept within his boot to cut the bard free. Ochako led the charge as they ran, kicking up dust and dirt in their haste. The bard was too slow to keep up so Izuku swung him onto his shoulders, matching Ochako's pace with ease.

"Where do you think he ran off too?"

If the scent that clung to the man's cape was right, then he had run off to meet their dragon. Izuku didn't reply with this, gritting his teeth as he set a faster pace, thoughts of his sword flashing through his mind along with the possible outcomes of the situation.

The higher up they went, the worse the options became.

The scent was thickest at the very top. There was a cave or rose quartz, large enough for a dragon, but decidedly empty of its large hulking mass. There was no camp set up for Prince Kacchan, only a couple large stones here and there.

Izuku knew better than to judge by first glance. He moved to enter the glistening cavern when the bard pounded his shoulder.

"There is no way I'm going into that cave without a battle plan Witcher! What if it drops from the skies and roasts us where we stand?"

"Then we die," Izuku said simply. Though the bard screamed and yowled his protest, he did not release him, edging his way into the dark cave overflowing with the sharp scent of dragon.

And blood. So much blood and death.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly, narrowing on everything in his path. Kicking aside a cow's skeleton, bones white and licked clean, he brought his tiny party further to the back of the cave, where the smell was strongest and the warmth of fire began to trickle through.

"I'm not too sure about this Witcher."

"Just sit up there and smell pretty bard."

"What do you mean by-?"

A deafening roar cut them off. The ground shook beneath his boots, dust falling from the pale pink stalactite above. He leapt back as one of the spikes dropped, bursting into shards in the same spot he once stood. Deeper and deeper he went as the roar continued. The more he listened, the more pained the cry seemed. It was...off. This wasn't anger. It wasn't lashing out. He doubted it even knew they were in there at all.

He crept closer to the scent of fire, inching along the wall of the cave, straining his ears to hear beyond the wail.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. It hurts. Quit wailing you big baby. You're acting like you lost a ball sack."

That was Prince Kacchan. The jackass who stole his sword. Clutching the bard's ankles tight, he dared to creep in further, murmuring a spell to hide his and Ochako's scent.

Bracing himself, he peeked around the corner.

It was a dragon alright. Definitely not the runt of the litter though. It was huge, looming several feet above his own head even in a crouch. Its horns were long, thick as a tree trunk, curling around his head like that of a rams. Its scales were red so dark they were almost black, taking in the light of the fire, each as long as Izuku's hand.

But it wasn't its massive size that drew his attention.

It was its wounds.

A gaping hole tore through one wing, the other folded at an awkward angle behind him. Broken, no doubt. Its claws were long and sharp on all three limbs.

The fourth was missing. Its dark eyes were glued to the spot where it should of been, watering with unshed tears of pain as Prince Kacchan cleaned and wrapped the wound. At the blonde's side was Izuku's acclaimed sword, sitting still and idle, waiting for him to grasp it in his hand once more. The discarded bandage pile was where the stench of blood was strongest. Izuku sniffed, identifying the sour smell of infection in the cloth.

"Whoa," The bard breathed and, immediately, all eyes darted to their location.

Izuku could've killed the man himself, but it seemed like the dragon wanted to take a go first. He let Denki go, dropping him to the ground when the thing raised its head to strike, then rolled to snatch his sword before it was too late.

Two things happened then.

The dragon gave a keen whine, then began to collapse in on itself, shrinking in a blaze of red light till a man stood where the beast once sat. His spiky hair was the same shade of crimson as the scales, and his build more similar to Izuku's own bulk than Kacchan's lithe muscle. There was a bandaged stump where his left hand should've been, a clean cut slicing just above the wrist. His eyes were curious, a light reddish-brown as they fixated on the bard and the bard alone.

He was also completely nude.

The second was that Izuku reached for his sword, fingertips brushing the hilt when lava burst from the floor below, wrapping around his ankles and wrists, pinning him to the ground. He grunted when the familiar sensation of a spiked boot stepping on him came from his back.

"We meet again, Witcher."

His face in the dirt, Izuku dropped any mask, letting a cold fury envelope him as he struggled. He was close. So close. One inch more and One for All would be where it belonged.

But the Fates did not will it to be so. Kacchan gave a savage, mocking laugh as he plucked the sword up from the floor. He did some kind of magic to turn Izuku over so that he was facing the ceiling.

He couldn't see Kacchan, but he could feel his witchcraft. Powerful, it thrummed through the air, enveloping his limbs like a restraining caress till he was immobile.

At least the dragon found the bard. If he could enjoy nothing else, it would be the fact that he could hear the annoying little man being ripped limb from limb before he died.

...But the Fates didn't will that to be so either.

"You're an elf!"

"A-A-And your prick is out sir! I implore you to get a covering. Where are your trousers?"

"Oh! My apologies. I didn't mean to offend."

Izuku sniffed. Sweet and heady. Nervousness. Anticipation. Attraction. Arousal-.

Oh fuck.

"I've never met a real elf before. My mother says your kind are as sweet as honey and have eyes of starlight. If I may see your ears?"

"I-I don't really like letting people look."

"But they're beautiful!" The dragon insisted, as if scandalized. "Elves are the most beautiful creatures in all the land. I should know! I'm a dragon! My kind collect pretty things."

There's the sound of someone shifting. Probably the elf, blushing like a maiden at the flattery. Izuku fought the desire to throw them all off the mountain.

"I have a cousin, Mina. She courted an elf. At their celebration, there wasn't a dry eye on that mountain top. From envy of course. A good half of our family was ready to kill her to take her place."

Gritting his teeth, Izuku made a mental note to rewrite the segment on Elven-Dragon Relations in his journal.

"So I assume you're the one that's been harassing the farmers then," He said, trying to get Kacchan's attention. Maybe Ochako would be able to catch the man by surprise if he kept him distracted. "You need to feed your friend after all, and he's not fit to hunt."

"Hey!" The dragon-shifter's voice was stunned, and a little hurt. "I thought we agreed we'd live off the land."

"Those beasts were on land." The Prince said arrogantly. "Our land. Those hills belonged to my kind long before these filthy mortals claimed the earth as their own."

That shortened his list. Demi-god? That'd be a bitch to take down. He would have to go off of rumors for that. The last Witcher to take down a Demi-God was centuries ago. One of the Vampire Fathers maybe? They walked the world long before his own kinsmen did, but their weakness to silver was common knowledge. He just needed One for All back and he'd make it work. It wouldn't be easy, but it would be possible.

But that wouldn't explain the fire.

He'd never heard of a vampire capable of making molten lava out of rose quartz then cooling it quick enough to bind a Witcher.

"Those farmers are poor and scared. They've sent us here to kill the dragon ravaging their homes," The bard said because he had a big mouth and just couldn't shut up. Izuku tried to think, tried to run through all the information he'd gathered so far to find a way of this mess. He strained against his binds, but even with all his strength, they wouldn't budge. Fortified by a dark magic no doubt. He would need to wait and build his power to counter it.

That could take days. Months even.

He'd be dead by then if Prince Kacchan wished it so.

"That's horrible," The dragon was saying. "I'm terribly sorry this has happened. I had no idea where he was getting the food. We'll leave if that would please you...and, uh, the farmers of course!"

"Oi! Shitty hair! We're not leaving! Do you know what I went through to find this place-!"

"Splendid! Did you hear that Witcher? A bit of diplomacy and we've saved the townspeople!"

Izuku gave a long, tired sigh, smile straining as soon as he pasted it back up.

"Wonderful," he said through grit teeth, failing to keep the sarcasm from his tone. "Now if I could get my sword, we'll be on our way."

At the sheer implication, the dragon hissed. Izuku shut his eyes to the sound, already aware of the sharp claws that were undoubtedly reaching out for the bard to stuff him further back in the cave. Territorial little bastards, those dragons. And if his gut was right, he wouldn't be letting the bard go anytime soon.

"By the gods, what is it man?"

"Oh! Sorry! The claws, they, uh, do that sometimes. It's normal."

Izuku could taste the lie on the air, sweet as cherry wine and just as deceptive.

"But you all don't have to leave now," The dragon continued. "Let us feed you! We've got plenty of food to share! And that lute! You're a bard, aren't you elf? Tell me some of your tales!"

The bard, like a fool, agreed.

To his credit, Izuku did not resist as he was lifted roughly to a stand. Prince Kacchan's fist was wrapped in his tunic, pulling him away from the ground even as his other hand wove sigils into the air, completing the stone cuffs around his wrists and ankles into dark circlets. He pulled his aching arms down to his chest, bending his elbows as he was hopped over to a smooth raised stone by the fire.

He took the seat, lips pressed tight as Kacchan sat right next to him, avoiding eye contact with all lest they see the calculations in his eyes. The fire rose high, hot against his front, with pointed wooden spikes at its base. If he kicked out at the right angle, could he launch one into the Prince's chest? Once he was gone, Izuku could take a lame dragon with Ochako's help.

The direwolf sat at the edge of the light, watching the Prince with wary eyes as he went about roasting the cow. Ever a loyal girl. Izuku didn't deserve her.

"Let's share names then," The dragon-man said, now with a fresh pair of breeches covering his bits. "I'm Eijirou the Wild. I'm from the mountain range of Kirishima."

"I'm Denki, a bard. Half-elf." He emphasized. "And that's Izuku of Yuuei. The Slaughterer of Shigaland and the Devil's Wicked Right Hand. He's a Witcher."

"And I'm already bored of this conversation. Eat and then leave bard."

"Don't be rude Kats!" Eijirou the Wild smiled, a grin with sharp pointy teeth and fawning eyes for the bard alone. Kats. What was that short for? Was Kacchan not his 'true name'? What kind of creatures needed to hide their names?

"Don't mind him. He's been sour ever since his mother tossed him out for stealing her favorite plaything."

"She didn't kick me out," the Prince said sourly. "I left of my own accord."

But his words went ignored. The dragon and the bard were already well on their way to a rousing conversation, speaking to each other in fervent whispers, inching closer by the minute till they could pick the remnants of meat off each other's laps. No one asked the Witcher about his life, because they didn't care. Prince Kacchan was too caught up in his own annoyance. and the dragon just wanted to know more about the bard, looking at him as if he was the one who cast away the moon to hang the sun in the sky.

Honestly, how did he get 'Elven-Dragon relations' so wrong? Didn't they have a lesson about this at Kaer Morhen? His old master would be so ashamed.

The bard of course played right into their hands. He relished the attention, even got comfortable enough to take his hat from his head, shyly allowing a clawed hand to wondrously prod at the pale tips of ears.

When he pulled out the lute, the Witcher knew they were in for a long night. He played song after song, growing more loud as they opened a barrel of orc gin and passed it about. Izuku sat there, small smile beginning to ache, ears ready to bleed as they began a new ballad,

'A dragon there was, a dragon, a wild one

All red and fierce and ready for fun!

The dragon! The beast! The wild one!'

He was going to beg for the sweet release of death. There was no other choice. The bard was annoying the shit out of him.

"You're annoying the shit out of me bard." Prince Kacchan spoke for him. Tossing the last of his scraps into the fire, he stood and emptied the contents of his waterskin on his hands to clean them. Wicking them out to dry, he commanded, "Find yourself elsewhere."

"Don't talk to him like that-!"

"Leave!"

Eijirou frowned. Pointedly snatching up Denki's hand, he led the bard off towards the edge of the fire's light, in the direction of the cave's entrance, continuing their rapid fire conversation about some frivolity. Izuku didn't trust the bard with the dragon alone. Silently, he looked to Ochako. The direwolf rose to her feet. Huffing her displeasure, she heeded his wordless request and turned to follow the pair.

It left him and the Prince alone, only the crackling of the fire to fill the gap between them. He kept his eyes on the flames, watching the wood split and burn from their heat.

"You're a quiet man Witcher. What's in that head of yours?"

His smile froze.

"I'm trying to figure out what you are."

A partial lie that left his mouth dry. He chanced a glance at his unfortunate companion. Kacchan's expression betrayed nothing but a fox's cunning. There was trickery afoot. Izuku took pride in his ability to catch it

"How about I let you guess? Hmm. Three tries."

A game then. The Prince doubted the extensiveness of Izuku's bestiary. He could see a vision of victory already dancing in the man's eyes, and swore to keep it as was: a vision rather than a reality.

"If you win-,"

"Then I get your true name."

The man's eyes narrowed into slits. A tell if any. That narrowed his list once more. Vampires didn't give a damn about 'true names'. Maybe an elder member of the fae?

"If I win then I get to lay claim to what's yours."

Tricky wording. Fae then. He'd seen a good share of their cunning.

But when he spoke his guess aloud, the man only smirked.

"You could break a fairy with one sweep of your hand couldn't you Witcher? Just snap them in two."

Red eyes traced the length of his biceps, something unreadable in their gaze. Izuku gave a sniff but he couldn't smell anything past that heady perfume. It clouded his head, made his mind lazy even as he resisted. He used his eyes instead, studying the curve of his collarbone, the path of a bead of sweat down his pecs, past the taut skin of his stomach to the low hanging hem of his trousers. There was a coil tightening in his gut, the pressure of a low flame.

"Vampire." He said hoarsely, throat suddenly parched. The scent got closer as Kacchan slid even closer. Every inch of skin pressed to his side burned hotter than any fire ever could. Crimson eyes dancing, the man dropped his chin to the butt of his hand, pouty lips forming an arrogant smirk at the end of a short, "Nope."

His last guess. Izuku was silent, eyes searching to see what his nose couldn't smell. He looked like a human. A dangerous human but a human nonetheless. What creatures could adopt this form, especially one as easy on the eyes as this? He wished he had his notebook in hand rather than down at the inn. He would have taken his time going through old pages of lessons till he found the right one.

Now he had only his intellect and his gut to guide him, and the former was fading fast, lost to a rosy haze of heat and need.

Wait...wait...wait...There was magic at work here.

"You're human. A sorcerer that's filled with trickery and cunning."

Kacchan gripped him by the arm, fingers digging into his skin like little daggers before swinging his other leg over. He nestled himself into Izuku's lap, firm thighs on either side of his waist as a hot breath caressed the shell of his ear.

"Wrong. Honestly Witcher," He shifted. Izuku felt his arousal twitch once through the fabric. "Have you never met an incubus before?"

"...Ah."

"Yeah."

"You said you were a Prince."

"Prince of Corrupted Virtue."

"Is that what they're calling it this age?"

"Fuck if I know," The Prince's voice lowered into a growl as he pounced. Again, Izuku was one his back, hands and legs pinned to the ground as the incubus nuzzled its nose to the junction where his jaw met his neck.

"You smell good Witcher. Of magic and strength, pine, firewood and all those-Mmm," He fidgeted as a breathy moan got caught in the air. "All those other manly things. You owe me a prize, don't you?"

"How about a pat on the back?" He asked sardonically. With each twitch he made, the other just tightened around him, hot hands locked on his raised biceps as an armor-less knee kept his legs apart. Kacchan pressed a gentle kiss on the lobe of his ear, then changed his mind, switching for a long, slow swipe of his rough tongue against the shell.

(He shivered reflexively, a heat beginning to spread in his loins.)

"Come now, Witcher," He said the title with a voice promising sin. "A demon's gotta eat."

"I don't suppose we could negotiate terms?" He tried squirming out from his grip, but the Prince only laughed, low and raspy, descending upon his neck to bite down on every bit of bared skin.

His hands ventured under the hem of his tunic, hot against the cool skin, ripping the fabric apart to leave his chest bare. Izuku made a keen sound of annoyance. The old forgotten sensation of self-consciousness tried making itself known, but he beat it back with a fierce refusal. He had scars. It came with the job. There were many. They were gnarly. They were hideous.

He had a lengthy kill record to match.

Kacchan was not afraid. He took his time with each one, pressing his lips to the scarred skin as he were a lover rather than a parasite. Izuku squirmed with each caress, grinding against a firm thigh in search of any friction.

"You're a fighter," he crooned. Izuku hissed when teeth grazed his nipple. Kacchan licked a long stripe up the area in apology, flicking the tip back and forth till the nub was a pert peak of pink. "Why do they call you the Devil's Wicked Right Hand?"

The question was meant to distract him from the fingers inching toward his belt. Did he have anything under there that could help him? He sold his dagger months ago. His potions stock was low but there were some salves.

Nothing magic. Nothing useful.

He bit back a curse when the fingers met their target, one hand ripping the belt away while the other palmed at him through the rough cloth.

"Answer me," Kacchan demanded. Izuku groaned when his slick tongue dipped into his navel, pressing kisses down the curly trail of green leading past his trousers.

"They say I do his work for him," He gave a stuttered gasp as the Prince squeezed. "I've sent both man and monster to fill his domain. More than he could ever ask for."

"She's got more space down there than you think."

"Your mother I-ah-I'm guessing?"

Kacchan rose. A thin string of spit connected his rosy lips to Izuku's abs, snapping in sync with red eyes gone to look him in the face.

"Do you always talk about your partner's mothers before you fuck? I know your kind are socially inept, but really?"

"Let's get this over with then. Eat your fill and let me go."

The Prince smirked, yanking at the loose band of his trousers till his cock sprang free, already at thick with his arousal, tight against his stomach. He watched as Kacchan fondled it in his rough palm, shame and anticipation at war in the back of his mind. He bit down on a gasp when the demon finally descended upon his cock like a man starved. His warm, slick mouth wrapped around the length, cheeks hollowing out to deliver a firm pressure as his tongue swept at the bead of pre-cum, slow and careful on the slit.

Izuku watched, breath heavy with lust, as the tufts of flaxen blonde bounced with each suck, straining against his stone cuffs to be able to reach out and tug at it, to retain some sense of dignity and control.

But he had no intention of letting him free. As if sensing his efforts, he laughed, a deep vibration in his throat that made the witcher try and lock his legs with a pained grunt, beating back a tidal wave of pleasure with sheer spite alone.

"You're going to have to come eventually Witcher." Kacchan huffed as he let his prick loose, a pop sounding out when the tip left his lips. "Don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Tin and canisters of salves had rolled out from his pockets when his trousers were tugged. The demon selected one at random, removing the cork with a careful sniff, then emptied some the contents on his palm, rubbing the oil between his fingers then turning to look at his prey with mischievous eyes.

Izuku took one whiff and was overrun with the scent of mint. He recoiled as much as he could, knowing the other's intention before he could even act.

"That's for muscle pain."

The Prince's smirk was wicked. Wild.

"Then it's perfect."

"Not that kind of muscle pain. It's a salve from the Isles of Chiyo. It's meant to-,"

A low scoff was the only warning before a discarded shred of his tunic was stuffed into his mouth, the salt of sweat heavy on his tongue.

"You talk too much."

The demon stood. Casting his cape to the side, he took off his boots, then his own trousers, standing bare and golden in the wake of the fire. Izuku tried not to stare at the taut muscle, the shadows cast by the dim glow, and the arrogant grin on the man's face as he returned to his place above him.

(He failed. Miserably.)

"Stay still Witcher. This won't hurt." Izuku glanced at the salve again, wincing at the sharp scent of fresh mint. "I hope."

Izuku knocked his knees as soon as the man approached, eying the slick between his fingers with wary eyes. Kacchan tried to pry his thighs open, but Izuku was stalwart, shaking his head like a virgin bride on her wedding night.

The demon huffed.

"You have to consent. It'll taste bitter if you don't come willingly."

'You're the worst seductress I've ever met,' Izuku said through the cloth. 'I've met common prostitutes that're better.'

The demon's gaze flickered from his prick, still standing at full attention, to the sheen between his fingers. A blush filled his face, redness darkening the sharp planes of his cheeks.

"Would it be easier if I..?" He glanced away, stubbornly glaring to the ceiling.

And wasn't that a tale to be told? A shy incubus? Where was the bard when you needed him? Izuku almost pitied the little Prince. Almost. He gave a grunt, shifting back and forth. His knees relaxed slightly in the process and red eyes locked on the movement.

The demon must have taken this for a 'yes'. Leaning on his haunches, he gave Izuku a full view as he prepped himself, two fingers scissoring back and forth, in and out with sinful, slick squelches and low, halted groans filling the space between the crackling of the fire. \The heat pooling in his stomach began to simmer. He wanted to touch- to be touched- but his hands remained atop his head, He was painfully unable to do anything but watch as the demon rocked onto his own fingers, the other hand wrapped around his cock, pumping steadily till it was a pretty, flushed rouge.

When he decided he was ready, he crawled forward, pulling himself atop Izuku till he was lined up properly.

When he finally sank down, he could only hold onto his hands, biting down on his teeth to distract himself when the simmer in his gut turned into a raging boil.

The Prince was a tease. There was nothing shy about the way he lifted himself till the tip was barely brushing the tight ring of muscle, then rocking down to the hilt, one hand braced against Izuku's chest and chest fondling his balls-coaxing him to come with a masseuse's touch and sultry whispers. But he refused to be the first. He met every buck with one of his own, eyes never straying from that of his partner. Every twitch and spasm had the demon tightening around his length.

"Be a good boy, Izuku." Even his name came out in a hiss, arousal evident in every vowel, so thick he could practically taste it in the air.

Red eyes flinched a little when Kacchan's hand reached to touch himself, shutting completely as he alternated between spat compliments and insults.

"You're taking too long. Do all Witchers have this kind of restraint?"

"God you're so thick and-Ah! Oh, oh fuck."

"How many people have seen you like this? At their mercy? Lain out beneath them like a common whore?"

Izuku spat the cloth from his mouth, fire in his lungs and tears in his eyes.

"Faster," He demanded in a low groan. The demon smirked, slowing his pace to something torturous. He snapped his hips up, silently making his plea known, but the demon only pressed down against his chest, peppering kisses up his clavicle as his cock slid against his navel. The smell of mint was ever-present, but not as strong as that of fire. Ash and soot clung to the air as the crackling of the flames became a roar. The wood split in deafening claps, flames climbing higher as the demon's breaths quickened.

He gave up on the slow rolls, bouncing up and down on Izuku's cock desperately, cleaning around him as keening into his jaw with a low whine till finally, the incubus found his release. And with it, he lost control of his powers. Izuku's wrists and ankles sprang free. He sat up just as the flames hit the ceiling, licking at the stalagmites as his hands went to grasp the demon's hips, holding him down as he fucked into his tight, wet hole, chasing after the tide that was once so keen to swallow him whole.

Soft fingers ran through the hair at the nape of his neck. A quiet, murmur was in his ear, begging him to "go, go, go" till he came with a shudder that racked through his spine. He blinked back red and green stars. Collapsing on the warm, lithe body beneath him, he took a moment to steady his breathing, enjoying the post-coital bliss.

He cleaned them off with the remains of his tunic then cast the scrap into the fire pit to sit with the soot. The smell of mint and ash was strong. The salve was particularly potent. He couldn't feel any part of his groin, numbness spread to even parts of his backside which was concerning, but not as much the one lying next to him. The fire had snuffed out, plunging them into a darkness so deep, even his vision was blurred. A voice spoke into it, raspy from use, gentle with its curiosity.

"...What is your name Witcher? Your true name?"

He was at ease, but he was no fool.

"They called me Deku as a child. Some in Kaer Morhen came from a place where such a name meant 'uselessness'. Weakness. They taunted me for it, so I cast it away."

He turned to the side, where he knew ruby eyes shone upon him.

"And you, Kacchan? Any childhood nicknames you didn't favor."

"They wouldn't dare," He said, puffing out his chest. "I would've ripped out their tongues if they had tried. Disrespecting me is disrespecting the devil herself."

Izuku made a sound of disbelief. Crimson eyes narrowed. "You doubt me?"

"I just...I'm sure there was something. Everyone has a nickname."

"Except for me."

The tunic that was tossed burst into flame, small and timid but still hot enough to destroy the fibers. He was getting somewhere.

"And we can't forget that you're royalty. They had to have called you something when you turned your back. Sparky?"

"No."

"Smoky?"

"They called me Prince Katsuki or nothing at all." The demon snarled.

Then he froze.

Izuku smirked.

"Katsuki," he tried. The name was fire on his tongue. Every syllable screamed of power "Prince Katsuki."

"Don't do this Witcher."

Izuku saw him moving before he even thought of it. He stopped the blackened claws from plunging through his heart at the last second, strong grip on the wrist. He looked straight into crimson eyes as the pupil swallowed the irises whole, engulfing the red in black with the force of his rage. The tension in the air was strong enough to become a physical weight bearing down on his shoulders. His grin never faltered.

"Katsuki," he said sweetly. "I forbid you from harming any member of my party."

Those eyes narrowed into slits. The fire roared once more to life, lighting the cave into a brilliant scarlet.

"How dare you command me-?"

"Katsuki, I forbid you from harming farmer, common man, shepherd, and from stealing any of their property."

"You're making the worst mistake of your life! My mother will find you and rip you limb from limb-."

"Katsuki, I order you to hand me my sword."

The demon stiffened. Gritting his teeth the entire while, he rose as if he were a marionette pulled by invisible strings. His movements were blocky as he made his way through the dark to the discarded blade. One for All glinted in the light, a startling green sheen to the metal as Katsuki laid it flat against his palm, kneeling before him like a knight did his king.

Izuku accepted the offering with grace, not bothering to resist the urge to ruffle soft blonde tufts after the blade was safe in the scabbard.

"That wasn't so hard was it?"

"DAMN YOU WITCHER!"

"What is going on here?"

The bard and the dragon stood at the edge of the shadows, eyes wide as they took in Izuku's state of undress. Shameless, he took his time in collecting what was left of his clothes, watching the demon screaming insults and threats all the while. The demon never moved to harm him, but a good Witcher was always careful.

"Nothing," he answered the question terribly late, so much so that Denki jumped when he answered. "We'll be taking our leave now. The problem's solved."

He saw the way the bard and the dragon looked at each other, then held back a groan.

"-WILL SLAUGHTER YOU AND EACH OF YOUR BASTARD CHILDREN YOU GREEN SOD-!"

"Where's Ochako?" he asked wearily. At the sound of her name, the wolf gave a short howl from the direction of the cave's entrance.

As long as she was safe, he could go. If the bard wanted to stay, marry a dragon, and live forever as a prissy hoarder in bliss, he couldn't care less. The demon wouldn't pose a threat. The dragon wouldn't dare harm an elf. He could tell the townspeople the bard died gruesomely during his battle, and his absence would serve as the proof he needed for payment.

Everyone would leave this encounter happy.

"-FAIR-FACED FRECKLED FUCK! I'VE MET STABLEBOYS WHO WERE A BETTER ROMP THAN YOU! YOU SMILING SIMPLE LIMP-DICKED-!"

Everyone that mattered would leave this encounter happy. Without even a backwards wave, he left the trio behind. Ochako fell into his pace with ease, and together they went down the path into the night, bare-chested with his trusted blade at his side. Screamed curses rang out into the dark, carried by the smooth glide of the wind. Izuku smiled, small but true.

The sounds were greater than any song the bard could write.

The pouch of coins slammed against the counter, a few gold coins spilling out onto the wood. The attendant behind the wood stared at him with blank violet eyes, hair of a similar shade a messy mop atop his head. A pipe hung from his lips, steady stream of smoke billowing through the air.

"A horse," Izuku said with a tired smile. The man stared back with dead eyes. "Please."

Groaning, the attendant set his pipe aside. Ten minutes later, Izuku walked away from the stables with a mare of his own choosing. It was an easy day in a new town. The whispers followed him as they always did, curious eyes following him as he walked his horse through the town.

Only one was brave enough to break through them all. A little girl with hair of silver and eyes a familiar scarlet.

"Witcher," She began with the familiar tones of a plea, pale hands clutching at the edge of her frumpy gown as tears swan in her gaze. "My-My cat! It's been taken by a d-d-dragon! Please help me get it back before it's too late!"

Izuku took one long look to the mountain range. As if sensing a possible repeat scenario, his prick began to burn uncomfortably. His hesitation must've shown on his face because she dropped to her knees, hands clasped in a plea.

"P-Please! I would've gone myself, but his laugh was so scary I couldn't move!"

Ah, then there was no doubt. Swinging onto his horse, he offered the girl a small comforting acceptance, then set off to the mountains, Ochako running at his side.

At least, this time, he had a salve more...suitable for salacious cause.

#KatsuDeku #bkdk au #bkdk fic #bkdk fanfic #bkdk fantasy au #bkdk smut

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