#does it count as a golden retriever if its blue

[karmafl0wer]

golden retriever x black cat

[reverieblondie]

Nobel Blood

Pairing: Rolan x Fem!Tav Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Fluff and Smut with Plot, Penetrate sex, Tail rubbing?, Desk sex, Cream pie.

Summary: High society has never been your thing, and now your having to go to the Raven Ball...Maybe you will see a familiar face trying to conduct himself in a new landscape...

A/N: This might be completely self indulgent...but I liked it...

Word Count: 7,370 (I got carried away...)

“What about this one? What do you think?” 

Rolan appears from behind his changing screen in a new blue jacket with silver embroidery and buttons. The collar and cuffs are lined with silver. His pants are black and a bit tighter to his body than he is accustomed to. The boots he’s wearing are shining and new. Giving himself a once-over in the mirror in his room, he turns around, holding out his arms. 

“Be honest… Thoughts?”

A very bored-looking Cal is lying on Rolan's bed. He turns his head, looks at his brother, and gives him a once-over. 

“Like I told you about the four other outfits… You look fine. Please just pick one!” 

Rolan scoffs, “Cal, this is important. I have to look my best to make a good first impression. There will be a lot of important people there today. This could lead to some great opportunities.” 

Cal looks at Rolan, a bit worried, “Rolan, you are putting a lot of pressure on yourself. Just go and relax, maybe meet someone, make friends. You know, have fun!” 

Rolan rolls his eyes as he does his hair in his usual tight, twisted bun, “I’m not going to waste the opportunity to have fun!” 

Once he had finished with his hair, he adjusted his collar before turning to have Cal assess him once more. When he turned, he saw the prominent frown on Cal's face. He sighs, “Cal, you know how people look at us. This is a chance to change people's perceptions.” 

“The right people, you don't have to change their perceptions…” 

The room is quiet, and a silent understanding fills the space. The silence is cut by Lia busting through the doors of the master bedroom. Looking at them like they have lost their minds. 

“What are you two doing? Rolan, stop fussing and get going! You get invited to a ball and waste your time primping!” 

Rolan sighs as Lia dusts off his shoulders and places his invite in his jacket pocket. Pausing, she looks at his hair and starts to pull and loosen his usual style, making it softer looking with some strains to frame his face and the tips of his ears poking out a bit more, 

“What the hells Lia! My hair was fine!” 

“No, you always wear it so tight you want it looser, rugged.” 

“I’m going for cool and collect.” 

“Yeah, but ladies like a bit of ruggedness.” 

Rolan swats away her hands and starts to leave, 

“I'm not going there to get a date!”

Lia huffs at his leaving figure, “Hopeless…” 

Cal looks over at Lia, “Any chance he’s going to loosen up and have a good time tonight.”  

Lia takes a moment to ponder the question, “If the right person talks to him.”

-KAW!-

The sudden noise tries to break you from your slumber, but only briefly before you lol back to your dreams…magic hands…a soft warmth…a husky whisper…

-KAW KAW!-

The dream is ripped from you as your eyes are popped open; on pure instinct, you reach for your knife under your pillow, but as you look towards the noise, you pause. 

The Falcon blinks and tilts its head at you, curiously fidgeting and hopping closer to you. You pull your hand away from the blade and sigh at the familiar bird, “Hello, Rune. Do you have something for me?” 

Rune turns, revealing a message carrier just like you expected, “Clever bird,” 

Reaching over you, you scratch her neck while you retrieve the message from the red tube. The tube has an emblem very familiar to you: a golden long sword with vines and two golden roses by the sword's hilt. The paper is thick and white, wrapped with a red ribbon. Unwrapping it, you see the fancy script, and it clicks to you what is happening. 

“An invitation for the Raven Ball…and I'm guessing they are hoping for me to attend?” 

Rune kaws in what seems to be agreement; you nod at her. 

“Well, I guess I should head that way… she's bound to be waiting for me.” 

Walking up to the massive mansion lined with guards and littered with candles. The entryway is opened for the invited to shuffle in and out of the party. Just deep breaths, smile, and be pleasant…have grace, and don’t throw punches to the face; saying the rhyme in your head brings back fond memories, and you have to stifle a laugh breaking from your throat. One of your two companions notices you hiding a smirk; he notices everything, and it never fails to drive you crazy. 

“Nervous Darling?” Astarion smirks, his red eyes observing you as if he could read your mind. 

“Nope, are you?” You challenge. 

Astarion fakes a laugh and smiles, showing his long fangs flashing in the candlelight. “Never” 

Typical…

Walking through the entrance is like walking through time; these balls have always been the same. The host and the house may change, but the overcrowded rooms are filled with the rich and self-important. Deep breaths… keep taking deep breaths….

Arriving at the main hall of the home with Astarion and Shadowheart in tow, you pause with them as they marvel at the grand space. It truly is a beautiful event. Servers glide around the room with their pristine trays, serving fine wines to everyone; Astarion is quick to grab himself a glass as they walk past. The center of the room is filled with people clapping and turning, floating along to the music. Shadowheart keeps her green eyes scanning the dance floor; she is looking for someone in particular…it is the only reason she decided on attending this ball, along with your pleading. Moving your eyes around the space, the candles light the room brightly and make the gilded arches and decor glimmer in an almost magic shine. Knowing how these people love theatrics, they probably had wizards put on some spells for the grandeur of it all. 

Turning to your friends, you see they are entirely taken in by the atmosphere, though when Astarion meets your eyes, he plays his wonderment off as if this is nothing to him. As they continue to stroll about, you continue to fuss around with your dress, the corset's tightness starting to irritate you, and the flowing skirt and sleeves feeling like they're going to wrap around your legs and trip you. You curse under your breath as you have a small battle with the dress picked out for you. 

“Dress issues?” Astarion teases 

You roll your eyes, and you adjust the bodice up, but you find the action is in vain as your cleavage is still on full display. It's been years, and it makes sense the dress wouldn’t lay the same, but the high golden necklace always sat tight on your neck, forcing you to keep your head up, the exposedness of your chest and shoulders always made your cheeks flush, and the tight bodice lined with gold down to your hips always made your breath short. You did like the ruffled white skirt with the red front panel and the matching red sleeves that go from bust to cascade down your arms; it did look nice. But the part you constantly fidget with for comfort is the emblem at the center of your sweetheart neckline. It's that same one it's always been, a golden longsword with two golden roses…

“Just…adjusting…” you smirk back to hide your irritation. 

“These corsets are murder but do wonders for the figure at least?” Shadowheart chimes in 

Her silvery white hair contrasted beautifully with her lilac silk dress. The fabric looks like it drapes and flows effortlessly off her polling elegantly at the bottom, and as she moves, it reveals a long slit over her right leg. For a dress she picked out today, it looks like it could have been custom-made for her. She had fussed about the dress and her hair, wearing it in a different style than usual, but you assured her she looked terrific and would catch the eye of a certain soon-to-be duke…

Astarion places reassuring hands on yours and her shoulders. “Well, the dresses are definitely an improvement from the drab, caked-up with, grime outfits I had grown accustomed to seeing you in.” 

You both look at each other before looking at him unamused. “Thanks, Astarion…” you say in unison, not completely happy that he pointed out your dirty states on the journey you all met on. 

“Anytime Darlings~” 

Shadowheart’s eyes go back to the dancefloor, and you think for a moment that you see her getting on her tiptoes (despite being in heels) to look over some heads. 

“I think I might stroll around the room…see if I can find any…interesting company.”

You and Astarion look at each other, knowing what she truly means; translation: Shadowheart is going to look for Wyll. They are such an opposite duo, but they are just drawn to one another. Astarion always teases the names Shadow Princess and the Horned Prince when talking about them and their longing for each other. 

Shadowheart turns to see your smirking faces and she rolls her eyes before walking off. Good luck you silently wish for her… 

You watch as she makes her way through the crowd, a part of you wants to go with her to help navigate the space but you know she wants privacy for this and you don’t blame her. While you watch the floor a familiar sensation of red eyes and a fiendish smirk being placed in your direction makes you shudder. Looking up at him you see a very well-dressed Astarion looking like a vision in all black except for the wine-colored small jacket and gold and ruby necklaces hanging from his neck. When you asked about the jewels he just chuckled and left a quick poke on your nose, a way to irritate you and avoid your questions. He continues to stare and smile at the devious thoughts running rampant in his mind. 

“Yes?” 

Astarion looks away with a slight laugh, “Oh, nothing nothing…just curious if you were going to go look for anyone special tonight. Any fine suitors on the line for you to turn about with?” 

When asked only one person flashes in your mind, but you shake it off not wanting to get your hopes too high. He would probably find something like this a waste of time. 

“No, I’m planning a rather dull evening of just watching the grander, saying hi to familiar faces. No suitors eager for my hand. You?” 

Astarion looks around the room piercing his lips, “I might also be having a rather drab evening…nothing seems to catch my eye, which is too bad I was in the mood to make some trouble.” 

A slight laugh escapes your throat and Astarion looks at you with a raised brow, “Something funny?”

“Well, I just think you have changed a lot since a certain bear tagged along…come to think of it you just came back from the old shadow lands and are planning to go back…” 

Astrion narrows his eyes at you and you grin widely knowing he’s smitten. 

“Very clever…well, I will leave you to it, going to go find some more wine and maybe go rub elbows with some important-looking people…” 

“Play nice Astarion!” 

“No promises! Ta Ta!” 

With both your friends gone you're now alone in the ballroom and now it definitely feels like old times. Memories of your childhood flash through your mind as you watch. In your memory it's a younger you, biting her lip in disdain and fumbling with her dress, head sore with the elaborate braids that were decorated with trinkets and jewels. The biggest thing you remember? The feeling so isolated and unwelcomed by people meant to be your peers. You can recall two gentle hands placed on your shoulders as people just passed you by…

Shaking off the memories you look at the huddles of people near the walls engaged in conversations, “Well, better go say hi to mom and dad…” Gathering up your skirt and taking another deep breath you go on the prowl. 

It was overwhelming and Rolan had to stand to the side to recollect himself. It turns out that coming to socialize with people from the upper city was a lot more difficult than he initially expected. He was starting to wonder why the hell he came here. Yes, he had been formally invited but the people didn’t seem to know who he was or they were staring at him and whispering amongst themselves. Was this all a joke…was he just a thing to be stared at and mocked for the night's entertainment?

Looking down at his crimson hands and long nails…his tail twists around his leg as he balls his hands into tight fists. He shouldn’t have come here, he didn’t belong. Cal and Lia had been so excited about his invitation and were eager to help him get ready with high hopes of him growing his name to the city's lords and ladies. He had promised to make friends and get them invited to the next ball, but now that seems like a silly fantasy. 

Unraveling his tail and holding his head up, he decides to leave until a familiar figure catches his eye. Astarion? The pale elf has his red eyes on Rolan while keeping a smug smile on his face, instead of waving or greeting him; however, Rolan's thoughts trail to something, someone else. Scanning the room he’s hoping to catch the sight of a particular hero…

“If it isn't the Archmage of Ramaziths Tower, I figured you would see these parties as a waste of time.” 

Rolan's body immediately tenses and he turns around quickly, You smile for having spooked him. You watch as his shining eyes widen as they trail over you, his lips slightly parted and you think you hear his tail fall to the ground. From his reaction alone you're suddenly no longer lamenting having to wear the dress and in fact decide to stand a bit straighter. Once he realizes he’s staring he averts his gaze from your chest and neck, clearing his throat. 

“Tav, what…why?”

“What? Not happy to see me? 

“I- no…I mean I am! Well not happy, I mean I am happy but not super happy, but a surprised happy! Uh…pleasantly surprised….” 

His eyes meet yours and winces at himself, understanding how these parties can whine someone up you decide to ease the tension. Giggling at his rambling you gently punch his shoulder breaking the awkwardness threatening to set in. The force of the punch causes him to stumble and smile. 

“It’s good to see you, but I’m a little shocked. I figured these parties would be far too stuffy for such a great adventuring hero of the gate.” 

You shrug looking out to the party where you see Astrion watching you two, you give him a look of ‘what?’ and he shakes his head with a smirk and walks away. You turn back to Rolan, 

“Actually I’m pretty used to these stuffy parties.” 

Rolan’s brows furrow as he looks down at you confused, you do the same as you look up at him, and then it clicks. 

“Rolan, I’m from Baldur's Gate. I grew up having to go to these parties and having to take etiquette classes. My mother is a countess, from a long line of nobility and my father is a general for a regiment of the city's army.” 

Rolan's eyes widen as you nonchalantly explain your past, “Your… a lady from an important house of Baldur's Gate…and you were out slumming it in the wild? Wielding swords and blowing up goblin camps?” 

Thinking for a second you nod “Yeah, my dad used to take me camping and taught me how to fight. Mom wanted me to be a proper socialite but I didn't exactly fit in… Once I got older they told me I could go travel the swords coast, get the wildness out of me before finding a suitor, ya know?” 

Rolan shakes his head with a smile, “So you left all of this to adventure and ended up getting a tadpole in your head. That inevitably leads you back here…” 

“Hey, I had adventures before that! But I will say that one was my favorite.” 

Rolan smirks and looks down at you, “Because it made you a hero?” 

You look up at him, his gentle gaze and soft loose strands of hair cascading around his horns making your heart flutter, “Because I got to make friends, and meet you.”  

Rolan's face gets slightly darker as he thinks of something to say. With him tongue-tied you take the opportunity to tease him more by sticking your tongue at him. He rolls his eyes and turns away, you swear you see the tips of his ears a light hue of marron now. 

“Why are you here? And are Cal and Lia with you? I miss them and their tormenting of you.” You continued to tease. Though you see Rolan’s face slightly drop. 

“Well…I was the only one to receive an invitation and I didn’t realize I could bring anyone…I wish I would have, with them around I wouldn’t feel so…” Rolan shakes his head as if to shake away his thought, “I came here to meet people to get them interested in the tower's knowledge and to show that I am a worthy archmage. But I haven’t been able to talk to anyone “ 

Your heart sinks as you listen to Rolan, you remember having to go there alone at times…Rolan is always trying so hard for his family, it's quite honorable of him and one of the things that drew you to him. Thinking for a moment you try to think of a plan before it hits suddenly, “Rolan I can get you a formal introduction to someone who is very important and that I know would like to hear about the tower.” 

Rolan’s face lights up, “I would, I would be so grateful.” 

Smiling you wrap your arm around Rolan’s elbow, a part of you thought that he would recoil but he seems to welcome the gesture by straightening his posture and tightening up his arm. Your hand creases his bicep and it takes every part of you not to start teasing him about his surprisingly muscular form. Act like a proper socialite, for Rolan’s sake. 

As you two stroll about the floor you keep your eyes peeled. Though you do see some people staring at you and Rolan as you walk arm in arm, you figure people are just wanting to gawk at the hero and the new archmage. 

“Seems like we are popular sights tonight.” 

Rolan hums, “I think you are the popular sight, I’m probably more of the skeptical…” 

“Specktical?” 

Looking over to meet your eyes Rolan just gently squeezes your hand, “Never mind, uh, so who are we looking for?” 

“Her.” 

Pointing out your finger you lead Rolan’s eyes to a group of women fanning themselves as they scan their eyes like hawks around the room. They are all dressed immaculately and as the two of you approach they keep their eyes locked on you both. One of the women quickly whispers to a taller woman, the taller woman turns and Rolan has to hold back his gasp. 

She looks like you…well an older version but still stunning. Rolan feels his throat instantly dry and when he looks over to you with a panicked expression, he admittedly comprehends what's happening and he’s never felt so unprepared in his life. Feeling him tense you keep a soft smile and gently rub small circles on his hand, trying to ensure he’s calm when meeting your mother. 

In front of the intimidating woman (he sees where you get it now) you release yourself from his arm and give a curtsy. Rolan follows your lead and gives a bow. 

“Countess, I would like to formally introduce you to Archmage Rolan, Master of Ramaziths Tower. Rolan, this is the Countess, also known as my mother.” 

You feel your cheeks grow red, you're introducing a man to your mother…you never thought this would be happening, it’s very proper of you. Looking up at her face you see a soft smile, for her that’s practically beaming. So far so good. 

“I heard about the last master's passing…” she says casually. You and Rolan exchanged a glance before she continued “Can’t say I wasn’t fond of the news, he was always a poor representation of the tower. A bit of a cad.” 

Rolan’s jaw practically drops and you are quick to continue the conversation for him while he recollects himself, 

“Well, I will have to tell you Rolan is quite proficient in magic, self-taught and self-disciplined. He plans on studying and cataloging the tomes in the tower to then share the knowledge with the realms.” You praise 

“That's quite the honorable aspiration for a young man. I am sure everyone would be quite pleased to have access to its knowledge. I have been to your tower once before in my youth, the smell of the weave in the air and the majesty of all the books still leaves me with pleasant memories.” 

Meaning: ‘Invite me over to see the tower again because ladies do not invite themselves places’. You're not a bit surprised your mother is taking a fast liking to Rolan, he has a title, is respectable, and usually can hold his own in a conversation but today he seems to keep getting tongue-tied, we’ll chop that up to nerves. With a subtle nudge to his arm, you break him out of his daze where he can give her a proper answer. 

“Well, th-thank you. I think everyone should have access to knowledge if they want it. Also, you and Tav should join me at the tower for tea. I will have to prepare a bit but I would be delighted to have you two there.” 

Two of her ladies-in-waiting mutter something to each other earning them a prompt glare from the Countess. They quickly scurry away. 

“I would be delighted to just name the date. Plus I would love to hear about how you two met, knowing my daughter that story will be filled with twists and turns.” 

Rolan giggles and you look at your mom in shock as she openly teases you. You have never seen her be so casual with a stranger, well for her this is casual. You can’t help but feel a warmth in your chest, you never were one to crave approval from anyone but it does feel nice when your Mother seems to improve the boy you like. 

“I will have you know I handled myself with dignity and grace-“ 

“I watched her punch someone in the face for disrespecting my kind, it was a lasting impression, a good one,” Rolan says with a laugh and causes your mother to let out a giggle -that woman never giggles!

“Well I will have to forgive her for that, sounds like that punch was well deserved.” Your mother looks at you and you see a softness in her eyes “My tough girl.” 

The moment is soft before your mother changes the subject. Ladies must keep the conversation flowing after all.  

“Now Tav, why don’t you introduce Master Rolan to your father? I’m sure he would love to meet him.” 

With a curtsy and a bow, you two make your way to find your father. 

“Never seen you so proper…” Rolan leans down to whisper in your ears, you have to fight the tingling that threatens to show on your skin. Nothing quick like his mockery so close to you. 

You take Rolan's arm so he’s leading you through the room, “Never seen you so tongue-tied…” you mock back.

“She's intimidating… I see where you get it from…” 

“You should see when she doesn’t like someone, that’s intimidating.” 

“Any warnings about your father? Or do you plan to surprise me again?” 

“Oh but you do look so cute lost for words, I didn’t know wizards had that capability.” you coo back now blatantly flirting, very unladylike. The scandal…

Feeling bold Rolan tightens his grip on your arm where you can feel his nails against your skin, it is mind-numbing this sudden game. “And I didn't know how ravishing you look in a dress so tightly wound to you.” 

The sudden boldness of his words makes you pause, and your cheeks redden. Rolan nervously clears his throat unsure if he overstepped… he brings his eyes up for a distraction and lucky for him he finds one. 

“Tav look”, Following his gesture to the dance floor you see a heartwarming sight that distracts your thrumming heart. Wyll spins around the dance floor holding Shadowheart close to his body and he leads her through the dance. They look like a vision together, everyone seems to pause and look at them as they command the space with little effort. 

It's while you're watching them you feel a warm hand wrapping around your own. Looking up to its source you see Rolans gleaming eyes on yours taking you in slowly. You swear it’s a secret spell of his to become out of breath and feel sparks when you look at him. The feeling rushes through your veins like it has since you first met him at the grove and all the moments after. Rolan's lips part gracing you with a quick view of his sharp teeth till suddenly you feel yourself being grabbed and thrown into the air.

“And! There is my wayward daughter! Our righteous hero graced us with her presents! Ha Haaa!” 

The voice is loud and booming as the large arms wrap around you forcing your body into the air before crashing you back down to your heeled feet. Your father, as bostress as ever and completely uncaring for these parties 'etiquettes’ as always. In a lot of ways, the apple did not fall from the tree. 

Taking a moment he scans over you, it's been far too long since you saw him, and from how you ramble and rave at each other it shows. Then his eyes start to scan around you till they are meeting with Rolans, and your father smiles like a Cheshire cat. 

“Ah, and I see the rumors are true. You have a gentleman escort this evening.” 

“Actually I have two others but one is dancing with the Duke's son while the other is bound to be causing trouble.” 

“Trading in for different companies.” His eyes go to Rolan and you see him tease over your father's gaze, “Now to see if this man was worth it.” 

“Well, he is a wizard…” Your eyes go to Rolan and you two are now assessing him

“Meet plenty of spellcasters,”

You continue, “Archmage of Ramiths tower…he got the areca artillery working in the battle saving my and my friends' necks. 

“The Fire Rainer!” Your father yells, making Rolan and nearby people jump.

Before Rolan can properly process what is happening your Father is grabbing his hand in a crushing grip that Rolan returns. 

“My men, We were all in awe of your work getting those dusty turrets to work. And for helping my Tav. Good man.” he continues to shake Rolan's hand for a long moment before letting go and placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“He’s good company to keep, strong grip and with fire in his eyes.” 

You look at Rolan giving him a nod of a good job before your father is turning to both of you. With a wide grin. 

“Now! Rolan, if you walk around with my daughter you must ask her for a dance!” 

Rolan stutters over his words as you look at your father like he’s lost his mind. 

“Dad, You can’t make him dance.”

“Why not? He wishes to be near you; he must dance with you.” 

The words make you flush as you avoid Rolan's eyes, “He’s not the dancing type…” 

This causes Rolan to lift a brow, then you feel Rolan’s warm hands on yours leading you suddenly towards the dance floor. In a swift flourish, Rolan spins you and grasps his hand in yours, placing the other on your hip and smirking at your shocked expression…

“Looks like he is!” your father calls barely audible through the music. 

The transition to the dance is effortless as you two glide across the floor. Watching his glimmering eyes on yours is spurring your heart into a rush. Your body feels like it’s on fire as he effortlessly glides you through turns and claps. Eyes never leaving one another. 

“I didn’t know you knew how to dance?” 

Rolan scoffs, “Of course, I know how to dance, you don’t think I haven’t gone to parties before?”

lifting a brow, you look at him with an unamused expression, “OK, I might have practiced…”

You laugh and let him spin you out, then catching your hand and pulling you back to him. His hands in yours, your back flushed to his chest. The dance is completely intertwining, his scent, his warmth, the purring of his chuckling laugh. You want more, your hope is for this dance to never end so you can stay in his arms.

With a twist and a sway of your hips, you smile at him as the blush rushes to his speckled cheeks, a reminder that you are experienced at these dances and you will not hesitate to spice up the moves if it means rubbing against him. It makes his heart thum as he turns you around again, his tail wrapping slightly around your dress as he steps with you till plunging you down to a dip.

A perfect dance partner, finally.

You two stay locked within each other's snare, a small feeling of leaning forward towards each other causing your mouth to water in anticipation of a kiss. Then breaking you two from the moment is roaring applause that fills the room. He lets you rise, and you two join the applause of the musicians as well.

A normal socialite would worry if people could tell how much you liked him. You don’t care, however, Rolan is magnificent, and you would scream it at the top of your lungs, but you know this is his chance to impress rich bastards and prove himself worthy of his new illustrious Title. Of course, the right people already know this, he doesn’t need to impress them.

As you look to the crowd to make your way to your dad to give him sass (and maybe a pat on the back for making that happen for you) you see Rolan Pointing to the front part of the dance floor, music starting to swell up again and your father and mother swaying to the song. Another set of perfectly matched dance partners. 

Offering his elbow to you again, you curtsy at Rolan's gesture and let him lead you off the floor. A perfect gentleman, If your mother is watching she is beaming with pride (though she will talk to you about that hip swaying later). Off the floor, your dry throat hits you,

“ I'm going to get a drink, do you want anything?”

“Oh I can-“

“Rolan I can grab drinks, I’m still a hero of the Gate, not a delicate flower.” You tease him.

“A glass of wine sounds great then,” 

“I will be a quick second, wait here” With that you gather your skirt and shuffle away. Both of you trying to hide your dorky grins for one another. 

Then a stray voice catches Rolan off guard, “Dancing with a noble…but don’t forget you're just hellspawn trash…” 

Roland’s eyes widen, and he turns around quickly, but he is met with nothing but a crowd of people wrapped in their own world. One that some are not willing to invite him to. He watches them so clearly, trying not to stare, others staring, and sharing whispers. Then his eyes meet yours.

Golden eyes that you can always catch in any crowd. They shine his brilliance and never fail to make your heartbeat rush. Anyone would be lucky to have him look their way and right now that’s you, drinks in hand, you pick up your speed to get to him faster, but then his starburst eyes shut in something that resembles pain and then he’s gone…Rushing out of the room away from you.

Pausing you watch him leave, your heart sinking to your stomach. Swallowing down the feeling you place the cups on the nearest waiter's tray and run after him.

The hallways are dark as you follow after him. It only gets darker and darker, till you see him dipping into a side room, shutting the door behind him. It takes a bit of self-control on your part, not to rip the door off its hinges as you open it, but the site makes you slow down.

His tail twisted tightly to his leg, hands in his hair, and talking quickly in infernal. Gently you close the door behind you, and with a click lock giving you two privacy in the dark office. Rolan's shoulders tense at the sound of the lock, he can’t bear to look and see your disappointment. You carefully approach as he braces his hands down on the desk. His body so tight you think he will snap two.

“Rolan, wh-what happened?” 

Turning his head, his golden eyes shine through the darkness. And they see you perfectly. Face contorted in worry as you gently approach. Your face is the one he knows, the one he saw shining in the sunlight of the Grove, the face that saved him from shadows in the cursed land, the one who held his bruised face so gently promising Lorroakan would never hurt him again… the hero of the gate…his hero.

Then his eyes tail down, his Tav, the hero, dressed in the finest fabrics, a lady of Noble Birth, someone too good for someone like him.

In your eyes, you see him for what he truly is, a strong dreamer, someone who you would walk through the Hells for. A man so dedicated to the ones he loves, you want to love and care for him till your last breath.

“I don’t belong here…I am a joke…a monster for everyone to gawk at.” He finally confesses. 

Your eyes grow wide and all you feel is anger, “Did someone say something to you…do something?! Who? I swear I will-“ 

Before you can, march back into the ballroom and demand reconciliation with blood, you feel warmth wrapping around your shoulders and around your ankle. Rolan's warmth envelops you in his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. Clinging to his forearms you lean into him letting yourself calm.

“You're better than any of them…” you whisper

“Is that what you think?” he mutters in response

“Rolan it’s what I know, you're extraordinary.” 

Rolan’s arms tighten around you making you never want to leave his caress, but you still turn to look at him. placing a hand on his face, he’s perfect in your eyes…

“We are different…” he almost pouts

“I like our differences.” 

Rolan’s hands slip down to your waist. 

“Won’t they slander you, and your family's name?” 

“Not the people who matter to me…” your words like a promise

You lean into him rising to your toes to be only a touch away from his lips. You feel his breath fan across yours, and a rush of desire floods your body and mind.

“They will say I tainted you…” his hands caressing your face so gently

“They can go fuck themselves” 

The smile you two share is perfect, right before he presses his lips to yours. His lips caressed yours, setting your body a flame, his nails digging into the sides of your dress, and as you felt their points, you gasped and let him trail his lips sloppily on your jaw to your neck. Your mind melted at every rush of his lips, becoming more breathless as the pleasure of this moment crashed over you then pooling into an aching need in your lower stomach. All the blood and the thoughts rush to your swelling bud, leaving your mind in a haze of lust.

Rolan’s tongue licks down at your clavicle while his hands move to cup your breast. You can’t help but shake as he presses kisses and sucks marks to the tops of them. Rolan’s lips find yours again in hunger this time as his tongue seeks to taste more of you. Eargery you met his passion with your own tasting, his wine-laced tongue burning against yours. Undoing the buttons of his jacket you strip it off him in a rush. Once it’s off and tossed to the floor he breaks the kiss and whimpers against your lips, his chest vibrating under your fingertips in a purr. 

Turning you quickly, your thighs meet the side of the desk as his lips continue to caress your neck, removing your necklace to nip on your most sensitive spots, all you can do is moan and chant a series of ‘yeses’ and sweet mews of his name. He hums as he spoils himself, touching all over your form. 

“More, Rolan…I want to feel more,” your pant 

“Here?” The question is raspy and sends shivers through you to your sex. 

“Yes.” 

Rolan responds by peppering kisses all over you as he quickly gathers your skirt around your hips. Bending over you feel your face burn as you hear is breath hitch, 

“F-fuck…” he whispers 

You're already bare opting for no underwear, a destination you made on a meer whim but are happy with now. A whimper escapes him as he views you slick and puffy cunt for him, in a deep dialect he mutters something you can not understand that causes your slit to quiver. he no longer has patience his want takes control and you hear his frantic hands undoing his belt. 

The moment is eager and full of hunger, the want between you two building to this moment of passion. Rolan has your skirts gathered in a fist as he pushes his burning erection through you making your head spin. The moment is raw and hungry as he hisses from your walls so tight and soft around him, fuck, nobody told him how…soft humans were…

The feeling of the stretch is eye-watering as a lewd moan erupts from your throat, then the feeling of every ridge sliding and reshaping your velvet insides. The curve of his cock brings his sharp tip to find your sensitive spot, nudging and coating it in his burning precum, your toes curl in your heels as your vision blurs, tightening your grip on the oak desk. It's hot, intense, and the best pleasure you have ever felt. 

Rolan whimpers and moans as he pushes into your heat further. His face comes down to bury himself into your neck grunting in what sounds more like a whine. Sweat is sheening both of you now in this heated moment your only reprieve of coolness is his panting breath on your neck. Then his hand comes down to yours bracing you and he intervenes his fingers with yours before he gives a final thrust, his blazing tip now nudging on the deepest parts of you. Your slit is taut and your insides flutter against him as you get accustomed to his rigged girth. 

“Gods, you feel amazing. Practically sucking me in…” his rich voice rasps into your ear making you shudder. 

Taking a second to breathe in the scent of your sweaty neck and your cascading hair; further getting drunk off you. He rolls his hips back, and the drag of his ridges on your gummy walls is an unimaginable pleasure making you arch in a scream to your god. 

Pulling to the tip it’s only a second of emptiness before his hips are snapping back into you forcing all the air from your lungs. Continuing to thrust into you back and forth at a constant pace, you mew and grip his hand so tightly. Your arousal drips down his cock and your thighs as it's fucked out of you, desperate to coat his cock. 

“Their mighty hero…sweating and dripping for me. You're my girl…you have always been…”  

You can’t even think coherent thoughts only able to respond by arching your back further. The room is drowned in your cock drunk moans and his deep growling as your pussy continues to get ravished by him. Hot waves start to build up in your stomach leaving tingles in their wake as you approach your ecstasy. Rolan feels your trembling against his cock making him angle it in deeper. He’s right in his sentiment…you are his…as he is yours…the bond you share led to this moment of passion—the ultimate satisfaction of the want you have for each other. 

It's bliss and you rock your hips to meet his thrust, a chuckle escapes him before you feel the rough dragging being rewarded to your clit. It's warm and soft with lines of ridges dragging against you. It only dawns on you as you feel its spaded tip you realize he’s grinding his tail against your sticky sex. Both sensations make spots blur your vision as drool begins to pool in your agape mouth.  

In a silent scream, your orgasm crashes over you as all your essences coats him dripping down to fall on his boots and pooling to the floor. Rolan guides you through your high not stopping his thrust while your sex desperately grips him. A ring of creamy arousal forms where you both connect. The sight and feel of your overstimulated pussy fluttering is enough to cause his hips to still and his cock to throb shooting blissfully hot cum in thick spurts, filling you to the brim. The growl is guttural and vibrates through him as he comes down from his high.

Rolan presses his forehead to your shoulder blades as he stays within you for a moment longer letting his ridges smooth as his cock softens till finally pulling out. You can feel the mix of both releases leaking down your legs uncomfortably resisting the urge to beg him to finger it back in. 

“Wait one moment,” he says quickly with a soothing rub to your waist as you hear him digging around for his discarded jacket. 

Then very gently you feel a soft cotton cloth whipping you down to clean you. Soft ‘shhs’ and coos leave his lips and he is careful over your spet sex. He takes his time, then once you're cleaned and your dress is back down you face his back as he cleans himself, looking over his shoulder with a smile as he retucks himself. Leaning back against the desk you relish in watching him rebutton himself up so elegantly. 

His golden eyes stay on you as he gently caresses your sweaty face. Before he leaves he will snap his figures with a spell to clean you two of any lewd residue, but for now, he wants to relish your afterglow. You two stay in silent bliss and his eyes roam over your face, your fingers gently playing with the loose strains of his hair. He’s the first to speak up, 

“I want to court you properly.” 

Your eyes grow wide, and so does your smile, your heart racing, and sparks burst into your stomach. 

“If you were planning to court me, we have already messed up. You're not supposed to have sex beforehand.” 

“I don’t care; I’m not of noble blood, so I will do this my way.” there's that confidence.

Rolan pulls you in for a slow kiss that causes your heart to flip and your head to cloud in a pleasant fog. 

“Good,” you whisper 

Rolan backs up slightly and bows, causing you to giggle as he reaches for your hand. Placing your hand in his, you gently squeeze it as he brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly like a suitor would any proper lady.

[brookediamonds]

If youre still taking requests, maybe smth ab axel being the golden retriever boyfriend to the reader. Most people think she doesnt like him and is pitying him but axel makes her smile and laugh and he wants her to smile and laugh as much as possible because its his favorite thinf about her

the reason why i smile | Axel Kovačević x Fem! Reader

Summary: You have a classic case of RBF and there's only person on this plant that can bring the biggest smile to your face. And his name was Axel Kovačević.

side note: Axel is apart of Miyagi-Do in this world!

Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: none! fluff

(a/n: I couldn't decide what song I liked better for this, it was between Smile by Avril Lavigne or Crazier by Taylor Swift)

not my gif

"She always looks mad."

"That's just her face."

"She looks so mean."

People couldn't be far from it. You were anything but mean. Sure your eyebrows were always closed in together, and smile lines were nonexistent on your face, but you were surely a smiling on the inside kind of person.

The only people who really knew that were you, your parents, and Axel Kovačević. It's nothing personal to the rest of the world, but what did everyone else have to offer?

You and your teammates have just finished another lesson with Sensei LaRusso and Sensei Lawerence, your body was still running off adrenaline from the sparring you just finished, earning a kudos from your Sensei's.

"That was an awesome match," Axel said as the two of you tied your shoes.

"It was whatever," you respond humbly, with a shrug. Axel snorted making you bump hips wit him.

"Hey, guys!" Sam chippers, walking up to you and Axel along with Miguel.

"Hey," Axel greets them as you continued tying your laces.

"We're gonna head to Golf N'Stuff right now, do you all want to join us?" The curly haired girl asks with a bright smile.

"Yeah, sounds like fun!" your boyfriend responds happily. "Right, (Y/n)?"

You glanced up at the blue eyed boy next to you with an amused expression.

"I guess," you sighed dramatically adjusting your tank top. "But I'm not going like this."

"Of course, we're gonna get changed and meet over there at six," Sam assures you.

You nod and stand up, grabbing your gym bag. Axel followed suit, trailing behind you as the two of you left the Miyagi-Do dojo.

"Good news!" Sam skips over to Tory and Robby who stood over by the exit talking amongst themselves. "I got (Y/n) and Axel to join us later tonight!"

"You actually got her to go?" Tory raises her eyebrows surprised by Sam's news. "Did you have to bribe her or something?"

"Look, I know she's been hard to get to know, but maybe she'll open up a little more after tonight," Sam encourages the group.

"Especially with Axel around," Miguel adds in. "She seems to talk a little more with him."

"Huh," Robby realizes. "You're right, she does talk to us more when he's there."

"I bet they're dating," Tory chimes as the four of the friends began walking to Sam's car.

"I doubt it," Miguel scoffs. "Girl never smiles, much less shows she likes anyone."

"But she does smile when Axel is around," Sam points out to her boyfriend. "Tory might be on to something."

"Okay, let's not speculate," Robby says holds his hands up in defense. "I'm sure they're just friends because they joined us at the same time."

"I'm with Robby on this one," Miguel agreed with his step-brother.

The girls rolled their eyes, sharing a secretive look between them as the four gathered in the Mercedes.

--------------------------------------------------------

Soon enough six pm rolled around, everyone meeting at the entrance of the arcade building. As you and Axel exited the car, your new friends waited patiently for you both.

"Alright, do you guys wanna start with mini golf or the arcade?" Miguel inquires as the six of you stood together.

"Mini golf!" Sam and Tory shout out making the boys laugh.

"Sound cool with you guys?" Robby asks turning to you and Axel.

"As long as (Y/n)'s on my team, we're good to go," Axel rubs his hands together, making your snort.

Sam’s eyes sparkled mischievously as she took notice to your lingering eyes on the boy next to you. "Actually, I’ve got a better idea. How about… girls versus boys?"

"I like that idea," you spoke walking over to the brunette. Axel's face drops seeing your betrayal.

"And loser buys snacks," Tory adds in with a devious smirk.

"Deal," Miguel agrees. "Hope you ladies brought your wallets."

"We won't need them," you taunt back. "Let's go get our clubs."

Tory and Sam fist bump behind your back, happy they were able to get you on their team. The music played loudly around the venue, neon lights lighting up the outside as everyone grabbed their gear.

As the six of you lined up at the first obstacle, you placed the ball down steadily lining up your shot. As you were about to hit the ball, you feel a presence lean down close to you, his voice low and warm, "good luck."

"Go away," you swat Axel away from you as if he were a gnat in your ear. He laughs watching as you carefully hit the target, the ball smoothly going down the drain.

"Nice one!" Sam cheers you on. You glare over at Axel who stood happily behind you, as if he hadn't tried to sabotage you.

As Sam went up next, you walked over to the tall boy, using your golf club to lean on.

"Don't think that flirty tone is gonna work on me," you say lowly so no one else would hear you.

"I do not know what you are talking about," Axel responds, playing dumb.

Without your knowledge, Tory catches Axel squeezing your left hip, before moving to go next at the ball. She knew it.

----------------------------------------------------

After winning by one shot, the six of you decide to head inside and continue your fun with other games. As all of you split amongst yourselves, you went along with Sam and Robby to grab some game cards for the rest of your group.

"So, how'd you do it?" Tory asks moving to stand beside Axel.

"Do what?" He asks out of confusion.

"How did you manage to get with (Y/n)?" She smirks. Miguel looks over at the blonde wide eyed at her question.

"Tory!" Miguel mutters.

Axel barks out a laugh, a tint of a blush creeping up his neck.

"Holy shit," Miguel whispers seeing Axel's sheepish look. "You are dating (Y/n)!"

"What can I say?" Axel smiles softly, looking over at you as you stood in line grabbing a card. "I like a challenge."

"No but seriously, she's hard to read, how'd you get her to open up?" Miguel questions the tall boy next to him.

"She's actually one of the easiest people to talk to," he says. "Once you get past her 'don't talk to me' vibe, she's a great listener."

Tory looks over at Axel impressed with his description of her, now seeing how intently she always paid attention to those around her.

"Okay, we have enough for pretty much every game here," Sam, Robby, and (Y/n) come back to the group.

Miguel and Tory watched as you immediately went to Axel's side, your arm barely grazing his.

"I think we should start at basketball," Axel says turning to you.

"Fine, but don't cry when I beat you," you respond sassily making Robby and Tory laugh.

"She's so mean," Axel exhales watching you saunter towards the basketball machine. "I love it."

He walks off after you, placing a hand on your back making you turn back to him with a slight smile.

"Did we miss something?" Robby asks Tory seeing you bump your hips with Axel's to scoot him over to his side.

"Tory and Sam were right," Miguel admits with a playful eye roll. "They're dating."

"You see!" Sam cheers raising a hand to high five Tory.

"Makes sense," Robby nods looking over at you both as you let Axel stand behind you to guide your hands shoot the basketball.

And completely miss, making you laugh and gently punch him in the shoulder.

"They're cute," Sam pouts seeking her own affection from her own boyfriend.

As the other four watched you, you turned your back to them, facing the boy who just beat you in the game.

"Why are they looking at us like that?" You crossed your arms, your mouth falling into a straight line.

"I might've told them I'm hopelessly in love with you," Axel says grabbing the tickets that printed out of the machine. He stands up straight, taking a step towards you as you narrowed your eyes up at him.

"You what?" You laughed softly.

"They figured it out," Axel explains with a slight grin. "Someone can't keep their hands off me."

You rolled your eyes playfully, shoving him away from you softly, unable to hide your shy smirk.

"Whatever, you're the one that's always hanging off me," you flip your hair over your shoulder.

"I can't help it, you're irresistible," he says nonchalantly making you blush. "Now, let's win some more tickets because I see a stuffed dragon begging me to win it for you."

"You're ridiculous," you scoffed glancing over at the pink dragon sitting on one of the shelves behind the counter.

"You love it," Axel teases you, quickly pecking your forehead.

"Fine, but only because you made me lose," you say grabbing ahold of his hand, leading him to another game.

Axel can't help but smile at his girl, enjoying every minute she dragged him around.

"So cute," Sam cooes as she inserted her game card into a game of ski ball, seeing Axel and (Y/n) walk hand in hand toward the air hockey table.

"Adorable," Robby nods his head in agreement.

"Wait!" Axel stops you two in your place, making you come to a halt. "'Let's do this real quick."

"Axel," you groaned as he pushed you into a photo booth. You sighed as he shut the curtain closed from prying eyes, and slid a five dollar bill into the machine.

"You will love it, come here," he places an arm over your shoulder making you scoot back into his hold, wanting to be annoyed.

"I hate pictures," you grumble as you waited for the countdown.

"Not with me you don't," he says teasingly leaning in close to you to press a sloppy kiss against your cheek making you push him away as you laughed.

"That was perfect," he grinned seeing it pop on the screen, perfectly capturing your relationship. "Let's do something silly."

You decide to go along with the boy you adored, and stick your tongue out holding up a peace sign as he copied your same pose.

"Okay, now sweet," he suggests, his expression softening. He leaned his forehead against yours, his bright blue eyes catching your breath, like they always do.

"Axel," you murmered, feeling a flutter of warmth spread through you.

He grinned before molding your lips with his own, the final flash capturing the sweet moment. When he pulls back, you're flustered but peck his lips one last time.

The screen displayed the photo strip preview, and Axel reached out to grab the print as it slid out of the machine. He held it up with a triumphant smile.

"Look at that beautiful smile," he says pointing at the first picture where you're fighting to hold back a smile as you push him away in the photo.

"Gross," you fake gag.

"Hey, it's my favorite thing about you, you know?" Axel defends your feature. You look up at him with curious eyes.

"Really?" Your tone is genuine, a certain look of innocence Axel hardly ever saw.

"I thought it was obvious," he remarks pulling his phone out, and opening his gallery. He wiped through rows of phots of you smiling, some of them you weren't even looking at the camera.

"I love to see you smile," he exclaims, still scrolling through more photos. You can't help but smile, actually smile, with the way your heart melts as he looks at your pictures fondly.

Axel's eyes wonder over to you as you admire the photographs.

"That's my girl," he says proudly making you shake your head.

"Yeah, you still owe your girl some nachos and a slushy," you remind him playfully as you both moved to leave the booth.

"Yes dear," he replies with a mock-serious tone, staring down at you lovingly.

Your group of friends walk up to you, peering over your shoulder to see the photos.

"What were you two doing in there?" Miguel teases you as he bumped his shoulder against yours making you roll your eyes.

"Getting proof," Axel said confidently, pulling out the photo strip and holding it up for everyone to see. "She loves me!"

"Axel!" you whined as everyone closed in on him, taking in the pictures.

"Freaking adorable," Tory states giving you a sideways smile.

"Who knew (Y/n) smiled," Robby eggs you on making you frown.

"See what you did," you said snatching the photo out of Axel's grip. "You're messing with my street cred!"

"Worth it," he shrugged, completely unbothered. "I will buy you Reese's to make up for it."

You perked up at the idea of the peanut butter dessert. "Fine."

As you walked along with Sam and Tory, Miguel and Robby fell back behind with Axel.

"They have us wrapped around their fingers, don't they?" Robby sighed out referring to their girlfriends whom walked ahead of them, sharing laughter.

"Oh for sure," Miguel agrees.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Axel grinned, already thinking of ways on how to win you that pink dragon that called your name.

-------------------------------------------------

(a/n: OMGGG I loved writing this!!! It was so cute and fun, I might write more on this trope. Thank you for this request!!)

[seedsofagony]

Breakfast in Bed (KnY ♡ Kyojuro)

Cherrytober Day 24: Morning Sex // Body Worship

Series: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Characters: Rengoku Kyojuro

Word Count: 1,341

Summary: modern au, x reader (f), vampire Rengoku, fluff and smut, body worship, choking if you squint, marking if you squint, monsterfucking, morning sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, no pregnancy, vampirism, wounds, blood, blood loss

Notes: Aftercare is juice and cookies ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Disclaimer: Underage, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked. For everyone 18+, FUB free or filter my unique tag for this event: #sweets🍒24

ETA: Since this fic is getting a little traction, I'd like to remind everyone that minors are not welcome here. I block underage, ageless, and blank blogs.

Kyojuro crawls underneath the blankets just as the sun begins to rise, rays of light sweeping across the bed. He pulls the sheet over your heads and hugs you close, enveloping you in a soft cocoon.

"Cold!" You startle awake, flinching as he presses his cool skin against you.

Kyojuro plants a kiss on your forehead. "Sorry…"

Still groggy, you blink at the sunlight filtering through the sheet. "You're late."

He smiles, bright enough to rival the early morning sun. "I was watching you sleep."

You make a wry face. "That would sound creepy coming from anybody but you."

"I love watching you sleep—you're so beautiful."

Bedhead, cheek imprinted with the wrinkles of your pillowcase, oversized pajama shirt turned halfway around—you can imagine just how "beautiful" you look.Your preternatural lover, however, is, as always, an absolute vision.

His golden hair curls softly around his face, framing bright ruby eyes and that dazzling smile, his canines coming to sharp points. Blue veins spider along his temples and down his neck to the bared pale skin of his muscular chest. They flow down his belly and disappear beneath the waistband of his pajamas—incidentally, the bottoms to the shirt you're wearing now.

Eying those veins, you coil a strand of his hair around your finger, then let it unspool. "You haven't eaten yet."

"Not since dinner."

You flick your eyes back to his mouth, the white pearl of his canines. "You want breakfast?"

Kyojuro's face darkens and, for a split second, he is every bit the predator you know him to be. His gaze moves to your neck, lighting on the neat, twin wounds he gave you the night before. You swallow, stomach fluttering at his unabashed hunger. But it's momentary—his expression quickly softens to its usual sweetness.

"Are you sure…?"

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "I love breakfast in bed."

He hesitates. You ruffle his hair, "That was an invitation by the way."

Kyojuro scrunches his face as you give him the golden retriever treatment, closing one eye as you tousle his waves. He reaches up and catches your hand. Bringing it to his lips, he presses a kiss to your palm.

"You're so good to me," he murmurs.

Shifting, he kneels over you, pulling the sheet tight across his back, pinning it against the mattress with his forearm to block out the morning light.

"You don't want me to close the curtains?"

"I don't mind," he says. There's a slight edge to his voice, an eagerness that tingles pleasantly between your legs.

Matching his mood, you shrug out of your shirt and shove it aside. Your bare skin prickles at the cold emanating from his body, nipples coming to pert buds in the chill.

"You really are beautiful," Kyojuro says.

He cups your cheek with his free hand and strokes the corner of your lips before drifting down to your throat. Your breath catches as the tip of his thumb just brushes one of the wounds.

His brow creases with concern. "Does it hurt?"

"A little," you admit. "But it feels good, too."

Kyojuro hums, his grip tightening ever so slightly, closing around your naked throat. You can see the confliction in his eyes—the temptation to give in to his most base desires warring with his fierce love for you, his fragile and very much mortal mate.

Your pulse quickens and he flinches as it races beneath his fingers. It's frightening, titillating, knowing you're at the mercy of a killer, but there's no question in your mind—Kyojuro would never do anything to harm you.

His fingers loosen, just as you knew they would, and he moves to your breast, palming your soft flesh, teasing your nipple with the flat of his hand.

Kyojuro's touch glides down to your belly. "Do you know what you look like to me?"

"A snack?" you tease.

Your joke sails over his head—he didn't even hear you, he's so transfixed by the dip in your waist, the curve of your hip. "A goddess."

Again, coming from anyone else, a line like that would never work. But, lying beneath him, soaking up his tender, loving gaze, you blush—a fact Kyojuro doesn't miss. He responds immediately to the high color in your cheeks, erection tenting his pants.

Slipping your fingers beneath his waistband, you push it down, tugging his bottoms over the mound of his ass and his straining erection. Kyojuro kicks them off as he pushes your thighs apart, still gripping the sheet with his other hand.

For a brief moment, you each pause to admire the other—his twitching length and the leaking bulb of his head, your hips angled in offering and the sweet nectar almost dripping from between your legs. Then, as if in mutual abandon, you embrace each other.

Kyojuro slides forward, covering your body with his, cock nosing at your slit. You take him easily, stretching around him as he groans, burying himself to his base. You close your hands over his hips as he begins to thrust, rutting into you with smooth, rolling licks.

He presses his forehead to yours, "Feels so good…"

You hum in agreement, basking in the way he fills you up, his length reaching the deepest part of you, your walls stretching deliciously around his girth. You turn your head and Kyojuro buries his face in the crook of your neck. His lips brush over your wounds, a fluttering kiss followed by the drag of his tongue, slick with hungry saliva.

"Can I?" he asks, breath icy on your neck.

Biting your lip, you answer—reaching up, you tangle your hands in his hair, pulling his mouth against your throat. Kyojuro throbs inside you. Groaning, he snaps at your neck, teeth sinking into your flesh. You gasp and moan, warmth flooding your body.

Teeth and tongue working against your skin, Kyojuro's pace quickens. He drinks you up greedily, pulling long draughts from your neck, rutting with primal need. Closing your eyes, you hold him to you as your head begins to spin. You bring your knees up and wrap your legs around his waist, clinging to him.

A whine rises from Kyojuro's chest. He nuzzles your neck, making needy sounds, gulping you down. A swoon presses you back against the pillow. It's hypnotic—the rhythm of his hips, his cock dipping in and out, and his tongue on your bleeding throat. You can feel your climax building, your flush leaking out into Kyojuro's starving mouth. Fingers caught in his hair, thighs clutching his rolling hips, you cum, moaning against his temple.

Kyojuro thrusts through it, feeding your core as it clenches around him. His teeth sink deeper into your throat—the predator satisfying himself, taking everything you're offering. He bucks fast and deep, desperate, urgent. Growling, bite tightening, he thrusts to his base, cock spurting hot inside you.

Still holding you by the throat, he doesn't release you till he's spent his last drop. He eases his teeth from your neck, drawing a shiver from you as he laps once, twice, at your wounds.

Pushing himself onto his elbows, he looks down at you, smiling as he catches his breath. The predator has been sated, and the drape of the sheet over his head looks like a veil, the light shining through, a halo. A healthy flush colors his cheeks, the tracery of blue veins all but vanished from his skin.

You brush the hair from his eyes with trembling fingers. "That was some wake up call…"

Kyojuro's smile widens, "I'll get you something to eat."

You shake your head, "The curtains." His smile fades. "Don't worry about it. I'll eat something when I get up. Just come here."

Kyojuro shifts, stretching out beside you. He slides his arms around your waist, and pulls you close, tucking you under his chin. Pressed against his chest, you can hear his borrowed heartbeat gradually slow as he begins to drift off. You nestle against him, safe and sound in the arms of a killer, and go back to sleep.

[stxrysnow]

— let me show you the world.

synopsis. satoru gojo isn’t a man with the most company in the world. after all, being ‘the strongest’ does come with a price— perhaps, being the most lonely one as well.

but things have changed since the queen of ice came into his life.

genres/themes. satoru gojo x elsa, crack, fluff, crossover ship, satoru giving golden retriever energy while elsa gives the black cat vibes, nothing really— just a sweet bickering couple, satoru being the nickname lord.

yoi’s notes. tell you what, i actually do not write crossover ships. but since i hadn’t mentioned in my rules about requests. . . i’ll consider this wish. i had fun writing this LMAOO—

word count. 1.2k

wished by. @idkidkdikdi

“baby, it sure is cold today, hm?”

the sorcerer chuckled, one hand of his finding its way back to her smaller one— where it belonged— azure eyes twinkling with amusement as his towering frame stared at her.

of course, just like his hand— satoru gojo found a home in elsa, a home that was irreplaceable— a home that he loved and cherished so much that it almost hurt him. but was he complaining? hell no.

“why do you call me that?” the white-haired woman said, tilting her head slightly in confusion as she stared up at satoru— and oh did he felt his heart clench by the amount of strength it required to not fall to his knees before her right there and then— “i am not a child.”

satoru couldn’t help it anymore.

a bark of laughter escaped his lips as he threw his head back, tears threatening to spill from his eyes at how simply— though adorably serious— clueless elsa was.

“oh my god,” he wheezed, his free hand reaching up to push his round, black glasses to make them perch atop his head, as he wiped his watery eyes. “give— give me a moment, love . .”

sensing elsa’s mixed look of confusion and scepticism, his laughter finally subsided— a wide grin taking its place instead.

“ . . elsa, sweetheart,” he said, voice still a bit hoarse from laughing so much, “we talked about this, remember? ‘baby’ is someone you call a loved one.”

elsa’s mystifying blue eyes narrowed, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as she tried to remember.

ah, that talk. still, she couldn’t help but have uncertainty linger on her mind.

“isn’t it rather strange, though?” she pondered, “calling your lover a term that technically means a child.”

satoru felt a thin stream of sweat trickling down his face, which was rather strange— since it was snowing and the peak of winter— so it sure as hell wasn’t the heat. a sudden urge to laugh again crossed through his mind but he quickly shoved it down— a flickering smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“ah, nevermind, my love,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as they walked through the snow-clad streets. “don’t busy your mind with such useless thoughts, hm? c’mon, i gotta show you so much today.”

“hm.”

they walked through the streets, sharing occasional conversations with each other.

by conversations, it is meant that satoru was talking and elsa was listening.

elsa didn’t quite mind, though. she was quite— used to being surrounded by highly . . . energetic people, after all. even back in arendelle, anna used to constantly ramble on and on about her day while elsa listened patiently, giving her occasional hums of approval, as they sat underneath the clear night skies, watching the days go by . . .

things had changed so much.

back there she was, playing the role of a queen she wasn’t sure she could handle— the weight of her powers and the expectations of the people— what if they found out? conceal, don’t reveal— living a childhood full of loneliness because of her powers, shutting out anna because she’d been so, so afraid of hurting her.

because of her powers.

but then again, hadn’t she also found her true worth— building a castle out of her powers, realising that it was better to let it go— and embrace herself for someone who she truly was, rather than putting on a façade of something that she wasn’t? hadn’t she finally accepted that her powers could never get into the way of having a bond with her people, if she didn’t let them?

of course she had.

as she angled her head upwards to gaze at satoru, who was looking at his phone distractedly while trying to figure out which restaurant to go to, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of affection— a not-so-foreign feeling, yet, also the one she felt when she was with satoru.

her one and only.

“aw, man, the mochi shop’s closed today,” she heard him whine, and a small chuckle escaped her without her realising.

satoru paused, sensing her gaze on him. a small, almost boyish grin spread on his face as he beamed down at her— azure eyes glimmering with mischief and affection.

“oh my,” he said in a mock-despaired manner, heaving a dramatic sigh, “woe is me, for my own darling has decided to find humour in my misery!”

her one and only headache, more like.

but hey, she wasn't complaining.

“how devastating,” elsa answered idly, rolling her eyes. “theatrics do not suit you, satoru.”

“c’mon,” he let out an amused scoff, “why’re you smiling then? you can admit you like it too, y’know— hey, waaiitt—” satoru let out a small, false yelp as elsa’s hands were quick enough to latch onto his cheeks whist she pulled at them mercilessly.

“you’re so foolish sometimes,” she muttered, though her voice carried no resentment— just pure affection.

satoru grinned, letting out a small sigh as he gently removed her hands from pulling onto his cheeks, slipping it into his pocket whilst engulfing it with his own.

“what are you doing?” elsa raised a brow, looking at the path ahead.

“jus’ keeping ya warm,” satoru let out a small laugh, “ ’s cold, hm?”

“did you forget that i don’t feel the cold?”

“nah.”

“then why— ah, nevermind,” she let out a small chuckle, rolling her eyes.

the sound of their boots clacking softly against the snow clad streets filled the air, along with satoru’s rambles about his earlier days and what food he was excited to try with her— a sound that resonated on and on like a never-ending melody within elsa’s frozen, yet human heart— one which she wished would never, ever end, even though she wouldn’t admit it infront of someone.

“we’re here!” satoru’s eyes were filled with childish glee as they approached the ice-cream parlour whilst he practically dragged her along with him, “c’mon!”

“alright, alright—” a small laugh escaped elsa’s lips as she let herself be dragged— blue eyes filled with adoration for the one whom she called hers.

“what is this?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the swirly, cream-like, white thing in a strangely textured, brown bowl satoru brought for her after a few minutes after, whilst they sat on the high schools of the shop.

“it’s ice-cream,” satoru said, letting out a small laugh, “try it.”

elsa eyed the sweet treat suspiciously for a moment, before the tip of her tongue darted out to give it a small, tentative lick.

her eyes widened, a small blush of contentment spreading on her cheeks as she gazed at satoru in awe.

“how is it, sweetheart?” he chuckled, enjoying her flabbergasted, yet happy expression.

“it’s . . . cold. and sweet,” elsa said in a hushed whisper, a small smile breaking out on her face, “it tastes nice.”

“as it should,” the sorcerer tapped her nose affectionately, before taking a large bite out of his own ice-cream. “i figured the ice queen might like something cold, like ice-cream.”

“that rhymes,” elsa pondered, before a laugh escaped her— while satoru stared, the fond smile never leaving his face. “what is this brown thing?”

“that’s a waffle. it’s like a biscuit,” satoru answered.

“so . . . you eat it too?”

“mhm, go on, try it,” he laughed, watching her take a hesitant, small bite of the waffle, heart swelling in the way her eyes sparkled with relish, widening in awe.

though being the ice queen, she sure knew how to make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, that was for sure.

☆ @dontcarehowlongittakes on tumblr. do not copy or post any of my works without my permission.

[clairenatural]

(~800 words. fluff)

One month. 29 days. 

Castiel opens his eyes and it has been one month, or 29 days, or forty-nine thousand, seven hundred and--he checks the alarm clock--seventy minutes since he woke up unmarried for the last time. 

Next to him--or, rather, on top of him, left leg and half of his upper body flung over Castiel like a large koala--Dean stirs. He tightens his grip across Castiel’s chest and mumbles something unintelligible into his neck, and Castiel gets the message. They don’t have to be up this early. Not today. He chases all thoughts of movement from his mind, tilts his head down just enough to press a kiss into his husband’s messy hair, and falls back asleep. 

When he wakes up next it’s to sun from the window and Dean blinking up at him. He looks down and Dean smiles, slow and easy, and pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Hey,” he says, the first words of their morning, voice sleep-rough but tone achingly soft. “We’ve been married for a month.”

Castiel could point out that they haven’t been married for the full 29 days--they won’t be until 4:32pm, a full 696 hours since Rowena pronounced them husbands and they shared their first married kiss. He could, but he doesn’t, because Dean is grinning down at him, brighter than the light spilling in through the curtains. He just smiles back, and when Dean leans down to kiss him he kisses back, and when they both stumble out of their bedroom some time later they only have four hours to go, anyway. 

Not for the first time, he marvels that, for a species that doesn’t experience much of it, humans pay little attention to the minutiae of time.

Castiel, though--there was a time, before he made that final decision, before he had Jack weave the rest of his grace into the ring that sits on Dean’s left hand--that he could count every second passing. All of them, and all that ever had been, all at once. The constant, steady, thrumming heartbeat of the universe. He can’t do it all anymore, but when it matters--and this does matter--he can still count.

He doesn’t think about that. Instead, he watches Dean make him coffee, and he drinks the coffee while Dean makes him eggs. Forty-nine thousand, seven hundred and three minutes ago (he may be off by a few; that part of the day was somewhat a blur), Jack had lost his tie. He didn’t want to wear a different one. He wanted to be matching. 

Forty-nine thousand, six hundred and fifty minutes ago they’d found it, in a duffle bag in the trunk of the impala, because Dean had packed the wrong one in with Jack’s emergency case FBI suit. It’s blue, He’d defended himself. They’re all blue. 

Castiel remembers sighing. Yes. But this is the blue one that matches. 

Dean hands him a plate of eggs and bacon, done the way Castiel likes best, and sits down across from him the way they’ve done thousands of times. Castiel reaches out with his left hand for Dean’s left, and Dean rolls his eyes but accepts it, linking their fingers together across the table. It makes breakfast more difficult, but neither of them care, because just 29 days ago there was nothing significant about those hands in particular but now, glinting in the early afternoon sun, there is and always will be.

It’s a slow day. They don’t have plans--or, rather, they have plans to not have plans. Dean grabs a few sandwiches, a six-pack and a large blanket and they leave their little house around 3pm, walking to a small park. They sit on the blanket, and they eat, and they drink, and they laugh. An errant tennis ball lands at the edge of their blanket and a golden retriever lopes over to get it, and Dean grins and and takes a moment to ruffle the fur on its head before the dog is called away. 695 hours and thirty two minutes ago, they were standing together outside the doors of the barn that would serve as ceremony room. 695 hours and thirty minutes ago, Dean took his hand and squeezed it before pushing the doors open and beginning to walk. Now, Castiel watches him and the dog, and the same love is warm in his chest.

He’s watching the time tick down on his phone, and waiting, and at 4:32 exactly he cuts Dean off in the middle of his sentence to haul him in for a solid kiss, knocking over an empty bottle in the process. Dean raises his eyebrows when they pull back--surprised, but amused. 

“We have been married for forty-one thousand, seven hundred and sixty--” he checks the time “--sixty one minutes.” 

Dean blinks at him.

“One month,” Castiel clarifies, and Dean grins.

“To the minute, huh?”

Two minutes past, by now, Castiel thinks.

“Happy one month anniversary,” he says, instead, and leans in to kiss Dean again.

[romanticallyghosting]

yes :) it is exactly what i wanted and the engineer one just makes me want my stuffed animals to be his stuffed animals’s best friend. a cuddle pit shall be formed! now im just picturing what kind of stuffed animals they’d all have though

oooh another fun hc, mind if I share my thoughts?

(this took me way to long please like comment and/or reblog)

-DARKIPLIER

not me headcannoning that wilford got them matching little sheep plushies

dark's one has black wool and just kinda looks pissed

jim tells all the other egos about it too so Dark just tells them he put fire to it

he did not.

he named it socks and he'll cuddle with it from time to time when he gets lonely

also his and wilford's stuffed sheep go for tea parties together every thursday at 3:45

-WILFORD

like I said, he has his sheep plushie who he named Sherbert

(his is pink and has a little mustache)

but the list doesn't end there

he has a mountain of different pink plushies stacked up on his bed

one of them is a bubblegum pink whale he named Sally

also I do imagine that in this universe he somehow acquired a plushie of him in a dress (like that fanart that I drew a little bit back)

no one has any clue where it's from

but its just there

-YANCY

won't admit to it at first, but he too has his own little collection of stuffed animals

most of them are birds

kind of ironic how birds are so free

and yet he's still trapped in the prison waiting for parole

his favorite one, however, is one you smuggled in for him

It's a bright sky blue bird, with little buttons for eyes

he named it cornflake <3

(no thats definitely not the name of a kenku npc in a dnd one shot i dmed and that one of my friends brutally murdered and that im writing in here to honor and that you guys can send an ask about if you want to learn more about them no wdym)

your the only one he trusts with his stuffed animals and if you have any he offers that they can go on playdates on visitation day

-ILLINOIS

doesn't have that many stuffed animals actually

he actually only has one

but the one he does have is very dear to him

literally

its a deer plushie

in all seriousness, his mom gave it to him for his 6th birthday

not many people know of it's existence

even less have actually seen it

he named it apples and its always on his person somewhere

its one of those little mini stuffed animals so he made it into a keychain for when he can't carry it anywhere else

he trusts like 2 people to actually look at it and if you make fun of him for it you two are no longer friends and he will be very upset with you

-MURDOCK

the only reason he has some in the first place is because he always likes to take something to remember his victims by

in a rush to get out, sometimes he'll just pick up a stuffed animal and bolt out the door

that's the story he swears by

and while it not exactly wrong, he's grown more attached to the stuffed creatures than he likes to admit

his favorite is a plain dark brown teddy with a red ribbon around it's neck that he named Teddy (wow murdock so original /j)

It's old and rather well loved

but it gives him a feeling of home even when he's on the run

-ENGINEER

ah yes, where it all began

has too many to count

his favorite however is from his captain

its a giant golden retriever that he named snuffleuflekins

the captain said they gave it to him because he's like a golden retriever

and while he's not to sure what that's supposed to mean

he takes it as a compliment

also he'll definitely arrange stuffed animal playdates

or eagerly explain how he got all of them, their names, backstories, and relationships

[ackerfics]

the parent trap — levi ackerman (iv)

— levi ackerman x female reader (modern au | the parent trap au)

— warnings: angst??? and feels, i think

— summary: after assuming that everything was starting to shift further away from the plan, the people in the ackerman estate found out the identity of the boy mirroring the twin they know so well.

— word count: 8.6k (i know, i had to do it bc it's been so long)

— author's notes: finally, after weeks of not touching this series, i finally updated it. this part is centered around the reveal in levi's side of things. to those who watched the movie, you know things will go down from here. happy reading everyone !!

part one | part two | part three | masterlist

The news that was dropped on Altair last night stole away every ounce of sleep from him.

At first, he felt like everything collapsed on his shoulders. His mum is getting married? In what universe? There wasn’t even a decent man in a five-meter radius around his mother, well, except for her employees at the bridal shop. Nonetheless, all of the men trying to court her were turned down in an instant but why was she getting married to an idiot when he was away from home? The number of times he ran his hand through his hair and wishing everything was perfect can’t be counted on his fingers. First, it was that Cindy woman and now, an unknown man wooing you with serenades and God knows what in London has added himself in the list of pesky outliers. There shouldn’t be outliers in the first place. Throughout the night, Altair made his mind busy by making adjustments in their plan, eyes fixed on the ceiling in concentration.

The next thing he knew, daybreak dripped on his eyelids, peeking through the spaces between his curtains. Altair sat up on his bed and rubbed his eyes free of sleep crust before turning to his alarm clock on the nightstand. A red 9:34 glared at him, telling him he overslept. The boy huffed and plopped himself back on the plush mattress, his pillows swallowing him whole as he tried to give himself more hours of sleep. His five-minute doze was interrupted with a knock on his door. It took everything in him not to shout ‘five more minutes' so he decided to might as well wake himself up by walking to the door and answering the person on the other side.

Petra’s face beamed at him and Altair had to narrow his eyes because Petra’s smile was too bright for his own good. It was like looking too long at the sunrise.

“Good morning, Al!” the redhead greeted him.

“Morning, Petra,” Altair replied, rubbing his eyes again. “I’m sorry I overslept.”

Petra waved him off. “It’s fine. I expected it yesterday since you just came home from camp. You must be so tired. Why don’t you go take a bath and change and come downstairs for some breakfast? I’m sure this will wake you up — I cooked your favorites.” The boy nodded at her suggestion. She tried teasing him by calling his name again, Altair turning around to acknowledge his nanny with a raised eyebrow. “You know, I’d probably oversleep, too, if I were up in the middle of the night making mysterious phone calls from my bathroom. It’s pretty quiet in here at midnight so I think that pretty much exposed you.”

Altair froze at Petra’s inquiring tone, blinking his speechlessness. In an instant, he doesn’t feel sleepy anymore. He scratched his undercut. “Uhm, it was a friend from camp. He just wanted to talk to me, that’s all.”

The redhead hummed as she crossed her arms. “Ooh-kay. Well, your breakfast will be waiting on the kitchen counter!” She shouted while making her way downstairs.

“Okay!” Altair yelled back.

He opened his closet and took out a blue flannel, a white undershirt, and a pair of jeans. Without wasting any more time, Altair got himself ready by taking a bath just as Petra suggested and made himself presentable once he reached the kitchen. His hair was still wet, a towel wrapped around his shoulders when he inhaled the savory smell of breakfast on the first floor. As Altair sat on the high counter stool, Petra turned around from cutting up fruits and placed too many plates in front of the boy with a smile. He couldn’t control the twitch in his eyebrows as he stared at his breakfast. Is his twin really eating this much food every morning? He realized he might be coming off as rude since he was only staring at the number of bacon slices on his plate so Altair took a bite of bacon and let the sound of knives against the cutting board flit through his ears.

“Petra?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I have a cup of rose tea?”

Petra stopped cutting the mangos and stared at Altair, who was immersed in doing small bites of his breakfast. The redhead stared for a moment and assessed the way Altair picked up his fork and knife — it was the same way a certain someone did back in college when Levi’s friend group and lover ate meals together. Now that Petra remembered it; when you gave birth to the twins, she mentioned how one of them inherited the shape of your eyes. It could be a trick of the light but Altair’s eyes were softer in the edges instead of the sharpness Levi adorned, the boy’s eyelashes slightly fuller than usual.

“Petra?”

The said woman jumped at the mention of her name, with Altair’s face scrunched up in worry at her lack of response. She cleared her throat while transferring the mangos in a small bowl, sliding it towards Altair. “Yeah?”

The silver-eyed boy rose an eyebrow. “Are you alright? You look like you were in a trance there.”

“I’m fine.” Petra washed her hands before wiping them dry with a clean towel. Her gaze went from the boy’s expectant stare to his unfinished breakfast. This was weird. Altair usually never leaves any leftovers on his plate, it was what Levi taught him since he could eat on his own. Pushing this matter at the back of her mind, she smiled. “You’re not going to finish that, Al?”

Altair looked down on his half-eaten scrambled eggs, bacon slices, and still full pasta salad. He only had a couple of bites from the last dish and wished he could eat more but the two slices of bacon and scrambled eggs made him full in an instant. His stomach couldn’t handle too much in an early hour. He needed the tea to wash all this down. “No, I’m not, I think I’m full,” he answered, patting his stomach with a grin. He hoped Petra wouldn’t notice that his appetite wasn’t like his twin. That idiot (his twin, never Petra) appeared small like him but the buffoon has a vacuum inside his torso, always hungry at the wee hours of the day. If this was roast beef, this was a different story. “Must be because I’m tired from the trip. I don’t feel like eating and moving around too much.”

Petra nodded in understanding, preparing the rose tea the boy requested. She was waiting for the water to boil as she glanced at Levi’s pride and joy. “So why rose tea?”

“Pardon?”

Pardon? With a suppressed chuckle, Petra turned around with an incredulous expression on her face. “Camp made you prim and proper, huh? So why rose tea, champ?”

“Because I thought it would be nice to try the flower teas instead of the fruit-flavored ones this time. I know Dad has been experimenting with flowers for the next blends.”

Petra hummed, letting the tea steep for a few minutes. The scent of roses immediately wafted across the kitchen, making the two sigh in contentment. Petra wasn’t one for tea but smelling the pink drink made her want to try one. She presented the cup of rose tea to the black-haired boy, who was leaning forward to finally have his drink, his silver eyes sparkling at the small petals floating on top of his tea. Petra knew she was watching Altair closely but all her doubts flew out the window when she witnessed the boy hold the teacup the same way Levi does. Maybe she was looking into this too much. She shook her head and took away the leftovers, placing them in containers.

She missed the way Altair blew out a sigh of relief, a small half-smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

Altair stood up from his seat, patting his lap from imaginary dust and placing the towel from his shoulders to the back of the counter stool. He took a long sip of his tea before grinning widely at his nanny. “Thank you so much for breakfast, Petra!”

“No problem, kiddo. Oh, and your Dad wants to talk to you about something. He’s in his office.”

“Okay!”

The black-haired boy walked past the archway leading to the living room, where the glass double doors to the patio were located. Snuggling on the floor and chewing on his toy was Levi’s golden retriever, Captain. Altair flinched when he saw the dog shift their head in his direction. A series of barks came out of the pet, making the boy hurry for the handles of the double doors. His heart was pounding when he couldn’t get the doors to open, pulling on them as Captain was now standing up to give him another round of barks. It caught the attention of Petra and the woman instantly shot to the living room but not before shouting something that made Altair’s ears turn red of embarrassment.

“Push, Al.” Petra was now wrapping her arms around the dog, eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

Altair stopped for a moment, twisting the handles of the double doors and pushing them just as Petra said. He turned around with a sheepish smile, chuckling nervously because this mistake might have lost him the plan. “Must have slipped my mind.” He had never gotten out of a house that quickly in his entire life.

Only when he stepped foot on the patio that he could breathe normally. Altair kicked a pebble on the pathway, hands snug inside his pockets, as he thought about what his father will tell him. He followed the pathway until he was met with a slope, a building looking the main estate was sitting on top of the small hill overlooking the plantation. With a bundle of nerves swirling in his stomach, Altair took a deep breath and trekked the hill. The higher he got, hectares of a variety of tea trees greeted his vision, mimicking the sea with its vastness. It was the first time he saw something so wide and before he knew it, questions started entering his mind.

If the Ackerman family held so much money, why did his grandparents make his mum go back to London? Why did they take away the only person who made her feel loved in every sort of way possible? She could’ve been happy here. Everything is so soothing and secure.

The sound of people talking snapped him back to reality. Altair shook his head and continued his small walk towards the building. It looked like there was more activity in here than he imagined. People were sorting out the tea leaves they harvested and others were manning a machine meant for grounding the leaves. It was so busy that he didn’t realize he stopped in front of the huge window showing all of the employees trying to keep Levi’s business booming.

A person rounding the building noticed his gawking and smiled a little. They clutched the flowers they picked for the new blends Levi was experimenting on and went to the black-haired boy. “Al, welcome home. I’m sorry I couldn’t be here yesterday to welcome you back.”

The silver-eyed boy turned around to the young woman sharing his features — the same jet-black hair, pale complexion, and shade of silver for the eyes (though hers were more on the bluish side of the spectrum). He tried recalling the family members his brother told him to remember. There was a woman with the same appearance in one of the pictures. She was hugging the Altair she knows, their smiles shining through the piece of shiny paper. She was the older cousin his twin was telling so many stories about since she was the only one closer to his age around the household. The Altair standing in front of her right now smiled, muttering her name, “Mikasa.”

Mikasa returned the smile with her own, sitting on her heels to meet the boy’s eyes. “How was camp?”

“My opponent in a fencing competition pushed me in the washing area of our pavilion.”

Mikasa winced, ruffling the boy’s hair gently. “Why did they do that?”

Altair shrugged, feeling proud of himself for doing that to his twin despite being guilty to this day. “Guess he was better than me at fencing. He has a teacher specifically for that sport back in their hometown.”

“Oh, wow. If you want someone to practice fencing with, I’ll gladly help you.” The young woman tilted her head with a smile. “That is if you want to go back to that camp next summer. I’ll even learn the rules for you.”

The older of the two had so many records in her portfolio. Altair recalled that his brother was gushing about how Mikasa was a part of the track and field team the entirety of her stay in college. She was also a part of a volleyball club when she was in high school. This young woman has everything in her belt and it would be so good if Altair practiced fencing with her. However, he also realized that Mikasa probably had her hands full with academic and familial responsibilities. “But you have your final year in college, though, and you’re so busy in the plantation.”

Mikasa once again tousled Altair’s hair, chuckling under her breath. “Anything for my baby cousin so don’t worry about it.” She looked down at the pile of flowers in her arms. She handed a single red lily flower to Altair. “Here, to brighten up your day.” Mikasa stood up and waved at Altair. “I’m testing these flowers out with some berries, kiddo. I’ll be in the kitchen by the sorting room with Annie. If we can get the right combination, we’ll let you try some. Your dad is in his office waiting for you.” With that, Mikasa turned around but not before ruffling Altair’s hair again.

Altair nodded at nobody in particular and entered the building with a slight skip in his steps. The office was situated on the second floor of the manor-like establishment. The color palette of red and olive green was still observed in the interior but the large, open balcony let in enough light to illuminate the second floor. There was a railing surrounding the middle space of the entire floor, perfect for looking down and observing the bustling life inside the house. Altair’s destination, however, was the door to the left side of the second floor down a painting-covered hallway. He tentatively knocked on the door with his father’s name pinned on it. Altair faintly heard someone call inside the room and opened the door to peek his head in.

Levi was behind his desk, phone close to his ear. “Yes, Erwin. I thought you will be visiting because of Altair today. I see. No problem. You can visit the plantation anytime.” He glanced at the opened door, seeing Altair meekly staring at him. He smiled a little before telling Erwin, “Al’s here. Yeah. The stocks are fine and the new blends are coming out great. Sure, I’ll send you some. Bye.” The silver-eyed man sighed as he placed his phone on the desk. “You can come in, Al. Usually, you just barge in here and wait for me on the couch.” Levi hummed, eyes softening at the sight of his son grinning in front of him.

Altair chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “I thought it was an important call.”

“It was just Eyebrows.”

“Whatever you say, Dad.”

The boy sat on the couch, eyes inconspicuously roaming around the office. He heard the sound of a chair scraping against the floor and Altair looked up to find his dad preparing a cup of tea in the kitchenette installed in the room. He looked away from Levi and shifted his attention to the framed photographs on the desk. Everything wasn’t facing him but there was one frame positioned to face the person behind the desk. Altair craned his neck to get a glimpse of the picture, his eyes going back and forth between the frame and his dad, who was waiting for the tea to steep. With his body draping over the couch and neck stretching as far as he could (the position was starting to hurt), Altair saw that it was a picture of you, his mum. The silver-eyed boy gasped because it was you in a wedding dress.

“Blimey.”

“Al?”

Altair dropped the position with a huff. He straightened himself to face a confused Levi, a tray of two teacups filled with raspberry tea held by his hands. “Thought I could just, you know,” he nervously chuckled, “get a good stretch after oversleeping. So what’s up, Dad?”

Levi hummed, placing the tray on the low table. He sat beside Altair, body facing the little boy as he surveyed the innocent smile plastered on his son as he sipped on his cup of tea, the two of them mirroring how they held their cups. Maybe it was because Al went away for summer camp in the last eight weeks or maybe he was just missing you and your presence in his life, but Levi felt his heart clench at how fast his little boy was growing. The summer camp must be a blessing in disguise because his boy came home with newfound manners and the whole time he was away, he thought hard enough to make a decision he won’t come to regret. Eight weeks was a long time, things are bound to change. So Levi cleared his throat and readied himself in spilling his carefully thought-out plans to his son.

“There’s something really important I want to talk to you about, Al,” Levi started, putting this teacup back on the low table.

“That’s funny because there’s something really important that I want to talk to you about.”

“Yeah? Well, you go first, kiddo.”

Altair shook his head rapidly, gulping down his tea first. “No, you first, Dad.”

“Hmm.” The black-haired man carefully formulated the words in his mind. The first order of business was to cut off any people who would dare hurt his son. Yesterday was just the catalyst in his ongoing debate with Petra all summer to get rid of the publicist leeching off of him. From the look on Altair’s face while he was wading in the pool, Levi figured that Cynthia said something to him that might have shaken his mind. He leveled his gaze with Altair’s and told him, “Okay, I want to talk to you about Cynthia, the hired publicist for the teahouse and plantation.”

The boy turned his body so that he was seeing his father eye to eye. “And I wanted to talk to you about Mom.” Altair furrowed his eyebrows in distaste. “Oh, so Cynthia’s her name. What about Cynthia?”

Levi blinked in surprise. He knew Altair was a smart kid but he didn’t expect him to pick up on things so fast. There was no one in the estate that he shared his current sentiments. Petra was known to be a person not careful enough to keep a secret hidden from Altair and Erwin will most likely tease Levi throughout the day if he revealed his plans. Not to mention that Mikasa will probably indulge his kid in spilling every embarrassing thing about him so that makes his niece out of the list of people worthy enough to be told a secret.

With a calm voice, he regarded his little him with a flat expression. “What about your mom?”

Altair groaned in exasperation. “Dad, I’m almost twelve. I’m at a point in my life to ask about the whereabouts of my mom. You can’t expect me to believe the stork story all my life!”

A slow inhale and a look at the ceiling was all Levi needed to compose himself. “You know what, that is a story for later. But first, we’re going to talk about the publicist. Did she say anything to you? Anything that might have hurt you in any way yesterday?”

One pair of gray eyes looked away from the other to examine the invisible dust gathering on top of the coffee table. Altair wanted to tell Levi that Cynthia was trying to exploit him, trying to wound him in her trap and to make him fall in love with her. But the way that his father was insisting on the topic of Cynthia instead of you didn’t sit right with him at all. To Altair, it looked like Levi was desperate to clean the woman’s name and to make him build a relationship with her when the time comes that she’ll be carrying the Ackerman name. He mentally apologized to his other half across the ocean for not having the strength to continue the plan. Because as he glanced at Levi, the man’s concern apparent on the glint of his eyes, Altair wanted his father to be happy — to love someone without any pain that spanned for more than a decade.

“No, she didn’t say anything to me. She just told me how happy she is to be on the plantation.”

As much as he was scared to be a father when his boys were born, Levi always knew if his son was lying after years of raising Altair alone (with the help of Petra but the nanny will always give him the credit). Right now, however, he couldn’t tell if Al was lying or not. “Al, are you telling me the truth? If not—“

The door burst open, bringing with it an overly dramatic woman. “Levi? Are you here, sweetie?”

Eld followed after Cynthia, his face betraying his aggravation at the woman. “Don’t just enter Levi’s office without permission, Ma’am!”

Cynthia scoffed, insulted at the term. “'Ma’am’?! I’m not that old, employee.”

The blonde man bristled. He tried puffing his chest to remind the publicist that he has more authority than just a last-minute accommodation in the staff, but he stopped when he saw Levi starting to stand up from the couch. He had never seen his boss express anger in his years of being Levi’s secretary, however, the apparent look on the onyx-haired man will probably drive Cynthia more than six feet under the surface. Eld dismissed Cynthia with a roll of his eyes, focusing on the annoyed man walking towards them with terrifying footsteps. “Levi, she just went inside the building. Believe me, we were trying to prevent her from getting her head cut off by you but she wouldn’t listen!” The blonde glared at the woman who was gasping dramatically, manicured hand pressed on her chest. “Levi, you have to believe me. Mikasa even had to—“

“I understand, Eld.” Levi’s voice was uncharacteristically icy. Sure, he was known for being blunt and dismissive at times but that was the man's nature in forming social relationships. The employees were used to him being that way. Right now, though, his glare could have frozen Cynthia in place. “What is this, Miss Maryland? I thought I told you to leave a message to my secretary if you want to have an appointment with me. But I remember telling you that I’m not free this day.”

Cynthia pouted. “But I also told you that I wanted to have lunch with you! Is your job more important than me? Or are you just using that as an excuse to not make time for me?”

Eld looked scandalized at the woman’s reaction while Altair was wincing at the sound of Cynthia’s whine.

Levi was praying for his ears as well, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm himself down. He looked at Altair at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t recall you being on my priority list, Miss Maryland, and I have plans with Al today anyway. Horseback riding.”

“You’re lying!” The woman turned to Altair. “Is this true, Al, darling?”

The boy quickly took note of the hint of desperation from his father’s eyes so he smiled. “Yeah, I’ll be riding Nox since I miss my horse while I was at camp.”

“You heard my kid,” Levi drawled. “Now get out. You’re invading my privacy — sounds fitting for your job.”

Cynthia’s face scrunched in disgust, turning around abruptly, her hair hitting Eld in the face. The blonde man sputtered before incredulously staring at the retreating publicist. There wouldn’t be any need for Mikasa to restrain her if needed since she knew the way out. Eld turned back to Levi and Altair, his face showing how guilty he was. “Levi, I’m really sorry. If I’d known she’ll barge in here like this.”

“No, it’s fine. Thank you, Eld.”

“Alright.” Eld trailed off, shifting his attention from Levi to Altair. He waved at Levi’s son before pointing at the door behind. “Have a great afternoon, you two.”

Levi nodded at his friend, sitting on the couch with a sigh when the door closed. He had to get rid of that publicist, she was starting to become a headache. Levi then felt a small weight on his shoulder. Turning his head to the side, a head of onyx hair greeted his vision. With a small smile, he lifted his arm and wrapped it around Altair, letting him snuggle into his side some more. The two of them cherished the silence as if the room was their haven, away from pesky publicists and the bustling activity a floor below.

Speeding through the plantation felt liberating for Altair. He wanted to raise his arms in the air as they zoomed by the small tea trees but that would mean having Levi being suspicious of him. At first, Altair thought that the predicament with Captain would be the same with Nox but the black beauty of a horse nuzzled his palm affectionately as if he was the real owner. Of course, it couldn’t happen without the help of the sugar cubes laid out on his palm. Now, he was laughing as he raced with his dad, their destination was the hill on the other side of the plantation. It looked like Levi was winning but Altair tried to spur Nox faster. A blur of black reached their landmark, a tree with a swing on it, and Altair whooped at the top of his lungs.

“I won!”

“You always win,” Levi told him, a loving stare directed at his son.

Altair turned his horse to meet Levi’s stare. “I do?”

A confused frown painted the silver-eyed man’s lips.

At that, Altair brightened immediately, realizing his mistake. “I do! Just slipped my mind again. I can’t seem to stop forgetting things. That’s so weird.”

Levi guided his horse to walk towards Altair’s. “Yeah, so weird,” he murmured until he was beside his son. They stared at the plantation with varying expressions. The boy looked so mesmerized at how the sun touched every single tree while Levi blankly surveyed the rows of what brought him to this moment. It was once upon a time when he brought you here during spring break in junior year at college, telling you his dreams of starting a tea plantation. You looked radiant against the sunset, the rays creating a halo that Levi wanted to preserve forever. Altair’s laugh when he won has the same smile as yours when you manage to outrun him in a race. Levi couldn’t help but think of a life with you and the twins here in the plantation and estate, the two boys growing up with each other and with both parents unlike now. The four of you wouldn’t experience the pain brought by the separation. But reality struck him hard when Altair breathed out an expelling sigh, eyes soft around the corners like yours.

“So, Al, do you think we’re lonely?”

The said boy looked at his dad, who was wistfully looking at the plantation like it was hurting him. “I don’t think so.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Altair’s grip on the reins tightened. “Why are you asking this, Dad?”

Levi took a deep breath. “Believe it or not, Al, but I feel lonely every night. The moon and the stars must be tired of my internal monologues to them, all wishing to have a normal night with our complete family. But with Maryland here, there seems to be someone at the back of my head telling me to make a move. You know what, Al, I want—“

“Race you back to the ranch, Dad!”

“What—wait, Al! Hey, slow down, kiddo!”

Tears were starting to blur Altair’s vision as he rode around the plantation. No, the plan wasn’t going to work. His twin brother was a liar when he said he had an amazing and genius plan. Everything was starting to burn in flames and Altair had no choice but to watch it fester until only ashes remain. When he reached the stables, he tied the reins to the post with hurried yet precise knots. And Altair ran and ran. Up the slope leading to the manor, past the building where the workers were happily interacting with another until he felt himself bumping into someone. He brushed off a concerned Mikasa shouting at him to slow down. Minutes later, Levi passed by the fretting young woman, the latter asking if Altair was alright. But the onyx-haired boy finally reached the safe confines of their manor, passing by the opened double doors. He started pacing around the living room.

Altair buried his hands in his hair, his accent coming out as he rambled. “This isn’t going the way he expected it to. Bonkers, this is a mess! I’m just a kid and I couldn’t handle everything at once. Now, Mum’s getting married to a person I don’t know and Dad is tying the knot with Cindy—Cassandra—whatever!” He leaned on the back of an armchair, body slumping on the plush cushion. “And I don’t even know Dad as much as he does. How am I supposed to fix this?”

“What are you trying to fix?” Petra suddenly appeared in the armchair. (She was there all along but she figured that by keeping quiet, she will learn more about why Altair acted strangely since he came home.) The redhead stood up, arms crossed on her chest. “Do you want to share something with the class, Al?”

Altair jumped back, placing a hand on top of his pounding heart. “You gave me a fright, Petra.”

Petra leaned back with an expression of disbelief. “What? Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk to me about? If you’re scared of your dad finding out your secrets right now, you can always tell me.” Altair remained silent as he stared wide-eyed at the nanny and housekeeper. “Care to explain to me why Captain doesn’t like you anymore when he has been with you since you were a toddler? Or how you can’t open the doors properly? Even your appetite change this morning. I have so many questions, Al, and it all stemmed from when you came home. Do you know something we don’t?”

The boy shrugged. That didn’t seem to alleviate the suspiciousness he carried. “I just changed over the summer, that’s all.”

Petra slowly took a step forward and tilted her head down to meet Altair’s eyes. “I’m starting to think you were raised …” She shook her head to dispel the thought and turned around to make herself busy in the kitchen. “That’s impossible. Never mind. I must be needing sleep from all these theories.”

“I am raised by who, Petra?”

She waved her hand to dismiss the question. “Forget it, Al. I’m not supposed to talk to you about this anyway.”

“Like I’m raised by [Name] [Last Name]? Like I’m the other half of one pair of twins?”

The redhead tensed at the question, her smile frozen in place. She managed to blink herself outside of her stupor, slowly regarding the onyx-haired boy, who was gradually turning into an image of you. Those eyes, though sharing Levi’s stormy irises, were reminiscent of your kind ones — always appearing as soft as they can be despite the intensity of a present glare. Petra was at a loss for words and she had to clear her throat a couple of times to find her voice. “How do you know her full name? How do you know that you have a twin, Al? How do you know about—?”

“About Caelum?” The boy pursed his lips, forcing himself to smile. He dropped the act because there was no use continuing their charade any further. Besides, this is Petra, the most loyal person from what he could observe during a full day in the Ackerman estate. She reminded him of Oluo, the way they stuck to each parent almost every day. His British accent came out when he said the next words, “That’s because I am Caelum.”

If this wasn’t a serious situation, Caelum would’ve laughed at Petra’s reaction.

“Altair?!”

Levi looked around when he stepped foot on the patio. However, he was surprised at the peculiar scenario welcoming him in the living room — it was as if Petra was looking at his son for the first time in years. The redhead had both hands covering her mouth, tears prickling her eyes, and an expression showing disbelief. He rose an eyebrow in incredulity because nobody paid him any attention. With measured footsteps, Levi placed a hand on his son’s shoulders, making the boy jump a few inches in the air.

“Hey, buddy,” his voice was so soft since his boy looked shaken up just as much as Petra, “why did you take off on me like that? I told you I wanted to talk to you about something.” His son looked up at him with wide eyes so Levi expectantly glanced at Petra. The woman was still silent with that constipated look on her face. “Petra, do you need to take a shit? Why are you looking at Al like that?”

Caelum was breathing heavily, eyes pleading with Petra to let him tell Levi the truth.

With a subtle nod, Petra wiped her eyes and turned to Levi, who had his face scrunched in perplexity. “Like what? I’m not looking at him in a special way.” She shrugged but with one look at the bright-eyed boy beside her friend, her voice started to falter. “I’m looking at him like I’ve looked at him for eleven years. Since the day he came home from the hospital, all wrapped up and squirming for contact with his parents.” Petra looked like she could cry any minute. (Levi was staring at her like she had grown a second head. He was ready to give her a day-off.) “Seven pounds, five ounces, 21 inches long. This is how I look at him.”

Caelum felt himself smile as Petra gestured at him.

“Can I hug him?”

Levi blinked and stayed silent for a second. He lifted his hand from his son’s shoulder and stepped back since Petra wrapped the boy in a tight hug. He felt the back of an armchair behind him, leaning against it with a sigh. “Everybody’s so weird.”

As the woman continued hugging Caelum, she exclaimed, “Oh, he’s so beautiful and he’s grown so much.” The boy nuzzled his head on the crook of his nanny’s neck, a large smile painted on his face.

For once in his life, Levi wanted to sleep the day off. Maybe everything might go back to normal.

Petra pulled away from the hug, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. She pointed at Caelum while trying to control her voice from shaking. “I’m going to make you something special to eat. What do you feel like eating? Anything? You know what?” She waved her hand once she reached the entrance of the kitchen. “I’ll just whip up something from everything we’ve got, okay?” With a last nod and an apologetic smile directed at Levi, Petra went to the kitchen whilst wiping her tears, leaving behind the two Ackermans’.

Now that heartfelt moment ended, Levi knew he had to tell his son what’s weighing on his mind for the past years. All it took were eight weeks for him to steel himself in making a choice he won’t come to regret. If only he had done this when you gave him your back, a baby looking like him snug in your arms and reaching out to a father he won’t come to have. If only he had chased you to London, fighting for your love in front of your parents, promising a life filled with enough luxury for your newfound family. If only he had the strength back then, none of this would’ve happened. So Levi gently directed his son to the couches, sitting in front of the boy on the low table. Their gazes matched each other and it looked like Levi was staring at his younger self.

“We have to talk.” The onyx-haired man’s voice was so soft, matching his visage that was contorted in slight wariness and expectation.

Caelum nodded. “Okay. Shoot, Dad.”

Levi nodded back. “I’ve been thinking about this since you were a toddler and this summer was the only time I could focus on debating with myself on it.” He took a deep breath, his heart thundering in his chest, and his cheeks burning. “Al, I want to get back together with your mom.”

The whole world stopped. Caelum stopped breathing for a few seconds. There was a lack of emotions inside him at first, him just staring like an idiot at Levi. Suddenly, he felt like jumping but that would look suspicious so Caelum abruptly stood up in front of his dad, tingles traveling in every fiber of his body.

“Al?” Levi asked, confused at the constipated look on his little boy.

Bright gray eyes stared back at Levi, Caelum’s grin erasing every doubt in his father’s body. “This is perfect, Dad!”

“It is?” The onyx-haired man trailed off before perking up a little, a small grin tugging his mouth upwards. “Yeah, it is. I decided that I will do everything right this time and have our family back again.” He looked down wistfully on the floor, fingers wringing with each other. He murmured under his breath, “I wonder how Caelum’s doing right now. Will he like me? I’m not exactly awarded with the best father of the year title.”

On the other hand, Caelum heard it and he couldn’t help but grin knowingly. He erased that on his face when Levi looked up at him. “So, Dad, what are you going to do about Cindy?”

“What about the publicist?”

Caelum sat back down, leaning forward to enunciate his next words. “Well, it’s quite obvious that she’s so enamored by you.”

Levi scoffed a disdainful laugh. “Why would she? I’m not interested in her in some way. I don’t even like women her age.”

“That’s the thing, Dad. I heard from her yesterday that you’re planning on telling me something. I figured it would involve her since she suggested it. It might be a different thing than what you told me right now.”

“Oh, that. I decided, with the help of Petra and the other workers, that you will be the face of the tea shop. Since I am not too comfortable with the idea of having my pictures posted on every branch, a majority vote prompted you to do the job. But Mikasa suggested that we also do that by putting you in the new label design. It doesn’t have to have your face on it, just your silhouette. I think Isabelle will do that well enough.”

“So,” Caelum prolonged the word, “you’re not engaged to her, right?”

Levi looked ready to barf his lunch. “What? Where the hell did you get that idea?”

A sheepish smile prevented the laugh that was bubbling in Caelum’s chest. “I tend to overthink at times, Dad.”

The silver-eyed man sighed, running his hand through his hair. “You get that from me.”

“I asked you that because yesterday, she told me you proposed to her because you wanted me to have a mother figure. She even told me you dated because you liked her at first sight. She mentioned that you went horseback riding in the sunset like a typical chick flick pairing and there you confessed that you felt lonely because Mom left you. Oh, I mustn’t forget how you reciprocated her feelings under a moonlit night. Hey, Dad, where are you going? Dad?”

“Don’t mind me, Al, I’m killing a bitch this afternoon and it’s best if you stay put while I do that.”

“Dad?!”

Cynthia Maryland is a fucking menace to society.

It has been so long since Levi met a person who just by talking, brain cells are diminishing at every word they utter. The first one who made him feel this way was a genius, however, they were too much for his social battery. They always hung off of him at times during college all because they were your childhood friend, who followed you to America to make you feel like you had someone in a foreign country back then. That was seen as endearing but this time, it’s fucking irritating. Levi didn’t even have to control himself from showing how much he wanted this meeting to be over.

“Miss Maryland, can you please listen to me for one second?” Levi spat out, the stress coming to him in a migraine.

“I am listening, doll, and I guess those plans with Altair didn’t happen because you have me in your office — doors closed and just the two of us,” Cynthia spoke in a sultry voice that didn’t have any effect on the man slumped on his chair. “I will do anything for you, Mr. Ackerman.”

“Thank God for that.”

Cynthia was over the stars at that statement.

“Because I believe it’s time for your job as my shop’s publicist to be terminated. So I suggest getting out of here.”

“What?!” The brunette all but shrieked.

At the commotion, a knock resonated in the room. “Levi, is everything all right in there?” Mikasa asked. “Do you need me to restrain her?”

“No need, Mikasa,” Levi answered, not looking away from the distressed woman squawking in front of him. “Hey, Maryland, what are you whining about? Didn’t you hear what I just said? You’re fired. What are you still doing here?”

“Pray tell, why are you firing me?! You need me!”

Levi rose an eyebrow. “Why would I need you when I have capable people working on the plantation right now? It was a mistake hiring you. Eld was actually the one who wanted to have a publicist for the tea shops and if my secretary said it would be beneficial to the business, I will always say yes. But I guess he hired the wrong person. As for the question of why I fired you, let’s just say, you were spewing things that weren’t even true. And of all people, you said those things to my son. What are you trying to gain from telling him we’re fucking engaged? Money? My last name?”

The brunette remained silent, angry tears dripping on her cheeks.

“Let me tell you this, Miss Maryland, you’re not worth those things. So if you don’t want me to get fucking angry at you, get the fuck out.”

While the whole debacle with Cynthia was happening in Levi’s office, Caelum was in the kitchen rolling a pin over a chunk of dough. The silver-eyed boy was helping Petra with the afternoon snacks, something that the nanny suggested since Caelum looked bored out of his mind, staring into the high ceiling of the living room while lying on the long couch. Only half an hour passed since Levi stormed into his office, demanding Eld to contact ‘that hysterical fucking woman’, and only two batches of apple turnovers were ready for the oven. There were a lot of workers on the plantation, all of them having big appetites, so Caelum and Petra had a lot of work to do.

Caelum just finished his story of meeting Altair for the first time and his shoulders felt so light after spilling everything out.

Petra pensively gave Caelum a wistful glance. “I’m happy that you two found each other.”

The boy looked up at the redhead. An air of earnest gratitude exuded from her, the idea of two twins reuniting was worth being happy about. Petra wasn’t the only one thanking the moon and stars for granting a request, Caelum felt like his world expanded because of that summer camp. “I am happy, too. I got to meet you, Mikasa, and the workers. I want this stay to last longer than a day but Al and I will eventually go back to our rightful homes.”

“Why are you being sad, kiddo? Didn’t Levi tell you that he’s planning on courting your mom again?”

“That’s the thing,” Caelum mumbled. The dough became too thin to wrap around apple fillings at the force he was pressing down on the rolling pin. He sighed, starting over again. “Mum is engaged to someone in London. I can’t even do anything about it.”

Petra hummed casually. “But Altair can.” Beside her, Caelum once again shifted his attention from the dough to her side profile, making her smile. “One thing I know about Al through the years is that he will do everything to make his plan a success. That brother of yours is a stubborn kid but he’s determined to fulfill his goal, which so happens to be what Levi’s planning, too.” She placed the knife on the cutting board, leaving the apples unattended, and faced Caelum with a half-smile. “How about this, you want to make this a success?”

Caelum nodded.

“Then tell your dad who you really are.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “No!” He looked down, cursing himself for raising his voice at Petra. “I mean, he’ll be mad for sure.”

The redhead chuckled before pointing a ladle at Caelum. “That’s where you’re wrong. Levi was always praying every night to have a glimpse of his other son across the sea. Now that you’re here, you’ll be giving him the happiness he always wanted for eleven years. He deserves to hug you, knowing who you are.”

This is how Caelum found himself standing in front of Levi’s bedroom. It was inevitable anyway — his dad finding out his real identity. Letting out a sigh, Caelum twisted the doorknob with clammy hands, opening the door to the image of Levi reading a book on his bed. The boy smiled when Levi looked up at the sound of the door opening.

Levi took off his reading glasses and smiled. “Hey, kiddo, come in.” He lifted his covers as an invitation for the tentative boy. When Caelum got on the bed, Levi placed his book on the nightstand along with his glasses. For a moment, he only looked at his son with soft eyes as Caelum adjusted the duvet to cover his lap. He pulled him close with an arm around the boy’s shoulders, letting Caelum relax against him. “Did you have a nightmare?” Levi felt his son shake his head. “Is something bothering you?” At the silence, Levi looked down on Caelum's onyx hair. He kissed the side of the boy’s head. “I hope you will feel better once we spend the rest of the day tomorrow.”

“I can’t, Dad, I’m sorry.” It was a low murmur that Levi had to crane his head to hear. “I have to go somewhere tomorrow.”

“And where will this somewhere be? Is Mikasa going with you? Or did Petra invite you to go get the groceries?”

The silver-eyed boy squirmed out of Levi’s hold, burying himself in the think blankets.

“Al? Are you feeling unwell? Kiddo?” Levi tried tickling his son’s sides but was only met with muffled laughs. “Al.”

A British accent enveloped the words Caelum uttered next, “That’s where I’m going! I have to go see Altair.”

“And where might Altair be?”

A pause. “In London.” Levi froze. “With his mum, [Name] [Last Name].”

It was as if cold water surrounded Levi, dunking him in a fever dream. It was too good to be true. Of all the surprises he received for the day, this is by far the most responsible for taking away his voice and steady breathing. He couldn’t think properly at the revelation. So this was the reason why Petra looked like she saw the boy for the first time because she did, after eleven years. His heartbeat echoed through his chest, making a duet with his clattering mind. Levi didn’t know what to do. Should he embrace the son he never got to hug in almost twelve years or should he stay quiet and let the night go on, pretending that this was a dream? His eyes started to burn with unshed tears as he carefully lifted the edge of the duvet off the small figure lying beside him. There was no way this was happening. But as he finally got a glimpse of his son staring up at him, eye shape boring some similarities to yours, Levi let out a shaky breath.

“Caelum?”

Caelum sat up. “Yes, Dad?”

Levi’s vision became blurry, arms instantly wrapping around Caelum. He hugged him tightly, worried that this might be a trick of his loneliness, that this was Altair pretending to be his twin to make him happy. But no. He knew Altair like the back of his hand and if he hugged him like this, the little brat would whine at the long physical contact. This was Caelum, hands gentle like yours as they patted his back. He didn’t know he was crying until Caelum rubbed rhythmic circles on his back to calm him down.

“Al and I met at camp and we decided to switch places.” His breath hitched, nuzzling his head on Levi’s chest. “Dad, I’ve dreamt my whole life of finally meeting you. Seeing you waiting at the airport nearly made me cry because you were exactly like Mum’s vague stories. And Al wanted to meet Mum as well so we sort of made the switch impulsively.”

Levi pulled away, a smile present on his face. “Who exactly made this plan?”

“Never in my life would I suggest switching places with my twin. I told Al this is an idiotic plan yet here we are.”

Levi snorted a laugh. “Of course it’s Al’s idea.”

“But Dad …”

“Hmm?” The man waited patiently for his little heaven to speak up.

“I hope you’re not raging at the moment because I love you so much and I just hope that one day, you will love me as me — not as a mirror image of Al.”

Levi pulled Caelum again in a hug, kissing the boy on the crown of his head. “Did you know I was the one who named you?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Since your mom named Altair after a star, I thought it would be best if you were named after the realm the star is situated. You’re my little heaven, Cae, and nothing can change that. I’ve loved you your whole life. Stop being a mopey little brat — I meant that term in the most endearing way possible because your mother was the original one, she was my pain in the ass — and give your dad another hug.”

Caelum felt like he forgot something, choosing this moment to never mention you being engaged to someone and instead chose to let his dad’s warm hugs lull him to sleep.

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[remsmoonlight]

— title : theatre square

— word count : 2.2k words

— pairing : daigo dojima x reader

— summary : nothing but a nice day spent with Daigo in theatre square .. also Daigo still hates the fact he still sucks at the ufo catcher

— warnings : nothing but a few curses here and there

               ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open ! / requested by anon *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

An unending chatter of noise that bleeds into each other from the various conversations of people going about their daily lives as they are captivated by their conversations through their mobile phones or the shopping trip they are using as a way to catch up with their friends to those just on their lunch breaks from their jobs — all do not take in that which surrounds them as you do, your eyes jumping from person to person. While you wait, you find yourself making a story up for each of them, using the game from your childhood to entertain yourself until your date arrives.

As the minutes pass your excitement by, the bright blue of Kamurocho dulls as does your enthusiasm. Time aches by every time you bring your wrist up to check the time on your watch, not a message to say they’d be late. Nothing. A heavy rush of air takes the plunge out of your lungs and into the air, with dejection and gloom the bricks that build its body. You wonder why a person would ask you out only to leave you without even a whisper to communicate their lack of interest despite being the one whose idea it was. People are confusing.

“ What are you doing here by yourself? “

Your view is interrupted as you turn to the recognisable voice behind your shoulder, a forced grin is plastered onto your features — hope courses through your veins that it’s not blindingly obvious that you’re drenched from the stormy clouds of misery above you.

“ Daigo? “ You ask as surprise lights up your eyes as you survey the man. “ It’s been a while. “

Your friendship with him had occurred by accident. There’s not a day that passes in the town where there’s not a poor soul being harassed on the street for some odd reason or another, it’s just you’d never thought that you would be in that very position. Often, you would walk the streets of the neon metropolis making yourself as small and as insignificant as possible.. However on that day your lone bubble had been burst completely. One moment you’d been blissfully content in your own comfort zone as you dipped and weaved in the crowded streets and the next you’d found yourself surrounded by a swarm of drunks.

Had the universe sensed your predicament, the unpleasant experience lasted no longer than a wore on fleetingly as your lips whispered its silent gratitude. They’d scattered once an order to cease had been uttered by Daigo, as if they’d never been there in the first place, not even a shadow in their place. Apologies had been issued and usually you’d not even stayed long enough to accept them but his words were as remorseful as his eyes were true.

“ Yeah, I had something to deal with. “ He responds, digging his hands into his pockets.

“ It didn’t happen to involve this town being under siege, did it? “ You question him, a brow lifts up knowingly as your expression shifts.

His past had been no secret, you made no move to judge — his actions spoke louder than any riotous melody should weave the ability to. As you stared down at the scene from your apartment high above the glowing lights of the town, all you could see was a maze of smoke littering various areas you know well, especially as you’d walked their path that very morning. Terror prevented you from leaving, the unknown of what could occur should you walk that path played into your fear with an unyielding grip on your body.

“ These past few weeks have been something. “ He swallows lightly, his circumstances have certainly altered in the passing days. “ You haven’t answered my question. “

“ I was waiting for someone.. “ You shrug with a mousy chuckle, preferring to not let on how disappointed you feel. “ I don’t think that’s happening now. “

“ Who would stand you up like that? “

It would be a falsehood to say that he’d never imagined a closer relationship between the two of you the more he laid eyes upon your form. Noting mentally how you would persistently shine brighter than venus yet everyone who interacts with you would gravitate towards you as if you took on the form of Jupiter and they became an additional moon to orbit your infectious laughter. No sooner than he’d met you, he fell under the spell that many who interacted with you had — becoming one.

“ Well, we’re not all too close. I’m not bothered about it really. “ You lie, your words to anyone else would have gone amiss, but he’d picked up the soft falter in your voice.

“ Let’s go. “

Your gaze follows his retreating form, your body still glued to the spot it has occupied on the bench. Had you anything to say your mouth would be opening and closing like a fish, it’s not long until you manage to snap yourself out of the stupor he’d led you into and you’re both now standing outside the Club Sega arcade. A mist of uncertainty begins to fog slowly as the wheels turn in your mind, you’d only ever seen him settled into establishments where alcohol was served. Just what has he been through recently?

Chords of a catalog of sources flow through your hearing as your sight scans the area, electronic notes from the games move in rhythm with the joy those emit from the entertainment they gain from the amusements to the despair others make vocal as they lose a battle or have run their turns out on the UFO catcher. Fingers slip into your as you feel yourself tugged into the direction of a game with large seats, already knowing the game you know you’re terrible.

“ Why not another game? I’m horrible at this. “ You complain as you stare at the intimidating structure of the game.

“ It makes it easier to beat you then. “ He chuckles, a spark softly swaying in his eyes as he turns his attention to you.

“ You’re not being fair, Daigo. “

“ The aim is to win, you’re just going to have to try harder to beat me. “

You do as he says. It takes a colossal effort to direct your mind to organise itself in order to give yourself a fighting chance at winning, and it does work — to an extent. A thread of tame curses tumble unceremoniously from your lips as your character is knocked out once more, and the distractions from the male finding humour in your disaster beside you does not help your cause. Your eyes roll as the game ends once more, with you failing to get a win over Daigo, there’s no need to turn to face him for the smugness radiates off of him in waves.

“ See? I’m awful! “ You whine as your shoulders slump in defeat.

“ Let me make it up to you.. “ Daigo speaks with a comforting tone, no longer relishing in his victory. “ I’ll get you one of those toys from the UFO catchers. What one do you want? “

Your lips twist and turn as your teeth sink into the flesh to bite on them in contemplation as you eye up the prizes from your position, the lengthy distance doing nothing to hinder you as the sight of a pillow pups toy stands out confined to its glass prison. The golden retriever is too irresistible to the childishness within you as your eyes narrow as you reluctantly share your desire for the toy with him.

“ Make sure it’s the golden retriever one. “

“ Yeah, I got it. “

“ I hope you do. “ You comment in a steady tone, a palm leaning on the pane.

The music begins and you scrutinise the scene before you with an eager eye as the metallic claw first moves left. Determination chisels itself into his features as his brows lower in a physical representation of his focus. To win the plush toy would be the most simplest effort in the world yet it would be the first step in treating you how he should have been treated at the start. Truthfully, he’d wanted nothing to do with forging bonds that could be so easily disintegrated, however he could never build up the strength to tear himself away from you. Instead of feeling drained from the human interaction, he’d leave your encounters revitalised.

A groan leaves the both of you as the first attempt leaves all of the toys still confined to their places, the one you specifically want at the back firmly in the middle. A tough spot, you remark.

“ Fuck. “

Giggling to yourself, your teeth shine brighter than any star as they are on full display from the action as the frustration of the man is surprisingly amusing to you. Again, the claw had found itself short of where it should be, and the last chance of retrieving the toy desired so much is shown clearly on the metallic panel.

“ Let me, Daigo. “ You comment, pushing him to the side with a weak force. Rolling your shoulders dramatically, you grab the controls of the game. A breath is held as the claw makes its way left, the toy stands out temptingly from its position. I have to get this, it’s so cute! You do not listen to the prompt to let it descend from Daigo just yet, allowing it to inch its way further back ever so lightly. Your eyes are transfixed as you watch the toy is clutched in a clumsy hold, your heart speeds up at the sight of the lessening grip with each jagged movement that leaves the toy released earlier than it should.

A relieved sigh is released as it falls through the empty space at the last minute, just managing to pass through with seconds to spare.

“ I’m still shit at this. “

“ So you know how it feels now? “ You ask him with a smirk, interlocking your arm with his as you reflect on the surprisingly good time you have had with him. “ Ooh, let’s go to Café Alps, I fancy something sweet. “

The proximity between you both is small, with both hands secured firmly in his pockets Daigo enjoys the basic experience. A buzz of energy bubbles between the two of you as you converse interactively, you can’t help but notice a level of tension has been removed from his shoulders, the man next to you appearing a little more relaxed. The walk is short to the café, you can’t help but continue to stare at the bright displays of the stores as you pass by as if you’re witnessing them for the first time. Life is certainly vivid and lively in Kamurocho.

You turn your attention away from Daigo ordering to the life outside from your spot on the cushioned wall couch. It doesn’t go unnoticed that darkness has overtaken the skyline completely, even with the glistening neon lights the stars fight to make themselves seen.

“ Thank you, Daigo. “ You begin, a leading inflection heavy on your words as you sip slowly on the hot liquid. “ I have to ask though, what’s this all for? “

“ Does there have to be a reason? “ He deflects as you cock your head to the side in response.

“ You’re you. There’s always a reason to everything you do, I know you that well at least. “ You respond, before placing a piece of the chocolate parfait. A short wiggle of your shoulders at the enjoyment of the sweet treat lends some amusement to Daigo before an air of sobriety returns to his outward expression.

“ I haven’t been the best to you. “

“ Dai — “

“ Please, let me finish. “ He interrupts suddenly, eye contact unwavering as he continues to study your form. “ I had you as a friend but even then I would hold you at arms length more often than not. I’m surprised you’ve put up with me. “

“ I’m not going to say you’ve not been difficult.. But you don’t see what I do. “ You comfort, there had been days where he’d been more insufferable than a child, but you know humans are more than one dimensional creatures.

A culture of existing in a positive bubble perpetually is no way to live, for it denies you the chance to feel the emotions that slash your soul deeply. Is it easier to think it would be easier to live if you only experience happiness? Perhaps. But never does the find feel clearer after releasing the negativity that darkens your walls.

“ Huh? “

“ You’ve been through a lot, it’s not excusable to be an ass but it’s understandable. “ You shrug with little effort, shaking your head nonchalantly. “ Besides, you haven’t been as bad as you think. You’re human, you have your off days. We all do. “

“ Still, I don’t want to be an ass to you. “ He confides, moving his hand to envelope yours. There’s a surging warmth that the pair of you notice simultaneously threads between fingertips more seamlessly than when ink glides onto paper with the grace of a bird that soars through the bright blue sky.

He’d lived long enough in a world built of paper, using it as a means to escape the reality the world so harshly has built into it.

“ Then don’t. “

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️

word count: 22.9k

warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol

//

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

- Invisible String, Taylor Swift

//

Harry huffs a sigh of relief as he stumbles his way up the last steps of the staircase, being greeted with the familiar sight of the front door to his flat. His shoulders are hunched from the stress of a long day, still getting used to the hectic routine after coming back from the holiday season. Eyelids blinking slower with each step, he sniffs as he reaches for his set of keys in the side pocket of his backpack. Cold drops of rain slide down his neck from his hair and his face feels cold from the whisks of wind that whipped around him in the short jog from the tube station to his building. His feet are sore from standing around for so long, and the beginning of a headache sparking under his temple, making him frown as he takes a beat too long to unlock the door. To say he’s tired would be an understatement, and as much as the warm scent of the vanilla candles welcomed him are soothing, he can’t help but ache for a hot shower.

His bag drops to the floor with a faint thump. The sound of the television takes over the small space, and not long after he shrugs himself out of his coat he catches the sight of a recognizable set of  curls from Julia’s spot in the couch across the room, snuggling against the cushions with a bright pink blanket wrapped around her and a big bowl of popcorn popped in her lap. Harry envies her for a moment, for getting the chance to work as she’s cozied up inside their warm apartment. From where he stands, he can still feel Julia’s gaze taking in his undoubtedly drained appearance, her expression softening a bit.

“Rough day?”

“Jus’ tired.” He reaches up to pull out the hair tie that keeps part of his locks from his eyes, massaging his scalp as he does so. “S’raining a lot.”

“You should’ve taken my umbrella.”

“I’m not going out in public with that.” He scrunches his nose, a hand resting on the wall for support as he reaches down to take off his vans, the shoes suddenly becoming too tight on his feet.

He’s referring to the umbrella she got  roughly a year ago. She had bought it for her mom at a souvenir store and forgot to take it with her on her flight back home for the holidays, so when she came back she’d made the decision to keep it. The top of it is filled with all sorts of typical figures related to London, big red cabins illustrated on the material, surrounded by matching busses and marching soldiers, and of course, an image of a couple Big Bens standing tall next to it. It’s nothing too bad, Harry reckons there’s many uglier gifts she could’ve gotten, but it’s far too touristy for him not to cringe at the thought of parading it around.

Julia scoffs at him, rolling her eyes with a shake of her head. “Buy your own then!” She brings her attention back to the screen in front of her. “Or just catch a cold from walking around in the rain, see if I care.”

He breathes out a laugh at her dramatics, scratching his nose slightly and feeling his icy skin as he makes his way to the bathroom, not indulging further in the banter with his flatmate. Once he’s locked in, Harry can’t help but shrug out of his clothes in an almost impatient manner, eager to finally wash the tension and sweat off of his body.

He takes his time when he finally gets under the hot jet of his showerhead, not holding back a relieved sigh  as the water hits his skin with a hard pressure that’s just as painful as it is satisfying.

When he sees Julia again, stepping out of his room clad in an all grey sweats set (except from a couple paint stains decorating the sweatshirt, result of an art course he attended a few months ago), she’s sitting straighter against the cushions, her hair now up in a ponytail, a small computer propped on her lap taking the place of the popcorn bowl, that’s now by her side. She peeks at Harry for a second from under her glasses before focusing again on typing something he assumes must be work related.

“You know, for someone who’s a fashion major you sure have a questionable taste in clothes.” She doesn’t look up from her screen as she teases.

“When I have money for Gucci I’ll make sure to parade it around the flat.” His steps are still lazy as he reaches the messy counter that separates the kitchen area from where Julia sits on the living room couch. Not paying any mind to the stacks of course books and loose papers on top of it, he leans to rest his hands over the mess. “Until then, you're stuck with my paint-stained sweats. Tea?”

“I’m good.”

Harry’s hand hits the countertop with a faint thump as he turns. The wooden cabinets creek as he opens them in order to locate a hand painted blue mug with colorful little chicks dancing around it. He rests it on the counter as he reaches for the kettle to fill it with water. A woman’s voice takes over the space, her tone pitching louder in enthusiasm as she comments on the name of a couple artists. He recognizes some from scrolling around Spotify playlists or seeing it written on magazines before.  Glancing over his shoulder, Harry catches an image of a red carpet of sorts being transmitted on the screen. An awards show.

It’s the kind of program Harry’s gotten quite used to seeing by now. From the moment Julia landed an internship at a music magazine, there had been enough occasions in which she had to write a piece regarding an award show. Usually, though, those evenings are prompted with the presence of her girlfriend, Blake, (who happens to be Harry’s classmate -- and he still prides himself in his matchmaking skills for introducing them to each other)  who enjoys making snarky comments about people’s outfits as Julia gushes over their performances. Harry’s even joined them a couple times when those nights are held at their flat and not over at Blake’s, not much so for the content -- actually finding most of it boring -- but more for the company. It’s about listening to the two girls bicker as he steals a handful of Julia’s popcorn.

The odd setting of that night doesn’t go unnoticed by Harry, though, and once the kettle’s set on the stove he turns to her, leaning back on the counter,  “Is Blake not coming tonight?”

“She left early ‘cause she promised to babysit for her neighbors. Oh! You got mail, by the way.” She doesn’t look up from her computer as she motions with her head to the spot on the counter in front of him where a couple letters sat, some with their seals already ripped.  “Quite fancy if you ask me.”

Harry frowns slightly, not expecting any mail, much less anything fancy. sure enough, it doesn’t take him long to spot the one she’s talking about, as the black envelope easily stands out amongst the regular ones as well as his name written in cursive letters on top of it. When he picks it up, turning it around, he notices a small leaf branch with a golden ribbon attached to the front by a wax seal matching its color (it’s the first time Harry’s actually seen anyone seal a letter like this outside period tv shows and satisfying video compilations on his instagram explore page, and it only helps to deepen the crease between his brows). He can make out the figure of a fern engraved on the seal, but no other indication of the content inside of it.

With a quick motion, Harry breaks the seal, barely catching the tiny branch mid-air as it falls to the ground. He leans forward, resting his arms on the counter as he retrieves the card resting inside. It takes a single read of the words printed on it  for him to realize what's it all about. A wedding invitation. One he’d completely let slip from his memory that was even happening in the first place. Not that he could be blamed for it, considering the last time he’d chatted with the bride and groom he was seventeen living under his mum’s roof a good four-hour drive away. It’s still nice of them to have him in mind, Harry thinks, setting the letter down once he hears the whistling sound of the kettle behind him.

Not thinking much more of the mail, he moves around the small space of the kitchen, humming along to an overplayed song that comes up on the telly, as he finishes preparing his cuppa. Once he’s done, he walks to the couch, making himself comfortable on the opposite end to where Julia sits. His eyes set on the screen in front of them just as an older woman, with her hair pulled back and a silver gown cascading down her body, speaks into a microphone.

“So, what are we watching?” Harry asks with a sip of his tea.

“The Grammys.”

Harry’s brows shoot up. “Is it today already?”

“Yup.” Julia says, not looking up from her computer as she keeps typing. “Have to write an article about it.”

“Look at you!” Harry stretches his arm to bump on his friend’s shoulder. “Getting that permanent spot, I see.”

“Trying to.” She glances at him, motioning with her head to the counter where the mail now lays open. “What have you got there?”

He reaches for the half empty popcorn bowl resting by her side, stealing a few pieces and quickly tossing them into his mouth. “A wedding invitation.”

“Ew, who eats popcorn with tea.” His friend states, moving the bowl to her other side, out of his reach  “A wedding? Since when do you have friends who have their lives together?”

“It’s an old mate, back from school days and all that.” Harry shrugs. “Haven’t spoken to him in a bit, though.”

“Are you going?”

“Think so.” He takes another sip, unpocketing his phone from his sweats. “Will be good to see everyone again.”

Julia simply hums in response, and, as Harry focuses his attention on his phone, he can hear her typing resume. For a while they stay like this, as he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feeds, even answering a text or two --which is rare for Harry since he often left messages unopened for days - except for a comment or two coming from her side of the couch. Every now and then he glances up to the bigger screen, either when he’s asked for his opinion on someone’s outfit or when Julia wants to know whose designer is behind it -- and Harry prides himself on recognizing most of them, having studied their collection campaigns for his marketing class in his last term. What calls his full attention, however, is the mention of a particular name, making his ears perk up and his eyes glue themselves to the screen.

It’s not unusual for him to hear your name, of course it isn’t, as you have settled on  top of several radio spots for the past year or two. He’s grown used to hearing your name plenty, but it doesn’t get any less odd for him, to have what once was such a familiar face  become such a distant yet still reocurring figure.

Going through a breakup, especially when it’s your first relationship, is already hard enough as it is. Harry reckons most people probably do their best to distance themselves in order to heal and move on, try not to think of the person who hurt them. But it’s not like he had much of a choice with you. He could delete all your pictures from his computer, wipe it all , hide the letters and polaroids in a box under his bed and he still wouldn’t be able to run away from you. It’s as if the moment he was out of your life you’d grown bigger than either of you could’ve imagined as you lied together on his bedroom floor. In a matter of a year or so your name was up in lights, your face greeted him everywhere he went; that being printed in the front of the gossip magazines lined together as he checked out his groceries, or at an editorial cover as he studied for his design theory class. There wasn’t much of an escape.

It was hard in the beginning, of course it was. Mainly  when he inevitably had to read the scandalous headlines about you being all over some big haired bloke from a boyband at some extravagant party in West Hollywood. Yeah, that was a hard one. But as most things in life, Harry had to get over it eventually. And with you quickly becoming more and more out of his reach, your image being just as sweet as it is strange of a memory to him, he  learned how to desensitize himself.

That  doesn’t mean he’s not curious, though, which is what shifts his focus to the tvonce he hears your name. Sure enough, there you are, the most familiar stranger he’s ever known. Your smile is discreet, but still charming in a way that makes whoever’s watching you want to know what kind of secrets you’re keeping, and Harry can’t help but wonder as well. He doesn’t recognize the emerald sequined dress you have on (and makes a mental note to check later who it from) and he figures it was probably custom made for you, as it hugs your body perfectly. He doesn’t mean to notice that, he really doesn’t, but as the camera zooms in, panning from your golden heels, up your leg that appears from the side slit of your skirt as you walk down the carpet, and stopping at your face, still sporting a smirk as you divide your attention between different photographers screaming your name, he can’t help but notice how good you look.

“Look at her.” Julia sighs, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. That's when he realizes he’s slouched forward.. Relaxing back into the cushions, he takes another gulp of his tea, which has gotten considerably cooler as it rests forgotten on his lap. “Don’t blame you for being her groupie, I would too, if I had the chance.”

“Wasn’t a fucking groupie, I told you that.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend, knowing her love for torturing him since she’s learned the information of his past relationship.  “We dated before she even set foot in America.”

“So?” She looks at him, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline as she keeps nudging. “You were her first groupie before she even had them.”

He shakes his head. “Enough with the groupie talk, please, not in front of my tea.”

“I’ll never fully process the fact that you dated her.” Julia pushes the topic, her hand motioning to your image still being shown on the telly. “You got to kiss her and everything! Wild.”

“Julia, can you stop talking about my ex and write whatever it is that you have to.”

“Not when your ex is one of the biggest names in the music industry, no.” Julia pauses and, for a moment, Harry thinks she might’ve finally dropped the subject. However, once he doesn’t hear the sound of her fingers going back to typing on her computer he looks back at her, catching  her eyes still glued to the screen, her brows set in a frown.  He can almost hear the wheels inside her head turning. He focuses back on his phone, saying a silent prayer that whatever it is she’s thinking, she’ll just drop.. His wishes are futile, however, when she speaks up again, her words coming out slow but full of intention, “Is she friends with this dude that invited you to his wedding?”

“Julia…”

“I’m serious! Imagine if you bump into her at their wedding!” She fully turns to him, her voice pitching in excitement at the scenario.

“Even if she did get invited.” Harry starts, refusing to meet her eyes. “I doubt she’d go.”

“Why not?”

“Cause she’s one of the biggest names in the music industry? Haven’t you just said that?”

“Right.” The girl sits back on the couch, gnawing at her bottom lip before bursting again, “But what if?”

“She won’t.”

“You seem very sure of that.”

“And you’ve been reading too many romance novels.” He scoffs. “It’s starting to affect your perception of reality. It’s worrisome, really.”

“As if you didn’t watch The Notebook every day religiously before going to sleep.”

“Not everyday.”

The two friends keep pestering each other for a bit,  until the opening performance starts, signaling the beginning of the award show, and Julia had to focus back on her work . as the silence set in the room, except for Highway To Hell stretching around the walls, Harry let his mind zoom out, his flatmate’s words painting every inch of his brain.

He’d never let his mind wonder what it would be like to see you again. Would you even recognize him? No. And even if you did, , he’d probably become as much of a far-off memory like you have to him. One of those people you think about once or twice after it happened and greets the nostalgic feeling as it embraces you in a brief moment, quickly moving on to more important things. Surely, you have plenty more important things to worry  about than your ex boyfriend that you left in your hometown  four years ago.

Shaking his head, Harry scolds himself for letting his mind wander. It has been five years, for god’s sake! He’s moved on. He has! But there’s still the tiny voice, whispering annoyingly in the back of his head, like an insistent child trying to get him to listen to them, saying it over and over. What if?

//

Golden specks of sunlight peeked from the cracks of the bricked buildings outside, shining through his window as a silent reminder of the sun setting in the horizon, and you knew it was almost time for you to go home. You ignored it, though. Only snuggling back on the arm resting behind your head as you laid on the ground next to him, focusing on the feeling of his fingers playing with yours that rest on top of your stomach, and the soothing voice of Joni Mitchell singing softly in the background.

Harry was adorably excited to show you the vinyl he got from the weekend getaway with his father and stepmum, pulling you up the stairs before you could even properly greet his mother in the kitchen. You sat on his bed as he went through all the relics he managed to snatch at the local fair he had visited. Barely holding back a smile, you bit your lip as you watched him ramble about a vintage camera he got from a dutch lady. His hair had grown a bit, you’d noticed, messy curls poking out of his head, dancing slightly as he talked. Once he got to the record, you didn’t shy away from placing a peck on his cheek, right next to the dimple the deepened after your action, asking him to play it for you, as you reached for his pillow and placed it on the usual spot you’d hangout right under his window.

He was telling you about some new paint set he wanted, lying on his back looking mindlessly at the ceiling. You closed your eyes, listening to the sound of the words slipping easily out of his lips along with the sound of his breath as you moved your head closer to his chest. What made you blink your eyelids open again was when he stopped talking, a new song starting with gentle strokes of an acoustic guitar.

Looking up at him, you met his gaze already staring back at you, and you adjusted your position, turning on your side so you could take a better look. He was wearing his favorite navy blue Fleetwood Mac tee, one you’d gifted him on his sixteenth. You loved how it enhanced the color of his eyes, and you were reminded of it once again when you looked into his jade irises, almost forgetting to take a breath as you did so.

“What’s this one called?” You broke the silence, softening your voice as you were afraid to speak too loudly, almost feeling as if you were interrupting Mitchell’s declaration of love.

“A Case of You.” Harry answered, turning his body to face yours.

You didn’t say anything back, instead, you took a minute to pay attention to the lyrics that painted the four walls of his room at that moment.

I remember that time you told me / You said, “Love is touching souls.” / Surely you touched mine / Cause it pours out of me

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered, not daring to look away from him.

Harry hummed in agreement, his hand reaching up to move a strand of your hair away from your face. Smiling softly, he said, “‘S my favourite.” You watch him chew on his bottom lip, hesitating for a second before whispering, “I got something for you.”

Your smile  widens. “Really?” He nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking down to where his fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. “Didn’t know if you’d like it.”

“I’m sure I’ll love it, H.” You sit up, crossing your legs under your bum, a spark of excitement and curiosity shooting through your body as you rush him, “Go get it!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, love.” He laughs, sitting up from his position and reaching back for his backpack resting on top of the bed.

You watched as he retrieved a small pale pink box, wrapped with a silver ribbon, tied in a pretty bow on top. There was a nervous hesitance to him as he handed you the gift, you noticed a reddish tone painting his cheeks, it was subtle, you could’ve easily missed it if the light wasn’t shining on his face, still, you couldn’t help but reach forward, pressing your lips to the tip of his nose. It’s quick, but you still earned a giggle that escaped his throat, mumbling afterwards, urging you to unwrap the box as he bit down his lip.

Wrapping your fingers on the ribbon that sealed the package, you swiftly untied it, allowing it to fall on the carpet next to you. A gasp eased out of your lips as soon as you opened the lid, revealing a heart-shaped gold pendant hanging on a delicate chain.

“‘S a locket.” He revealed quietly, eyes jumping from the jewelry in your hands to your face, watching your reaction. “It’s empty now, can put whatever you want in it.”

You touched the piece gently, feeling the texture of the engraved flowers under your fingertips, there’s a knot threatening to tighten your throat at the tenderness of his action but you swallow it back in order to speak, even though your words tremble out of your lips,

“I love it.”

You reach your free hand to touch the necklace being presented to you, craning your neck the slightest bit - as to not disturb Amie’s work on your brows - to get a better look at the piece. It’s a short golden chain, white crystal stones placed carefully around it. As you hold it in your palm you can tell how delicate it is, and you guess it’ll probably barely be noticeable as you strut your way down the red carpet in a couple of hours, but you assume the simple jewelry will make the whole difference in your headshots. With a final look you give a small nod to the short brunette still watching you closely, reaffirming your approval as you gently hand the necklace back to her.

She disappears from your sight in a beat and you relax back on your seat, not bothering to say anything else. It’s clear that everyone else has realized by now that you’re in a mood (if your unusual silence isn’t a big indication, you’re sure your face says it all), as they’re mostly speaking with each other and leaving you be. Acting like a stuck up egocentric diva was never in your plans to start the day of your first attendance at the Grammy Awards. It’s not like you can help it, though, but you try your hardest to make up for it. You force a smile for a bit too long, say please and thank you way too many times in a voice that makes you cringe to yourself. When they ask how you’re doing, you simply brush it off as a bad night of sleep.

Well, that isn’t entirely a lie, you are tired. The routine of staying out until dawn to catch a nap for maybe two or three hours everyday seems to have finally taken a toll on you. And of course it would all hit you like a brick in what feels like one of the most important nights of your career. Because why the fuck wouldn’t it?

Still, you know the main reason for your sour mood has got to do with much more than just a burnout due to a thread of poor sleep nights. You know the reason lies deep within the prior months that led to where you are now. But it’s not like you’re ready to unravel any of that.

So, with barely three hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up with your eyes still sticky from the previous night (due to the poor job you did on taking off your mascara before slipping under the covers) to be met with the high ceiling of the penthouse suite you booked for the week. Most times, when waking up after a night out, mind still buzzing and tongue slightly numb from the alcohol, it’s a slow rise. It starts with lazy blinks and a slow recollection of your surroundings, a lethargic way your head has to process the fact that it needs to start working again. But this morning you didn’t have that privilege of easing your way into consciousness. No. Your eyes snapped open with the sudden invasion of sunlight into your room, the chirping sound of voices coming muffled from the living room.

It’s almost noon, a voice lets you know, coming into your eyesight with a long floral dress flowing all the way down her calves, the sleeves tight on her elbows as she types something on her phone. Sonia, your manager, knows you too well as to not coarse you into waking up, but rather doing the most efficient way, that being not to give an option unless getting out of bed. She doesn’t waste a second before pulling you covers back, the action causing a whine to escape from your lips as the cool air of the AC embraces your body like a bucket of cold water.

“There’s breakfast waiting for you outside.” She gazed up at you, her eyes nudging into a motherly glare at your state.

“Coffee?” Is all you mumbled, sitting up.

“Later. Right now caffeine is not ideal for your headache.”

“I don’t—“

“There’s ibuprofen.” She motioned with her head to the nightstand right next to you, her attention back to the phone in her hand as it started to buzz. “And water. Lots of it. I’m sending in hair and makeup in ten.”

In reality, you had just about five minutes to wash away the night before you heard a commotion outside the bathroom door. There was just enough time for you to swallow back the painkiller that was settled in the nightstand as a good morning gift and to strip out of your clothes when people started knocking on the door. You ignored it, though, as your head pulsed with the continuous streak of sleepless nights and strong drinks and the cold rush of water from the waterfall shower did very little to lighten up your mood. And it doesn’t help that those five minutes were the last relaxing moment of the day before people started rushing in like a violent stream of water.

So, yes, to say you’re moody can be an understatement.

Right now you’ve been munching on an apple for the past half hour, using it as an excuse to not barge into conversations. The leather of the chair you’ve been on for what feels like forever now (which is code for about a full hour) is starting to stick to your thighs as your robe has ridden up your body. There’re what feels like hundreds of hands on you. Pulling at your hair, swiping products on your face, poking onto your nails. Their voices every minute or so smoothing in request as if you’re one of those voice controlled dolls of sorts — turn your head, stay still, close your eyes, don’t move.

This is a process you’ve always found near excessive, and probably your least favorite part of going to an event of such importance. Recalling the first time you had this many people in charge of helping you get ready, you remember the excitement. It was easy, being the center of attention without having to lift a single finger. However, it did lose its glamour rather quickly. You like your independence way too much. That ranges from being able to get ready by yourself to going alone to a cocktail party.

Though you know there’s not much you can do about it, so you just relax back, knowing the less you think about it, the quicker it’ll be over.

The moment you let your eyes fall closed, feeling the smooth brush color your eyelids, you hear it. It’s faint, and you have to focus on the low sound of the speaker in the background, under the rushed voices of what feels like too many people in the room, to really hear it. But once you do, your ears perk up as the oh so familiar voice starts to sing, and you can’t help but let your eyes snap back open at the opening verse of A Case of You. This earns a small scolding from Amie but you don’t register it, instead, you turn your head to the side to listen to it better.

“Whose playlist is this?” You ask, lips twitching upwards as the first chorus comes up.

“Think it’s Mia’s.” Someone from behind you answers it with a slight pull to your hair.

It takes you a second too long to answer her at first, the melody embracing you like a nostalgic hug, “‘S a good one.” You nod, not knowing who Mia is but still appreciating her choice.  “I love this song.”

“I remember, back in college, when my ex broke up with me as he was dropping me off from my cousin’s birthday party,” Amie starts, interrupting your moment as she holds your chin between her fingers, gently positioning you to face her and you let your eyes fall closed again. “I sat down in my dorm, put on Joni Mitchell and cried for the rest of the night.”

“Ouch, that must’ve been harsh.” You breathe out a laugh, the action worsening the throb in your head and you immediately fall sober again, recalling your own experience of crying listening to her disks.  “Good choice, though. It’s a good song to cry to.”

“Sure is.”

Amie quickly strikes another conversation with the girls in charge of your hair and you fall silent again. The song still plays softly in the background, but as much as you try to focus on it, to let the comforting words of the familiar song detach you from the position you’re in, make you forget about the suffocating feeling of having this many people so up on your personal space, you can barely hear it under their voices. A loud laugh disrupts your attempt and you have to refrain from cringing in frustration.

Suddenly, you feel yourself become too aware of the tangle of noises swiping around the place. The door to the hotel room opens and closes a couple of times. Muffled sounds of steps rushing around on the carpeted floor. Someone calls a name from the living room area. The woman in charge of your nails chats with the one doing your hair as she finishes her work (giving you at least one bit of relief). The overwhelming feeling comes back, hitting you like a brick, and you start feeling too hot under the ring light. You’re about to speak up, excuse yourself for a moment so you can walk to the balcony and feel the outdoor air untangle the knot in your chest. But before you do, you hear a familiar voice coming from behind you.

“How are we feeling here?” Sonia appears in front of you as you blink your eyes open (slowly, as to not mess up Amie’s work on your eyeshadow). She holds up a cup of coffee in your direction and you accept it gladly, holding it carefully with your freshly manicured nails.

“We’re certainly feeling.” You take a sip, wincing slightly at the hot beverage. “Sorry, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Nervous?”

The question makes you suddenly become too aware of the nerves tugging at your belly, like when you only feel the sting of a scratch one someone points it out. The reminder of your first time attending the ceremony as an official Grammy nominee gives your stomach a funny twist. However, it’s not your anxiousness that’s bugging you as you feel another gentle tug at your hair. But you choose not to voice your annoyance, afraid of sounding too much of a diva (something you’ve been policing yourself closely not to do for the past few months), only letting out a slight wince. “A bit.”

“It’ll be alright.” She places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Not that different from other award shows, you’ll see.”

“I guess.”

“Oh!” Sonia exclaims, unlocking her phone on her other hand. “I’ve changed your flight back home like you asked.” She scrolls for a bit before stopping with a sip of her own coffee.  “You’ll be leaving on the twenty first, is that good?”

“It’s alright.” You sigh, knowing it’s not the ideal scenario you had planned, to catch an early flight the day after your birthday, but being used to the hectic agenda and the sudden change of plans.

“The driver will pick you up at five.” She gives you a look. “In the morning.”

“I know. I know.”

“That’s sorted, then.” She locks her phone again, turning her attention to Amie, who’s brushing a product gently against your cheekbone. “How much longer do you think?”

“Give me fifteen and she’s all yours.” Amie peeks up at the older woman.

“Perfect.” She smiles back at you. “You look beautiful, and you’ll do great tonight.”

“Thanks, Sunny.” You grin at the brim of your cup, addressing her by the nickname you’d given the first week she started working for you.

True to her word, Amie finishes off her work not much longer after Sonia disappears from the room after turning around the threshold leading into the living room area. And, just as you take the last sip of your coffee, while scrolling mindlessly through your phone in an attempt to keep your mind distracted, you hear a commotion coming from the other side of the walls.

It takes another minute for you to get up from the spot you’ve been sitting for what feels like hours now to go investigate. You enter the living room being greeted with a trail of croissants, and you take one, biting carefully before letting out a satisfied hum.

From this moment on, time moves relatively quickly. Soon enough, you’re standing in front of a full body mirror, feeling the poke of the last few adjustments in your gown. It’s a sequined emerald gown, one you’d find a bit too much of a safe choice upon seeing it at first, but as you see how it hugs perfectly at your curves, you’re sold.

You arrive at the red carpet with twenty minutes to spare before the show starts — not too early to be quickly forgotten by the ones that arrive after you, but also not too late to be glazed over. The Los Angeles January sky is cloudless, but despite being in the peak of wintertime the air surrounding you is warm, almost too warm, even.

The screams quickly swallow you, some coming from people on the other side of the street, waiting for a glance of whoever’s stepping out of their cars at the entrance, others are hidden behind bright flashes that you can force yourself to look at for too long. You wave, giving the same smile you’ve perfected over the years, the one that Amie says makes it look like you hold all the secrets of the world, but still friendly enough to avoid headlines about being too pretentious.

A girl, not much younger than you it seems, directs you further down the carpet. You pay little mind to her, only directing a small smile as you blindly follow her steps. Scanning your eyes through the crowd gathered before the entrance, you manage to catch familiar faces all around. Everyone’s at their most presentable, and you feel like, even if you didn’t know any of them, you would’ve easily been able to pick out the stars as they parade around the place like sore thumbs. It’s the Hollywood glow, one that can easily be spotted on their stuffed chests and their cheshire cat smiles, bodies clad in thousand dollar fabric as they spill out the big names behind it. You’re not different from any of them, you’re aware.

It takes longer than you’d expected to finally walk inside the Staples Center, following behind the same girl that greeted you when you made your entrance. Once she directs you to your seat, you hold back a relieved sigh to find Ayame standing right next to it -- you had requested to be seated next to her but considering her tendencies of skipping red carpet for the sake of arriving fashionably late (her words) you’d been scared you’d have to sit through your anxiety by yourself for a good chunk of the show.

Your brows shoot towards your hairline to the sight of her newly dyed bright orange hair, the locks gelled back, allowing her neon colored eye makeup to stand out on her face. She’s in a black latex dress, the silhouette mimicking a classical 50s gown with an off shoulder neckline. The top part of it seems to be clad so tightly to her body that you mindlessly hold your breath for a moment as you approach her.

It takes a while for her to notice you as she chats excitedly with someone you recognize as the lead singer of some pop punk band you haven’t really tried to learn the name of (but you do know is nominated with you for Best Pop Group/Duo Performance). The second her eyes meet yours, however, she’s rushing the couple steps to close the distance between you two, pulling you into a hug as she squeals your name. Her excitement is one of the first things to bring a genuine smile to your face all day, truth to be told.

“Hi, Aya.” You mutter over her shoulder, minding where you place your hands to hug her back so as to not mess with her hair.

“Hey you.” She pulls away, taking a step back to take in your appearance. You’re aware you two probably look like quite the duo together, her out of the box choice of a look certainly contrasting with your safe option (one that can look quite plain as you stand next to her, you realize.) But she doesn’t pay any mind to the antithesis, instead, only clapping her hands together as she moves her gaze down your body. “You look so beautiful! Oh my god, your dress even matches my eye!”

“That’s true.” You giggle (a real one) at her observation, taking notice of the way her thick green eyeliner curls down her cheekbone. “Guess we coordinated even without meaning to.”

“Oh god!” Her shoulders lump, eyes softening, and her lips plumping into a small pout. “Please, will you ever be able to forgive me for not coming with you?”

“Aya, it’s fine.” You reassure her.

From the moment your name started circling around different magazines as one of the favorite’s for snatching a couple nominations, Aya told you how she wanted to be with you for your first official attendance at the awards. You chatted over glasses of wine and endless bowls of oyakodon (on those rare nights that’s just the two of you in her New York apartment and she’d decide to try teaching you yet another japanese dish), making plans for today, daydreaming about getting ready together and walking down the carpet with linked arms and matching smiles. But this was before Aya signed for her Chanel campaign, and before you stopped feeling excited about mingling outside your comfort zone.  

“Nothing I’ve never done before.”

“I know but it’s your first Grammy Awards!” She sighs, her voice on the verge of a whine. “You’re the star of the night!”

There’s a sound announcement that the show is merely five minutes away from starting that cuts you as your lips part. As you two move to take your seats by the center-left of the main stage, you say, “Not sure about that one.”

You feel her gaze from the corner of your vision as you glance around the space, watching the biggest names in the industry pacing around just an arm reach away from you. After a second, you meet her concerned eyes, and when she speaks up again her voice is gentle, verging on cautious. “How are you?”

You look away from her, picking at your nails for a moment before you realize you’re ruining the fresh manicure. With a shrug, you try to dodge from the real answer she’s looking for with her question. “Good. Nervous. Tired.”

“Grumpy.” A teasing smile tugs at your friend’s lips.

“Tired.” You repeat.  “Didn’t really get any sleep, if I’m honest. Think I might actually pass out this time around.”

“Were you out last night?” She hesitates before continuing, her voice lowering an octave. “With Dora?”

“We just went to a cocktail party, nothing too crazy.”

A photographer stops by, interrupting you to take a picture of the two of you next to each other. As soon as he’s gone you look back at Aya, she’s the one not meeting your eye this time.“I don’t like her.”

You sigh. “I know.”

“I don’t.” She shifts in her seat, looking down at her lap before gazing up at you. “I just don’t think she has your best interests in mind.”

“And I don’t think this is the best place for us to discuss this. Again.”

“You’re right.” Aya nods, more to herself than to you. “Tonight is about you. Screw Dora and screw--”

The music playing around the arena pauses, and you both know this means the ad break is over. Cameras start moving around you and that’s enough for Aya to drop the subject and relax back on her seat. With the lights dimmed and the attention set on stage, it’s much easier for you to let your frown deepen for a moment as you take in the words she was about to say.

It takes just a minute for you to go back to your alert state, however, as a camera dances its way in front of you. A silent reminder of the eyes watching you all around.

The greater half of the show drags by and you find yourself zooming out more times than you wish. You know that Aya notices, giving you the same concerned look when you take a beat too long to clap for someone’s speech, or when you keep repeating the same robotic movements during someone’s performance. Award shows are known for crawling their way to the end, but most times than not, you can easily carry yourself through it with not much yawning. But right now that’s shown to be a harder task than you thought, and you find yourself urging for something to keep you at ease (it’s why you like the Brits so much, at least there you could down a glass of tequila and let its warmth drown the nerves in your belly.)

What bugs you even more is the fact that this was supposed to be the best night of your life. The weight of its importance should be translated into flaps of butterflies in your stomach not a tangle of thoughts clouding your brain. And the pressure you put on yourself to force some enjoyment out of you only helps make it harder for you to fight a crease to form between your brows.

The first time you let go of living inside your head is when the sound announcement for your first category echoes around the arena during -- yet another -- commercial break. You’re talking with Dua Lipa, exchanging the formality of compliments on each other's work (in your weak attempt at networking when you don’t feel like talking), when you hear it. There’s an electric spark that shoots down your spine, and you’re sure it's evident in your face as she comments on your nomination, earning a nervous laugh in return. It jolts you like a flip of a switch, and you have to hold back from bouncing on your feet at the prospect of finally allowing yourself to enjoy the night. Your night, you correct yourself, hopeful.

Around you, cameras come alive again as you reach your seat. It’s like your whole body feels numb, every cell electrified with anticipation in a way that the only thing you can focus on is the speed of your heartbeat. The rush of your bloodstream spreads warmth from the apple of your cheeks to the tip of your toes. You realize Aya’s hand is in yours when she squeezes it tightly, forcing you to share a quick glance at her to find an expectant smile adorning her face.

It’s only when they call the nominees for Best New Artist that you realize you never really thought you had a chance of snatching it. Maybe in a way you tried to keep your expectations low, knowing the set of talents that share the category nominations with you. So you wait for them to call someone else’s name. You prepare to put on your best smile, to clap politely for the winner. But that’s not what happens.

Because they call out your name.

Aya hugs you so tightly it brings tears to your eyes, your mind suddenly snapping back into reality and you realize that yes, this is really happening. You’re sure you float all the way upstage, you mind blank and your hands shaky as you accept the statuette. In a few days, people are gonna ask you about this moment, how it was looking back at the arena with your new Grammy in hands to give your acceptance speech, and you’re just gonna laugh it off charmingly about how you had it at the tip of your tongue. In reality, the moment you gaze back at the ocean of people, all in their black tuxedos and extravagant gowns, the only thing you focus is to fight back the knot in your throat, keeping your voice surprisingly steady as you barely register a single word that leaves your mouth.

Still shaking, you walk backstage, accepting congratulatory words and receiving a couple hugs along the way. You talk to reporters and take pictures, words coming a bit throaty as you allow yourself to feel a bit teary. The award feels heavy in your hand, the golden record player glimmering back at you, the shot of adrenaline waving off as you stare at the blank spot waiting to be engraved with your name.

Once you’re back on your seat, the buzz in your body starts to wear off. You feel your phone going off in your clutch and, when the familiar signal for the commercial break goes off, you reach for it. The screen lights up immediately, showing a thread of messages coming up at the second. You unlock it, feeling the urge to call someone as you let your thumb glaze over it before tapping the phone app. It opens up, showing a couple of missed calls from when you were backstage that you make a mental reminder to check back on it later. You look at the screen expectantly, as if waiting for something to happen when it hits you. You have no one to call.

Looking up, you try desperately to catch some friendly eyes, but you come back empty handed. Aya has gone backstage to get ready for her performance, and Sunny, along with other people from your team, have taken this time to celebrate, mingling around the place.

The messages are still lighting up on your screen as you blink back the tears that now threaten to fall down your cheeks, your chest heaving when the knot gets tighter. It’s a bit ironic, you think, the amount of people reaching out to you and yet you’ve never felt this alone. This was all you wanted, right here in your hands. All you focused on. Your life has never been better. Climb all the way to the mountaintop, isn’t that what they say? Then why does it feel so lonely?

There’s all these people, smiling at you, offering their kind words. Celebrating your achievement. But none of them feel like someone you can rely on, and you can’t help but wonder:

Shouldn't you have someone that you could call?

//

Harry’s not having a good day.

He’s not having a good week, actually.  Just as he’s stuck on a hectic routine in the middle of arranging costumes for the next musical (they’re doing Beauty and the Beast which requires a lot of layering that, as pretty as he finds the final result, can be a pain to sew) he managed to come down with a cold. So, whereas he wanted nothing more than to take a couple days off to snuggle under his newly acquired electric blankets while binging the new season of How To Get Away With Murder, the dress rehersal dates are just around the corner, so he just had to ignore his runny nose and throbbing head in order to rush into the final tailoring of the costumes. And if being sick wasn’t enough to throw him off a curve, he’s been having an special difficult time with Lumière’s full-skirted coat, his hazed mind causing him to misplace the golden laser cut detailing twice, as well as poke himself with the needle enough times to leave the skin of his finger red and sore. All of this also warranted him three scoldings from Lisa, who’s the head costume designer and whom Harry had prided himself on never getting on her bad side, so to say he’s been grouchy all week is an understatement.

On top of it all, like the bright red cherry on top of the shit cake that was his week, he’s late. He’s late to a wedding he’d all but forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for the annoyingly loud alarm reminder he’d set on his phone (that rang conventionally just a minute after he finally got to lay back on his bed after getting home from work -- he doesn’t usually work on saturdays but Lisa messaged him about an emergency with Belle’s dress, so he’d spent the entire morning hopping around fabric stores) he’d have probably slept right through it.  Harry thought about rain checking it, literally, as he hit the snooze button just as gentle raindrops started tapping against his window. He actually considered it. But as soon as he let his eyes fall closed the guilt started settling in. He had confirmed his presence directly with the groom when he called to send his congratulations after receiving the invitation. He gave him his word, and he’ll stick by it.

But it still doesn’t help the fact that he’s late. Which is why he’s rushing up the escalator on the tube station. The rain hasn’t gotten any better from the moment he’d jumped out of bed, still showering from the sky much like a last goodbye from winter as it blends into spring. This time he took Julia on her offer, grabbing her umbrella before leaving home -- and making sure to avert his eyes from the tacky imprints on the fabric to keep himself from cringing, as the only reason for him to be taking it in the first place is to keep his hair and his clothes as intact as possible (at times like this is when he’s the most thankful for the degree chose, because he’s not quite sure how else he’d be able to get his hand on a suit at the last minute if he hadn’t had one he’d tailored himself on his first year.)

He gets a few looks as he stumbles on the last step, a line of apologies rushing out of his lips while he struggles to open the umbrella. When it finally flings open with a thud, the gush of wind prepares to take it away but is prevented from doing so as Harry tightens his grip on the handle, he checks his phone again for the time. The screen lights up with the indication that he’s got five minutes for the ceremony and Harry mutters a cuss as he remembers the venue is a ten minute walk from the station, so he picks up his pace, the sound of the heels of his boots against the cobblestone blending with the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ground.

He knows he’s arrived as soon as he turns around the corner. The 18th-century building takes over most of the block, its stoned walls take a camel tone contrasting with the black of the iron railing that hugs its front--only giving space to two dark oak wooden columns located on each side of the front entrance. There’s a small group stepping out of a black taxi, a suited-clad man helps a woman out of the vehicle as she holds onto the skirt of her navy blue gown to prevent it from dragging it into the damp concrete sidewalk. They’ve clearly just arrived for the ceremony that’s set to happen in just a couple minutes now, and Harry can’t help but let out a relieved sigh as he realises he’s just about made it in time.

Letting his pace slow down to a jog, his shoulders relax as he tries to even out his breathing as he approaches the group in an attempt to not give away the fact that he was properly running for the past five blocks. But just as he does so, as a stronger gust of wind whips against his face. Harry barely has time to process it as the umbrella in his hand inverts its shape, the wires holding the fabric together snapping broken. It’s so sudden that it takes him backwards a couple steps, a high pitched yelp falling from his lips as the raindrops start to hit his face like needles, quickly sinking through the fabric of his suit.

“Fucking--”

His struggle catches the attention of the group standing outside the building, and he can feel their heads turning in his direction from the corner of his vision. There're a few repressed laughs that still make their way to his ears, and one of the men speaks up, his eyes lit in amusement, “Alright, mate?”

Harry glances down at the broken umbrella in his hand, his other arm coming up in a weak attempt to shield him from the drops now sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, clicking his tongue. “I’m good.”

There’s a shame in his walk as he makes his way to a trash can right next to the group, giving them a small nod before throwing the now-useless tool inside of it. He tries not to think about how perfect it would be for the earth to swallow him whole as he jogs again the few steps towards the entrance of the house.

At least now he’ll never have to look again at that tasteless thing every time he enters his flat, he tries to reason.

Thankfully, the weather consists mostly of sporadic gusts of wind, rather than a proper rainstorm. So, by the time he reaches the covered white-painted entrance, the thin droplets of water were only good for dampening his hair and shoulders (and tangling a few knots into his strands that he feels once he runs his hand through it), but not powerful enough to soak through his clothes.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A lady greets him as he steps inside the venue, she holds a cream clipboard on the crook of her arm, hugging it against her body. Her freshly dyed red locks contrast with the beige tone of the ambient, matching with her earth-brown dress. A smile stretches in her face, accentuating her age lines, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, brows shooting up in surprise as if she didn’t expect him to walk in.

“Afternoon.” Harry reaches his hand to push back his hair, nose scrunching as he feels a few droplets slide down his neck. The lady looks up at him expectantly, her eyes moving down not so subtly, smile tightening as she takes in his appearance. He clears his throat, speaking up when she doesn’t offer any response, “Uhm… I’m here for Michael and Elise… For their wedding, I mean.”

“Right!” She nods, and Harry notices the way her eyes glance down at his blazer one more time before she focuses on the clipboard, moving it so it stands on her eyesight. She opens her mouth but before any word can leave her lips her hand reaches up to press her finger against the ear device, brows furrowing in concentration as she listens in. He stands there awkwardly for a moment,waiting for her instructions as she nods along to whatever’s being said. “I just have one more guest coming in.” She mumbles into the device, shooting a quick glance to down the hallway, before she focuses back on him, her voice coming a bit rushed. “May I have your name, please?”

“Uh, course, yeah. Styles.”

She gazes down at the list in her hand, flipping the pages as her eyes scan through the names. “Harry Styles?” He offers a hum in agreement as he watches her check his name. She looks back up, motioning towards the end of the long hallway, where there are double glass doors, only one of them open, leading to what seems like an outdoor area. “You can just head  straight ahead to the courtyard for the ceremony. The reception afterwards will be upstairs.”

“Alright, thanks.” He has half a mind to ask her for the men’s room so he can at least fix his undoubtedly rumpled appearance but, before he even thinks of doing so, she already has her back to him, taking long strides towards a closed door located to the side and disappearing inside of it. He huffs out a breath, eyes widening slightly as he mumbles to himself. “Okay, then.”

Harry walks through a threshold leading to a second part of the hallway, this one with a darker cast to it, thanks to the walnut tone of the wooden walls, passing by a number of ash grey armchairs set neatly on each side of the corridor -- looking so sleek that Harry wonders if anyone has ever used them for anything other than a decoration piece. The low mesh of voices invades the indoor space, getting just slightly louder once he enters the courtyard area.

The glass door he enters from leads to the right side of the seating plan, all the white wooden chairs with their backs turned to him (thankfully, as he doesn’t really feel like making a grand entrance to announce how late he is). He notices another set of double glass doors to his left that are set right at the center, a tan colored carpet stretching from it all the way to the altar, and, opposite to where he stands, a white piano is being played, the soft melody serving as background noise. The last few rolls of seats near him are mostly empty, apart from a few people that chose the ones closest to the aisle, so Harry manages to sneak his way to a chair by the far end without catching anyone’s attention.

Once he’s finally able to relax back into the -- not so comfortable -- seat, there’s a relieved sigh that escapes his lips unintentionaly, and he finally allows himself to take a better look at his surroundings. The first thing that he notices as he stretches his neck (in an attempt to relieve some tension he’s been holding throughout the entire day) is a glass roof serving as a shield from the raindrops that still fall stubbornly from the sky. It’s definitely a semi-new addition to the construction, Harry reckons, as it gives a modern touch to the historical building. It’s almost transfixing the way the metal structure bends in the shape of a simple mandala, one that’s now being colored with easing streaks of water running down its dome-esque build.

From where he chose to sit there’s not much of the rest room he can really make out, most of his vision being obstructed by a wall of heads. What he is able to catch sight of is the waterfall fountain standing tall right behind the altar, the blanket of water falling along the stoned wall is so clear that one could easily miss it if it wasn’t for the lights located right above of it, bright and shimmering in contrast to the dim lighting of the rest of the room. The sound of it is soothing, like an indoor drizzle, and it blends so perfectly with the melody of the piano that Harry wonders if the man playing it is even aware of himself doing it. Right next to it, at the opposite far end of the space, is large light up letters spelling the word LOVE in a yellowed light. It’s something that he’s certain he could easily find corny if he didn’t consider himself a hopeless romantic of sorts.

Which also can justify why he’s not able to keep his eyes dry throughout most of the ceremony.

It starts just about a minute after he’s settled on his seat, barely having time to sit back before he finds himself standing up again with the rest of the crowd. And, from the moment Harry caught sight of the groom's face as the bride finally made her entrance, he’s a goner. He remembers as a young boy, being forced by his mum to attend a handful of weddings during his childhood, how boring he used to find them. Funny how time changes things, he feels like, as now he finds himself paying close attention to the whole thing, not being able to help the warmth that grows in his chest all the way to the tip of his nose as he feels his eyes getting glossier at every word being spoken. By the time the vows come up, the intimate declamations of love being spoken in teary voices and shaky hands, he gives up on trying to brush away the tears that tickle their way down his cheeks.

Once the newlywed couple strut their way back the aisle, rings now hugging their fingers and paired smiles stretching their cheeks, Harry’s managed to control his emotions to some degree. When they pass through him, just before disappearing inside the building hand in hand, the groom, Michael, meets his gaze, throwing his hand up in a wave-like gesture. Harry wonders for a second if he’d recognized his face amongst the certain euphoric feeling he’s in right now, or if it was just a blind gesture that he barely registered before disappearing inside the double doors. Regardless, he still brings his finger to his mouth to let out a sharp whistle in felicitation.

The second they’re out the door, everyone starts moving, and that’s when Harry realizes his seat also allows him to be the first out the door. Following the crowd that makes their way back into the building, it comes to him that he never really got the chance to find a toilet so he could check the damage left by the rain-- and he’s sure his emotional state throughout the last hour or so did very little to help him in that department.

So he keeps an eye out as he steps inside the same hallway he came from, this time being directed to an open door by the left that leads him to a staircase. His boots click against the marble steps as Harry climbs up along with the rest of the guests that make their way towards the reception, a light chatter taking over the building as the talk amongst themselves. All the doors along the way are closed, all except the one at the very front of the stairs as he reaches the third floor.

Harry looks around as he waits for the elderly couple in front of him to finish talking with the lady that’s standing in front of the open doors. All the rest of the floor is shut tight, and none of the double white painted doors really seem like they would lead to a bathroom. Soon enough, though, he’s being greeted by the receptionist of sorts.

Like the one when he first walked into the building, she also holds a clipboard close to her arm, and, with her hair being pulled up in a tight ponytail, he catches sight of a matching earpiece poking at the side of her face. He gives her his names and, once she starts directing him to his designated seat, he finds himself scanning the room for what he’s been looking for. He’s not planning on staying long enough to need to know which table he’s in, anyway, only wanting to express his felicitations to the couple before rushing back to his warm covers that call for his name.

“I’m sorry, which way is the toilet?” He interrupts the lady, who only raises her brows for a moment before shooting him a polite smile, gesturing to a set of doors not too far from where he stands. “Thank you.”

Upon entering further inside he notices, the space is much smaller than the courtyard. The room takes an ‘L’ shape, the turn of the place being a small platform to which he assumes must be the dance floor, considering the few musicians tucked in the far corner. Thanks to its shape the place is as narrow as it is long, not giving him much space to walk between the perfectly set tables. Harry doesn’t dwell on it too much, though, only rushing towards where he was directed, and quickly locking himself inside where it's indicated to be the men’s room.

Turning to the circular mirror to his side, Harry takes in his appearance with a sharp inhale. It’s not too bad, he thinks, more or less what he was expecting to find. His tearful state earlier has definitely enhanced the puffiness in his eyes that are still slightly glossy. There’s a reddish tone to his cheeks and at the tip of his nose, light circles under his eyes displaying his poor sleep schedule. He looks like someone who’s still recovering from a cold, if he’s honest. Which was to be expected. His hair, however, took most of the damage of the rain. What once were his neatly locks curling around his jawline, now sits a frizzy nest of strands tangled on each other.

It’s still damp when he runs his fingers through it, trying to undo the knots he finds on the way but, somehow he only makes it worse. He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at his reflection as he lets out a chuckle, thinking of a Friends reference.

He sighs in frustration at the stubborn mop of his hair refusing to stay in place, surrendering to its rebellion as he fetches the hair tie wrapped around his wrist. Maybe he should’ve just listened to his mum’s wishes and just cut it all out when he had the chance, it surely would’ve saved him the embarrassment of walking around a wedding reception with a fucking man bun. But Harry is as stubborn as he is proud, sticking to his statement of allowing his curls to run wild down his neck. So he might just have to suck it up to his knock off hipster image for the night, at least he’ll probably won’t see these people again until the next baby shower, he figures.

What Harry doesn’t expect as he walks out the foamy white restroom after his inner head monologue was to be met with the one person he was not expecting to encounter in a million years. Standing just a few steps away from him, hair neatly wrapped on top of your head, body clad in a pearly green cocktail dress, the top crossing tightly around your chest and its skirt drapes beautifully down your body. It’s Dior, Harry recognizes, and on any other occasion he would’ve been too transfixed on the piece to even notice the person sporting it. But not right now, no, there’s not a chance that the hiccup on his heartbeat and the sweat on his palms are due to the article of clothing.

He freezes on his spot, his eyes shutting tightly for a moment, hoping that when he opens up it’s all just a fragment of his -- very vivid -- imagination. Perhaps he’s falling ill again, and his fever is acting up, creating mirages to trick his mind. But as he opens his eyes that possibility seems to dissolve as quickly as it was created, and Harry’s convinced that this must be some twisted sick joke the universe is pulling on him. Not satisfied on making him walk in the rain after breaking his friend’s tacky umbrella, or having him attend a wedding reception with a fucking manbun of all things as well as a face that’s most likely resembling a dried apple. No, that didn’t seem to be enough of a punishment for him. Because on top of it all, here you are, standing just a few steps away from him, this time not through a screen of a printed paper but in flesh and bone.

It takes him a second to realize he’s been frozen on his spot for quite a while now, and as panic starts to zip through every cell of his body his gaze flickers around the room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for exactly, just trying to find a way out. But how, when he’s not even sure where he’s supposed to sit? His eyes find the lady that greeted him at the entrance and he cusses himself for not paying attention to her instructions during his rush, because now she’s standing on the other side of the room speaking with the musicians and there’s no way he can reach her without bumping into you first.

Why does this place have to be so fucking small?

His foot stops midstep, almost too afraid to move and catch your attention. Frowning to himself, Harry  He dares to look in your direction again. You’re turned towards him, but thankfully you’re too caught up in your conversation with a blonde lady, nodding along to whatever it is that she’s saying, that you don’t catch the way he lets his eyes linger in you for a beat too long.

Long enough that you undoubtedly feel the weight of his eyes on you as your gaze meets his, and Harry’s sure he could dig a hole for himself right through this perfectly waxed lightwood floor. But he can’t because you’re looking at him. You’re looking at him and your eyes widen just slightly with recognition, mouth agape as your lips form the shape of his name, your voice standing out amongst the mixture of others chatting around the room.

The girl talking to you turns around as she realizes your focus has gone elsewhere. Melanie. He remembers her from his chem class -- she dropped a whole beaker of hydrogen peroxide on her arm and had a skin burn, her round face is still the same but now she’s a blonde. He barely pays any attention to her, however, letting his eyes bounce back to yours just as quickly as they left, only to find you’re already making your way towards him.

“Harry?” You say again, this time he hears it loud and clear as you get closer, the sound of your voice saying his name again causing an electric spark to shoot down his spine. You stop just before him, as if you’re also unsure on how to properly greet him.

His lips part, taking a sharp breath as he tries to learn how to speak all over again, “H-hi.”

“Hi.” Your smile grows. “I didn’t know you’d be here, didn’t see you at the ceremony.”

“Yeah I-- I got rained on.” He lets out a nervous laugh, hand coming up instinctively to run through his hair but he stops it midair as he realizes his locks are tied back. Clearing his throat he speaks up in an attempt to cover the awkward gesture, “I mean, didn’t know you’d be here as well, you know? Figured you’d be busy and stuff.” He wants to punch himself.

“I made it just fine.” You throw him a playful wink, shooting a look over your shoulder to where Melanie now stands talking to someone else, her eyes still stealing a few curious glances in your direction. “Where are you seated? Figure it can’t be that far from where they seated me.”

“Uhm… To be honest, I’m not quite sure.” His eyes scan the room for a second before meeting yours again. “Was in a bit of a rush when I walked in, actually.”

You laugh, “Well that’s perfect, then, you can just sit with us!” You motion back to the table where you came from. “I’m sure you remember everyone from back in the day.”

“Sounds nice, yeah.” He looks back to where you’re pointing, trying to spot any other familiar face.

“Great! C’mon I’ll get you some champagne.” You catch him by surprise as you lock your arm around his, leading the short way towards the table.

True to your word, you hand him a flute of champagne just a beat after directing him to a seat that seems to be right next to yours. He doesn’t miss the way you’re able to do so with a simple smile shot towards one of the caterers, making him find his way to you in barely a second, handing you another flute without even questioning the fact that you already have one in your hand. Harry doesn’t really blame him, a smile from you would be enough to have him rushing to you, too.

As he figured, you take the seat right next to his, raising your glass briefly in a cheers with him before both of you relax back into your seats. The table is entirely decorated in different shades of white and gold, as well as the rest of the space. Honey orange plates are set in front of each of the seven seats, their tone matching perfectly the color of the fancy patterned curtains around the room that block the outside view. A full bouquet of flowers is set at the center, pale pink roses contrasting with bright red dahlias as they bloom proudly amongst the green leaves. Two other empty glasses are set in front of him, they shimmer under the light coming from two high-hanged chandeliers that illuminate the room, and Harry wonders what they could be for, as their shapes differ only so slightly from each other.

His thoughts are cut shortly as the empty seats quickly begin to fill, and he notices how your attention has gone back to Melanie who now takes the chair on your other side. She seems to have taken a liking to having your attention on herself, Harry notes. Soon enough, though, his own focus is called elsewhere, once he’s greeted by the other people that have taken the rest of the seats. You were right when you told him he’d recognize most of them, and Harry’s thankful that it mostly consists of people he actually used to be relatively close to back on his school days (not close enough to have survived the graduation mark, but still, most of them he still follows on a couple social media platforms, getting sporadic updates on their lives).

Jamie is the first of them to arrive, who takes the chair right next to Harry’s, startling him with a strong grip on his shoulder. “Styles?” His voice chirps in the air, and as recognition comes to him, Harry gets up, greeting him as he’s pulled in a side hug. “Almost didn’t recognize you, mate, are you wearing heels?” The man jokes at the clear height difference between them, earning a polite laugh from Harry.

“Kind of, actually.” He looks down at his foot as he bends his ankle, showing off the black leather boot that has a bit of a heel to it.

“Oh, there he is! Always the stylish one, it’s in the name, innit?” Harry huffs out a chuckle. “With the hair too, right? Heard those buns work wonders with the ladies.” The shorter man motions to Harry’s hair, giving him a playful shove as he laughs, looking back to catch the gaze of a woman that’s standing behind him. She gives Jamie a tight smile and a raise of brows, her eyes flickering from him to Harry. His laugh hauters, arm reaching back to grasp her waist,  “Yeah, yeah, H, this is my wife, Faye.”

At the mention of his spouse, Harry’s brows shoot toward his hairline for a second, lips parting before quickly recovering his shocked expression as he leans to greet her. It’s not that he’s surprised that Jamie has gotten himself a wife, somehow (well, a bit of that too) but it always comes like a bit of a jolt to find people his age settling with their life partner. Part of the shock comes mostly to Harry as he thinks back to himself, and he can’t help the comparison that comes as he’s never found himself nearly close to having someone so dearly close to his heart that he can think of such commitment.Well, he had you. But people always talk about how puppy love is usually supposed to be like that anyway. That first love, in which you’re still taking baby steps with the new found feeling of sharing your heart with someone else. The one when you’re too young to really know anything.

Harry still cherishes that feeling, which can also explain the effect you hold on him. But there’s something in him that wonders if he’ll ever have what he saw on Michael’s eyes when they locked gazes at the end of the ceremony. The bliss that comes with the knowledge that you don’t have to take those baby steps anymore. You don’t have to hold on to them in fear of what path they’ll take. If they’ll decide that where they need to go is no longer next to yours. He wonders what it feels like to learn that love doesn’t come with dread, and watching people around him find that so easily, it comes to him that maybe he’s the one doing something wrong.

It doesn’t really help that, after Jamie and Faye have settled in their seats, all the others that follow after come with similar introductions. Harry never expected coming here that he’d hear the words “fiancée” and “wife” being thrown around so often, and, quickly, he comes to the realization that he is the only one without a date.

As much as those thoughts keep bothering him, they become dulled as time starts going by and he nurses his second flute of champagne. The conversations that make their way to the table mostly consist of the recollection of times when each other’s faces felt like more than just a “used to be”. They make rounds with digging up old inside jokes, and Harry finds himself stealing glances in your direction more often than he’d like. He tries not to, of course, but you seem to be the only place his eyes want to travel to. With your voice so close to him, more than he ever thought it would be again, it’s like someone’s lighting a candle at the deep of his chest (those nice vanilla ones you used to have in your room, giving the whole place a scent that still sticks to him as yours to this day). It’s nearly scary to him, how easily he falls again to the sound of your laugh.

His nose scrunches in a laugh at a joke Chris blurts out from the other side of the table about their old math teacher the moment there’s a tap in the microphone that echoes through the walls of the small space. A woman stands in the far side of the room, standing on a small platform that was settled for the musicians. She’s the same one that greeted him at the entrance, her hair now pulled up in a tight bun exposing a thin layer of sweat on her forehead that shimmers under the lighting directly above her.

“Good evening, everyone.” Her voice chirps a bit too loud and she throws a look over her shoulder to a man standing next to a speaker, before testing a word again to see it come out now in a more composed tone.

She proceeds to go into a short speech that Harry, in all honesty, zooms out for a great part of it. His body has twisted on his seat to have a better look at the center of the room where she speaks into the mic, but as a result of that, he’s now facing you. From this angle, he has a better look at the side of your face, as you find yourself turned in your seat in order to look at the woman as well. Your makeup is light and most of it falls into a natural tone, and Harry wonders if you’ve made any effort at all into looking this beautiful.

The familiarity of your features tugs at his heartstrings, you’ve grown into them over the years, the lines in your face having matured with time. Still, he can pinpoint reminders of when he last got to gaze at you this closely. A scar just below your eyebrow, now faded, but still very much present, from when your sister scratched you with a branch at the first barbecue he attended at your family’s home. A few beauty marks painting your skin, that he used to press his lips or trace his finger over as if connecting them. Even the tiny golden ball poking through your second ear hole that he held your hand through when you got it pierced, afraid it would hurt too bad. Those details he thought he’d all but forgotten about, now staring right back at him.

Once again, it’s like he’s lost track of how long he’s been looking at you, and surely you can feel him watching, as you turn your head to meet his gaze. Harry blinks a few times, lips parting as he realizes he just got caught staring. There’s barely enough time for him to try and avert his eyes to pretend nothing ever happened, however, as your lips twitch in a gentle smile. The action causes a matching one to poke on his face almost immediately, a reaction Harry himself barely has time to register, a warmth deepening along with his dimples on his cheeks. You let out a slight laugh, bringing the brim of your glass up to your lips before gazing back over your shoulder at the lady that now seems to be wrapping up her speech.

“And with that being said, it’s now an honor to introduce for the first time, mister and missus Michael and Elise Browne!” She gestures to the entrance at the couple that appears through the doors, smiles still stretching their faces as they make their way to the far end of the room where there’s a space reserved for the dance floor.

With everyone’s attention being called towards the two newlyweds, Harry lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Biting into his lip he claps along with the rest of the guests, trying to relax his shoulders to ease the nerves that still tickle deep in his stomach.

Quickly, though, the atmosphere of the place turns into more of a cheerful one.

After the couple’s first dance (which, this time, Harry has to blink away the tears that threaten to spill, knowing he’s much  more exposed to someone’s wandering eyes here) there’s a round of short speeches, mostly thanking everyone’s presence, before they start to serve dinner.

During most of the course, however, it’s like you’ve become the main attraction of the table. And it’s not that Harry’s surprised by it, even before you’ve gotten this big in your career, you’ve always held this magnetic aura within you. Something about you draws people’s attention, and you’re good at holding it to you. It’s not something you do consciously, he knows, but as soon as you’re in a room no one else holds a chance at stealing the spotlight.

It’s always been like this, even all those years ago. But now it’s like it’s intensified by tenfold. Harry doesn’t know how you manage to split your attention into so many conversations, and still remain your charming demeanour after hearing the same celebrity joke for the third time in a row. You don’t seem bothered by the amount of questions thrown your way (and he’s sure this is probably the most amount of times he’s heard Beyonce being mentioned in a conversation), in fact, he’s sure you’ve grown more than used to it by now.

Harry, on the other hand, is the one that grows slightly annoyed with time passing. Oddly enough, from the moment he sat next to you, something in him urged to be alone with you. He wants to be the one to hold your attention, your full attention. He wants to talk to you, to really have an actual conversation with you-- none of those ‘what does Adele smells like’ type of questions.

It took him seeing you again to make him realize, he’s missed you.

The chance presents itself, though, just as the empty plates for the main dish get collected by the caterers. Chris mentions something about one of Jamie’s school flings, causing a tension as his wife -Faye- storms out of the table with the man following close behind after shooting a dirty look towards his old friend. Melanie, who had been the main one to be on your shoulder throughout the night, excuses herself to the toilet right after. And, as soon as she’s out of her seat, Harry sees you let out a sigh, reaching for your wine glass before you turn to him for the first time in the night.

“I love your suit, by the way!” You exclaim, eyes moving down his jacket briefly. “Never seen anything like it.”

Harry clears his throat, feeling a heat raise at the back of his neck now that your focus is entirely on him. The suit in question, the same one that got an odd look from the lady at the front door, is actually one he’d firstly tailored on his first year of uni. It’s mostly made with a royal blue fabric, except the lapels that take the same material, but in a deep blood tone (initially, his first plan was to make the entire suit in this tone, but as he realized he barely had enough fabric of the same shade to finish the jacket, he settled on using it only as a detail on the lapels and at the bend of his elbows and knees). His favorite part of it, though, was actually added semi recently. Lisa had ordered some flower detailing to sew to Belle’s dress, but the girl in charge of it embroidered them a shade too dark and, before she got the chance to throw the work away, Harry asked to have them. Now, they’re bound to the lapels of his jacket, twin garden roses on each side, their blooming petals matching beautifully with the darker tone of the fabric. From the moment he added them on, he was in love with it, and now he’s even more glad he did so, because it also caught your attention.

“Thanks, I-” He looks down at his attire, as if he hasn’t seen it a million times before, scratching his nose with the side of his finger as his voice comes out lower than he intended, a shy smile taking over his face. “I designed it myself, actually.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp as the realization hits you. “Really? Wait how-- I mean, I didn’t-- Well, it looks incredible!”

“Thank you.”

“I didn’t know you…” You trail off, motioning vaguely down at his attire.

“Uhm, yeah.” He breathes out a laugh, rubbing his nose with the side of his finger in a nervous tick. “I dropped out of art school, actually, to get into fashion.”

Your eyes widen just slightly, blinking back at him a couple times, lips parting. “How did I not know that?” You ask in a mumble, seemingly more to yourself than to him.

“It was just uhm…” Harry looks down at his lap, not knowing how to finish the sentence without making it awkward. “It was right after we…”

“Oh.”

He clicks his tongue. “Yeah…”

“You must be almost done, right?” You change the subject as you bring the brim of your glass up to your lips, barely taking a sip before adding, “With your degree, I mean.”

Harry nods. “Got a year left, yeah.”

You take a full sip of your wine, setting it back to its place on the table before leaning to rest your elbow on top of it so it can support your cheek as you lean forward, turning your body so to show how he has your full attention. “And how’s that going? Do you have any idea of the path you want to take? I know fashion has so many possibilities, it must be exciting.”

“It is.” He nods just as a certerer comes to settle the deserts in front of each of you. After muttering a quick ‘thank you’, he continues, “I had some internships last year, actually. Worked with a couple designers in London, it was pretty cool.”

“That’s sick.” Your eyes still haven’t left him. “Any names I might recognize?”

He uses his fork to play around with a strawberry, focusing on the way it falls from the small piece of tart painted with white ganache, using it as a silent excuse to himself as to not meet your eyes. Truth to be told, it’s a rather strange feeling to him, having someone’s full attention like this, being asked about his life with a genuine curiosity behind your words. Harry’s used to being backstage, is what most of his career choice consists of, anyway. He stays behind the stage lights, doing the work no one cares for when they see the final product; even when working on runway pieces, people weren’t thinking of whoever did the stitching of the tule or the embroidery over the bustier. But the way you’re watching him, eyes glimmering under the warm lights, it’s the closest he’s felt to being thrown under the spotlight.

Which could explain why he feels this nervous.

“Maybe, yeah, I was with Christopher Kane for a semester.” He lowers his voice without meaning to, a rush of shyness tinting his face. “Also worked on a campaign with Molly Goddard.”

“Holy shit, Harry, that’s, like, huge!” You gasp, hand coming to hold onto his shoulder, pushing him back gently as to bring his eyes to meet yours. It’s sweet, really, how you most likely have accomplishments much bigger than he could ever dream of achieving, still, your smile grows as if it’s the most impressive thing you’ve ever heard. It brings a small giggle to escape from his lips. Letting your hand fall from his shoulder, you relax back into your seat. “One of my favorite dresses is Christopher Kane, he works with his sister, right?”

“They’re both creative directors, yeah.”

“I love their work.” You say, a smile still present and he hopes it never fades. “Are you doing any other intership right now?

“Yeah…” He starts. “I’m working right now, actually, doing some costume design for theatre.”

“Really? Now that’s an interesting path.” You point, fingers fiddling with the hem of the tablecloth. “Where are you working?”

“Uhm…” He knew this question was coming, still, he’s not sure how to present you with the information. His voice lowers, eyes falling to his lap before he looks up at you through his lashes. “Act One.”

He hears your hand fall to your lap, eyes widening just barely before you let out a chuckle, “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m afraid I’m not.”

“Act One?” Your lips part in disbelief.  “With my mum?”

The thing is, Harry was only aware about Act One opening a London unit when he saw the job advertisement stuck to the wall of his university’s building about five months ago. He recognized the name, of course, knowing your mother worked as the music director while you two were together, and also knowing you had been part of a fair amount of productions before your career started growing as it is now (having even attended a handful of them himself, back in the day). What he didn’t know was that your family moved to London with the company and that your mother was still part of the crew when he joined for the spring production. So, the news came with a surprise to him as much as it is to you.

He thought maybe she would have mentioned it to you-- and maybe she has and you just brushed past the information, not caring much for it. But the way your face is still hung in shock, blinking at him as you try to process what he just told you, he figures that’s not the case.

“The same one, yeah.”

“I can’t believe it!” You reach for your glass, twirling it in your hand to watch the dark liquid swirl inside, still shaking your head slightly. “She never- She never…”

“To be fair, I don’t see her that often.” He tries to reason, and it’s true, they work in two different spaces. “I’m usually at the atelier.”

“Still, that’s…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a moment, please?” Someone cuts you off before you can even process how to finish the sentence you started. Everyone’s attention is called back to the makeshift stage, to a woman with the mic in her hand-- she’s in one of the bridesmaid’s navy blue gown, holding up a flute of champagne on her free hand. Once all eyes are on her, she continues. “For those who don’t know me, my name’s Lara, the bride’s best friend...”

The rounds of speeches start with her, then. Halfway through her second childhood story, that you’re only paying half mind to, you realize your mouth’s still parted in shock from your conversation with Harry. You try to subtly cover it, taking a sip of your wine, before you let yourself zoom out completely for the rest of the toasts.

How come he’s been working with your mum for months now, and you’ve only now become aware of it? It’s what keeps bugging you. The possibility of her mentioning the fact comes to you, but you brush it off as quickly as you think of it. You surely would’ve remembered it. There haven't been many mentions of Harry’s name since your breakup, really, and those become less frequent as the years go by. But you hold on to each one of them, trying to grasp the smallest piece of information about his life as you can.

Truth to be told, you’ve missed him. Before you started a relationship, he had been the closest friend you had. And the fact that the worst possible scenario of turning a friendship into something more came true tore you apart.

After you distanced from each other there was very little contact. Your mother would mention every few months something about him moving out how his family had adopted a new kitten. Those informations were received by you with single word answers or a simple nod, even though on the inside you were desperate to ask for more. Harry’s never really been very in touch with social media, so those updates from your mum were pretty much all the glimpse you had on his life without you.

That is, until they all moved two years ago. Then those small comments stopped all together.

So you tried to turn your mind off of it. Off of him. But every now and then something would happen. You’d listen to a song that you used to dance to in his bedroom, or you’d find one of his necklaces lost deep in your drawer and it would all go back to him. How was he doing? Where has his life gone? Who is he friends with? Who’s loving him?

The only time you ever vocalized those thoughts was once during a wine night with Aya. People often compliment you on how good you are with your words, but every time they do, you can’t help but think they’ve probably never got the chance to meet her. She was the first person to reassure you how normal it is to hang on to an old feeling. Harry was your first love, after all, and he’d always hold a place in your heart, no matter how hard you try to mask it.

After that, you stopped trying to bury something that was so valuable to you.

And living in harmony with your feelings, old and new, is something that you found to be so tranquil. Or, well, at least you were able to say that once.

Still, the conversation with Harry only helped to enhance that curiosity that used to consume you. It was a short one-- due to the circumstances you’re in, you can’t really catch a break to have much of a profound chat; but it still was enough for you to realize how little you know of him. There are still many cues that showed you that he’s still the Harry you once knew with the fullness of your heart. His quiet demeanor, and the shy smile that stretches his lips when the attention is on him. His dimples that you used to poke and kiss just to feel them deepen under your touch. His eyes that you always could get lost in every shade they take.

Those traces that make you want to explore each new one that you don’t know about anymore. The curls in his head, that even being pushed back in a bun, you can still tell are much longer than the last time you ran our finger through them. The tattoos that peak under the sleeve of his jacket, and you can’t help but wonder how many more are hidden under the material. The rings hugging his fingers or the necklaces set on his chest. There’s so much you want to ask him about.

And the next time you get the chance to do that is hours later.

The party is starting to feel like it could die out at any moment, when the children have fallen asleep on the armchairs and the early risers start to bid their goodbyes. There’s still a fair amount of people stumbling their way on the dance floor and making the last few rounds on the free cocktails that are being served. Your table is still pretty much filled, except for Chris that got his way around with one of the bridesmaids, which is why you haven’t managed to catch another time to be alone with Harry.

Throughout the night, as the alcohol started to make its way on people’s bloodstreams, you’ve probably been approached by every person within your age group. And, as much as you’ve gotten used to being the main attraction of those types of gatherings, being thrown around and pointed at like an animal in a cage. At this stage in your career, you know you have to suck it up and smile through it. But this night in particular, you find it especially hard not to roll your eyes in annoyance or let out a frustrated sigh when someone interrupts your eighth attempt at trying to talk to Harry.

But your freedom comes when Melanie -fucking Melanie- finally announces she and her boyfriend (Dan, Dave, Don - something like that) are calling it a night. And when she leaves, it’s just you and him.

You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one’s making their way towards you, but, thankfully, everyone else is pretty occupied with the karaoke machine that was introduced an hour ago.

“I’m sneaking out for a smoke.” You reach for your clutch, eyes hopeful as you glance back at Harry. “Wanna come with?”

To your relief, he nods. “Sure.”

You guide him towards a door you had peeked at when you were taking pictures with the bride’s family.

Just like you’d reckoned, it leads to a terrace of sorts, looking out into the courtyard where the ceremony was held from above the glass ceiling. You shoot Harry a short smile as he holds the door open for you, following just behind into the breezy night.

The sky is clear, the way it is after a rainfall, but a few clouds indicate that it might not be just done yet. The first whisk of wind makes you regret not bringing your coat, but you quickly brush away the idea of going back inside, afraid someone might notice you sneaking out a second time. So you two settle in a place right by the railing, turning to the party so you can relax back into the metal.

Reaching inside your clutch, you retrieve a package of cigarettes, pulling one out before offering it to Harry, who shakes his head in a  quick decline. You hold it between your lips as you grab a small lighter that it’s almost lost inside the tiny purse. There’s still a gust of wind dancing around the air, a chill that comes with the aftermath of rainfall. You find it nice, though, the way it brings goosebumps to rise on your skin. It’s a nice balance with the warmth of the flame as you flicker the lighter awake, bringing the flame to the butt of the cigarette that’s propped between your lips. You inhale the smoke, holding it for a moment as you appreciate the peace and quiet of the night, something you haven’t had in a while now.

For a while, both of you just stay quiet, enjoying the other’s presence.

It’s almost funny to you, how people compare meeting again with someone from your past, especially an ex, to seeing a ghost. Because right now, spending this night with Harry after years of being apart, you feel like that couldn’t be further away from the truth. Being in his presence again is everything but haunting. Feels like how it is to go back to your hometown, to walk the streets you memorized growing up, knowing you still know your way around them by heart. Like seeing the places you would go to when you were younger change over time, but still never quite lose the nostalgic feeling they’ve always held. Something that time is not powerful enough to change. The feeling of coming home.

Being with Harry is like that. Still the same, but different.

Harry speaks up first, he could’ve startled you if his voice hadn’t come out as soft as the brush of the wind against the tree branches a couple floors down from where you stand. Nearly shy, as he says it while gazing down at his boots, “Congratulations on your Grammy, by the way.”

“Did you know?” You ask, genuinely surprised.

He’s the only person that hasn’t brought up the elephant you bring to the room every time you walk in a gathering like this. A shadow of your status that people glaze at before even attempting on making a normal conversation. You knew it was coming sooner or later, and you appreciate the fact that he chose the latter.

Somehow, you had convinced yourself that maybe he hadn’t cared about you enough to know anything about your career throughout the years, especially knowing how much he had going on for himself. So to have him mention it, to congratulate you on top of it all, comes as a bit of a shock.

Harry seems oblivious of your surprise, however, as his words come out nearing a nonchalant tone. “Of course, hard not to.”

“Were you…” You start, suddenly feeling oddly shy about the prospect of him knowing this information about you. You wonder what else he knows about, what kind of assumptions he’s made about the person you’ve become. “Were you watching it?”

He nods, looking up at you. “I was, yeah.”

Your chest warms at his confession and it almost unsettles you how he’s got you flustered so easily. Usually, if it were anyone else, you wouldn’t hold back a snarky reply, knowing most people wouldn’t bat an eye before showering with compliments.

You blink at yourself with this thought, hating how truthful it is.

But with Harry there’s something in you that wants to impress him, to show him you still have the girl that he knew so well still somewhere inside of you. It makes you want to question him, desperate to know his impressions of this life you portray for the public. But you hold back, almost scared of the answer you could receive. So instead, you simply offer a vague response,  “Seems like so long ago.” You let out a dry laugh. “It’s been barely three months.”

He offers you a small grin. “‘S what they say, time rushes by when you’re having fun, and all that?”

“I guess that’s it, yeah.”

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to tell him the truth. Tell him how miserable you felt throughout most of that day. That you weren’t having fun at all, in fact, you were so preoccupied over the fact that you were supposed to be having the best night of your life that it only made your nerves swallow you in an avalanche. You want to tell him why that entire week was close to miserable, fuck, that entire month, actually. You wish you could cry on his shoulder about all you’ve been bottling up inside of you. You want to open up to him in a way you haven’t opened up to anyone.

You shake your head. What is wrong with you?

You have to remind yourself you barely know him anymore. This is the first time you’ve spoken in years and your first instinct is to throw all your baggage on him. To scare him away before you even get the chance to let a word out.

Instead of letting your big mouth say more than you’d be willing to share, you try to lighten up, thinking of the one part of that night that you actually enjoyed yourself, “I chipped my tooth with it, you know.”

“What?”

“The Grammy.” You reply, taking a short drag of the cigarette as you ponder how much information you want to pour on him of that night. “Chipped my tooth. I was jumping on the bed with it.” He chuckles, causing a loose strand to curl against his forehead. You want to brush it off, folding your arm under your elbow as you avert your eyes from his. “God, that night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.”  

You let out a chuckle, watching the way the smoke blends with the air. Harry doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes looking at you from the corner of your vision. You meet his gaze, sensing a silent question from his jade irises, as if they’re waiting for you to keep talking.

“It just-- I don’t know, took a while to click, you know? To realize what had happened.” You elaborate, looking down at the skirt of your dress dancing along with the breeze as you grin to yourself at the memory. “ I got home that night, downed half an old bottle of whiskey that I found in my cellar.”

Harry’s brows shoot up, his voice coming with the verge of a teasing tone. “A cellar?”

“Shit, uh-- yeah it kinda-- I don’t know, came with the house.” There’s the warmth again, you feel it at the tip of your nose and you almost want to facepalm yourself for the slipup. “But yeah, after the ceremony, I went home by myself and just… Well, got drunk.”

“That’s understandable.” He giggles, and the sound makes you glance up at him again. “So you jumped in your bed with it?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much how the story ends.” You click your tongue, giving him an exaggerated nod that turns into a shake. “Was so gone I didn’t even notice I chipped my tooth until I woke up a few hours later.”

He lets out a full laugh now, his eyes squinting and you can’t help but join him. “Sounds like you had fun.”

“Uhm.., I did, yeah.”

Harry falls silent, his smile toning down slowly. He puckers his lips, as if pondering what to say next. When he does speak, his words are slow, “How is it to like…” His words trail off, and you have to bite back a smile when he starts gesturing, remembering how he used to do that before. “I mean, talking to you now, even with this whole fame thing, you’re still so… Shit, I don’t want this to come off the wrong way.”

“It’s fine.” You let your cigarette fall to the floor before crashing it with your boot, the only reason you lit it was to have an excuse to leave the party with him. “Can guarantee you I had worse questions asked.”

“It’s just you’re still so… Well I wouldn’t say the same cause none of us really are the same person we were, like, five years ago.” He lets out a nervous laugh. “But you’re still so… grounded, I guess is the best word to describe it.”

You allow a grin to tuck at your lips, hoping he doesn’t sense the sincere apprehension that comes with your tease. “Were you expecting me to be a stuck up diva, is that it?”

His eyes bulge out. “No! No, of course not! Is just-- I think, well, most people think...And it’s not a you thing but more of a, I don’t know, celebrity thing? Fuck, I really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

“Harry, relax. I was just teasing.” You interrupt as he starts to ramble. “But I know what you mean, yeah.”

You ponder his question for a moment. The answer for it being far from a simple one, but, once again, the last thing you want is to overwhelm him with your problems. So you choose your words carefully, chewing at your bottom lip as you feel him watching you patiently.

“It’s not easy, I’ll tell you that.” You start, you voice slowing to an almost cautious tone. “I had… Worse times dealing with it, you know? I…”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’s fine, I trust you.” The words leave your mouth before you can register. You try not to show your surprise at them, and you do a better job than Harry, who audibly holds a breath. “Having so many people loving you, being praised for everything you do… It’s easy to let it go to your head, and I can’t say I’ve always been the best at managing it, but--” You regret your next words before you can even stop them from spilling from your lips. “I had a breakup a couple months ago that was uhm… A bit hard, but looking back at it I feel like it was like a bucket of cold water, in that sense.”

His eyes soften, and you have to look away because the last thing you want is to catch his reaction. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be! Really, I’m fine-- I’ll be fine.” You reassure quickly, shaking your head in hopes to shake the subject away.

It seems to work, as silence takes over the space once again, and both your eyes glance towards the party mindlessly.

You two watch Jamie appear in front of the glass doors leading to where you stand. He has his back to you, and from what you see it’s like he’s trying to pull Faye in the direction of the dance floor. She has a frown adorning her face, not giving into her husband’s attempt on pulling her with him. It’s clear, even from where you are, that he’s far off his mind now, his hips swaying with the muffled sounds of an attempt of a Céline Dion cover, still persisting even though it’s clear his wife wants nothing to do with his drunken ideas.

Faye gently pushes his hands away with a roll of her eyes, causing him to give a couple steps back, walking backwards into a chair before crumbling down with it. Neither of you can contain your laughs at the scene, even when you bring your hand up to muffle the sound, it’s too late. Jamie’s eyes look up from where he lies on the floor, catching sight of the two of you, he mumbles something you don’t understand, gesturing for you to come inside. You answer it with a small wave, and, thankfully, his attention is brought to his wife as she tries to help him stand.

You exhale a small laugh, moving so you’re no longer leaning back into the railing. “I think this is my cue to go before they try to convince me to try out that karaoke machine.”

“Yeah, I told myself I’d be out right after the toasts.”

You stop, pondering for a moment before looking back at him. “How are you going home?”

“I took the tube here.”

“Let me drive you back.”

“You don’t have--”

“It’s fine! I--” You pause, chewing down your bottom lip as you glance around him, feeling oddly embarrassed.  “I got a driver waiting for me, you can just tell him your address, won’t be a problem to drop you off.”

He hesitates, waiting a beat before nodding. “If it’s not a bother.”

“It’s not.” You say a bit too quickly. “I’m suggesting it, after all.”

“Okay, then.”

//

As soon as you dropped Harry home, when the sky was awaking lazily with an orange bloom of dawn, he started to wonder if the entire night had even been real. By the time he woke up, just a couple hours later, he was sure it had been a spur of his imagination. He must’ve fallen asleep while getting dressed, yeah, that must’ve been it, he got ready and decided to lay down for a bit, which led him to fall asleep and dream of the whole thing.

That night feels like a blur now. I think I pretty much convinced myself I dreamed a good portion of it.

You said that to him. But how convenient is it, that describes perfectly how he feels about that night? Of course, you were talking about the night you won your first Grammy, and he’s merely thinking about how it was to meet you again. The two reasons for each of you to feel this way are so polar apart, Harry can’t help but feel like it translates well into the time in your lives you two are in. After all, you’re out there winning prestigious awards, wearing Dior to go out for groceries (do you even go out for your own groceries?), and having a whole cellar in your house, for christ's sake. Meanwhile, Harry’s still a full year away from getting his degree, wearing the same mismatched vans as a fashion statement, and having cheap bottles of wine tucked in the back of his creaky wooden cabinet.

It’s not that he hates the life he has, of course not. But it’s clear to him how distant you are from each other, even when he got the closest he had been to you in years.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to him when he doesn’t hear from you for the next couple days. It’s what was expected, even. It doesn’t take away the fact that he’s a bit disappointed, though, but there’s no one else to blame for that but himself. What did he expect? That after spending one night together after five years you’d suddenly get close again as if nothing happened?

But it’s not his fault that he’s hopeful, not when you’d been so friendly that night, seeming so eager to catch up with him. So, yeah, you can’t really blame him for the hiccup on his heart every time he phone vibrated-- only to be left with a frustrated crease marking his features and a slight pout.

The day after was the worst one. It was a Sunday, after all, and Julia had left early in the morning to spend the week at Blake’s, which meant Harry had spent the entire day alone, dwelling on his confusion about what had been the night prior. He almost felt a bit stupid about how sure he had been that you’d text him, as that was the reason for you to exchange phone number with him, wasn’t it? As hours went by, however, and the loneliness of the tiny apartment got louder than the Friends’ rerun he was binging, he started to question it.

Maybe he got too nosy, asking too much about something you clearly weren’t comfortable answering. Maybe his question had offended you, and that’s why you wanted to leave early. Maybe you only gave him your number to be polite. Maybe that’s not even your actual phone number, he reckons, how many do you probably have?

He slept with the telly on that night, trying to muffle the maybes that kept nagging him.

It got better once the week started. Between classes and work, he barely had enough time to let his thoughts wander off. He was still going back to an empty home, but this time he brought back work with him. As a result of his late night on the weekend, Harry’s sleep schedule got completely spoiled. So he resorts into spending the wee hours of the morning perfecting a detailing he wasn’t all that satisfied with, or working on a draft for his fashion sketching class a week before it’s due (he even tries to cook for himself some recipes Julia sent him to try and keep his mind occupied).

Once Wednesday night rolls around, he has all but swept it out of his mind completely. And that’s when he finally hears from you.

Seems like you’ve taken a fancy on catching him off guard.

He’s on the couch when it happens, snuggled under his heated blanket as he tries to fix the embroidery at the hem of an extra’s jacket. The pilot of Stranger Things makes for background noise, and he pays half a mind to it while humming a tune that’s been stuck on his head throughout the whole day-- they started tuning in on the radio at the atelier and now he gets the privilege to listen to the same four songs about ten times a day. His alarm for a meditation app he’s trying out has just gone off on top of the side table - indicating it would be around time for his regular night routine - and just as he reaches for it to turn it off, the screen lights up again. This time for a phone call.

When he catches sight of the name displayed on the screen he almost chokes on his own saliva, the hoop in his hand falling to his lap as he rushes to catch the device. Harry blinks twice at the screen, thinking his eyes might be tricking him into seeing your name shine at the caller id. And for a moment he just stays like this, mind blank before realizing he should pick up before it goes to voicemail.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to even the thumping on his chest as he clears his throat, quickly pressing the accept button before bringing the phone to his ear. “‘Lo?”

“Harry?” Your voice comes in a higher pitch.

“Hi.”

“Are you home right now?”

His brows furrow at the question. “I-Uh- Well, yeah, Wh-”

“That’s perfect! I’m at your front door now…”

“What-” He just about jumps from his spot, tripping over the blanket as it falls around his ankles.

“And I’ve just realized I don’t know which flat to ring!” You continue, oblivious to the hectic man on the other side of the line.

“You’re outside?” Rushing to the window just a couple steps away, he pushes back the curtains to get a view of the street right below. And there you are, leaning back against a black car, similar to the one that gave him a ride, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other is occupied with something he can’t quite figure out from where he stands. What calls his attention, though, is the gown you’re dressed in, definitely something way too lavish for a wednesday night.

“Yup.” You say simply, and he catches how your gaze moves up, meeting his. “Oh! Hey you!”

“Right. I’ll- I’ll be down in a minute.”

Harry’s not sure how he doesn’t break an ankle on the way down the steps of his building, flying three floors down at a near record speed. Once he reaches the ground floor, he takes a second to catch his breath, leaning with a hand against a wall as he cusses himself out for forgetting about his asthma in the midst of his rush. He manages to ease his breathing, but is still unable to calm the speed of his heartbeats, that now send an electric flow on his bloodstream, and he suddenly feels too warm.

He opens the door to find you just as you were when he saw you from the window. A smile stretches your face when you see him, giving him a wave. You turn back to say something on the driver's window he doesn’t quite catch, but just as you lean away from the vehicle, he watches as it drives away.

From this distance, he has a better look at you, and he’s sure now that your wednesday evening has most definitely played out much different than his. You’re wearing the new Valentino collection, a strapless navy blue dress with golden sparks detailing resembling a firework explosion right at your waist and going all the way down the skirt and up the top. Your hair is done in an updo, leaving your shoulders bare to the night breeze and he wonders if you’re not cold.

Harry barely has time to notice the silver statuete in your hand before you’re stepping towards him, embracing him into a hug. “Hey!”

“Hi.” He tries not to focus on how you smell like fresh roses, or how soft your skin feels when you nuzzle against his neck for a second before pulling back.

“I was around and decided to stop by for a bit!” You grin up at him. “So, are you not gonna invite me up?”

The last few words come out just a bit slurred from your mouth, and that’s when he realizes.

Oh.

You’re drunk.

“Uh, sure, of course.” He holds the door open, waiting for you to step inside before closing it behind him.

You don’t say anything on the way up, and Harry’s got his head going way too fast at once to try to wrap his mind at what’s happening. There’s too many questions he wants to ask, more than he can really make out at the moment. And on top of it all, he’s just started to worry about the state of his tiny little undergrad flat and how he’s about to receive someone who probably has a house with a washroom the size of the whole thing.

His lips part to try to apologize for the mess you’re about to walk in when you two reach his front door, but before he can let a word out, you beat him to it. “Do you have a loo I could use?”

He blinks. “Yeah, it’s just to your right.”

You step out of your heels once you walk in, quickly making a beeline to where he directed, not bothering to glance around the place.

Harry darts towards the living room, trying his best to tidy the mess he left before you step out. He throws the blanket that’s lying limply on the floor over the couch, gathering his embroidery tools that fell to the side of the couch and making his best attempt at folding them. The screen has gone to the second episode now, and he quickly shuts it off. Pondering for a moment if he should put on some music, he decides against it. Instead, he decides on pouring you a glass of water, now that he understands you’re still at least a bit tipsy, he finds it that his best option is to help you get on your best mind so he can figure out why, out of all places, you’ve decided to come here.

Because that’s the thing.

He still doesn’t know why on earth you’ve decided to show up on his flat unprompted, and all he can do is thank every outer force for Julia being out tonight. She would probably fall dead if she knew about this.

A minute too long passes as Harry waits for you, leaning on his kitchen counter with the glass of water sat in front of him. He feels as if he can’t keep still, leg bouncing nervously and fingers tapping against the countertop as he bites into his inner cheek. It’s only when he finally glances in the direction of the toilet that he notices. The door is wide open.

He strides towards the room, stopping just as he reaches the doorway. “Is everything alright in there?”

“Oh! Yeah! You can come in!” Your voice echoes from inside.

Peeking in slowly, his brows shoot up as he sees you sitting at the edge of the bathtub, phone in hands and the statute lying on your lap. You shoot him a smile.

He gestures back vaguely to the kitchen behind him. “Got you some water.”

“There’s no need for that, tonight it’s to celebrate! --Oop” You try to straighten your back, but you end up falling back into the tub, the tulle of the skirt almost swallowing you in the process.

“Fuck-” He rushes towards you, reaching from your arms to try to help you as you burst into giggles. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m great!” You assure, waving his hands off as you adjust yourself to sit more comfortably. “Do you have any wine you can pop?”

“I--” The question takes him back, and he racks his brain to think if there’s still a bottle he’d purchased a couple weeks ago.  “I think so.”

“Bring it, then, let's make this our little after-party.” You throw your arms around dramatically. “A very exclusive one, as you can see.”

“Right.” He chuckles. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll be right here!”

Turns up there’s just about half a bottle left sitting inside the creaky cabinet. He chooses the glass with the smallest crack at the base-- the glasses are very cheap and Harry’s not very careful with them.

He decides to leave the bottle at the counter, grabbing the filled glass of water as well before heading back where he left you sitting inside his bathtub.  

“There he is!” You exclaim when he walks in, handing you the glass of wine and setting the other next to the sink. “You didn’t pour one for yourself?”

He closes the lid of the toilet, sitting on top of it. “Uhm… Not really a drinking kind of night for me.”

“Oh god!” You gasp. “Of course, how could I be so stupid? I’ll leave you be--”

“No!” Harry quickly asserts,  “No, I mean- It’s fine, really. I was just surprised, is all.”

When you speak, your voice comes out softer, “I don’t mean to disturb.”

“You aren’t!”He assures. “Really, stay I-- It’s nice to see you again.”

You smile up at him, he can tell from this close how your eyes are a bit glossy, and he wonders if he should’ve told you he didn’t have any wine. But still, it’s live you have him at the palm of your hand. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”You scoop a bit to the side, tapping the space next to you. “C’mon.”

“What?”

“Come join me here.”

“I don’t think it fits us both.”

“Of course it does! Here,” You attempt to pull at your skirt with one hand, barely budging the tulle from where it spreads inside the tub. “See?”

He chuckles as you look back up at him. “I’ll ruin your dress.”

“It’s okay, it’s not like I’ll wear it again.” Your eyes widen. “Oh my god, I sounded like a bitch, I didn’t mean it like that just--” Trying again, you do a better job at containing the skirt, giving it enough space for him to sit. “There. Now we can both sit inside, my dress will be intact!”

He laughs, dropping next to you inside the empty bathtub. The hem of your skirt tickles his skin, and he mindlessly reaches to hold the fabric between his fingers. His eyes fall to your lap as he does so, the silver of the statuete catching his eye, he taps the base of it, “What is it for?”

“Huh?” You stop midsip, brows creasing slightly before gazing down to where he’s pointing. “Oh! It’s a Brit. Best New Artist.” Picking it up, you offer it to Harry. The award feels heavier than he thought it would as he holds it, the shape of it resembling a woman’s shape, her body curving in an ‘S’. You sigh next to him, taking a small sip. “Funny, innit? Been doing this for so long, it feels like, but I’m still being treated as if I’m new blood.”

“That’s true.” He turns the award in his hand before handing it back to you, and you simply let it fall back to your lap. There’s a moment of silence as he mulls over the question he’s been wanting to ask since you showed up at his doorstep. “Why didn’t you go to an after-party?”

“Not really in the mood.” You shrug. “Needed a familiar face, I guess.”

He hums in response. Surely, you’ve got plenty of familiar faces in London, ones that you probably see more often than you’ve ever seen him. Friends. Family. So why was it your first instinct to go to his building? You didn’t even text him after you parted ways after the wedding, he was sure you had even forgotten about him once again.

It’s all much too confusing to him.

“H?” You speak up first, your tone is gentle, even a bit uncertain.

The sound of his nickname falling from your lips causes a stutter on his heartbeat.

“Yeah?”

You’re looking down at your lap, watching the liquid inside your glass twirl as you move it slowly. “Is it… Is it too weird that I came here today?”

Harry shakes his head. “Not weird, no.” He comforts. “Was just surprised, is all.”

“I just-” You sigh, a soft frown set between your brows. “Seeing you again, it was really nice, you know?”

“I do.”

“Really.” You meet his eyes with a nod, trying to show how truthful your words are. “Felt like I could let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding for so long.”

He relaxes his shoulders. “I know.” Harry nods. “Yeah I-- I know what you mean.”

When you speak up again, it’s barely above a whisper. The words so sweet it brings the prettiest butterflies to flutter on his belly. “I missed you.”

Harry’s lips part, he wants to say the words back, he can feel them at the tip of his tongue. Because he’s missed you, too. He’s so sure of it. But nothing comes out, his mind going numb as he blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, this was weird, It’s just--” You shake your head to yourself, letting out a nervous laugh. “What I mean is that… I don’t know, I wish we could’ve still talked, you know? After…”

“Yeah.”

You grin. “At the reception, when we chatted, and you told me all those things you’ve been up to, it just… I don’t know, I just wished I could’ve been there with you.” Your eyes look between his, searching for something he can’t quite put his finger on before you take a breath. “And I don’t mean that, like, in a weird way! But as a friend, you know? Wish I could’ve been there with you.”

He clears his throat, forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t…” He opens his mouth, closing it before finally saying. “I never thought you felt that way.”

“I don’t think I realized how much I needed someone close to me that knows me until I saw you again, really.”The words spill out of your mouth, adorably switching from a gentle tone to a rushed one. “And I mean, I have friends that I love and that I trust but… Having someone that’s like…”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Normal?”

“Don’t say it like that!” You shove him playfully. “But, yeah, someone that knows me without the lights, and the expensive clothes, and the big houses.” Your lips frown as you shrug.  “That just wouldn’t care if I didn’t have all that, that would still like me regardless.”

“You can still have that.” He tries to reassure you, the confession making him want to comfort you. “It’s not too late.”

Looking down at your lap, he sees your breathing halter for a second. “Have we become strangers?” You meet his gaze, chewing down at your bottom lip. “It’s what I kept thinking after I dropped you off, I don’t think I want you to be a stranger.”

Then, he reaches up, brushing a strand out of your forehead. “I don’t think I want that, either.”

Your smile grows. “It’s settled, then.” You nod. “I’m officially promoting you from distant ex to the close friend position.”

Harry lets out a full laugh. “That’s a very sudden rise of positions.”

“We’ll make it slow, then.” You reason, your words starting to stumble out of your mouth again. “Get to know each other again, we can do it when I’m not drunk inside your bathtub. Do you like coffee now?”

“I do, actually.” He replies with a grin. “Hard not to when you’re a uni student.”

“Lovely! We’ll have a coffee and chat.”

“Sounds great.”

You hold up your almost empty wine glass.“To caffeine and friendship.” Tilting it. “Cheers.”

He lets a moment of silence settle, before smirking down at you. “Now, what you said about the expensive clothes…”

“Oh my god, cut the deal.” Rolling your eyes, you try to make it as if you’re about to get up. “We don’t need to get to know each other again, I can tell you’re still a pest.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet.” He giggles, brushing his hair off his shoulder in dramatics. “I’ve always been a dream.”

//

A/N: I’ve been so excited to share this one with you all!! Thank you so much for reading it :D I’m so curious to know what you all will think about it so please, if you enjoyed it, reblog it or send some feedback to support!! Also, make sure to check the fic page where I keep all my inspo for Curious Time :)

[lightsaberupmybutt]

A Friendly Massage (2) - Luke Skywalker x FemReader

part one is here!

This imagine is over 5000, this imagine is over 5000 words, this imagine is over 5000 words. i don't know why this is so long, i just wanted to write a quick little part two and its 5000 words of tension and smut and I'm not even sorry, you did this to yourselves.

warnings: SMUT was a tiny slice of oral (male receiving ) on the side, enjoy.

Day to day life carried on as it always had after your run in with Luke the other night, however you knew something had shifted.

 And he certainly felt it too. Your usual good mornings and friendly waves in passing were met with stuttered, awkward greetings and a gaping lack of eye contact. It was obvious that something had to be said to resolve the growing tension between the two of you, but you'd be damed if you were the one to address the elephant in the room. Besides, it was HIS rather large, excitable elephant that had causes the issue in the first place. 

So you waited, biding your time and convincing yourself that on some level this refusal to acknowledge your lust was actually just subliminal jedi training. patience is important right? that seemed to be something Yoda would approve of? abstinence? Although he probably wouldn't be proud of your solo late night escapades that were fuelled by fantasies of what the Blonde Jedi would have done to you if he had just had a smidge more confidence; how he would have looked underneath you while you rode him, unraveling with your every bounce, lips parted whispering your name repeatedly like its the only word he had ever been taught. You wondered if he even liked being ridden, or was he the more dominant of the two of you ? you doubted it, as much as he showed great strength and leadership in the training hall, Skywalker didn't give off the sexual prowess of someone who was largely well experienced, it made sense that he wouldn't be left with much time for bedding girls around you know, saving the whole entire planet from his own fathers borderline demonic regime. 

Truly, though, you had never felt like he wouldn't know what he was doing. Especially after that massage he had given you, even if it was a tad brief. Like knew how to use his hands, even if one of them was mechanical. You found yourself wondering if he used them differently, if he happened to have more dexterity in one set of fingers than the other, how that would feel if those fingers where being put to use inside of your tight - 

“Y/N? have you been listening to a word I've just said” 

Youre whipped out of your thoughts by an all too familiar voice as you vainly attempt to stop your cheeks from turning pink in front of your fellow Padwan’s. You stumble to find you words while simultaneously praying Luke hasn't decided to use his weird mind reading ability in the last 10 minutes of your brain wander or so.

“Sorry sir” is all you can offer, as you truly have not the faintest of ideas of what he was just talking about. You don't miss the way luke stiffens when you use the term of authority toward him, a trick you normally would not exploit however unluckily for him, he caught you completely of guard. He lets out an exaggerated sigh before he returns to pacing,

“You can all return to your activities” He dismisses you all, and you scurry to the door with the others before he adds, 

“not you, Y\N”

ah shit. 

He waits until everyone has exited and the door has shut behind then before he turns to you,

“Whats up with you lately?” his teaching voice is gone, he's back to exasperated friend luke, 

You chortle on a gasp of air as you shoot him an accusatory look, taking a few steps closer to him with your finger outstretched like a weapon, 

“whats up with ‘me’?” you mock, showing your finger towards yourself, before dramatically turning it back on him, moving even closer. 

“What the fuck is up with you Luke? your the one who's being weird with me, don't pull some uno reverse card on the last few days”

You can see the lost puppy dog look in his eyes, as he tries to scramble together some sort of reply, 

“and don't fucking lie to me” you add, closing the space between you so that you're now jabbing him in the chest with your pointer finger. 

“i er, .. i don't know what you're talking about Y/N” god, even the way he says your name is hot, you feel feat rising again in areas it shouldn't but you push it away, your pride not wanting him to get the best of you even if your body would quite happily will it.

“Liar” you spit at him with such venom it surprises even yourself, accompanied with another jab to the chest, this one maybe a little harder than the ones before. 

“ouch” he mumbles, trapping the accusing finger in one palm and rubbing his chest with the other, the dramatics causing you to roll your eyes. 

“Hey, don't do that!” he fires back, you can tell he's trying to sound stern but its not really all to effect when he's still rubbing out the pain from your finger jab.

“do what?” 

“roll your eyes at me! I'm your senior” he puffs his chest, but his eyes still are full of surprise at your sudden outburst.

 “really? are you now luke?” you push him, his hand still wrapped around yours, sending sparks through you arm.

“yes, i am” His voice is breathy, his breath splaying down onto your face as he speaks. You suddenly realise just how close you have managed to get to him, previously too lost in the moment. Your body is all but pressed against his, head tilted down ever so slightly so that he can be on the same eye level as you. There isn't much difference in your height, but right now he feels like he's towering over you. 

Its rare that you see this side of Luke, normally so soft and docile towards you. The tension of this argument and sheer stress that has been building inside of him since your incident is starting to bubble over the surface as he's trapped so close to you now. You can tell he's surveying you, begging you to make the next move though fear he will say something he might regret. 

But maybe that is what you want from him, after all the last happy accident between the two of you has been the image you have gotten off to for the last four nights. 

“prove it then” 

“prove what?” Luke looks confused, suddenly drawing back a little like he'd completely lost the trail of your conversation, head tilted to the side like a bewildered golden retriever, 

“prove that you're my senior” you whisper back, almost not wanting him to hear it. You can tell by the way his light sapphire eyes gaze over he does though, as he watches you pull away and leave the training room, door slamming behind you.

 You slip past two bodies as you rush back to your dorm, your confidence leaking and the implications of what you just challenged beginning to set in. Hans and Leia both follow their gaze after you, the two having witnessed the end portion of yours and Lukes confirmation through the viewing window while waiting for the princess’s twin to finish for lunch. Leia turned to Hans, eyes narrowed,

“you don't think they might actually….” she trails off,

 “bang? oh definitely” Hans answers, still looking at the shaken remnants of Luke Skywalker, who liked like he may have lost all brain function capacity. 

It had been ten hours and forty five minutes since you'd left look in your dust in the training room, not that anyone was counting. And you had concluded two facts while on your bed in that time; 

Luke clearly didn't feel the same way you felt for him; you had left him with basically an invitation to come and take you and he was a no show.

to avoid facing the death by embarrassment you would inevitably suffer you will be spending the remainder of your sorry life inside the confines of this very dorm. it seemed the adult thing to do. 

You muffled a yawn, the sun had long past retired, and from your place on your bed you could just make out the two moons and multiple consolations now decorating the dark blue night.  

Lifting your arms above you head in a stretch, you caught a whiff of sweat and instantly sighed; as much as you had been willing to enjoy never moving from you bed until either starvation or dehydration took you out of your misery, you did happen to stink like garbage. 

You scuffled off the bed and out of your cloak and training pants, that had been left on from hours ago, making a mental note that at least you'd wouldn't have to worry about washing them if you never saw look again. You shimmied out of you knickers and unhooked your bra, throwing them onto the floor to join the rest of your discarded outfit before wandering over to your bathroom and turning on the shower, untangling your hair the best you can while the water warms. 

When you finally stepped under the water you let out a hiss at the feeling of the heat against your skin, basking in the feeling of droplets on your now bare body. You let your hand roam, starting at your chest and finding a path down past your belly button and hips, your skin trembling as your hand drifted over the area between your thighs. 

You let out another hiss, your fingers finding their way between your folds, teasing yourself. You enjoyed the tension loss for all but a moment before flashes of luke pressed against you in the training room earlier flew back into your brain; how hot his skin had been against yours and how his scent had been so strong in his sweat after the hours of sparring multiple Padawan’s. You moaned, half in frustration with yourself for ruining your moment and the other half in want. 

He's even spoiling your shower time now, what a dick. 

You snatched your soap bar from the shelf and scrubbed viciously, not allowing  yourself the enjoyment of a relaxing shower due to your own self betrayal. You ran some through your locks, cursing whichever part of your brain was telling the rest that this would feel a million times better if it was the Jedis hands in place of your own.

Once you had finished mentally punishing yourself, you turned off the water and stood there for a minute contemplating the likelyhood of a bang to the head removing your memory of todays events. 

After all, it would be so simple, a little slip in the shower and poof! Sure, Luke would remember it all, but would he really have the guts to say anything to you about it? surely he wouldn't want to risk your recovery from a very accidental definitely not self inflicted head injury now would he? However, if your preexisting luck was anything to go off, you'd probably forget everything but the sexual tension you had for your master.

Cowardly, you stepped out safely, making sure not to fall, and wrap yourself in a soft towel, leaving your hair to drip down onto your shoulders. You step out of your bathroom, not noticing the shadow that had formed in the corner of your room until they cleared their throat, causing you to just back in sheer terror, going over on your ankle and nearly dropping your towel all together. 

 “Sorry i er..”

“Luke? what the Fuck are you doing” You gasp out, staring blindly into the darkness as the shape shuffles on their feet awkwardly, 

Luke moves closer, the small amount of light left from outside casting across his soft face and mop of hair.

“I didn't mean to scare you” is all he can offer, 

“And what part of you hiding in my room while i showered would not come across as scary?” You shot back, more dazed than angry. You knew what him being here meant, but him hiding in the most light depraved corner of your room while you tried not to masturbate to images in your head of him in your shower was never part of the fantasy.

“i didn't realise you'd be showering this late” He replied, as if that answered the question as to why he was hiding in your room so late at night at all. 

You strained your eyes trying to peer at him, and he seemed to notice, taking another few steps forward into the moonlight. Maker did he look good, under the stars his skin glowed and his hair caught copper and silver highlights that made your knees weak. His soft features were taunt and there was mischief in his eyes, a familiar sight but in the situation at present it made heat grow in your lower stomach. 

Something told you he could see it in your face too, whatever he was looking for, because he kept on moving in on you, like a predator after their pray, You weren't used to seeing Luke all wound up like this, the only other time being the last time he was in your room, but the situation was different this time. There was an open air of lust and anticipation flowing around the two of you, you could only compare it to what the force had felt like the few times you'd managed to master it. It was like something spiritual was drawing you two closer, your body was working on autopilot, moving without your conscious command. He had closed the gap between you by now, but he didn't make a move to touch you or even say any more than he already had, simply staring down at you. When you realised he really wasn't going to be the one to break the silence, you stepped up to the mark for him,

“Why are you here Luke” It wasn't really a question, you knew what you had said to him earlier, the words that you had been replaying over and over in your head ever since. 

“Because..” He trailed off, as if he was trying to find the right way of wording his thoughts, you took this as a chance to push him a little further, no matter how nervous you both were right now, you knew him well enough over the last year to learn how to fire him up, and right now a pent up Luke was exactly what you wanted. You knew you were playing with fire, but you doubted if he did react, it would be in a way you wouldn't enjoy. Quite frankly, the boy could pick you up and throw you out of your own bedroom window right now and you'd still probably be horny enough to find some form of sexual gratification from the experience  

You saw his brow raise and his eyes flash before you heard his word, 

“To show you what i want from you, Padawan” He smirked around the term, causing you to let out a small, nervous laugh. 

“And what is it that you want from me, Master?” You hardly finish the word before his arms have snaked around your back and you're being lifted from the ground, letting out a squeal of surprise, your legs wrapping around his waist for support. He plopped you down on the bed, still situated between your legs, pulling a hand out on either side of your shoulders so that he could stare down at you. 

“Thats not an answer luke” you quipped back, quite impressed at your ability to still functionally produce coherent words. He leaned down, his lips on your ear, 

“oh, i think it is, Y/N” he breathed, letting out a boyish laugh before he could stop himself, almost giving you the chance to shoot another sarcastic comment his way, but as his lips touch the skin below your ear and start to plant wet hungry kisses there, the words dissolve into a soft moan. 

His head shoots up and you see the look of concern in his eyes, confirming that maybe Luke isn't the most sexually experienced person on this planet. The sweetness in his reaction makes you weak, but you have lost the ability to reply with words, so you communicate through grabbing either side of his soft face and planting a hungry kiss on his lips. 

For a moment you catch him off guard, frozen under you lips, and you worry that maybe you have somehow misread this situation entirely. Maybe he was just fooling around with you, maybe he wants serious?

But all that concern is dissipated by his lips finding rhythm against yours, equally as passionately. Okay, so maybe he isn't the best at reading you tell tale lust signs, but oh maker can he kiss. The movement of his lips alone is enough to cause severer wetness to pool between your thighs, your spin raising off the bed as far as it can to push your body against his clothed one. You're amazed your towel has lasted this long, especially after the near miss before, but now you find yourself wishing it hadn’t. Conscious of Luke being as respectful as it is, you also know that if you wait for him to remove it you may have melted away before he sees you; so you move a hand from his face to the tie at the top of your chest and pull it open, the towel cascading around you and leaving your front bare.

You had a feeling that Luke was a little too caught up in the moment to realise, so you gently slid you hand around one of his, waiting until he shifted his weight onto his other arm before you lowered it to you chest, letting it cup your breast. Lukes eyes shot open as he let out a gasp, lips opening just enough for you to tease your tongue against his bottom lip. His hand moved instinctively to squeeze, his thumb brushing gently over your already erect nipple. You shivered and moaned in response, but this time Luke knew this meant he was doing something right, so he repeated his actions.

 You had to give it to him, he was a fast learner.

 Your hand moved in an attempt to untie his cloak, but the action was proving difficult while Lukes mouth was on yours and his hand roaming your body, causing you to become inpatient.

“Take it off” You managed to get out between kisses, 

You expected him to challenge your direct order, but he merely sat up and untied the cloak, slipping it from himself and removing his undershirt too. You watched as the moonlight danced upon his skin, his toned chest, years of Jedi training had certainly served his body well. This wasn't the first time you'd seen Luke topless, but it was the first time you hadn't had to hide the fact that you were really looking. Realising how long you had been staring you met his eyes again,  half expected to see him smirking down at you, but he was just as lost in your body as you were his;

“You - You're Beautiful” He stumbled under his breath, you weren't sure if you were even supposed to hear it, but it made your cheeks burn either way. Before he could say anything else, you lifted your back up from the bed and pushed your body flush against his, planting kisses on his neck, eliciting a moan from the Jedi in response. You left little purple marks peppered in the wake of you lips, something you knew he may not be too pleased about in the morning, but you figured you might as well get away with as much claiming of him you could in the heat of the moment. He quivered underneath you, from this angle you could feel his ever-growing, now comically familiar, budge, his body naturally thrusting into yours, causing a beautiful friction against your heat. Luke was lost in the pleasure, and has seemingly temporarily forgotten he had hands, so you grabbed ahold of on and pushed it down to the bottom of your stomach, lifting your core from his so he could access it. Luke met your eyes again, this time you could tell him was clueless, his cheeks glowing a deep scarlet.

“I erm” You didn't let him finish, you'd figured Luke was a little inexperienced but not to this level. The massive reverse in roles made you feel a little powerful; suddenly you were the experienced one and he was your understudy. Maybe he should be calling you master? You made a mental note to remember that fact for tomorrow when the joke might go down better than in the middle of sex, 

“Just rub around here” you told him, while guiding his hand to your bundle of nerves, making sure to show him the correct pressure you wanted, and then your lips were back on his. 

Luke was slow at first, and it took him a while to actually bring his fingertips between your folds, however once he did he seemed to find the exact spot you wanted him in. Whether it the pressure of his cool finger tips or the fact that he had been unintentionally teasing the area so long, you released a borderline animalistic high pitched moan, lurching forward and wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt him chuckle against your neck, repeating his action and causing you to squeal again, 

“well then” He murmured into your ear, a cheeky air to his voice, causing you to groan knowingly - you'd certainly be mocked for that vicious reaction afterwards. 

You wanted to smack the smirk from his lips, but instead you lowered one of you hands between your bodies, resting it on Lukes now fully erect but concealed member. He paused momentarily, before letting out his own moan as you started to palm him through his loose trousers. There was dampness under your hand, a mix of your slick heat and his own leaking member, but it only spurred you on more. 

Lukes actions had become increasingly sloppy, his hand slipping lower and lower until one of his digits unintentionally bumped against your opening, causing you to jump in his arm and whine against his ear. Luke took this as a sign to dip the tip of the finger into you, testing to make sure this wasn't the wrong move, when you hum in response he slips the rest in up to his knuckle. The action makes you tremble, and you're panting and whispering jibberish into his ear. He removes the finger and then puts in back in slowly, still unsure. Its torture, literal torture. You start moving your lower body against his hand, riding it. You're not sure what makes him do it, maybe just a reflex, but luke bends his finger ever so slightly just at the right point of entrance and hits your inner sweet spot, causing your tummy to do a flip and move wetness to peek from your core. His other hand finds your clit again, without you having to instruct him this time, and the mix of both actions causes your eyes to roll back into your head and you to let out a quieter but still prominent squeal. Luke laughs again, 

“Calm down little one” He teases, confidence dripping from his ever word. 

Maybe its the temptation to remove his smugness again, or maybe you're just turned on so much by this cocky side of Skywalker you've previously not seen enough of, but you instantly reach your hand under his waistband and inside his boxers, finding his length and stroking it directly with your hand. 

He instantly spasms under you, almost bucking you off him, and you thank god you're near enough to your headboard to catch yourself before he does. 

“sorry” he mumbles, steadying you with one hand, his other still inside your heat. 

“Shhh, its okay” you reassure him, before gently removing his hand from your heat and pushing him back a bit, causing him to look at you with confusion. 

“I just want to see it properly” You tell him, working on his waistband again. 

“You already have” he groans, clearly getting some secondhand embarrassment  from his previous accidental boner experience, but lowering his pants and boxers none the less, his manhood springing out. 

he hisses slightly as it meets the cool air of the room, his head rolling back ever so slightly - and you don't think you've ever seen a sight so sinful and glorious in your life. 

You lower your head down towards it but he catches your forehead against his palm before you can meet your goal, 

“erm? excuse me”

“youre excused ?” you reply, looking up at him from your position almost at his manhood, 

“what are you doing?”

“Oh luke i think you know fine well” You dip your tongue out between your lips, and it just reaches the very tip of his head, catching a little of what he's leaked there. Luke lets out a throaty moan in response, and you take advantage of his distraction, moving out from under his hand and licking his full length, from the base to the very tip. The sounds Luke makes in response are enough to almost make you tip over your own edge, but you try to suppress your own want long enough to put him all in your mouth and do a slow bob. He bucks into your mouth, unintentionally hitting the back of your throat and causing you to almost gag, the process causing him to mutter profanities that you never thought you would hear from the golden boy of the rebellion. 

You only get in a few slow bobs before his hand returns to your head, but this time he doesn't push you away, so you continue to move your mouth around his length which his fingers get lost in your hair. You cant fit all of him in your mouth comfortably, and your mind starts to wonder to what is inevitably the next step, your heat reminding you of just how much you want him down there, fucking you senseless into your own bed while the rest of the ship sleeps (hopefully)  unaware of your actions. 

Suddenly Luke is tugging your hair, pulling you up from him so that he slips out of your mouth with an audible plop. You take a chance to actually look at him, surprised at just how unravelled he looks, sweat causing his locks to stick to his forehead in erratic patterns, his eyes the darkest shade of blue you've ever seen. 

“whats wrong?” You ask him, your voice a little more course than you expected, 

“ Im going to come” He tells you truthfully, embarrassment visible on his face. You want to giggle at his innocent response, but you also don't want him to feel even worse than he clearly does, so you suppress it and keep your eyes on his, 

“Well come then “ you answer obliviously, still not truly understanding the route of his embarrassment. Sure, this wasn't exactly the worlds longest performance, but you'd seen much worse from people with much more experience - and at least Luke had actually managed to get you wet. 

I want to but “ He stopped, turning away in frustration and drifting off at the very last minute, you waited for him to finish, reaching for his hand and rubbing your thumb against it, attempting to reassure him enough to let you continue. 

“I want to fuck you” The way he says the words, like he knows he shouldn’t, makes it the most sinful line you've ever heard from anyone. You feel like he's just hit you with a sledgehammer, your core pulsing in response. 

He still wont look at you, so you simply lean back into  your bed, opening your legs, all prior shyness being pushed to the back of your mind by the raging lust that his words had fuelled. 

“Fuck me then” You instruct him, and oh boy, he does. 

head whipping around, Luke crawls back over you, eyes burning holes into yours as he meets your face, you bend your knees and grab his member with your hand, making sure to run it along your slit, gathering your wetness in its wake, before placing the tip at its rightful home, against your opening. Luke looks like he might burst, but you place a gentle kiss on his lips before guiding your body up to meet him, his tip entering you and stretching you out. You gasp at the feeling, Luke taking this as his cue to slow insert the rest of himself, filling you fully and causing you to clench around him on impact. Both of you are moaning now, maybe a little louder than appropriate for such a communal ship, but neither of you could find it in yourselves to care at this moment in time.

Luke was big, for sure. You remembered back to just before and internally cursed yourself for not making sure he used more than one finger one you; you were definitely no virgin but it had been a while since you'd been with anyone, and nobody had ever come near the size you were dealing with now. As luke started moving, the sensation of slight discomfort faded, and you were being overrides with a new force. You could feel every inch of him inside you, and partnered with his breathy moans of your name and his increasingly wild expressions, you could feel the coil of lust inside you beginning to build again. Maker, this was so good - surely things this good shouldn't be allowed for sinners like you. 

Lukes movements got sloppy all to fast, you could tell he was fighting his high as long as possible

You were overpowered with the need to give him release, slipping one hand into his hair and the other to his cheek, 

“Come for me, master” Your words caused his eyes to flash open, and his whole body to convulse, he didn't take much telling; you felt warmth leak into you as Luke let out a final throaty moan and his head flopped into your chest. 

You lay there for a while, stroking the stray locks of hair from his face as both your breathing returned to a somewhat normal level, him still inside you as you started to leak out over the covers. You'd probably be bothered about that tomorrow, like the clothes unwashed on the floor and the sound complaints from the people either side of your dorm. But for now, nothing could bother you. 

As you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep, Luke felt for the first time in years that nothing outside of this ship was worth any of his mind, he had all he needed here in this bed with you.

[amphxtrite]

what I miss most // c.d

cedric diggory x slytherin! reader

warnings: swearing, spelling/ grammar mistakes.

summary: the reader is chosen for triwizard tournament instead of cedric. He helps you with the first task and finds himself at the bottom of the lake.

a/n: thank you to anon for sending this request, I absolutely loved writing this, but I apologize if it’s kind of shit.

tag list: @cupidpoison @wonderful-writer @inglourious-imagines @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @cedricsyellowscarf @coldlilheart @glossierkisscs @hoe4cedricdiggory

word count: 3.9k

enjoy <3

__________________________________________

“And the Hogwarts champion for the triwizard tournament is.” Dumbledore’s voice booms as the entire student body sits on the edge of their seats waiting patiently as the goblet of fire spews out a sheet of parchment. “Y/n L/n of slytherin!”

The entire house of black and green shouts in excitement as you stand and make your way to the front of the hall, accepting pats on the back and high fives your entire way down.

Cedric Diggory sighs in defeat as your name is called instead of his. He slowly raises his head from his arms to take a look at the girl who would be in the tournament instead of him. He doesn’t know what to expect as he finally finds you in the crowd, but needless to say he’s surprised. Beautiful cascading h/c hair, bright eyes, a playful smirk resting on your face and a loose green tie adorning your neck. He could barely take his eyes off of you as you shake hands with dumbledore and enter the back room, his eyes trailing after you until you’re finally out of his line of view.

“She’s gorgeous.” The hufflepuff sighs, resting his chin on his hand.

“Ced, she took your spot!” Ernie Macmillan calls, shaking his head at the star struck brunette.

“Who cares mate?” Cedric laughs, wrapping an arm around the younger boy with a smirk on his face.

Your confidence seemed to double as you walked up to Dumbledore and shook his hand, but sitting in the waiting room with the other champions grew rather awkward and you knew you’d have to be the first to break the ice.

You turn and wave to the Beauxbatons girl and introduce yourself. Fleur seems happy to have someone to talk to and you eventually pull Viktor into your circle, talking about your schools and your excitement for the tournament. A shuffle of shoes is heard and you turn, expecting Dumbledore, but see Harry Potter’s mop of brown hair and glasses instead.

“Harry what are you doing here?” You question, walking up to the shaky boy and putting a hand on his shoulder. Harry was like a younger brother to you, and you’d grown rather fond of him despite your house.

“I-I don’t know! He just called my name.” He stutters, looking around anxiously and fidgeting with his fingers.

“I didn’t put my name in, I swear!” He rambles on, taking hold of your sweater.

“I believe you Harry, there’s no way you could’ve made it past the age line.” You state, ruffling his hair and sighing.

“You know you should really get this cut.” You laugh, pulling him towards the other champions.

“Really y/n, now?” Harry rolls his eyes, but cracks a smile, allowing himself to be dragged over and introduced.

Days pass and you grow more and more excited for the first task, you get close to the other champions and you have overwhelming support from even peers you’ve never talked to before, but as more people support you, they seem to turn on Harry. Badges with the phrase ‘Potter Stinks.’ And ‘Support y/n the real Hogwarts champion.’ Begin popping up everywhere and despite your pleas for people to take them off more and more people continue.

“Please Draco, I know you don’t like Harry, but I would really appreciate it if you and your friends stopped wearing them.” You try to reason with the young slytherin, but everyday is the same response. “No need to be modest y/n! We all know it’s true!”

You sigh and shake your head turning back to Fleur and her friends as one of them shakes your shoulder. “I think you’ve got yourself an admirer.” She smirks pointing behind you.

“That’s very sweet Claire, but I don’t want to see anymore badg-“

She cuts you off. “Non, no badges, that boy is gazing at you!” She squeals, shifting your body so you’re facing the other direction. Your eyes lock with a pair of grey ones and the owner immediately drops his gaze. Your cheeks flash a light pink as you smile at the adorable boy, but you’re pulled from your little moment by a tapping on your back.

“Um y/n, c-can I talk to you?” Harry’s shy voice calls out. “Read the badge Potter!” Draco’s distinct voice responds as you turn to shush him.

“Of course Harry, lead the way.” You smile.

“Listen I’m sorry about the badges. I’ve told them not to wear them, but” Harry lifts his hand to stop you.

“I know, it’s alright. I just wanted to warn you. The first task is dragons.” He whispers before scurrying off to find his friends.

Nodding your head in disbelief, you run back to Fleur’s group and apologize, telling them you’d be in the library if they needed you.

Dragons. Why did it have to be dragons? You sigh in frustration as you open another book on the fire spewing reptiles, your eyes fighting to stay open. “H-hey, do you need any help?” A low voice wakes you from your half asleep trance and you snap up. “What? Um, yes. Please. What was the question?” You lift your hand to your mouth to block your yawn as the voice comes closer.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t mean to bother.” A boy comes into view. “Oh, you’re the hufflepuff from the courtyard!” You smile, motioning for him to take a seat next to you. “Yeah that’s me.” He chuckles, placing his book bag down and falling into the chair. “I just noticed you in here and was wondering if you wanted any help?” The hufflepuff sighs, scratching the back of his head in a nervous manner.

“Yeah! I mean that'd be great!” you grin, picking up your pen. “Does the hufflepuff have a name?” You tease, pulling a textbook towards the two of you. “Yeah, Uh- Cedric. Cedric Diggory.” He smiles extending his hand.

“Well Cedric, I’m y/n.” You respond, taking hold of the brunette’s hand. “I know.” He nods before blushing and shaking his head.

“That seemed really creepy, I didn’t mean anything weird.”

You laugh and for a moment Cedric is sure he’s in the presence of an angel. Your face lighting up and the sound of your voice reminded him of something divine, and Merlin did his heart soar.

“Alright Cedric, let’s get down to business.”

You spend the afternoon and most of the evening researching all you could about dragons. You had explained the situation to Cedric to give him a better idea what to look out for and he’s had his nose stuck down a book the whole time looking for the right way to succeed.

“You could try flying?”

“I’m horrid on a broom Ced.”

“Stun it?”

“That’ll only make it angry.”

“Freeze it?”

“It’s a fire breathing reptile Ced.”

“What about a distraction?” Cedric suggests, reading over a line of text.

“It won’t anger the dragon, there shouldn't be any need for fire, you just need to transfigure a distraction.”

Your lips pull into a smirk and you wrap Cedric into a hug.

“That’s brilliant! How did you know Transfiguration is my best class?” You laugh.

“Lucky guess?” Cedric smirks in response, returning the hug with a huge smile.

“You’re the best Cedric, I’ll see you later?” You pack your bag and squeeze the hufflepuff’s shoulder before walking away.

“Yeah, see you later!”

One by one at the sound of the canon the champions before you face their dragons. Sitting in the tent in your sports wear, anxiety floods your veins as the sounds of thrashing mixed with ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from the audience ring in your ear and cause your heart to race. Harry does his best to reassure you, but it seems more like a comfort to himself than you. You couldn’t blame the boy, a fourteen year old who had faced Voldemort, a basilisk and now a dragon.

The canon bangs again and someone enters the tent to retrieve you.

“This way please miss l/n.”

You stand and take a deep breath, smiling to Harry before following the man through the curtains.

You begin stretching out your arms and giving yourself a pep talk. You were smart to have taken the time to study dragons, because you didn’t know the first thing about Swedish Short- Snouts before your study day with Cedric.

You begin your walk into the stadium and the rocks begin to come into view.

The chanting of your name is distinctly heard and a silver dragon resting on a stone perch greets you, it’s yellow eyes piercing into your heart like a sword. You swallow and take a deep breath to calm yourself, pulling your wand from your pocket and putting on your brace face.

Students scream as you are finally visible and you can hear bets being made, the dragon stands from the stone and growls.

“Let’s do this.”

You slowly pace towards the dragon as it shoots a flame out towards you. Quickly rolling out of the way, you cast the rock to dog transfiguration on a medium boulder before crouching behind a large rock.

The dragon curiously follows the dog with its eyes before stepping from its nest to follow it, the scraping of chains being your cue to go. The dog begins to run and you quickly sprint in the direction of the eggs, the golden one shining in the centre must be your goal.

As you approach the nest, a brilliant blue flame shoots from beside you, barely missing your body, but burning you down your arm. The dragon begins bounding towards you, and with pain coursing through your left side you scoop up the golden egg and loudly cast the sleeping charm multiple times on the silver beast before it finally falls to your feet in a low slumber.

The stadium erupts in excitement as you walk out with the egg in your arms, as you scan the crowd for your hufflepuff helper. You spot the brunette in the stands and throw him a thumbs up and a huge smile. He grins back at you and mouths congratulations as you are greeted by medical assistance and pulled into the hospital wing.

You’re laid in a white bed as Madame Pomfrey treats your burns. The medicine does cause you to flinch and your arms turns a strange colour, but it does seem to cool after it’s finally wrapped up. You’re about to fall asleep when a flash of red and brown enters your line of sight and begins to chuckle and stutter with a huge smirk.

“Heard you pulled quite a stunt in the arena.” You grin at Harry with a light roll of your eyes.

“It was amazing y/n! You should have seen me fly up and around the Horntail!” Harry gushes, explaining every moment of his first task in great detail. Pomfrey begins bandaging his scratchers as he begins swinging his arm around explaining the great chase.

“And then I flew up and back down right past the dragon’s spines!” He lifts his hand up and drops it back down.

“Then-”

A boy in a yellow tie pulls open the curtains to your bed and steps inside.

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” He grins sheepishly, pulling two bouquets of flowers from behind his back.

“Of course not, you don’t mind do you Harry?”

You smirk at the boy and he shakes his head.

“I was just stopping by to drop these off from the judges.” Cedric explains handing a bouquet to you and Harry.

“Great job out there by the way. Both of you.” Cedric compliments, placing the flowers on your bed before stepping back out again.

Months passed and the buzz from the first event had still not diminished, so when the Yule Ball was announced, the entire school went absolutely crazy. People you’d never seen before began confessing their ‘undying love’ for you and asking you to accompany them to the dance. You almost felt bad denying them a date, but the truth was you only had one person in mind who you wanted to take you to the ball, the hufflepuff brunette who had helped you conquer your first task.

Cedric had been planning on asking you to the Yule Ball, but as he watched people swarm you, he lost hope that you’d still be single for the dance. He felt it was rather useless to try, but Harry wasn’t going to allow Cedric to give up.

“She likes roses. Yellow ones with red tips are her favourite. She grows them at home.” The gryffindor shrugs nonchalantly, nudging the hufflepuff in the shoulder.

“Okay?” Cedric shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “She doesn’t have a date you know. She rejected everyone who’s asked.” Harry continues.

“And how is that supposed to make me feel better?” Cedric sighs, poking at his food.

“She’s waiting for you.” The gryffindor finishes, turning over and noticing a sparkle in Cedric’s eyes. “Just thought you’d ought to know.” Harry smirks,standing from the hufflepuff table and wandering over to his.

Cedric made his way to professor Mcgonagall right after that to ask how to transfigure the exact form of those roses and worked at it till he was sure he’d mastered it.

He found you reading on special charms in the library with the girl from Beauxbatons, and taking a deep breath he summoned the flowers from the top of his wand and presented them to you.

“Y/n, I-I know it’s not much, but I was wondering if you would go to the Yule Ball with me?”

He almost toppled over when you jumped up to hug him, he had to pinch himself to make sure this was really happening. That you had actually said yes.

The ball arrived and it was absolutely magical. You and Fleur were gushing over each other’s dresses as Viktor talked to his date and Harry stood awkwardly in the back. Cedric arrived and together you made your way into the ballroom.

You danced for hours, anything from waltzing to just jumping around until you pulled Cedric away from the dance floor and into the courtyard.

“I see you’re wearing my flower, love.” Cedric grins, looking down at you as you swayed in his arms.

“Of course Ced, I love it.” You respond, a smile growing on your face. “I grow these back home, they’re my favourite.” You smirk, pulling the rose from your hair and holding it up to your nose.

“Do you know what they represent Ced?” You raise your eyes to meet Cedric’s dazzling grey ones.

“No I do not, Care to enlighten me?” Cedric grins sheepishly, twirling you in the light snowfall.

“Yellow roses with red tips, mean friendship and-” You pause looking up to the falling snow and back into Cedric’s eyes. “Falling in love.”

Your lips had almost met that night, but the sound of footsteps pulled the two of you apart and the two of you parted not long after.

When the second task arrived you were ready. You had figured out the egg and had given Harry a hint to figure out his as well. You had managed to find a spell on your own to help you in the underwater field, but on the day of the event you couldn’t find Cedric anywhere. No matter where you looked or wandered the boy in that yellow tie was nowhere to be found. Lined up on the wooden deck, you pull yourself together, shaking Cedric from your mind to grab your wand from your jacket pocket and shrugging off your outer layer, leaving you in your bathing suit in the unforgiving winter air.

They sound you to begin and you cast the bubble head charm on yourself before diving into the freezing water. You swam as fast as you could, dodging the grindylow as you made your way through the tall underwater foliage. Wandering further into the dense green, you were sure the water was playing tricks on you because tied to the bottom of the lake was Cedric, still clad in his full uniform. You spot Harry gazing stupidly at the victims and you nudge his shoulder. shooting a spell at the weed tied around Cedric’s leg before tapping your wrist in the universal sign for ‘time.’ You grab around Cedric’s chest and push his head down as you surface through the waves, The brunette’s head popping up as soon as his head breaks through the lake. You gently pull him back to the docks and wrap towels around your arms and his as people flock to you and congratulate you on your victory.

“W-What happened?” Cedric stutters, his teeth chattering like crazy.

“You were at the bottom of the lake Ced. Do you not remember?” You giggle.

“No, I-I just remember being told to go to the office and when I got there, everything went black.” Cedric shivers as you scoot closer beside him.

A line of the poem from the golden egg bounces through your mind.

“We’ve taken what you miss the most.”

Cedric glances at you in confusion, but a smile dawns on your face.

“I missed you the most Ced, that’s why they chose you.” You laugh, wrapping the hufflepuff in a hug as his eyes widen in realization and his cheeks heat up.

The third task arrives and you and Harry are tied for first. The two of you enter the stadium together and stand in front of different entrances to the maze. You nod to Harry, wishing him good luck and he does the same. Dumbledore finishes his speech and the task has begun. You start slowly, walking with slight hesitation as the maze walls swallow you whole. As soon as the cheers of the student body are no longer heard, you pick up the pace, dodging magical creatures and running around blocks and dead ends. You had the feeling you were close when you noticed Viktor prowling in the opposite direction.

“Viktor! The cup’s that way.” You nudge him on the side as in a flash he turns and grabs you by the throat.

“Finally I’ve found you.” He smirks his usual accent disappearing as his glassy eyes look you up and down.

Clouded eyes and a voice that wasn’t his, there was only one explanation. “Let Viktor go!” You squirm in his grip as a devilish smile descends his face as he chokes you out and lifts his wand. “That should be the least of your worries y/n.”

His lips just form a curse when a loud “Stupefy!” Is heard.

Viktor falls back and Harry comes rushing to your aid.

“Are you alright?”

You immediately begin taking deep breaths of air and turning to face Harry.

“The Imperius curse. Someone cursed Viktor.” You mumble in between gasps for air.

Harry helps you up and pulls you forwards through the final part of the maze, finally finding the glowing blue cup.

“Go on, you did save me.” You smile, pushing Harry closer to the cup.

“Nonsense, you were closer. You should have it.” Harry argues, pulling you further up.

“Together?” You grin taking a step closer.

“Together.” Harry agrees.

You reach up to the cup and at the count of three you both place your hands onto the trophy.

The world begins to spin and contort. You begin to feel dizzy as Harry’s shape begins to swirl and his loud breathing is the only thing you hear.

You land on a field and the two of you stand nauseously. You hold your head in your hand as you hear Harry utter the word ‘portkey’ and you turn to access your surroundings.

“It looks like a graveyard.” You sigh, turning back to Harry. “Is this like a joke or somethin-“

“Look out!”

From behind you a hidden figure emerges and pulls out their wand.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Your body seizes up and you fall onto Harry’s chest. “Avada Kedavra!”

“No!” Harry jumps and tumbles down a hill with you in his grasp, running and placing you behind a tombstone to face this opponent.

You can only lay there frozen as Harry screams. The bubbling of a cauldron, cackling, multiple voices, and a hiss of a snake is heard. Your bonds seem to break for a second, perhaps the person had just transferred their wand to someone else. You slowly turn and peak over the grave, a scream of fear nearly leaving your mouth at the sight of Voldemort and his death eaters.

Voldemort begins throwing the gryffindor to the sides like a ragdoll as he begs Harry to duel, Harry tries to counter the killing curse with expelliarmus, a thick veil of light emerges from their wands and soon the two are hidden from view. For agonizing minutes you sit there in fear for your friends life. Hoping and Praying Harry would be alright.

The light disappears and Harry emerges, throwing back the band of death eaters before you stand and run over to him.

“Let’s Go!” You pull the dazed gryffindor from his trance and run towards the portkey as Harry yells spell after spell at the oncoming line of Voldemort’s followers. You quickly clutch onto the handle of the trophy and close your eyes as the world begins to spin again.

All spectators were frozen as Harry Potter and y/n l/n exit the maze screaming bloody murder. “He’s back! Voldemort’s back!” Harry cries, clutching onto Dumbledore and being grabbed by professor Moody. Your voice is quiet and pained as you wrap yourself in a blanket and explain in full detail what happened when that cup turned into a bloody portkey. Dumbledore sat stroking his beard and nodding before quickly walking off to find Harry. You sit and hang your head down, taking deep breaths to calm your racing heart. In and out, it was going to be okay.

“Y/n, are you alright?” The worried voice of the grey eyed hufflepuff comes crashing through your ear and in a second you had engulfed him in a hug and begun crying into his shoulder.

“H-He’s back. He’s back and I didn’t do anything.” You whimper into Cedric’s scarf.

“Hey, darling look at me.” He tilts your chin up and his voice turns serious.

“Voldemort is a mass murderer. He’s killed almost everyone he's come in contact with. It’s not your fault, love he would have killed you.” Cedric sighs, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms tightly around you.

“What matters is that you’re back, you’re safe and we’re together.” Cedric smiles, pressing a kiss to your hairline. “Congratulations on the win by the way.” Cedric smirks, looking down at you.

“Win? But Harry.”

“He told Dumbledore you were the rightful winner of the cup. It’s already been announced darling. You won.”

Cedric follows his congratulations by pressing an overdue kiss to your lips. Your mouth drops open and a smile widens on your face as you jump up into Cedric’s arms and he spins you around.

“I’m so proud of you, love.” He chuckles, placing you back down again and holding you close.

“Just don’t do that again, alright? You scared me.”

You laugh and begin peppering kisses on Cedric’s warm cheeks as you punch your fist into the air and cheer. You had done it. You survived and conquered the triwizard tournament. Though you had to talk to Harry about splitting the winnings. There was no way he was getting away with this.

[foodieforthoughts]

Sand and Stars - Chapter Two

Series Summary: After the water pump being blown up, the insurgents in Baqubah are taking a hold of the food supply to the village. Camp Warhorse is in dire need of reinforcements. It has been eight months of submitting countless requests when the High Command commissions Sergeant Olivia Ross to take her group of men and women and help Captain Syverson and his team to restore a semblance of normalcy. But with the war raging, does it get two hearts closer too?

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC x OMC

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+, Mentions of war, military technicalities, smut in future chapters

A/N: Hello peeps! I hope you are enjoying this series. Please comment and reblog if you like it. It’s always good to hear that your work it appreciated. And massive thanks to @thelastsock for being my beta, who is immensely talented and the sweetest person ever! ❤️

<Chapter One

Title: Chapter Two

As the golden rays of the sun peered from the horizon, the living quarters came to life. Olivia was the first to jump into the shower, with Sloan and Sierra joining in by occupying the other booth, sometime after.

They had the food truck retrieval on their agenda today. But before that, the ladies, and everyone else in their unit had to carry out their scheduled morning workout. 

Olivia walked to the gym downstairs feeling fresh after the much needed shower. Everyone had retreated to their quarters last night, matted with sand and sweat, only cleaning themselves with a wet towel owing to water scarcity in the camp. As she reached the open doorway to the gym, she instantly spotted Schmidt lifting weights with the other men. A boombox sat on a table on one corner, blasting rock music from its speakers.

“The level of testosterone in this place is maddening,” Sloan groaned from beside her.

Olivia whinced as the song played a displeasing high note of an electric guitar. The gruff laughter of the men, along with the loud music was not the first thing she wanted to wake up to. “How about we go to the roof instead?” Olivia suggested, shrugging her shoulders. 

Half an hour into their workout, Sloan groaned under the heat. She pulled her blond hair up in a bun and sat on the ledge of the rooftop. Olivia got a couple more of her crunches done, the back of her t-shirt sticking to her body with her sweat. Sierra was staying put in a plank, Olivia always admired how this woman, even after bearing two kids, had an excellent core strength.

“Look at these guys,” Sloan commented, looking down from the roof. “They so bulky and unkempt.”

Olivia sat up, crossing her legs and grabbing her bottle of water. “You checking out the SF guys?”

“Yeah. Yesterday one of them, BJ was he? Was staring at my ass as I walked past him.”

Sierra stood up from her plank position and walked up to where Sloan sat. She ran a hand through her brown bob and looked down at the men. “I don’t know, they look rough and tough. Like, come on, they aren’t exactly Abercrombie & Fitch, but some of them are easy on the eyes.”

“Syverson, you mean?” Sloan nudged her friend. “Don’t think I didn’t hear you let out that low whistle when he spoke.”

“You know I am weak for the southern twang. And has a buzz cut ever looked that sexy on anyone?”

Olivia rolled her eyes watching Sierra fan herself while Sloan shook her head in disbelief. Pushing herself off of the floor, Olivia stretched her arms above her head. “Tell that to your British husband.” She poked the tip of her empty bottle in Sierra’s belly.

“Come on, Sarge. Tell me you didn’t find the Captain sexy.” Sierra wiggled her eyebrows at Olivia, giving her shoulders a shake too.

“Maybe she’s missing Captain Coop,” It was now Sloan’s turn to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively. She jumped down from the ledge and grabbed her own bottle. “Tell us, Sarge. Is he good in bed?”

“I think he’s so vanilla. Syverson seems like hot chocolate. Yum.” Sierra content with her comment, laughed along with Sloan. With her arm perched on Sloan’s shoulder, Sierra waited for an answer from their Sergeant.

“Guys, we have important work to do today.” Olivia let out her braid, letting her sweaty hair dry. “Come on,” she tilted her head towards the broken door of the roof.

Both women rolled their eyes at her, not stretching the topic further. Although when they were walking away, Sierra added a cheeky “I bet Syverson is an ass-man,” making Olivia shake her head.

But now that she was alone, she allowed herself a moment to think. She wouldn’t lie to herself, she found Sy to be very appealing to the eyes. The command he had over his men was also palpable. He hadn’t addressed them in front of her, but even in a laid-back manner, they seemed to be respectful of him.

With a warmth creeping on her already flushed skin, Olivia's thoughts turned to how he had checked her out. He was trying to be discreet, but she had noticed how his gaze had washed over hers when she had stood in front of him in the office. But, she was no innocent maiden either. Like for instance, when he had been looking down towards the map, pointing out the routes and places to hit for the food truck, she had noticed a few details about him. They were subtle attributes like the bridge of his nose, how his lashes looked thicker than hers, how his scruffy beard concealed most of his face, making her fingers tickle with the urge to touch it.

Olivia let out a slow breath, turning to look beyond the compound. It was not the time, or the place to be thinking about the physical features of her captain. They were in the middle of a war and she was here for a particular mission. Besides, she wasn't sure they were on good terms right now.

Shouldn’t have lashed out at him about being checked out when I was doing the same to him.

Her eyes fell towards the Humvees getting prepped with ammo and men getting ready to head out. She was bunching up her damp hair, to tie it up in an army regulated 'bun' to avoid violation of the dress code, when she caught sight of the Captain.

Sy stood in a black t-shirt and cargo shorts, holding a cup in his hand. A green spray-painted German Shepherd stood near his feet, wagging it’s tail and tongue lolling out of it’s mouth. The more Olivia looked at Sy the more she leaned towards agreeing that Sierra was right. Buzz cut hair never looked so good on anyone she had ever met.

Olivia’s mouth fell open when Sy looked up towards the roof, directly at her. Her hands fell down to her sides as they both stared back at each other. She watched as a smirk appeared on his bearded face while he brought his cup up to his mouth. Even from this distance she could notice how after taking a sip he licked his lips, darting only the tip of his tongue out.

“Yo, Red!” The sudden call from Schmidt standing just below the one-story building, wearing his gear and black sunglasses covering his eyes, broke the semi-trance Olivia had going on with Syverson. “We need to roll out.”

She nodded at her comrade, throwing a last look at a smiling Sy, before heading down towards their room. This was unacceptable. Get your head in the game, Liv. She scolded herself, a frown forming on her face as she ran down the stairs.

It was almost sundown when the troops finally came back to Warhorse. Olivia let the chopper hover over the camp while the last of the Humvee travelling behind the tarp-covered truck, entered the compound. They had noticed a few cars driving up to the mountain while the on-ground crew had spoken to the truck driver. Olivia was aware that they weren’t supposed to fire until they were getting attacked, but her fingers had hovered over the trigger to their machine guns attached to the chopper as a precaution. 

Luckily for them, the cars had driven off without any sort of trouble. The rest of their route back had been mostly uneventful with one of their men singing “Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweepin' down the plain” making everyone laugh over the comms. Olivia, unlike her own no-nonsense superiors, usually let her unit members have fun from time to time. She believed to earn respect, it wasn't necessary to make them bend the knee to her.

As soon as the skids hit the dirt, her eyes seemed to lock onto Syverson. He stood near their main wing in the same clothes, patting on the backs of his men as they walked back to their building.

“That seemed easy,” Schmidt cracked his neck, shrugging his shoulders to loosen his muscles. She could also feel the stiffness in her neck from sitting in the chopper, tensed and worried about the ground force. “This will feel like a vacation, huh Red? Work only once a week.” He laughed, joining the other men as they jumped out of their vehicles.

She smiled at him, stopping to watch the SF men helping her guys to unload the contents of the food truck. She spotted a body walking towards her from the corner of her eyes. She chose to look on ahead, counting the number of crates being offloaded, without glancing to her side.

“You did good, Red.” Sy’s gruff voice sounded from beside her. The use of her nickname sent weird sparks down her spine. “You scared off everyone with your chopper blades.”

Olivia couldn’t help but let herself smile. She would like to believe she did scare off the insurgents. “Would that suffice for everyone?” She jutted her chin, indicating the cartons of food being placed on the ground.

Sy let out a heavy sigh. “Will have to. Can’t let the locals suffer because of us.”

“What if they don’t care about us helping them?”

“We still do it. That’s our job.” She looked to Sy after he spoke. He had his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pursed together as he observed his boys taking the cartons to storage. Her eyes lingered on his, the evening sun making them look like two limpid pools of blue. She was aware she was staring but in a deeply cliched moment, she couldn’t avert her eyes.

“Like what you see, Sergeant?” The smugness in his voice was unmistakable. She quickly looked away and down towards her shoes, vaguely noticing the sand stuck to the eyelets and the scuff marks on the toe caps. 

Even though her ears warmed up from being caught red-handed, she was quick in gathering her wits around the awkward moment. She looked up again without much consideration towards him and turned to walk away. But before she was out of his ear shot, she couldn't resist adding, “I’ve seen better.”

Sy’s laugh, loud and filled with spirits, made her bite her lip as she smiled and sauntered back to their designated wing. Two things she was glad about right now. One, about Schmidt being right, this definitely felt more like a vacation. And two, Syverson and her weren’t exactly butting heads.

Olivia refused to accept it, but it really warmed her heart and she looked forward to the coming days.

Chapter Three>

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[binniesthighs]

two tails | reader x minho |

Three 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho 

Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff 

Tags: neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, floristnpunk!jisung, gradstudent!jeongin, agedup!skz, slow burn, plot driven, gradual romance, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language, mentions of food and alcohol, mentions of previous kinda sad relationships 

Word count: 5.4k (y e e h a w) 

Tagging: @lauraneuuh​

Chapters 

P | ONE | TWO | THREE | ?

zeal noun 

: eagerness and ardent interest in the pursuit of something: fervor 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Seungmin never liked your cooking, or at least, he’d often mumble this into his spoon while beginning his second serving. He was probably just being nice, or respectful. Your best friend of four years had never been less. 

Aside from the fact the he had a 70 pound golden retriever, never had you once seen a strand of that golden hair cling to the cloth of his winter coats. In the autumn, he would drive you in his hand-me-down ‘91 Mitsubishi to the city where you would tutor the English students just so you wouldn’t have to bear the cold of the subway. In the summers he would toss soju down his throat with you, sitting on the carpet of your living room and turning his head to the side with a hand raised to hide his glass. In the spring, he would remember your birthday--several months before his--and take you to coffee shops and bookstores, then the grocery store (which he knew you hated) and would buy for you the most expensive beef he could find. 

You would cook the meat for the two of you, and he would say that he liked it...even if you had charred it black on the edges. 

Seungmin flicked at the little aluminum tab on his beer can while he watched you murder yet another plate of perfectly fine vegetables on your stovetop. 

“At least it smells nice.” You flipped the circle of white onion. 

“It does.” He returned, nonchalant, flicking the beer tab a little poink. 

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet. Too tired to complain about those dicks from the marketing team? They put you on a shitty pitch again didn’t they?” 

“Every pitch is a shitty pitch there. God, you wouldn’t believe the kinds of slogans that they make me say sometimes. It’s humiliating.” 

“Hey, you’re the one that took the pay raise over that job at that high school.” 

“Well, you didn’t have rent staring you dead in the face and a dog that’s practically active and sentient enough to be a real child.” He slugged down a sip of his drink. “I’m a single father you know.” 

“As if!” You choked out your laughter. “Since when did you turn into Hyunjin? You were never one for dramatics anyway.” 

“Go get your vegetables, they’ll burn.” He nodded his head to the stove. The thing was, they were already burnt. 

You salvaged what you could of the vegetables then placed them over your rice balls (not intended to be balls in the first place) and the chicken strips which had undoubtedly been seasoned just a little too much. You slid the ceramic bowl in front of him. At least it was steaming. That was a good sign. 

Seungmin nodded a little in thanks, then let out a less than obvious sigh before taking his first bite. 

“Spicy...but good.” 

The way that his breath sounded thin made it convincing enough to you that it wasn’t just “spicy.” 

He scrunched up his face in that adorably puppy-like way that you had long gotten used to. 

“Really. Tell me. It isn’t the pitches. Don’t pretend like I can’t read you.” 

Your best friend squeezed his eyes shut with a rather generous slug of his beer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Whaaaat?” You whined a little while opening up your own can. “Oh my god. It’s that girl from the art division. She has a boyfriend doesn’t she? Dammit.” 

“No.” Your friend drew the disdain in his eyes up to you from the chicken that had made his nose start to run. He wiped at it quickly. 

“I hope it’s not my mother that’s getting to you. She’s too damn nosy for her own good and twice as cocky as she should be. Don’t listen to her. What did she tell you anyway?” 

Seungmin poked at his food with his fork then twisted a crispy-tipped red pepper. “Have you talked to him again?”

“--Minho?”

You shied at the memory of meeting him on his morning run two days prior. He would go out at nearly 8:00 on the dot every morning, just when the sun started to peek into the dewy pink and blue mornings.

“You should put on a sweater if you’re going to get up this early for those plants of yours. Don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Yes.” You answered your friend. A tiny ache pinged at your chest--and it wasn’t the kind that felt all twisted. “He asked me to watch the meteor shower with him this weekend. I hope I can cook something edible for him.”

Seungmin’s knee bounced, “Aren’t you at least at little suspicious of him?”

“Suspicious? Why would I be?”

“You hardly even know anything about him, or where he came from, what he does for a living--”

“--Now you’re starting to sound like my mother Seung. Relax. Besides, sometimes it doesn’t take much to feel...comfortable around a person. I mean, look at us! Soju nights started like, three weeks after we met. And I do know where he works. He works for a company that makes windows; fancy ones.” 

“Windows?” He cocked a brow. 

“He did say that it was kind of boring...” 

“I just--” Your friend sighed out, resting anxious hands on his knees. Here he was again, being nice and respectful, like always. “--You could get hurt if you’re not careful.” 

“What?”

“I’m saying, don’t get your hopes up.” 

“Geez Seung...” Your voice trailed off with a different pain in your chest. This was the kind that twisted. 

His expression softened, and he lent a hand to your shoulder, lingering, squeezing lightly. “Your mom...she told me to look after you...not like I do that already with you falling all over yourself and burning things...I don’t want to see you get hurt.” 

“Hm. Thanks.” 

“You’re also miserable to deal with when you’re sad. You make me blow my grocery budget with how much frickin’ ice cream and freezer tater tots you force me to get.” 

“You like those tater tots too though.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Bomi purred in your lap swaddled into a little ball of white, orange, black and brown. She was napping, or rather, trying to nap with the way that her little cat-shaped eyes blinked slowly. You tried your best to soak every little moment of it up: you knew that with her, it would be fleeting. There was something supremely calming about being close to your little furball like this. After all the love that you poured over her in the form of useless cat toys and new cat food every week, this somehow made it all worth it. 

You tapped lightly at your keyboard, not too harshly, just lightly enough so that you wouldn’t startle your sleeping cat. The tips of your toes were cold, but you didn’t dare to move to grab a blanket to ruin the moment. Outside, a light spring rain befell on your small cement patio. Droplets of the warm showers patted at the roof of your home softly. 

Your eyes had grown tired and dry at this late hour, but the end of the chapter was near. One more time you hovered your mouse over the little notification bar, clicking at it for that one last push of motivation: 

~ 

Bomi needs to quit MESSING AROUND. Blaze is right in front of her!!! Ahhhh I want them to get together soooo bad 

Is Herbie okay?? Poor bb, its so cute how we would do anything for Bomi. 

Bomi: 

Blaze: 

*now kiss* 

Are we really getting to the end of Book 1??? This has been such an amazing story N/n, I always look forward to your updates <3 they make my Thursdays hehe 

I can feel like something big and bad is coming...oh no...I hope that Blaze and Bomi make it through  

~ 

A thankful little chuckle hummed on your lips, then you pressed enter to start a new paragraph. 

“Oh Bomi,” You exhaled, “If only Blaze knew how you felt too.” 

Chapter 27 

...The group journeyed through the cavern with flickering white flames dancing and casting shadows on the stone walls dripping in stalactites. Bomi held on to the hilt of her sword tighter with a sense of dread creeping up her throat. Blaze looked onward, much as he had been doing these days. 

His leg was wrapped in a bloodied bandage: a reminder of the battle won against the Boar in Hilgram. He had jumped in front of her as he had countless times before. 

“Hello??” Blaze’s voice echoed against the long and winding chambers of the cave. In his tone he was confident, but his shoulders still shook with an uncertainty. 

Herbie’s little hedgehog feet patted the damp floor, and he looked up at his Princess with fear in his soft black eyes. The little velvet banner wrapped around his body had been torn and tattered from one too many battles. 

Had it been darker, Bomi wondered if she had reached out for Blaze’s hand to find in him. She shook her head with her resolve, eyes painfully shut. It was only in the darkness that she allowed herself to want for him. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

Today must be one of those spring-summer days.

Your warbled reflection chased after you in the blue glass of the university’s library windows. You had hoped that no one was on the other side watching you as you wrinkled up your nose to look like one of those devilish gargoyles that you had been writing of the night before. From the inside, rows and rows of books were lined up perfectly, however there were almost no students inside. It always did make you a little sad how few students would be there when you clocked in for your mandatory office hours.

Spring-summer days meant that the businesswomen on the sidewalks had exchanged with trousers with flowing skirts and little clicky ballet flats and each businessman had his tie and collar tugged down. There was a comforting warmth to the spring air that reminded you of your own college days when you and your friends--long gone now--had stayed up late to study, then would scour the buzzing streets for snacks. Things were much simplier then.

At the library’s entrance, budding tulips and geraniums of light purple hues were greeted by round bumblebees. Had the city not been as loud as it was, you could nearly hear the cicadas in the park on the east edge of the shining silver building.

You bowed slightly to the attendant at the desk who always would smile at you with adorable smiling eyes to match. She would often wear earrings of strange shapes that you had never seen before. She wore a lanyard too that had little cat paw prints decorating it; it was because of this you knew she was someone you could trust.

“Are you having a nice week?” You said to her customarily.

“Oh, I am. It’s always the same around here. My daughter will be having her baby soon! Sometimes I think that I’m more excited than she is.”

“You’ll have to tell me when that happens so I can bring her a gift, okay?”

The attendant smiled warmly, and nodded you off with a little oh, you don’t have to.

“Remember your key card this time?” She watched as you jingled around your own keys with the obsessive amount of plastic and silicon keychains.

You tsked. It seemed like nearly everyone in your life had now known how forgetful you tended to be sometimes.

“Yes. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be over there.”

Once more the two of you exchanged little bows and you made your way over to the back of the four storied library with the atrium of trees in between. There was a marble fountain encircled by the trees that had little oval shaped leaves. Two tiny birds, all black, bounced from branch to branch. It was your secret, but you had written about that fountain many times in your writing, but you were the only one who knew that it was real.

You tapped the reader to hear that familiar do-do doot along with the flash of the green lock. As always, the study room was a bit messy with eraser shavings sprinkled about and the odd dry marker laying next to the trashcan where someone had tried to toss it in, but had missed. The minute hand on the wall clock scooted right on to the 12.

“Are you busy?” That fluff on white hair peeked into your study room just like clockwork.

“For my favorite student? Do you even have to ask?”

Jeongin, the oldest and most attentive student in your class hopped in with his adorably boy-ish charm. Regardless of the fact that he was in the last year of his grad degree, it was impossible for him to look that old. You didn’t have the heart to tell him, but he technically shouldn’t have been in your class for undergrads, but you weren’t going to stop him.

“Why’d you decide to take this class anyway?” You would ask him.

He’d answer, “For fun.” with that cute little smile of his.

“I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“I just got here.” You pulled out a seat for him.

“Oh. Good. I was wondering if you could proof read my short story again. I’m having trouble with the ending. I just don’t think I understand all the way how to make it full circle like you said in lecture.”

He unzipped his leather backpack: obviously a gift from someone in his family that must have thought it would make him look his age. It didn’t. What didn’t help further was how he had adorned it with all kinds of keychains; much like your own keys. It was because of this that you knew he was someone you could trust.

His manuscript already had dozens of scribbles in his own handwriting with tons of question marks riddling the margins. 

“Let me take a look.”

You skimmed the pages of the short story--one which you had already read the week prior--for all of his new edits. The notes made it a bit hard to read, but you were used to how he would make a mess of his papers now. He leaned in close to you with glossy eyes that might have even twinkled a little like a cartoon. Both of his knees bounced furiously while he watched you read, and would look from the paper, to your face, then back to the paper, then back to your face...

“Is-is it good? Better?”

Jeongin had written a love story. His first one that you had known of. It was about a boy and a girl who had met on an airplane, and had been seated together. The two of them found out that they had shared so much about their two lives without ever meeting until this very moment. They had realized they went to the same high school, worked in the same building, and were travelling for the same reason: to meet up with someone that they had once loved. It was beautiful, tragic, and in some ways, familiar.

“I think that it’s wonderful Jeongin. The edits that you made to it from last week really help with the narrative flow as well as the vertical plot. You’re really good at asking the deeper questions behind the piece like “why are they really there,” and “why is it important that they are there.” All you need to do is tie it up.” 

“But howwww?” Jeongin slumped in his wheely chair. “What should I say?” 

“Well...” You tapped your pen to your lip. “The ending scene is when they land at the airport right? Why don’t you have your main character say something that calls back to all of their similarities and makes it seem like they’ve known eachother all along?” 

“But I don’t want it to seem like they’re going to forget eachother.” 

“They won’t. You established that they’ve both found something different than what they were looking for in the first place.” 

Your student’s face tangled up into concentrated knots and he puffed those thin strands of bleached white hair away from his eyes. 

“I could say...‘see you at home’? Or...maybe that’s too cheesy--” 

“--No it’s not! If you like it, I think that it also fits the story well. Its like, now they understand, and they’ve got something in eachother now that they hadn’t had before; also juxtaposing with your themes of travelling to make a reference to home.” 

“Damn, you’re much better at this kind of stuff than I am...” Jeongin wrote down the new ending on his print out. 

“Its just...what I like to do.” 

“I’m glad I came.” He grinned out with his mischievous and trademark smile. “How’s your story going by the way? Almost finished?” 

“Oh...” 

A heat rose in your cheeks. You had decided to tell Jeongin about Princess Bomi a few weeks back, but you had neglected to tell him exactly what the story was about. That was a secret better kept to yourself. 

“Its...good. I think. My readers seem to really like it.” 

“Maybe you’ll let me read it someday. I bet there would be tons of other people who would like to read it too, you know, outside of the internet.” 

“That’s what I’ve been told...” Hyunjin’s urgings echoed in your head. “Maybe...” Your eyes wandered to those scribblings of his. “How about we make a deal?” 

“What kind of deal?” 

“Once we get both of our stories sorted, lets submit them together. I’m sure people would like to read yours too.” 

“Mine?!” Your adorable student’s face flushed as deeply pink as the sweater he wore. “Oh no, no no no no no.” 

“I’m telling you it’s good! Its relatable, raw, well written. It never hurts to try. How about submitting it for the literary journal they do at the end of the semester?” 

“You mean the one that all the arts majors read and fuckin’ eviscerate?? Hell no.” 

“Hey, I could get eviscerated too by my chief editor.” 

Jeongin gulped with his terrified, brown, cartoon-character glistening eyes boring holes into his manuscript. 

You sang, “~Wanna go down together~?” 

“A-as long as we’re going down together...I guess it’s worth a shot.” 

“Alright then!!” 

He made a little sound of disgust, then shoved his papers back into his much-too-old-for-him bag. “That was all I needed to ask you for. Thank you.” He bowed with respect. “I won’t be bothering you for too long today.” 

“You wrote a good story Jeongin.” 

“Mm. Thank you.” His smile turned into a tiny flustered line. 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

STUPID NEW CAT FOOD. AGAIN. 

In one hand, you held the crinkled up grocery list with angry doodles of your cat folded into the corners of the page. You didn’t quite know if cats had eyebrows like the ones you had drawn onto your cat’s smug face, but you were for certain that this cat must’ve had them...and they were angry. 

Bomi had selfishly decided at the end of your week that she no longer liked the last brand of cat food that you had found on the shelves of the grocery store. It was the brand stored next to the one that you had nearly concussed Minho with. 

You were at your wits end. There must have been something wrong with your cat--to hell with her being a picky eater. Maybe she really was just a little alien inside there. A little alien that hated cat food. The image of you sitting at your dining table across from Bomi eating two plates of people food crossed your mind. She picked up the fork with her white paw and dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin. The idea didn’t seem the most out of reach. 

In your other hand was your phone opened to the maps app with the small blue dot leading you to the specialty pet store. 

“Damn spoiled, stuck up, good for nothing, pain in my as--” 

“Hey! Blossom??” 

Your head whipped around so fast you cracked the bones of your neck with a startling pop. You rubbed at your neck to ease the pain. 

“You okay?” 

At first you figured you must have dreamt him up in your neck-induced-pain. You cursed at your overactive imagination, still just as strong as it was when you had been small. 

Blaze in the flesh he was alllll the way from his battered Converse to his stupidly handsome curly hair. 

You laughed out incredulously with a hand still glued to the back of your neck. 

“Didn’t think that I would be seeing you around here again. Or at least, I was kind of hoping that I would.” 

He marched right up to you with that same smile you had pictured on Princess Bomi’s companion countless times before. Today he wore a leather jacket over the arms that you knew were covered in all kinds of flowers and vines. It hadn’t quite hit you yet that he had said he was hoping to see you. 

“Sorry if I startled you. I was just...really surprised.” 

“You’re fine, it’s fine.” 

You neck didn’t tell you it was fine. 

“What are you doing around here?” 

“Pet store.” Was all you could get out. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you, but for someone who worked at a flower shop, he did end up smelling an awful lot like flowers. It was a sweet aroma, much like your garden. 

“Ahh, I just got off.” 

You walked on, also not noticing that he had started to follow you a couple steps behind. 

“I realized I didn’t get your name last time.” 

“Oh. It’s Y/n.” 

He hummed with a smirk. “I do kinda like Blossom more.” He crammed his hands into his pants pockets with a wistful little sigh. “Pretty nickname for someone as pretty as yourself.” 

“Psh. Stop.” You had said it sarcastically, but you didn’t intend for your heart to skip as harshly as it did when he had said so. 

“You’ve got a pet then? Dog? Cat?” 

“Cat. Just one.” 

“I wish I could take care of a pet like that. Don’t think I would be too good at it though. I see myself as more of a plant person. They’re quiet, don’t do too much, and they sort of love you back in their own way.” 

“How's that?” 

“By growing. And flowering. Changing colors and looking good in your windowsill. Nothing too crazy.” 

“I...guess I can see what you mean.” 

He flicked at the black hoop pierced into his lip in the way that you certainly hadn’t forgotten; and you were one for forgetting much. 

“Mind if I go in with you? I don’t have a whole lot going on.” 

Jisung. You had also remembered his name. He carried Blaze with him in the way that he had that fiery glint in his eye like he knew he was getting away with something. He was brash and forward, and charming as all hell. The sunset of blood orange and cotton candy pink seemed to melt into his shoulders where he stood before you in the golden hour of the evening. A yellow carnation was tucked into the pocket of his jacket. 

“You don’t have to...” 

He had already made up his mind, and swung open the door to the pet shop neighboring the floral shop. You didn’t know how you had missed it. 

The squawking of birds chimed with the bells hung over the shop door. 

“You coming?” He held it open for you. 

You sheepishly entered before him, nearly tripping on the little incline to the entrance and catching yourself three seconds before disaster. 

Jisung prompted, “Lead the way.” 

Normally you would have been concerned over the cleanliness of the store, but that seemed insignificant compared to the way that he looked around all in his Blaze-like wonder. He widened his eyes at the rows of fish tanks and twiddled with the little feather cat toys at the ends of the isles. 

Granted, he seemed much more immersed in the kinds of aquatic plants and moss balls that they had rather than the cute bunnies and mice, but still, you couldn’t help but shy away when he caught your glances. 

“Glad that I joined ya Blossom.” 

₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎

There was something about Minho that felt like a lullaby. He wore a lavender colored sweater when he arrived at your doorstep: of course it was pooling into paws at his hands as always. The collar dipped deep enough for you to see the tops of his collarbones, and they were gorgeous and curved. His eyes wrinkled a little under his wire framed glasses when he would smile: that of which would also look like the little grin of a bunny. Effortlessly his brown hair kissed his forehead. 

He would speak softly and carefully, and listen to everything that you had said to him as if it was the most important thing in the world. His feet were too big for your spare pair of house slippers and he had a tiny hole in his khaki pants right by the waistline. Minho greeted Bomi with a tiny “aigoo” and she let him sweep her up into his arms where he bounced her lightly. She would never let you do that. Traitor. 

“Your home is very...you.” He had complimented. You had no idea what that meant. 

His lips were pink and glossy with drips of that peach soju that you had bought in the hopes that he would like it. It turned out that it was his favorite flavor. 

You wanted so badly to kiss the peachy flavor off of those lips. 

He had laughed a little at your array of cat-related home decor, laughing the most at your dish towels that had two fat cats on them that looked like chefs. He said that he had seen a movie once and the characters reminded him of that. 

The two of you sat outside on your patio on the wire chairs that would imprint designs into the back of your legs. The air mixed with the smell of your citronella candle and the scent of the roasted duck that you had attempted to make for him. You really shouldn’t have tried to make something for the first time when it was also his first time coming over. 

Maybe he was just being nice, but he had said it tasted good. 

It did not taste good, but rather harshly of salt and too much rosemary. 

Bomi rubbed at his legs under the table and even hiked herself up on two feet to peek into his lap. As much as it hurt to see your traitorous cat act this way, it was because of this that you knew he was someone that you could trust. Minho gave her head scratches and insisted to help you with the dishes--a mistake on his part. It took all of two minutes before you had a mishap with the detachable sink head, and soaked through his sweater. 

“Maybe I just shouldn’t trust you with water then?” He chuckled while dabbing away at the fabric. 

“That probably would be best.” 

Minho was a lullaby in the way that he laid down next to you on that quilt you had made in a crafting class some years ago. All of the patches were disjointed the the color scheme made very little sense, but it was stull functional. He kept his hands folded to his chest with reverence. His chest rose and fell calmly, and his body heat floated over to you. His presence was something familiar and still something that you couldn’t place. 

“Are you getting tired?” He asked you gently. 

You lied, “No, just resting my eyes.” 

“Maybe we shouldn’t have had that much soju then.” He joked into the open air.  

“How much longer?” 

“At least thirty more minutes.” 

He was so warm. Warmer than any chill of the spring night. 

First you would have kissed the peachy flavor on his lips. Then you would have cuddled all up into that lavender sweater which you imagined to be even softer than cat’s fur--or rather--it looked like it could have been. 

“Do you know any constellations?” Minho pointed up to the sky. 

“Not really.” 

“Well, that one is Ursa Major...and over there...that’s Leo. Can you see that it sort of looks like a triangle?” 

“Yes.” You had said, but really you didn’t have a clue, you liked it more hearing him talk about them. “Where did you learn about constellations?” 

“Long time ago. I think it was in school, but, that was so, so long ago.” 

The cool grass under the quilt rustled when he had leaned back up to sit, then dragged quilt attempt #2 over your body and his. 

“It was getting a little cold.” He quietly announced. 

His simple action of doing just that heated up your whole body now knowing that the two of you were trapped together, inches apart. 

Minho tucked his arms to prop up his head. “Thank you for cooking for me. I haven’t had someone other than my mother cook like that for me in a long while.” 

“I’m sorry...I know that it was pretty inedible--” 

“--And thank you for allowing me to come over too. I...realize...I don’t really know what I’m doing that well. I kind of invited myself...I hope that I’m not putting pressure on you or anything...” 

“--Doing what well?” Your heart leapt into your throat. 

“I just haven’t done this in a really long time.” 

This. 

What the hell was “this?” 

“I’m not following...” 

“Letting myself do something fun. Something nice and relaxing.” 

 You had formed a painful little “Oh.” on your lips. Your idea of this was different from his after all. 

“--Something nice and relaxing with you.” 

Another “Oh.” formed, but this one was a thankful one. 

“Can I tell you something?” Minho’s voice was barely in a whisper. 

“What is it?” You looked over at him and he was wrapped in the navy blue light of the night. You could have sworn that you could see the faintest inkling of stars in his eyes. 

He looked back at you in earnest. “I’ve been...scared, too, since moving back out here.” 

“W-why?” 

“There was something in me that was telling me that moving out here wouldn’t fix everything, and that I would be stuck forever on those things that happened, and the things that made me unhappy.” 

“Minho...what are you saying?” 

“-Got my heart broken. Back then. As cliché as the sounds.” He laughed, and it even sounded a twinge embarrassed. “I ran away from it to here. I had figured that it would give me time to get it all back together again.”  

“I-I’m so sorry.” 

“Running is good and all when you can physically remove yourself from what’s chasing you, but some things...” 

Your chest felt heavy. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.” 

“You do?” 

The first summer cicadas had started their nighttime chant, and their hisses ebbed and flowed like sea waves. 

“I feel like...these expectations that my family has of me, my mother...I can’t ever escape them. They’re always there and burned into my head. I think of them even when I don’t want to: get a better job that “contributes”, get married, have grandkids...” 

You paused with your own eyes cast up to the sky. The massive expanse seemed unfathomable. 

“Why is it that we can’t ever be happy doing the things that are supposed to make us happy?” 

The first meteor flew past your eyes with the speed of light, barely slow enough for you to catch it. 

The second was a bit slower, and traced after it a millisecond of white spectral dust. 

“Did you see that??” Without thinking, you poked once at Minho’s arm. 

You couldn’t see, but he had grinned with a weak smile. “I did.” 

All at once, the sky was illuminated with brilliant streaks of light and their white hot heads that would fade and dissapear just as quickly as they arrived. They tore through the sky with astonishing speed and you traced the outline of each line as fast as you could. 

“There’s so many.” You wondered aloud. 

Under the warmth of the haphazard blanket, fingers twisted into yours: careful and tentative, soft and curious.   

Minho breathed out, “I feel pretty happy right now.” 

[pianostarinwonderland]

fic: aurora borealis [azul ashengrotto/reader]

he’s the sun who you interact with through short greetings and smiles. 

word count: 2127 content notes: azul/reader; oneshot romance; additional notes below content warnings: spoilers for the whole chapter 3 prompt: a blown kiss, teasing grins, getting tugged away by the hem of a sleeve, and a friendly wave

he walks with the majestic grace of the sky. his coat billows behind him like a trail of clouds gently moving with the wind, and his eyes gaze down at everyone with a certain glint of haught, knowing that they can never rise above him. he speaks as if he is an angel descended from the heavens, speaking in a language of honeyed sunsets that soon reveals its midnight shadows the moment one’s name resides in the magical contract he hands them.

and perhaps you can say you understand if anyone was to describe azul this way. but if they asked you, this is what you would say:

he does not walk like the sky, but he acts like the sun. his smile inherits its golden glow, and you squint at it with frustration, aware that it shines over the pitiful souls beneath him.  when he laughs, it holds the sun’s arrogant glare that appears in the midday hours, an indication that you must hide before that laugh is aimed towards you. 

but there are days when azul isn’t around, and most days, it’s respiting; it’s the shade from clouds during a midday workout outdoors, accompanied with a cool breeze that lets you breathe for just a second longer. yet there are those days where you look around and wonder: what happened to the sun and why isn’t he around today. you never go beyond that, however; you simply wonder then continue on with your life because why should you care about azul ashengrotto? 

and when the next day comes and you hear his airy voice, you dare not look at him, in fear that the sun may pick you as its next victim. it’s a never ending cycle: he shows up, you look away. he disappears, you wonder. 

at some point, however, the winds of fate lead you to a room of leather couches and blue walls with him, and you’re forced to look at him. up close, that smile of his hurts your eyes; it’s a smile that you wish to look away from, but if this meeting needs to succeed, you need to look at him. 

“so you wish to free the students,” azul repeats your request. a chuckle follows his words, tinged with the mirth and mischief of a playful breeze. “how noble of you, coming to the rescue of these students. just like aether who lives above us, shielding us poor souls from the deadly rays of the sun.”

you frown in confusion. what does that mean? does he hear the little amount of sense he made?

you banish the thoughts quickly, however. it doesn’t matter anyway; you sign the contract he drafted for you, and you immediately act to beat azul at his own game. despite your efforts, however, you find yourself faced with the invincible glow of the sun looking down on you, laughing at you for your failure to retrieve even one contract on the table. “my, what idiots,” he mocks in that lofty tone. “don’t you know that only i can touch it, or else it electrocutes you?”

but not a minute later does one of the infamous twins knock a cauldron to the safe, and his serene expression changes to a wrath as intense as the summer sun. in that minute, all you can think of is run and hide, find the shade away from azul and the twins, but in the midst of sweeping dust and messy clothes later in the evening, it’s where you realize.

ah, that’s right, there is such a thing as a solar eclipse. 

so you plan on how to get such a phenomenon to occur, how to beat azul in his own game, using the information and the players that you have. and when midday comes, as you fight with the ferocious twins in the water, you sense the eclipse coming in the form of sparks of magic that was once thought lost. at first, you and your friends rejoice– you did it.

yet as you return to where azul should be, you witness the true darkness of a sun that could not shine in the day. azul’s screams reverberate throughout the dorm, accompanied by flashes of light that appear from his magic. inky tears pool from his eyes, mingling with the water around the area. his torment echoes around the vicinity of the dorm and within the chambers in your heart, and all you can do is stand and watch helplessly as azul transforms into the madness of the blot. 

it’s the worst tragedy, you realize as you direct everyone how to take down azul and free him, to see the sun lose its shine. 

you decide that day to never look away from azul ever again. of course, it’s only because you want to apologize for the destruction of his contracts. even if it was a means to an end, ruining one’s hard work is still an evil. it isn’t as though you suddenly feel more interested in him after knowing he has his own shortcomings and struggles. 

so you start to wave at him in the hallways. a simple hello leaves your smiling lips when you pass him by, and azul gracefully returns it. even the sun needs a cheer up, and a greeting and a smile are two small but powerful tools in cheering anyone up. you never fail to do this every day, but you fail to notice the confusion in azul’s face after he greets you.

“hi azul,” you say to him when you pass him by in between classes, the greeting a force of habit by now.

but instead of the usual greeting, he stops, and the unusual response causes you to halt as well. “i apologize for sounding rude,” he says, “but if i may ask, why are you suddenly so friendly with me?”

“oh,” you expected the question, but hearing it out loud astonishes you for a few moments before you answer, “i just thought, ever since, um, that day when you went crazy,” your voice quivers in trepidation, scrutinizing for any sign of discomfort on azul’s visage, then proceeding when you don’t spot a visible change, “i thought maybe you need a bit of kindness.”

he squints in puzzlement and skepticism at the answer, crossing his arms as he asks, “is that so?”

you nod at him. “and hey, if you don’t believe me, well that’s fine. but it’s ok,” you smile softly at him, and he seems surprised by it, “i’ll continue to do what i do, if it helps your day brighten up a little.”

azul says nothing. even as you leave with a wave, he doesn’t move from his spot, stuck to the ground as he stares at you in amazement. because who has ever shown him kindness? the closest he’s ever gotten was from jade and floyd, and even then, it comes with the selfish need for entertainment that he provides. 

“what a strange person,” he finally says. “but i can’t just leave something like this unpaid.”

so when he sees you approaching him the next day, he flashes a smile at you and greets you. your eyebrows raise in surprise at the unexpected move from him, but nonetheless, you greet him, and you two pass each other by. when you’re sure he no longer sees you, you place a hand on your chest, at the spot where your heart beats faster than usual. a giddy smile stretches across your cheeks. you’ve always known the scorching heat of the sun, but never have you truly enjoyed its warmth until now. even as azul is gone, the warmth of his smile lingers within you. 

he does the same thing the next time you try to greet him: he beats you to it, waving with minimal movement from a distance, and you can feel your heart pick up pace the moment you catch his smile. you almost forget to greet him on the spot until he approaches closer to you. and again, he greets you first the next day. and the next. and the next.

“why are you greeting me now,” you ask him one day when you approach him close enough. 

“hm?” he raises a silver brow at your query. “is it a bad thing?”

“oh no, it’s not! it’s just that i did not expect you to return the greetings, let alone say initiate them,” you answer. “i’m not complaining, i’m just curious.”

azul lets out a soft laugh through closed lips, a sound that brightens up the sky in your heart. “it’s nothing much. i simply thought that you need a little bit of kindness.”

and you stay in your spot, eyes widening at the familiar words echoing back towards you. even as he leaves with a goodbye and an amused chuckle, you don’t move, and you feel your face turn a shade of pink whose vibrance rivals the pink on an aurora. 

“why am i like this?” you shake your head fervently in an attempt to remove the warmth on your face. “how come he doesn’t get this flustered but i do?” you pout, proceeding to move forward to wherever you need to go. a few steps in, and something enters your head, a ding ringing inside as if announcing the best idea you ever had. a hand on your chin, you muse at the thought. it’s a stupid thought and quite embarrassing, but curiosity lingers in your mind now, waiting to be satiated. 

and perhaps, you want to do this to pay him back somehow.

you later spot azul in main street, at the time when the sun dips below the horizon, coloring the sky in ardent oranges and yellows. it’s an unexpected time, but you won’t complain. you start jogging towards him, greeting him with a big wave, greeting, “hi azul!” in a loud voice. clearly, he doesn’t expect this, from the way his eyes widen in perplexion.

you press your fingers onto your lips as you approach him closer. a soft bilabial sucking sound is produced from your lips, and it turns into the pop of a kiss when your hand leaves your lips and points at azul, followed by you blowing the invisible kiss towards him. the action causes him to pause in your steps, eyes with the size of saucers gazing at you. relishing in your accomplishment at flustering him, you shoot a teasing grin at him before looking away and walking with a sassy air. but you don’t stray far enough.

“just where do you think you’re going?”

a tug at your sleeve stops you in your tracks. you turn around, and your breath hitches in your throat at how close azul suddenly is towards you.  

“i didn’t think you would be so interested in me that you would blow a kiss my way,” he says, a teasing grin forming on his face. your heart beats as if shocked by little bolts of electricity, both at his expression and him finding out about the feelings that make you walk on clouds every time you see him. no words leave your mouth to defend yourself. 

he leans down towards you, and his soft lips make contact with your forehead. the kiss is light like the tickle of a breeze, but it leaves a small tingle of static that makes you jolt. your jaw drops in utter shock, hanging open as your face explodes in a shade of red. broken sounds leave your lips, but no coherent words form.

azul laughs at your flustered state. “next time, you should go for an actual kiss,” he says with a wink, a movement that further flusters you. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i must take my leave.” he turns around with a pivot, but before he walks, he turns his head to you. “perhaps tomorrow, we should hold a more proper conversation that doesn’t consist of hellos and goodbyes. what do you say?”

snapping out of your stupor, you quickly nod at him, not trusting yourself to say something. 

he gives you a smile of acknowledgement. “then i hope to see you tomorrow. i wish you a pleasant evening.” with a wave, he starts walking to wherever he needs to go. you whisper a hesitant goodbye, hoping that he hears you. 

your head urges you to continue where you were supposed to go, but your legs remain rooted on the spot, gazing at the distancing figure of the octavinelle leader. illuminated by the light of the fading twilight, you can’t help but ponder on all the times you used to look away from him. and now, here you stand, entranced by him, and you wonder how you blinded yourself to something so beautiful.

additional notes: aha ahahaha this was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I ended up spending time with family (_ _).｡o○ and once I managed to sit down and write this, I felt like something was off so I had to stop and write this today. This is a fic that was written without me writing it on the notebook, so basically, I typed this fresh on the doc.

So heehoo, originally, I wanted to describe the moment itself while trying to convey what makes this moment special, so otherwise, it was going to be short. But me wanting to add a long ass story to it decided to write a sped up version of chapter 3 and what happens after but sprinkling in some sun metaphors on the fly. I know I pretty much used chapter 3 as well with the previous multi-chapter fic with otome route Azul, but I’m a self-indulgent prick, therefore I’m adding chapter 3 to another romantic fic. :) this time, however, I wanted to add a reader who ended up getting the feels for Azul after his overblot because it was how I ended up starting to like him. I never batted an eye towards him until he cried. 💀

With the sun and the sky theme, honestly, I was surprised with how much figurative language I was able to come up with this. I always think I’m too blunt to think of stuff like those, so this was a pleasant surprise. I was inspired by the popular ‘he looked at her like she was the sun’ Tumblr post and the aurora borealis. I swear, there’s a reason why this fic is titled aurora borealis. 😂

Anyway, hopefully, I can get to uploading another fic or two tonight to catch up with my count. The next fics were all written down on my notebook, so typing them up shouldn’t be too hard~ have a good day/night to you!

[shuadotcom]

The One | JJK

∎ Summary: You and Jungkook decide to bring a dog into your home, but first you have to find the perfect one. ∎ Pairing: Jungkook x Gender Neutral!Reader ∎ Genre: Fluff, slice of life, established relationship, idolverse ∎ Rating: G ∎ Warnings: None ∎ Word Count: 1.9k ∎ A/N: For btsholidaybingo | Bingo Square: Jeon Jungkook

"Remember, we're only going for one dog."

"But what if a kitten falls in love with me?"

"No."

"Okay, but what if there’s like, two dogs that are bonded? We can’t just separate them, you know."

"Then we won’t get either."

"But what if-”

"I said no, Koo. No to any other possible scenarios you can think of. Do you want to do this or not?" The two of you have a staredown over the top of the car before Jungkook lets out a long, dramatic sigh, and you climb into the car.

You’ve recently taken the next step in your three-year relationship by moving in together. Jimin was unsurprisingly distraught and clung to Jungkook’s legs as he and the rest of the guys moved his things from the dorm. Of course, you had only moved a good ten minutes away from them in the first place.

Now that you’re accustomed to living and existing every night and day around each other, you agreed your home is missing the presence of a fluffy animal. Well, Jungkook has decided rather, and you gave in to his pouting and begging. Since he’s no longer sharing space with Yeontan, he wants a dog of his own around; thus, the decision to bring home a dog was made.

Neither of you has any idea what type of dog you want, but you agree that you’ll go and see which one stands out. According to Jungkook, you don’t pick a dog; a dog picks you. As someone who’s never had any pet other than hamsters, you’re inclined to believe him. As nervous as you are to be a first-time dog owner, the idea of being a cute, domestic couple raising a dog together is exciting.

The ride to the local shelter is only about ten minutes, and Jungkook is throwing his door open and bounding out of the car as soon as he parks. You follow your exuberant boyfriend inside at a much more leisurely pace. It doesn’t surprise you when you walk in and see the first thing he’s doing is leaning towards a cage full of kittens, cooing at them and letting them nip at his fingertips.

"Jungkook..." you say in a warning tone. He turns towards you, looking guilty.

"I just wanted to look!" He pouts. Once you’re at his side and you’ve greeted a few of the kittens yourself, you follow a volunteer to the wing of the shelter where the dogs are.

Jungkook is immediately drawn to a cage of golden retrievers. He leans over, sticking his fingers through the bars, which makes all of the tiny dogs run over to smell and lick him. You smile at him as giggles come out of his mouth. He soon moves on to a large, older looking pitbull and is whispering greetings to it as it pants excitedly. You leave him there to wander around, eyeing all of the cages, and can’t help but feel overwhelmed by all of the dogs around you, attempting to catch your gaze and silently begging you to take them home.

Your eyes continue to scan the signs hanging from the front of each cage, noting all of the breeds and their names.

A shih tzu, a maltese, a poodle, and a-

“Oh, hello, babies!” A cage with five corgi puppies yipping for your attention catches your attention the most.

As you make your way to the cage, the group of dogs notice and clamor over each other, their small noses raised in the air to try and catch a whiff of you. You smile at them and stick your hand near, letting them sniff you. They all have identical brown eyes and the classic corgi golden brown and white fur, which, while they’re cute, none stand out to you.

Pulling your hand back, you dig a bottle of hand sanitizer from your bag, ready to ask Jungkook if he’s made a decision when something in the corner of the corgi cage catches your attention.

Its eyes are what draw you in. Those gorgeous brown eyes are much lighter and wider than the rest of the liter. You hadn't noticed this one earlier, but looking at it now, you see it’s the only one with all-white fur. It’s the quietest puppy, opting to hang towards the back but still flashing you that wide dog smile. It’s excited, with the way it’s small, round body seems to be vibrating. Something in your gut told you this was the one.

"Koo! Jungkook, I found our dog!" Jungkook leaves the pug he’s talking to so he can come over and join you. He looks at the corgis, his eyes immediately finding the pup in question in no time. After inspecting the dog for a few seconds, he nods.

"That’s definitely the one. Stay here, and I'll go tell someone we've made our choice." Jungkook leans over and plants a kiss on your forehead before he leaves. You get close to the cage again, angling your fingers towards the quiet pup, and immediately it wobbles over, squeezing past the others to get to you. Your heart wells as you watch it give you a couple of licks, then lets out a tiny yip.

Jungkook comes back just as quickly as he had left with an older man in a shelter volunteer shirt. He points out the puppy you want, and the man unlocks the cage to reach around the hyper puppies for yours. He puts the puppy in your waiting hands, and you and Jungkook follow him out to the main part of the shelter. As you go, the man explains that your pup is a boy and that he and his siblings were found in a box in a park by someone who brought them in.

Jungkook fills a basket with toys, food, and treats from the on-site pet shop while the fluff ball in your arms watches him go. He stays quiet as Jungkook tries a few collars on him before settling for a bright blue one and claiming it as perfect.

Once everything is paid for and you’re on your way back home, he stands up in your lap and stretches his body out, examining Jungkook's car as he does.

"Please don't pee on the seats, little guy," Jungkook begs him playfully. As if he understands, the dog gives one small bark in response and moves to balance on your thigh so he can look out the window. "We need a name for him, you know."

"I know. Any ideas?"

"Jungkook Junior?"

"We are not calling our dog Jungkook Junior."

"Y/n Junior?" He receives a pointed look in reaction to that suggestion. "Well, what do you think we should name him then?" You look down at the dog in your lap, and he looks back, almost in curiosity.

"Hmm...how do you think Jimin would feel if we named him Mochi?" Upon hearing it, the puppy barks. "Is that a yes? You like the name?" He barks again.

Jungkook lets out a laugh and turns to look at the puppy once the car is parked and you’re back home. "So this is our little Mochi, huh? I think it fits." He reaches over and scratches under the pup's chin, his tongue lolling out and his eyes closing. You and Jungkook share a look similar to one proud parents would share about their successful children.

After all the supplies are carried upstairs to your apartment, you and Jungkook put all of the things away, taking turns keeping a watchful eye on him as Mochi explores and sniffs anything in the apartment he can get to. Jungkook wastes no time in calling everyone over to meet him.

"His name is Mochi?!” is the first thing out of Jimin’s mouth when you introduce him. He looks as if he’s so touched he could burst into tears. As soon as the boys walk in, Mochi is smelling and circling them, vying for attention from them all.

"For a new dog, he’s not very shy," Yoongi says when he sits down on the couch, and Mochi immediately dashes over, begging to be put into his lap.

A coo rings out through the room from everyone as the eight of you watch as he sprawls out on Yoongi’s lap, enjoying the belly rubs he offers him.

The boys spend the rest of the evening playing with the puppy. They talk to him as if he can understand, try and fail to teach him to sit, and unsurprisingly, Hoseok ends up rolling around on the floor with him.

He has his first almost accident during dinner, whining and pacing while everyone is eating, catching the room’s attention.

“He has to pee!” Taehyung warns. Jungkook shoots up from the couch, nearly knocking his pizza over in the process, and quickly opens the patio door, carrying Mochi out to the patch of turf he’d laid out earlier. Quickly after, he trots back inside and plops onto his doggy bed by the couch, eliciting various “awws” from all of you.

After dinner, everyone helps you and Jungkook clean up and play with Mochi a bit more before calling it a night. Before leaving, Hoseok promises he'll be back in the morning to walk his "new best friend." This causes Seokjin to scoff and argue that Mochi was his new best friend and that he'll be back in the morning. Jimin puts his two cents in about how Mochi is obviously his best friend since he’s named after him. Namjoon tries to use the fact that he secretly fed Mochi under the table as a way of winning the debate that they’re best friends, but it only earns him a whack on the arm from you.

Jungkook manages to usher his bickering friends out, telling them whoever gets to your apartment first in the morning could walk the dog. Of course, this will lead to chaos in the morning, but you and Jungkook will worry about it then.

As the two of you make your way down the long hall to your bedroom, you realize Mochi is still sitting at the end of the hallway, looking as if he’s contemplating whether or not to follow along.

Jungkook turns around and tilts his head. "Well, come on then!" The puppy lets out a chipper bark and bounds down the hallway as quick as his small legs allow him. He circles your feet excitedly, then busies himself with observing the new room as you get ready for bed.

When you’re finally snuggled up to Jungkook with the lights off you, take a look at the puppy as he stretches in the middle of the room.

"Can we bring him in the bed? Please?”

"Hmm...I don't know..." Jungkook taps his chin, pretending to think before calling the dog's name. He didn’t expect him to respond, having only had a name for a day, but to his surprise, Mochi barks and runs over to the bed. You watch him attempt to climb and jump onto the king-sized bed until Jungkook leans down and scoops him up. Mochi immediately turns himself in a circle and plops down on the bed between you two. "He's an extremely smart dog," Jungkook murmurs as he lets a yawn slip.

"He is. You know, I think you were right about letting the dog choose us."

"I know. Aren't I always right?" You reach over and swat his shoulder.

"Oh, hush, and go to sleep." He lets out a laugh before leaning over to kiss you.

"Love you, babe."

"Love you, Koo. Love you, Mochi." Right on cue, the dog lets out a loud yawn and snuggles closer to you. You smile and run your fingers through his soft fur before dozing off with your boys.