a winter’s tale written for @ravseungjun

Jongup was pacing around the living room of his flat, looking outside the window and trying to find some hint that Seungjun actually got his owl. Four days had passed and there was still no answer from him ever since they saw each other for the last time. 

They haven’t really talked about the taller male visiting him at his hideout, but Jongup knew it would be nice to have him around the holiday season, and outside Hogwarts, but admittedly, he didn’t expect things to turn out that way – a family feud and him bolting out of the house, a backpack with a few of his most prized possessions and his owl.

A note had been sent to the other male, to an address he knew now because Seungjun had informed him and even though Jongup kinda sounded desperate enough to confide him that secret (the apartment’s location), he was just hoping he would see a familiar face he missed dearly. 

But now, four days have passed and still, there was no answer from Seungjun. He felt stupid, he probably had something else to do, other people to visit or places to travel. Or maybe he just got lost in the muggle neighborhood and couldn’t find the address. 

prompt: desire and danger !!

status: accepting // meme !!

Σ unsent texts.

[ txt ➞ seungjun ] didn’t really get a chance to tell you this but i think you’re really cute.[ txt ➞ seungjun ] oh what could have been amirite.

Σ late night texts.

[ txt ➞ seungjun ] you up?[ txt ➞ seungjun ] want to shake a few books off the shelves again?

Σ curious text.

Kissing meme - status: not accepting!

Random number #21 - Then there’s tongue

2018 – Notting Hill,England

Jongup paces around,the floor under his bare feet isn’t cold but he’s been feeling shivers sincethe phone call he got, two days ago. His eyes are on the streets, on the peoplethat find their way to the market, that’s surprisingly empty that afternoon. It’sprobably because of the sudden rain that decided to fall and that’s justanother reason for him to feel uneasy. Perhaps that could change his plans forthe day, perhaps everything will go wrong.

He looks down at histattooed hands and the designs inked on his skin still bring him memories offoolish rebellious days but it’s not enough to keep him from thinking ofsomething else; memories of Hogwarts and Durmstrang would lead him to othermemories, other people and that would just make him nervous again.

The noise outside,almost like a muffled thunder, comes from the corridor and Jongup knows exactlywhat it means. He can’t help but smile, his heart faltering one beat whenthings seem to be working fine untilnow. He feels like he could run before the doorbell even rings but he holdsback, keeps his pace.

But the sound doesn’tcome.

starter for @ravseungjun

Jongup felt too lazy to move from the Ravenclaw table, eyes focused on the book in front of him and his plate, where bits and pieces of food still remained almost untouched, as it was being refilled by the kitchen, that he didn’t even notice when people started to get up and leave. Surely a few of his housemates called him up and even some Gryffindors did the same but whenever he was into something like reading, he was dead to the world.

So it was probably because of that he only noticed someone was sat in front of him when the said person coughed, their knees brushing under the table, forcing Jongup to look up, his brows furrowing for a bit before he took a more relaxed posture, his glance retuning to the book in front of him.

He always had this weird feeling whenever he faced Seungjun, that he was missing something. For times he was so sure the male was trying to say something to him  or even make some kind of revelation but he never did it; it was annoying, that feeling, and now, even if he wanted, he wasn’t going to be able to keep reading. Not when he was feeling eyes on him.

Or rather his plate.

“Did you lose something, Seungjun?”, he offered the question with a long stare, his fingers picking a piece of chicken breast, munching on it slowly. The smile started to form on his lips, perking even, when he noticed the obvious. “Are you hungry, my dear?”, he teased.  

flashback meme! status: accepting!

She’s eleven and she’s sitting in a compartment in the hogwarts express. 

She’s not alone, no. She’s sharing the space with a boy with round cheeks and a camera in his hand. He reminds her of a puffskein, or one of those muggle animals she read called a hamster. She dislikes the idea of sharing a compartment, much less sharing it a muggleborn, so she sits as far away from him as possible, back straight, legs crossed and hands on her lap, a proper sitting posture her mother says. 

She keeps him in her line of vision even if she doesn’t look at him, because muggles are dangerous, muggles aren’t supposed to have magic, muggles aren’t supposed to be sitting with her on the way to Hogwarts— 

Her line of thought is cut off when said boy is talking again, something about him being called something and no he doesn’t smell like a farm and his robes are brand new. She discreetly rolls her eyes, lips tugging down in a frown when he offers her muggle snacks, saying he couldn’t afford buying snacks from honeydukes. He’s offering her homemade cookies, and out of formalities, she takes one. She doesn’t admit, but she’s flustered, so she quietly nibbles on the cookie and it tastes surprisingly good. He asks how is it and she snootily turns her head away, replies with “it’s decent.” 

Just in time came the trolley filled with snacks and she felt a little compelled to show-off, and so she buys the lot and shows it off to him. He’s in awe, and she feels a smile tug on the corners of her lips, before he starts chattering again, “wow, you’ve got a lot of money. What are those? Are those frogs? Why is that one buzzing? Those are so colorful I wonder what combining that with this would taste like—” 

She promptly shoves a chocolate in his mouth, an annoyed look on her face that resembles more of a pout than anything, and she says, “Shut up and eat.” He looks sheepish afterwards, apologizing, but still keeps chattering, and she guesses that once this ride is over, she’ll probably know where he lives, his mother’s name and his family background. He wipes the chocolate off his face with the back of his hand and this time her facial expression turns into one of disgust. She pulls out her napkin and her wand and with a flick of her wrist, the handkerchief is wiping what’s left of the chocolate off his face and next his hand, 

“that’s disgusting. Stop it.” The whole train ride is spent with him talking nonstop, her shoving food in his mouth to make him to stop, and both of them slowly familiarizing with each other’s presence. When they arrive at their destination, she is quick to fix her robes, it’s best to look presentable, and before she opens the compartment door, she takes a good look at the boy who she spent the entire time with. It’s probably the last time she’ll see him, because she has no plans in getting to know other people. 

“What’s your name, farm boy?” 

“Cody.” 

“i hate the idea of you.” she breathes, tasting the earthy tart of the potion and sour scorn. her stomach twists with unease, familiar with the notion of expressing her thoughts and feelings but not of this level. “what you stand for—people like you—what you believe to be right, it’s—” she struggles to find the right words, pushing past prejudice of a woman she knows all too well. her mother used to encourage a lie here and there, promising convenience within trickery—and mère would lie, lie, all the way into the arms of men, teachers, parents, boys.

( and at the center still stands her, ankle deep in lies she’s forced to upkeep for her mother’s sake under the pressing influence of sharp nails digging into soft skin.read: i’m not her daughter, my father is dead, i was adopted—lies spoken till her mouth felt raw and foreign, tasting metallic and bile all at once. )

“—fucked up.” the hufflepuff settles, lips downturned.

“i don’t like it, i told you this before. i don’t trust you,” she struggles to keep the finality in those words, but her lips part, unable to keep her tongue still. “but i don’t really hate you.” 

here her heart tightens in the face of truth — in the face of mental hurdles she can’t climb. in the face of bonds she willingly tears apart when her personal criteria isn’t met, lovely face bold, mouth determined — but perhaps not as apathetic as usual.