#he produced a bud last summer and then changed his mind and never opened it

[youcanthandelthetruth]

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

De Amore

My fic for @aceomenszine is finally available on AO3!

Aziraphale has come to Paris to find the answer to an important question: What's it like to be in love? Crowley's not sure why he wants to know, but he's willing to discuss it to make his angel happy. Full text below!

--

“What’s it like to be in love?”

Crowley stumbled to a stop on the Paris street, glaring at the angel beside him. Aziraphale stared straight ahead, walking with his usual expression: calm, poised, slightly arrogant. As if he were talking about the weather.

“Dunno. S’a human thing, isn’t it?” He scowled at a few gawking peasants, hurrying to catch up. “Romance. Lust. Sex. Nothing to do with us.”

“You could say the same of hunger, or exhaustion, or boredom.”

“Yeah, and I’d be right.” Crowley held out an arm to stop Aziraphale from walking directly into a produce cart. “Neither of us gets exhausted. You’re never tired, and I just like a good nap sometimes.”

“Really?” A flicker of that mocking bastard smirk. “How many nights did you sleep this past week?”

“Nrrg. Five or six, but that’s not the point.” They started walking again, Crowley tossing an apple he’d snuck from the cart. “I could stop if I wanted to — I’d miss it, but s’not the same as being tired. Same with you and eating.”

“But if I desire a food, so strongly I can already taste it, surely that’s…if not exactly hunger, a close approximation?”

“Don’t think so.” Crowley offered the apple, but Aziraphale shook his head. “Spend a couple days in the city, you’ll see what hunger looks like. S’not about pleasure or wanting a particular food. It’s need, desperation. And we just don’t experience that.” He tossed the apple towards a group of children, and a girl in a ragged dress caught it. “Boredom I’ll grant you. I’ve definitely been bored.”

“So, we might enjoy things as humans do, but never desire them the same way,” Aziraphale mused, smoothing his hands down the front of his stolen jacket. “But is love the longing for a connection with another, or the pleasure of that connection?”

“Doesn’t really make a difference to us, does it?”

He waited for Aziraphale to respond, but the angel simply continued walking, hands folded behind his back, eyes more distant than usual.

“So?” Crowley prodded after nearly a block in silence. “What brought this on?” Aziraphale shrugged. “Let me guess. Reading novels again? Sappy poetry? Getting…ideas?” He stepped ahead of Aziraphale and walked backwards, to ensure the angel saw his suggestive eyebrow wiggle. No response. Crowley shrugged, falling back into step. “Look, f’you want to try falling in love with a human, s’your business. Let me know how it goes. Just do it back in London, I don’t need that…drama getting back to my bosses.”

“That’s not it,” Aziraphale snapped, wringing his hands. “It’s not — it doesn’t even work that way, Crowley. Humans don’t just decide to fall in love!”

“They don’t cross an ocean and charge through a revolution for a snack, either.”

“Oh, never mind. Clearly you’re the expert here.” Aziraphale froze, glaring at a shop just ahead, and threw his hands up in disgust. “And now they’ve closed my favorite creperie! Why do I even bother? Might as well return to England and feast upon whatever lumpy brown bread the first tavern I pass serves.”

“Stop being dramatic,” Crowley hissed, turning down a side street and gesturing for Aziraphale to follow. “If you get locked up again, I’m not rescuing you a second time.” The angel’s lips twisted sourly. “Look, gourmet crepes aren’t really in demand right now, but I know a place. Might still be open.”

“I suppose that will have to do.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and glared at the sky, thin grey clouds veiling the sun. He should probably just let Aziraphale stew in his own sullen displeasure. Might even give him an advantage — a distracted angel was easier to outsmart.

But Crowley hadn’t been in the business of thwarting Aziraphale for over a thousand years. Why oppose each other, when they could work…not together, but in tandem? Ensuring all their duties were fulfilled, their paperwork properly filed.

It was better this way. Less fuss all around, less inconvenience. Pleasanter conversation. More time for trips to the theater or quiet meals, either of which was a far better way to spend an evening than any sort of elaborate espionage.

He’d been looking forward to griping about his job over a mug of cider while Aziraphale worked his way through a plate of crepes, smiling and wiggling in his seat. Watching Aziraphale get excited over something was, in Crowley’s opinion, one of the best ways to pass the time.

Only the conversation had left Aziraphale annoyed, pouting and…Crowley studied him carefully, dark glasses imperfectly hiding his eyes. More than anything, Aziraphale looked hurt. A sight that always made Crowley’s stomach twist painfully.

He sighed, tossing back his head. “‘Love is an inborn suffering, proceeding from the sight and immoderate thought upon the beauty of another, for which cause above all other things one wishes to embrace the other and, by common assent, in this embrace to fulfil the commandments of love.’”[1]

“I beg your pardon?”

“Look, I don’t know. You asked me—!” Crowley walked faster, face growing hot. “It’s from some old treatise, right? Love, he says, is seeing someone beautiful and wanting sex. Then, when you have your fill…” he waved his hand vaguely.

“I see.” Aziraphale adjusted his sleeves. “I suppose that…makes sense.” But he still looked grim.

Up ahead, not quite along their path, stood one of Paris’s parks, gates now open to the public. Apart from some rubbish cluttering the entrance, it seemed well-maintained. Crowley tipped his head, inviting.

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and he nodded, the first hint of a smile on his face. It always made Crowley feel light, that smile, however briefly it appeared.

They wandered in silence up the path, lined by trees here, flowerbeds there. Leaves had turned yellow and the grass was edged with brown, but the roses were still in bloom. Crowley paused to pluck a particularly well-formed bud.

As they crossed a bridge over a small watercourse, Aziraphale suddenly said, “Do you think it’s true, though? That — that treatise? Because it rather sounds like he didn’t see any difference between lust and love.”

“Mmh.” Crowley paused, gazing downstream, where a group of ducks swam contentedly. “As a demon? Yeah. Fits the party line. Humans don’t think of anything but their own pleasure, always wanting what they don’t have. Jealous, possessive, until something better comes along. Then it starts all over. If love and lust aren’t the same, well, they’re pretty close, right?”

“I see.” Aziraphale stepped beside him, holding out his red cap, now filled with grains of barley and cracked corn. They each took a handful and tossed it down. The ducks swam over eagerly, bobbing to catch the seeds before they drifted away.

“But as a being who’s been in the world nearly six thousand years?” Crowley threw another handful, then leaned against the railing, crossing his arms. “Not so sure. Humans do too much that can’t be explained by simple pleasure. Besides, I’ve seen what they do when overwhelmed by lust, and what they do when overwhelmed by love and…dunno. S’not the same.”

More handfuls of grains as a second group of ducks approached.

“What d’you think, Angel?” Crowley prodded. “Must be something in all those books you read.”

“Oh, quite a lot,” Aziraphale assured him. “Much of it contradictory. Many poets will only talk about their beloved’s face, or eyes, but if it were simply a matter of beauty, surely everyone would fall in love with the same beauties.”

“Sometimes they do.” Crowley rolled some seeds between his palms. “S’where the jealousy comes in. But yeah. Gotta be more to it than that.”

“I hope you’re not planning to make those poor ducks sink.”

“What? Nk — no. Course not.” He threw the grains down and the ducks quickly swarmed, turning bright shades of pink and blue and violet as they ate.

“Crowley.”

“Oh, it’s not hurting anyone.” He glanced sideways to see Aziraphale pressing his lips together, struggling not to smile. Grinning, Crowley tossed down more enchanted grains. “Go on then.”

“Hmm? Ah, yes. Well, the overall impression is that love is…transformative. Changes the way one thinks and feels at all times. They speak of, oh, the sun shining brighter, foods tasting sweeter, winter blossoming into summer. Metaphors. Others speak of — of attraction, quickened pulse, sudden heat and so on, but that’s a passing thing, part of a — a particular moment of closeness. Surely, no human could maintain such a state for an hour, never mind weeks or years!” Aziraphale offered Crowley the last handful of grain in his cap. “And once that moment passes…”

“Back to the metaphors.” The ducks below were now spotted, striped, every color of the rainbow. One bore pure white wings, beside another with midnight black. Aziraphale chuckled, very softly, which made Crowley feel immensely satisfied. Dusting off his hands, he circled the angel and continued walking.

“Yes,” Aziraphale hurried to catch up, cap twisting in his hands. “I get the sense that the feeling is so obvious, so…universal, they never think to describe it.”

“How inconsiderate.” Crowley thought it over. “So, flash of heat, racing heart, sun gets brighter, then ten pages about the color of their eyes? That about it?”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale rubbed a finger across his lip. “Not always beauty, though. Some appear drawn by their partner’s clever mind, or acts of kindness. Some praise stories of bravery or great deeds, others fixate on meaningless symbols of wealth. But still, those only tell why one falls in love, not what it feels like.”

“Sounds like a sort of obsession.” Crowley furrowed his brow. “That treatise had a list of…sort of rules of love. Mostly about jealousy, really, don’t think the author thought much of women, but… ‘Every action of a lover ends in the thought of his beloved.’”

“I see…so that, together or apart, one cannot help but think always of the other. That certainly aligns with the evidence.” He started to replace his cap, then paused, looking inside. “Anything else of use?”

“‘Love can deny nothing to love.’” Beside him, Aziraphale turned pink and a brilliant smile broke across his face, like the sun after a storm. He pulled from the cap the bright red rosebud Crowley had hidden within.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale slid the flower into his buttonhole, drinking in the way the delighted shiver ran across his shoulders. Then the angel looked up, hitting Crowley with the full force of his smile.

Stunning. Blinding. It stole Crowley’s breath away, wiped every thought from his mind.

One day, that smile would destroy him, and he wouldn’t mind at all.

“So, this creperie — are we close?”

“Ngh. Smh. Unh. Nearly. Another block or two.” The park’s gate stood just ahead, half shut, the bustling street beyond. Crowley quickly stepped ahead, pulling it open for Aziraphale. “You, ah, find the answer you needed?”

“I…think so, yes.” He rested his fingers on the gate — so close to Crowley’s he could feel their warmth — then quickly pulled away, folding his hands behind his back. “I’ve been trying to work out…well…whether I’m in love with you, Crowley.”

“Oh.” What was he supposed to say to that? “Oh.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale’s eyes darted nervously and he began to pace. “I-I want you to know, I don’t desire you. I’ve never felt that sort of attraction. And I’m not jealous by any means. I’m not even certain who I’m meant to be jealous of. But…” He turned back, tugging his jacket. “I think of you. Constantly. Every action, every experience reminds me of you. I go to a concert, and I can’t concentrate on the music, only whether you would enjoy it. I hear a joke and I imagine how you would laugh, or roll your eyes, and I can’t know a moment’s peace until I’ve shared it with you. And last month…when I was reprimanded…for days afterward I could think of nothing but how I wished you were there. When I finally found the strength to venture out, it was only from my determination to come here.”

“For…crepes?” Crowley offered stupidly.

“No, you silly creature, for you.” He stepped forward, reaching up as if to straighten Crowley’s lapels, but once again his hands dropped. “I hear your voice and no matter how dark my situation — no matter how absurd you look in the current fashion — I just…feel happy again.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and lifted his eyes — hopeful, fearful, vulnerable — to meet Crowley’s.

“Oh.” Something more was probably needed. “Yeah.”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

“Well.” Aziraphale’s eyes dropped and he turned, trying to hide his expression. “Yes. I thought you should know.” He ducked his head and hurried through the gate. “Where — where is this creperie? We should try to arrive—”

“Me too.”

Crowley hadn’t meant to say anything. His mind was still ten minutes behind, struggling to catch up, but the pain on Aziraphale’s face hurt him like a blow to the chest.

The two words stopped Aziraphale in his tracks.

“I…I think about you, too.” Crowley stepped halfway through the gate, gripping the bar so tight it began to bend. “When I wake up, or fall asleep and…and away from you, here, I just…I miss you…but you — you idiot, with your crepes and your — your execution and…and then you smile and I just…” Blast! How could Aziraphale be so eloquent? Crowley swallowed and started over. “Look, m’trying to say…don’t think I can deny you anything. And. If that’s love…yeah. Me too.”

All this time, Aziraphale stood perfectly still, his back to Crowley. But now he turned, blue eyes furiously blinking. “That’s…ah…thank you. I know y-you hate being thanked but…” Aziraphale took one step closer, then another, until only inches separated them. “Thank you.”

“Nh.” He could so easily reach across that last bit of distance. Crowley didn’t know what that would accomplish, what he’d even do, but he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything. “Now what?”

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale’s gaze fell. “It…doesn’t change anything, does it? You’re still a demon, and I’m—”

“I don’t care,” Crowley hissed, shocked at the fervor in his own voice. “We don’t need to play by their rules. We could — run off, or—”

“We can’t. Crowley, both our sides would — they’d find us, they’d destroy you.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” He reached for Aziraphale’s hand.

“I’m not.” The angel jerked back, putting more distance between them, eyes wide. “Crowley that’s — that’s not a chance I’m willing to take. I’m sorry, but no.”

“Fine,” Crowley growled, pulling away. “What do you want?”

“I want…” Aziraphale shut his eyes, taking a shuddering breath. “I want a shop in London, where I can surround myself with books and foods and everything I enjoy. I want my superiors to trust me, let me bring good into the world my own way, without sending me all over Creation at a moment’s notice and — and punishing me for a few miracles to make my life easier. I want us to go to plays and gardens and balls together, not for clandestine meetings but because we enjoy them. To be openly in each other’s company, without fear of reprisal. And…I’d like you to visit my shop and bring me flowers or sweets. I’d serve my very best wine and…we’d talk all night about…everything and nothing. And laugh together.” His eyes fluttered open and for the first time Aziraphale looked sure of himself. “I want what we already have. Only I want more of it.”

This time he didn’t move as Crowley reached out. Long fingers carefully adjusted the rosebud, standing it straighter in its buttonhole. “Yeah. I…I’d like that, too.”

“And you don’t want anything…physical?”

Crowley snorted. “M’not a human.” But he wondered if Aziraphale’s cheek was as soft as the rosebud’s petals. “I’d like to touch you. Your hand, your face. Your wings. Hear your voice as I fall asleep. Feel your fingers in my hair. Is that…too much?”

“No.” Aziraphale smiled gently. “That sounds perfect.”

“Maybe…” Crowley fidgeted with his glasses, shuffled his feet, but refused to step away. “If we’re careful…”

“The Arrangement is already dangerous enough. You must understand…”

Crowley closed his eyes. “I do. Nothing changes.” Except there were words now, to the feeling he had when he thought of his angel. And that changed everything. When he looked again, Aziraphale nodded, as if he felt the same.

“Right then.” Crowley circled around Aziraphale, sauntering back to the main road. “Let’s see if these crepes are worth risking the guillotine.”

“My dear fellow,” Aziraphale easily kept pace. “One bite of true Breton crepes will silence your doubts forever.”

“Breton, huh?”

“Oh, yes, far superior to any others.”

“If that’s so,” Crowley smirked, remembering Aziraphale in his cell, “s’a wonder you came to Paris. Particularly in such a…controversial outfit.”

“The city has…certain other attractions.”

Something warm and heavy wrapped across Crowley’s shoulders, invisible to his eyes, though he could feel the individual feathers tickle his neck. Aziraphale strolled beside him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward, as if nothing were amiss.

Carefully, trying to look natural, Crowley scratched his shoulder, brushing his knuckles down a long flight feather, softer than any mortal bird’s.

Aziraphale smiled ever so slightly and flexed his wing, holding Crowley a little more tightly. An embrace that no one could see, no one could know about, except them.

“Dunno,” Crowley said. “Still seems pretty risky.”

“Yes. But I’m an incorrigible old fool. Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

“Suppose I can understand,” Crowley said as he extended his own wing, wrapping it around Aziraphale’s waist. The angel’s composure broke as he wiggled, burying himself in invisible feathers. Crowley smiled, heat running through him, a warm spring day after a long cold winter. “After all, we’re not so different, you and I.”

[1] De Amore, Andreas Capellanus, c. 1190

So happy to finally share this!

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s S2 R&S - What is known as amazing the world

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a Rumours & Secrets, 所谓一鸣惊人, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

This R&S features S2 Shaw, but no knowledge of S2 is required to enjoy this~

In terms of sequencing, this is Shaw’s third S2 R&S!

[ Chapter One ]

When mentioning the tutor of the Archaeology Department in Loveland University, Professor Shen deserves greatest respect. Precisely because of the high academic requirements, he had not recruited graduate students in recent years. However, he didn't find anything wrong with this. He occasionally taught undergraduates, then immersed himself in his own academic research. His days followed a pretty regular pattern.

During such an ordinary time, Professor Shen met Shaw for the first time.

The day he interviewed Shaw was also the warmest afternoon in the late spring of Loveland City. The sycamore trees on both sides of the road were working hard to produce new buds. Professor Shen carried a pile of materials, walking across the sunny open space to the building where the graduate students were sitting for the second round of examinations.

So far, he had re-examined five students. Their performances were very mediocre, and there was still quite a lot of distance from his expectations. However, the student to be re-examined later was slightly different. The materials showed that he was directly recommended to him by Loveland University. Based on his age, he should be a young student. Amidst the twenty-five, twenty-six, and even older re-examinees, he had subconsciously left an impression on Professor Shen.

After dusting off the sycamore puffs that had fallen on his shoulders, Professor Shen entered the classroom. Before long, what accompanied the hands of the clock reaching 2pm were two beeps at the door of the classroom.

"Hello teacher, my name's Shaw.”

Hearing this, Professor Shen lifted his head. The boy at the door was indeed very young, but his flamboyant bluish purple short hair, incomparably avant-garde clothes, and flat expression without much of a smile rendered Professor Shen stunned for a second or two. But he quickly smoothened his expression, warmly beckoning Shaw to enter.

The student named Shaw wasn’t reserved at all. He sat down naturally on the chair in the middle, placing a black schoolbag casually at his feet.

Whether he was making judgments based on appearances or was no longer holding much hope, at that moment, Professor Shen thought that this was another interview where he would simply go through the motions. He raised some standard questions. Unexpectedly, Shaw actually answered them decently. Professor Shen's spirits gradually rose.

"What you wrote about in your undergraduate thesis was..." Professor Shen flipped through the materials in his hands. Just as he found the information, a clear voice sounded fluently. "《A Statistical Analysis of the Age and Gender of Human Skeletons Unearthed in Xushan》. It includes the basic condition of the unearthed human bones, any damage, pathological changes, as well as an analysis of the population and health of that period.”

"Does this mean you’re interested in physical anthropology?" Professor Shen pushed the glasses on the bridge of his nose, staring at Shaw with interest. "In that case, why did you apply to be my graduate student?" He needed to know that Professor Shen’s research direction was mainly on the appreciation of ancient appliances and field archaeology.

Faced with Professor Shen's sharp and intense gaze, Shaw didn’t panic at all. He shifted his overlapped legs, arching his eyebrows slightly. “Physical anthropology is a field that I wasn’t really familiar with, so I wanted to challenge it to learn more. Teacher's research direction is what I’m truly interested in." After he finished speaking, he added, "By the way, if I have the chance, I’d like to participate in field work a few times."

"Oh? The graduation thesis is such an important aspect. Isn’t challenging a new field very risky?" Professor Shen continued to probe.

Hearing this question, the corners of Shaw’s lips slanted, revealing his first smile of the day. However, there was an incredibly serious look in his eyes. He didn’t give a direct answer, but spoke leisurely, word by word. "Archaeology has always been a risk where expectations may end up fruitless. Don’t you agree?”

The re-examination and what Shaw said greatly exceeded Professor Shen's initial expectations. Outstanding schoolwork, comprehensive knowledge and an open-minded attitude. Except for seeming rather brash and conceited, Professor Shen wasn’t able to find fault with him at that moment. He drew a circle on Shaw's materials, then lifted his head to ask the final question:

"Student Shaw seems to be a young man with a lot of personality. So why did you choose the archaeology major that most people find boring?”

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The new semester has commenced for almost two weeks. For Professor Shen, aside from the need to attend a few more professional courses, his teaching life doesn’t seem to have changed much. He hasn't taken a graduate student in two years, and he hasn't gotten used to it yet. Fortunately, Shaw has never been someone who would simply wait passively.

After class this morning, Professor Shen returns to the office. Right after opening the stack of archaeological reports he’s been reading recently, there’s a sudden knock at the door.

"Shaw, is there a problem?" Professor Shen removes his reading glasses and asks composedly.

Shaw has a black backpack slung over one shoulder. He strides over to Professor Shen's desk. Scratching his own hair casually, he speaks with laziness in his tone. “Professor, you gave too little homework. Can’t you assign more?”

Professor Shen suddenly chuckles. Even though it’s only been two weeks since school started, he has already seen Shaw's agile mind and excellent learning speed. Professor Shen isn’t surprised by Shaw's request. But in his opinion, being overly eager isn’t always a good sign to rely on.

Professor Shen ponders for a moment, puts on his glasses again, then says to Shaw, "There’s another assignment, but I don't know if you’d be willing to do it.”

“Tell me about it?”

“You could draw pictures of the flowerbeds in school and objects in the classroom, then practice your fundamental sketching skills.”

Treating flower beds as ruins and objects as appliances is a method that many archaeology students use when practising sketching. But when this assignment comes out of Professor Shen's mouth...

Shaw sweeps a glance at the genial Professor Shen as he sits behind the desk. He purses his lips. Without a word, he hauls up his backpack and turns around, walking towards the office door. Just as he’s about to leave, he turns slightly with a soft “hmph”.

He doesn’t know if Professor Shen heard this sound, nor does he care that much. After all, he has once again immersed himself in the pile of archaeology reports.

-

Just after 5pm, Professor Shen hurries to a research meeting while carrying documents.

The sky at the end of summer is still very bright, clear and azure, without a single shadow of dusk. Professor Shen turns around a corner, and suddenly finds that the back not too far ahead is very familiar - the bluish-purple hair is one of the few in the whole of Loveland University, and he knows at a glance that it’s Shaw. And in front of Shaw, facing Professor Shen’s direction, is a girl with short hair and dressed in a delicate manner.

Professor Shen walks closer and closer. He’s unable to hear what the girl says, and only sees the shy expression on her face.

“Hey, I’m rushing to the band. You’re in the way.” Shaw’s voice is very cold, and even somewhat impatient. The girl seems a little reluctant to withdraw, and reaches out to grab Shaw. However, Shaw turns sideways and steps backwards, dodging instantly. At this point, Shaw knits his brows tightly, his eyes dyed with a sharp and impatient light. “I’ll repeat myself for the last time. I’m. Not. Interested.”

After saying this with a decisive attitude, Shaw walks away.

Walking from behind Shaw to a different branch of the corridor, Professor Shen grips the documents tightly. Actually, whether a student likes to be in a band or is adored by girls, these things belonging to the private lives of students aren’t what he’s interested in nor what he has ever interfered in. To him, what students place value on most are the quality of learning and professionalism. As for other things...

Professor Shen glances at his watch and subconsciously speeds up his pace. While he hurries, he hopes that his original judgment was correct, and hopes that Shaw is indeed a good successor worth cultivating, just as he appeared during the re-examination.

-

[ Chapter 3 ]

A week passes by suddenly.

Sitting at the desk which receives plentiful sunlight, Professor Shen flips through the stack of sketching assignments that Shaw had just handed in, an imperceptible smile of satisfaction on his lips.

In addition to printed computer drawings, another half are hand-drawn sketches by Shaw using a pen, and they are of pretty good quality. Over the years, Professor Shen had seen too many young kids neglecting hand-drawn sketches because they relied too much on computer drawings. No matter what decade it is, the most primitive and foundational skills should be the most solid.

The sense of gratification causes Professor Shen to sigh. However, the page he just flipped to causes him to stop abruptly - this is obviously not part of the drawing assignment. It looks like an analysis report... Professor Shen props up his glasses, reading it carefully from the beginning. Then, he realises that this is an analysis of archaeological reports. Flipping to the back roughly, he finds that coincidentally, this analysis is targeted at the stack of archaeological reports Professor Shen had been reading recently.

With no time to be surprised, Professor Shen straightens his back in an instant, sits up straight, and reads the analysis written by Shaw from start to finish carefully. Whether it’s the standardised writing format, the hypothesis proposed in response to pictures and existing materials, or the objectivity of the comparisons drawn, they can already be regarded as the standard of a professional. 

Even though he doesn’t know where Shaw obtained the archaeological reports, what is undeniable is that he used his "little brain". But what is even more undeniable is that just by skimming through the analysis, Professor Shen can see Shaw’s solid foundational and expansive knowledge.

Through this unassigned piece of homework, Professor Shen feels that what he sees isn’t just a very young student who’s just beginning graduate school. What’s displayed before his eyes is Shaw’s undiscovered potential and possibilities.

Professor Shen gets a full glass of water from the water dispenser, and Biluochun leaves twirl and dance in the transparent glass. He walks over to the window, blowing at the mouth of the cup. Then, he takes a few sips of tea slowly, appearing to be in a good mood.

In his mind, he recalls the content of the analysis report, as well as Shaw's appearance when he came to submit his assignment early in the morning.

At that time, his steps were confident and full of vigour. He walked straight to the table to set down his assignment, then raised his eyebrows in glowing spirits. "Professor, remember to read till the end."

Now that he thinks about it, Professor Shen seems to taste the unhesitating confidence and the unwillingness to admit defeat in Shaw's eyes that he didn’t notice before.

It looks like this kid felt that he was being underestimated before. Full of pent up grievances, he wanted to prove his capabilities! This was simply his slightly awkward yet incomparably confident demeanour...

Professor Shen sighs softly, then can’t help but chuckle.

Before him, the sun is still climbing up at 10am, but the radiance of sunlight is already incomparably dazzling.

-

[ Chapter Four ]

After a few autumn rains, Loveland City gradually turns cooling. Professor Shen's body isn’t very good, so he puts on a thick coat early.

On this day, Professor Shen comes to the office with a briefcase as usual. He methodically prepares Biluochun, takes out his materials and pen, and puts on his glasses. Just as he’s about to start work, the new young lecturer Xiao Fu suddenly turns to his desk while holding his phone. “Professor Shen, look at this quickly. This boy in the middle looks like your graduate student!"

“Why do I feel as if he might be that student of yours?" Teacher Fu looks increasingly certain that he’s correct. "I met him several times before. It’s that cool and triumphant look. Even the colour of his hair matches!"

Professor Shen lowers his head, pulling down his glasses, and the image on the phone screen is displayed in an instant. It seems to be a video of a performance. The musicians on stage are very lively, and the atmosphere under the stage seems to be extraordinarily enthusiastic. The person playing the bass intently and fervently in the middle - who else could he be but Shaw?

Even before Professor Shen speaks, Teacher Fu has already affirmed to himself. “That’s right, it’s him! I remember someone mentioning that he was in band, but I didn't expect him to look like this...”

Professor Shen's eyes are still focused on the phone screen. In the video, Shaw has the youthful vigour that he can only have at his age. He’s full of spirit, rebellious and eccentric, and exudes fervent vitality. He can attract everyone’s attention almost instantly, as though he's a natural focal point.

But such a Shaw seems slightly foreign to Professor Shen. In the past two or three months, the Shaw he has seen is a graduate student who rushes to and from school, but is very earnest in his specialised course, and is also very meticulous in research.

Teacher Fu has already taken his phone away and returned to his own desk. Professor Shen’s gaze returns to his materials, but there are still some emotions stirring in his heart.

The more interactions he has with Shaw, the more Professor thinks that he’s akin to a treasure. Although he may make someone feel conflicted, he always brings unexpected surprises to others. Initially, Professor Shen thought there might only be jade here. But after more digging, he found calligraphy and paintings and utensils. Thinking that this would be the end, taking a turn resulted in the digging of gold, silver, copper and iron. As for whether there would be other treasures in the future...

Knock knock.

Hearing knocks at the door, Professor Shen lifts his head instinctively - truly, speak of the devil.

"Professor, I came to ask about something." Shaw strides over. Standing before the desk, Shaw looks at Professor Shen with an indifferent expression, as if he’s just speaking thoughtlessly. "I heard that the excavation and inspection of the Hou Yin Tan site will be carried out soon. Anyway, my usual assignments aren’t urgent. I’m thinking of strolling around the area with you.”

Through the spectacle lenses, Professor Shen looks at the seemingly expressionless Shaw, and can’t help but chuckle.

He thinks to himself - perhaps no one has told Shaw that even though he always uses nonchalance as a cover, the insuppressible earnestness in his eyes are unable to conceal his genuine anticipation.

-

[ Chapter 5 ]

The excavation work has commenced for over a month, and everything is proceeding on tenterhooks and in an orderly manner.

Field excavation has always been a bitter and boring part of archaeological work. In addition to digging for long hours in a desolate field, it’s also common to find nothing after digging till the end. At the very least, Shaw has already experienced it several times this month.

It’s another cold and windy morning. Professor Shen comes to the excavation site early, only to find that Shaw hasn’t arrived yet, which is rare. Something noteworthy is that Shaw has been coming here earlier than him every day. But within a few minutes, Shaw appears, walking over while talking on the phone. Something is said on the other end of the line. Shaw arches his eyebrows in his signature style. "Tch, so long-winded... Got it.”

Professor Shen notices a cute rabbit pendant dangling from the bottom of Shaw’s phone, though he doesn’t know when it first appeared. He shows a smile of understanding, no longer paying attention to Shaw's actions, lowering his head to start a new day of work. After a while, a number of villagers from the vicinity also come over and they all greet Shaw first.

This is also something Professor Shen noticed on hindsight. At some point in time, Shaw had established a rapport with the villagers. Having the villagers in the vicinity cooperate and even participate in an amiable manner is another very important part of field excavation. In this aspect, Shaw's performance can be regarded as attaining a satisfactory full marks.

"Professor, leave the rest of the shaving to me." Shaw squats down beside Professor Shen, holding a shovel in his hand. Professor Shen doesn’t immediately express his opinion. Instead, he smiles slightly. "Finished your call with your girlfriend?" Shaw averts his eyes in a hurry, which is rare. He purses his lips. “Who said that she’s... Professor, don’t get infected by Mr Fu’s gossip.” Professor Shen chuckles while standing up slowly. Then, he pats Shaw on the shoulder. "I'll take a look at the pit."

Shaving is time-consuming and hard work, let alone shaving in winter. In spite of thin sunlight, the bitter cold wind hovers over the site, causing Shaw's nose to redden unknowingly. His ripped jeans have long since been covered in dust, and even his originally shiny earrings are coated in ash. Even so, Shaw simply kneels on the ground with ease, cleaning the ground while holding the shovel firmly, shovelling the ground and four walls carefully.

The shaving takes five hours.

Dinner naturally consists of a group of people eating together. When Shaw arrives, he has already taken a shower and is restored to a clean and refreshed state. However, when using chopsticks to pick out vegetables, Professor Shen notices his unusual behaviour immediately: he rarely moves his chopsticks, and he has been picking the vegetables slower than usual. After a few more glances, Professor Shen realises that his hands had turned swollen during the five consecutive hours of shaving.

Despite this, even after the meal is over, Shaw doesn’t say a word or complain at all.

Professor Shen is even more satisfied with the only graduate student he has. He can’t help but compliment him coolly. "You’ve done a good job recently. If you want to learn archeology properly, you must have this earnestness and inextinguishable momentum."

Shaw pauses for a second, but still has that triumphant expression when he speaks. "That goes without saying." But Professor Shen clearly sees how Shaw's eyes had lit up in an instant, and how his brows raised involuntarily.

Professor Shen smiles while shaking his head, looking at Shaw whose words don’t match his genuine feelings. He doesn’t know what Shaw experienced, and perhaps his cynicism is to some extent a defence mechanism. As long as he pretends not to care, there will never come a time when his expectations come to naught. And this also gives him a chance to rewind the situation. Even though amazing the world with brilliant feats bring with it surprises, it occasionally makes Professor Shen feel that what he’s doing is akin to a child looking forward to rewards...

With this thought in mind, Professor Shen smiles while walking away.

-

When Professor Shen arrives the next morning, many people are already surrounding the area. There’s an interview with the TV station today, and Professor Shen had long since pushed Shaw out. A young man with such an advantageous appearance is suitable to be on TV.

As expected, the host is holding the microphone and conducting the interview. Looking at Shaw’s knitted brows, Professor Shen can't help but laugh, knowing that he’s trying his best to answer patiently. At this moment, the host suddenly asks a rather familiar question. "Why are you studying archaeology?"

This question seems to pull time backwards to more than half a year ago, when Professor Shen met Shaw for the first time -

"Student Shaw seems to be a young man with a lot of personality. So why did you choose the archaeology major that most people find boring?”

Shaw arches his eyebrows. "Because I like it." He lifts his chin slightly, showing a determined smile. "Isn't liking something the greatest display of personality?”

More from S2: here

[georgemackayhey]

Hotter Than Summer

a/n: Remember when I promised more NSFW stuff? Yeah so this is by far the smuttiest thing I've ever written. Do Not interact with this is you're underaged. But if you're legal, have fun! 18+ only

w/c: 8k

───※ ·❆· ※───

Every year, you went on a trip with your family.

Your parents and siblings would cram into one car, and meet up with your neighbors in the countryside, under the same roof. A cabin that over looked a lake, that housed a forest, that wrapped all the way around to where you were.

You'd go in the dead of summer, when school let out. When the mosquitoes were rampant and the heat was crippling. You couldn't ever figure out what was so enjoyable about heading into the middle of no place to melt inside a rented home for a few weeks, but you went back each year. Of course, swimming in the lake was a blast and campefires at midnight were such fun. But that was mostly due to the fact that you got to spend such quality time with your favorite old neighbours.

Your fathers best university pal, and his wife only moved across the street when you were well into your high school career. But your dad was chuffed still to have his oldest friend one hop skip and jump away. Your mom was just as fond of the family, and soon you were sharing dinners and going to festivals and movies with them and their son, George.

When you met, you ignorantly assumed there was no way he wasn't a jock, or something equally as brain dead. No one with a face that pretty could possibly be smarter than a blade of grass.

But it wasn't long after they moved in, untill his parents asked you to show him around the school. And even though he was older and so vastly different from you, one morning, you found out George wasn't at all how you'd imagined. As you took him through the school halls, he went on and on about the theater program and marveled over your decently sized and poorly decorated library. He even thanked you for wasting your free break guiding him round to help him make sense of the schedule in his hands.

And after then, you had it bad. So that was precisely the reason you decided to steer clear. You gave small waves in the halls, and pretended not to scream internally when he sat next to you at lunch, every now and again. You went about your day pretending you were much more preoccupied with your other friends, and saved all your hopelessly romantic daydreams about George for your diary.

Until summer, of course. When you showed up to the cabin with your family and your siblings and some of their friends. George would be there, and you let yourself trail behind him like a puppy then. But he always asked for your company, really. He always dragged you to go swimming or to walk three miles to the nearest convenient shop for snacks. He'd sit next to you during rainy afternoon movie marathons and entertain all of your fireside ramblings.  

But it had been three years since you'd spent a summer in the cabin. Your last time was the summer after you graduated. George's last time was two years prior, and nothing had quite been the same since.

///

You knew he wouldn't be there, this year. You should have been off, just as well, drinking till dawn or whatever else college kids wasted evenings doing.

His parents were there, though, and spent at least a minute each hugging you hello. After then, you trekked through the familiar home, up to the room you always claimed as your own, and you pretended not to feel dramatically sad. And for the next week, you sat around the fireside with your siblings, and laughed at their dumb jokes. You swam in the lake all alone. And you listened to George's parents yammer on about how proud they were of all his latest and most admirable achievements.

The last day of your visit, you sat alone in the sun room with a book, but only used it as a fan while you reminisced of all the times you'd sat doing the same before.

"I don't know why we come here when it's this hot." You sighed across the table full of left over breakfast food. Your family had migrated toward the back garden to play volleyball, but you couldn't be bothered trudging through the heat.

"I've always wanted to come in the autumn, watch the leaves change, make better use of all this firewood." You never did, because that's when school started and holidays were left to plan in for insufferable days like now.

George's mother was setting a pitcher of spiked punch on the table, something she made every year you'd been old enough to enjoy in her company.

"You know, it's so funny you say that." She grinned, shooting you a bright glance as she moved to pour you a drink.

"Our Geogre will be home this fall and he was asking about heading up to the cabin." She began. You used your book fan with a little more vigour.

"We, unfortunately, won't be able to make that happen of course, with his father's job and my plans of travelling before snowfall." She rambled, the ice in her drink clinking as she raised it to her lips. Your family's laughter rang muffled from beyond the glass wall of windows that made up the breakfast nook. And the heat, like a blanket over you. Like a pool you stayed trapped drowning in.

"You know- you kids should come here on your own! You're plenty old enough now to handle that responsibility and you always were such good friends. I bet Georgie would just love that." His mother's smile was audible in her tone and beaming from her face. You tried not to gawk at her, not to scrabble to sit straight. You casually lowered your leg from the arm of the chair and looked to the woman with a turn of your head.

"Oh I don't know, do ya think-"

"Yes, yes!" She interrupted with a furrowed brow like this was very serious. "I'm meant to call him later. I'll pass the idea along for you, love."

With a soft grin, her mind was made up. You shrugged, hoping it would make her believe you wouldn't be let down either way. But you'd never wanted anything more.

///

She got through to George, and apparently, according to his mother, he very excitedly accepted the plans. You weren't too sure that was entirely true, but you couldn't help but do a little happy dance behind the closed doors of your cabin bedroom. It was always as you left it, green quilt, matching rug, and the few framed albums you hung to make up for the bland wallpaper.

You left it, thrilled by the thought of returning in two months, and stayed glued to your phone till then. Geogre was meant to text you when the time crept nearer for your roughly made plans to become a little more organized.

You weren't sure what you were so excited for. He'd probably bring a girl, or a least mention one. There was no way he didn't have his pick of dozens vying for his attention. Still, the idea of spending a weekend in the cabin in such close quarters with your old crush was thrilling.

///

He texted you a month before you ended up planning to stay, and your exchange was jarringly short. George shot you a date and time. You agreed. Then he asked if you minded if a couple of his friends tagged along. And of course, you didn't. And that was that.

The summer dragged on, and at the first sign of autumn in the air you practically had all your bags packed.

When the time came, you gave your family quick goodbyes and arrived to the cabin a couple of hours early. The air was crisp, and the lake looked cold from your safe distance away. You breezed through the thin fog and smiled to yourself when you stepped into the place.

Everything was just how you'd left it. There were even still a few notes tapped to the refrigerator. You moved through the wooden structure and noticed how high the ceilings were for the first time in a while. And after washing a few sheets, and sorting out some of the food you'd brought for dinner, your solitude was interrupted.

There was a rattle at the door, and when it opened your heart stopped. He was here. George was all grown up. You hadn't seen him since the last time he came out here with the lot of you, the summer after he graduated. Years had passed, and now his hair was a little longer. He was a little leaner, a little taller, maybe. His nose was reddened by the cold but his smile was familiar. You tried not to gape at him and the way he seemed like an actual supermodel while he rested his bag by the door and looked to you, his grin growing wider.

"Hello, stranger." You smiled.

"Y/n!" He called with outstretched arms. You abandoned your place at the stove to accept his embrace and prayed he wouldn't be able to feel your quickened heartbeat.

"George." You beamed. Because he was your friend. At least, he had been once. His smile remained as he wrapped a strong arm around your middle and mumbled a hello right in your ear.

"Where are all your friends, then?" You cleared your throat, trying everything to keep your cool. Did he really have to speak so low in your ear? This weekend might prove to be incredibly awkward...

"Ah, yeah, one cancelled and the other might just as well. He said he'd keep me updated." George winced, running a hand across the back of his neck. "Hope you don't mind boring old me?"

"Of course not." You produced a chuckle. "I'm just making dinner."

And just like that, it felt like old times. George took over the kitchen for a bit, while you bickered over spices and seasonings. And in between stirring up an evening meal, George tucked his bags away in the room he'd always stayed in, and came back to help you set the table.

Conversation never lost its steady pace. George asked you about your budding life after highschool. He asked what you were doing for money and what you dreamed of doing for good. He laughed at some of your best stories and started to trade some of his own.

You'd always felt a bit intimidated by George, but worse now than ever before. He was musing about Hollywood and rambling about his life on movie sets. You nodded along, and watched George's pretty structured face light up as he spoke of his dreams and how some of them had come true.

When you'd finished dinner, your nerves really started up. Here the two of you were, all alone for the first time, maybe ever. There was always someone else near by in your knowing each other. Whether it be here, back home, or at school. You weren't sure how to handle all the empty space, so to occupy your time, you started a fire in the den. It was a cozy little room where everyone usually spent movie nights curled up on the small sofa. You liked to come here to read, when the sun shone brightly through the picture windows.

But it was dark now, and the fire was small. So you stuck nearby to help make it grow and wondered why you and Geogre were here. You wondered if his friend would ever show. You wondered if he'd ever really invited anyone at all.

"I brought beer, but there was some rum stashed away," George spoke himself into the room, holding a bottle and a glass in hand. He held each out to you, offering you take your pick. You picked the rum and thanked him for thinking you might've wanted a choice.

"I think I know you pretty well after all this time." George grinned, sitting on the floor in front of the fire. You were stood there, watching the flames flicker higher, and it took an internal debate for you to sit at his side. Were you making things weird or had they been weird on their own? Just moments ago you were mulling over how normal everything felt. Yeah, must'a just been you.

"I dunno," You huffed as you crossed your legs. "I've changed a lot since the days we used to tolerate each others company."

"Tolerate?" George chuckled. "We both know half our stays in this cabin were made most enjoyable by all the times we band together. We always had such fun."

"We did. Do you think we're too old now to have fun, this time around?" You asked, taking a sip of the rum he offered you. George stalled for a beat, like he was really considering the answer to your question. And then he looked at you and shook his head.

"I hope not." His lithe grin made your throat go dry. So you finished off your rum and stood for a refill. When you settled back in the den, George was halfway through his beer, and you got to talking about life again. He told you the scariest stories of his time away, and you reminisced about some of the traumas of life you and Geogre had been caught up in together when he was only one house away. George went for another beer, and you stayed watching the fire steadily burn.

He returned in silence and the quiet lingered for a long while, with both of you fixated not the flames.

"Remember when you said you'd let me stow away in your luggage when you left, so I could skip out on my physics finale?" You laughed into your drink.  You felt George's eyes turn to search for your own, but you were still too deep in thought. "I failed that quiz, George. You were supposed to be my way out of this town."

"Hmm." George took a swig of his beer as you finished your second glass of rum. "Maybe that's why I've come back."

"That's rich." You chuckled and pointed a look to George. You couldn't hold back your nervous breaths of laughter now. Because he was watching you. His sea blue eyes seemed to search your face. You never recalled a time he looked at you with such undivided attention.

"What's so funny?" George rose a pale brow, taking another sip of beer. And as the answer formed on your lips, you blamed the rum entirely for your lack of critical thinking.

"I used to have the biggest crush on you." You admitted, turning a glance to George. His gaze had yet to break from your face, but you swore his smile grew ever so slightly. He furrowed his brow and shot you a sidelong look, like he didn't believe what you were saying.

"I did!" You laughed, the voice in your head reprimanding you for being so bold, as the words kept pouring out of your mouth. "You were my older, smoking hot neighbour boy. It was all very cliche but true." You shrugged. A blush burnt your cheeks and your mind suddenly caught up with your actions and you'd started to regret everything that had just transpired.

You mumbled a weary curse as you ducked your head away, hoping George wouldn't go on embarrassing you too much about this. You really hadn't planned to out yourself on the first night of your staying here with him. You hadn't planned to ever tell him that.

But George wasn't saying anything. He was just looking at you, like he had been. Like he was trying to figure you out. His eyes travelled from your face to search the reset of you. You watched George's gaze roam across your build while you tried not to combust in a self conscious worry. But the strange tension was too much not to break.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" You feared, hiding your bashful grin by lifting the nearly empty glass of rum to your lips.

"Because you're beautiful." George grinned, laughing a little like this was some big obvious fact.

"You're just tipsy." You shook your head, pointing to his empty bottle of beer and its half full replacement.

"No, you're just beautiful. You always have been." His tone grew more serious. You dared to catch his eye. The flames from a foot away were reflected in his gaze, and something else too. His eyes flicked away from yours to land on your lips. And his parted ever so slightly. If you hadn't dared to glimpse at his mouth, you wouldn't have noticed the way his jaw slacked.

His eye caught yours again and you realized he was moving closer. George was leaning in and your heart was beating a mile a minute and the fire seemed hotter than the dozen summers you'd wasted away here before.

His lips brushed yours before anything, and neither of you moved for a moment. His warm breath ghosted across your face and all your dreams seemed to suddenly come true as his mouth closed against yours.

Slowly, your lips started moving together. But they moved in perfect time, like they were made for it and waiting for this day to come true. George kissed you with a little more intent, as you kissed him back like you'd never get the chance to again. Because you had never once believed anything like this would happen with George. Maybe he was just tipsy. Or lonely. Or bored. You didn't care. You started to believe he had at least a little bit of actual interest in you, with the way he leaned closer and pressed his grip into your side. His tongue brushed against yours as his fingers started creeping closer to your chest. You wondered if he could feel your heart beating like a drum, and if his hand would ever reach its destination. You kissed him hard as encouragement, and he let out the sweetest whimper that would have made your eyes roll if they were open.

And then there was a knock at the door.

"Shit." You let out another nervous laugh, pulling away and catching your breath. You thought George's friends had all cancelled.

"I'm- I'm sorry." George shook his head, swiping hand at his lips and furrowing a brow at another knock on the door.

"Don't be?" You searched George's eyes for a moment and hoped he knew what you were asking. You hoped he watched as you hurried away. Had that really just happened? Had you just been bold enough to do the thing you'd wished of doing since sometime in high school? Was all the gentle passion in his kissing you back fueled by the drinks? Or had he really meant it?

The knocking kept on as you drifted closer. Geeze, for someone who wasn't sure about coming, they sure seemed excited to be here in the middle of the night. You adjusted yourself on the way to unlock the door, and tried not to blanch when you saw who was on the other side.

"Hi kids!" George's mother beamed, a bag in her arms. "My trip got cancelled and your folks weren't busy so we figured we'd come surprise you!"

The group of parents shuffled through the door. Your father toted a bottle of whiskey and your mother held a stack of films in her grasp. They each hugged you, and you scrambled to steady your tone.

"What a treat." You laughed through your teeth. The change in the pace of your evening could have given you whiplash.

"Oh, it's just like old times!" George's mother squealed, finding her son shuffling toward the kitchen to find what all the commotion was about.

"I suppose so." He grinned, accepting his mothers embrace and nodding as she explained that his father was too busy with work to crash the party. With all the tender sweetness you'd fallen for over the years, George said he understood but greeted his mother with kindness all the while. And as your parents rushed to pass hugs his way, George caught your eye. You wanted nothing more than to ask about the question in his gaze. But you feared your weekend with George wouldn't be as you'd once dreamed, like always.

///

You were glad to sit around the dying fire with your family. His mother's laugh was music to your ears. Your father's jokes had George doubled over with laughter. Your mother mused over and over about how glad she was for this surprise getaway.

And you couldn't be too upset, because you relished every moment you got to spend like this. Usually, this cabin was an escape, a place you could come without a care in the world. But now, there was a nagging little worry tumbling around your head, as everyone sat dragging the night on. Loose plans for the next day were made, talk of enjoying nature and making use of the big kitchen. You said something about sleeping in, because that was a rare occasion in your life these days. And here was a place where your wishes were supposed to be granted.

Your mother was the first to head to bed. The other adults decided to as well, but not before recruiting George to help clean up the kitchen neither of you had been very worried about taking total care of earlier in the evening.

You trudged up the stairs and took your turn in the shower, after wishing your mother a lovely night's sleep. She kept walking to the end of the hall, where she and your father enjoyed the best view just overtop of the forest of trees all around you.

While you washed up for the evening, your mind raced in every direction. What had just happened? And what was going to happen now? You'd been through all sorts of unexpected events with George, growing up. But never anything remotely close to... whatever this was. So far, this wasn't at all how you'd envisioned your long-awaited autumn visit in the countryside.

George's mother was soon making her way to bed too. She passed by as you opened the bathroom door and paused to give you a kiss on the cheek. You wished her goodnight and started your creep toward your own room. Before you could get there, George was walking with your father up the stairs, sharing chatter about a sports game from last year.

"Alright well, I'm off to clean up before bed." Your father noted, ruffling your hair on his way past. "Unless you need in here, George." Your father spun and pointed. There was another half bath downstairs, but the one on the second floor was the only one completed with a big shower and a separate tub.

"Ah, just holler when you're finished and I'll have a turn." George nodded as your father spun back toward the loo wishing you goodnight. You caught George's eye as you started back to your room, and prayed the creaking of the floorboard behind you were his footsteps and not just another one of your daydreams.

Sure, and strangely enough, a set of fingers curled around your wrist before you passed through your doorway.

"I believe we have some unfinished business." His voice muttered over your shoulder. Holy shit. How was this happening?

You didn't have time to waste questioning any longer. You only pulled George into the room you'd come to call your own, and shut the door with a gentle click that wouldn't cause any unwanted attention. No sooner than you had, George was on you.

His lips captured yours in a flash, like you'd been lost at sea and were only just being reunited. You threw your arms around his neck and barely held back a shocked giggle when George pulled you flush against him. You could have spent forever this way, in George's strong embrace, sharing the same breath.

He kissed you dizzy and spun you toward the wall. His hands found your chest at long last and he sighed against your mouth as you pulled him closer best you could. His hips pressed into yours and his hand trailed down your front, till his fingers stalled at the button of your sleep shorts.

"Can I?" He asked in a husky breath, looking right at you. You raised a brow, and gave him a nod, only just attempting to catch your breath. You could hardly believe it. But you'd never been more sure. George kept an eye on you for a beat, as you pressed your teeth to your lower lip. And when his hand started to move, you couldn't help but smile.

"Do you have any idea how badly I've always wanted to do this?" George asked, breathing in your ear as his hand disappeared below the fabric of your shorts. "For how long I've dreamed of having my way with you?" A shiver shot through you as he nipped at your neck. It was all very overwhelming. His word. His lips. His fingers, steadily starting to trace all the right places.

"Holy shit, George." You whined, gripping his shoulder for support from melting into a puddle on the floor.

"What? Am I doing alright?" He asked in a snide way, keeping his mouth pressed below your ear, and pressing his fingers against you with more vigour. Your breath caught at the feeling and George hummed happily against your throat.  His fingers travelled further, deeper, till there was no place left for them to go. And when he set his digits into motion, you couldn't help but let out a noise, a small broken cry that tore George's focus from your neck right to you. His fingers stopped moving and his free hand reached your jaw. He held your face in his grasp and seemed to stall a question on his lips. Then with a breath, George asked,

"You're not gonna keep quiet are you?" At the same moment he'd decided your reaction, his fingers started moving again, and his hand that held your jaw moved to cover your mouth.

"Still try, darling, this cabin isn't very big you know?" George grinned, putting his fingers to good use. Your eyes rolled back, and tried as you might, another cry escaped your throat when George picked up his pace. His one hand stayed firm over your mouth as he worked you up and whispered sinful encouragement in your ear. When you could barely feel the floor under your feet, a noise came from the hall. A knock on a distant door.

You groaned as George stalled, and chuckled at your disappointment. His free hand slid down to your throat and his fingers gently curled around there as his eyes watched yours. From behind your door and down the way you heard your father.

"George! Showers free. And don't forget to see your alarm. We're still hiking at dawn!"

You could have cried, really, when you realized your night of fun was halted till further notice. George slipped his fingers from your shorts as you sucked in a breath and let it out like a sigh.

"Don't worry love," George cooed. "I plan on taking good care of you... eventually." The fingers he'd been using found their way to your mouth. You watched his pretty blue eyes flutter as you wrapped your lips and swirled your tongue around his knuckles. You swore he almost reconsidered his leave. But then George straightened and backed away with a clenched jaw and a smile on his lips.

"Get some rest. We're hiking in the morning!" He announced with a wink as he reached for the handle of your door.

"Oh, fuck you." You grinned, feeling empty and full of fire all at once.

"With any luck." George said, before shutting the door behind him.

///

"It's too high!" You worried, searching for a broad rock to step down onto. You and your family had found yourselves at the top of the trail that wound through the forest. But had decided to take a different route back down, around the lake.

"Here look, step there." George spoke up, from the bottom of the path that was broken up. He pointed to a patch of dirt you envisioned crumbling the moment you relied on it. Your mother tutted, and moved past you to take George's advice. Your lovely neighbour extended his hand to your mother who managed her way to safety with his help. Your father followed, helping George's mother, until you were the last one left.

They all stared up at you as you bit your nails and mulled over your game plan.

"Right- we're walkin' on. Get her off, George." Your father waved and turned to follow your mother and George's, who were already ahead gossiping about some tv show. You struggled to hide your blush as Geogre shifted his weight and grinned up to you.

"Do you trust me?" He asked.

"Obviously." You pointed. George reached out, and you held your breath, and stepped where everyone else had. George's hand was strong, but your prediction came true. As you balanced your weight on the patch of dirt, it began to give way. But George was there. He swept you away with ease and balanced you on both feet on the same level of ground as him.

"Did you just want me to save you all along?" George mused, keeping his arms snug around you as you stood.

"Come on." You bit back a smile and pushed George to lead the way, noticing your folks posed for a self at the opening of a man-made bridge.

You all walked on, till you spotted a weather-worn gazebo near the opening of the lake. The sun was unusually bright for the seasons, though a chill balanced in the air. Your gang stalled to rest in the small enclosure and laughed about the adventure you'd been on, and how none of you had ever realized this little nook was out here in all the years you'd been staying right around the bend.

George's mother was the first to head in, saying something about a midday nap. You didn't blame her. You all really had risen with the sun to enjoy the trails before a late lunch. Your mother was next to leave, mentioning just that. Her plans to make a big ridiculous afternoon meal that would likely count as some kind of dinner,  too. Your father followed after her, paranoid about the trek from out of the woods alone.

George stayed and shot you a look as you watched everyone walk away, and turn around the lake. And for a moment, you just talked. Like how you always used too. About life and death and everything in between. All while each pause between topics grew long and heavy.  Soon, you rose from the bench, tired of sitting, but excited to find yourself lingering out here in the sole company of the man you'd been dreaming of keeping all to yourself.

"Do you prefer it here in the summer, or now?" You wondered aloud, because you really wanted to know. The area you'd come to know so well seemed like a different world in the cold.

George followed your ambling, back down the skinny trail from where you'd just come. He waited to respond until he stepped to face you and stalled your meander.

"Now." George smiled, searching your eyes and pushing his nose against yours. The action made your heart flutter and your fists curl in the pockets of your jacket. Then he kissed you so tenderly, like you'd kissed thousands of times before and he was used to the sensation. You, however, were still dazzled by it. Your hands flew up and clung to the jacket he'd left unzipped. You kissed him back like this was your last chance to prove how badly you'd always wanted too. At your fervour, George snaked his arms around you. One of his hands tangled in your hair as his other trailed to your backside.

You had no excuse to hold back your pleased sighs, as George pressed against you, digging his fingers into your thigh and pulling it nearer to his hip. Your own hands started to wander, right between his legs. George let out a groan as you pressed your palm against his tight jeans, and you thought of doing it again just to hear his reaction. But you had something better in mind.

You broke your kiss and grabbed both of George's hands. He watched as you dragged him a little deeper into the green, and fell against a wide tree when you pushed his toward it.

When you started to fiddle with his belt buckle and bend your knees, George flushed and gapped at you.

"Here?" He asked with a nervous grin, looking much more innocent and shy than he'd appeared last night. Maybe ever.

"Would you rather trade bakewell recipes, George?" You asked with a snicker, sitting back against your heels and peering up to him. "We really don't have to, though." You spoke again with a serious nod, making sure he knew you really didn't want to do anything he didn't want to. But damn, you really wanted this.

"I'd really like if we did." George swallowed, and your grin stretched back to life. "I was just surprised is all."

"Why? Don't you think I'd like to show you as good a time as you started to show me last night?" You unzipped his trousers and kept your gaze fixed to George.

"I promise to make it up to you." He breathed as you started to pull at his boxers.

"You already are." You assured, just before the time for talk had ceased. Your mouth had better things to do.

When George lost his fingers in your hair, and tugged, you were motivated to deepen your interaction. Then you got to hear the way George whined and hissed and cursed your name under his breath. Even if you could reach your free hand to his lips, you couldn't dream of keeping George quiet. His sounds were the sweetest encouragement you'd ever known.

You stayed on your knees until your efforts paid off. Then you helped George pull his trousers back in shape as you rose to meet him, and were pleasantly surprised when he grabbed your face and kissed you. But when his hand started to trail below your waste you broke your kiss and shook your head.

"We don't have time." You sighed, brushing back some of George's unkempt blonde waves.

"But-" His perfect pale brows furrowed and his thumb brushed your cheek.

"It's okay. We'd better get going." You nodded. George nodded too, but then stole another quick kiss. It made you wonder what this was about. It made you wonder what George thought of you, and what he thought of you with him. You didn't let yourself wonder long. The sky was starting to darken with clouds. So you brushed the dirt from your knees and let George lead the way back to the cabin, biting back your broad grin every time he turned to make sure you were close behind.

///

The next morning was spent lazing about the breakfast table as a drizzle locked you all in. Your parents were each still in the kitchen, arguing over cinnamon rolls and other breakfast treats.

"I always wanted to come here to watch the leaves change." You piped up, setting a steaming coffee mug to the side, with your gaze stuck out the rain covered window. George sat by your side, with his head in the crook of his elbow on the table.

"We must have come too early in the year." You sighed, searching for a glimpse of orange or yellow in the distance. All you saw was brown and green against a dull grey sky.

"Well," George spoke up, quietly so. You lowered your eyes to find his, and fixated on his small grin. "That just means we'll have to come back."

"Yeah?" You hesitated to ask. What had he meant? Why had he said so? George only rested his hand on your thigh below the table, tracing patterns on your knee with his thumb. You kept your gaze on him and realized you had fallen hard and fast.

You'd always had it bad for George, but with all this new and very exciting attention he'd been giving you, it was game over. You'd thought of nothing but George each night you fell asleep one room over. Your heart practically leapt out of your rib cage every time you caught his eye across the room, since the beginning of the weekend.

But you didn't understand it. Neither of you talked about what you'd done or mentioned doing anything quite like it again. You just waited up in empty halls and hoped he'd come around the corner in the least suspicious amount of time possible.

But today was hard. Today you couldn't sneak out in the woods, or around the corner. You were trapped in by rain, and if you and George snuck behind closed doors there wouldn't be a question as to why, and that would be utterly embarrassing.

So you sat across from George as your father rallied everyone around an old tattered board game. You caught George's eye as your parents bickered over game rule, and wondered what he was thinking as his pretty blue gaze locked on yours.

When you followed your mother's instructions to go and find a stack of movies in her room, George's mother shuffled off to go make snacks. So your favourite pretty blonde said something about taking a shower, and followed as you trekked up the stairs. But no sooner than you found the stack of movies, and George lingered outside of the bathroom did your father spin into the hall in search of his glasses.

You and George only got to share a look before he shut the bathroom door, and your father recruited you to help in his hunt.

As you all curled up for a movie marathon, Geogre helped you pour everyone a drink. While he reached for a set of glasses, he sneaked past you with one hand grazing your lower back for as long as he could get away with.

And when your parents took residence on the love seat and his mother kicked back in the chair, you and George were left to make the floor comfortable. You dumped all the extra blankets in front of the coffee table and sat a few inches away from George while some romcom played on. It was almost painful, how close he was without being able to reach out. What a strange turn of events.

His mother fell fast asleep by the second film, and your parent's dozed off by the third.

And as the last film played on, you felt George's hand creeping closer to yours. His fingers fit between your own, and his thumb brushed against your knuckles every now and again, as you sat holding hands.

You hadn't really seen that coming. You hadn't known what to expect of this whole thing with George, but an innocent lasting touch wasn't it. All the questions you'd always wondered were louder and scarier as the movie dragged on.

And when it was over, George walked you up the stairs. You kept quiet as not to wake your parents, and watched as he moved in the dark. When he stalled in the doorway of your room, you gazed up to him with a pushed in brow. Then he kissed you. Just a gentle, lingering peck. He left you in your doorway with that, and you stayed up staring at your ceiling wondering why.

///

Your parents left the next morning. They hadn't planned too. But your father got a call from work and since they'd all arrived as a group they decided to leave that way. You had awoken early and found yourself staring at the pages of a book when your mother bustled down the stairs to let you know.

"We'll see you kids at the start of the week!" George's mother waved on her way out of the door. She hoped you'd both enjoy the last day of the weekend in the cozy little place you'd always come back to.

Your parents scrambled to pack their things and followed her out of the door in a dazed rush, rambling about how they wished they didn't have to leave as they headed to the door.

Just like that the cabin was quiet, more so than you'd ever noticed, even when you'd been the only one creeping through the halls. You had no idea what to expect. You didn't want to get your hopes up. And you didn't want to make this already strange situation even weirder. So you took to doing the dishes at the sound of your parents peeling out of the gravel drive. You scrubbed every plate and focused on every soap bubble to stall time as you thought up what to say.

One of you had to say something, right?

When the staircase finally creaked, you'd finished the leftover dishes and were nearly done sorting the last of them away. George stretched into the room, looking around to realize the cabin was missing your surprise guests.

"Dad got called into work. You just missed telling everyone goodbye." You shrugged, meeting George's eye for a moment before you spun to put the last dish away. You listened as he softly floated toward the space you occupied yourself.

"So I finally get you all to myself then?" George seemed to really ask. He looked tired, still. But there was a gentle smile on his face, some kind of hopeful glaze painted over his features. George reached out to you, both of his hands softly holding your face. He peered at you, searching your features as his thumb traced your bottom lip.

"You really wanna spend the rest of this weekend with me?" You wondered, ducking your head as a twinge of fear started to take hold. But Geogre straightened your gaze once more, he made you look at him as he chose his words.

"I'd like to spend much longer than just this weekend with you," He spoke gently like every word was precious. You couldn't possibly think of what to say. You could only smile. You grinned without holding back and watched as George shut his eyes and kissed you.

You kissed him back and decided the pouring rain was cause enough to start a fire. George trailed behind you on your mission to throw a few logs in the fireplace. When you turned from sparking a flame, you watched George settle onto the floor that was still a mess with blankets and pillows from last night's movie marathon. He reached up to you, fingers moving from their latch on your wrist to press into your sides as he pulled you right into his lap.

Just like that his arms were around you and his mouth opened against yours. The fire was nice, but the warmth coming from George was heavenly. You moved your kisses to his neck, relishing the way his pulse beat under your touch. You trailed your lips back across his jaw until you were kissing him again, and dissolving in his strong hold.

You held his face in your hands as your mouths moved together, and only released your grasp to raise your hands over your head as George lifted your sweater up and away. His kisses trailed across your exposed skin, to the swell of your breasts, while his fingers managed to unclasp your bra. With your knees on either side of his hips, you rocked against George, feeling more desperate for his touch than ever.

"Are you sad your friends ditch you?" You asked in a breath with a smile and George was busy pressing his tongue to your skin. You felt him smile, and the warmth of a chuckle escape him.

"Are you glad our parents came and ruined our chances of spending the whole weekend this way?" George shot back, as you pulled his shirt away. You rolled your eyes and pushed George back against a stack of pillows, reaching for his belt. You laughed as he kicked his trousers away and pulled you down for a kiss, like he couldn't fathom parting from you for a second.

You spent a while wrapped up in his tangled limbs- kissing him, trailing your fingers against his burning skin, rocking against each other while the last of your layers kept you from doing what you really wanted.

"You know, I always had a crush on you, too." George propped himself up on both elbows as you'd started to pull his boxers away. You paused your mission for a moment to look at him. His half-lidded gaze and the mess of his hair. The marks starting to darken on near his throat, from you. He was more beautiful each new time you caught a glimpse, it seemed.

"Sentiment not required, but appreciated." You grinned as George sat up, free of the last of his clothes, reaching to free you of your own with his sea blue eyes on yours all the while.

"I did." He rose a brow, and something about his confirming so made your heartache, as it already beat like a drum. You brushed back his tousled waves and searched George's face for approval. He blinked up at you, totally enraptured. You could have stayed in this paused state forever and you swore he might have been content, too. But you couldn't wait any longer. You'd waited long enough.

When you lowered yourself into George's lap, you watched his eyes close and his jaw slack. A sigh escaped his lips, like he was totally relieved. And not just by the pressure you'd both felt now, but by the build-up of this whole weekend. Like something from very deep within him was finally settled. You might have laughed a little at that state of him if you weren't feeling the same. You'd never felt so safe. A strange word for a time like now, but the only word that seemed to fit.

Neither of you moved for a while. At first, you'd focused on settling into the feeling. Then you became totally distracted, brushing back George's hair and peppering his face with kisses. His hands stayed loose around your sides and his nose nudged your own in a way that made your heart sing.

"As much as I love this, I really would like if you moved a little, dove." George cooed in your ear and kneaded his fingers into your hips hoping you'd get the hint.

So you did what he said, and rolled against him. George kept his grip firm as he let out one of those melodious groans of his. You picked up the pace then, not daring to hold back your own hums as George's eyes opened to find yours.

You shared another kiss as you found your rhythm, but couldn't keep it up for long. Your lips parted but lingered close to his when you couldn't hold back a broken cry.

George wrapped an arm around your middle and moved swiftly to lay you down. You watched as he loomed over you and searched your features like he did the first night here. You were in the same place as you had been when you confessed your stupid crush. And you were in the same spot you had been when he kissed you for the first time. And when he closed the distance between you once more, it felt better than ever.

You pressed your heels into his back and tried to tell him how fucking great he was at this, but incoherent mumbles were all you could manage.

"That good, huh?" George strained, barely getting the words out himself. But the little laugh that followed his statement seemed easy and sweet. As if you weren't feeling enough, your heart threatened to burst. Everything felt near bursting, actually.

"It's okay, baby." His saccharine voice rang in your ear as he somehow pushed you deeper into the mess of blankets. "It's just you and me now, and you feel so fucking good. You can let go now, love. I wanna feel you to let go."

He could have kept up talking that way and you'd fall to pieces in no time. But when his hand travelled below your stomach you nearly k.o'ed. Between the things he spoke just to you, the way he paused talking to curse a little, and the rhythm of his hips against yours, it didn't take long until you came undone. He kept you pinned in place until you nearly couldn't see straight until it seemed he couldn't either. When it was all said and done, neither of you moved for a moment. You were less irked by the fact you could have been doing that all weekend, and more moonstruck by the reality that it'd happened at all.

///

It wasn't long before you decided to get cleaned up, but it took awhile to get to the bathroom. George stopped you in the hallway to do everything over again, somehow better than the first time. He stopped you from finding clean clothes to pin you to the bed you'd called your own. You tangled your fingers in his hair as he made his way between your thighs, and made you forget all about doing anything else for the rest of the evening.

And when you finally made it to the bathroom, he followed you into the warm bath. But there, you only relaxed. The water soothed your aching muscles, and the whiskey your dad left behind was passed over the bubbles as you and George sat together till the water grew cold. You talked as you cleaned yourself up, about things you'd always talked about before. You watched as George changed into a pair of joggers you recognized from days gone by. You let him wrap you up in a towel and hold you close in the steam-filled bathroom, and you decided it was paradise.

Your night went on like normal. Like most nights had, in the cabin. You made dinner, and joked about the time your siblings nearly burnt the place down making cookies during a heatwave. And after you ate, you left the dishes for another day, like always. Then you followed George to the den, and watched as he turned the telly on to some slasher marathon. Your autumn dreams were alive and well, as you curled up on the sofa at his side.

You stayed happily tucked against him, one arm and leg across his frame. One of his strong arms nearly pulled you on top of him in an effort to cuddle close as possible. You nuzzled your face into his neck when something especially upsetting flashed across the screen. And eventually, the comfort of his secure hand splayed across your head, and his other arm holding you firmly in place, sent you into the most peaceful sleep you must have ever slipped into.

///

"Wake up, love."

Your eyes were heavy, and your limbs ached. The blankets felt so warm in the morning cold, and George's breath tickled your ear.

"My darling, wake up." He said again, tracing a finger along your jaw as your eyes fluttered open.

"M'up." You sighed, focusing on George's pretty face, his brilliant blue eyes and the easy smile on his full lips. You realized he wasn't curled close, but kneeling at your side like he'd been up for a while now.

"Come and see." His smile widened as he grabbed your hand and tugged you to stand. You pushed in your brows and only sat up so quickly because of George's unusual excitement. He kept your hand in his and dragged you across the room to the fog tinted windows. What time was it? George moved you to the clearest view, and snaked his arms around your middle from behind.

You rubbed your eyes and looked. And past the mist, you saw the trees. Among the usual green and grey, you saw spots of dark red and orange starting to appear. The further you looked the more colours you noticed, and then you realized George had noticed before you.

"Now we know." He mumbled in your ear, as you tore your gaze from the stunning view to look over your shoulder. George really did get prettier with every glance. And now you knew, indeed. You knew how he felt, and you knew you'd get to go home with him as more than neighbours. You knew the perfect time to come back to this cabin, too, when the colours were brightest and the fire's warmth would be most coveted. And you knew George would come back with you. The only thing you weren't sure of was which room you'd stay in together, in all the years to come.

───※ ·❆· ※───

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story {12}

Chris Evans x Reader Series

Warning: Lots of Cursing, Plot, Angst, Slow Burn, PLENTY OF WORDS 

Words: 6.2k

Note: Okay, so this ask/request came in and I was all prepped to write it as a one shot, but I had so many separate ideas that sprang to mind for it and from it. As of right now, I am going to play this one by ear. Hell, I might just keep writing it as long as we’re all in our quarantine/self-isolation. So, it might be one part every week, or I might change it. I honestly have no idea, so let’s start with calling it a mini-series and see where it goes. Thank you anon for the request, hope it’s cool I tweak, twist and stretch this out. 

I hope you guys enjoy this. Thank you for reading as always!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive & Pic Heavy***

Previous Chapters:  Q1 |  Q2 |  Q3 |  Q4 |  Q5 |  Q6 |  Q7 |  Q8 |  Q9 | Q10 | Q11 | 

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Quarantine: Day 54-

 -Chris-

 He’d thought about kissing you for years. He’d had countless dreams about it and umpteen daydream about how it would happen, how it would feel, and a slew of other things. In three years, the thoughts were always different. He never imagined it would have gone the way that it had. He expected something accidental, or even awkward like a stupid caught under mistletoe thing or even the midnight new year’s kiss you’re suckered into because you’re standing close. That was not what happened. From the day when he’d admitted to you being a temptation, he’d been overcome with the desire to kiss you. The day at his hideaway, that desire had turned into a need. It was now three days later, but he could still taste your lips. Still.

Groaning, he rubbed his face and walked over to his window. He had to find a way to get a grip. He felt out of control like he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t see you, talk to you, touch you, kiss you, making love to you. With that thought, he hit his forehead into the window and groaned.

 “What the hell is wrong with you?”

 The coolness of the glass was only a slight relief until he opened his eyes and saw you sitting beside the pool in yet another sexy bikini. Slowly he looked along your legs that were glistening with what he suspected was coconut oil. You smelled like the stuff every time he was around you, coconut oil and every tropical fruit known to planet Earth. He loved it more and more with each passing day. You smelled good enough to eat, and he’d thought about several ways he’d like to devour you.

 “Get a fucking grip, man!”

When he was about to walk away, you changed positions. He watched as you got onto your knees and peeled off your cover-up to then flip over and bend over, giving him the perfect view of your ass. He felt his face press against the glass, and all he had to do was stick his tongue out to look like the horndog he felt like he was. He always knew you had the perfect ass, but now looking at it practically in all its glory, he realized he didn’t know shit. You had curves his palms were itching to explore. You bent over to the table near your lounge chair and picked up a glass then brought it to your lips. He couldn’t look away. He literally had to forcibly pull himself from the window. Temptation was a horrible thing, a dangerous thing. 

It was temptation he’d battled over the last three days. It was a battle that fluctuated every hour. One hour he was winning the war, and the next, he was the weakest man in the world and damn ready to kick down the guesthouse door and burying his face between those sinful thighs. He literally had to force his mind onto other things. It was hard three days ago, and it was hard today.

 For the last few hours, he’d been trying to make plans in a world that was shut down. Businesses were closed, venues closed, restaurants closed, everything had come to a standstill. That meant he had to get creative. He went through the plan in his head one more time and took up the freshly sealed envelope as he walked to his door. He’d missed this morning’s breakfast on purpose. He knew that if he faced you so soon after last night, every single thing he was feeling would be painted across his face. He also knew that if he came face to face with his family, then he’d go round and round the situation yet again.

 When he got in from walking you back to the guesthouse, he was restless. He couldn’t sit still. After a shower, he still hadn’t exhausted himself. He was wide awake and wanted to do a lot more than go to sleep. From the light on in the guesthouse, he suspected it was the same with you. Every time he laid down and tried to close his eyes, they popped right back open. He went around the last few hours with you, then the last weeks since quarantine began, and he even went as far back as the entire three years he’d known you.

 His first instinct was not to waste any more time and plan that date for the next day, but by the time the sun came up, and he’d gone two miles more than he usually would have, he was in his head. He came up with countless reasons to nip things in the bud.

 It began with you being too young for him. He was two weeks away from being thirty-nine, and you’d just gotten to thirty. He never saw himself doing the whole older man/younger woman thing. The two of you were at different stages in life. He’d made a promise, an important one. He never went back on promises he made; he was always as good as his word. That was just the kind of man he was. You had a type, and it was one he didn’t fit the criteria for. The two of you led and lived two completely different lives.

 This went on all day, for three days straight. The day would begin with him going through countless reasons to end things before they began, or he crossed a line, and by the end of the day, he was right back to where he began, wanting to cross all the lines. He stayed at his hideaway knowing that you wouldn’t show up there again without the okay, and it was a fact he took comfort in. He ate there, slept there, and kept to himself for the most part. When he went back to the main house, it was to make sure you didn’t take his absence in the wrong way and to make sure he didn’t take ten steps back in the progress that was made.

 Every time he saw you, it didn’t take long for your eyes to meet. Once they did, it was the most intense experience. It always felt like your mental brainwaves reached out for one another, and when they synced, it was better than every connection he’d ever thought he had. It was an indescribable feeling but one that reverberated throughout him. He always wanted to get closer. If you were across the dinner table, he wanted to push everything off and kick everyone out and slam you on it. If you were across the pool and your eyes met, everyone disappeared, and the two of you went on this mental trip together, one that had him panting like a dog and sweating by the time either of you looked away.

 The one thing that tripped him up was the night before when he caught you openly ogling him. It was another night of drinking around a bonfire on the beach with the adults, and you were unusually quiet while nursing your glass of wine. He noticed little looks throughout the night, but it was while everyone was enthralled in conversation. When he did notice you outright looking over him, you started at his neck and went lower along his torso and arms. When your eyes dropped to his waist, he was having trouble breathing. Under the intense heat of your eyes, it took everything in him to stay seated and not throw you over his shoulder and run with you down the beach to the tall grass where he knew he could have his way with you. That was when he knew he had to leave, so he did. Once in his bedroom, he was trapped with his thoughts and imagination, and the entire process began again.

 By the time morning came, he was right back to square one, wanting you more than he’d ever wanted any other woman and knowing he had to back away from this. Now he was at the point of saying fuck it. He was only so strong, and three years of continuous strength was impressive enough.

 “Where’ve you been these last three days?”

 His mother stood before him with her arms crossed as she leaned against the front door.

 “Uh, well—around.”

 “Around?” Her eyes bored into him, and he knew it was a matter of time before she saw right through him.

 “I was gonna--,” he began before she cut him off.

 “Let’s take a walk. The others can handle the restocking of supplies.”

 “Ma, it would go faster--,” he began.

 “Walk with your mother, Christopher!” She didn’t even wait for him to respond before she walked out the front door. He knew he had to follow, so follow he did.

 They walked through the front yard along the graveled path in silence for several moments. The chirping of the birds and gentle breeze in the air said summer was on its way. It was a beautiful day, and he hoped it would remain that way to produce a beautiful night.

 “How are you handling the shift in dynamics in your life with this quarantine?”

 “What do you mean?”

 “With what you’ve been doing.” The way she looked at him had him paused, thinking maybe she knew. He remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

 “Normally you’re working twenty-three hours of the day and have little to no free time. It’s been opposite, right?”

 Relieved, he sighed and nodded. “Yeah. It’s been—different, a real change, but honestly, I think I like it more than I should.”

 She smiled and patted his back. “Good. I’ve always told you that you need to take the time to enjoy the fruits of your labor. It is important to have some time to yourself to reflect and recalculate your life choices and decisions, time to see what has been working from what is a massive failure, and make the necessary changes that will impact your life positively. It is important to listen to recognize the signs of life and listen to them. If you go against them, you end up in situations that quickly flutter out of control, and then you’re worse off than when you began.”

 He felt like she was hinting at something very discreetly, and it drove him crazy. She spoke like this when she knew something no one else knew that she knew. When he looked at her, she looked to him with slightly raised eyebrows.

 “Uh—okay.”

 “Have you recognized any life signs within the last—seven weeks?”

 “Ma, what are you talking about? You only go on these deeply philosophical rants when you’re holding on a piece of information that can throw a monkey wrench in something.”

 “I have no such piece of information.”

 He didn’t believe her but decided to let it rest. They took a turn toward the path for the beach and fell into a comfortable silence before she began talking about current events. This was where he got his outspoken nature. She had no problem giving criticism of government policies and officials, and neither did he.

 Soon the sand was underneath their feet then she spoke again.

 “So getting to spend this time with Y/N has been great, right?”

 He scoffed and laughed. “So this is what this walk is about? What did I do now, ma?”

 “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but since you brought it up, do you have to be so cold?”

 “Cold? I’m not cold.”

 “I know that. She doesn’t.”

 He looked to her and knew the two of you had talked. “Has she said something to you?”

 “Do you care?”

 He sighed and focused on the sand beneath his feet. If he said yes, then she could read into it, and if he said no, then he knew she’d know he was lying. His mother could always tell between his truths and lies. It was infuriating.

 “Maybe just be nicer, that’s all and maybe stay away from dropping that you think she makes shitty decisions.”

 He snorted but cringed at the same time. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He was in his feelings, and it popped right out.

 “Yeah, that was bad,” he agreed.

 “Get to know her a little.”

 “Ha, I think that would defeat the purpose. Don’t you think?”

 “Why?”

 He didn’t answer. There was no need to.

 “Who says I don’t know her?”

 “Learning things about someone on the surface is different than really getting to know someone and all the nuances that make them who they are. She’s a real catch, Chris. I liked her when Scott first brought her around, but these three years—she’s an incredible woman.”

 Her words were not helping his internal struggle. They were only making him sway to the side he shouldn’t even be on. It was getting impossible to keep his distance from you, impossible to let another fifty-something days pass where he didn’t bury his face in your neck.

 “Isn’t it funny how the universe brings things and people into your life at the most opportune times? Often it’s times when we need to make a change—when we’re ready to make a change,” she said in her Obi-Wan Kenobi wise one teaching tone.

 He would have said something about how she was as subtle as a train, but he agreed with her on this one. For the last few days, he’d began thinking it was meant for you to be quarantined with him and his family, it was meant for the two of you to be trapped this close. His mind went back to something his mother said years ago, something that made even more sense now. He nearly laughed out loud.

 “Just be the amazing man I raised, the one who wore his heart on his sleeve and spoke from his heart and did everything with light and love. Remember him?”

 He nearly threw up in his mouth.

 “He wasn’t so bad,” his mother continued.

 “Everyone seems to love this guy a lot more.”

 “They never knew the other guy. I understand that not everyone deserves to know that you, but I’m sure some people might deserve to see him.”

 She looped her arm with his and reassuringly patted his forearm. She knew she was right, and even though he hated to admit when she was right, she was. When they climbed the last step leading to the backyard from the beach, you were no longer at the pool.

 “I’m going to make sure everything is packed away where I like. You—enjoy the sunshine,” his mother said with a smile and an almost unnoticeable head nudge toward the guesthouse before she walked away toward the house.

 He stood there for a few moments going over his own thoughts. This was supposed to be one of the easiest decisions. It was, but it was also a decision that would cause a domino effect. It was like he had to come to terms with flipping the first domino, come to terms with everything he would end up doing as a result of this date. Digging in his back pocket for the envelope, he slapped his palm with it and walked toward the guesthouse. Once at the door, he wedged it in the crack and released the anxious breath he held before he walked off to prepare for the night.

  -Y/N-

You’d been staring at the envelope for the last thirty or so minutes. When you’d come back from the bike ride with the kids, you didn’t expect to see it wedged in the door. At first, you thought it was mail that was forwarded to you, but then you realized you hadn’t given any forwarding instructions. It was then you saw your name scribbled across the front of it, and you immediately recognized Chris’s handwriting.

 You were enjoying the agonizing stares and wayward glances of the last few days. You were grateful for the space he was giving you. You didn’t know if he was doing it for you or if he was having second thoughts. Whatever it was, you were glad about it. You were able to go over every single word that was spoken the night at his place, analyze every action, and even daydream about that kiss. You’d never been kissed like that in all your thirty years. None of your crushes, school boyfriends, adult boyfriends, Charles included had ever kissed you like that, and none of them had ever had you feeling what you felt in those two minutes.  

 For the last few days, that was what was fucking you up. You’d kissed plenty of guys, you were in no means promiscuous, but you enjoyed having freedom of your body and did what you pleased with it. While you were ultimate level exclusive with who you allowed close to you, you had no problem claiming your pleasure. You’d kissed men who loved to use too much tongue or drown you in saliva, or peck at you like they were a bird and you a worm. You’d kissed men who knew what they were doing and those who were entirely clueless, but with him it was different.

 He didn’t use too much tongue; it was the right amount, and he had a thing where he rolled it around yours that sent goosebumps down your spine. The level of saliva was perfection; the only thing that was drowning was your underwear. Then the way he nibbled at your bottom lip and sucked; it took your breath away. It was clear he knew what he was doing. He was at expert mastery in the art of the kiss, and because of it, you were ready to risk it all, and that was a first—a first that scared the shit out of you.

 You’d never had this reaction to a man before, and you were enjoying prolonging it though it was absolute torture. Every time you caught him watching you, you played whatever you were doing up. If you were walking, you’d swish your ass a little more, swimming you’d lean against the pool wall and pretend you’re stretching your back, which sent your breasts out even more. It was amusing to see his reactions. You thought you’d been stealthy with checking him out, but on the beach last night, you realized you were the opposite of stealthy. When your eyes met, it sent you entirely over the edge. When you went to bed that night, you couldn’t help but bring out your bullet vibrator. Your finger was no longer cutting it.

 “Open the goddamn envelope, Y/N.”

 You trailed your fingertips over your name that he’d written and flipped it over, ready to rip it open. You unfolded a sheet of white paper and smiled at his messy but strategic handwriting.

 -Y/N-

 I’ve been trying to figure out the best day and the best way to go about this. You mean that much.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

Will you have dinner with me tonight?

If your answer is yes, please meet me at seven at the house in the woods. God, I hope your answer is yes.

 -Chris

 Your smile was so wide, your cheeks hurt. You could imagine his cheeks were flushed as he wrote this. Such a dork, you thought to yourself.

 “A sweet dork. Huh.”

 You took notice of the butterflies fluttering around your belly and dropped back on the couch with a loud groan.

 “Get a grip, Y/N. It is just a date. One date, one meaningless date,” you drilled with your eyes closed, trying to slow your racing heart.

 After a few minutes, you sprang back up to a sitting position with panic coursing through you.

 “Fuck, what do I wear!?”

 You leaped to your feet and ran into the bedroom to rifle through the closet and drawers. When you packed for this quarantine, you packed sweats, leggings, tanks, swimsuits, cover-ups, underwear, sleepwear, and even lingerie. You didn’t even want to wear actual fabric, so nothing was adequate for a date. After twenty minutes of searching, your entire floor was covered with clothes, and you were sitting in the middle of it full on panicking.

 “What do I do?” Closing your eyes, you fell back onto the pillow of clothing and berated yourself for not thinking to pack anything nice.

 After a long, while you got up and looked around and decided you just had to improvise and cross your fingers it looked good together. It took you almost an hour to find something you were remotely okay with that wasn’t overtly sexy or way too chill. You wanted his jaw to drop when he saw you, but you didn’t want him thinking you were some easy piece of ass. After putting it together, you hopped in the shower. When you eyed your hair remover lotion and thought if you should bother. After barely fifteen seconds of decision making, you slathered the lotion on. Better safe than sorry, you thought.

 By the time you got out of the shower, you had forty minutes to get yourself put together to get to the house. It wasn’t enough time; you knew that. You wanted to give him the full date look. The full glory of a put together you. It probably didn’t matter seeing that he’d seen you without make up these last seven weeks anyway. Something in you said to carry on as usual. By the time you were finished, you slipped on your slides, refusing to dwell on the fact you didn’t have not one pair of heels. You probably looked a hot mess.

 When you opened the door, there was the bike Chris had found you for the bike ride with yet another note in the basket. You smiled, and as you were about to take it, your phone went off.

 MSG Scott: Coming to dinner?

 Fuck, you thought as you wracked your brain with a response. You couldn’t very well tell him you weren’t because you were going on a date with his brother. You groaned and took a deep breath as you tapped a response out.

 MSG: No. Somehow, I have three zoom meetings tonight about a serious project. I’ll be doing this all night. I’ll come by and grab something when I’m done.

MSG Scott: Okay. I’ll even leave a bottle of wine in the fridge for you. I think you’ll need it.

 You smiled but felt like an asshole. Chris was probably going to be balls deep in you in a few hours, and he had no idea. The thought of it had you excited. Grabbing the envelope, you opened it and read the note inside.

 -Your chariot awaits-

 You smiled rolled your eyes as you walked the bike toward the wooded area of the property. Once on the path, you wrapped the hem of your skirt and climbed onto the bike and set off. You did your best to not think about the many ways this night could go. You wanted to stay present because you knew that if your mind wandered, then you’d put yourself in a state of anxiousness for the rest of the night.

 Before you knew it, you were in front of the gate, and your heart was racing, and it wasn’t from the exercise. You climbed off the bike and leaned it against the gate before you pushed through it and nearly fell on your face at the sight before you. The path before you was trailed with lights that made a path toward the house. As you took in the house, you couldn’t help but say, wow. It was covered in twinkle lights that lit up the property with a warm and romantic glow. 

When you looked back to the path, you saw Chris standing there. From the distance you were at, you couldn’t fully make out his face. You hesitated taking your first step but pushed away the uncertainty and walked on. It felt like the longest walk you’d ever taken. After what felt like five minutes, you stopped in front of him. He looked a little shocked and something else you couldn’t decipher.

 “Hi,” Chris whispered. You smiled small at first, but it spread in seconds.

 “Hi. I’m sorry I’m late. It was a task and a half getting to this,” you said, signaling from your face to body. Chris then slowly looked over your figure before he returned to your face.

 “You look—wow incredible.”

 You smiled and released your nervous breath and the worry that he wouldn’t like how you looked.

 “Yeah? I wasn’t sure. I literally had nothing to wear.”

 “You could have come in sweats and a t-shirt, and you’d still look incredible.” You tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible, your blush took over.

 “Thank you,” you bashfully whispered.

 “These are for you.” Chris held out a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies to you. You couldn’t believe your eyes, and he must have sensed your hesitation.

 “Sunflowers, they mean happiness, adoration, and even loyalty while the daisies mean innocence, purity, and new beginnings,” Chris explained with his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t need to speak loudly, you heard him loud and clear, and the wat his voice wrapped around you and coxed you closer was not missed.

 “Innocence and purity, huh.” You reached out and took the flowers from him and brought them to your nose.

 “What don’t think you fit the criteria?”

 “Ha, innocent and pure, nope. How did you get these?”

 “I picked them. I think my mother will be very upset tomorrow, but this was an emergency.” You smiled and shook your head. He had game.

 “Thank you.”

 He led the way to the house then stopped to let you walk up the steps and across the front deck before him. As you walked, you could feel his eyes on you, and you were glad you’d chosen this mix and match outfit. Just as you were going to walk inside, Chris took your hand, stopping you in your tracks. When your eyes met, he came closer then looked at your hands. His fingers softly grazed yours, and goosebumps flew up your arm. When he was inches from your face, he looked back into your eyes.

 “Close your eyes.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “Close your eyes. This is your first test in trusting me.”

 You cocked your head to the side and took him in. He was being serious. Scoffing, you shook your head and closed your eyes only to snap them open again. He hadn’t moved an inch. He just stood there patiently waiting. Sighing, you closed your eyes and kept them shut. You didn’t know what he was doing, and the fact that you had no control over this set you off. After a minute, your anxiety was at its peak.

 “Hopefully, by the end of the night when I ask you to do that again, it’ll be easier for you.” His lips were close to your ear. You could smell his cologne and picked up the hint of mint and basil that came off him.

 He took your other hand and led you.

 “Keep coming; you’re doing great.”

 After a few more steps, you stopped. You wanted to open and look, but you fought the urge and instead waited for him to tell you to. Again, it felt like an eternity of silence.

 “Open them.” You took a deep breath and opened your eyes and slowly blew it out when you took in what he’d been doing. Before you, the limbs of the trees were draped in twinkle lights that hung down, mimicking the limbs of a weeping willow tree. In the dead center of the dangling lights was a table set for two with lit candles to finish off the décor. You were blown away to the point of speechlessness.

“Wow.” It was a whisper. Chris stepped out before you and held out his hand for yours. When you placed it in his palm, he led you across the deck down to the scene. You looked around and took notice of a movie screen that was on the exterior wall, and a setup area with candles, cushions, and flowers. You smiled to yourself.

 Chris motioned to the seat for you, and you wasted no time sitting with a plop. Your head was spinning looking at everything he’d done. This looked like he went through a lot of trouble.

I’m going to check on dinner. I’ll be right back.” You nodded and watched him walk toward the house. For the first time, you took in his crisp white shirt and tan colored pants. It was casual, but he looked good. Your eyes dropped to his ass and smiled. He looked really good, you thought. When he disappeared inside, you took in your surroundings again. Taking out your phone, you snapped a few pictures, so you could reminisce later as you reflected.

 You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t realize when he’d returned.  When he touched your shoulder, it scared you half to death.

 “I’m sorry, I thought you heard me.”

 “Oh god, no. I’m sorry I zoned out.”

 “Everything okay?”

 Taking a deep breath, you slowly released it and nodded. “Yeah.”

 “You sure?”

 “Yeah. I was just—admiring what you’ve done here,” you informed.

 “Do you like it?”

 “What’s not to like? It’s beautiful, really beautiful,” you said with a smile before you looked at him. when you did a relieved look washed over him, and that was when you saw he was nervous too.

 “Wine? I know you prefer white, but I have some red too.”

 “But you prefer beer, I can drink beer,” you countered.

 “I’m much more than a beer drinker. We’ll start with the white.” Chris began opening the bottle, and your attention dropped to his hands. He had his cuffs rolled up just enough to show his forearms. As he gripped the bottle and the opener, every single vein bulged in his arm and hands, and just like that, your mind was in the gutter.

 Clearing your throat, you straightened, “Actually, let’s start with the red.”

 “Red?”

 “Yeah, red wine is more potent.”

 “Potent. Uh—do you think stronger is a good idea?”

 You studied him and smirked. “What do you think if I drink red wine that I’ll try to jump your bones?”

 His smile was boyish and adorable. “I never said that. Just thought you’d want a clear head.”

 “I can more than hold my liquor,” you finished. Chris nodded and switched gears and began opening the red wine instead. When he filled your glass halfway, you eyed him, which made him snort before he poured a little more.

 “What should we drink to?”

 You thought about it for a few moments then crossed your legs. Chris’ eyes dropped to your exposed thigh, and you thought this was almost too easy.

 “What do you want to drink to?”

 Chris looked up from your thigh with just his eyes, and you were stunned silent yet again.

 “No masks,” Chris proposed holding his glass out to you.

 “No masks,” you repeated, tapping your glass to his before you took a hearty gulp of the semi-sweet but tart liquid and moaned.

 “Nice choice,” you commented. You could taste the berry and hickory undertones in it, but it wasn’t overpowering.

 “Of course, you’d think so, the wine collector.”

 “Hey, if you like to drink, you better get a hobby that correlates.” He smiled warmly before he sat adjacent to you.

 “I’m sorry I didn’t get you from the guesthouse. I wanted to but--,” Chris began.

 “No, no need to apologize. I understand. Honestly, I think meeting here was a better idea. Cute message, though.” Again, he smiled, and you took another hearty gulp of wine that turned into quite the mouthful.

 “Thirsty?”

 “You have no idea,” you answered. Chris just watched you, and the longer he did, the more your nerves were playing tricks on you.

 This was insane, you thought. No man had you this nervous and anxious. In all the years of first dates, this was a first. You were usually calm, cool, collected, and completely detached and objective. It was all to ensure you analyzed the night correctly down to your date’s words, body language, and efforts with planning the night. You were struggling with remaining objective.

 Your knees nearly buckled when you’d walked through the gate. Then when you stood before him, you nearly panted out to give away just how breathless he made you. When you saw what he’d done to the back of the house, you almost let loose an “aww,” and now you were barely keeping it together to not melt right into him, and it hadn’t even been an hour yet. He was already presenting completely different than he had in the entire three years you’d known him. Your head was still spinning.

 “Are you hungry?”

 Keeping your fresh ass in check, you nodded and took another long sip of your wine. Chris stood and walked back into the house, and you used the time to find your chill.

 When he laid down the trey, he carried he arranged the plates and assortment he’d prepared across the table. The scents coming from the plates had your belly grumbling.

 “Wow, this smells incredible.”

 “You sound surprised. I can cook, you know.”

 “I’d heard stories of you being able to do a little somethin’.”

 “I do more than a little somethin’, I can throw all the way down in the kitchen,” Chris bragged. You nodded as you laughed.

 “Let me be the judge of that.”

 Chris sat and waited for you to take a bite. You sliced your meat and put a piece in your mouth. Instantly the juices of the steak washed over your tongue, and you couldn’t help but moan.

 “Uh-huh, told you. Chef Evans!”

 “All right, it’s good. No need to brag. Cockiness in men is unattractive.”

 “You’re a liar, and you know it,” Chris dryly responded which made you laugh loudly.

 The two of you ate in silence for a few moments.

 “I’ve always liked your laugh.”

 Your shock was evident. He smiled as he finished his mouthful.

 “Ah, that’s right, you thought I hated everything about you. Got it,” Chris teased.

 “Wow, this is surreal,” you added.

 “I always thought I was doing such a horrible job hiding how I really felt, thought I was so see through. Either I was better than I thought, or you’re not as good at reading people as you thought.”

 “Hey, not cool. Don’t come for me, Chris.”

 He laughed again and continued to eat. Your head ran to New Year's Eve. “New Year's Eve, that comment you said. Was that bullshit?”

 His smile was soft as he finished chewing. “Complete bullshit.”

 You busted out laughing then and squealed. You really thought he was throwing shade at you.

 “Oh my god. You asshole. The rest of the night I was in my feelings, I was so salty. Wow, Chris.”

 He laughed some more as you shook your head.

 “Wait, is this what Sebastian meant?”

 “I don’t know what you mean.”

 “As I was making my way over, Sebastian and I chatted, and he said he liked my dress and that no wonder he’s so conflicted,” you divulged.

 “Wow, he said that?”  You nodded and waited for him to answer.

 “Wow. Um, yeah I guess. We’d gone out drinking before, and I must have had too much, and I think I may have let something slip,” Chris explained.

 “Wow. I’m an idiot.”

 “You’re not, you saw what I wanted you to—what I needed you to,” Chris slid in.

 “I was so salty that I was so determined to have fun and ignore you. When Charles approached me, I said, fuck it why not to leaving with him,” you confessed. Chris’s eyes bugged as he leaned back.

 “You’re kidding.”

 With a yikes face, you shook your head. “Hand to God.”

 “Woow. You’re telling me I drove you to him?” His disbelief was evident; you juggled your head from side to side, not wanting to say yes or no.

 “Wow, I’m about to flip this fucking table.”

 You laughed out loud again and covered your mouth, trying to hide just how amused you were. This was perfect comedic irony. Chris finished his glass of wine, then shook his head.

 “Guess I am the asshole.” You shrugged and continued eating.

 Thanks to the laughter, your anxiety had decreased, but you were now wondering if he was thinking about you sleeping with Charles on New Year’s. When you glanced at him, his expression was unreadable, his brows were knitted, and it looked like he was in deep thought, but you couldn’t read if his thoughts were angry ones.

 “Do you remember the first time we met?”

 You smiled fondly as you nodded. It was one of the few pleasant outings with him.

 “God, that lake was beautiful,” you reminisced.

 “It was. I thought you were gorgeous; your smile was the first thing I noticed. Then your laugh,” Chris began with a soft smile on his lips. “I remember watching you cannonball over and over into the lake. You had endless energy, and you never looked more beautiful. You were so full of light and joy. I don’t know; there was something about you that just made me feel like a firefly drawn to you like you were a flame. Then when you began telling your story, I was hooked. You were funny, charismatic, silly, and just carefree. That is one of my favorite memories of you,” Chris finished.

 You didn’t know what to say to that. You had no idea he held that day or memory close at all.

 “We talked for two hours straight that night, right?”

 He nodded, and the two of you just stared at the flame of the candle, both lost in the memory.

 “I remember thinking that night that Jesus Scott’s brother is hot, but he’s smart,” you admitted. When Chris looked at you, you regretted opening your mouth. You gulped down the remainder of the wine and blew out.

 “That was the night I realized I liked you.”

 “Liked, liked?”

 “No, liked, liked was later,” Chris said.

 “When?”

 He studied you for a minute then finished his glass before he reached for the bottle to refill your glasses.

 “It was the fourth of July. We all went to the firework thing in the Hamptons, and the whole night, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. I watched guy after guy approach you, flirt, and with each of them, I felt something that was unfamiliar to me—jealousy.”

 “You’d never felt jealousy before?”

 “When it comes to a woman or men who talk to her? Never. The way I lived my life back then—there was no reason or room for it. I felt it that night, though, and it was unsettling. You talked, and I was hanging off every single word. When the fireworks started, the first burst in the sky lit you up in this amazing light, and the happiness on your face hit me harder than a Mack truck ever could. It was the most uncomfortable I’d ever felt, the most insecure and fearful. It terrified me, but like a firefly, to the flame, I had to get closer. Then when you looked back at me something felt different in that moment, I saw something in your eyes that was unsettling.”

 “Was that when you disappeared? I remember I reached back for your hand and got your fingers. Then they were gone. I looked back, and you were walking away in the crowd.”

 The emotions that came back with the memory surprised you. You’d buried that night so deep, but having it resurface now was unexpected. You took a long sip from your glass and tried to work through the feeling of nakedness.

 “I’ve regretted that night for a long time,” Chris quietly admitted. You studied him and waited for him to continue.

 “Some nights, I thought I regretted walking away, others I thought I regretted everything else.”

 “And tonight? What do you regret?”

 His eyes met yours, and it was there they remained. The longer he stared at you, the louder your heartbeat. You were sure he could hear it, but he didn’t say anything about it. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for quite a while before sadness washed over his face, and his eyes dropped to the table.

 “Ask me again tomorrow,” he softly whispered. You couldn’t help but feel like there was something behind all of that. Something had just happened.

 Before you could bring it up, he changed the subject and asked you about work. For the next fifteen minutes, you explained what you did and your goals and hopes and dreams when it came to your craft. Chris happily listened and never looked bored by a thing you said. He genuinely looked interested.

 Dinner was delicious, and the conversation was flowing and the worries of earlier that you’d have nothing to talk about dissipated. You talked about a wide range of things that didn’t stop at work or interests. You even ventured into the hard-hitting things such as politics. When he went into a spirited rant about his beliefs, you sat there happily listening.

 When he spoke like this with conviction, you found him most attractive. You loved an educated man, a man who had a brain and was not afraid to show it. It was clear he wasn’t his vocabulary was on point, and with every three-hundred-point Scrabble word he dropped, you drank more and more of your wine, hoping it would douse the fire in the pit of your stomach. It did nothing.

 As he spoke, you couldn’t help but watch his mouth. It moved beautifully as if he were speaking the most creative prose. You loved the way his mouth formed the words and letters. He had your undivided attention. Four bottles of wine later, you were still sitting at the table talking, and you didn’t mind at all. You couldn’t help but think how you’d misjudged him all these years. You’d put up a wall after that fourth of July, and with each interaction, you just added another pane of glass to make it thick enough that he could see you, but he’d have no effect. It was clear to you now that he was shattering each pane of glass. His effort into tonight took half of it. He was easy to talk to, the way your brains played off of each other was something you’d expected.

When he turned on a movie to fit across the screen of the makeshift movie theater, you were in a comfortable bubble. He handed you the remote, and that was how Netflix and chill began. You watched an action-comedy that had the two of you laughing loud enough to wake the animals in the woods. Neither of you cared. He laughed when you laughed, and you did the same. Every time he clasped his hand to his chest as he laughed, it pulled at your heartstrings, heartstrings you had no idea existed for him. This one night was fucking you up more than three years of his cold and frigid antics.

 “Wow, I’m gonna have to call Helms and tell him what a fucking good job he did with this,” Chris announced through fits of laughter.

 “Him? My god, that little boy. Shit with my luck that would be my son,” you admitted, which set Chris off on another laughing fit, one that you joined in on.

 “Don’t laugh, I’m serious. He’d be dropping all sorts of f-bombs and pussy talk.”

 “In his Bostonian accent,” Chris added through laughs.

 “Yes. You can see it too.”

 “Yeah, like fugettaboutit sweetart now show me that pussy.”

 You busted out laughing again and hit him on the shoulder.

 “Oh my god, my son would be a badass kid, I can see it now.”

 “Nah, I’d keep his ass in line,” Chris said.

 “Whatever, you’d be laughing with him egging him because he takes after your ass with that dirty ass mouth,” you added. You laughed together for a few moments before you both slowly registered what you’d said and how it came off. You both had just referred to your future imaginary son as a son you would share. Oh fuck, you thought as you finished your wine.

 “I’m gonna get started on those dishes,” Chris announced as he stood and walked off to the table still littered with dishes and utensils.

 You sat there and grabbed the bottle before you, and took it to the head while you reflected a little. After a few minutes, you decided thinking was the enemy right now and took up the glasses to walk inside. Chris had already started loading the dishwasher when you approached.

 “Hey, got room for two more?”

 “Thanks.” He took the glasses and busied himself once again. You hopped onto the counter beside the sink and crossed your legs, leaving your thigh exposed.

 “Why did you build a house on your property that already has a house?”

 “This is usually where everyone comes to let loose. Often the house is always full, and it gets loud. I thought it would be a good idea to have somewhere I could hear myself think or even work.”

 “This is really cool, and interestingly enough, it looks like you. There are so many details that just screams Chris,” you said.

 “Like what?”

 “The bed.”

 You didn’t mean to go right there, but the wine was finally beginning to work.

 “The bed?”

 You nodded and brought the wine bottle to your head again.

 “How?”

 “It’s rustic, kind of, and the plaid on it. You have a lumberjack thing when you come home.”

 He snorted and laughed out loud. “Wow, a lumberjack?”

 “What’s there’s nothing wrong with lumberjacks. There are plenty of women who get hot for lumberjacks.”

 “Are you one of them?” Chris glanced back at you with an eyebrow raised. You smiled.

 “Maybe,” you muttered before taking another sip from the bottle.

 “What do you get hot for?” He didn’t look back that time. He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, but you knew he had.

 “Not gonna tell me? Gonna make me guess? Okay, I can guess. Let’s see,” you began drinking down the wine.

 “From the expert analysis of members of Lipstick Alley I’d say tall, slim, partly curvy by slim standards, hair color doesn’t matter not really, you can take blonde, red, brown, black, but beauty does, pretty eyes, slim nose, big boobs, nice ass by slim white girl standards,” you listed off as Chris dried his hands and walked to you. When he was before you, he took the bottle from your hands to raise it to his mouth.

 “Sound about right?”

 “Does any of that describe you?”

 “Not at all,” you answered with a smirk as you uncrossed your legs.

 “Then I guess that doesn’t make me hot. Only you have made me hot for the last three years,” he blatantly admitted.

 You snorted and rolled your eyes. “You’re full of shit.”

 “Why?”

 “Because you’ve been fucking all these years. So hence, you’re full of shit.”

 You made a move to hop down, but Chris was between your knees in seconds, stopping you. “How do you know I didn’t have to think about you all these years?”

 Butterflies filled your belly again.

 “Uh--,” you began.

“Cat got your tongue? Is it really that impossible to be true? Impossible to think that all these years I’ve had you in my head while I was with anyone else, had you in my head every night where I stroked myself, had you in my head every night for the last fifty-two days?” You were speechless as you searched his eyes.

 “Welcome to my prison, Y/N,” Chris whispered close to your ear before he walked away back toward the back deck.

 You couldn’t believe your ears. Had he really just admitted to using your image to fuck the thots he had all this time? Had he really just called it a prison? You hopped off the counter and walked out back.

 “What kind of shit is that to say?”

 “It was the truth,” Chris calmly said as he leaned against the table to then cross his stretched out legs.

 “You’re telling me you thought of me while you fucked every girl over the last three years? You thought about me as you had sex with other women? How am I supposed to take that? Is that supposed to feel good?”

 You felt jealousy like you’d never felt before. “Wow.”

 “Does it feel the same way I felt seeing you parade around with every Thomas, Randall, Trevor, Harry, and Charles? Hearing the stories from our friends, sitting there?”

 “There is a huge difference there. You knew how you felt. I--,” you snapped your mouth shut and turned your back to him.

 “You what?”

 “I didn’t know how I felt,” you quietly responded before you spun to him. “You knew how you felt but still chose to fuck them. You still chose how the last three years happened. Now you tell me this. Why?”

 “I made a promise, Y/N.”

 “To who?!”

 “It’s not important,” he began before you got fed up and got closer.

 “The hell it isn’t. who did you promise, Chris?!”

 “You!”

 You lurched back and looked at him as confusion filled you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: 

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***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.

[fandom-collective-writers]

Fortune’s Favor (Gavin x MC)

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Gavin x MC

Prompt: Water balloon

Warning: Smut!

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 2,729

Requested by: anonymous

Written by: @lordsisterxotome​

Disclaimer: I do not own MLQC or any of its characters. All of that goodness is the property of Elex. I do, however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not repost this on any other website.

Other notes: Can we all take a moment to appreciate Gavin as the perfect, beautiful man that he is? Like, damn!!!

       MC loved children. This was a known fact. She had even produced several shows concerning child development and behavioral issues. Kids were kids though, and it had yet to be determined whether that was in her favor at this particular moment.

       Her soaked dress clung to her body uncomfortably, making her shift in an effort to keep the fabric from clinging. Shivering, MC huddled into her boyfriend’s jacket, fingers digging into the material as she pulled the flaps tighter over her chest. She had been on set, producing a segment on ways for children to stay active during the summer, when she’d gotten caught in the crossfire of a water balloon fight, her clothes and hair soaked in a matter of seconds as assistants and parents tried to round up the overexcited troublemakers. To make matters worse, the dress she had chosen to wear a white dress today, leaving little to the imagination as the fabric turned transparent.

       Stunned by the sudden dousing, she was lucky that Gavin had been there to help out on his day off, jumping into action and draping his denim jacket around her shoulders before saying a few words to Kiki and leading her to a trailer. Having sat her down on a sofa, he was currently looking for something she could use to dry off and a change of clothes. 

       “I don’t think we’re going to find much in the way of fresh clothes,” she commented. Honestly, this could be a lot worse. She wasn’t so uncomfortable with Gavin here, knowing he would take care of her, and his jacket was warm and smelled like him, like sun and wind. 

       “You’re right. I’m not finding any towels either,” he sighed, his rummaging ceasing as he turned back to her. “I’m going to run back to your place and get you some clothes. In the meantime, you should get out of that dress or you might get sick. You can use my jacket to dry off as much as you can.” MC blushed as he sat down beside her and reached out to card his fingers through her damp locks. His palm cupped her cheek and she relished the warmth of his touch against her clammy skin, wanting nothing more than to snuggle up against him. 

       Sure, she was a little flustered. Pretty much everything was on display beneath the jacket and while it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her naked before, it was still all too easy to become embarrassed around him, her heart racing and body heating in reaction to him. It didn’t help that she had forgone a bra today, the wet fabric chafing her nipples with each heavy breath she took and hardening the buds to sensitive peaks that undoubtedly showed through her dress.

       “Are you sure?” she asked, licking her lips. “You don’t have to go to all that trouble.”

       “I don’t mind.” He smiled softly and rose to his feet. “Lock the door behind me so no one comes in by mistake.”

       That made her startle, suddenly remembering a very important detail that would make this plan a lot more tricky. Gavin must have seen the realization on her face because he stopped, hand on the door handle. “What?” he asked, “What is it?”

       “The doors on the trailers don’t lock.”

       “...Oh.”

       “I’m not sure why they don’t, but…” she muttered, trying to come up with some sort of excuse as she shifted in place.

       “Okay.” He thought for a moment before deciding, “You can’t stay here like this. Let’s go get your things and let Anna know I’m taking you home to get changed.”

       “Alright.” Taking the hand he offered her, MC settled into the crook of his arm as it wrapped around her shoulders, holding her against him protectively as they left the trailer. Anna was quick to give her the okay to go home, the other woman’s concern almost motherly as she took in her flushed cheeks and slight shivering with a furrowed brow. Gavin assured her he would take care of her - which he didn’t really need to do; it was already an accepted fact at the office that Gavin was a man among men - before escorting her to his motorcycle. 

       By this point her dress had become icy and she snuggled against Gavin’s broad back as he drove, seeking the comfort of his warmth.

       “Almost there,” he said over his shoulder, to which she nodded, cheek pressed to his shoulder blade through the helmet he’d given her. The engine quieted to a rumbling purr as he pulled into the parking structure beneath her building and she dreaded the chafe that would come with getting off and moving around. 

       Her hair clung to her cheeks in wet clumps as she took off the helmet and let him help her off the motorcycle. There really was no worse feeling in the world than wet clothes. Each movement was excruciating, cold fabric rubbing and clinging in ways that left her uncomfortable and all too sensitive.

       It was a relief when they finally reached her apartment and she turned the key in the lock. Gavin followed her in, and without thinking MC shed his jacket, unaware of how much she was revealing to him. 

       He was a gentleman and would sooner die than do something that took advantage of her, but Gavin was still a hot-blooded young man who was very much attracted to his girlfriend. His pants suddenly felt a little too tight, his breath coming a little harder as he averted his gaze from her. “You should warm up with a shower,” he managed, his voice a little husky as he looked at anything besides her.

       When MC turned back to him she couldn’t help but giggle at how cute he looked, almost boyish with his pink cheeks and a hand raised to scratch the back of his head sheepishly. Around anyone else, she would have shied away, leaving them with a thank you at the door, but Gavin always made her feel safe, knowing that she was his number one priority at all times. It was one of the many qualities that made her fall in love with him.

       “I will. Thank you for taking care of me, Gavin,” she said, turning to face him. “Do you want to wait here? It’s okay if you want to leave.”

       “Here is fine.”

       “Okay.” Shooting him an innocent smile, she sashayed to the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, “Make yourself at home.”

       “Thanks,” he replied, voice a little gruff.

       Despite how much she wanted to take this further, she only meant to tease her adorable boyfriend a little before going back to set, but when she tried to take off her sodden dress and found that the buttons didn’t want to cooperate with the wet material, there was really only one option left.

       “Gavin?” she called, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

       “Y-Yeah?”

       “Sorry, I can’t get the buttons by myself. Could you help me?”

       “...Sure.” His footsteps padded closer and her breathing picked up in anticipation when the door ghosted open. She didn’t meet his eyes, only turned to offer him her back. His presence behind her sent electric tinges washing over her skin and she hoped he didn’t notice the tiny shiver that wracked her when she felt his touch ghost along her shoulders. He was close, closer than he needed to be, but she wanted him even closer. Her lips parted around a silent moan as his breath fanned against her ear and she waited to see what he would do next as he reached the last button at the base of her spine.

       Gavin stopped, seeming to debate with himself for a moment, before the barely there touch of his hands on her naked skin made her exhale a shaky sigh. His fingers traced her spine, continuing to her shoulders. The digits slipped under the straps of her dress, but before he made any move to bare her, he murmured, “Can I?” his voice tight with restraint.

       “Please, Gavin,” she answered, her voice a whispered whine. MC could never deny him, not that she would ever want to. “I need you.”

       A heartbeat later, her dress fell from her shoulders to pool on the tile floor. Gavin moaned against her neck as his lips descended on her skin, his body pressed flush against hers as his hands reached around to cup her breasts, gently weighing them in his palms. She arched her hips against his crotch, crying out as his teeth sank into the side of her neck at the pressure against his growing erection. Her hips hit the edge of the counter as he forced her forward, seeking that delicious friction as he began to dry hump her.

       Mewls and whines escaped her parted lips as Gavin’s large hand gave her breast another squeeze before traveling down her stomach to slip into the front of her panties. Her legs trembled as he found her swollen clit, his thumb stroking the bud as he slipped his middle finger inside of her. 

       “G-Gavin, mmh! I...I can’t-!” MC tried to warn him of her failing legs, but she could barely get the words out, her slick core clenching around his fingers as he ground his bulge against her. She nearly cried as his fingers slipped out of her heat to turn her around. Her panties slipped down her legs before she was hoisted up onto the countertop, her boyfriend taking his rightful place between her legs. Gavin’s mouth claimed hers in a hungry kiss as she reached for him, small hands slipping under his shirt to touch chiseled abs and pecs. The lustful spark in his eyes as he parted from her to tear his shirt over his head sent a wave of heat blistering through her, her inner thighs soaked with her arousal. 

       She expected him to kiss her or shed the rest of his clothes, but he stepped away from her completely instead, reaching to turn on the shower before kneeling in front of her to rifle through the cabinets underneath the sink. When he looked up at her, he held a condom between his fingers and her brows lifted in surprise. “Where did you find that?” She couldn’t remember ever stashing a box down there.

       “I put it here after our first time,” he admitted, and she might’ve fallen in love with him even more if that was possible. It was just like him to be so careful when it came to her. He held the foil package between his teeth as he undid his belt, holding her heated gaze as he pushed his pants and boxers down his legs. Her eyes immediately fell to his freed dick, swallowing at how painfully hard he was. Gavin was very well endowed, long and thick and veined, the velvety skin flushed red with need. The swollen head weeped pre-cum as she watched and a hand under her chin tilted her face up.

       Her gaze met his half-lidded one and she nearly whimpered as he tore the condom open and rolled it down his length, rubbing her thighs together in an attempt to relieve the suddenly painful ache. Parting her legs, he wrapped his hands around her thighs and hoisted her off the counter with ease, her legs wrapping around his waist as he stepped into the shower.

       The water did little to soothe the heat raging deep inside of her, though it did wash the last of the chill left by her wet clothes away. MC cried out as he pressed her against the shower wall, his chiseled body rutting against hers as he began to roll his hips into her. “Gavin! Oh god!” She writhed as the tip of his cock prodded her clit, his thick heat spreading her folds as his mouth nipped at her neck and collarbone. 

       “Want to be inside you,” he panted hotly against her cheek. “Can I?”

       “Yes!” Bucking her hips, she heard him groan, releasing one of her legs in favor of clenching a fist against the wall next to her head. “I gave you permission the moment you undressed me! Please, please, please, fuck me, Gavin!”

       Reaching down to position himself, she whimpered as his length slowly stretched her, the slight burn of something so large entering her wet core lost in the way he filled and pressed against her walls so deliciously. Her cries for him to go faster, to shove the whole thing in at once, were lost to him, his face pressed into her neck and his jaw clenched as he groaned. As much as Gavin wanted to shove himself into her, he wanted to be careful, to cherish her and make her feel loved. 

       He began to move as soon as he was fully seated inside of her, pulling out until just the tip was left inside before slamming back in again, her screams reverberating around the bathroom as he gave her what she wanted. 

       “Yes!...ah!!...Yes, Gavin, mmm..that...it feels so good!!” she cried, gasping lungfuls of the steamy air.

       “Yeah?” Grabbing a bouncing breast, he pinched and twisted her nipple, licking his lips as she was reduced to a whimpering, lustful mess in his embrace. “You...haa...take me so good. Feels...ngh!...s-so good...squeezing me so tight! My good girl…”

       Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he continued to pound into her, drops of water running down his muscles and clinging to the ends of his hair. All she could think to say was his name as he drove into her, adjusting his angle a couple of times to hit spots that had her eyes rolling back in her head. 

       “You’re...ahh!!...Gavin, you’re so deep! Gavin, Gavin, Gavin!!” She could feel him in every part of her body, claiming her as his own. It was hard and intense, but underlying it all was love, his adoration for her conveyed in every heated touch of skin against skin.

       “Say my name,” he growled, claiming her lips in a hungry kiss. “Scream it so the neighbors know.” Tears of pleasure ran down her face as he hit her g-spot hard, abusing the sensitive spot over and over again. “Are you going to come?” he panted, hips moving faster, rougher. He was getting close too, her walls threatening to squeeze him to completion she was getting so tight. 

       “Y-Yes!” she cried, gasping as he throbbed and twitched inside of her.

       His hand moved to where they were joined, and with a hard press to her clit she came undone, crying his name as her vision went white under an explosion of rapture. His pleasured grunt joined her scream as he reached his own end a few thrusts later, and he looked positively virile as he released, muscles in his neck bulging as his seed spilled into the condom. 

       The water cooled their overheated bodies as they panted, slowly coming down from their highs. Releasing her leg from around his hip, Gavin gently held her on her feet as he slipped out of her, planting kisses on her wet face.

       “I love you,” she said breathlessly, a satisfied smile on her face as she nuzzled into his neck. “I love you so so much.”

       “I love you too,” he murmured back, his arms tightening around her. A few moments passed like that, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, before he released her, stepping out of the shower for a moment to discard the used condom.

       Alone, MC cupped her flushed cheeks in her hands and squealed internally. In this case, getting caught in the crossfire of a children’s water balloon fight had turned out very, very well, gaining fortune’s favor the moment she fell in love with Gavin.

       It wasn’t until after they had finished washing up and were drying off when she suddenly gasped. “What if Lucien was home?!”

       Gavin blinked at her, silent for a moment, before he burst into chuckles. Wrapping his arms around her middle, she thought she saw some of the same mischief from high school in his face now as he said, “I’ve had you screaming my name enough that I think he’s used to it by now, babe.”

[mendesficsxbombay]

your boyfriend is...(II)| s.m

part 1 here

I had received requests for a part two of this fic which happens to be the most loved one so far so here you go! I hope you like it!

He sees white. 

There’s white sand, he thinks it’s sand, and curtains billowing over it. He sees a large wooden cabana, steps leading up to it, the steps are white, the pillars are white. He hears the sound of water somewhere. 

Turning around, he sees waves crashing into the sand, can water be white? The sunset is almost as beautiful as the day he saw her the first time, splatters of pink and violet and orange. The sky is the only pop of colour he thought he needed. 

There’s a carpet leading up to the cabana, white, of course, and large vases lined along it, there are white flowers - petunia, daisy, wisteria, large streams of flowers hanging from the ceiling of the cabana. He sees his friends dressed in white suits, his dad in a white tux, too and he smiles thinking of how perfect it all looks. His mother stands with her mother, both wearing white flowers in their hair, it looks beautiful on them. A hand touches his back, and he knows it’s her. 

He turns around to take her in his arms, he could look at her forever. Glowing, flushed and smiling up at him. He leans down to kiss her but she pulls away, “Wake up, baby.”

“Huh?”

“Wake up, Shawn it’s 9 and you have to be in the studio in an hour.”

He sees white again, but this time it’s the comforter wrapped around him, it’s her silk dress shirt and the headband she chose for the day, it’s her laptop case she is currently packing away and the large photo frame behind her, holding a photo of theirs. 

“What?”

“Wow, you did sleep well, huh? It’s Tuesday, babe you need to be at the studio at 10 and you asked me to wake you up before I leave.”

He checks for the rings on her hands, just the set of gold bands she always wore. Huh. She must’ve taken off the ones he gave her. 

“I don’t know what time I’ll be back today so please don’t forget your keys, actually you know what I’ll just,” she links his house keys with his car keys, “there, now you won’t forget it.”

Pleased with herself she walks over to him again, she kisses him lightly on the cheek, mindful of the deep marsala shade of lipstick she is wearing, “I love you, have the best day at work,” she pulls away smiling. 

“Babe, where’s your ring?”

She looks at him in confusion - “What ring?”

“You know, the ring?” 

She looks down at her hands in confusion - what ring? Oh, wait, he’s probably asking about my mom’s ring, she thinks to herself. What a thoughtful boy. 

“Oh, that’s tucked away in our closet, don’t worry. I gotta leave now, bye bubs!”

And she’s gone. It looked like a flash of white, his mind still hazy. Was it because he got high before sleeping last night? That couldn’t be it, right? 

He sighs while moving sluggishly to sit up, rubbing his eyes and willing the sleep to go away. He slept for over 10 hours and still felt exhausted, it worried him to think about what it would be like when he they actually get down to planning the wedding - god forbid that coincides with planning for his tour. How would he do it all? It seemed impossible, he should’ve proposed a long, long time ago, should’ve done it as soon as the last tour got over, no wait he should have proposed in the middle of his tour, and got married as soon as tour got over. Then they would already be married right now and she would wear the ring all the time. He’s just stupid thats all he is, really. 

He pulls himself over the side of the bed, laying his feet into the plush white, faux fur carpet she insisted on getting when they moved in. The carpet was one of the better decisions she had made and he silently thanked her each time he walked over it. We should have carpets like this at the wedding. 

In no time he was carried away with thoughts about the wedding again, the location, the invitations, her outfits, his outfits, the honeymoon, but the dull vibrations of his phone on the nightstand pulled him to reality. It was her. 

“Hi baby”

“Did you shower yet?”

“…No.”

“You are going to be so late, please go shower, please.”

She acted like such a wife already. The wife of his dreamiest dreams. “Yes ma’am,” he grinned into the phone, getting out of bed and heading to their en suite. 

_______________________________ 

He pulls himself up to the door after yet another strenuous day at the studio. He had to FaceTime his label executives in New York and LA, scheduling meetings for the coming week and still having to figure a way to finish the day’s task list. He unlocks the door and steps inside, a dull headache working its way in. Shawn toes his shoes off and lightly kicks them in line with hers to make them look neat and finally walks into their living room. 

She’s cuddled into the blanket they thew over the couch for times when they needed a binge watch, her hair pulled into a loose braid and glasses perched on her nose. She notices him walk in slowly, pulls the blanket off herself, getting covered by him instead. Smiling to herself she pulls the blanket over both of them again, her hands weaving through his curls softly, aware of how many times he must’ve tugged and ran his hands through it during the day. 

“How was it today?” She asks, careful of how soft she spoke. 

He mumbles something along the lines of being tired and getting 3 songs finished and having ideas for a few more. He moves on top of her, turning his head and adjusting himself so he could face outwards, lightly taking in her post shower scent. Vanilla and roses. Roses remind him of the floral arrangement for their wedding again. He figures he should let her decide this bit. 

“What do you think about wisteria and white roses for the wedding?” He mumbles, she only gets the names of the flowers, nothing else. 

“As flowers? I think they’re great! There’s dinner in the kitchen, I can heat it up if you want.”

“I’m thinking of lots and lots of wisteria, what an underrated plant…”

“baby did you smoke up again? I hope you didn’t drive in this condition.”

“No I didn’t, why’d you ask that?” He’s so sleepy he can barely get the words out but she hears him, shushes him because if he gets worked up now he won’t be falling asleep anytime soon. 

“Okay I’m sorry, but do you want food right now though? Or do you want to wake up in the middle of the night again when you’re hungry?”

“Cocoa.”

“What?”

“I want cocoa.”

“It’s kinda hot to be drinking cocoa, bud.”

“Turn up the cooling then, and please make me some cocoa, I love you.”

She had to bite back a laugh. Sleepy Shawn wasn’t too far off from Drunk Shawn except when he was sleepy he liked the quiet, and when he was drunk he absolutely needed to scream everything, all wide eyed and overly gesticulative. She had her fair share of experience with both, and asking for hot chocolate the way her mum makes it was basically code for exhaustion like he hadn’t felt in a while. She slowly picked both of them up from the comforts of the couch and led him into the kitchen. She welcomed the feeling of cold marble under her feet, like she said it was summer and her snacks usually included ice creams and popsicles these days. 

He sat himself by the kitchen island, propping his head on his hands and watching her putter around putting together his favourite drink, her body nearly working on out pilot when she mixed the cocoa powder and brown sugar, he’s convinced she could make it with her eyes closed. 

“baby,” he called out, still just as soft, he didn’t have the energy for anything more than a whisper now. She hummed in response, not paying much mind, because he often called out to her out of habit, not purpose. 

“Listen, please,” he pouted because she hadn’t turned around to see him yet. 

“I’m listening, baby.”

“We should have cocoa at the wedding.”

“What?”

“I said, we should ha-”

“No, I heard you but hot chocolate isn’t exactly a wedding drink, I’ve never had it at a wedding?”

“Who cares about others? It could be our wedding drink.”

She felt a spark of heat starting in her chest and working towards her cheeks. Our wedding? She loved how casually he spoke about their future, like it wasn’t something he had to give too much of a thought to - it’s just a thing that’s meant to happen. She silently crushed some pieces of chocolate onto both their mugs as a topping, they weren’t the biggest fans of cream of any sort in their drinks and thought of how she would never want them to change, and how there’s no one else she’d rather make cocoa for at midnight on a Thursday. 

He was the purest person she had had the pleasure of knowing in her life, barely any malice and a heart full of respect and love for anyone that came across him. It hadn’t been easy, loving him, she’d been burned before and who’s to say he wouldn’t do the same to her? But now that she thought of the years they’d spent together and the moments they created in this very house and multiple places across the world, she wouldn’t mind being burned again if it meant she still got to keep him. Forgiveness didn’t come easy but with him it came like second nature. 

She turned around to place both their mugs on the island letting out a silent laugh at the image of her very tall, very lanky boyfriend passed out on the platform, head supported by both his arms. She wished the album would wrap up soon, the creative process had really taken a toll on him and he looked more and more worn out everyday. As much as it was his job, it was her job to look out for him too.  

Softly running her hand over his hunched back on her way out, she picked up his phone from where they it on the couch. Swiping it open, she pulled up his group chat with the writers and producers he was currently working with, shooting them a text that he wasn’t feeling too well and they should hold off recording for the next 2 days. 

Feeling accomplished, she looked back at where he was now snoring on the counter, she thought of if and when he would choose to slow down his career if they wished to be married. Maybe it was too early for her to be thinking so, hell, they hadn’t even proposed to each other yet. And if and when a wedding successfully goes through, they would still have a whole life ahead of themselves to plan things. To date, he’d gone above and beyond to make sure she was alright with the pace at which he was moving, and where they stood as a couple and just making sure that she was okay, and she knew for sure that he would continue doing the same for as long as they were together, it’s just a part of who he was, especially around her. 

She walked over to him, gently prodding him awake and watching him chug down the hot chocolate like his life depended on it. She smiled the whole time they went back to their room and finished their night routines and snuggled up in bed. If this was what the rest of her life looked like, she wouldn’t even mind running at the same pace as him. 

__________________

He has a Pinterest board dedicated to their wedding. They’re nearing the end of his fourth studio album fast, and each time they take a break he is glued to his phone and Saving and Moodboarding things for the ceremony. Teddy warned him that if he asked her to pick between an arched altar and a slightly more arched altar, she would leak his album. It’s not her fault they all look the same no matter how much he wanted to fight her on it. 

He’s currently swiping through decor options for their afterparty when he sees it. He’s not sure what a dress is doing in the middle of photos of rounded tables and helium balloons but he swears his mouth goes dry thinking of her in that dress. It’s a vision in gold, intricate embroidery on the sleeveless bustier, two tuck lines running down the front and a cinched waist that flairs out into the most beautiful ball gown he’s seen till date. And he’s seen a lot of them, he has a board to show for it. 

He takes a screenshot and sends it to her. 

From Shawn: Hi, I hope you’re having a good day at work so far, I saw this dress and I think it’d be perfect for the afterparty (attachment: 1 image)

Halfway across the city, she was on her break at work, deep in conversation with Tiffany, yes Shawn’s stylist Tiffany, about outfit choices for the GRAMMYs in the coming few days. Shawn wasn’t performing this year, so it wasn’t as stressful of a time as it would’ve otherwise been. She had shortlisted 2 outfits with Tiff earlier, now wondering if she even needed 2. Tiffany said she’d need an hour or so to figure how she could layer her evening gown and then use the same for the afterparty, she hated having to go back and change even if Shawn wanted to.    

She was about to resume work when a notification lit up her phone.  Reading Shawn’s texts, she paused in confusion, wondering why he was sending her dress recommendations when she was already talking to Tiffany. Tapping on the link anyway, she is led to an ethereal gown, the kind that she’s convinced only exist online and not in real life. She may have even let out a blissed out sigh, the aesthetic experience running sparks through her heart and mind, imagining herself in a dress so god sent, but where would she wear it? 

The realisation cuts her supply of serotonin real quick, reminding her that absolutely no occasion she had been invited to thus far was worth an outfit like that. 

To Shawn: Hi baby, I miss your face, only 4 hours till I see you! 

  very pretty dress. where would I wear it?

Meanwhile he’d returned to piecing random chords on his guitar together. Shawn perked up to see her reply. He quickly held his pick between his lips, picking his phone up to text back. 

From Shawn: afterparty??

also 

4 hours 2 go. . see u soon 

* see you at home 

❤️

Why would she wear something so good to a GRAMMY afterparty? Like yes, don’t get her wrong, they’re important and all, but just like Bong Joon-Ho believed the Oscars were very local, she thought the GRAMMYs had limited taste when it came to artists. Yes, the world would be watching, and this would be her first ever appearance with him as his girlfriend but she didn’t want to stress herself over how she looked or acted. The show hadn’t awarded her man’s album with the recognition it deserved, she hadn’t forgotten. And so, she was treating the GRAMMYs like no big deal, just a slightly big deal. 

She wanted the night to be about him. Even if it would be their first time on a red carpet together, she would not be stealing his spotlight in any way, thank you very much. And if that meant rejecting this gorgeous gown that would make her look like a bronzed angel that descended straight from heaven, then so be it. 

She looked around her office, people returning to their desks from all over, lunch time coming to a close and her time to get back to work coming closer, she needed to tell him why the dress was not happening when Tiffany finally texts her back. 

Dress is sorted. Sending you photos once I put it together, found a way to only give you one outfit for the night :) 

The smile growing across her face should be worrying, really. She messages a quick thank you, you’re the best, Tiff!!! before opening up her chat with Shawn. 

Afterparty dress is taken care of bubs, nothing to worry xx

See you at home 😘

______________________________

When Shawn calls her giddy and breathless, she drops all her work immediately. 

The album, baby it’s done! We just cut the final- yeah it’s my girlfriend hold on- baby we just cut the final song I needed and it’s over just - no we’ll all go out in a few days, yeah? I just really need to be home with her tonight, thanks man, yeah so I was saying, it’s done I’m wrapping up and I’m coming home, jaan. I love you.

 Her good credit in her company allowed her to immediately intercom her boss and say there��s a family emergency, nothing too serious but she needed to head home right away. On the way she picks up whatever she can remember she needs for their meal, a bottle of Cliquot, Rosé, of course, a few slices of his favourite cheesecake and a bouquet of fresh flowers - a colourful mixture Carnations and Lillies and she smiles just thinking about a bouquet so similar given to her when he asked her to be his. 

It’s not until she’s back to the house does she realise that he passed up on drinks with his music friends (yes she does still call them that) for an immediate post album celebration and chose to spend the night in with her. God, could he get anymore perfect. Tonight felt like the night, the night, and if she did manage to pull through with the plan she put together in the short 20 minute drive, it would definitely be a night to remember. 

Entering their home she gets to work quickly, setting the flowers up on their dining table and stowing away the champagne and cheesecake in the refrigerator to cool down. She doesn’t know exactly how much time she has till he gets home, and the dish she felt most prepared to make was Pesto Chicken, having the side dishes in mind already, and body working on auto pilot from there on. 

While her meal bakes in the oven she brings out the fine China, determined to make the real thing look and feel as perfect as the image in her mind. Once the table is set up she moves around the couches in the living room for when they will inevitably end up there to watch something, anything, to end their night, or continue their night, if you know what I mean. 

As she’s fluffing out her blanket next to his, the lights running low and candles lit all over the place, he unlocks the door to let himself in. The smell of a slow roast hits him before anything else, his eyes running over the place to see her as soon as they could. 

She hears him come in before she sees him, hears the sound of his keys jingling and the soft pad of him taking his trainers off. She whips around and practically flies across the room into his arms. He’s more prepared, though, immediately swinging her up and spinning her around laughing freely as she squealed incoherence into his neck. Once he hoisted her up and round his waist he finally grabbed her face to kiss her like she deserved. She hummed into his mouth, wrapping herself around him tighter and finally getting a taste of what she missed these last few days. He smelled like cinnamon and tasted like happiness and love and warmth and she couldn’t seem to get enough. 

In a bit he sets her back on her feet but refuses to pull away from her. She’s giggling against his lips about dinner and a celebration and he’s never felt more loved. He does still manage to keep her in place and kiss her a bit longer, though, and she lets him because it’s what he deserves. 

When she asks why he did not go out with the boys tonight he just shrugs. She offers for him to meet them wherever they are after dinner he just says no again. When she asks why, he says the album they just finished was about her and he needed to spend this night with his muse because it was the only thing that felt right. She was too giddy to bother arguing back. 

She’s already set the table, ready to bring out the food when he shyly asks her if they can go change into their pyjamas. When she says yes and is about to run up to their room to change, he further asks if they can sit on their living room floor instead of their dining table. A small voice in her head reminds her of the time they made out on his living room floor the first time she came over and got drunk. Nothing else had happened that night, and he initially refused to even kiss her for fear of taking advantage of their sobriety or the lack thereof but she convinced him that it would be compensation. In retrospect, she’s thankful that they didn’t take things further because that was definitely a night to remember, the memory still makes her blush. 

When he goes to freshen up in their washroom, she’s changing into her fluffiest pair of pyjamas and an old t-shirt of his. Her pyjamas thankfully came with pockets, and she quickly went over to her vanity and stuffed a tiny packet in. She’d had it for nearly two months now, but tonight was it. 

When they go back down and stuff their faces with chicken, the best in all of North America, babe, as he says, she keeps looking over at him. He finally looks relaxed after months, he’d been frustrated trying to write new songs on the road and when he thought he had things figured out, he jumped straight into the studio to bring them to life. Essentially, he hadn’t given himself a break, which had led to a fight between the two of them. She’d been patient and tried to talk things out so as to not resort to a screaming match, but he refused to listen. Probably the Leo in him. 

The most she could convince him to do was be home before 1 AM. His girlfriend imposed a curfew on him, and he darn well follow it if he still wanted to have a girlfriend. 

Seeing him eat his meal while happily chatting about his day, she kept thinking of how perfect her life felt at the minute. When they popped champagne and he insisted they drink straight from the bottle, she thought of the few flaws of his she’d learned over the years and how she could bear to romanticise them if it meant she got to keep him forever. She couldn’t think of anyone else she’d rather be sat with on her living room floor, tipsy off the bubbly and munching on fresh cheesecake, stealing kisses in between. It felt right. 

He looked away from her to check his phone, text his friends back and she sets her phone on the closest console table to record the moment. Crawling back to him, she takes his fork and plate out of his hands and he smirks thinking she’s about to have the first round of the night right there. 

“Starting already, then?” He mumbles as he leans in to kiss up her neck when she scoffs and pushes him away lightly. “chill, horndog, I need to talk to you about something.”

He immediately straightens up, bracing himself for whatever is about to come. She runs her hand through his hair while his eyes cross the length of the room, knowing she sometimes needs a minute to collect her thoughts. When she inhales sharply, he knows she’s ready. 

He turns towards her so she knows she has his full attention, their hands intertwined and hanging between them. She purses her lips, sends a prayer up to God and begins.

“So um, the first time we spoke, I thought you were the dreamiest boy I’d ever seen. Um, I still think you are.” His heart warms at her being nervous, knowing she doesn’t have to be around him and tries to ignore the heat in his face. 

“See, we didn’t really know each other did we? So whatever little image I had of yours in my head was based on small talk and your devastatingly good lo- stop smiling, your below average looks, and how you desperately failed at trying to hit on me, but it it was only a matter of time till we got talking more often when you went away for tour - and I think I really appreciate it sometimes that your tours, like, no matter how long or short they are, they give us a chance to talk, you know?”

He’s not sure where this is going. The confusion is visible on his face but she keeps going. It’ll all be worth it. “Other couples don’t get to have that, Shawn. I know they’re always with each other and I know we’d both appreciate more time together when we’re physically together but being away from you makes me… introspect. It makes me want to learn things about you, it makes me want to know you because there’s never enough things to know about you, and the more I know, the more I love.” She moves closer now, cupping his cheeks and he leans into her hands, still confused as ever but letting her take what she needs from him. 

“After you came back from your first full length tour after we got together, I wrote in my journal that I would never take my time with you for granted.” His heart fluttered a little, writing in her journal meant making promises to herself, and she never went back on them. He’d never read any of her journals, he was nosy, yes, but not invasive. He wouldn’t break her trust like that. He also knew she wrote about him, he’d seen her peaking at him while writing, thinking he wouldn’t notice, but he did, he always did. 

“I’d never really had a serious relationship with anyone before you, you knew that. I mean, I just didn’t think I was special enough to hold someone down, or have my person, it just wasn’t plausible, right? And you know how Khalid said I never had someone to call my own, that was me pretty much my whole life, but then you swooped in with your guitar and you wanted to take me to all your favourite places and make me meet your friends and then you wanted to meet mine and by our third month together you started writing songs about me and I couldn’t believe that someone would want to write a song about me you know? Cause like I’m just me? But you did, a-”

“That was a lie.”

“What?”

“I didn’t write about you for the first time in our third month. I only told you that because I didn’t want to come off too strong, we were still pretty new to each other. But the first song I ever wrote about you was after our first date. Well, I started writing it after our first date but it was completed after you so painfully rejected me after the second one. I moped for a week straight, babe, you were pretty heartless.”

She doesn’t speak for a second, she doesn’t know what to say, really. Her speech that she prepared for this occasion was pretty self derogatory, she realised. And now he was throwing her off kilter, making her forget the script in mind.  “You wrote a song about me after the first time you took me out?” 

“Yeah,” he said resting his hand by her neck now and running his thumb over her cheek. His gaze grew softer, “And now I’ve written two whole albums about you. But they don’t feel enough. I don’t think they ever will be, honestly. I could write a thousand songs about you and they wouldn’t do you justice. I love you more than anything, I think I always have.”

And all of a sudden, she’s forgotten everything she wanted to say. She always did think she got lucky with him, she had a loving, caring boyfriend who respected her wishes no matter what and worked hard come hell or high water to make himself better at his art. She thought about how she was a part of his art, she thought about the one time he said that each time she proved to be his muse, the result was somewhat a tribute to their love. How fortunate could they be to have each other? And now, looking at him in the softest sleep shirt he had, a little loopy because of the champagne after a long day of working hard, there’s so much she wants to say. But the words don’t make themselves known, instead she blurts out - “Marry me.”

He smiles lightly, “Okay.”

“No for real, hold on,” she holds his shoulder to lean up, then steadies herself on one knee, pulling out the Carbon Fibre ring that had her heart since the first time she saw it, a solid black with two thin gold lines weaving around it. Her hand is held up between the two of them so he can see the ring, “Shawn Mendes, will you make me the happiest girl in the world, and marry me?”

Holy shit. He hasn’t proposed. 

It finally pieces together in his head. In this midst of finishing the album and planning the next step for his music, he’d forgotten to propose to her. But he swears he remembers doing it - or was it all in his head? He rushes to stand up mumbling no no no to himself and her eyes follow follow him around, her hand lowering as the fear of the worst takes over. No?

At once his head looks upwards, where their room is, and he runs off. She can’t quite grasp what just happened. She flips the ring over in her hand, finding the tiny engraving of their initials on the inside of the 22K band, thinking of the day she was so happy to have found it, and how it was probably for nothing now. Why would he say no?

They’d talked about marriage so openly, he was the one who kept bringing it up - so why run away now? Was he not ready? Or had he changed his mind? Was it too soon? Or too late? Did he not want marriage anymore? She felt tears sting her eyes - did he not want her anymore? That wasn’t possible was it? He literally just told her he loved her - or did he not actually mean it? Why would he say it if he didn’t mean it? Did this mean they were over now?

She looked over to where she had propped up her phone earlier, the video still recording. She had plans of adding this clip into her next video, after their trip to the Portugal next month. She had wanted to record her proposal instead she may have just recorded their breakup, now that would get her some views, huh?

Upstairs, Shawn let out an aha! finally finding the small velvet box that he had stored away carefully - so carefully that he needed to empty out half his drawer to find it again. He bounded down the stairs, screaming BABY THIS WAS WHAT I WAS FORGETTING only to find her kneeling on the floor right where he left her. She looked small and sad, stray tears finding their way down her cheeks. 

“Baby w-what’s wrong?”

She didn’t notice the velvet box in his hand till he kneeled down in front of her. “I thought you said no… I thought you didn’t want this - what’s that, Shawn?”

He claps a hand over his forehead, frustrated with himself for upsetting her so much and so quick. “I just happen to be stupid, babe, I’m sorry, I forgot to propose.” Then he’s flipping open the box, throwing it back to let it land somewhere on the carpet after having taken the diamond ring out. It’s the exact width she likes, the exact cut she likes, and it is so beautiful. 

“How do you forget-”

“But! I am doing it now! I may be stupid but you’re the one who chose to stick by me so that makes two of us! Please marry me?”

“I asked you first.”

“God, yes that’s all I ever wanted, yes yes - a thousand times, love,” he rushes to kiss her, and she smiles into it again, pulling away and slipping the ring onto his finger. 

He’s the one who’s teary eyed now, a wet smile growing bigger and bigger. “It’s so beautiful, doll, I love you.”  She kisses him again, once, twice, she would’ve done more but he pulls away again. “Okay, your turn now - what’s the answer?”

“Hmm… I don’t know I mean you did forget to propose after all…” he stares at her for a second before saying humming and attacking her with tickles. She squeals out falling to the floor in a fit of giggles, trying and failing to fight him off. “Not gonna stop till you say yes, doll.”

He’s laughing, too, clearly enjoying her misery. He hears her let out a breathy little yes while he’s still running his fingers up her sides. “What’s that? Did you hear something? Because I didn’t!”

“Yes, sheesh YES I WILL MARRY YOU, SHAWN! Please stop!” He pulls her up, quickly slipping on the ring and gathering her in his arms, burying his face into her neck, finally crying out freely. Everything felt complete, finally, he couldn’t wait to start this new stage of his life with her. He was going to be a married man soon, nobody pinch him. 

“Wait,” she speaks, pushing him away a bit so she can see his face, “Is this why you kept talking about the wedding? You were talking about our wedding this whole time?”

“Yes, I know I get it I’m forgetful! I guess, I was so caught up in what was happening and what I wanted that I mixed the two.” He sighs, a little hazy after the sharp turn of events in the night. “Wow, I wish we had recorded this, I can’t believe you thought I said no to you, baby who do you think I am?”

“Already one step ahead of you - say hi to the camera!” She grins, pointing to her phone next to them. He lets out an of course you would and she only laughs in response and he decides that he needs to hear that for the rest of the life if possible. He looks into the camera and sees an image of them both looking like a hot mess, kneeling in the middle of their living room, faces flushed and eyes bright because of the cry fest that just took place. 

“Hi guys, we’re engaged!” And she lets out a yelp showing off her hand to the screen. “Shawn Mendes isn’t my boyfriend anymore, he’s my fiancé! There should be a new filter!”

“Wait, does this mean we get cocoa at our wedding now?”

__________________

taglist: @shawnwyr​ @mendesstories​ @lanallaa​ @sleepybesson​ @rulerofnocountry​ @luvluvxx​ @wholesomemendes

dm to be added or removed ♥️

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Hey, Little Songbird - Geralt/Jaskier [G]

Gif isn’t mine. 

Originally posted to my AO3 account.

The sun perches higher in the sky with each day that strolls them further into summer. Even the biting winds that would tumble down from the mountains, the last remnant of a bitter winter, are being chased away. If a breeze does blow through, it’s always warm. It doesn’t prickle his skin. As he walks along the dirt roads, the ground is firm and sure beneath his boots. He doesn’t fear of treading into a puddle or getting his feet wet and cold, unable to warm them with a fire that probably wouldn’t have started because of the howling winds.

But now, Jaskier tilts his head back and feels the sun on his face. Farmers are out in their fields tending to their animals and their crops. Green grass and fields lined with a growing harvest spread out, reaching for the horizon. Life has returned to the continent.

His lute is slung over his shoulder, swaying with how he walks. He’s like the rest of those living on this stretch of land. Sunlight warms his blood. It makes him giddy and inspired. The next town is only a few more miles of a walk. He wouldn’t have even bothered travelling a couple of weeks ago, when the roads were waterlogged and the air bitterly cold. But when the first of the daffodils started sprouting their buds along the long stretches of road, everyone knew that spring wouldn’t be far behind.

The days have been getting warmer. It’s been steady, but Jaskier knows by the middle of the year, the sun will perch and stay there for hours on end, scorching everything and everyone underneath it. It’s a fine line the world treads, trying to find a good balance between being not too cold and not too warm, for the benefit of the people living on it and off of it. Whatever forces are at play in the making of the weather seem to be doing well so far; but Jaskier has lived through some excruciating seasons.

By the time he gets to the next town, a fine sweat starts speckling along his brow. Everyone milling around seems to be the same. Men wander around in their loose linen shirts and breeches, while women cover their heads with light shawls. Market stalls line the streets with wares already stacked in front. Vendors call out to those passing through, offering small free samples of produce. Those selling silks and cloth hold out segments for people to touch. Jaskier’s pockets are light on coin; nothing a short performance in a tavern won’t fix.

People are merrier when the weather is kind. When he picks a tavern’s table to serve as a stage, when he strums the opening chords of the songs he wrote during the spring, people smile and sing along with him – or as best as they’re able to, with the tankards of ale and wine flowing. A good summer means plenty of barrels of grapes and barely.  

The summer becomes excruciating. It holds nothing over the summers of the south – not the south of this continent, but beyond the expanse of Nilfgaard. Not that Jaskier has ever been that far south, of course. Nilfgaard stretches on for leagues, and to the best of his knowledge, there are no maps of anything further south. But he imagines oceans of sand and rock.

It’s too hot to travel, so he holds up in Cidaris – with the only real problem being that he has to spend his days listening to the droning tones of one particular troubadour echo throughout the entire city. Even when he ventures out from tavern to tavern, the troubadour’s voice is always grating against his ear.

He’d rather lie down in the middle of the road and let himself wither underneath the sun.

But as he’s standing out in the middle of the street, counting coppers for a small bag of apples and considering letting the summer sun prune him, he spots a familiar sight out of the corner of his eye.

“Geralt!”

The Witcher stops mid-stride, looking towards Jaskier. His expression, outwardly, doesn’t change much. But Jaskier has known him for too long to know the little tells of an Annoyed Geralt to a Not-So-Annoyed Geralt. The Witcher is much like the rest of them; his hair pulled into a messy bun, out of his face and neck, and wearing one of the light black shirts Jaskier so often used to see him in.

Jaskier palms the coins in his hand. “What are you doing here?”

Geralt gestures vaguely to a wooden notice board fixed to the side of a nearby building. “Monsters don’t let up just because the weather is nice,” he explains simply. When he starts walking towards the board, Jaskier follows.

The last time he’d seen the Witcher was before the last of the crops were hauled in. It was what they usually did; both of them wintering in their own ways. What it was, exactly, that Geralt did, or where he went, Jaskier could never find out. When a Witcher’s most used word is not a word at all, but a grunt, one learns to stop awaiting answers to questions.

They always find each other after being parted for some time. Even with the Continent being as sprawling as it is, their roads will eventually cross one way or another. Geralt takes the offered contract, and Jaskier follows. There’s a griffin nest nearby, apparently. “I heard about that,” Jaskier hums, rolling up his shirt sleeves. Heat scalds the cobbles beneath his feet. “A few sellswords who were staying in the Red Arrow Inn went to investigate.”

Geralt hums. “Did they come back?”

Jaskier blink seems to be enough of an answer.

He finds out quickly that Geralt is just as crotchety in the summer. Maybe it’s the heat, or the swells of people insisting on packing themselves into every street and road they can find just to mingle, but Jaskier doesn’t get much in terms of conversation as he trails after the Witcher.

Not even an order to stay behind, because it’s a griffin, and those things are fierce beasts.

Jaskier does stop underneath a grand oak tree, though. The overarching branches full with lush green leaves provide a shield from the sun overhead. “I think I’ll stay here while you...do whatever it is that you do,” he waves his hand towards a nearby hill where the griffin is supposedly nesting.

Geralt looks over his shoulder and grunts. He holds out Roach’s reins. “Try not to get her killed. Or I’ll kill you.”

The mare has grown used to him. Now, she only tries to nip his fingers when he tries to lead her underneath their shelter, instead of kicking out for his shins. “Come now, you dame,” he sighs. She comes with him easily enough, recognising that standing underneath a tree’s branch, catching passing cool breezes, will be something better than facing off a griffin.

It takes Geralt almost two hours to come back to them. Roach is the first to notice him returning, pawing a hoof into the ground and nickering softly. Jaskier looks up from his lute, fingers stilling over the strings.

Jaskier’s eyes widen slightly at the sight of the Witcher returning; he carries a slight limp and a smattering of blood across his face and arms. Clutched in one of his hands, a griffin’s head swings with every footfall.

Jaskier’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out for a while. “You’re covered in blood,” he notices as soon as Geralt gets closer. The front of his black shirt is drenched.

Geralt gestures to the griffin’s head. “Most of it isn’t mine.”

“Most of it?” Jaskier narrows his eyes. Huffing a sigh, he clambers to his feet. “Come on then; we’ll get your pay and get cleaned up.”

The year trudges by. The sun doesn’t let up. When Jaskier does move between towns, he watches farmers in their fields, tossing buckets of water over their crops, trying to keep them hydrated and green. The celebrations of harvests keep going, though. And where there are celebrations, there will be Jaskier with his lute in hand. He doesn’t see much of Geralt during the rest of the summer, but he does hear whispers about the Witcher’s adventures from patrons of taverns and inns.

He had a nursemaid when he could barely reach his mother’s waist. She told him a story once, when they were out of ear-reach from his parents who probably wouldn’t have appreciated elven tails being spoken of underneath their own roof. But Jaskier always listened intently, letting his imagination run wild. His nursemaid spoke of gods who loved each other, but couldn’t be together. They found a way, of course. They always did. It wouldn’t be much of a story if they didn’t. But Jaskier remembers his nanny’s face turning serious for a brief moment; harsh summers make for harsh winters. Even when the world seems out of balance, one thing must always equal another.

So when the summer gets hotter, and the grass and trees turn yellow and threaten to catch fire, he worries that their winter will freeze the continent over completely. He doesn’t worry for himself, so much as he worries for those who live off of the land. How will people ration their crops if it withers away during the summer? How will those living outside of city walls cope in their cabins and shacks, where one strong gust could blow it away?

The transition is spent worrying. Niggling thoughts in the back of his mind flare up whenever he feels a cool breeze nip at his skin. The sun still sits in the sky. Clouds are still wisped along the blue sky. But everyone knows that winter will be upon them if they’re not careful.

Toussaint is quiet. Jaskier’s fingers pick at the strings of his lute. He’s sung his summer songs. Other bards in other towns have been left with their echoes. Oxenfurt would be the best option. A city of sturdy walls, well stocked with food and wine. The Academy would have his accommodation still held on to. All he needed to do was start his trek there; weather keeping good, that is.

But whether it’s his own time management or something else entirely, Jaskier looks out one of the tavern’s windows one day and sees a greying sky. He blinks. Not a single cloud had been seen for most of the summer. But now, he wanders over to the window, peering at the sky, it’s starting to look bleak.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath.

The trees hardly had a chance to turn red and yellow before their leaves litter the sides of roads and pile up against buildings. Shop windows, that would have been open, are now barred closed. Down every stretch of road, Jaskier is accosted by a shrill breeze of cold air. He swears sometimes it whispers to him; telling him that he needs to move. Where he needs to move to, he doesn’t know. And it never tells him. But just move.

His arms are full of bread and portions of dried beef when he spots Geralt again. The transition seems to have treated the Witcher a bit better; Jaskier notices a new cloak draped over his shoulders, with a woollen thin blanket pulled over Roach’s hindquarters. The mare’s winter coat is starting to come in, if her feathered ears and fetlocks are anything to go by.

Jaskier wanders over. “I thought you would have gone to your keep by now,” he says as soon as he’s close enough. Roach spotted him coming, the mare’s ears twitching forward at recognition.

Geralt cinches up the girth to her saddle. “I thought you would have gone to your academy by now,” he fires back, checking on some provision bags attached to the saddle.

Roach nudges Jaskier’s arms. A loaf of bread almost goes to the ground, but he manages to catch it. “Yeah, I,” he clears his throat. “The weather caught me out, unfortunately.”

It’s only then does Geralt turn to look at him. Yellow eyes drop down to the food-laden in Jaskier’s arms. “Where are you staying then, if not the academy?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Here, I guess. I don’t want to risk trying to get anywhere else.”

Geralt’s frown only deepens. Toussaint is a nice town, but it’s built for warmer weather. People don’t winter well in places like Toussaint. Especially people who can only live night-by-night in taverns and inns, which Jaskier is going to have to do—

“I’m going to Kaer Morhen,” Geralt says stiffly. “Come with me.”

Jaskier’s mouth falls open, but he’s quick to shut it. Geralt holds his gaze. “I’m...what?”

“Would you rather spend your winter here?” Geralt’s voice hardens. “Out in the cold with ravens watching from the trees, waiting for the first of the starving or sick to drop?”

And he’s seen it all before; winters were he didn’t make it to Oxenfurt on time, winters spent weathering out howling winds in shabby road-side inns and taverns. His bones shiver at the memory of it.

Something must give away his answer. Geralt hums and turns back to Roach, doing up the last of her bridle. “It will be a long walk,” he says, “but if we go now, we’ll get there before the snow starts.”

Jaskier frowns. The winds have already started to nip at his skin. All the clouds need to do is turn grey with rain, and they’ll have feet of snow in no time at all. But Jaskier nods. He knows that the keep is a province away, and a trek up the mountain. They’ll need to move before the weather turns too cruel.

It’s something he never thought about when he left to explore the world; relying on the weather to be kind to him was something he had to quickly learn.

He’s heard stories of Kaer Morhen; whether or not any of them are true, he has no idea. But none of these stories have come from Geralt, so he can only assume that they’re full of shit.

He follows the Witcher on the path back to the keep. Geralt seems to know the way as if the wind just carried him along. Not once does he look up at wooden posts point in the directions of towns and other settlements. He keeps his eyes on the horizon and just keeps walking.

When they reach the foot of the mountain, the wind starts to change. Geralt lifts his head, squinting at the dark skies above them. Roach shakes; her winter coat keeping her warm, but it’s useless against any rain or snow that will fall if the clouds continue to grow heavier and heavier.

“It’s going to rain,” Geralt says after a time. He tugs at Roach’s reins. “There’s an inn nearby.”

And the innkeep lets them have the room for nothing. He’s an old man with a weathered face and pearl white hair. When Geralt steps into the tavern, the man nods towards the staircase and goes back to polishing a tankard.

There’s a hearth in the room, already lit and laden with wooden blocks. A large bed sits in the middle of the room, woollen blankets and throws and fur pelts sitting at its foot. When his eyes fall on a bathtub with hot water already in it, Jaskier’s bones groan. “You wouldn’t mind if I...?” he trails off, gesturing to the tub.

Geralt regards him for a moment before shaking his head. He stalks off to the other side of the room, resting both sheathed swords against the wall before pulling off his cloak and the heaviest of his armour. Jaskier bites the inside of his cheek, but turns for the bath.

There’s a slight chill to the room when he gets rid of his own clothes, folding and setting them nearby while he dips his hand into the water. And he just about swallows a moan at the warmth of it. There’s a faint scent of oats and lavender, and Jaskier can’t get into the bath quick enough.

Geralt pads around the room, tossing some of the blankets on to the bed and arranging his own side. Jaskier watches him out of the corner of his eye.

This isn’t new; sharing a space. In all the summers he spends with the Witcher, he finds them sharing the same bed for the most part. Though most staying in taverns and inns will be in good spirits, and laden with coin, sometimes gold is scarce, and can only stretch so far.

But it doesn’t stop the tips of his ears from warming. This is new; sharing winter with Geralt. The thought of what the keep will be like circles his head – as does the wonderings of what the other Witchers will be like. Geralt rarely speaks about the others; but Jaskier managed to wrangle out a few names from the Witcher.

He lowers himself deeper into the tub, letting the water lap against his chin. The room is quiet, with nothing but the hissing and sparking of the hearth’s fire to break it. Even Geralt is silent, lying on the bed, head turned towards the other side of the room.

Jaskier hums.

His nursemaid’s voice, decades-old now, whispers into the shell of his ear. He can remember her words as if he were still a boy held on her lap, lulling to sleep listing to sleep with songs and stories.

The lady loved him and the kingdom they shared But without her above, not one flower would grow So the King agreed that for half of each year She would stay with him there in his world down below. But the other half, she would walk in the sun And the sun, in turn, burned twice as bright Which is where the seasons come from And with them, the cycle of the seed and the sickle And the lives of the people And the birds and their flight—

“Even your thoughts are loud, bard.” Geralt’s voice cracks through the silence. “You’re thinking about something. What is it?”

Jaskier pushes himself out of the water slightly, resting his arms on the edge of the tub. He can blame the growing blush on his cheeks on the water. “Nothing.”

Geralt grunts. “Either come out with it bard, or quieten your mind.” When Jaskier glances over to the other side of the room, he blinks as he sees Geralt lying in the bed, blankets already pulled over him.

“Did you ever hear the tale of how the seasons came to be?” Jaskier asks.

Geralt hums.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. A nursemaid told me about it,” Jaskier says. “It’s a sweet tale. There’s not many of them, particularly where folktale is concerned. But I always liked that story. Two gods being in love with each other, not wanting to be apart, and the weather suffered for it.”

The room is silent for a moment. “Did your nursemaid tell you that one of the gods tricked the other? Got the poor girl to eat food of his world, damning her to stay there for certain parts of the year?”

Jaskier clicks his tongue. “Yes, that is a version of it.” Jaskier huffs. “You’re so old that you were probably there witnessing the entire thing. What were they like, the gods? Did you know them well?”

It earns a light laugh out of the Witcher – a sound that always sends a thrum of heat through Jaskier’s veins. “Why are you thinking about stories like that?”

“The weather hasn’t been right in the last few years,” Jaskier says. “A few people in Cidaris were talking about it; saying maybe it had something to do with the gods.”

“Never took you for being superstitious.”

“I’m just noticing, that’s all.” The water is cooling and gooseflesh prickles his skin. Outside the window, he spots the sky turning black, and the moon making a valiant effort to fight through a cover of clouds. When he stands, he tries not to groan at the chill that runs over his body. Grabbing a towel, he dries off quickly. His clothes are clean, if not for the light sheen of dust from the road; something solved with a quick shake out.

By the time he pads over to the bed, slipping beneath the blankets, he fears Geralt might have fallen asleep. The Witcher is still, with even long breaths filling his chest. But the second Jaskier’s head meets the pillow, the Witcher turns on to his side to face him.

“I don’t know what’s happening with the seasons,” Geralt rumbles, “but Kaer Morhen is open to the friends of Witchers.”

Geralt doesn’t even open his eyes. Jaskier stares at him for a moment. “Are you admitting that I’m your friend?” A slow smile pulls at the corners of his lips. “Because if you are, I’m going to need you to confirm that. In a full sentence. And, if possible, could I have it in writing?”

“I don’t want to come down from the keep one spring and see you dead on the side of the road,” Geralt mutters. When he does open his eyes, Jaskier has to stop himself from inhaling too quickly at how wide the Witcher’s pupils have become. “The keep will shelter and feed you for the winter.”

Jaskier swallows. “Why?”

“Because,” Geralt sighs, eyes slipping shut again, “you’re important to me.”

And a shiver wracks through him. Not one he could blame on the cold. The burning hearth and the small mountain of blankets and furs covering the bed shelter him from the cold. But this is different. Warmth settles in his core. A smile breaks out along his face. “You’re important to me too,” he rasps, hoping that, even though the Witcher’s eyes are closed and he’s sinking further into the mattress, he can at least nod off knowing that Jaskier said what he said.

Because gods be good, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to say it ever again; not when Geralt’s glower could return at any moment.

He gets confirmation of the Witcher hearing it in a soft hum.

[inorganicone2230]

um... i'm sorry to bother you but i was hoping you could do a yandere!erasermic x depressed reader. you know where they tell them that they want the reader to be theirs but she feels as if she doesn't deserve it. please and thank you, by the way i love your previous works

Soft Yander!Erasermic x Shy/Depressed Fem!Reader

I'm not entirely sure if this is what you meant but I hope you enjoy it none the less! 😊

You honestly couldn't remember how long it had been since they had taken you. You knew that it had to have been about a year based on the changing of the seasons outside. At least, that's what you assumed since you were so rarely let out of your comfortable basement room. It had been late summer when you were kidnapped. Looking out the window now, you could see that the month's had rolled back around to early spring, with patches of green grass poking out of unmelted snow piles that littered the ground and fresh buds covering the trees of the forest that surrounded the out-of-the-way house. It was quite tranquil, even for someone in your situation.

When the pro hero's Present Mic -who you knew by reputation only- and Eraserhead -who you only knew because of the press coverage surrounding UA High- had first approached you on one of your late night treks home from work, talking to you as if you were an old friend, you had been a bit flabbergasted to say the least. You didn't know either of these men and you told them so.

“I-I’m sorry, the two of you must have me confused with someone else. Sorry for the mix up.” You had mumbled quietly, gaze downcast to avoid eye contact as you tried to bypass them and continue on your way. You were stopped however when the two heroes stepped back into your path.

“We don't have you confused with anyone else (Y/N).” Eraserhead said matter-of-factly.

You froze as fear gripped at your senses. “H-how do-”

“We've been watching ya for a while now, since that night at the bridge.” Present Mic cut you off to clarify.

At the time, it had felt like ice was pumping through your veins instead of blood. You knew exactly what night he was speaking of. It was the night that you had contemplated jumping, to plummet yourself into the raging waters of the semi-flooded river.

You'd had depression for a few years now and that night you had made the mistake of picking up some liquor and indulging just a little too much. In your drunken and self-loathing state, you had gone to the bridge. No one had been there, or so you thought, and you had cried and screamed out your frustrations before climbing on the edge to sit. You had sat there for a while, going back and forth in your mind about whether to go through with it or not.

In the end though… you went home.

It takes a moment for you to notice, but while you had been distracted they had moved closer and you instinctively took a step back only to have them follow you step for step.

“We were in the area that night,” the voice hero explains, “and we heard ya crying. It was so sad and broken.” He had looked like he was about to cry at just the thought. “When we saw ya sitting there about to let yourself fall, Shouta got ready to catch ya with his scarf, just in case.”

Shouta picked up the story from there when his companion started to become a tad bit too emotional and for the life of you, you wonder why you hadn't just screamed or tried to run immediately, not that it would have done you a lick of good. Instead you had made the mistake of standing there and listening to them. “But in the end you made the right choice and didn't do it. You went home and we followed you to make sure that you got home safe and sound.” He flashed you a small smile. “After that, me and Hizashi, we've been following you ever since, watching to make sure you stayed safe.”

They had smiled at you so sweetly, shining eyes and faint blushes dusting their cheek, it would have been cute were it not for the unsettling situation it was coming out of.

Hizashi seemed to have gathered his wits by that point and had picked up the tale again. “At first we just wanted to make sure that you were going to be ok over the next few days. But…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his head as if he had been nervous to keep going. “But, we eventually started to see what a sweet girl ya are. I’m not sure when it happened, or even all the reasons for why, but we found ourselves falling for ya. Falling hard (Y/N)! That's why we're here tonight, we finally have everything ready for ya to come home with us.” He finished with a great big smile, spreading his arms out wide like he'd expected you to run into them.

“Excuse me?!” Your voice was squeaky but you had commended yourself on your lack of stuttering. Your mind was racing and you thought you had to be hearing that wrong. They did not just admit to stalking you and there was no way they were implying what you thought they were. You were simply misunderstanding them was all, right?

The looks on their faces told you otherwise.

You had just made the decision to turn around and make a break for it, realization finally dawning on you just how disturbing this whole encounter was, but Shouta must have sensed this shift in you and reached out to snag your hands in his. Gently, so as not to frighten you further, he'd tried to reason with you. “We know this is all very sudden for you Kitten, but we just want what's best for you.”

Arms came to wrap around your waist, trapping your own arms to your sides. “This is for your own good Sweetheart. Ya might not understand it right now, but you're just gonna have to trust us. We want you to be safe -even from yourself- and the only way to do that is for you to come with us.” Hizashi finished, laying a little kiss on your cheek.

You had wanted to run, to scream and kick and bite. But being a passive person by nature on top of being terrified, you'd attempted to reason with them instead. “T-that's very flattering and a-all, really it is. But… I'm going to have to s-say no. I-I’m not in the best place right now and I'm n-not ready for anything like this.” You had foolishly thought that that would work.

Your eyes snapped wide open when, without missing a beat, a firm hand clamped over your mouth and you felt a small pinch in your upper left arm. Looking down as best you could you saw that the erasure hero had produced a small syringe from somewhere and suck you with it, the last drops of the clear substance plunging into your body before you could even process what had just taken place. You had a sick feeling you knew what was in that needle, or at the very least, what it was going to do to you. Tears welled up in your eyes and you shook your head in disbelief at what was happening.

“We know your not ready for a relationship right now Kitten,” Shouta said, pulling the needle from your arm and capping it before putting it away for future disposal. “but your coming home with us regardless, we still need to keep you safe after all.”

Hizashi used the hand on your face to turn your head to the side as he nuzzled his face into your neck, “We know it's going to take awhile for ya to understand and we're willing to wait as long as ya need. You'll see honey, we'll be best boyfriends you could ask for!”

That was one of the last things you heard because not long after, the drug had finally kicked in and you passed out only to awaken hours later, locked in the basement room -prison- they had set up for you.

The first few months had been hard as they kept you down there 24/7. The spacious basement was more like an apartment, being equipped with off life's necessities. A nice bathroom, a big comfy bed covered in warm blankets and pillows, books, TV and movies, and a fridge loaded with pre-prepared food and snacks, no cooking by yourself though since that involved knives and other things you could potentially hurt yourself with. Despite all that though, it was maddening to see nothing but the same things day after day. And in an effort to be granted little freedoms like being allowed upstairs, which is where you currently find yourself, you began to behave for them. You stopped trying to get away.

You know that this is probably the isolation and Stockholm Syndrome talking, but in all honesty, neither of the two heroes were all that bad. Sure they had kidnapped you, but they did genuinely seem to care about you and want your happiness. They never pushed you to do anything that you weren't comfortable with, always limiting their touches to small hugs and handholding, sometimes even a light kiss or two if you were having a particularly good day. They were unfailingly kind and understanding of your feelings, that's probably why you began to crave their affections more and more as time wore on. It was nice to feel wanted, even under the circumstances you found yourself in.

But there was one thing weighing heavily on your mind. It was the one thing keeping you from accepting them completely, and so you asked them.

“I'm not good enough to deserve this level of devotion from anyone, I'm just some nobody loser who never did anything with my life. So why do you want me in the first place?”

They stare at you like have grown a second head before their expressions morph into ones of concern and they move closer to you, taking a seat on either side of you on the couch.

Hizashi puts a warm hand on your knee, “What are ya talking about hon? Your perfect! Sweet, kind, caring, beautiful. What more could we want? Who else could we want?”

His words stir up your emotions and you try to keep yourself from crying, “I don't know, maybe someone more confident, someone who would be able to stand with you, not behind you. Someone the exact opposite of me.”

“Kitten, will you please look at me?” Shouta asks softly. You do, meeting his tired eyes with your own watery ones as he cups your face in his hands. “We love you (Y/N). We don't have all the answers as to why, but please believe that we do. You are a wonderfully sweet girl and we will do whatever we can to help you see that. To help you see that we want you to be ours.”

The tears are freely flowing now and you feel him pulling you into his lap with Hizashi cuddling up to your back as quiet sobs shake your small form.

“Just trust us. Let us handle everything.”

“We'll make you happy if you just give us the chance. Can you let us do that?”

You know that this is fundamentally wrong, you shouldn't be fine with this, you shouldn't want this. But it's just easier to give in and accept the hand that you've been dealt. You want to be loved and cared for so badly, and if they want to spend their lives proving that that's what they want as well, then who are you to deny them and yourself. Especially when it's what all three of you want.

It's small and quiet but you nod your head, “I-I can do that. J-Just please don't let me down. Please.”

Hands are petting your back and hair as you all stay like that, curled up together and just enjoying the presence of one another.

“Never Darling. Never.”

[jelanisaeed]

Round 1: VS Venonat - Legends Part 1

Hello everyone, welcome to my story! This is the first book in a series I'm writing. Hopefully, it'll be finished the way I want it to be. I have a lot of plans to manipulate known facts and add my own into the fray as well.

Sorry, y'all! I didn't mean to fall off on writing this. I just got self-conscious. But I'm not going to let that get into the way anymore! I'm gonna stay on top of writing this!

Especially with this new writing style I've got! I've discovered I'm more a slice of life, mystery, fantasy type of writer. Not so much action like I originally tried. So, my chapters will be much shorter than before and will have great character interactions. I hope y'all like it this go around! And I promise I'll do better with staying on top of things!

I've made a lot of changes to the OG story, along with the previous version so I'll make sure to spot them out and let y'all know!

Oh, and quick disclaimer. I'm a black queer writer so all of my stories, including this one, will have characters who explore black and queer themes. I hope this creates a welcoming atmosphere for all to enjoy my stories and see a different perspective on pokemon and what it can be written about.

I also hope to inspire more black and queer writers to write stories on this site. The more the merrier!

Oh and I'm thinking about doing this thing where I tell y'all what music helped me write these chapters. It's a fun little thing. Mainly because music is a big part of my writing process so I thought it'd be fun to share with y'all!

So these three chapters were inspired by the Calling All Lovers album by Tamar Braxton! I love her voice and have been obsessed with her recently! She's always been one of my favs (#piscesgang) but this revisit to this gem just kept me going! I believe the song that helped a lot was Broken Record.

Special shoutout to Big Dummy by Cocoa Sarai (#piscesgang) as well! That song kept me motivated.

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy it!

…

Pokémon Adventures: Turquoise, Jasper, & Ammolite

Round 1: VS Venonat – Legends Part 1

Location: Twinleaf Town Date: August 4th, 3000 Time: 8:45am

Legends. Paxton grew up on the grand tales of mystery and wonder. Weaved together by ancient people who desired to understand the world around them. From declarations of the universe’s creation to the birth of emotions. A legend existed for them all. And all found themselves scribed and stored in libraries across Sinnoh.

Once upon a time, he believed them. Sat amongst groups of budding trainers in awe as their teacher’s spun these tales. Admired the scholars who backed up these claims with beautifully dressed lies. Part of him wished he believed them. At least then he’d preserve the innocence he lost long ago.

Not that it mattered. Innocence didn’t make for a great travel companion. Clouded the mind and led even the best astray. Paxton knew he’d never succumb to it. Not again.

“Ain’t that right, Kiri?” his little formantis thrilled beside him. She fell in step beside him, having just defeated a wild bidoof. Annoying rodents with the worst aromas.

Under the morning sun, he kept moving. Summers in Sinnoh never made much sense. Despite the heat, a chilling breeze whisked by. Eastern winds—had to be from the lake. Still, a bit musty for his taste. He heard Lake Verity was a beautiful place filled with energetic, young pokémon. Perhaps just another well-crafted lie.

It doesn’t matter. Paxton shrugged and continued his path. He had his mission and pitstops didn’t fit the bill. Soon enough, he found himself inside Twinleaf Town. A cute little place filled with morning folks. They took to the streets with their pokémon and tended to their business. A few merchant stands set up with fresh produce and supplies.

“Pretty nice, huh?” Kiri agreed. She breathed in the fresh air and thrilled. Much better for her than Jubilife City.

Now, if any of them could point him in the right direction—

“I tell ya it’s true!” A youngster wailed to a crowd. Quite the sight, Paxton mused. Clothes tattered and caked with mud. His youthful tan marred with bruises and an odd burn across his forearm.

“There’s a monster in the lake! It attacked me and my nidoran!”

A monster in Lake Verity? Paxton frowned. Too farfetched for his taste. Powerful pokémon never lingered along the lakefront, so the merchants told him. The most dangerous any trainer encountered was a choleric gyarados!

There’s no such thing as monsters, he scoffed but got closer regardless. The kid had a story, no doubt about it. Perhaps it would prove to be a challenge for him.

Though his hopes weren’t high. Twinleaf Town hadn’t produced capable trainers in years—

“The boy speaks truth, if only misguided,” an elderly man took the boy’s side with a pleasant smile. Eyes narrowed with wisdom as leaned against his cane. “There’s always been a force protecting the lakefront. A guardian blessed by Lady Mesprit herself. It serves to protect the grounds from intruders.”

A guardian, the Paxton scoffed. Yet another well-dressed lie. And the crowd around him shared his thoughts if their whispers were any indication.

Clearly, the elder saw no reason to stop. He only adjusted his kimono and tapped his cane against the lush grass. A soft, melodic sound, yet it quieted the confused herd of people. Paxton whistled. Plenty of teachers killed for that superpower, especially on the last day of classes.

“Now, now,” The elder smiled, gingerly tapping the pokéball on his cane. “We all knew of the legend.”

The ball snapped open and released a pokémon before them all. A beautiful feline with glowing, white fur. The perfect contrast to its pitch-black skin and talons. Armed with a scythe-like tail and a crescent horn jutting from its forehead.

It glared at him with glowing red eyes. Eyes filled with frosty wisdom. Lingered on him, demanding something the trainer wasn’t prepared to give.

He flinched. Not his proudest moment. And the pokémon agreed, turning up its nose with a snarl.

“You feel it, Absol?” The man said in a graveled whisper. At once, the strange pokémon—absol, he supposed—growled. The elder stroked its forehead and locked eyes with the trainer. “Young man, what is your name.”

Part of him wanted nothing more than to flip the old geezer off. He hated unwanted attention. Yet the questioning gaze of the crowd made him shrink. Of course, that geezer had them wrapped up in his every word.

“Paxton,” he spoke softly, gathering Kiri closer for comfort. She glared and waved her arms for battle. “Paxton Lotus of Floaroma Town. This is my partner pokémon, Kiri the formantis.”

The geezer nodded with a strange smile. But Paxton couldn’t place why it disturbed him. “You all remember the legend,” the geezer spoke again. “A child blessed with verity. Discovered by the peaceful flower.” Paxton groaned. Of course, this had something to do with him. No wonder he didn’t trust the geezer. “Tell me, young one. What has brought you to his town?”

Easy. He had his mission. Deliver the package and report back to Professor Kapok. Nothing special. He did plenty of these over the weeks.

“To see the lake guardian with my own eyes,” Paxton spoke, but words felt foreign. “And start my journey with an adventure.”

“An adventure,” The man smiled. A knowing smile Paxton saw plentifully on Father’s face. “An adventure intertwined with the red strings. Yes, you certainly shall receive one. Follow me, please youngling.”

Something tells me I shoulda stayed in Floaroma Town

…

Suddenly, staying in Floaroma Town felt like the right move. Paxton sighed and ran a hand over his green coils. Lake Verity didn’t live up to the legends. No bustling pokémon or fairy spirits. Not even a spontaneous battle—though, Paxton yearned for it well. Just silence and a thick fog.

A strange fog at that. It hung over the trees until they caved to its weighed. Many bent at odd angles. Not even Eterna Forest looked so eerie. And that forest had far too many ghost-type pokémon.

“I hate this place,” Paxton shivered. The air seemed so cold and heavy. And each brush of air prickled his skin with sharpened icicles.

Paxton paused by a familiar tree. Passed it a few times now, he knew. No other tree had these strange cravings on the bark. Some language, he wagered. However, the letters seemed bizarre and had cycloptic eyes. Strange, yet they seemed familiar. As if he saw them in a dream before.

{Paxton…} a voice whispered on the wind. Eyes darted around, but Paxton couldn’t find the source. Yet the voice continued, whispering his name in an offbeat rhythm. {Paxton…}

Great, I’m loosin’ it! Paxton groaned. Yet the voice paid him no heed. Each whisper grew louder than the last with a pronounced echo. Mashed together with words until it jumbled into an incoherent mess. Pain shot through his mind and Paxton stumbled. Braced against the tree, he stared into the fog and froze.

A figure breached the fog. Pale as ice with messy coils and lifeless eyes. Naked yet the wisping streamers of the fog covered anything unsavory. The figure stared at him with shinning sky-blue eyes…and smiled. Giggled even!

Is that a ghost? Paxton swallowed. Spirits weren’t his forte. In fact, they freaked him out!

{Paxton…} the ghost spoke even though its lips never moved. It urged him to follow as it stepped back into the fog. {Paxton…}

…Hell. Against his better judgement, he followed it. Chased it through the shifting fog as Kiri appeared beside him in a burst of light. He needed her. If this ghost was anything like the kind in Kanto, then he couldn’t take any chances! Would’ve been a perfect time to find that guardian though.

Guardian…what if that ghost was the guardian? A chill ran down his spine. He hoped not. Dealing with the undead was Casper’s thing, not his! He had enough of ghost-type pokémon ever since he got lost in that busted down chateau!

Still, he put those thoughts aside and chased its faded form. Even as his lungs screamed at him to take a break. Or his legs struggled to keep up. He fought through it. And Paxton found himself in a clearing. Empty, yet devoid of the heavy fog. Just a soft breeze and lake water as it crashed against the ground.

The ghost turned to him and grinned. Eyes filled with mirth as it lifted off the ground and floated to the lake. Paxton followed and gazed in awe. The ghost danced above, swinging its arms. It spiralled through the morning skies and giggled. Soft and melodious as the soft waves rolling through. And with a grin, the ghost dove into the lake.

Glittering light erupted across the water. Engulfed the lake in a rainbow splendor.

For a moment, Paxton stared into the light. Entranced as thoughts raced through his mind. Feelings, long since buried, unearthed and flooded him in a sparkling array of light—

(Veno-NAT!)

Paxton didn’t realize he moved until the heat hit him. As he rolled along the soft grass, charred dirt sprinkled his skin. Ignited by flashes of green light. Something attacked him, but he couldn’t see anything in the grass. Just rustling as the breeze blew through—

(NAT!)

This time, Paxton was ready. He lunged away as streaks of light smashed into the ground. Unharmed except for the light scarps. Good enough for Kiri as she dashed into the fight. She weaved through the streaks of light and unleashed a spiral of glowing leaves into the tall grass. Trimmed grass fluttered through the air, but the rustled told him all he needed to know.

“Kiri, widen your range and trim the grass! Razor Leaf!”

Sharpened leaves ripped through the air and trimmed the tall grass. Amongst the fallen leaves, he caught a glimpse of the assailant. Purple for sure…and were those clodhopper feet?

The creature paused in the epicenter of the field. And…it had to be the ugliest thing Paxton ever saw. Thick, disheveled purple fur mashed with giant, red eyes, stubby paws and insect features. Poor thing. Nobody’d ever train something so hideous.

This must be the monster. Paxton frowned. Ugly or not, he had to get rid of it.

“Kiri, time to water the garden.” Kiri rushed it and slashed it across the chest. The bug cried out, but Kiri didn’t stop there. She slashed and slashed, drawing pained buzzes from the creature. Now that Kiri had a target, that bug didn’t have a chance.

“That’s it! Fury Cutter!”

Once Fury Cutter went to work, it didn’t matter what pokémon Kiri faced. Each slash gained greater strength than the last. A nasty move for sure but made pokémon battles so much easier. The bug stumbled away from a slash and hopped away. But Kiri raced after it, unleashing more spiraling leaves to smash into its back.

“Finish it, Kiri! Leaf—”

Kiri cried out, low and mangled, as she fell forward! Her blades held her up, but she gasped for air.

But how?! Paxton watched in horror as the air rippled and smashed into Kiri, blowing her back. He lunged for her. Caught her just before she crashed. And when he pulled her close, he found streaks of purple staining her green skin. Poison?

(Nat?) The bug hopped over. Body tensed as green light oozed underneath its messy fur. Paxton dipped a hand to his belt. He had the perfect pokémon for this ugly—

“Motha,” A calm, melodious voice washed over the field. And the beast paused. “That’s enough.”

The beast hobbled over to the lake with a certain bounce that Paxton didn’t appreciate.

“That’s enough fighting, please,” the same voice spoke again. And a trainer climbed out of the crystal waters. Clad in only a pair of black briefs decorated with bugs and bubbles. His soaked black coils hung over his eyes, dripping water down his toned hazelnut body. When he finally moved the coiled curtains, Paxton caught sight of sky-blue eyes.

Just like that ghost.

But…his looked so shattered.

“Who are you?” He spoke again with that same melodious quality. Only this time, there was a noticeable edge. Like a cliff blocking a powerful wave. “What are you doing in Lake Verity?”

Paxton scowled. Figures the monster had a trainer. It fought too well to be wild. But it didn’t make sense. Why attack? Paxton shook his head.

“My name is Paxton—Paxton Lotus of Floaroma Town,” he gulped. His heart pounded against his chest. “I’m here to defeat the monster in Lake Verity. That you, ain’t it?”

The trainer paused. And his eyes darkened with flecks of gray.

“I am the guardian of Lake Verity,” he began slowly as a storm brewed behind his lips. “My name is Turquoise. Turquoise Yukule.”

…

How did y'all like that chapter? It took some time to perfect, but I loved the twist it took! I'm happy with it.

Paxton's a new character I made. Lowkey based him off of a mix of the Aroma Lady and Gardener Trainer Classes. I'm starting to really fuse Trainer Classes for some reason and I love it lol

And yay, Turquoise is back! He's literally my favorite little bubble of sunshine. I love his character and did some changes to him too. I'll let y'all know his Trainer Class next chapter!

But I'd to hear from y'all. Feel free to leave a review or PM me. I'd love to hear your feedback. And I'll do my best to respond to all reviews as well!

[levirens]

[fanfic] of flavoured names and coloured sounds (chapter 1 of 2)

Summary: "He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him."

In which Draco just wants to know what colour Hermione's moans would be. He also wants to know if her skin would taste as sweet as her surname or maybe as intoxicating as her given name.

LINKS

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567740/chapters/56541799 FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13547597/1/of-flavoured-names-and-coloured-sounds

CHAPTER 1

synaesthesia: a condition in which two or more of the five senses that most people experience separately are mixed so that, for example, a person may see colour when they hear a particular sound or read a particular word

 He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. They create a firework display in front of him whenever they talk, varying in intensity depending on the nature of their conversation. He falls asleep to soft shades of blue and wakes up to freckles of purple.

(The albino peacocks produce varying shades of reds and violets, the house-elves create splashy tones that have the tendency to give him a headache when subjected to prolonged exposure.)

It’s only later, when he grows up, that he starts to discover the names of these colours, stops referring to them as various shades of the same six hues he knows and combinations of them. He comes to learn that his mother’s voice is composed of aquamarine notes, interspersed with azure, Maya blue, Bleu de France, teal, and harbour grey. When he tells her this, she gives him a curious look and makes him promise he would never tell anyone about these sensory experiences of his.

Tasting words and names is an experience that is more peculiar and, sometimes, less pleasant. As a child, the flavours are fairly simple: words like absinthe, python, moth, and thunder taste bitter, while words like cheery, rye, and cutlery taste sweet. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him. When he hears the word Dementor, he develops a sudden overwhelming urge to vomit as the word tastes like rotten meat and mouldy bread. The meaning of the word sends a chill down his spine and he thinks his taste buds hit the mark with that one.

(Pansy, his childhood friend, has a name that tastes like steamed broccoli, and the taste is so odd that he never says her name when he fucks her, much to the witch’s disdain. It doesn’t help that her moans are coloured like coal.)

Harry Potter’s name is a mixture of sweet and smoky. The name Harry is sweet, much like cheery and rye, but he finds the sweetness nauseating. Potter, on the other hand, is smoky, so he settles with that and decides to call the boy the smoky name. The name Ron tastes like milk that’s been left out for hours, better poured down the drain than allowed to linger on the tongue. The surname isn’t much better, reminding him of the time his father had made him eat some blue cheese and he gagged it all out, leaving his tongue and throat burning with stomach acid. Every time he says the ginger’s name, his face automatically pulls into a sneer of disgust, his taste buds protesting the abuse.

During their first year, most everyone’s voices make him see light colours, but as they grow older the male voices turn darker shades and the females’ a softer hue. Some voices grate on his nerves, the explosion of colours too vivid, with no sense of harmony, and he often finds himself snapping at these people to shut up.

That’s when he becomes certain that this condition is unique to him. If they could see the colours he sees and if they could taste the flavours he tastes, they would all be snappish too.

Then there’s Hermione Granger.

Hermione reminds him of a summer trip his family had taken to France before his first year at Hogwarts. His father, ever the champion of luxurious delicacies and drinks, always insisting that he must develop a taste for the finer things, had insisted that his mother let him sample a glass of white wine.

His eleven-year-old tongue quickly detected hints of white peach, dill, and coconut, but they were overwhelmed by the bitterness of the alcohol. He had not appreciated the taste then, not even trying to hide his grimace to the amusement of his parents.

“When you’re older, you’ll learn to value the flavour of an excellent Sauvignon Blanc,” his father had reassured him.

Now the intoxicating flavour is back, every time he hears Potter call her name and every time it flashes through his mind. The taste of it never changes throughout the years, but his reaction to it does. Understandably, his younger self only felt disgust, but the older he got the more willing he became to accept that his father had been right all along—he’s learned to value the taste of Hermione’s name, learned to savour the white peach along with the dryness unique to the drink.

Sometimes, he could convince himself that he could get drunk just from her name.

Granger was safer, and even in his younger years he had enjoyed the taste of the surname on his tongue. Granger tastes like green apples. It’s the first thing he grabs at the dining table every morning for breakfast, and it’s a flavour that he chases after constantly. His immature self had found a way to say it every chance he could get, enjoying the sudden burst of citrus inside his mouth with every call of her name. He would resort to taunting, teasing her about being a swot, insulting her and making sure to use her last name by the end of every sentence.

He had been foolish, he soon realises, and so he stops saying her name to her face all the time lest people notice that he has developed an unhealthy habit out of it. He says it in private now, in the confines of the baths and in the privacy of his bedroom. At first it had only been so he could taste the green apples, so he could relive over and over again the tangy sweetness of her name, but later on it became less innocent.

(Later on, he started to favour the alcohol of her given name over the fruit of her surname whenever he would stroke his cock through his sleeping trousers.)

Unsurprisingly, the word Mudblood tastes like dirt in his mouth. When he first hurls it at her, the sensation is so intense that he almost gags before the weasel can even attempt his slug-eating spell at him. It repulses him, but she had insulted him and annoyed him to no end, and not even the sweetness of her name could soothe the headache he got from the bursts of vibrant colours her voice made him see whenever she opened her filthy mouth. Potions quickly became his favourite subject, not only because his Godfather favoured him, but because he almost never allows Granger to recite in class.

He finds that his annoyance slowly dissipates over the years as her voice goes from irritating and migraine-inducing to almost melodic and soothing. The colours stop being so harsh, become muted shades or pastel versions of themselves. He finds that in the splashes of colour he sees every minute of his waking hours, he looks forward to seeing hers.

   The first time he realises her voice has ceased to be a source of annoyance for him is during their third year. It’s an odd thing to feel, to suddenly yearn to hear the colours of her voice, when two years ago he had wanted to bolt from every room she was occupying. That annoys him, too, because all his life he’s been told that his kind should rule the wizarding world and her kind should not even be welcomed, so who is she to drive him out of a room? Throughout their first and second year in Hogwarts, he would stay, not only because he had no choice but to stay in classes he shared with her, but because he’s a pureblood and she’s nothing but that dirty word that makes him gag.

The sound of her palm connecting with his face is the colour of autumn leaves, a bright orange thunder-like streak that flashes behind his closed eyes. Everything is a sensory blur, and he finds himself running away from her, from them, feeling the shame welling in his chest and the taste of her given name still heavy on his tongue.

The word foul tastes like oatmeal and the word evil tastes like cold chicken soup.

   The yule ball is a ticket to a night of sensory overload. The music they dance to causes him to nearly go into a catatonic state, his head thrown back and his eyes following the lights bursting in and out with every note and every chord. Pansy has been clinging to him ever since he had first fucked her three weeks ago, and now he knows what a colossal mistake it had been to ask her to be his date to this ball. She has somehow convinced herself that they’re exclusively seeing each other, much to his disappointment, so he’s been planning to “break up” with her despite his father’s approval of their supposed relationship.

He’s thinking of a way to tell her the sex is good (not good enough really, considering the taste of her name and the colours of her voice) but he’s simply not looking for a relationship when he catches sight of her again. Immediately the spiked punch is replaced by Sauvignon Blanc and green apples at the thought of her name. She’s a periwinkle blue blur from his vantage point, but from what he had seen approximately an hour ago, she’s an absolute stunner tonight.

He turns his head so he can fully watch her, difficult as it may be with the pulsing colours interrupting his vision, and all but forgets the witch hanging on to his arm. He watches her dance with Krum, ignores Pansy’s demands for him to take her to the dancefloor, and then barely notices when his date finally lets go of his arms and stomps away from him. He watches Granger skip over to her friends, then he watches her get into a row with the weasel before promptly walking out of the ballroom.

None of her friends move to follow her, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to do it but he’s rising to his feet and moving towards the direction she had gone to. He keeps walking down the hallway until he spots her, snivelling in an alcove and using her hands to wipe at her face. When he gets close enough, he sees that her makeup is ruined, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to mind that gives him pause.

“If you’re pining after the weasel, don’t you think you should have gone with him as your date?” he asks, startling her.

She jumps up and whips around to face him, wand already tightly held in one of her hands, tear tracks still marring her face. “Malfoy? Did you… did you follow me out here?”

He shrugs, moving to plop himself down to take her abandoned seat on the alcove. “I think I may be drunk,” he admits, the colours still blurring his vision and the word alcove tastes like garlic in his mouth.

She eyes him, her gaze darting back and forth between him and the empty hallway. He can practically hear her calculating her next steps, can hear the cogs in her brain working double time to assess the conundrum in front of her.

He cringes, the taste of residual beeswax coating his tongue at the thought of the word conundrum.

“How can you be drunk? Alcohol’s not allowed—”

“We spiked the punch,” he cuts her off, reaching for the flask hidden in the inner pockets of his robes. She stiffens, her wand raising ever so slightly to point at him, but he just retrieves the flask and waves it at her. “Paranoid.”

Granger watches him return the flask and fold his wandless hands on his lap where she can see them. “Well, it was very bizarre chatting with you, Malfoy.” With that, she turns to walk away, the floaty periwinkle blue robes moving with the sway of her hips.

When he returns to his dorm room, he places about half a dozen silencing charms on his bed, draws the curtains closed, and for the very first time, wanks himself off to images of Hermione Granger.

   They’re prefects, and he should have expected this to happen. Sooner or later they would get paired to do patrols together, he had known this, but he had been foolish enough to neglect to prepare for it. He knows that her voice will no longer make his head throb, has been familiar with the shades of her still-swotty voice for more than two years now.

The castle is quiet, and his eyes are blessedly free of colours bursting around his vision as he and Granger walk the castle grounds side by side. Neither of them speaks, but the silence isn’t antagonistic. Last month, they had been paired up for an Astronomy assignment, and although everyone in the bloody castle had been surprised by the pairing and had expected things to blow up, they miraculously did not.

Granger may be an insufferable know-it-all as his Godfather had put it, but her diligence, as he’s come to learn, perfectly complements his occasional bouts of perfectionism. He had fully expected them to buttheads, get into rows as bad as the one that had landed him that nasty slap back in third year, but they had ended up working quite well with each other. By the end of the two week-long assignment, he had to begrudgingly admit to himself that his father had been wrong to accuse her of cheating to get good grades.

It had hurt his pride and he had ignored her completely after that. He only resumed “talking” to her last week, when she had come up to him to ask if he was finished with the DADA book lying on his table in the library. He had wanted to say no, tell her to bugger off and find her own copy, but had found himself gesturing for her to take it.

The witch had instead taken the seat in front of him and began working on her own essay right there, in his space. He had floundered for a good minute or two, just staring at her furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment, getting ink everywhere. Nobody would have seen her sitting there with him, his little corner hidden from the heavy traffic of the library. After a while he had given up trying to understand what the swot was hoping to achieve by infringing upon his peace so he had resolutely returned to working on his Transfiguration homework.

When she had finally gotten up to leave, he noted that it was just a little over ten minutes before dinner time. “Thanks for letting me use the book, Malfoy.”

From what he can tell, the school isn’t abuzz with gossip surrounding the two of them so he can only assume that she had told no one of their little study session, nor the two that had followed the first. He doesn’t know what they’re doing but he knows that he doesn’t mind it as much as he’d like to fool himself into thinking.

“Draco.”

He knows the taste of his name, of course. Draco tastes like an expensive brand of chocolate that his mother had indulged him with when he was a kid, and Malfoy tastes like leather. The fact that his name tastes like chocolate had been the only redeeming quality he found out of having sex with Pansy. Every time she moaned his name, the taste of chocolate would make the flashes of coal slightly worth the trouble.

Hermione’s voice doesn’t bother him anymore. What does bother him is the fact that he has spent months imagining what colour her moans would be and what colour his name would take when it leaves her lips.

Now he knows the answer to one of those things. It’s salmon pink, much like what her other notes sound like, the ones she would produce when talking about a subject only she knows about in class and the ones that would leave her lips when something particularly good happens to her.

He can’t imagine a reason why she’s speaking his name like that, but he turns his eyes to her and gestures for her to keep speaking. He can only hope that she doesn’t notice the blood rushing to fill his cheeks in the darkness.

“Why did you save me last year?”

The question catches him by surprise, so much so that he stops walking and only stares at her for a long moment. He instantly knows that she’s talking about the world cup, about the warning he had given the trio. Slowly, his features harden, and he feels a scowl replacing his baffled expression. “Is that why you’ve been hanging around me? You think we can become what, friends, because you assumed that I had saved you that night?”

She doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking a step closer to him. He feels his chest tighten at the proximity, every word out of his father’s mouth about pureblood superiority suddenly swimming through his head and causing an explosion of varied flavours to occur on his tongue. She’s so close, close enough that he can see the freckles dotting her nose, close enough that he can detect the scent of coconuts from her hair.

“I didn’t assume anything, Malfoy. You saved me that night.”  

   Aunt Bellatrix trains him, and she becomes fascinated with his condition when she learns about it from his mind. It occupies her interests enough that she doesn’t stumble upon the thoughts of her, and he’s so frightened by the possibility of her finding out that he’s been lusting over a muggle-born that it speeds up the process.

He’s always been a quick study, but there’s nothing like the fear of your infatuation being exposed to your deranged aunt to really get someone to master a spell.

   He had expected that the dark mark would affect his condition, make the colours duller and the flavours blander. He’s right—once the ugly black thing gets branded on his skin, he can instantly tell that the colours will be nearly transparent now, the various hues no longer as defined as before and no longer obstructing his vision. His aunt tells him it’s a good thing, as he wouldn’t want those silly hallucinations coming in the way of a successful Avada or Crucio. The thought of the Dark Lord’s name no longer brings up an overpowering seaweed flavour, the taste subdued now.

When his mother plays the piano for him, the colours are still brighter and more pronounced than when people speak, but it’s no longer a fireworks display. She looks at him with a forlorn expression, one that he hadn’t expected but can understand because, as much as hated the migraines he got from those colours, they had been his. They had been bright, sometimes blinding, sometimes erratic enough that he feared he would go into a seizure, sometimes causing him to miss the target of a hex, but they had been his.

With his Occlumency walls safely in place, he allows himself to think of her name. The Sauvignon Blanc isn’t nearly as potent as before, the flavour of the green apples no longer as crisp, but he tells himself he can only be thankful that it’s still there.

[anartic-monkeys]

[fanfic] of flavoured names and coloured sounds (chapter 1 of 2)

Summary: "He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him."

In which Draco just wants to know what colour Hermione's moans would be. He also wants to know if her skin would taste as sweet as her surname or maybe as intoxicating as her given name.

LINKS

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23567740/chapters/56541799 FFN: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13547597/1/of-flavoured-names-and-coloured-sounds

CHAPTER 1

synaesthesia: a condition in which two or more of the five senses that most people experience separately are mixed so that, for example, a person may see colour when they hear a particular sound or read a particular word

 He doesn’t question it at first, the fact that sounds have colours and words have flavours. He grows up with it, grows up seeing powerful ruptures of colour when his mother plays the piano and softer, translucent bursts when the people around him speak. His father’s voice fills his vision with sombre oranges and lilacs while his mother’s is a pleasant mix of delicate greens, blues, and greys. They create a firework display in front of him whenever they talk, varying in intensity depending on the nature of their conversation. He falls asleep to soft shades of blue and wakes up to freckles of purple.

(The albino peacocks produce varying shades of reds and violets, the house-elves create splashy tones that have the tendency to give him a headache when subjected to prolonged exposure.)

It’s only later, when he grows up, that he starts to discover the names of these colours, stops referring to them as various shades of the same six hues he knows and combinations of them. He comes to learn that his mother’s voice is composed of aquamarine notes, interspersed with azure, Maya blue, Bleu de France, teal, and harbour grey. When he tells her this, she gives him a curious look and makes him promise he would never tell anyone about these sensory experiences of his.

Tasting words and names is an experience that is more peculiar and, sometimes, less pleasant. As a child, the flavours are fairly simple: words like absinthe, python, moth, and thunder taste bitter, while words like cheery, rye, and cutlery taste sweet. The word father tastes like wet wood and the word mother tastes like the pumpkin juice the house-elves frequently serve him. When he hears the word Dementor, he develops a sudden overwhelming urge to vomit as the word tastes like rotten meat and mouldy bread. The meaning of the word sends a chill down his spine and he thinks his taste buds hit the mark with that one.

(Pansy, his childhood friend, has a name that tastes like steamed broccoli, and the taste is so odd that he never says her name when he fucks her, much to the witch’s disdain. It doesn’t help that her moans are coloured like coal.)

Harry Potter’s name is a mixture of sweet and smoky. The name Harry is sweet, much like cheery and rye, but he finds the sweetness nauseating. Potter, on the other hand, is smoky, so he settles with that and decides to call the boy the smoky name. The name Ron tastes like milk that’s been left out for hours, better poured down the drain than allowed to linger on the tongue. The surname isn’t much better, reminding him of the time his father had made him eat some blue cheese and he gagged it all out, leaving his tongue and throat burning with stomach acid. Every time he says the ginger’s name, his face automatically pulls into a sneer of disgust, his taste buds protesting the abuse.

During their first year, most everyone’s voices make him see light colours, but as they grow older the male voices turn darker shades and the females’ a softer hue. Some voices grate on his nerves, the explosion of colours too vivid, with no sense of harmony, and he often finds himself snapping at these people to shut up.

That’s when he becomes certain that this condition is unique to him. If they could see the colours he sees and if they could taste the flavours he tastes, they would all be snappish too.

Then there’s Hermione Granger.

Hermione reminds him of a summer trip his family had taken to France before his first year at Hogwarts. His father, ever the champion of luxurious delicacies and drinks, always insisting that he must develop a taste for the finer things, had insisted that his mother let him sample a glass of white wine.

His eleven-year-old tongue quickly detected hints of white peach, dill, and coconut, but they were overwhelmed by the bitterness of the alcohol. He had not appreciated the taste then, not even trying to hide his grimace to the amusement of his parents.

“When you’re older, you’ll learn to value the flavour of an excellent Sauvignon Blanc,” his father had reassured him.

Now the intoxicating flavour is back, every time he hears Potter call her name and every time it flashes through his mind. The taste of it never changes throughout the years, but his reaction to it does. Understandably, his younger self only felt disgust, but the older he got the more willing he became to accept that his father had been right all along—he’s learned to value the taste of Hermione’s name, learned to savour the white peach along with the dryness unique to the drink.

Sometimes, he could convince himself that he could get drunk just from her name.

Granger was safer, and even in his younger years he had enjoyed the taste of the surname on his tongue. Granger tastes like green apples. It’s the first thing he grabs at the dining table every morning for breakfast, and it’s a flavour that he chases after constantly. His immature self had found a way to say it every chance he could get, enjoying the sudden burst of citrus inside his mouth with every call of her name. He would resort to taunting, teasing her about being a swot, insulting her and making sure to use her last name by the end of every sentence.

He had been foolish, he soon realises, and so he stops saying her name to her face all the time lest people notice that he has developed an unhealthy habit out of it. He says it in private now, in the confines of the baths and in the privacy of his bedroom. At first it had only been so he could taste the green apples, so he could relive over and over again the tangy sweetness of her name, but later on it became less innocent.

(Later on, he started to favour the alcohol of her given name over the fruit of her surname whenever he would stroke his cock through his sleeping trousers.)

Unsurprisingly, the word Mudblood tastes like dirt in his mouth. When he first hurls it at her, the sensation is so intense that he almost gags before the weasel can even attempt his slug-eating spell at him. It repulses him, but she had insulted him and annoyed him to no end, and not even the sweetness of her name could soothe the headache he got from the bursts of vibrant colours her voice made him see whenever she opened her filthy mouth. Potions quickly became his favourite subject, not only because his Godfather favoured him, but because he almost never allows Granger to recite in class.

He finds that his annoyance slowly dissipates over the years as her voice goes from irritating and migraine-inducing to almost melodic and soothing. The colours stop being so harsh, become muted shades or pastel versions of themselves. He finds that in the splashes of colour he sees every minute of his waking hours, he looks forward to seeing hers.

   The first time he realises her voice has ceased to be a source of annoyance for him is during their third year. It’s an odd thing to feel, to suddenly yearn to hear the colours of her voice, when two years ago he had wanted to bolt from every room she was occupying. That annoys him, too, because all his life he’s been told that his kind should rule the wizarding world and her kind should not even be welcomed, so who is she to drive him out of a room? Throughout their first and second year in Hogwarts, he would stay, not only because he had no choice but to stay in classes he shared with her, but because he’s a pureblood and she’s nothing but that dirty word that makes him gag.

The sound of her palm connecting with his face is the colour of autumn leaves, a bright orange thunder-like streak that flashes behind his closed eyes. Everything is a sensory blur, and he finds himself running away from her, from them, feeling the shame welling in his chest and the taste of her given name still heavy on his tongue.

The word foul tastes like oatmeal and the word evil tastes like cold chicken soup.

   The yule ball is a ticket to a night of sensory overload. The music they dance to causes him to nearly go into a catatonic state, his head thrown back and his eyes following the lights bursting in and out with every note and every chord. Pansy has been clinging to him ever since he had first fucked her three weeks ago, and now he knows what a colossal mistake it had been to ask her to be his date to this ball. She has somehow convinced herself that they’re exclusively seeing each other, much to his disappointment, so he’s been planning to “break up” with her despite his father’s approval of their supposed relationship.

He’s thinking of a way to tell her the sex is good (not good enough really, considering the taste of her name and the colours of her voice) but he’s simply not looking for a relationship when he catches sight of her again. Immediately the spiked punch is replaced by Sauvignon Blanc and green apples at the thought of her name. She’s a periwinkle blue blur from his vantage point, but from what he had seen approximately an hour ago, she’s an absolute stunner tonight.

He turns his head so he can fully watch her, difficult as it may be with the pulsing colours interrupting his vision, and all but forgets the witch hanging on to his arm. He watches her dance with Krum, ignores Pansy’s demands for him to take her to the dancefloor, and then barely notices when his date finally lets go of his arms and stomps away from him. He watches Granger skip over to her friends, then he watches her get into a row with the weasel before promptly walking out of the ballroom.

None of her friends move to follow her, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to do it but he’s rising to his feet and moving towards the direction she had gone to. He keeps walking down the hallway until he spots her, snivelling in an alcove and using her hands to wipe at her face. When he gets close enough, he sees that her makeup is ruined, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to mind that gives him pause.

“If you’re pining after the weasel, don’t you think you should have gone with him as your date?” he asks, startling her.

She jumps up and whips around to face him, wand already tightly held in one of her hands, tear tracks still marring her face. “Malfoy? Did you… did you follow me out here?”

He shrugs, moving to plop himself down to take her abandoned seat on the alcove. “I think I may be drunk,” he admits, the colours still blurring his vision and the word alcove tastes like garlic in his mouth.

She eyes him, her gaze darting back and forth between him and the empty hallway. He can practically hear her calculating her next steps, can hear the cogs in her brain working double time to assess the conundrum in front of her.

He cringes, the taste of residual beeswax coating his tongue at the thought of the word conundrum.

“How can you be drunk? Alcohol’s not allowed—”

“We spiked the punch,” he cuts her off, reaching for the flask hidden in the inner pockets of his robes. She stiffens, her wand raising ever so slightly to point at him, but he just retrieves the flask and waves it at her. “Paranoid.”

Granger watches him return the flask and fold his wandless hands on his lap where she can see them. “Well, it was very bizarre chatting with you, Malfoy.” With that, she turns to walk away, the floaty periwinkle blue robes moving with the sway of her hips.

When he returns to his dorm room, he places about half a dozen silencing charms on his bed, draws the curtains closed, and for the very first time, wanks himself off to images of Hermione Granger.

   They’re prefects, and he should have expected this to happen. Sooner or later they would get paired to do patrols together, he had known this, but he had been foolish enough to neglect to prepare for it. He knows that her voice will no longer make his head throb, has been familiar with the shades of her still-swotty voice for more than two years now.

The castle is quiet, and his eyes are blessedly free of colours bursting around his vision as he and Granger walk the castle grounds side by side. Neither of them speaks, but the silence isn’t antagonistic. Last month, they had been paired up for an Astronomy assignment, and although everyone in the bloody castle had been surprised by the pairing and had expected things to blow up, they miraculously did not.

Granger may be an insufferable know-it-all as his Godfather had put it, but her diligence, as he’s come to learn, perfectly complements his occasional bouts of perfectionism. He had fully expected them to buttheads, get into rows as bad as the one that had landed him that nasty slap back in third year, but they had ended up working quite well with each other. By the end of the two week-long assignment, he had to begrudgingly admit to himself that his father had been wrong to accuse her of cheating to get good grades.

It had hurt his pride and he had ignored her completely after that. He only resumed “talking” to her last week, when she had come up to him to ask if he was finished with the DADA book lying on his table in the library. He had wanted to say no, tell her to bugger off and find her own copy, but had found himself gesturing for her to take it.

The witch had instead taken the seat in front of him and began working on her own essay right there, in his space. He had floundered for a good minute or two, just staring at her furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment, getting ink everywhere. Nobody would have seen her sitting there with him, his little corner hidden from the heavy traffic of the library. After a while he had given up trying to understand what the swot was hoping to achieve by infringing upon his peace so he had resolutely returned to working on his Transfiguration homework.

When she had finally gotten up to leave, he noted that it was just a little over ten minutes before dinner time. “Thanks for letting me use the book, Malfoy.”

From what he can tell, the school isn’t abuzz with gossip surrounding the two of them so he can only assume that she had told no one of their little study session, nor the two that had followed the first. He doesn’t know what they’re doing but he knows that he doesn’t mind it as much as he’d like to fool himself into thinking.

“Draco.”

He knows the taste of his name, of course. Draco tastes like an expensive brand of chocolate that his mother had indulged him with when he was a kid, and Malfoy tastes like leather. The fact that his name tastes like chocolate had been the only redeeming quality he found out of having sex with Pansy. Every time she moaned his name, the taste of chocolate would make the flashes of coal slightly worth the trouble.

Hermione’s voice doesn’t bother him anymore. What does bother him is the fact that he has spent months imagining what colour her moans would be and what colour his name would take when it leaves her lips.

Now he knows the answer to one of those things. It’s salmon pink, much like what her other notes sound like, the ones she would produce when talking about a subject only she knows about in class and the ones that would leave her lips when something particularly good happens to her.

He can’t imagine a reason why she’s speaking his name like that, but he turns his eyes to her and gestures for her to keep speaking. He can only hope that she doesn’t notice the blood rushing to fill his cheeks in the darkness.

“Why did you save me last year?”

The question catches him by surprise, so much so that he stops walking and only stares at her for a long moment. He instantly knows that she’s talking about the world cup, about the warning he had given the trio. Slowly, his features harden, and he feels a scowl replacing his baffled expression. “Is that why you’ve been hanging around me? You think we can become what, friends, because you assumed that I had saved you that night?”

She doesn’t immediately respond, instead taking a step closer to him. He feels his chest tighten at the proximity, every word out of his father’s mouth about pureblood superiority suddenly swimming through his head and causing an explosion of varied flavours to occur on his tongue. She’s so close, close enough that he can see the freckles dotting her nose, close enough that he can detect the scent of coconuts from her hair.

“I didn’t assume anything, Malfoy. You saved me that night.”  

   Aunt Bellatrix trains him, and she becomes fascinated with his condition when she learns about it from his mind. It occupies her interests enough that she doesn’t stumble upon the thoughts of her, and he’s so frightened by the possibility of her finding out that he’s been lusting over a muggle-born that it speeds up the process.

He’s always been a quick study, but there’s nothing like the fear of your infatuation being exposed to your deranged aunt to really get someone to master a spell.

   He had expected that the dark mark would affect his condition, make the colours duller and the flavours blander. He’s right—once the ugly black thing gets branded on his skin, he can instantly tell that the colours will be nearly transparent now, the various hues no longer as defined as before and no longer obstructing his vision. His aunt tells him it’s a good thing, as he wouldn’t want those silly hallucinations coming in the way of a successful Avada or Crucio. The thought of the Dark Lord’s name no longer brings up an overpowering seaweed flavour, the taste subdued now.

When his mother plays the piano for him, the colours are still brighter and more pronounced than when people speak, but it’s no longer a fireworks display. She looks at him with a forlorn expression, one that he hadn’t expected but can understand because, as much as hated the migraines he got from those colours, they had been his. They had been bright, sometimes blinding, sometimes erratic enough that he feared he would go into a seizure, sometimes causing him to miss the target of a hex, but they had been his.

With his Occlumency walls safely in place, he allows himself to think of her name. The Sauvignon Blanc isn’t nearly as potent as before, the flavour of the green apples no longer as crisp, but he tells himself he can only be thankful that it’s still there.

[just-come-baek]

Wedding Fever 2

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Themes: smut (later on) | fluff | a bit of angst | wedding!au | friends to lovers!au | fakedating!au | SLOWBURN

Word count: 7k

Summary: Baekhyun is the best man, and I am the maid of honor at our friends’ wedding. Although should we be excited about our friends getting married, we seem to complain a lot more every time we meet for another preparation. Maybe it’s a bit fanciful of me to think that, but I hope, somewhere between choosing flowers and venting about the reception prep, he’ll like me just as I like him.

previous part | Masterlist | next part

***

“This is hot,” Baekhyun stated as he breathed out, hoping the air could cool his mouth; the peppers on the top of pizza were indeed fiery–they burnt my throat even though I picked them and threw them back into the box instead of eating them.

“You should’ve told me, I’d have ordered something else,” I replied, quickly handing him my can of beer since he had already drunk his. “In my defense, they usually put fewer of them; it’s the first time they delivered pizza this spicy.”

“No; it’s okay,” Baekhyun sighed, probably wondering if his taste buds were to regain their sensitivity. “I like it that way,” he added as if trying to convince me, but I sensed he was bullshitting.  I was positive he didn’t want me to consider him less virile, which in this case was absurd, given the fact I had been pining for him for the longest of time.

“Okay then,” I shrugged, reaching for my beverage, trying to focus on everything except for the indirect kiss Baekhyun and I just shared. You’re a grown ass woman, not a teenager; get a grip for fuck’s sake! I scolded myself, hoping that Baekhyun didn’t notice me cringe at my thoughts. He didn’t want to get romantically involved with me as it was right now, but if he found out what was going on inside my head, he’d be downright crept out.

“Do you have more of these?” Baekhyun asked, tilting his head toward the empty can of beer, as he needed more to wash down the piquant taste off his tongue. Rolling my eyes, I stood up, willing to bring him the desired refill. “Thank you! You’re the best!” Baekhyun cheered the moment I handed him another can of alcohol.

Ask me out if you really mean that!

Being too afraid to speak my mind, I casually smiled, feigning nonchalance. Baekhyun had never seemed to be interested in me, so what was the point in scaring him away now with my stupid feelings? We almost became friends, and so far, it was more than enough for me.

“Do you want me to change the channel?” I asked as I reached for the remote. Since we had come here, no one bothered to switch the channel, and although none of us enjoyed the TLC’s current programme, we both watched it with what seemed an utter ardor.

“Nah, I don’t really mind,” Baekhyun shrugged, putting another pizza slice into his mouth, this time picking out the peppers. “It’s oddly addicting,” he declared, and I couldn’t agree with him more. It wouldn’t be the first time I impulsively binge-watched it.

“I know, right?” I agreed, but then trying to miss him with the misery, I checked the TV program on my phone, looking for something more interesting to watch. Maybe, a fine horror movie was being played, or at least a crappy TV show which would be perfect for a drinking game. “Oh my God; they’re airing Zoolander 2. It’s amazing; have you seen it?” I asked excitedly at the thought of watching one of the dumbest comedies ever made with Baekhyun.

“No, I haven’t, is it any good?”

“Is it any good?” I repeated his question, yet intonating it differently, sounding very much offended. It was a silly movie, but frankly, I’d rather consider it as an amazing satire. “That’s the best film ever to be produced.”

Without further explanation, I quickly reached for the remote to change the channel. He had to see this, as no words would be used to describe all the reason why we should watch it.

When the first scene was to roll up, we ended up laughing. And then, the process repeated for the whole duration of the movie. At some point, my stomach started to ache due to the excessive laughing, while Baekhyun shed at least one tear of light laughter.

“Oh my God, it’s 4 o’clock already?” Baekhyun spoke as he squinted, trying to read the time from his wristwatch. The film was over, and I was yawning, but the time I had spent with Baekhyun was of high quality. “It flies so fast when you have fun.”

“Should we go to sleep?” I asked, standing up, wanting to carry the dirty plates to the kitchen. “You can take the couch or sleep with me. I guess we are already beyond that.” I spoke, though it wasn’t an invitation. Cleaning is not my favorite type of activity, and if my living room was untidy (which was an understatement), the bedroom was in absolute disarray.

“I guess we are,” Baekhyun agreed, and I scolded myself for even proposing that. He was willing to share a bed with me, but on the other hand, it was to be the last time he agrees to something like that. “Do you have a shirt I can borrow? Or maybe even a pair of pants?”

“Sure,” I answered, giving him a shy smile. I sleep in an oversized T-shirt, so there wasn’t any problem lending him one of them. And as in for pants, my brother must’ve left a pair when he had been over two months ago. “Just give me a second.”

“I can help you,” Baekhyun replied, snatching the pizza box from my hands, offering assistance. “That’s the least I can do in exchange for you letting me crash here tonight.”

I couldn’t reject his helping hand. Not when his eagerness just bought me an extra minute or two to get my bedroom cleaned, and though I wouldn’t vacuum or make the bed, at least I could throw my dirty clothes and empty potato chips bags under the bed.

When the room looked sufficiently decent, I opened the wardrobe, looking for clothes in which Baekhyun could change. Quickly, I pulled a simple mustard T-shirt and grey sweatpants for him, hoping they would fit him. My brother is a bit taller than him after all.

When everything was ready, I spun on my heel wanting to join Baekhyun, but he beat me to it, as he was already standing in the doorway, surprising me.

“Jesus Christ!” I yelped, pressing my hand against my rib cage. “Don’t ever sneak on me like that! Oh my God, I didn’t hear you at all.”

“Sorry,” Baekhyun replied sounding both shy and apologetic.

“Anyway, here are your clothes,” I started, pointing to the bed where I had thrown the T-shirt and sweatpants for him, “I should be back in a minute,” I added, passing by him in the doorway.

“Which side of the bed is yours?” Baekhyun asked before I locked myself in the bathroom.

Frankly, both sides of the bed are mine; I sleep like a fucking starfish – it’s one of the perks of being single, hogging the entire bed, and I can’t seem to complain about that.

“It doesn’t matter, I can take the right side,” I replied, and Baekhyun nodded. He didn’t seem particularly sad about my choice, so I assumed he preferred the left side anyway.

***

It had been a week since our little movie night, and no surprise, Baekhyun hadn’t called or texted me. Thankfully, I never had high expectations which could get crashed with the unintentional silent treatment he had been giving me, and since this was the outcome I had expected, I decided not to mop over it.

He must’ve been busy with work.

However, Jiwoo and Hongbin invited me to a restaurant, and I had a feeling Baekhyun would be there, too. Besides, it wouldn’t be as bad as meeting at their place; unlike their cute apartment, the restaurant would close eventually. Moreover, the lovebirds hadn’t bothered us recently, and I somewhat missed venting to him.

The supper was scheduled at six what gave me an hour to change and arrive at the elegant restaurant. Unfortunately, when I got home, I stood in front of my wardrobe, having no idea what I should put on. It was scorching hot outside, so after a lot of thinking, I opted for a simple summer dress and a pair of flats with a matching purse.

It was a perfect outfit–I didn’t look like a try-hard, yet it looked good on me.

I showed up at the restaurant fashionably late; the moment I stepped through the doorframe, I saw the lovebirds without Baekhyun who must’ve also been running late. Jiwoo noticed me almost instantly, beaming at me, waving her hand enthusiastically. She was finally wearing her engagement ring; it was huge and it shined beautifully, reflecting the rays of sunshine.

Even a blind person would notice someone had just got engaged.

I felt a slight pang of envy, but at the same time, I was so happy for her to find someone like Hongbin. They were perfect for each other, and though I wish I was dating, most preferably Baekhyun, I genuinely supported their relationship.

In response, I smiled brightly. Quickly, I reached their table, taking a free seat in front of Jiwoo, as she and Hongbin were sitting next to each other. “Hi, have you ordered already?” I asked, as I hung my purse on the back of the chair.

“No, we just got here,” Hongbin answered, pulling his hand over Jiwoo’s backrest. “We’re still waiting for Baekhyun. Can you tell me why I had a feeling that the two of you were going to be late?” He inquired as he adjusted his wristwatch, noting how much time I was late, showing his veiny forearm. Hongbin was ridiculously handsome, but I never lusted after him; he was Jiwoo’s, and I respected her, though I had to appreciate his beauty.

“By five minutes!” I argued back, sensing that Hongbin was going to blow the whole thing way out of proportion. I just got here, while Baekhyun was still missing; if he wanted to be nitpicking, he ought to pound away at Baekhyun. “Just let me live, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you going to be late for our wedding, too?” Jiwoo teased me, and I felt bad; she didn’t sound as if she was playful about it. It seemed as if she considered sacking me from the maid of honor position unless I changed my attitude.

“Don’t even joke like that!” I scolded her, trying to dodge the bullet which she aimed directly at my heart. Her words were meant to hurt me, maybe even teaching me a lesson. However, I wasn’t one to be fooled; I wasn’t going to feel guilty for something I didn’t do. “Fancy ring you’ve got there,” I commented, changing the topic to a more pleasant one. “It looks pricey,” I admitted, as she stretched her arm, letting me have a closer look.

“You have no idea,” Hongbin hummed matter-of-factly, as he smiled at Jiwoo who was enjoying the admiration. He looked as if he was accustomed to that kind of behavior, and I got that; life with Jiwoo was like that; she had the entire spotlight, keeping everyone out of it at all costs. “Did you talk with Baekhyun?” Hongbin asked, and I looked at him in shock.

“No? Why should I?” I asked nonchalantly. Baekhyun was his friend, not exactly mine. Besides, Baekhyun had never reached out to me except for that one time.

“He mentioned you hung out the other time,” Hongbin mentioned, and Jiwoo looked at me excitedly, as she couldn’t wait for us to meet one on one, so I’d share all the details with her. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to tell, and if anything, she would be disappointed. “Well…I thought…never mind, he’s here. Ayo, Baekhyun!”

Quickly, I turned my head around, thrilled to see him after so much time apart. It was a shame he didn’t feel the same way about me, but I’d live. Sooner or later, I’ll find someone who will appreciate me.

He was so handsome it actually hurt me to look at him. He was sitting beside me in his perfect glory, yet I couldn’t even touch nor kiss him no matter how much I wanted to. Baekhyun must’ve just left work; he was wearing suit trousers and a white suit shirt with his sleeves rolled up, revealing his beautiful forearms and an expensive wristwatch. His hair looked nonchalantly messy, as if he had combed it but then run his hands through it a couple of times, giving it the boyish vibe.

“Sorry I’m late, the meeting prolonged a bit.” He confessed, adjusting his tie which now loosely hung around his neck. “Have you ordered already?” In unison, everyone shook their heads what made him sigh in relief. “That’s fantastic. I’m starving!”

Shortly after his arrival, the waiter came to our table, writing down our order.

“So what do you want from us?” Baekhyun straightforwardly asked as he leaned back, getting more comfortable. It was clear we met today because they had a request, but we had no idea what that could be.

“What makes you think that?”

“Am I wrong, though?” Baekhyun inquired, making Hongbin’s challenging grin fade away; he knew his friend way too good to not be fooled by the fancy façade.

“Well… we wanted to drop the bomb after the dessert,” Jiwoo casually spoke, glancing at Baekhyun. What kind of bomb? She’s knocked up for real, yet now she gathered enough courage to bring that up? Doubtful–we had had too many glasses of wine for that to be true.

“Just shoot,” I urged her impatiently. The sooner we started the discussion, the sooner it’d end. Besides, I doubted her request could be worse than what we had already fulfilled.

“Hongbin mentioned you used to play piano,” Jiwoo began, as she looked at Baekhyun who already knew what their plea was going to be. “And since you’re Hongbin’s best friend, we thought you could play at our reception.”

When I thought I couldn’t be more into him, they had to drop such a bomb. Though I didn’t want to admit it, I started to believe Baekhyun was perfect for me, and the thought that we could never be together upset me enormously. I shouldn’t be doing that, but deep inside, I knew I was going to compare any new-met man to Baekhyun. Even worse, it was beyond obvious; no one would ever be as good as Baekhyun.

“Well…we don’t mean the entire reception, but I’d be glad if you could play something for our first dance,” Hongbin explained slowly, making Baekhyun sigh in relief. “What do you say? We would really appreciate it,” he added, kissing Jiwoo’s temple.

“I mean…I could. I haven’t touched the keys in years, though.” Baekhyun honestly admitted as if trying to shirk from the responsibility thrown his way. “My skills must be pretty rusty by now,” he added, emphasizing it wasn’t a good idea to involve him in such a significant moment of the reception; especially when his amazing skills were questionable.

“You have a whole year to get into it again,” Jiwoo remarked slyly, and I smiled, knowing she had an answer to every single Baekhyun’s excuse regardless how creative he could become. That’s how she rolled, and Baekhyun had better get used to that. Whatever she wants, she gets, and it wouldn’t change.

“And why am I here?” I cleared my thought before voicing my question. Why did she invite me over if she didn’t want anything from me? I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time she did something for the sole purpose of making me feel bad about myself. I don’t know why but sometimes she just had to prove she’s better than me. Flashing her engagement ring, so its bright light hits me in the eyes would be another example.

She can be a real bitch sometimes.

“Oh, right, I’d forget,” she reprimanded herself, as she smiled at Hongbin, happy that she could announce the news. “Hongbin and I are leaving for the weekend to check the hotel in which we want to hold the reception. And we were wondering if you could stay at our apartment to look after our baby,” she finished, and my smile faded away.

Baekhyun had got such a commendable task, whereas I was to take care of their dog.

Moreover, Jiwoo’s plan wasn’t to stroke her ego by making me feel like shit and given the fact I assumed that makes me a bitch, too.

Perhaps, I was going too hard on her. I mean…that accident had happened a long time ago, she should already be redeemed from her fault.

“Sure, no problem,” I smiled sheepishly at her, glad the waiter brought our order, saving me from further embarrassment which was just bound to happen if we continued to talk.

***

On a Friday evening, I arrived at their apartment, and when I stepped inside, they gave me the key and a list of my duties for the weekend. I had never had a dog, and the lovebirds knew I was inexperienced, so a few tips came in handy.

“Call us if you need anything,” Jiwoo said, and they were gone. I’d be too if I had a fiancé with whom I could test out all positions in the hotel’s bed. Unfortunately, single people like me were to watch over pets rather than have a romantic weekend outside the town.

The moment they closed the doors behind them, I dropped my bag on the floor, plopped down onto the couch and turn on the TV, so I could hear the noise when reading the tips they had left me. Take her out for a walk at least twice a day. Easy. Make sure not to forget to feed her and give her some water. Obviously. She loves belly rubs and any other form of affection. Okay?

So far it was easy.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” I asked her when she ran up to the couch, standing on two feet, her front paws scratching my thigh gently with manicured claws. Excitedly, she wagged her tail, and I smiled, thinking maybe I should get myself a dog, too. Then at least it would love me. “Where does Jiwoo keep the leash?” I asked the dog, although I didn’t expect to receive a reply. Besides, I knew that Jiwoo never used the leash because the dog was incredibly obedient to her, and I didn’t want to risk it losing somewhere.

After what seemed a muffled bark, the dog ran away to the hallway, and I followed her. When I saw her a moment later, she had a leash in her mouth, and I was impressed.

Is every dog so intelligent?

Quickly though clumsily, I attached the leash to the dog-collar. Then, I put my shoes on, and we were ready to go. Thankfully, their apartment was located near the park, and we didn’t have to take a thirty-minute stroll which would be necessary if I took her to my place. The dog was frightened of new areas, so bringing her to my flat was out of the question.

Within an hour we were back.

It was a peaceful evening. I opened the bottle of wine and watched the ‘Bridget Jones’ Diary’ almost from the beginning. And when Bridget was exchanging emails with Daniel, the dog approached me again, looking at me with its beautiful doe eyes. I didn’t have the heart to let her stay on the carpet, so I picked her up and placed on my thighs remembering the daily dose of belly rubs she was entitled to receive.

“You know…I’ll probably be like Bridget,” I spoke to the dog, caressing her muzzle. “You know…minus the part where Daniel and Mark have that epic fight. And all that romance.” I added, yet feeling somewhat comforted. The dog was fluffy, and it just emitted love, and I couldn’t even be sad at the prospect of my spinsterhood. “Maybe I should get a dog, too? Are all dogs as lovely as you are? You’re right; you’re the cutest.”

In peace we continued watching the movie; between the two of us, I seemed more interesting in it even though I had already seen it at least twenty times. And when it ended, she was sleeping soundly on my laps, and I couldn’t bring myself to move, afraid I could wake her. She looked even cuter with her eyes closed, breathing soundly.

Carefully, I reached for the bottle of wine, pouring the alcohol into my glass. It was already warm, but since I have already drunk the rest of the bottle, it didn’t matter that much anymore. Sipping it slowly, I picked up my phone to check the time and possible notifications. It was surprising to see a text from Baekhyun.

The Cutest Butt | 21:37 | they didn’t tell me what they want me to play!

The Cutest Butt | 21:37 | have you got any ideas?

The Cutest Butt | 21:38 | i seriously need help

The Cutest Butt | 21:40 | i see you’re active

The Cutest Butt | 21:40 | …

The Cutest Butt | 21:47 | fine, it’ll be your fault

The Cutest Butt | 21:47 | cotton eye Joe it is.

Wow, he even typed the period. He must’ve got pissed with my unresponsive ass. On the other hand, it served him right for not contacting me earlier. Why does he only text me when he needs something? That’s disappointing.

“Why is he like that?” I asked the dog who was still sleeping comfortably on my thighs. “Why am I like that? He could ask me to help him rob a bank, and I’d probably do it,” I shook my head, putting the wine glass away.

Me | 23:58 | sorry, I’ve been busy

Before I could double text him, he beat me to it.

The Cutest Butt | 23:58 | doing what?

The Cutest Butt | 23:59 | what’s more important than your friend’s wedding?

Me | 00:00 | none of your business

Maybe it was a bit harsh, but I had just watched Bridget Jones’ Diary and drunk a whole bottle of wine, I was emotional. Moreover, he deserved it. Why did he have to involve me when he could phone them? I tried to get over him, and it’d be much easier if he just ignored me without giving me false hope!

Me | 00:00 | literally anything is more important

I added playfully, giggling at the response. I was the worst friend Jiwoo could have.

The Cutest Butt | 00:01 | don’t be surprised when Jiwoo sees the screenshots

Me | 00:01 | is that a threat?

Me | 00:01 | you gotta try harder than that

Me | 00:02 | you won’t take me out that easily

The Cutest Butt | 00:02 | will see about that

The Cutest Butt | 00:03 | btw cotton eye Joe sounds not that bad

The Cutest Butt | 00:03 | I mean the piano cover

Me | 00:03 | …

Me | 00:04 | wow

Me | 00:04 | maybe you should play ‘their’ song?

The Cutest Butt | 00:05 | and that would be???

Me | 00:05 | how should I know?

Me | 00:06 | besides you should be texting them

Me | 00:06 | not me

The Cutest Butt | 00:07 | but you’re Jiwoo’s friend

The Cutest Butt | 00:07 | you know her better than anyone

The Cutest Butt | 00:08 | and that means you must know their song

The Cutest Butt | 00:08 | women talk about everything, no?

The Cutest Butt | 00:08 | I bet you know every detail about Hongbin’s dick

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, he was right; Jiwoo had shared this kind of information with me, though I’d really appreciate it if she hadn’t.

Me | 00:09 | I wish I didn’t

Me | 00:09 | and don’t you think you’re getting off the topic?

The Cutest Butt | 00:09 | you’re right

The Cutest Butt | 00:10 | so… the song

Me | 00:10 | I don’t remember?

The Cutest Butt | 00:10 | how can you not remember???

Me | 00:11 | you have no idea what crap she texts me daily

The Cutest Butt | 00:11 | ???

Me | 00:12 | rlly

Me | 00:12 | she once told me her co-worker had a nice ass for a Gemini…

The Cutest Butt | 00:13 | …

The Cutest Butt | 00:13 | nah

The Cutest Butt | 00:13 | you’re lying

The Cutest Butt | 00:13 | it can’t be

Oh, how much I wished it was a lie. Unfortunately, the reality was different, and it’d be nice if she spared me at least half the horoscope bullshit.

Me | 00:16 | I just looked through her spotify playlists

Me | 00:16 | ‘Ain’t for sunshine’ shows up like in all of them

The Cutest Butt | 00:18 | should’ve figured that out

The Cutest Butt | 00:18 | everything must be about her

Me | 00:19 | yeah

Me | 00:19 | that’s her

The Cutest Butt | 00:20 | thanks

The Cutest Butt | 00:21 | I don’t know what I’d do without you

My heart skipped a beat; why did he have to say that and confuse me even more? I am suffering when he’s so kind to me. Can he ignore me like any other uninterested man? Then it’d be much easier to get rid of this frustrating attraction.

Though texting him was fun, I decided to leave him on read. It was late anyway, so he’d assume I fell asleep. Besides, what should I reply to that?

Gently, I tried to pick up the dog, but I wasn’t careful enough, and she woke up. She didn’t seem mad though, so I sighed in relief, letting her run to her dog bed.

***

On Sunday, I got a call from Jiwoo. Clearly, they had been fucking (she never said it, but it was a reasonable assumption) the entire weekend, and they hadn’t done any reconnaissance, so they decided to prolong their little trip for another day. According to what she told me, they had already acquainted their bosses prior informing me, expecting I’d be delighted to stay longer at their place with their dog.

“Okay, but don’t be sad when your dog loves me more,” I retorted, and she didn’t even bother to protest; her dog long forgotten, since Hongbin, was and was going to remain her top priority for a very long time.

“Actually,” Jiwoo started, making me curious. She surely sounded as if she was plotting something. “Hongbin isn’t yet convinced about the location, but I love it. You should’ve seen it; you’d fall in love with it immediately.” Jiwoo explained, and I sighed, expecting her next words.

She liked the place, and I would be surprised, more like gobsmacked, if she let Hongbin have the wedding of his dreams. Occasionally, she could act pretty selfish, and apparently, her reception was going to prove my speculation. And if Hongbin dared to object, being the stubborn woman she is, he’d have to give in any way, or else she might even cancel the wedding.

“There’s going to be a wedding tomorrow, and I want him to see how great it’s going to be. If some peasants can have a magical wedding here, think how amazing mine could be!” Jiwoo spoke, and I hummed in agreement, knowing it was the easiest way to talk to her since she would try to convince me until I’d capitulate. “He has to see the final design, and he’ll agree. He always agrees with me,” she chimed in, and I rolled my eyes since Baekhyun had been right all along; Hongbin’s a complete henpecked husband!

“Okay, so when are you coming back exactly?” I asked, needing the details. Taking care of her puppy was great, but I wanted to sleep in my bed which was way more comfortable than their couch.

“On Tuesday around noon the latest,” Jiwoo declared, and I hoped it was her final word without a possibility of prolongation. Though her cute dog was keeping me company, I missed hanging out with my other friends at my place–inviting them over to Jiwoo’s would be, in my opinion, an abuse of hospitality. “Oh, and one more thing, do you think you can do me a favor?” I’d be foolish if I didn’t see it coming.

“What is it?”

“I’ve just booked the resort on the 13th of June. Would it be too much if I asked you to book the chapel on our behalf? I know the date is like eleven months away, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, right?” Jiwoo announced, and I giggled at her diligence which was almost out of her character. Now, I’m sure Hongbin isn’t the one she’d allow to get away.

Since I was Jiwoo’s friend and not Hongbin’s, I didn’t ask further questions such as ‘What if he doesn’t agree?’ or ‘Are you sure you don’t want to discuss it with him first?’ Instead, I just nodded, inquiring for further detail. “Which chapel do you have in mind?”

“Thanks! You’re the best! I’ll text you the address.” Jiwoo exclaimed excitedly, and I rolled my eyes. Whenever I need a favor, Jiwoo’s going to be first I’ll ask. She owes me that much. “See you on Tuesday! Take care of my baby!”

“Obviously,” I spoke, though she ended the call before I said goodbye.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I threw my phone on the couch. “Jiwoo is crazy; you know that, right?” I asked her dog, as I leaned forward to pet her. “It’s Sunday, what do you want to do?” The dog just wagged its tail, as I wondered what activity we could take up.  I had already taken her for a walk; her bowl was full like always since I didn’t want her to starve even if that meant overfeeding her. She wouldn’t gain weight under my supervision after all. Besides, I’d rather have her overfed than starved.

“Do you want to watch television?” I inquired, reaching for a remote. She didn’t seem to mind, so I turned it on. Unfortunately, when I found something interesting to watch, I heard a doorbell, interrupting my quality alone time. Grumpily, I raised from the couch, and shuffled towards the door, annoyed at whoever was waiting outside the apartment.

Yawning, I unlocked the door and swung them open.

“Baekhyun? What are you doing here?” I asked, perplexed, though he seemed to be even more shocked to see me.

“I meant to ask you the same question,” he replied, still confused upon seeing me instead of Jiwoo or Hongbin. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m taking care of their dog. Don’t you remember Jiwoo asking me to do that?” I explained, referring to the dinner we had had last week. “And what do I owe the pleasure if you don’t mind me asking?” I urged him, sending him a warm smile.

“Today is the poker’s night,” Baekhyun started, as he stared behind me, studying the apartment. “Where’s that bastard? I was supposed to pick him up.”

“Their stay at the resort prolonged. I was on the phone with Jiwoo a while ago, and she said they would be back on Tuesday.” I explained slowly, but my tone didn’t seem to calm him down. Baekhyun was mad at Hongbin for not notifying him earlier, and I couldn’t blame him.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Baekhyun stated, as he pulled out his phone, texting Hongbin furiously.

“Do you want to come inside?” I proposed, taking a step to the right, giving him space to walk through the doorframe. Still staring at his phone, he walked inside, and I locked the door. “You know…we can empty their fridge in revenge,” I proposed, and Baekhyun hummed in response.

“Sorry. What were you saying?” Baekhyun asked me, as he plopped on the couch. He was too focused on yelling at Hongbin via text, so he completely ignored my existence. It hurt, but only a little bit. I tend to ignore my surroundings too when I’m engrossed in doing something.

“Do you want to eat everything out of their fridge in revenge? They have some pretty expensive wine in there which was tempting me to drink it, and now, I have an excuse to pop that bottle,” I spoke, smiling mischievously, and Baekhyun cocked his eyebrow, thinking about my proposition which was irresistible.

“I’m always down with wine, especially when it’s expensive,” Baekhyun casually replied before he stood up and went to the kitchen with me. “Let me,” he offered his help when he saw me struggling with the corkscrew.

“Thanks,” I smiled sheepishly, as I took a step to the side, my eyes studying his handsome figure. “I’ll get the glasses.”

“You know…it’s fortunate that I’ve run into you,” Baekhyun started, as he poured us wine, handing me one of the glasses.

“Why is that?” I asked out of curiosity.

Baekhyun wanted to meet with me? Why? He made it crystal clear that he wasn’t interested.

“I’ll tell you when you’re drunk, you’ll be easier to convince,” Baekhyun said ominously, and I creased my forehead, wondering what he wanted from me. It sounded way too suspicious for my liking, but on the other hand, it was Baekhyun; he couldn’t want anything serious from me. It couldn’t be as scary as he made it out to seem.

“You seriously overestimate my alcohol tolerance,” I commented, and Baekhyun smiled. “I’m tipsy after two beers; you can ask away,” I urged, looking away, too shy to look into his beautiful eyes. “Unless you want me to help with another wedding, I think you have a high chance of me saying yes,” I added, and Baekhyun seemed to relax. “So…what is it?”

Baekhyun scratched the back of his head, thinking deeply of how to voice his request.

“I really shouldn’t be asking you that, you have better things to do,” Baekhyun hesitated, but I smiled assuring him I was okay with helping him regardless of his problem. “To cut the story short, my parents are ecstatic about Hongbin’s wedding, and my mother was asking me about my girlfriend, and in order to get her off my back, I lied that I have one, and now, she wants me to bring her to my father’s birthday party,” Baekhyun explained the situation, and I nodded in apprehension.

Thankfully, my parents aren’t like that. The idea of me being a crazy cat lady must have grown on them by now. It was sad, but it was still better than having them force me to start dating. Judging my Baekhyun’s current mood, I was right. My fate was slightly better.

“I don’t really have female friends except for you and Jiwoo, and since Jiwoo is out of the question, I was wondering…I was wondering if you could…you know…pretend to be my girlfriend?” Baekhyun stuttered, and it was adorable. I looked at him in confusion still digesting the information, and when Baekhyun noticed my blank expression, he stared at me carefully, afraid that he crept me out. “You’re my only hope.”

“What?” I blinked, not having wrapped my head around it yet.

“It’s stupid, right?”

The main problem of fake dating was that eventually, one party falls for another, yet given the current circumstances, it was a little too late for that; I was already doomed, and the prospect of Baekhyun catching feelings for me seemed highly unlikely. It couldn’t get worse than it already was, so in some weird way, the deal between us happened to be mutually beneficial. Baekhyun’s mother would stop pestering him about dating, and I’d have a glimpse of how dating Baekhyun would be like.

“It is,” I started truthfully, “but you sound like it’s your only option.” Baekhyun nodded, hoping that I’ll agree. “You owe me so much for that!” I spoke, and Baekhyun smiled so brightly the corners of his mouth almost reached his eyes. In glee, he approached me, wrapped his hands around my waist, and picked me up, swirling around.

“Thank you so much!” he exclaimed ecstatically, and I placed my hands on his shoulders for safety when he began to lose his strength. “You’re the best!”

“I know,” I added casually, reaching for the glass of wine, downing the alcohol. “And when that party is exactly?” I inquired as I sat on the couch, refilling the wine, whereas Baekhyun followed suit.

“This Friday,” he answered sheepishly, and I nodded my head, waiting for more details. Fake dating thing always comes with a thorough plan, so Baekhyun had better have everything thought through. “I said I was going to arrive around five. Also, my mother shouldn’t bother us that much. I warned her that we’ve just started dating, so I hope she saves the marriage and children discussion for another time.”

“Well…I hope she’ll like me,” I spoke my true doubts. Though being in a relationship with Baekhyun was not possible, it’d be nice if at least his parents approved of me.

“Of course, she’ll like you! Don’t even think otherwise,” Baekhyun replied instantly, making me smile; he wasn’t embarrassed by me, and moreover, he seemed certain I’d do a great first impression. Then the question was, why had he never asked me out?

“So you’ll work out all the details such as first date and the rest, right?” I inquired, and Baekhyun nodded, informing me he’s going to do all the work and all I have to do is to look beautiful and nod my head. “It sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, don’t bother that pretty head of yours, I’ll have everything covered,” Baekhyun confirmed, and I looked away, afraid he might see me blushing.

“Oh, and speaking of which, Jiwoo called me to book the chapel, do you think you can go with me? I don’t want to go alone.” I confessed, trying to skip the part of sill not convinced Hongbin; Baekhyun was his friend, and I didn’t want more drama to stir.

“Sure, I’ll pick you up after work.”

“That would be lovely.” And with that, we clinked our glasses, ready to empty the bottle and possibly as much food as they had inside the fridge. They owned us this much.

***

Me | 16:34 | got off work earlier

Me | 16:34 | no need to pick me up

Me | 16:34 | let’s just meet at the chapel

The Cutest Butt | 16:41 | ok

The Cutest Butt | 16:41 | I’m done too

The Cutest Butt | 16:42 | see you in a bit

By the time I arrived, Baekhyun was already waiting for me outside of the chapel, checking something on his phone. Judging by the vibration inside of my purse, he was texting me, but since I was already there, I didn’t bother to check the message.

“Sorry, the bus was a bit late,” I apologized, as I smiled at him.

“It’s okay, I just got here, too,” he replied, putting his phone into his pocket. “I saw the priest going this way, are you ready?” Baekhyun asked, and I nodded shyly, letting him lead the way. In silence, we walked into the priest’s office, my hands all sweaty without any reason.

We were standing in front of the doors, and Baekhyun looked at me as if he sensed how tensed I was. “I’ll make sure Jiwoo works twice as hard preparing my wedding,” I spoke bitterly, to which Baekhyun chuckled.

“Serves them right,” Baekhyun agreed, and when he saw me relax under his warm smile, he knocked on the door, and we both got inside.

“Hello there, how can I help you?” The priest asked as soon as he saw us enter.

“We would like to book a wedding date,” I said quietly, embarrassed.

“Ah, young love,” the priest sighed excitedly, confusing us with a couple. Unfortunately, it was nothing of sorts; we were only helping our friends. Though, I fully understood his assumption. “Every time I see a couple who wants to tie the knot, my heart grows a little,” he added, and I smiled awkwardly. “How did you meet?”

“Through mutual friends,” Baekhyun started, probably treating this conversation as a rehearsal for the weekend. If he managed to fool the priest, he could trick his mother, too. Or at least, that’s what I hoped. “I thought of ditching the meeting, but now I am so lucky that I didn’t,” he added, squeezing my hand, surprising me.

“It must be fate,” the priest concluded, and Baekhyun firmly nodded his head, agreeing with him, whereas I was still shocked by our interlocked hands, I barely paid attention to what they were talking about. “So what date do you have in mind?” The priest asked, and Baekhyun shook my hands, pulling me out of the daze.

“The June thirteenth,” I replied, smiling sheepishly.

“Is it an anniversary?” The priest inquired, as he reached for a book which seemed to be the register or the schedule. “I love when couples pick a date depending on an anniversary. Two weeks ago, a couple had a wedding on the day of the golden wedding anniversary of the bride’s grandparents. It was a lovely ceremony.”

I looked at Baekhyun, relying on him and his skill of improvising.

“It’s the day of our first date,” Baekhyun spoke, confidently smiling at me. Damn, he was good. I mean…if I didn’t know the sad truth, I’d definitely believe him, too. “When I saw her, I just knew I had to make her my wife,” Baekhyun added, and I rolled my eyes upon hearing the bullshit which left his mouth.

“The thirteenth is free,” the priest announced, and we beamed, “can I have your names?”

“Choi Jiwoo and Lee Hongbin.”

[four-pages-zine-blog]

Issue 1: Tass

How long have you had your store: I started officially selling clothes after I finished college in 2013 and moved back home to the suburban midwest, so I guess 5 years now! I was working at the local newspaper at the time but was looking for an extra way to kill time, not necessarily even to make money. I started with Poshmark and loved connecting with other people who liked similar clothes, which was actually kind of rare for where I lived. I loved being able to see people showcase their own style in the form of their own closets and let people “shop their closet”. I also became really interested in clothes trading, which I like doing with my irl friends, so the fact a lot of people were willing to trade items was also really cool to me and something I hadn’t seen before.

How would you describe your shop? I think the clothes I sell are kind of more one-off like something that would be worn as a funny statement piece - I love a bright color and bold pattern, power clashing, and anything rainbow, glittery or that can incorporate faux fur in a tasteful way. It’s pretty reflective of my midwestern lifestyle and probably the clothes I consistently have the most of are windbreakers and winter coats, the main way we can express ourselves here for half of the year or more… There are a few sticker art projects I have in my store that I started doing around 2012 out of boredom when I was still in school, the most prominent one probably being the 6 foot tall Britney Spears poster that’s completely covered in (vintage) Lisa Frank stickers but never intended to actually finish or take seriously. Over the years I used sticker collaging as a way to keep my mind off things and have it be a means to add color and vibrancy to otherwise more plain posters/art.

When I first opened my shop in 2013, I made a holographic wall out of posterboards to hang my clothes on and that was my first store display on Poshmark and Etsy and always tried to have unique ways to show my clothes ever since, and to change the look of my store at least once a year. I’ve wavered between thinking having consistent “branding” is best and thinking it’s best to change as my ideas change, and have ended up going with the latter at whatever expense that has had, resulting in my store bio now being “Hi I’m Crazy Branding” lmao. The last time I re-did my store I got a mannequin from the city off Craigslist that I painted hot pink and move around my yard or put against different backdrops/bright colored walls to model the clothes. At one point I put velcro on the back of all my stuffed animals plushies and trolls and stuck them to a white wall in my apartment I was living to use as the background. I used to love to bring around solo holographic poster boards to my friends’ houses before we went out so that we could all take pictures behind them as the backdrop, portable aesthetic is essential.

What era or year is your favorite in fashion? My favorite looks are early 90s minimalistic grunge but not too minimal - Black jeans, velvet dresses, and plain tees, all of that, but then on the flip side I love the super excessive part of those eras of fashion too, like rainbow everything and floating glitter inside plastic holographic accessories. My favorite outfit of all time is something my aunt gave me from her 80s closet, it’s a long elastic teal leopard mermaid-style skirt with a matching teal leopard flowy button down shirt, all cotton and polyester. I love outfits that are completely matching like that and have been seeing that lately in brands that I follow, so I hope that sticks.

What item of clothing in the world are you lusting after or saving up for?

One of those new robot dresses that react to your moods or whatever lmao but if I’m being more realistic there is a designer who I really love that I found on Instagram who knits beaded sweaters using like thousands of different colored beads and completely covers them. They’re works of art and I would love to have one some day and be able to support an artist too! I’m definitely always lusting after new pairs of plain black pleather platform (but not too high anymore) shoes. I love the brand Hot Lava and I guess if I'm saving up for one thing it would be their "Barbed" rainbow matching bralette/pants combo.

Favorite clothing brand/brands and why? Since I usually only buy thrift for myself these days, my favorite brands are probably just based on design only but I love Discount Universe and other sequins-covered clothes or otherwise outlandish/tacky patterns, especially if they’re owned/designed/produced by women - Wacky Wacko, I have the Tabloid Dress they made a few years ago and it’s one of my favorite of all time even though I never wear it I also LOVE everything from Big Bud Press and YardSale666 in general.

What music do you like, does it play a role in your personal style? The music I listen to most now is probably "experimental pop" and growing up I loved pop punk. Both of those have affected my style and stayed with me to this day, I still wear skinny jeans and slip on Van-style shoes most often no matter what else I’ve layered on top of it. I used to like to purposely wear edgy clothes and do my hair to provoke a reaction out of people when I was younger - my brother would pass down band shirts to me that said things like “What the F*** are you looking at?” (lol) and I would cut them off into a crop top and wear it with a super long high-waisted thrifted pink and purple plaid skirt. That was definitely my go-to outfit for like an entire summer straight. I’ve always liked clothes that makes a statement even if it’s in a literal way with words, clothes with a lot of text on them, and I really like the new wave of DIY embroidery, especially on thrifted or up cycled clothes. Band tee shirts were also just like a huge part of growing up for me, buying them at shows and collecting them and wearing them all the time. Also in my shop I have a guitar that I completely stickered/bejeweled which was one of my longest running projects that I really want to make more of. It was one of my brother's old acoustic guitars that he let me completely deck out and it perfectly combines the femme pop elements I love with an actual instrument. Music and fashion are so intertwined all the time I think, and clothes/accessories are something that always stuck out to me about singers and bands too! I love how fashion plays a role in music today too and can make or break an entire aesthetic or era.

Does living in your city/state inspire you? Where are you most creative? Yes lmao living in rural suburban Illinois actually inspires me a lot and I’m probably the most happily creative here. When I lived in the city, things were a lot more stressful so it made me work on a lot of projects to distract myself, but I eventually burned out from that pretty bad. I get inspired by midwestern people but mostly in a way that most people find cringey, I mocked it more when I was younger but now try to tastefully incorporate it into my looks. State Fair Chic is inspiring to me. My mom has a lot of handpainted and iron-on sweatshirts for different holidays that are staples of my closet. Living in the midwest and being bored definitely made me thrift more and imo makes the thrifting better, it made me always be working on craft projects, and always changing my hair and style.

What things do you love to create? I think my favorite things to create are entire rooms and looks, I like to make different aesthetics through combining colors, furniture and fabrics that all feel familiar even if it’s a little chaotic. My long term project with my bedroom was turning my walls of thrifted art (with 20-30 framed pictures) into matching colored frames that fit the whole look of the room, so I guess just really getting at the details of design. I think I’m pretty tacky so I like to stick to things that embody that and will always love stickering huge projects, painting everything plain into bright colors and incorporating anything I find thrifting or in the garbage into larger art aesthetics. My favorite thing to do is thrift and upcycle clothes, furniture, wall art, lamps, etc. anything that I see “potential” in lol.

Who are some of your favorite artists?: There are a ton of artists I follow that inspire me every day, definitely just “regular” people or like more lowkey artists. People who thrift or collect and refurbish toys are amazing to me and I love the doll community on IG. Witches or people I’ve met through astrology who are creating more spiritual art inspire me every day with their words and presentations. I also love comedians and movies, I love John Early and Kate Berlant and recently saw they collaborated with Peggy Noland and Seth Bogart of Wacky Wacko so that was iconic to me.

I collaborate a lot with my brother who has done a lot of graphic design stuff for me over the years. He makes resin toys of his own and designs t-shirts. He’s great at painting and drawing, two skills I never was good at that I really appreciate in him that he is always willing to lend a hand to me. He is two years older than me and went to school for advertising so exchanging ideas and doing projects with him is something I like to do too. He also has more of a background in music production so we recently started trying to make music together. We both love combining fashion and music!

What album do you recommend to pick up ASAP? Hayley Kiyoko - Expectations, hands down the vibe for summer

Follow Tass on Depop!

Depop.com/trashbitch 

[dragonasheswrites-blog]

Daughter of Time, Chapter 3: Summer

Walker lives up to her name.  No, really, there's a lot of walking.

And interesting scenery and heartfelt conversation, but mostly walking.

First: Chapter 1: Winter

Previous: Chapter 2: Autumn

Next: Chapter 4: Spring

Click here for the story overview.

“My child, surely you are still tired!  Please, stay for dinner, or at least have some tea.  And, well, I suppose, if you decided to stay for supper as well I would not be opposed…”

Sans grinned at Walker around Toriel’s back.  The goat monster had taken a liking to Walker, it seemed, and had been trying to convince her to stay for a while longer.  Maybe a long while longer.

“Marriage,” Toriel said, with the air of one who had lived through more than most people, “Can be...beneficial, at times, but it really is nothing but a nuisance.  You said that your family has so very many children; surely they can spare you!  And Eastriver is just so...so far.”

“I thank you, Toriel, for your hospitality, but I really need to be heading home now.”

It would have worried Sans a good deal less if he hadn’t seen the flashes of frustration in Toriel’s eyes.  As it was, he was trying to figure out how quickly he could maneuver closer to Walker without either insulting Toriel or making her suspicious.  She had been shifting every time he did, keeping herself between the two travelers.

“well, time to go.”

His words drew Toriel’s attention with a start.  It was almost like she’d forgotten he was there.  “O-oh, yes.  Of course.  You two...are traveling together.  You will be safe.  I would feel a lot better if there was a larger group, but if you have made it this far…”  She hummed disapprovingly, but held out the dinner she’d packed.  “Here you are.  Food for the road.  And...Walker, if you change your mind and need a place to stay…”

“I’ll let you know,” Walker said, giving the older monster a hug.

She was unusually quiet when they departed, and Sans wasn’t entirely sure what to do.  He wasn’t even sure if the behavior was unusual; he’d only known her for a day.

“are...you alright?”

“Hmm?  Oh, just thinking.  Sorry.”

“heh.  don’t apologize for that.  you just looked…”

She hummed.  “It’s just...I never considered not going back to my family.  I love them dearly, but the idea of having other options never occurred to me.  Is it common for monsters to open their homes to strangers?”

“not really, but something tells me that toriel isn’t exactly a common monster.”

“True.  I thought she was going to attack me there at the end.  I hate to speak ill of someone who was so generous to us, but she seemed to act a little...strangely.”

“she’s probably alone most of the time.  sure, some groups might come through the area, but this isn’t a well-traveled area.  monsters aren’t meant to live alone; it does things to your head.”

“Oh.  That’s so sad.”

Following the directions Toriel had given them, they made it out to a main road without issues around dinnertime.  It was delicious: in addition to the usual traveler’s fare of bread and cheese, she had packed tiny fruit tarts in some kind of flaky shell that made Walker squeal with delight.  Her joy was contagious enough that Sans offered her the rest of his.

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“sure you could.  i really don’t have the stomach for them, anyways.”

She looked at him aghast for a moment, unsure whether to laugh or be appalled.  “Did...did you just…”

“yep.  what’s the point of being a skeleton if you can’t make jokes about it?”

Watching Walker collapse onto her side in laughter was the highlight of his afternoon.

They arrived in Waterfall Town just as the last lingering rays of sunset disappeared over the mountains.  The entrance to the town would have been rather hard to see if it wasn’t for the magical torches that led the way into the face of the cliff.

Sans nearly jumped when Walker edged closer to him, the trailing tips of her fingers brushing his sleeve.  “you okay?”

She nodded, but didn’t speak.

He examined her face closely.  “don’t like going into the mountain, huh.”

“It just feels very...crowded.  Like the walls are going to crush me.”

“they won’t.  this place has been around almost as long as home, a lot longer than most human cities.”

“I know that, but...it doesn’t change the fact that I keep expecting the ceiling to cave in.”  Her fingers bumped his arm a little harder, and she flinched and wrapped her arms around herself.  “Sorry.  I know it’s silly.”

“it’s...a little silly, yeah, but understandable.  here.”  He held out a hand.

“Um…?”

“hold my hand if you’re worried.”  He was grateful for the darkness; he was sure he was blushing.  “if it gets really bad, let me know.  i know a shortcut back outside.”

She hesitated, then slowly reached a hand out towards his.  Her human fingers were softer and warmer than his, and a little damp from sweat.  The sweat part was a bit uncomfortable but it felt nice otherwise.

“You’re glowing a little, did you know?”

Stupid magic.  “yeah.  uh, sorry…”

“No, no; it’s just that I didn’t notice it before.  Were you doing it last night?”

“maybe a little?  i’m not sure.  it’s one of those natural things.”  They were still in the tunnels leading up to the town proper, so there were no pools of water for him to check his face in.  He tried to regulate his emotions.  “better?”

“Oh, you don’t have to stop glowing if you don’t want to.  It’s actually a little nice.  It’s very dark in here.”

Right; human night vision wasn’t the best.  “here, then.”  His light magic sphere was in his travel pack, so he lifted his free hand and produced his own ball of magic, tinted slightly blue, and let it hover a few feet in front of them.

“Oh!  That’s amazing!  Is that something all monsters can do?”

“most of us.  some humans as well.”

“Humans can have magic?”

Something in her voice put him on edge.  The way she said it sounded...forced, like she was trying to be more surprised than she actually was.  He put that thought aside.  Magic wasn’t very accepted in some human areas.  “sure.  lots around here do.  i dunno if it’s because they’ve lived near us for so long, or if it’s natural, but there’s lots of different types of magic humans can learn.  light magic is a useful one, so it’s taught frequently.  let’s see...barrier magic is another one.”

“Barrier magic?”

“it’s...kind of like a shield, but made of magic.  anything can leave, but only the people the caster designates can enter.”

“That sounds terribly useful.”

“it sure is.  most towns like this one have barrier casters in case of an attack.”  And maybe he shouldn’t go giving that information to a human from Eastriver who could very well use that information against them.

It was hard to keep that in mind when she just looked so fascinated.  “Are there other types of human magic?”

“let’s see...i know there are some humans near snowdin that use fire magic.  some can heal.  and...there are lots of different types of combat magic.”

“...Oh.  That’s…”

She didn’t finish her sentence, because at that moment they rounded the final bend of the tunnel and got their first glimpse of Waterfall Town.

The cavern in which the town sat was almost entirely dark.  The only light came from the magic lanterns hung along the walkways and outside homes and shops, at least after sunset; Sans knew that there were several rows of tall, thin windows along the outside of the cliff face that brought sunlight in during the day.

The light twinkled off the surface of a small lake.  It was an offshoot of the river that flowed through the cavern, and formed most of the streets.  Most of the buildings had two, three, or even four stories; there were docks outside each bottom door, loosely tethered to rise and fall with the water level, and wooden walkways connected most of the upper floors.  Humans and monsters crowded the walkways, dressed warmly to fend off the chill of the cavern, so used to the darkness that nightfall was almost irrelevant.  It was certainly a unique place.

“It’s beautiful,” Walker breathed.  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“not many places would need to be built this way.  the people who live here have made it work.”

Strangely, Walker’s choice of clothing didn’t stand out very much.  Because the city was built in tiers, both men and women wore leggings for modesty and warmth.  Some of the wealthier women also wore trains or half-skirts that billowed behind them when they walked, but which could be easily tucked into a belt for boat travel.

And there were many boats.  Most of them were narrow - the channels that formed the streets wouldn’t allow for anything too large - and darted back and forth like dragonflies.  A few water-type monsters popped up from below the surface, shook out their clothes, and walked into a store, laughing with each other.

Sans found that he had to guide Walker by their joined hands.  She was too caught up in the sights to actually navigate properly; he was afraid that if he released her hand she would walk right off a pier.  She was tolerable - for a human - and he felt responsible for her, so he towed her along with him.

There was an inn near the edge of town that looked promising, so he ducked inside.

“Looks empty,” Walker said, after a moment.  The low, bluish light of the magical lamp didn’t reveal anyone.  “Maybe we can try someplace else?”

She turned to go, bumping into some kind of large doll made of stuffed cloth.

“HEY!” said the doll.  “WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING, SMELLY HUMAN!  DON’T GET YOUR HUMAN FILTH ON ME!”

“hey, bud.  why don’t you keep it down, hmm?”  The swell of anger on Walker’s behalf was sudden and unexpected.

“OH?  YOU’RE TRAVELING TOGETHER, HMM?  A HUMAN AND A MONSTER??  WAIT, AREN’T YOU THE- HMMMPH!”

The doll flew into the air like something had grabbed it around the middle, making inarticulate sounds of protest.  A moment later, a ghost-type monster appeared next to it.

“...oh, guests...and you had to listen to my cousin’s rudeness...oh…”

“It’s okay,” Walker said.

“...you probably want to go somewhere else...i sure wouldn’t want to stay someplace where people are rude to me...even though we have empty rooms...actually all our rooms are empty…”

The ghost had started to sink into the floor.  His attempts at bringing the doll - his cousin? - with him failed, since the doll was a physical object.  It started protesting louder.

“We’ll stay here.”

Sans, already halfway out the door, whipped around.  “wait, what?”

“Sans, I think we should stay here.  I have some coins in here...somewhere…”

The ghost reappeared, slowly.  “...oh...you want to stay here...even though it’s messy...and the floor hasn’t been swept...and the beds aren’t made…”

“Um…?”

“...i didn’t think so…”

Sans left the ghosts to their moaning and dragged her out of the shop.  “sorry,” he said.  “ghosts can get a little...caught up in themselves sometimes.”

“It’s alright.  That happens to the best of us, I guess.  Um, you don’t suppose there’s another inn around here?”

“there’s a sign further down that looks like...oh, no.”

“What?  Oh, what is that?  It’s so cute?”

“that’s a temmie.”

“A Temmie?  How adorable!”

“...we might be better off with the ghosts.”

But it was too late: the Temmie had spotted them.  It hopped up to them, it's big black eyes sparkling with excitement.

“hOI!  i’M tEMMIE!!!!!”

Walker bent down over the creature.  “I’m Walker!  Nice to meet you!”

“You’s looking fr nice place 2 stay?  Foob??  EXCITES?????”

“...Well, two of those things...”

“GUD!  Follow Tem!  Come!  Come!”

Thankfully, the woman had enough sense to hesitate and look back at her companion instead of blindly following the Temmie down the walkway.

Sans sighed.  “if you really want to stay there, then...fine.  but don’t eat anything they give you, and don’t let them corner you alone.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“no, just...annoying.  and a little ruthless.  don’t give them any money; i’ll pay for everything.”

“Okay.  Um, thanks.”

“you’re welcome, but really this is the only way to keep us from going into debt.  you don’t want to be in debt with the temmies.”

She looked a little nervous, but slowly followed the Temmie.

The inn was built the same as the other houses - a square, stone brick structure - but whereas the surrounding buildings were painted in muted shades of blue and green and ruddy brown, this one was orange.  Bright, glowing orange.

“Wow, that’s…”

“don’t ask.  just don’t.”

She nodded and ducked inside.

The Temmies were lined up, ears and tails wagging excitedly.  There was faint, foreign-sounding music playing from somewhere Sans couldn’t place.  “hOI!!” shouted the one behind what looked like a tavern bar, but covered in dolls and colorful scraps of fabric.  “Welcome to...TEM INN!”

“hOI!!!!!” the other Temmies chimed in.

“we’ll take two beds for the night.  just two beds.  no food.”

“Hrm…”  The Temmie looked Sans over with a critical eye.  “N0pe!”

“okay.  we’ll go somewhere else, then.”

“Noooo!!1!  Haf to stay here!  Buy tem flakes!”

“nope.  just the beds.”

“Then buy...majik potion!!”

“that looks pretty, but we just need two beds for the night.”

“U fite?  Want tem armr?”

“no, just the beds.”

The Temmie’s eyes narrowed.  The music stopped.  “Fine.  But watch yourself, skeleton.”

Sans suppressed a shudder and carefully counted coins.  He couldn’t tell if the scribbled sign said “3” silver coins or “8,” but he wasn’t willing to ask.  He erred on the side of more, wincing at the dent it put in his purse.

Walker stumbled behind him as he made his way through the doorway marked “B3DZ!!!” with a picture of a bed, and up a flight of stairs.  A Temmie directed them into a common sleeping area on the second level.  The beds were stuffed with some kind of soft spongy plant instead of straw; they smelled a bit earthy, but were surprisingly soft.

She collapsed onto hers the moment he released her hand.  “That was terrifying!  What happened back there?”

“temmies.  it’s been a while since i’ve dealt with them, but they have quite the reputation.  they really, really like selling things.  and buying things.  you get the idea.”

“Wow.  They look so cute!  And they’re clearly talented, but…”

“yeah.  it’s a slippery slope, though.  if they can get you to buy one thing, they can get you to buy another, and another…”

“Wow.”  She laid there for a moment before her stomach growled.  In the light from his magic sphere he could clearly see her blushing.  “Um.  Sorry.”

“heh.  hungry?”

“I guess so.  I think we still have travel rations…”

“yeah, but we’ll need those tomorrow.  let’s go find someplace proper to eat.”

“I don’t want to go past the Temmies again…”

“don’t worry.  stick with me and they won’t bother you.”

He held her hand, took a step, and appeared on a nearby roof.  A startled monster that looked like a giant, goopy drop of water jumped back with a warbling shout, but slunk away when nothing further happened.

Walker was staring at him when he turned.  “What...was that?”

“hmm?  oh, that?  that’s just a shortcut.”

“A...shortcut?”

“yup.  a quicker way between two spots.  don’t overthink it.  c’mon; let’s go find supper.”

She was slower to take his hand, as if afraid he was going to pull her through another shortcut; he was tempted to crack a joke but she seemed genuinely afraid.

They made their way across the bridge that led from the roof to the upper story of a nearby building, then followed the waterway for a while.  It looked like the district they were in catered to travelers; there were merchant shops, a few inns (all of which declared “NO VACANCY”), and small stalls offering repairs for shoes, carts, boats, and everything in between.  People were still coming and going just as frequently as they had earlier in the evening; the darkness outside didn’t seem to bother Waterfall very much.

There was a particularly shady man standing on a small dock in front of an unconnected three-story building.  Sans recognized it as the mercenary guildhall.  Most folks had the coin and common sense to hire their own guards, but mercenaries offered an alternative for the destitute or unprepared merchant.  They also escorted townsfolk who wanted to visit other places; being a merchant hub, Waterfall Town drew people from surprisingly far away, and those people often wanted to visit their families who had remained behind.

On the other side of the guildhall was a place Sans remembered fondly.  “look, there’s a tavern.”

“Is it?  It looks pretty dark…”

“i remember this place.  trust me; it’s good.”

“Okay…”

They made their way over to the building and down to water level, where a heavy wooden door stood open.  They ducked inside as a group of laughing, half-drunk monsters and humans in merchant garb stumbled out.

Sans led Walker over to one of the long communal tables.  It was well-lit and warm, which made her sigh, even though the place smelled a bit like stale ale.  At least it wasn’t too busy; they were able to seat themselves without bumping elbows with the groups of guards that had clustered throughout the establishment.

“i wonder if this place is run by the same guy.  if so, you’re in for a treat.”

“Really?  I’ve never been-oh!”

A fire elemental had quietly appeared at their table.  He crackled something Sans couldn’t discern, moving his hands as he spoke.

“this is grillby, the owner of the place.  he’d like to know what you’d like to eat.”

“Oh!  Well, nice to meet you, Grillby.  I...anything?”

“heh.  he has fresh fish today and bread and cheese.  and ale, of course.”  It was a platter with a fixed price, like a typical tavern, but his selection was unusually good.

“Okay?”

Sans tried to remember the correct signs, moving his hands a little awkwardly as he spoke.  “we’ll have two trenchers and two mugs of ale, thanks.”

Grillby grinned and made a sign.  It took Sans a moment to realize that it was the correct sign for ale.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what he’d originally said; he busied himself with finding the right coins to pay for their meal.  “uh, right.  thanks, bud.”

They were quickly served a pair of trenchers with rolls, chunks of soft cheese, and baked fish.  Sans dug in.  Fish wasn’t common in Snowdin, especially not cooked with salt and spices like Grillby’s.  It was amazing.

So amazing, in fact, that he was almost done before he realized that Walker was just picking at her food.

“wha’s wrong?”

“N-nothing!  I’m doing just fine!”

He looked at her, then down at her trencher, then back up at her very focused expression.  He’d forgotten for a moment that she was from a wealthy foreign family.  “you’ve never eaten fish before, have you.”

“I’ve eaten fish, just...not like this.”

Sighing, he pushed his own trencher to the side and slid hers over.  The sturdy knife Grillby had given them helped with getting the scales off, then it was just a matter of putting the flaky meat in a pile and setting the bones and organs to the side.  Walker was blushing hotly by the time he slid her food back over, but her whispered thanks was worth it.

It also made him pause.  He...he was becoming way too attached to this human girl.  Just because she was pretty and bright and was genuinely interested and had showered him with praise.  They were half a day from Middlefield Abbey, and then he would start his investigation and she would continue on.  And they would never see each other again.

Despite his attempts to talk himself out of it, he felt sadness creep over him at the thought.

They finished their supper and ale and left, retracing their steps to a back alleyway from which Sans could take them via shortcut to their room.

A few other poor travelers were there, having been lured in by the Temmies in the absence of better options, but they were occupying pallets away from the ones Sans and Walker had claimed.  The night was cold from the advent of autumn and clammy, as Waterfall usually was.  Walker was shivering under the blanket from Rupert’s pack, settling herself as far into the moss bed as she could.

Sans laid awake much longer than he expected.  There was no real reason for it.  He was full, the cold and damp didn’t really bother him except when it caused his clothes to stick to his bones, and the subtle sounds of snoring from the other travelers were really more soothing than anything.

He rolled over to look at Walker.  She had drifted off, still huddled under her single blanket.  He hoped she wouldn’t get sick.  Sickness from the cold and damp could stick with humans for a long time, he’d heard.  Sometimes it was even fatal.  Healing magic could only do so much; it couldn’t cure whatever imbalance of the humors gave humans their coughs and aches and spots.

He unfolded his wool traveling cloak and laid it over the human beside him.  It was almost waterproof and plenty warm; hopefully it would help.  He tried not to think about it too much and curled into his own blanket, eventually finding sleep himself.

The next morning he woke up to the sensation of something being draped over him.  He froze, uncertain; Papyrus had never done anything like that for him, so his sleep-addled mind wasn’t sure what it could be.  A moment later, he recognized Walker’s delicate cheekbones and short brown hair as she leaned over him, carefully arranging his traveling cloak.

“hey,” he croaked, still half asleep.

“Oh!  Sorry!”

“how early is it?”

“Probably pretty early.  It sounded like there was some kind of accident downstairs and it woke me up; I couldn’t get back to sleep.  Sorry.  I didn’t mean to get you up too.”

“no, we might as well start early.”  He rolled over, collecting his blanket and cloak as he went.  “have the temmies checked on us yet?”

“No.  I heard a lot of yelling from downstairs, so I think they might be...busy.”

“well, that’s one less thing to worry about.  let’s get going before they do.”

Sans brought them to the roof again.  The sun was just beginning to rise, sending blades of pink light through the tall, thin windows in the rock face.  Along each row of windows was a walkway where night guards armed with bows and lanterns were finishing up their patrols.  Below them Waterfall Town was as busy as ever, with merchants and peddlers setting up their stalls along the piers and walkways and serving some early risers.

They bought bread and cheese from a rather nervous-looking rabbit monster and set off into the tunnel that led in and out of town.  There was a bit of a line - at least one merchant caravan was setting off early, too - but it gave them time to eat in peace.

The sun was still low in the sky when they emerged out of the tunnel and onto the path.  The merchants and their guards were far too happy, in Sans’s opinion, shouting and joking with each other.  Someone offered Walker a fruit tart in honor of some feast day, which she gladly accepted, so the only one who was grumpy was Sans himself.

Thankfully, the merchants broke off and went along the road to collect their carts.

“Where are they going?”  Walker asked, sad to see her new friends go.

“look.”  He pointed back up at the cliff face.  A pair of huge stone doors had been opened, and carts were being lowered on pulleys.  “the carts can’t make it up and down the tunnel, so they have to go the hard way.  oh, heh, there goes a cow.”

There was, indeed, a cow being slowly lowered to the ground on one of the pulleys.  It didn’t look happy.

“That’s genius!  Who thought of such a thing?”

“i don’t know, but it works.”

They watched the carts and animals being lifted out of the city and down to the waiting merchants for a few minutes.

“well, better head off.”

“Can’t we travel with them?  It would be safer.”

“yeah, but they’re going south, and we have to go northeast.”

“Aww.”

She took one last look back at the merchants and set off behind him.

They made good time, and the road was fairly open.  Without tree cover there were fewer places for bandits to hide, so they didn’t have to detour.  A few hours after leaving Waterfall, the abbey came into view around the edge of the mountain range.

Middlefield Abbey was, as the name implied, in an open field, right on the border between the Kingdom of Monsters and the Kingdom of Eastriver.  It had a high wall surrounding it for protection and a tower to allow the nuns to keep an eye out for invaders, but Sans knew from talking with members of the Guard that the holy ground that surrounded it was far more effective than either.

“I...feel funny,” Walker said.  “Sorry; I think I need to stop for a bit.”

He brought them over to a large rock that sat along the road.  Walker collapsed onto it, holding her stomach.

“i think that’s the holy ground.”

“The what?”

“the ground around here’s been blessed.  it’s a weird type of magic, mostly human in origin.  it keeps violent people out: anyone who’s killed someone, i guess.  i don’t know a whole lot about it.”

“That’s weird.  I didn’t feel like this before.”

“we’re a lot closer now.  i guess the effect is stronger here.”  He was feeling a little sick as well, though he didn’t want to mention it.  “see those stone pillars up ahead?  that’s supposed to mark the entrance to the abbey grounds, from what i was told.  there should be a gatekeeper somewhere ahead.”

A thin, misty rain had set in by the time they reached the gatekeeper’s cottage.  It was a small stone building, not too far from the entrance to the abbey gates, with just enough room for them to duck out of the rain and sit at a fire.

The gatekeeper - a water monster in brown robes and a white veil - poked her head out of a back room, then hurried over with bread and cheese.  “You must be tired,” she said, shooing them into chairs and laying out the food on a nearby table.  “Please!  Sit, eat!”

They did so.  It was after noon, well past dinnertime, and they were both hungry.  Sans noticed that the queasy feeling that had followed him all afternoon had dissipated.

“Now, what brings you to the abbey?”

He shifted in his seat.  “i’m looking for someone.”

“Oh?”

“uh.  here.”  He pulled out the rolled piece of parchment Asgore had given him and handed it to the nun.  “this should...help explain things.”

She startled when the light caught the seal - the bright purple wax that formed the symbol of the Kingdom of Monsters was legendary - but took it anyways.  “Excuse me,” she said, bobbing her head and hurrying into her back room.  The door closed softly but firmly.

“so-”

“What was that?”  Walker was watching him with wide eyes.  “Was that the seal of the king?”

“well.  our king, yeah.  i told you he sent me on a quest, remember?”

“You didn’t mention you worked for him!”

“i don’t.  not really.  i just got picked to run an errand.”

“An errand?  You told me you were looking for some thing, not some one.”

“yeah?”  He didn’t know what had upset her so much.  “sorry, i didn’t mean to mislead you-”

The nun reappeared, looking a bit pale.  “You must be Sans the Skeleton,” she said.  “Please, go up ahead; I’ve sent word telepathically, and the abbey will open the gates for you.  I’ll make sure your companion remains safe here.  Rupert, was it?”

“Um, Walker, actually.  Rupert…?”

“rupert was killed in a bandit attack.  walker was kind enough to accompany me this far.”

The gatekeeper accepted this without a fuss.  “Walker, then.  Do you need anything, my child?  More food, a change of clothes?”

For a moment, Sans thought Walker was going to bolt.  She had no obligation to stay, after all; the rain wasn’t so heavy that she couldn’t continue on her way.  The protection of the abbey would get her across the border and her own people would take care of her from there.

Instead, she smiled up at the nun.  “Some more cheese would be great if you have it, thanks.”

He ducked out the door and made his way up to the abbey.  As he approached the huge wooden doors, they creaked open slowly.  It was ominous; final, in a way.  He didn’t know what to expect.

A shout from somewhere above him made him look up; two nuns were turning cranks attached to pulleys, slowly closing the doors.  A third hurried up to him, looking somewhat frazzled.

“Sans the skeleton?  I’m Sister Maria.  The Mother Abbess is waiting for you; please, come with me.”

[thytruthwill]

It Came Out of Me

My troubles began in the early morning of a Summer night in August. An ordinary day to say the least from the start, until I endured a series of wicked spells that forced mucus from my body. What felt familiar to a head cold, I took a couple Tylenol and drank some extra fluids with lemon. I didn’t show any other visible symptoms. That evening, a foul taste filled my mouth at dinner, bitter and tangy. Disturbed, my appetite ceased and I went to bed early. Around three in the morning, a sudden sharp ache ran through my stomach and awoken me. Before I could grab my stomach, the ache subsided. Inside my mouth was pasty and dry. I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen. Two glasses of water, a quick empty of my bladder and then it was back to bed.

 It was in the bathroom, where I was plagued by another spell that exhausted me for minutes. This was unlike any of the others I experienced that day. Thrusting the muscles in my esophagus would not manifest what was traveling up my chest. It was dense, and creeping its way up into the back of my throat. I figured the old-fashioned way would help; forced my finger down my wind pipe and gagged to force the strange object nesting in the back of my throat. Its great size clogged my airway as it entered the top of my throat. In a fight to avoid choking, I coughed aggressively and oozed out a black gelatin substance the size of a small balloon, filling the entire space in my mouth. Its mawkish taste and lumpy contents encased in the ball sickened me as I spit it out into the toilet, puking up the water I drank minutes prior. The water clogged my throat like glue. Breathing was a sacrifice to be made as I desperately exercised myself to rid my body of this foreign substance.

 This was not mucus and was coming to a realization this ordeal was turning into something far more sinister than what I was already experiencing. The strange specimen shared the same consistency as mucus but I nearly fainted at the sight of the beady black eyes, webbed feet, shiny skin and wide mouths swimming inside the membrane. I retreated from the bathroom, panic spiking my nerves. My mother awoke from her slumber at the sound of her son bawling hysterically. Overwhelmed, I failed to form logical sentences and relied on gestures to get her to follow me back to the bathroom like a dog alarming its owner. When she entered the bathroom, she found me on the floor sitting against the tub. I pointed at the toilet. When she peeked into the bowl the expression on her face settled for a while. Blank. Fixated. I mustered up the courage to inform her that I produced the contents in the toilet. Uncertain of how to react, stunned by my confession, she stepped out of the bathroom. Gaining control of my sanity felt impossible. What was happening to me? I pressed two fingers against my neck, my pulse was thumping like a kick drum. Moments later, my mother entered the bathroom wearing a glove on one of her hands. She reached into the toilet and picked up the membrane with the hand equipped with the glove.

 As a science professor, she was accustomed to occurrences that rendered no explanation. I had seen my mother angry, sad, joyful, but I had no answer for what she was expressing. For all I knew, she felt just as nauseated as I did. My mother turned to me with a gaunt expression and dropped the membrane in the toilet. She held the wall as she stepped out of the bathroom. I rubbed my stomach as a wave of nausea spiraled through me. With a desperate attempt, I shot up from the floor and put my head over the toilet. My gag reflex forced a thick, black gelatin substance to seep out of my throat. My mother ran back into the bathroom on the phone with my father. My muscles contracted as the black substance unforgivingly took its time to come out.

 My mother held my hand while I fought to breathe. Eventually the substance cleared and I collapsed back onto the floor, weary. Every subtle movement triggered a surge of spasms that gripped my abdomen. I could hear my father over the phone trying to understand what was taking place. My mother checked my body temperature. It was slowly rising. Too exhausted to roll over, my mother anchored her arms under my armpits and helped me to sit back up against the tub. She affirmed that my father was on the way to take me to the hospital. In the meantime, she grabbed a wet cloth and pressed it against my head and chest to keep me cool.

 Not long after, I heard my father come through the front door of the house and made his way into the bathroom to witness a concerning sight. A son sweating profusely and in agony. When my father looked into the toilet, a gasp escaped him. Just before his arrival, the membrane had erupted. An army of tiny black frogs were floating in the water atop each other. The largest in the army sat still as a statue, flexing his vocal sac. In haste, my father helped me up to my feet and carried me out to the car. The agony in my stomach hindered me from walking. My mother helped me to get my shoes on my feet in the backseat while my father peeled out of the driveway. There was an urgency that I’d never seen my dad drive with. The passing cars, lights and buildings faded into a blur as I floated in and out of consciousness. I uttered, “I went to Rehmi’s house for dinner the other night.” My mother’s eyes widened, disdain filled my father’s face. I knew the sudden anguish bloomed at the thought of Rehmi’s father.

 Rehmi was one of my closest friends but his father had an obsession with exotic dining, always looking for unusual delicacies. It was uncommon for their household to eat chicken, beef, rice, pork on a more frequent basis, instead, they ate things like crickets, duck bladder, lamb brains, and beaver liver as Rehmi shared with me. I was always invited over for dinner but my parents were serious about where I ate, especially Rehmi’s house. My mother constantly reminded me, “You can’t eat at everybody’s house,” and would proceed to lecture me on the cleanliness of people’s houses and different ways people prepared food. It made sense to an extent but I knew she was more concerned about the food at Rehmi’s than anywhere else.

 A few days ago, Rehmi invited me over to his house for dinner after we bowled a few games at AMF Bowling. He convinced me that his father was cooking sausages made from goose. I figured that was as normal as it was going to get since the last invitation was for dragonfly soup. Allegedly his father was over the roof of how delicious it tasted after spending days catching them in their backyard. As usual, I tried to decline the offer but I was running out of excuses and told him that I was still full from eating fries at the bowling alley, which was the furthest thing from the truth. Rather than be honest, I offended him and he told me forget about it. In the moment, I felt like a terrible friend so I quickly changed my mind and told him I would join his family for a meal.

 When I walked in the house, the first room was the dining room. Four plates were set around a table. The spread consisted of bread rolls in a pan, grilled goose sausages and a dish covered by a metal lid sitting at the end of the table. Rehmi’s father was so thrilled at my attendance that he insisted I try a surprise he had waiting for me before we began the main course. Already aware of his obsession, I felt like I’d made a mistake accepting the invitation but I kept an open mind, maybe a little too open because I wasn’t ready for what Rehmi’s father had in store for me.

 Rehmi’s father stood up from his seat and picked up the small dish that was covered by the shiny metal lid and brought it over to me. I asked what was underneath and he responded with, “I don’t want to spoil the surprise, enjoy.” Reluctant, I removed the lid. A pungent stink filled my nostrils. The odor was absolutely horrible but what sat on the plate nearly tarnished my appetite. Two off-white, bulb-shaped membranes sat in the middle of the plate. I tried to keep my stomach strong but I was having a hard time. At the end of the table, Rehmi’s father gazed with a wicked smile, “Try it.”  I turned to Rehmi, who looked even more like his father as he bared the same sinister grin. I picked up the indistinguishable delicacy. It nearly slipped out of my hand as I plopped it into my mouth.

 With a cautious bite, the mystery meal exploded, filling my mouth with a slimy substance. The tough texture made it impossible to chew. Some things are so horrendous that that’s the only way you can describe them. My eyes swelled with tears as I exercised my jaws to break down the chewy delicacy. This ordeal was enough to make me want to leave but it was too late. Rehmi’s father leaned in, eager to get my opinion. I wanted to fix my mouth and say, You’re a sick individual. What’s wrong with you? But instead, I told him the truth. The real shock came when he revealed that I’d ingested frog ovaries. Rehmi’s father encouraged me to finish the other piece or it would bring bad luck. Ovaries? Goose sausage couldn’t eradicate the taste that coated my taste buds. It was rather odd that Rehmi’s father would go to such extremes to cleanse his family’s digestive system with frog ovaries.

 Ironically the following morning, I had spells of abdominal cramps so intense that I could only find comfort laying in the fetal position. My body temperature fluctuated several times throughout the day. Later in the evening I eventually passed a stool that brought minor relief but little did I know my fate was sealed.

 My father drove up to the emergency room drop off terminal and rushed inside to grab a wheelchair. My mother wheeled me inside asking for immediate assistance. A nurse escorted me to an empty room and began checking my vitals. My mother filled out the forms. My blood pressure was high with a fever and elevated heart rate that was gradually climbing. The nurse stepped out and ordered an I.V.

 At the same time, a doctor entered the room and asked me about what I was experiencing. My explanation made him wonder as he instructed me to turn over onto my back. He pressed his fingers against my stomach and felt a bulge present underneath the surface. It was firm and shifted to the lower portion of my abdomen. I shrieked in pain, clutching his wrist, clinching my teeth. The doctor ordered the nurse to prepare an ultrasound to get a look what was creeping inside my abdomen. In the meantime, my parents bombarded the doctor with a series of questions, anxious to know what was troubling me. He assured them that him and his team of nurses were going to get to the bottom of the situation.

 Within minutes, a nurse rolled in an ultrasound machine. She gently lifted my shirt, as to be cautious not to disrupt what was nesting inside me. The doctor stood close by monitoring the procedure. The nurse took a plastic tube of ultrasound gel and squeezed some out onto my stomach, pressing the transducer on top of it and spreading it around. A wave of spasms gripped my stomach once again, more aggressively this time. The bulge split in two, surging around violently. I pushed the nurse back instinctively trying to curl up and endure the pain. Hollering made no difference as the doctor and other nurses fought to keep me still. The nurse I pushed away proceeded with checking my stomach as an image displayed on the screen of the ultrasound machine.

 Tiny little black pod shaped organisms swimming by the hundreds or thousands. As the nurse scrolled the transducer over my intestines, they made a grave discovery of larger tadpoles slithering around my guts, and back into my stomach cavity. A piercing agony erected through my chest that robbed me of my breathe. Right after, the bulge grew to the size of a basketball and forced its way up my diaphragm, creating a pressure so great that my ribs broke. Frantic from horror, the doctor ordered his team to prep an operating room and rushed me to the O.R.

 Fluorescent white panels glared down on me as I was rushed down the hallway. My vision turned hazy as I caught glimpses of the faces staring at me. Soon as I entered the operating room, the nurses were quick and careful to move me onto the table. Shaking violently, the team fought to hold me down. The bulge in my chest traveled up my throat, clogging my esophagus. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I could no longer breathe. A thick black plasma seeped from every opening in my face. My eyes, mouth, nose, and ears flooded with the black slime. My jaws snapped as thick foot-long tadpoles punctured through my mouth erratically falling out onto the floor squirming around. Nurses screamed as they jumped back at what they were witnessing. Nurses from outside spectated at the gruesome episode taking place before their eyes. Tiny tadpoles escaped through my nose and eyes, sheeting my face in the plasma. A massive bullfrog crawled out of my mouth and hopped onto the floor. Several other species of frogs crawled out of any available opening. My face was stretched and deformed as an army of frogs inhabited the operating room. I lay limp on the gurney as the O.R. staff panicked and locked down the area to prevent the frogs from spreading.

 Later my body was examined to discover several species of frog eggs in my system. The diener ruled my death by severe organ trauma and disruption. Looking from the outside in, there could have been a myriad of ways it all could have ended but I lost sight of my instincts which led to my unfortunate demise. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken watch what you eat so lightly.