#it really made me realize how shared and grand these grief and love are and those stranger comments gave me a company i wouldn't have had | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ephemerlskies · 4 years

Text

of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇢ genre: fluff, one shot, slice of life au, enemies to lovers, musician!jungkook

⇢ word count: 14k

⇢ warnings: explicit language, mentions of terminal illness, mentions of death, themes of grief, slight plot twist, a surprising consumption of sugar, enough cheesiness to last you a lifetime

⇢ summary: what makes a three-day train ride back to your hometown anything but dull and dreadfully long? the answer, and your salvation from a boring trip home, was being stuck in the same cart as jeon jungkook for the entire ride there. unknown to you, he would turn this mundane trip into an unexpected adventure.

♪ playlist: dream a little dream of me - ella fitzgerald, departure - joe hisaishi, a journey (a dream of flight) - joe hisaishi, longing for mother's return - satoshi takebe, the sixth station - joe hisaishi, a town with an ocean view - joe hisaishi, you're in love - joe hisaishi, one summer's day - joe hisaishi ♪

a/n: this was honestly one of my favorite fics to write! ever! it was heavily inspired by studio ghibli movies hence the playlist because i recently binged a bunch of ghibli films (and i do not regret it) so, i tried to replicate the vibes from the movies i watched as best as i could!! :)) i hope you lovely readers enjoy!

They tell you love takes time. If you are patient and attentive enough, it courses through your body easier than your own blood and sinks itself in each vessel and bone and cell. Love will melt into your heart until that is all it knows. And in tales where lovers make grand gestures, like slaying the dragon and giving the moon and the stars and the sky along with the world underneath it and bestowing true love's kiss, it takes an entire story to get to the part where they are in love.

Love takes time, and in that time, there is a series of sometimes likely, and sometimes unlikely, events woven delicately within each minute that leads to the moment you know, you are in love. Traditionally, love makes itself known. It is loud and beautiful and anything but hidden within the ordinary moments used to fill in the gaps between the bigger moments.

This story, your story, existed during the moments in between.

This train station had always emulated such an archaic ambiance. So much so that you believed you'd traveled back in time to when it was first built. Everything felt surreal, when you stepped on the train making a beeline to Cart 102, the floors felt like water; the surface tension clinging just strong enough to keep you afloat not without the occasional toss and turn. You swore it was just the rusted tracks that jostled you, but a part of you knew it was the water.

"Single rider?" The attendant stood at your cart's checkpoint, hand extended and waiting for your ticket.

"Yes, here." You handed him the paper, along with your baggage but kept the book for future entertainment and the pillow because you could tell the seats were no softer than wood.

"The train is fully occupied, so someone will be sharing your cart."

Perfect. If the world wants to do you a favor, just this once, then you hope that it sends you a quiet passenger. One that exchanges the customary 'hello' and 'goodbye' which is the extent of your interaction with them because you were tired in a way that sunk you into your zone of unsociability and on your way back home for the worst possible reason.

And the world did, in fact, do you a favor. It delivered Jungkook to Cart 102. But it just was not the favor you expected.

At first, you believed him to tick all your requirements for the ideal travel companion. Perfectly manicured company with a clear sense of boundaries. For one, he entered with a wall of silence that not only kept a greeting gated in but even the slightest acknowledgment that you were seated right across from him. It was so natural for him to ignore you that you had to glance down at your hand to check if you really were invisible.

He took his seat, stared out of the frost dusted window that reflected the sliding door that separated you and this man from the rest of the train and the world, and sighed. For a moment, he just stared and you thought it would get easier from here. But then he turned to you, and smiled.

"Hi, I'm Jungkook." It was a full smile, one that showed nearly every tooth, which reminded you of a rabbit. That paid enough respect for the previous shouldered entrance, and at first it was cute. Then, it made you feel guilty.

It was a smile you couldn't afford to return at the moment, so instead, you offered back a slightly upturned lip and a cordial nod.

"___." His hands looked strong like they had handled an array of heavy things and had the calluses to prove it. The way he sat made you feel a spark of something.

It was only a few seconds later when you realized that something was an unbridled annoyance. His legs were spread out, having you picturing the times he'd monopolize the space on a crowded bus. Jungkook was probably the type of man who was born with an entitlement that carried through to every part of his life, including the way he sat down on trains and pissed the living hell off of you.

"Like what you see?" Now you were pissed off for two reasons. The way he sat and the fact that you just got caught staring at him; his lap to be specific.

Soon, the two reasons doubled when your eyes returned to the smile on his face that didn't seem to have gone away. He was proud to catch you in the act, and most likely assumed your staring was due to an attraction so gripping that you couldn't help yourself but to stare at his crotch of all things.

"No, I was just..." Your words caught in your throat, because you weren't about to explain why his spread position on the seat had drawn an irritation from you thicker than the blood pulsing loudly through your body. You didn't want him to know you cared enough to be irritated in the first place, even if that meant letting him believe your staring was a form of unspoken flattery. "No."

"Okay, whatever you say, ___." It was the sarcasm this time, and the way he said your name that pissed you off. There was a seed inside you, ready to bury in your gut and grow just enough for you to rip his tongue from his mouth so he'd never have to say your name again.

"You'd think you didn't want to make the person you're about to spend three days on a train with angry, but maybe you're just that dumb." Insulting him gave you instant relief from the headache you knew was about to assume your forehead.

"Damn. Guess you're not the type to take a joke." Jungkook revealed his teeth one by one again, but you didn't describe it as a smile. A smile is something you thought to be beautiful, a physical expression of joy. No, what his face possessed was something sadistic. You were sure of it.

The way he carried himself and voiced his thoughts were more concentrated than arrogance. There was not a word in any language that could properly describe Jungkook. Nor was there a feeling that could render yours into something palpable. And the world had sealed you inside this cell marked Cart 102 with the person who was grainy and slick like quicksand, and just as deadly because you were sinking into him and every feeling he had provoked within the ten minutes you'd known him.

Jungkook was the first person you hated. Beyond every rude customer, every demanding boss, every high school bully, every cut tie, there was Jungkook who wore that heavy medallion of hatred around his neck like he was proud of it.

In all honesty, you thought he should wear it. He earned it. Everyone should know that you hated Jungkook and that it only took him a record-breaking ten minutes to attain the once unattained title.

You began to read your book, however 'read' didn't accurately describe what you were doing, which was staring blankly through the same words while collecting more reasons why you hated this man. It became an obsession of yours in a few short moments, because now you didn't just hate the way he sat and spoke and smiled. You hated how his breathing was somehow louder than the wheels grinding against the metal tracks or how whenever another train would pass by, he'd bring his face so close to the window you could see the warmth of his breath cling onto the glass and form a small, foggy patch.

You especially hated that you could quite literally feel his eyes on you, blistering your skin like the way a magnifying glass would redirect the sun's rays onto a target, which just so happened to be your face. Jungkook was unrelenting; as if he were trying to sear your skin with a permanent brand of his eyes.

Between the rhythmic flipping of the pages that you weren't reading, you were compelled to reprimand him for the staring. Maybe throwing his own words back into his face about 'liking what you see' would do your own vengeance justice. But that might indicate you were thinking of what he said to you this whole time.

"The weather looks so cold. It's practically raining." You moved only your eyes up from your book to study him.

He was looking out the window again, eyes chasing each speck of mist preluding the raindrops that were surely going to fall. It always rained at night.

"Looks like another thunderstorm." You packaged up the gasp that was about to burst from your chest.

For reasons you'd rather not share with a complete stranger you were hellbent on hating, you were terrified of thunder. Not lightning, but the loud crash that followed it. It was the last thing you wanted to experience while bottled up in a train with Jungkook.

"Excuse me." Your abrupt stance interrupted Jungkook's rain watching.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"None of your business." The slam of the sliding door echoed the anger you didn't express before as it snapped shut, fractionating the air you once shared with Jungkook.

You took a deep breath, the air outside felt cooler. The attendant was loyal to his assigned post, which was convenient for you.

"Sir, is there any way I can switch carts?"

"No, full train. And your ticket says Cart 102, so that's where you were meant to be." His eyes were sheltered by his hat, so there was no chance of pleading with your eyes if you couldn't even see his.

"Fine." It was a long shot, one that you didn't have the aim or trajectory for. You suppose he was right. Cart 102 was where you belonged for now. You just couldn't accept that Jungkook also belonged there with you.

Inside, the warm yellow light was beckoning you back in. Through the door, the brightness glimmered out until it was consumed by the dark hall where you stood. Jungkook was looking out of the window again with a rising and falling chest; you could hear his breathing even from behind the door or at least, you could imagine how it would sound.

"If we're going to share a cart, we could at least be friends." Jungkook's suggestion made him too human, too real for you to hate. You wanted to cling on to the idea that he was a horrible person, harboring more vices than the devil himself. But his voice was friendly sometimes, and his smile looked loving, occasionally, when he presented it to you.

"I don't see why we can't just be silent for the rest of the ride."

"Why are you going back home?" For a second, you were shocked enough to forget you were supposed to hate him. His gaze was calm and carried none of the worries yours had. You wondered, just for a second, about all the others who were on the receiving end of his gaze, and if they felt the way you felt when he looked at you. That look that distinguished him from anyone you had ever met.

You didn't want him to be right, because you didn't want the 'why' to be real. The tragedy, the only thing demanding enough to peel you away from your life away from home, should not have been the 'why' that put you on this train. But it was, and it made you angrier than he did.

"How do you know I'm going home?" You injected each word with a sharpness that you hoped would sting Jungkook.

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

"No, just visiting." His eyes returned to the window, like a refrain in a poem. Always returning to look somewhere out into the beyond.

"Well, you should count yourself lucky." And you returned back to your refrain, pretending to read just so you wouldn't get caught staring at him and listing more reasons you hated Jungkook because that was easier than thinking of what was really bothering you.

"Lucky. Huh." You wanted to know what was so captivating on the other side of the window. What could have possibly supplied his eyes with something that was more interesting than the inside of this train? "Why are you going back home?"

"You already asked that."

"And you didn't answer me." Perhaps it was the stars, and he was tracking them in his mental inventory, examining until they were replicated along his memory the same way they were plotted across the sky. "Why are you going back home?"

"My mom. She's dying." Stars seemed to be a beautiful thing to keep your eyes occupied in a way your mind couldn't be, but you couldn't see past the thick fog and lack of light. "She's sick."

"I'm sorry to hear." His sincerity worked against all the animosity you'd cultivated for him.

How could he see the stars? You were going to ask, but you didn't want him to know what lied beyond the small beacon of light surrounding the train was lost to you, or rather you lost them. You wanted to hate him, so you didn't ask.

"I knew something bad must have happened to get someone like you to come home." That comment certainly suffocated any benefit of the doubt you were going to bestow upon him. Jungkook was arrogant and entitled, and in your most recent discovery, presumptuous and judgmental. Everything wrong with this world. No amount of dashing smiles and considerate questions could change that. You had to remember, you hated this man

"How dare you! How- How dare you assume something so rude!" The cloth of your pillowcase had almost worn through from how tight your fists were gripping them. You felt the fire burning through your nerves, soon about to combust and set Cart 102 ablaze. "I hate you."

It was two in the morning, or at least those were the numbers shining from your watch. The window offered the same pitch blackness that frustrated you, so you decided to give your legs some employment from sitting.

The hall of the train was nearly as dark as the outside; the overhead lights once drizzling down a soft glow were turned off. You wandered down the stretch of the medium but the further you walked, the thinner the walkway felt. Soon, the walls on either side of you were pressed against your shoulders so snugly, you had to turn your body to squeeze through.

"Having trouble?" You knew that voice; you hated that familiar inflections and conceit planted in each word he spoke.

"Can't you see I'm trying to walk?" Squinting proved to be obsolete while trying to see whatever destination was in the distance. "Why is everything so dark?"

"Because, you're not trying." If you could turn around, if these walls weren't beginning to smother your body to immobilization, then you would have run over to him and slapped the smile right off of his face. Because you were trying, you were trying to see this whole time but the dark had infested everywhere.

Unfortunately for you, the walls were connecting closer and closer, as if trying to move through you so they could reach each other and close altogether. But where would that leave you? When the gap was stitched shut, where would you be?

The walls were softer than you thought, but still forceful enough to steal all the air from your lungs leaving you a panicked mess lodged between these unkind walls. And the pressure wasn't enough to kill you, but it was just enough to leave you stuck and miserable.

"Jungkook, help me, I can't..."

Day One

Your dream was vivid enough to mislead you into thinking it was real. It wasn't until your eyes fluttered open, and consciousness spilled into your mind like a gentle breeze that you realized the nightmare was over. The window allowed a soft light into Cart 102, making you more thankful for the day than you had ever been in your entire life. You lifted your head from your pillow placed on the seat that you didn't recall placing there, and now that you think of it, you didn't remember falling asleep either.

You especially didn't remember covering yourself with this wool coat that smelled like the air after a bonfire had just finished browning marshmallows and dissolving wood.

"Someone's finally awake." Then it all came back to you. You wondered why everything felt so tranquil. It was a shame you couldn't enjoy the peace before the omen of annoyance, your special nickname for Jungkook, had returned.

"What time is it?" Your eyes were blinking away the sleep, and when that failed, your hands began to rub them until they were able to prop open fully.

"Eight-thirty. Here." He set down a Styrofoam cup of something hot enough for steam to escape through the open space of the lid. It smelled sweeter than coffee.

"What is it?" Your question came after you had already picked it up to furnish your hands with warmth and your nose with the delectable aroma leaking from this cup.

Jungkook’s smile was hidden behind his cup, already half empty, withholding an answer from you because he wanted to see if you would try it before you knew what it was.

"Don't worry, it's not poison." You figured it could be counted as retribution in the form of a nice pick-me-up for all the irritation he'd caused you, not to mention the fact that even in your dreams, he couldn't seem to leave you alone. No, Jungkook's presence was something that would slip through the realm of your sleep, the only place you thought you could escape him.

You sipped slowly, and the drink inside the cup made a quick and favorable acquaintance with your tongue. The contents were something you'd be able to identify separately, but when combined, they were delicious and elusive all at once.

"Wow, this is great!" The smile escaped faster than a spilled cup of water, and before you could clean the messy evidence of your gratitude, Jungkook returned the same smile, but his wasn't a spill; his smiles were never an accident, and you could almost resent him for it.

Almost.

"You like it, huh? Didn't take you to be a fan of sweet things." Both pairs of eyes were taken by the scenery just on the other side of the window decorated with streaks of the fallen dew drops.

His pride was untamed, and you assumed it was because Jungkook never took any action to dilute his own conceit. You liked to imagine how often Jungkook could arm himself with that smile, that laugh, which you were not too blind in your own despise to admit were both conventionally attractive assets of his, and everyone in a ten foot radius would fall into his hands. The world seemed to rest in his hands, and all he had to do was smile.

Not you, though. You were certain you had polished yourself with enough perspective so you wouldn’t be foolish enough to let something as shallow as a charming smile fracture your walls. Though, it was increasingly frustrating, verging on the point of catastrophe, how difficult it was to convince yourself of this and to ignore the image of his smile, sneaking its way to the forefront of your thoughts after brushing it off seconds before.

It was overcast, and the grey from the sky had permeated along the air below, yet it didn't puncture the vibrancy of the ever-extending grassy plains. They seemed to continue on forever, as if you walked out to the horizon it would take an eternity to find the end of the green landscape. The wind acted as music to which each blade of grass had been dancing an instinctive choreography.

And every so often, a patch of flowers would appear, perform its part, then disappear just as quickly.

For a moment, you wondered what Jungkook thought of the small bits of the world this window was displaying. Did he think it was just as beautiful as you did?

"It's honey, cinnamon, and milk. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid." Though the view was timeless, you finally broke your gaze to look at Jungkook.

It was hard to imagine this man, the harbinger of almost every ounce of anger you have ever felt in your life, as a child who would drink milk with honey and cinnamon made by his mother. But then again Jungkook's face began to change, or at least the way you saw it morphed into something entirely different.

His bright eyes didn't look like they could be from this world. Not when they seemed to hold everything in his line of vision within them so warmly that it could spread magic over everything around him; like a fairy tale, but this magic rested in the two sockets of his eyes. Something so enigmatic made you want to snap at him just so he would look at you instead, and hold you in his eyes. As though to be held by his eyes would fix all your problems.

"Hm." You looked down at the cup, trying to savor each sip however ultimately failing since the honey melted in with the milk and perfectly heightened each flavor.

Without thinking, you wrapped the coffee-colored coat tighter around your body. It was blissful, sipping a cup of delight inside Cart 102, protected from the prickly wind of the winter while still being vended a view of its beauty. This train ride was almost perfect, if not for the (slightly less) bothersome burden that sat across from you.

"Looks good on you." He didn't have to specify he was referring to his jacket that was giving you comfort.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

"Nah, keep it. You looked cold when you were asleep. You were shivering so much it basically sounded like you were begging for my jacket." Jungkook laughed softly.

Maybe two hours ago you would have been brimming with enough rage to rip his jacket off of you and throw it in his face because it sure sounded like he was pitying you or guilting you into a 'thank you' that you were too petty to relinquish. But now, in the morning that tamed you, stomach digesting a tasty drink given by none other than Jungkook, you let it slide.

Just this once, you thought.

"Well, that was very kind of you. And thank you for the drink, but I don't need some stranger doing me any favors."

"Wow, you sure are stubborn!" He laughed again, even though you had been nothing but uninviting of his advances, he just laughed.

"Am not." You muttered.

"Whatever you say." Just this once, you let him have the last word. Just this once.

One emptied cup of Jungkook's special later and you were energized enough to read, and hopefully retain the story rather than flipping mindlessly through the pages while you fueled your attention with rage.

Jungkook was busying himself, putting thought to paper. The quick ticks of his pencil against the wooden table was enough to earn him a passive-aggressive sigh from you, and you hoped he was perceptive enough to get the hint.

The ticks continued, even spaced out to a consistent pace as if he was beating a drum just to anger you. Your annoyance was once again brimming over, ready to spill into another display of it that consisted of a furrowed brow, a scowl, and a slew of incoherent retorts that had been brewing in your mind.

"Can't you write any quieter?" It hadn't measured up to all the clever insults you had loaded into your verbal weaponry, but it did the job to convey your frustration which obviously hadn't been communicated through your previous sigh.

"I'm not writing, actually! I'm trying to figure out the time signature for this piece. Three-six just isn't right." The pencil once tapping out a rhythm was now tucked between his teeth, and you could tell this was a habit of his from the various other tooth-shaped indents along the end of the pencil.

"Whatever, just... do it quietly."

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

Though your eyes had reunited with your book, your curiosity pledged allegiance to what Jungkook was writing on his paper. It took an effortful battle between your urges and your restraint to finally ask him.

"What's a time signature?"

"Kind of like a rhythmic guide. For music. I'm a composer, and I'm hoping I can get this fellowship to work with professionals all around the world!" Jungkook's response came almost immediately after your question and his answer consisted of more information than you asked for, which meant this was something he was passionate about. Either that or he just loved talking about himself. It could have easily been both.

However, from the way his eyes held the world, they seemed to hold the music etched onto his paper the tightest. Like, if he were to let go then he would lose any and all purpose to hold on to anything else.

"You make music? Like songs on the radio and stuff?"

"No, not really. Songs for movies. I want to be a film composer."

"Oh. Is that why you're traveling? To study with a professional?" You surprised yourself more than him with that question.

"No... I, um. I wish that was the reason." Before asking him what his reason was, you stopped yourself from letting yet another question slip from your mouth.

Because you were supposed to hate him. Jungkook made everything difficult, even the notion of hating him was made to be a challenge. Asking him questions, learning about him, making the person in front of you turn into something with more dimensions than two was pointless when in a couple days, you'd leave this train and never see him again. Better to go back to hating him.

It wasn't as satisfying as before. Now that you've acquired some knowledge of who he was beyond an obnoxious seat hog and arrogance asshole, the reasons to hate him were beginning to be outweighed by all the other reasons to not hate him.

So far, you learned he was a musician. A passionate up and comer who gives strangers his jacket when they look cold, and shares a drink of milk and honey and cinnamon because it reminds him of his childhood. Someone who has made biting his pencil into a habit when he was working through a thought, who would often stare out windows and saw all the stars you couldn’t; someone who was quick to try to make friends with even the most emotionally withdrawn people.

Shortly after taking more time than planned on recounting all the things you learned about Jungkook, you felt indebted to him since he only knew two things about you.

You were stubborn and you had a sick mom. Or at least, you believed these were the only parts of yourself he picked up on. The rest were things he’d observed with an attentive eye of which you had not noticed had been studying your mannerisms in the same way you studied his.

When you left the cart abruptly after he mentioned the thunderstorm that was somehow delayed for tonight, he was correct to assume it was because you were afraid of the storm. Now, whether it was the thunder or lightning that rattled you so viciously you had to walk off your fear was yet to be discovered. Jungkook was confident he’d figure it out.

Or, how he watched you when you were sleeping in a way he wouldn’t describe as creepy since it was endearing to see you sleep. In fact, he was doing his best to ignore you, but your muffled groans had revealed to him you were the type to have the occasional nightmare. Again, the dream itself was something he was more than interested in discovering.

And your adorably executed performance of passive aggression didn’t evade him in the way you presumed it did. He heard the sigh and understood exactly what you were attempting to accomplish with that, but decided to act like your effort to shut him up wasn’t completely transparent. Mostly because he wanted you to ask him what he was doing.

Jungkook wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but he enjoyed the way you spoke, even if it was drenched in a thick layer of annoyance. For now, he decidedly stuck with finding innocuous ways to fall back into a conversation with you, to slowly but surely learn all that he could in this three-day train ride.

At half-past three, lunch had been served, consumed, and digested. Jungkook’s plate, however, was just short of being completely gone. Everything had been notably ravaged by him except for the pile of walnuts he picked out of his salad at the beginning of the meal.

“Not a fan of walnuts?” You convinced yourself this question came from a place that was starting to feel queasy from the silence that was more intoxicating than the small glass of complimentary wine you downed a little too quickly.

“Allergic. Nothing too serious, though. My throat gets itchy and sometimes I get a rash on my skin.” You made a mental note that Jungkook was allergic to walnuts, which you stored in the part of your brain that harbored knowledge that was completely useless to you yet you still reserved space for it to be memorized.

“That sucks.”

“Yeah, but it did come in handy when I was in class and didn’t want to be. I’d tell the teacher the cafeteria food had walnuts in it and I needed to go home and get my EpiPen before I died.” The list of things you knew about Jungkook continued to lengthen, and you couldn’t specify when it happened, but you began to enjoy every detail that made the list grow.

You wouldn’t have guessed it would take a single day for you to wish it would never stop growing. But then again, you didn’t realize this at the time.

“And that worked? Sounds like you had your luck laid out for you from the beginning.” Jungkook smiled at this, the same bunny-toothed smile from yesterday, but it felt much different to you now, as if you were one smile away from forgetting your once insistent hatred of Jungkook.

“Yeah, I guess so. What about you? What are your allergies?”

“Other than overly friendly weirdos on trains? Nothing.” It was the strangest reaction to feel proud, of all things, when you were rewarded by his laugh. It was softer than the wind rushing against the side of the train, however his laugh outperformed every other sound in the surrounding area until it was all your ears could focus on.

“Then it seems you’re the lucky one. No allergies. Free to eat whatever you want.” His eyes parceled between the sheet music in his hands and you. Though, it was difficult to pull them back down to his work since this was the first time he had your undivided attention that was not born from annoyance or repulsion to whatever he was doing.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m free to eat whatever. I have standards.”

“Really?” It was his not-so-discreet way of trying to capture all the pieces of you that he could, but from your slow intake of air, it seems as though you weren’t entirely finished with talking to him either.

“Cilantro. It’s absolutely disgusting. And mushrooms. I can’t stand mushrooms.”

“I love mushrooms.” Of course, you do, you thought. He didn’t have to say it, but he most likely loved cilantro as well. And you were most definitely right.

“I suppose you love everything I hate?” Eye contact with Jungkook was more than you could handle ever since his mannerisms stopped annoying you and started intimidating you, so you found refuge in the scenery beyond the window. It never failed you during the day, but at night you would have to scavenge for something to stare at when Jungkook’s eyes were close to stealing your breath away.

“I suppose you hate everything I love.”

It took a careful eye to catch the subtle hints of emotion that even you were too distracted to notice. Jungkook’s eye was trained pretty well in observation of the hidden traces of even the most thoroughly subdued emotions. His eyes were so well versed in gathering the scarce evidence of emotions that it prompted him to ask his next question:

“What are you looking for?”

Now, your eyes were still averted by his, so you held on to the slowly fading daylight while you still could. But, sadly, the window was a distraction of sight, not sound, so you heard his question loud and clear and felt obligated to give him an answer. Even if your answer was pathetic.

“Just looking at the grass. It’s pretty.”

“I didn’t ask what you were looking at, I asked what you were looking for.”

Determining what emotion you let slip through the quiver in your lip was a task Jungkook wasn’t well equipped for just yet. In all fairness, he had only known you for a short while and he still felt disappointed in himself for not being able to know what he made you feel with that question.

“I don’t know.” You couldn’t help the stunned tone of your voice, but that was all that could fuel your words at the moment. “I guess… A distraction. It’s so beautiful out there.”

“Everything looks beautiful when you only have a small amount of time to admire it.” Whatever distraction you were looking for had certainly met your eyes and did its job since you had absolutely no clue he was staring right at you when he said that. That he was savoring the small amount of time he had to admire you.

Jungkook was right, which was a habit of his that he took unrestrained pride in; life was beautiful when you moved through it with such little time to spare. Though slamming your hand in a doorway was something you would sooner do than admitting he was right.

The fabric of time moved in a peculiar fashion when inside a train. You move so fast and yet, not at all, and it is as if there is a tear where the train moves through, and evades the grips of each minute that transports the future into the present and the present into the past. It felt this way the moment you stepped onto the train, so when you checked the time, it didn’t surprise you that it was already an hour before midnight.

The daytime had slowly melted away, carefully, the way ice shrunk inside a glass of water until it combined with its surroundings, and the plains of grass could only exist in your memory right now. The blackness of night consumed everything beyond your window once again, though there was the occasional streetlamp that provided a glimpse of everything you couldn’t see as of now.

What you couldn’t see was nowhere near as frightening as what you were about to hear.

The first flash of lightning felt like a warning. It took a few seconds for the wretched boom of thunder to follow, which was the interval of time you foolishly hoped it would, just this once, fail to accompany that streak of light. That perhaps this train moved quick enough to outrun the storm.

“___? Are you okay?”

You didn’t notice your hands had immediately cupped your ears until Jungkook’s voice was filtered through as a jumble of indiscernible noises.

“Sorry, I just…” Steadying your breath was a toll that required an upfront payment of all your attention, so your previously muted voice and steady tone had gone out of the metaphorical window, along with the rest of your response.

“So it’s the thunder.” Jungkook said softly to himself. It didn’t matter since your hands were being utilized as makeshift earplugs. They seemed to deflect every sound except for the thunder that punctured through your barrier effortlessly.

Before, Jungkook had this preconception of you. From the minute he stepped into Cart 102, he could tell you were the type to carry yourself steadily, the type that supplied their own assurance and isolated their emotions in the same way you isolated yourself. But here you were, hands clamped against your ears, eyes pressed shut and body shaking; this was a surplus of emotions you let seep through your walls. It was expressive enough for any dimwitted onlooker to know exactly what you were feeling: pure fear.

And Jungkook had always been adept to telltale signs of what was buried beneath the obvious emotions. He could tell you wanted to be distracted. You needed help.

It was easier to stifle one sense if you stifled them all at once. If you didn’t want to see, you had to plug your ears and hold your breath. And in this case, to block out the sound, you had to shut your eyes and numb the rest of your body in the slim chance that the thunder wouldn’t penetrate through your poorly constructed firewall.

Suddenly, you felt the space beside you sink lower which meant Jungkook had taken the liberty of invading your space at the worst possible time. It was difficult to focus on blocking out the sound when you could feel the side of his shoulder bump lightly against yours.

“___.” You shifted towards him slowly, waiting for his explanation of why he was on your side of the cart. “Can I touch you?”

You were past your wit's end, spending the last bits of your sanity trying to calm yourself from the second crash of thunder that made your body lift from the seat for a solid two seconds. All you could do was nod, and hope he wasn’t a serial killer that was about to strangle you to death in a moment of vulnerability.

He was working in your favor, just like when he wrapped you up in his coat and set that cup of milk in front of you, he moved in determination to comfort you. And if it weren’t for the dire circumstances, your pride would have refused the security of his arms that were carefully enveloping your body and eliminating the frigid space around you. You hadn’t realized how cold this train was until you were invited into Jungkook’s warmth. He had somehow silenced the storm, and all you had to do was let him.

The third blast of thunder pushed you deeper in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him tightly like the lifejacket he was that kept you from slipping below the surface of the angry ocean currents.

“If you couldn’t tell I-” Boom, “I hate thunder.” Your voice came out strained through the fear-induced filter lodged in your throat.

“No, actually, I couldn’t tell at all.” Nine out of ten of your thoughts were concentrated on the thunder, and that one exception was applied towards how annoyingly sarcastic Jungkook managed to be through thick and thin. It was impressive enough that he could subtract the fear even by a small fraction for you to laugh.

“You’re so-” Boom, “You’re insufferable.”

His laugh was noticed through the gentle bounce of his chest that rocked your head more than the actual sound of it. Soon, a hand came to run through your hair and with each stroke, he somehow removed your terror layer by layer until you were afforded with indifference to the storm simply because you were lulled into a half-sleep and were now too exhausted to care about the thunder.

“You’re okay. Everything is okay. You’re doing great. Breathe deep.” His chest smelled the same as his coat. A fire burning so brightly, sending the aromas of everything it consumed into the air.

Now your attention belonged to the warmth of his arms, and how he moved his hand through your hair with something deeper than kindness. It was selflessness because he too was scared and tired and in need of rest. Despite this, he used the last of his energy to ward off the threat of a second panic attack.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, and it seemed as though it permeated through his flesh and ribs and absorbed straight into his heart from the way he held you even tighter.

The storm had settled, and the horrors of loud thunder were abandoned for quite some time now, but it felt too comfortable, too perfect for you to be anywhere else but here in his arms. So, what went unsaid was more than enough for him to retract any intention to return to his seat and instead hold you against his chest, where his heart would retain strength from being close to you.

You couldn’t tell if you had already slipped into a dream when you heard him singing softly, or if the melody of Dream a Little Dream of Me was actually being crafted by his voice so beautifully and fell into perfect synchronization with the rhythmic beat of his heart. Either way, you were thankful to bear witness to a sound that reduced the idea of thunder down to something that could never hurt you again, and instead made seeing all the stars the heavens could offer possible even through the darkest nights. You felt a well of tears moisten your cheeks.

In his arms, with his voice, you could see the stars.

Back in the dimmed hallway of the train, you could make out the outline of a figure standing in the distance, waiting for you. Waiting, but about to run out of time. You saw her slowly disappear the way wind would rustle the dying leaves off a tree in autumn. Slowly her body was wilting, disappearing, and the wind only picked up speed.

All you could think to do was run to her, your mother, the shell of a woman you had known and loved your whole life. Her frail body being stripped of flesh as easily as wind undresses a tree of its leaves until there is nothing but branch and bone.

The walls began to close again, and you knew you had to act faster. You had to push past the pressure of closing walls even if they were squeezing so tightly movement became impossible. All at once, the impossible became your burden to redesign into something possible, which was the only thing crushing your spirit more than these damn walls.

You were so close; you held your hand out and—

Day Two

Winter mornings always start the same. Your eyes began rediscovering sight before the rest of your senses flooded into function, then your stomach would get angry for digesting nothing but its own acid until you filled it. And just like yesterday, your pillow cushioned beneath your head on the seat and your body shielded from the rogue winter winds that snuck inside of your cart by the same bonfire scented coat.

“Rise and shine.” Jungkook said from behind the sheet music he was examining. He must have been stealing glances of you every five minutes or so to catch the moment you’d finally wake up.

“Time?” Part of you didn’t want to get up. Part of you, the more persuasive part, wanted to remain tucked under Jungkook’s coat and slip back into a light sleep. If it weren’t for the hot drink waiting for you on the table then you would have done just that.

“Nine. A little later than yesterday.” You sat up eventually, wrapping the coat around you, and for a moment life was comfortable on the train. So much so that you didn’t mind how your hair was in complete disarray.

Jungkook enjoyed seeing you this way. When you had first woken up and didn’t wear the usual veil of detachment from the rest of the world. Your guard had surrendered to your sleep ridden body. He guessed very few people saw you like this, natural and raw and untouched by the pressure to be presentable, and counted himself lucky, just like you would say, to be one of those few.

“Thanks, again.” You said softly into the warm cup between sips. “How much?”

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

“Seriously! Don’t mention it.” He was firm, but that didn’t stop the gentle smile that crept its way back onto his face. You didn’t know what to say other than the thanks you had already said, so you just kept drinking. It was still just as delicious, but today familiarity was peppered into the milk among the honey and cinnamon which gave it that much more reason to love it.

“You get up this early every day?” You asked, because you were at a loss for words but felt less comfortable without hearing his voice to accompany the brisk, quiet morning.

“Usually I do. I like the morning. It feels like I have the world to myself before everyone else wakes up.” Charming. It was the last thing that came to mind when you would picture Jungkook. Now, however, it seemed to be the only characteristic that came to mind when you thought of him.

Sitting in front of you, half mindedly scribbling notes onto the staff and half his attention expended on sharing the small ways he saw the world, he was just charming. As easily as he once drove a blunt edge of annoyance into your chest, he erased every bit of evidence that he could ever be anything but charming.

“Sorry to steal the morning from you. I gotta wake up sometime.” You felt entirely unpracticed in the realm of light, friendly conversations, and that was evident from the way you wanted to gag at your own response to his. What you thought was a tasteless, almost pathetic attempt at banter was, to Jungkook, another reason to enjoy the morning.

“I’m glad it’s you that I have to share it with.” Jungkook certainly sat higher on the hierarchical scale of wit compared to you, but even that didn’t agitate you in the way it would have before. What was more shocking than that was the fact that you felt the muscles in your cheeks changing your flat lipped expression into a smile.

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Jungkook.” You responded that way only to save face. It was a habit of yours you didn’t realize you were doing until the words had already been deployed by your tongue.

“It seems to have gotten me a smile from you. Those are hard to come by.” You jerked your head quickly over to him, the same grin stained with smugness there to meet your surprised ‘o’ shaped mouth.

He was right again. Your smiles have always been punctuated lately, but you were too busy paddling through every distraction available to even notice.

“Very funny.” Your voice was low enough for Jungkook to nearly miss it. Once the soft tone of your voice delivered to his ears, he looked away from his sheet music to mine through your face like a cavern, searching for the hidden bits of the treasure-like emotions strewn in along the subtle details.

“What’s wrong?” It was a leap of faith, his question, a leap that sent him plummeting blindly into the depths of everything he craved to know about you.

“That thing you said the other day.” Your expression was unreadable to the whole world. But inside the train, the whole world rested just on the other side of the window. There was no reason to come off as impassive, cold, or unconcerned, to care so much about trying not to care. “About going home.”

“Mhm?” You waited to see if he had anything to say, anything to stall what was about to escape from your lips. You knew it wouldn’t take long for your thoughts to go rogue, especially when he made you smile like that.

“I’m angry.” He gave you a look that said ‘no shit’ without having to actually say it. It made you nervous, but still willing to go on. “You're right. I didn’t visit home ever until now. I thought I grew out of it. I thought I became someone too big to fit in a town so small and stuck in its way. But I was never too big, I don’t think I ever actually grew. Because when I got the call, after stupidly ignoring it a hundred times before, I felt like the same child. So scared of the idea of a world without their mother. So, yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry I could be arrogant and stupid enough to think I could live the rest of my life never looking back.”

Jungkook just watched you, with those eyes that held the world. His eyes were holding so much right now when they were looking at you. So much weight from a source he couldn’t define with his own intuition. So much weight, he couldn’t understand how you had been shouldering it on your own this whole time, if he couldn’t stand a few minutes holding it now.

“Going back home.” You scoffed. “It's not about looking back. It was never about that. I think returning to something familiar is almost just as scary as fleeing somewhere new. All your past mistakes and demons that you have to face…”

“Demons. Is that any way to talk about your mother?” It was his way, unique to Jungkook alone, to litter in a bit of lighthearted teasing even when he was supposed to be serious. As if he couldn’t stand to let the air in Cart 102 become too damp with sadness, as if his heart wouldn’t have been able to handle it.

“I made a mistake. I spent too much time away, and now the last way I’ll see her is weak and sick. That’s my demon. My mom was just unfortunate enough to be the arbiter of it.”

Jungkook wanted to tell you that if he could, he would take all your pain away and send it back into the universe to find someone else to harbor it. Someone who deserved to feel a loss so heavy, because he knew just by looking at you that you deserved none of it. But he held his overly romantic tongue for now in regards to easing you into him smoothly. Since he had come such a long way with you, making gentle strides to win your affection, it would be greedy of him to tarnish that by saying something as outrageous as that, even if that was truly how he felt.

“Come with me. I have an idea.” It would have been easy to refuse him, to swat his hand away and never speak to him again for the rest of the train ride. But what prevails after the wear and tear of expecting the worst and knowing the painful and permanent scars it will leave you is the trust of someone who turned scowls into smiles, who held his hand out to you and waited for you to take it kindly.

Those tales they tell about feeling sparks when you make contact with your soulmate were decidedly wrong. Wrong to you, because when you touched Jungkook’s hand, you felt those sparks nestling under your skin and learning its way through the rest of your body. Wrong, because Jungkook was no soulmate of yours, just an unlikely stranger you met on a train once.

And yet, you couldn’t help but wonder, you couldn’t help but hope he too felt these sparks that supposedly meant nothing.

Jungkook pulled you into the hallway, which was brighter than the way it looked in your dreams. At the end of the walkway, there was no ghost resembling your mother, and the walls weren’t closing in, and instead of pushing through alone, you had Jungkook holding your hand tightly, and graciously guiding you down.

“This way.” He whispered, and you mimicked the stealth in his voice through the way you muffled the sound of your feet hitting the train floor, which felt less like water and more like sand with him; soft yet solid sand.

You arrived at an unattended area of the train. The only hint of what Jungkook was up to was that grin. That grin was too playful to be a grimace, and too mischievous to be a smile. That grin that you hadn’t noticed you were looking forward to seeing, the same one you could sense you would miss when the train arrived at its destination. That when he grinned, you finally found the courage to return it. Needing no conditions or second guesses, you were just you, somehow smiling on the train that was taking you to your sick mother. And it was all because of him and his stupid, lovely grin.

“What are you doing? Are we supposed to even be here?”

“Shh, we’ll get caught.” He began to wriggle with the door handle until it opened.

“So we’re not supposed to be here! Jungkook, let’s go before we get kicked off!” To silence you, he simply held his hand up. You pouted your lip but did as he commanded.

Inside the door, there was a collection of all the food meant for purchasing. Your assumption was confirmed that Jungkook had no intention of paying for the bags of pretzels and packets of cookies he was stuffing into his pockets. Hands full with quite the assortment of foods, he looked to you and raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Come on, put these in your pockets! Hurry.” He held the food out towards you. There was no convincing him to put all the stolen goods back, and there was no convincing yourself to not go along with his sinfully sweet plan.

The fast-paced walk back to Cart 102 was the most exhilarating thirty-five seconds of your life. Jungkook looked all too calm, like spontaneity fell into his hands naturally or like it was a birthright, belonging to his life from the beginning. Life with Jungkook, even if the short span of time he’d claimed part of yours was fleeting, was the most excited and fearless you had ever felt.

Jungkook and you emptied the haul of food onto the table. For a second, they went untouched only for the two of you to admire your successfully pirated goods. Then, for the first time on the train you met eyes with Jungkook and laughed.

It was the sort of laugh that exercised muscles in your abdomen you weren’t aware that you had in the first place. The kind that began at the top of a hill, and with one push it was tumbling faster and faster, growing louder and wilder.

Jungkook was laughing too, a sound which could qualify as the only competitor to surpass the beauty of his singing. And whatever music he was scribing onto the paper would have to be beyond masterful to sound anything close to as immaculate as his laugh.

“I can’t believe we just committed grand larceny.” The words came out of your throat between fits of laughter, eyes now with an abundance of happy tears.

“Woah there, “‘grand”’ is a stretch. I like to think of it as unlawful borrowing.” The rest of the afternoon was spent with celebratory feasting of your unlawfully borrowed goods. Your favorite was the packs of chocolate mints, and Jungkook had cleverly avoided eating them when he noticed how much you liked them.

When dawn arrived, Cart 102 settled into a comfortable silence, now consisting of you reading your book tempered by a glance out of the window every few pages and Jungkook tapping his pencil against the wooden desk while marking up every blank space on his page. To anyone else, including the likes of you, the page was nothing but a jumble of incoherent scribbles. To Jungkook, it was his next masterpiece; the best idea he made tangible on paper and hopefully soon, audible when someone agreed to commission it.

“Done!”

His remark startled you, being that there had been no warrant for him to exclaim his progress with the music he was working on. You chuckled softly, closing your book and looking back to Jungkook.

“Done with what?”

“This song. I know this one will sell. I just know it! It’s perfect.” Jungkook’s passion was bursting past the seams of his body. “I just wish… I wish I had more time.”

“What does that mean?” Again, all he offered was the same grin, and that was all you needed in order to know he wouldn’t be dropping any more hints on the account of your curiosity.

“It means this train ride is ending tomorrow, and I’ll have too much on my plate to work on anything else. So this right here,” He held up the paper with the same tact one would for a pile of pure gold, “Is my last chance to get my work out there for a while.”

For reasons born from an unidentifiable place, you felt like crying. Last chance. It sounded serious. Something you weren’t ready to know and something he wasn't ready to tell. So, instead of pestering the answer out of him, you let him have his secrets. You let him have all the secrets he had somehow gotten out of you.

And somehow, you were okay with it. Just this once.

Jungkook said he was taking a quick nap. Quick must mean something entirely different where he was from since it lasted about three hours and counting. For someone who had nothing to do but sit on a train all day, he sure was tired. It would have concerned you had it not been for witnessing how much energy he exerted into writing his music, as if each tap of his pencil required the same amount of energy as running an entire mile.

You were looking out of the window, which looked like it had been coated with tar. The departing sun left no remnants of its light and the moon must have been situated on the opposite side of the train, so it was up to the stars to illuminate your view of the world. But, outside the train was dark. Dark, and almost pitch black.

The first few specks were thought to be a hallucination that bloomed from your own wishful thinking. But soon, there were more and more twinkling lights dusting the sky and that outshined any doubt you had before. The stars were so bright and glimmering clearer than you had ever seen. Only something so beautiful, something that ingrained itself into the grooves of your brain to keep forever, could elicit the gasp that came louder than expected.

“Woah.” It jolted Jungkook awake and you would have felt bad if he weren’t already supplied with three and a half hours of extra sleep.

“What?” His voice was hoarse from being unused for such a long interval.

“The stars! I can see them! They’re so bright, Jungkook. So bright.” The tears began to form in part from the lack of blinking and in part from how happy you were to see the stars. The same stars your mother was probably looking at and the same ceiling of glitter that loomed protectively over you and Jungkook. They were more than just constellations tonight; they were a celestial map navigating you back home and an astronomical assurance that everything would be okay. Even if the worst happened, everything would be okay.

“They are. They’ve been bright for a while. It took you long enough to notice.” Your smile was not yours to control anymore. It was a small price to pay considering you had a world full of stars to last you a lifetime.

“I guess I haven’t been trying as hard to see them as I thought I was.”

And you turned to him, which was the only thing besides the starlit arena above you and Jungkook and the train you’d rather be looking at right now.

“I can’t wait to go home. I miss it so much.” It was the first time you said it out loud, as well as the first time you were able to admit that to yourself.

“I’m glad you feel that way. You should feel that way.”

“Thank you.”

There were a plethora of reasons that prompted that thank you. Far too many reasons that were decidedly unfit for just a single thank you. So, you concluded that the thank you was for Jungkook; for becoming a part of your life. For every decision he made on this train that rearranged your feelings towards him into something pleasant. Something that felt warm and safe.

Tonight, the last thing you saw before slipping away into sleep was all the stars that weren't at your disposal before. Every silvery diamond brandished along the expanding sky was so mesmerizing, you wished you could imprint them into the backs of your eyelids when they eventually lulled you into a calm slumber. That and the memory of Jungkook’s rendition of Dream a Little Dream of Me set on repeat in your head.

This time, you weren't trapped in the confines of a dark train hallway. You were standing in the middle of a grassy field, laden with a diverse collection of wildflowers. The mellow green hues seemed to lift from the blades of grass, stretching into the air around you.

And your mother was there. She wasn’t being blown away by the wind. Just like the sturdy trunk of a tree, she stood with dignity and conviction at the top of the highest hill that provided a view of your hometown; it was the most beautiful you had ever seen her.

“Mom!” The way you were running felt more like gliding, or flying even, because you moved through the wind without a bit of resistance. Your body was frictionless and unstoppable. And when you finally fell into your mother’s arms, it was the most freeing feeling in the world.

“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you were going to leave me.” The blue sky that sealed you and your mom into the earth made a stunning partner for the fields of green underneath you.

“I’m always with you, darling.”

It was difficult to decide whether the sound of her voice or the sentiment behind it made you cry, so you decided not to decide at all, and instead, you simply let yourself cry. Everything was so beautiful, but still not complete.

“Mom, I feel like something’s missing.”

“There is.” She responded, but it wasn’t a question. Your mom was not your mom, just a figment herself cultivated by your own mind. She was one with you, and she knew exactly what was missing.

“Where do I find it?” Her hands cupped your cheeks, just like she would when you were young and crying over a scraped knee.

“You know, love. You know.”

The wind pulled a gentle melody from the spaces between the leaves. A melody you were quite familiar with and grew to love. It slowed, then everything was silent.

Day Three

Waking up came to you in a hurry, as if you shouldn’t spend another second living life through dreams because today was the last day on the train. The last day you’d spend with Jungkook, and possibly the last time you would ever see him.

It was uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. Disappointed at both yourself and your situation. You knew from the beginning that this was a temporary arrangement, and Jungkook was not a permanent fixture in your life. In fact, you used to be thankful for those circumstances because you hated Jungkook.

But, of course, you went ahead and let him in. You let him buy you tasty drinks, hold you during thunderstorms, and offer you a coat, a smile, a laugh when everything felt cold. You let him ripple currents of fun into your life, but that would be giving yourself too much credit, you suppose.

Because it was never a matter of allowing him to do any of this. He did all of those things, and more, all by himself.

What was even more uncharacteristic of you was greeting the early morning before Jungkook. He was sound asleep, with skin being lightly freckled by the glints of sunlight shimmering through the gaps in the clouds. The morning sun was always docile, kindly shedding light in a way that wouldn’t pull sweat from your skin like it did in the afternoon.

You liked the sight of him sleeping, mostly because it was one of the few moments of the day when he was completely silent, and those were rare.

“Better take this opportunity.” You whispered to yourself before getting up, covering Jungkook with the coat, and heading to the concession stand you had raided with Jungkook yesterday.

Wondering if the workers noticed the missing inventory, you idled by the counter before ordering but they all looked too tired to care to serve you let alone realize a quarter of the chocolate mint packs were taken.

“Hi, two warm milks with honey and cinnamon please.” The attendant seemed to appreciate how closely your voice was to a whisper. He sluggishly poured two steaming cups of milk and sleeved them before exchanging them for the money already placed onto the counter.

“Honey and cinnamon are over at the self-serving station.” You followed to where his finger was aimed towards and nodded politely with the two cups in each hand.

You didn’t know why, but imagining Jungkook making this drink himself, instead of ordering it premade, ranked this act as something more motivated than customary kindness. Because getting these drinks wasn’t simply walking to a stand, purchasing, and walking back to Cart 102. There was now an erroneous step you hadn’t accounted for. The act of making milk with honey and cinnamon.

As you scooped a spoonful of honey to mix into the creamy liquid, one of your mother’s many proverbs rang in your ears, as if she was standing right beside you saying it.

“When you make food for someone, it’s just another way to express that you love them!”

It froze you for a second. Recalling what she would say when you would throw together a meal for the pair of you when she was too tired to. She worked so hard as a single mother, so every shortcoming felt like a colossal failure, no matter how little it mattered to you. And she would always say that to you because ‘thank you’ just didn’t cut it.

This was the first thing you made for someone other than your mother and yourself. But, there’s no way it was because you loved him.

Just this once, you thought. Just this once I’ll make food for someone that I don’t love.

You were relieved to greet a still sleeping Jungkook when you returned to your cart. The cart you studied closer, because you were about to leave it and wanted to retain all the details that you could before it became a memory you would only visit when you were feeling reminiscent.

The beige walls, the small table where you would read and Jungkook would compose, the stiff leather seats that you had surprisingly gotten used to, and the large window that gave you a glimpse of the blurry world waiting for you.

Jungkook’s groan snapped you out of your trance. Before he regained full cognizance, you placed the cup in front of him so you’d be able to boast that you had woken up before him and had the morning all to yourself for a moment. That now you were the one sharing the world with him.

“What’s this?” He said groggily.

“You know.” You tried your best to mirror his smugness, the way he would sip his drink after sending a witty one-liner through the air like it was no big deal to him.

Before you became lost in the person you changed into with Jungkook, a person that felt more like a fun costume to wear when you didn’t feel like being yourself anymore, the more neurotic and controlling part of you fell back through when you remembered that the measurements of the ingredients might have been off.

Maybe you had gotten the drink entirely wrong, so your deed would shrivel down to a failed act of kindness. Nothing at all your mother would consider a gesture of love. And that was more frightening than any blast of thunder.

“It's delicious.” Jungkook said out of nowhere, almost as though he knew he was interrupting your thoughts. Breaking them down into a powder thinner than flour, so he could blow all your worries away with one puff of air. He wasn’t lying either, it was delicious.

You spent a gracious amount of time and energy avoiding the book you were meant to finish during this train ride. Instead, your efforts were fully consumed by the last person you thought would ever be the center of your attention. At least, you thought if he were going to be the focus of it, then it would have been because you were mentally berating him for reasons that didn’t bother you much at all anymore; in fact, they started becoming admirable.

“If you could run faster than a train, where would you go?” He asked.

“Paris. Or Italy. I'd just have to figure out how to run on water.” You earned a good laugh from Jungkook with that comment. And finally, you felt like you were beginning to find your niche in conversations, and it relied heavily on sarcasm.

“I’d love to see the day when ___ walks on water.”

“What about you? Where would you go?”

“I would make my legs take me straight to Carnegie Hall and force the organization to play one of my pieces.” Each word was formed by his tongue as if he had that response rehearsed a hundred times over. Jungkook knew exactly what he wanted, and given the chance, he would use any and every asset to get him there.

That alone was why you fell into something deeper than attraction. Why you began to take notice of things about him that weren’t of importance before. And why your intentions to observe how the world designed this man to be so stunningly unique was less cryptic than you’d hoped.

Maybe if you noticed how his white button-up was undone down to his sternum and tucked into the waistband of his slacks tastefully, then your heart would have taken a quicker pace long before now. If you noticed how his jet black hair was gentle and fluffy when it draped over his eyes, then you would have been frustrated with yourself sooner for not seizing the chance to introduce your fingers to its texture. And if you noticed how the ridges along his palm looked perfect to be held in, then you would have savored every second he held you the night of the storm. There was an astonishing number of details about Jungkook, about as many as the stars in the sky, that would have made you mountains more intimidated to even speak with him.

One of the attendants left all your observations of Jungkook scattered when she peaked her head through to give the two of you an update on your arrival.

“Looks like we’ll be getting in earlier than expected!” In theory, that was a blessing. You’d get to finally deboard the train and be with your mother. Though, you’d be lying if some piece of you wanted this train to continue west until there was no more land to travel on; and if you could, you would redistribute each part of this train to assemble a boat, so you could sail Jungkook across the seven seas. “Our arrival will be in twenty minutes! I hope you both enjoyed your trip.”

And if Jungkook felt the same way, he didn’t show it through his polite smile and nod at the attendant.

“We’ll be getting off soon.” He said to you, though you could tell it was his way of interrogating your thoughts on the matter.

“Time moved by so oddly on the train. I didn’t even notice it was already day three.” You paused and took one last glance out of the window. “Funny.”

"It's funny,” He began, and you settled into what you knew was about to be another piece of Jungkook's mind served in the form of his delicate words, “when you're inside a train you don't feel like you're moving. Even though you are, of course. You're moving faster than you would outside of a train. But we feel like we are still because we are moving with the train. When you're in a train, you are moving with time too, so it feels rushed and stagnant all at once. When you're not inside, time moves past you. It feels better to move with time, don’t you think? It feels like you could outrun it if you wanted to, or it feels like you will never run out of time at all. That you and time are equals. But soon, we'll have to get back onto the platform, and time will move past us again, and it’ll feel like we’re running out already."

“You’re right.” You finally admitted. “We’re running out of time.”

We’re running out of time— together, you wanted to say. However, courage and boldness was a currency you weren’t rich in. Unspoken desires and lost hopes were all you had left to tender.

“Yeah, I guess so. Hey, I-” He hesitated as well, because when you looked at him with such wishful eyes, it made what he had to say entirely too real and all too scary. “I really liked being your travel buddy.”

You could tell he was holding back too. That everything you wanted to say to him and everything he wanted to say to you wasn’t meant to be translated into words, that exchanging sentimental smiles was all you and he could afford. Instead, it was better to exist through the language of emotions, floating around the train, moving with time, and eventually, when you and Jungkook returned to the world, those emotions would remain with the train and travel beyond your destination.

That’s why you let them go. Sometimes, a train is only meant to be a train.

“Me too. Though, I have to admit I hated you at first.”

“I know.” He grinned as you etched the most accurate memory of it in your brain as you could.

His stance came unprecedented. The small radio tucked in his bag now sitting on the table, serenading an unfamiliar melody and overtaking the silent air inside Cart 102. Then, came his hand, extended to you just like he had yesterday. Only this time, you didn’t need to wonder what he wanted from you because you would give whatever he asked.

You took his hand, or rather you gave him yours, and followed his gentle tug until it led you to his body, pressing away all the space once separating the two of you. Jungkook’s hand followed the curve of your waist until it landed at the small of your back while you instinctively rested yours on his shoulder.

You and Jungkook swayed to the music until all those words about moving with time became real. The way he held you close had you immune to the passage of time. The soft brush of his breath against your cheek felt welcoming, and you would try your very best to remember the way existing felt when your skin was touching his. It was odd, dancing on a train with someone you didn’t know well enough to call a friend but weren’t estranged enough to call an acquaintance. Again, it felt like you were in between two walls, stuck, trying to out-think your way through a collapsing maze of judgement.

Though, no matter how odd it was, it stopped neither you nor Jungkook from holding onto each other for the last few moments available.

The train must have hit a rock, one you would like to thank because it knocked the two of you over until you had fallen into his lap, laughing so hard your bodies shook. You would have been uncomfortable in this compromising position if not for the sense of belonging fostered in the empty space in your chest while being in his arms.

Jungkook didn’t notice you were detangling your limbs from his until you were already gone, seated across from him in the same spot.

Once, he learned in science class of this phenomenon called ‘afterimage’, which is when your eyes get so accustomed to staring at one particular thing that when you look away, the thing stained your vision in the form of a silhouette, like an echo of something your eyes grew so comfortable seeing that it stayed with you, even when you looked away.

And he knew, even when the view of you sitting across from him in this train wasn’t there anymore, he would carry that afterimage of you, always echoing in his vision like a beautiful melody he couldn’t get out of his head. Not that he wanted to let go anyway

It was sour, the cruelty of letting go. When the train began to brake, it felt like a lifetime of agony. A bitter, unforgiving slap in the face courtesy of the confines of reality, stealing you away from the shelter of a train; a place that made it so easy to be swept up in something as dazzling and impossible as magic. You were onto important things, you knew this, but it was nice to live, even if it were just for a bit, inside something as magical as Cart 102, where you could count on a generous supply of warm coats, milk with honey and cinnamon, and Jungkook.

“Well, our stop is here. Hey, how about we share a cab? Why not save some money, right?” You could only nod, because speaking would have led to tears, which would have led to a failed explanation of why you were crying.

Jungkook hailed the yellow vehicle over, the opening of his shirt widened just an inch too much to let your mind wander.

“You’re going to the hospital, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, the only one in town.” You said, knowing the driver wouldn’t need any more specifics than that. This town was so small there were a lot of singular facilities that made the layout equally difficult to be crammed into and easy to memorize. One library, one park, one church, and one hospital.

As Jungkook went to give the driver your destinations, you packed up the luggage into the trunk. Not too long after, you were side by side in the back of a cab. All you could bring yourself to do was gaze out of the window and watch all the familiar scenes of your hometown pass by, each landmark dousing you with a strong presence of nostalgia.

No matter how sad parting ways with Jungkook was, it was good to be home.

The cab finally arrived at the hospital, and you got out not expecting the other person in the car to get out with you. Perhaps he was being polite and saying goodbye. You knew you would have done the same if his stop preceded yours.

The two of you stood in front of the entrance, gawking up at the tall building that was in desperate need of reconstruction. You turned your gaze over to Jungkook.

“Where to now, Mr. Jeon?” You asked, since this town was small enough, and you were fluent in every secret hiding spot it had to offer, you might be able to visit him if that wouldn’t come off as too invasive.

“I'm here.” He responded just as ambiguously and ever so matter-of-factly as always. This time, you demanded to know more.

“What? What do you mean?”

“It took a long time to find a doctor that specializes in my condition.” Jungkook finally turned to you, his eyes crowded by tears. “My heart is weak, ___. I came here to get better, and hopefully, I do. I'm going to be a famous composer one day, and I’ll need a strong heart to get me to that point.”

You felt angry at him again. For not telling you, because it felt less like keeping something from you and more like lying to you. For telling you, and making it sound like it wasn’t a big deal, that it wouldn’t break your heart into pieces weaker than his own.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was the harsh snap he expected from you, but he was committed to keeping this a secret until he couldn’t because it was easier that way.

“I didn’t want to admit it. I’m scared, ___. Really scared. If I don't get better…”

“Well, you have to! Carnegie Hall is waiting for you and I didn’t waste my time getting to know you for nothing. So, you just go ahead and get better okay?” Your words were coated in anger but layered on top of something compassionate, sweet even. Sweeter than milk, honey, and cinnamon.

“I’ll try.” He grinned again, knowing it would satisfy you for the time being. Grinning, like a goodbye gift.

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.”

Before you could lose the last word, you gripped your luggage in one hand, the pillow in the other, and made your way into the hospital, leading to what you knew would be countless nights spent at the side of a hospital bed, eating foods you’d rather not eat, and watching daytime cable while taking care of your mother.

What you didn’t know was that a good portion of those nights would be spent with someone else. Someone who resided in the west wing of the hospital.

Someone who would bring your hand to his heart, and ask you if it felt stronger, and you would always reply with ‘yes’, or ‘yes, you idiot’, even when you were terrified that one day your hand wouldn’t feel the tap of his heart against his chest. Someone who would sing to you in exchange for the times you would read to him. Someone who you would leave notes and small gifts for, his personal favorite being the packet of walnuts accompanied with a folded paper inscribed ‘for when you need to get out of class’. Someone who, when he would be having a particularly difficult night, you’d fall asleep holding hands with, and you’d wake him up with a warm cup of his signature beverage.

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with.

A month later, one of two people you loved dearly would walk out with you through those hospital doors. That person was Jungkook. And the melancholy of losing your mother to the battle between her and her cancer would also follow you, and stay with you almost as long as Jungkook had.

A year later, you would return, hand in hand with Jungkook. Every two months. It was the promise you sealed onto your mother's gravestone that you would always return every two months. Even if the weather dispatched the most terrifying thunderstorms, or your work piled a stack of paperwork high enough to reach the sky, you’d still return home.

You and Jungkook placed a bundle of wildflowers you picked on the way to her grave, sitting at the top of a grassy highland, at the base of the granite stone. She was overlooking the world, with a perfect view of you; it made you feel safe that she was watching over you, and she was watching over Jungkook and his slowly recovering heart.

The weather was perfect. The sun blanketed everything beneath it with a generous warmth but didn't restrict the gentle breeze from tempering it. The leaves and grass moved with the wind, but your mother’s tombstone was strong and unmoving, losing no part of herself to the fluid motions of the spring air.

“I kind of like it here.” He said softly, adorning the view of the hilltop with you. It was the morning, and it didn’t feel like he was sharing the world with you anymore. It felt like it was yours to begin with, and he was just lucky enough to be allowed a part of it.

“Me too.” One hand was with Jungkook, and the other was with your mother.

“I think it would be a nice place to get married and raise our children. You know, after I become a world-renowned composer and all.” This would have shocked you if you had not been wishing to hear him confirm these dreams of yours for a while now. “Did that scare you? I didn’t mean to be too forward.”

“No, I think this would be the perfect place to live. Only if it's with you.” Because you knew, something was missing here without him. He made this hometown of yours finally complete in the wake of your mother’s passing.

When you kissed him, he tasted like honey. And he would have told you that you tasted like cinnamon.

It could never scare you, because you were in love.

You were in a debt of gratitude that was deeper than the ocean. There was so much you wanted to say to him.

The town is milk. It is up to you and me, Jungkook, to provide the ingredients that will liven this town of milk into something sweeter, something survivable, something that will continue to sustain a force as powerful as love. Without the honey and cinnamon, all you have is milk. It seems we are the perfect blend of the two to make this bitter place palatable when it hits our tongues. This town needs us together in the same way milk needs honey and cinnamon.

You didn’t say any of those words out loud. You didn’t need to. All you needed to say was:

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.”

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #btsgoldnet #bts fanfic #bts one shot #bts writing #bts fluff #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook one shot #jungkook fluff #bts enemies to lovers #musician!jungkook #of honey and cinnamon #rubycoast

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viking-raider · 3 years

Text

A Raw Heart - *Sensitive! READ THE WARNINGS!*

Summary: You tell Henry about the worst tragedy in your life.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 1,863

Rating: Mature - Serious Angst, Tragedy, Anguish, Grief, Loss, Death, Hurt/Comfort, Possible triggers

Inspiration: I’ve thought about this story for a long time, and it’s a bit personal.

Author’s Note: Read the Warnings!

You and Henry had been seeing each other for several months, having met at the auditions for Night Hunter. It was the first time Henry had been in your place, over for a nice night in, you left him in your living room long enough to get you both some wine. While you did that, Henry looked around, peeking at stuff, but not invading your privacy, checking out the books you had on your shelves and the photos you had on display around.

He noticed a small Russian doll-like thing on one of your shelves and picked it up, admiring it.

“Henry.” You called, standing on the other side of the room from him, stiff as a board. “Put it down.” You almost hissed at him. “Don't touch it.” You told him, trembling and your voice unsteady. “Please.” You added, your throat tight and tears threatening.

“I'm sorry.” Henry squeaked, putting it back where it was on the shelf. “I was just admiring it. It's really beautiful.” He babbled, nervously. “Where did you get it?” He asked, looking over at you and was caught off guard by the tears dripping down your face.

“It's my son.” You mumbled, struggling to gulp down your tears and emotions.

Henry blinked and his whole body jerked, shocked by your words. “What?” He pushed out, his own throat tight.

“Oh god.” You mewled, realizing what you had said. “Please, leave.” You whimpered, then rushed down the hall to your room, slamming the door behind you and barreling into your bathroom, to drop to your knees in front of the toilet bowl, wrenching violently into it.

Henry carefully opened your bedroom door, hearing your dry heaves, and followed the sound of it. “Hey.” He whispered, kneeling beside you and rubbing your back, his face showing his deep concern for you.

“I as-asked you t-to leave.” You wheezed, panting into the bowl, your heavy tears dripping into it.

“I know you did.” Henry sighed, still rubbing your back in a reassuring way. “But, I can't just leave you like this.” He said, getting up and finding a wash cloth hanging on the towel rack and ran it under the sink faucet. “I never meant to upset you.” He whispered, gently wiping the cool cloth over your temples, forehead and cheeks, even pressing it to the back of your neck for a moment.

“You didn't know.” You sighed, squeezing your eyes shut. “Only a few people know what that is.”

Henry gulped, a pit in his stomach and bit his lip for a moment. “You said...” He took a deep breath. “You said, it was your son.” He said, chewing his bottom lip to bits.

“I did.” You whimpered, sitting down and pressing your back to the side of the cold tub. “When I was twenty, I was dating a guy, but we broke it off. Two months later, I found out I was pregnant with his baby. I told him and he wanted nothing to do with me, or the baby. Shocker of the century.” You chuckled, but whined at how sore your throat was.

“What happened?” Henry frowned, resting back against the vanity, and drawing his knees up.

“Well, I had the usual three options.” You sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “Have the baby and give it up for adopting, keep him or the other option.” You said, glancing at him for a moment, to get the point across. “I wasn't going to the latter thing, wasn't something I could live with. So, over the next eight and a half months, I tossed back and forth between adoption or keeping him. I thought, just before labor happened, that I was going to put him up for adoption. I was twenty, still living at home and had a shit job. What life could I give him, a struggling mother and an absent father.”

You paused for a moment, lost in a memory.

“But, when I finally gave birth to him, and I saw him in all his bloody, messy and screaming glory, I was enamored by him. He was beautiful and perfect, but importantly, he was mine. My son. I made him.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “With a little help, I suppose. But, I made him, with my body, my blood and flesh, inside me for months. It was like, I already knew him and he already knew me.”

“Pals for the ages.”

You smiled and closed your eyes, tears dripping down your cheeks, as you recalled his little face, the warmth and weight of his teeny body in your arms, his smooth and downy skin against your chest. Hearing him coo at you, just before he latched onto your breast and fed, or how he squirmed as you bathed him. You would stay awake for hours, not caring how absolutely wrecked and exhausted you were from the day, to watch him sleep in the little cradle that attached you to the side of your bed. Remembering the first time he laughed, you blew a raspberry on his tummy as you changed his pamper and he became hysterical, filling your ears with that absolutely magical baby laugh, that no matter how horrible your day was going and how shitty you felt, you couldn't help but laugh along too; blowing more and more raspberries against his squirmy body and flailing arms and legs, his face bright with a face splitting grin.

“What happened?” Henry whispered, his voice weak and stomach clenching.

You choked suddenly as the horrible memory strangled you, like it had over the long years. “My boss made me work late one night, so I left him with my mother, she babysat him all the time, he was her first grand-baby and she was almost as wild about him as I was. I was a few hours into my shift, when my mom called, and I knew, instantly, something was wrong. She always called me before she put him to sleep, so I could talk to him and hear his little noises; and she had already done that.”

“Two hours before.”

“She had gone into check on him, and..” You froze, your breathing faltering and gripped the rug beneath you, tearing at it as your grief slammed into you. “He wasn't breathing and wouldn't respond. She called medical services, then called me, while they tried to save him.”

Henry's chin hit his chest, a tight bubble of grief in him. “I'm so sorry.” He whimpered, crushed for you, realizing what he had picked up was indeed your son, his urn. “I'm sorry.” He choked, moving over to you and hugging you against his body, letting you sob into his chest, soaking his shirt with your anguished tears, your heart splitting wails crushing him, like a factory of bricks.

“My boy.” You howled, clinging onto Henry, twisting your hands up in the back of his sweater. “My baby boy.”

“I know.” Henry choked and held you tight, tears dripping from his scruffy jaw and into your hair, rocking both of you. “I know, love. I know.”

“I miss him, Henry.” You sighed and sniffled, looking up at him. “I miss him, with every fiber of my soul and life.”

Henry smiled softly at you, brushing your hair out of your face. “I know you do, sweetheart. I know you do. But, he's still with you. He will always be with you, darling. In your heart and in your soul. Because you made him, with your body, your blood and your flesh, inside of you for months, and he's still in your body, blood and flesh, here and now, forever and always.” He told you, cupping your face in his shaking hands.

“Nothing and no one can ever take that, or him, from you. Even if he's not here with you, physically.”

You looked into Henry's baby blue, bloody shot and teary eyes, sucking your wobbling lip between your teeth, chin shaking as your body was wracked with a wave of new tears and emotions. No one had ever said something like that to you before. Everyone that knew about your son told you to move on, that the pain would pass and lessen, but it only grew worse over the years. Missing out on his first tooth coming in or losing one and sneaking money under his pillow for the tooth fairy, his first steps and word. His first day of school, his first crush on someone, watching him grow tall and do some many things you saw other kids doing. Your mother even suggested finding a guy and having another kid, but that thought horrified you, afraid that the same thing would happen all over again.

But, Henry's words had instilled something in your sore and cracked heart, like putting a plaster on it. He was right, your son might not be here physically anymore, but you had created him with your own body, nestled in your womb, his DNA was yours and it was still alive, so he was still alive, in that way.

“His name,” You said softly, letting go of your trembling lip. “was Julian.”

Henry smiled at you. “It's a beautiful name.” He replied, gently.

It was then, that it struck you, something you had only just realized as you shared a devastating, raw and such a personal moment that you have never shared with anyone else, or even talked about with the people that did, that you tried to avoid thinking about. You had freely given Henry the information about Julian, you had never told any of the guys you previously saw or dated, a few asked about the small, silver and blue urn, but you always changed the subject.

Why had you told Henry about him, so freely, letting down all the thick walls you had built around yourself over the years? You had known him for two months and been only four or five dates, but you felt safe with him; loved, understood and listened to.

Henry wrapped his arms around you and stood you both back up, guiding you back into the living room, sitting you down on the couch, then went into the kitchen, finding two glasses and two bottles of wine on the kitchen counter, obviously you had come into the living room as he picked up Julian's urn to ask which bottle he wanted. He just grabbed one, pulled the cork out of the neck and poured you both a glass, before bringing it out to you; sitting on the couch with you tucked into his warm and protective side. Neither of you said anything, sitting quietly on the couch, sipping your glasses of wine, in silence.

“Thank you.” You whispered, your voice still hoarse from all your crying. “I've been hanging onto that for so long.”

“Of course.” He whispered back, gently kissing your temple. “I'll always be here, if you need to talk it out, or cry it out.” He told you, giving you a tender expression, before hugging you snugly.

#Henry Cavill #HenryCavill #viking-raider fics #A Raw Heart #A Raw Heart *fic*#Hurt/Comfort #tragedy #Grief #Angst #Anguish #Loss #Henry Cavill/You #Henry Cavill/Reader #Henry Cavill x You #Henry cavill x reader #Walter Marshall #Marshall #Nomis #Night Hunter

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anncanta · 3 years

Text

Free will argument

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing, John Seward

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Mature

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @ravenathantum @flutteringphalanges @ladyhaley28 @dragatha @khyruma

Read on AO3

Or read below

Zoe's voice trailed off in her head, and Agatha went to the window.

Light rain glittered in drops on the bushes and benches of the hospital park, the evening sun peeped through the rare clouds. Slowly Agatha put on her jacket and dialed the number she found in her grand-niece's phone.

‘Jack, get me out of the hospital. I'm discharging myself.’ It sounded confident. The young man on the other end of the line tried to object, but Agatha said: ‘Hurry up,’ – and dropped the call.

They rode in the taxi in silence. They stopped once – at an antique shop. Digging through Zoe's memory, Agatha found this little store in Soho, selling all sorts of unnecessary trifles along with false antiquities and pseudo-magic nonsense.

Climbing out of the car, Agatha returned five minutes later. Leaning over to the open window, she put the bag with aspen stakes on Jack's lap and, going around the car, got back.

She did not know why she was going to Dracula and did not know what kind of reaction she expected from him. And she really had no idea what she was going to do.

‘You don`t look very surprised.’

‘You don`t look very dead.’

‘I`m getting there.’ Agatha walked through the open door and, staggering slightly, sat down at the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack follow her apprehensively. She heard her own voice telling how easy it was to find Dracula's apartment.

When Dracula grabbed the guy by the throat, Agatha woke up abruptly.

‘Let him go,’ she said, feeling the pain rise inside Zoe's body in a hot wave. Why is she here?

‘Why?’ Dracula turned to her with interest.

The pain squeezed her chest and then gone. Agatha swallowed.

‘This is England,’ she said, catching her breath. ‘Conversation preseeds dinner.’

So little time, Agatha thought, looking at how Dracula threw the young man away and, turning to her, leaning with both hands on the table. Almost unconsciously, she mirrored his pose, inside fleetingly noting that she had never been in a more stupid situation.

Except when she died aboard the ship, which she herself blew up, hoping to kill the vampire. Agatha frowned, shaking her head. She needs to concentrate. She thinks about the wrong things.

‘– waiting for someone?’ Jack's voice came to her through the fog in her head.

‘Lucy Westenra.’ The name of the girl Dracula killed brought Agatha back to reality. She raised her head. ‘Do you expect her to rise up and come to you? I have to disappoint you – she was cremated.’

Agatha was surprised by Dracula's reaction. Anger, disbelief, irritation – and a shadow of horror suddenly replaced each other on his face. Did he really feel something for that child, Agatha asked herself distantly. Most likely, however he just…

Dracula's ferocious monologue was interrupted by a sharp ringing at the door. He paused, looking first at Jack, then at Agatha with a victorious smile.

‘You underestimated... hmm... vampires' liveliness,’ with flashing eyes, he said and went to open. He turned around halfway. ‘Dr. Seward. She was your friend, wasn't she?’

Agatha spent the next half hour desperately battling nausea, pain, and fear. The scene with the ill-fated, half-burned Lucy was disgusting, and Agatha almost regretted bringing Jack with her.

It is better for old acquaintances to meet in private.

‘...at least she died well. This is a rare quality, believe me.’

Agatha shuddered.

‘Quality or taste?’ she asked, turning to Dracula.

‘Oh, taste,’ Dracula nodded mockingly. ‘Her taste was unique. I've never seen anything like it before. It was as if she was in love with death.’

‘That`s it!’ Having doused Agatha simultaneously with pain and heat, understanding came. ‘That`s everything.’ She looked at Dracula, frozen in bewilderment. She turned to the tear-stained youth. ‘Jack, go away.’

‘Dr. Helsing, I can't…’ he protested. ‘I will not leave you…’

But Agatha did not listen to him.

‘I need to speak to Count Dracula. It's very personal,’ she said, looking Dracula in the eye. ‘He wouldn’t want anyone else to hear it.’

‘Why not?’ Dracula asked.

‘Because now I know exactly what you fear most,’ Agatha said. She straightened, returning his victorious smile. The pain receded, she suddenly felt at ease.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Dracula looked at her with childish delight.

‘I know you don’t,’ Agatha replied.

‘Dr. Seward, you may leave,’ Dracula said without turning to Jack.

‘Get out,’ said Agatha.

She glanced at Jack. He looked at her questioningly, as if he expected her to explain everything to him and tell him what the hell was going on here. Agatha sighed slightly.

To tell the truth, she was not sure of anything. Least of all – how what she just realized will help.

‘Today is going to be a beautiful day,’ she said to Jack with her eyes pointing to the curtained window. Deciding that he understood her plan, the guy nodded and left, finally leaving them with Dracula alone.

For some time after his departure, Agatha stood with her head bowed. Pain, faintness, and weakness returned again. I can't do it, she thought.

For just a second, she let go of the expensive tabletop, on which she was leaning so as not to fall, and found herself in the center of some kind of hurricane. She was hugged, held close to Dracula, and he showered her face with kisses. Agatha froze, slightly stunned from all this and from amazement without even trying to escape.

Dracula hugged her with both hands, stroked her head, touched her vertex with his lips.

‘I missed you... I missed you so much,’ he whispered into her hair, laughing.

His lips were unexpectedly warm and soft and he was strong and she was so tired. So confused, so worn out. A stranger in this time, in this place, in this life, and in this body. Pressing her cheek to his shoulder, Agatha briefly allowed herself to just be where she was. She felt good.

Unexpectedly, this thought sobered her.

‘Let me go,’ she said emphatically. He, oddly enough, obeyed instantly. ‘What do you mean – you missed me?’ looking up at him, asked Agatha.

‘That means that I badly wanted to see you.’ He smiled. Agatha frowned in annoyance.

‘You set it up. Zoe... you offered her your blood.’

‘She wanted it herself.’

Agatha flared up.

‘Do not try to confuse me!’

‘It's not that easy to do.’ He took her chin. ‘Agatha,’ he said, looking at her carefully, ‘tell me what you understood about me.’

This simple request uttered without irony and the usual mocking subtext suddenly made all her diligently accumulated anger disappear.

Walking around Dracula, Agatha slowly, overcoming sharp spasms twisting her body, went to the curtained window. She raised her hand and jerked the curtain down.

After waiting for the fuss and screams to subside behind her, she turned around.

‘It`s one hundred and fifty million miles away. What would it do to you?’

Dracula sat on the floor, shielding his hand from the sun, and looked blankly.

Suddenly softening, Agatha walked over. She dropped down next to him.

‘Have you ever thought,’ she asked, ‘why are you the only one of your... kind who is afraid of the sun? Why could Jonathan stand it and why was the girl in your basement not afraid of it? Like the cross, by the way. And Lucy Westenra, by the way, came here before dark.’ Agatha watched his expression slowly change. ‘Why?’

He frowned.

‘I do not know. I thought it was –’

‘Just habits,’ she said. ‘The things which you taught yourself to be afraid many centuries ago, so as not to think about the most important of your fears.’

She turned around, leaning her back wearily on him. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, and in some incredible way, this gave her strength.

‘All your fears lead to one,’ Agatha said, closing her eyes and throwing her head back on his shoulder. ‘Lead to the fear of death. You are a warrior from an old line of warriors, and therefore you hate this fear and are ashamed of it. That's why you came up with all your superstitions and signs.’ Lord, the pain was terrible. Agatha grimaced. ‘Simple as two times two.’

He kissed her again, now somewhere on the cheek or temple. Agatha did not have the strength to resist and argue: Zoe's body was slowly fading away, she every minute waited for the blessed night to fall on her.

Agatha did not remember her last death. Her awakening in the twenty-first century was abrupt and rather awkward. Waking up in a body that she shared with a frightened and lost grandniece, Agatha spent the first few days looking around and trying to understand what was happening and what to do with all this. It was not easy to establish contact with Zoe – she was exhausted and stubborn, overflowing with a sense of guilt. It took three months before her weakened mind was able to listen to something other than itself.

Agatha reproached herself for missing the time. Perhaps she should have been more persistent. Perhaps then young Lucy Westenra would be alive.

It was easy to explain to Zoe why Agatha went to Dracula. Much harder – to explain it to herself. She did not have any means and even physical strength to fight him, and no support, except for a frightened young man, gripped by double grief – because of the loss of his beloved and a friend he was about to lose. Why did she do it?

Because there is free will in the world. Agatha smiled without opening her eyes, remembering how she argued about it there, in the wine cellar, with Dracula. He convinced her that she was looking for violent passions and great adventures, deliberately choosing the dangers – and he believed that she was right in this. Her position, however, rather confirmed his words – even if Agatha did not know what exactly was happening, one thing was obvious: he kidnapped her and kept her with him.

‘What would await you in the monastery, Agatha?’ he said during one of their conversations at chess. ‘Monotonous days, hard work, and prayers to someone you don't even believe in.’

‘I believed in Him thanks to you,’ Agatha answered, and he smiled incomprehensibly and strangely.

Agatha opened her eyes.

‘I lost,’ she said quietly. ‘I lost because I teased the wolves.’

‘I wouldn't jump to conclusions,’ there was a whisper in her ear, and the warm lips moved down to the base of her neck. They played and teased and caressed her until…

‘Will you ever leave me alone?’ Agatha asked, looking up from the chess table in front of her. She opened her mouth again, about to say something harsh, and suddenly realized that the pain was gone. During the three months that Agatha spent in Zoe's body, the pain became so familiar that it was as if, after the even creaky sound that tormented her day and night, there was suddenly quietness.

She looked at Dracula. He sat without saying a word, as the last time, demonstratively clutching a glass of blood in his hand.

‘It's poisoned,’ Agatha said, pointing to the glass.

Dracula was still silent.

‘What do you want?’ Agatha asked almost plaintively. Confusion and fatigue hit her at once. Dracula put the glass on the table, stood up, walked around it, and stopped in front of her.

‘Agatha,’ he said softly. She got up. He smiled. ‘I want to offer you... a choice.’

Agatha frowned. It didn't take a big mind to understand what he meant. Zoe's blood was poisoned, but apparently not enough to kill him. She looked into his eyes.

‘Either I will finish you off, and your death will be quick and easy,’ Dracula spoke her thoughts out loud, ‘or let me convert you.’

The last word made her recoil. Turning away, Agatha walked around the small room several times before remembering that it was impossible to escape from it. Desperately, she looked at Dracula. He stood where he was, not trying to speak to her or stop her. And that moment she clearly realized that he would not force her.

She went up to him again.

‘I have about ten minutes left to live,’ she said softly.

‘That's enough for me,’ Dracula assured her. ‘Although, judging by your blood, you have at least two weeks.’

He was serious. And it was more frightening than all his previous bullying. Agatha ran her hand over her face.

‘You want to make an animal out of me. If only to save me, and you could continue to play with me, you are ready to make me a primitive creature driven by hunger.’

‘I'm glad that you think so highly of me.’ Now in the voice of Dracula, there were familiar, risible notes. ‘But your prejudices prevent you from seeing the essence. At this time, the vampire no longer needs to be a hungry animal,’ he said impatiently. ‘You don’t even have to kill to live. My lawyer delivers blood to me at my first order. Given the required parameters and the talents that I am looking for. Yes, he is quite inventive,’ Dracula smiled in response to the dumbfounded expression on her face. ‘You don’t have to hide, you’ll no longer be an outcast. It would be all the joys of this world before you, including the sun.’ He raised his hand and stroked her cheek. ‘Hate me, if you want, leave me by slamming the door – whatever you want, please. But allow yourself to use this chance.’

Out of place, Agatha imagined what would have happened if she had actually stayed in the monastery. Probably, she would have lived a peaceful life, which would have found its completion in a modest cell on the slope of long fruitless years. She looked at Dracula. He tore her out of that life by the roots, throwing in the face of the self-confident and naive nun the consequences of her own impulsive actions. He killed her, returned her after one hundred and twenty-three years, and offers her... a life without him. Shaking her head, she laughed.

‘Why are you sure that you will succeed?’ she asked without preamble. ‘If I remember correctly, you told Jonathan that most of those whose blood you drink die. How then are you going to?..’

‘Jonathan helped me understand how simple everything is,’ Dracula replied with a smile. ‘And difficult at the same time. Free will, Agatha,’ he said, seeing that she still didn't understand. ‘It's all about free will.’

Agatha frowned, but not because he was now literally quoting what she was thinking.

‘Lucy… you told her something… that in four hundred years she was the first to give you her blood voluntarily. She wanted you. She wanted to stay with you. Like that girl in the basement, probably. But Jonathan,’ Agatha said immediately, ‘Jonathan definitely didn't want that. He begged you to let him go.’

‘He wanted to leave me,’ Dracula agreed. ‘But also – before he died, he swore that he would do everything in his power to stop me. But what could an exhausted, almost drunk dry, sick person do to me?’

Agatha's eyes widened.

‘To fight you, he had to become your equal,’ she said, barely audible. ‘He became a vampire because he wanted to.’

‘Like everyone else,’ Dracula nodded. ‘It's a pity that I realized this so late.’

Agatha just brushed aside another dark joke. Turning away from Dracula, she stared ahead of her for a while.

When she looked at Dracula again, her gaze was direct and open, and she did not need to say a word. He already understood everything.

The next thing Agatha saw was the sun's rays. They shimmered, shone, covered her body from head to toe, spread a sheet of bright light under her. Fascinated by this incredible sight, she did not immediately realize that she was naked and was lying in the arms of a naked Dracula, who touched her shoulder with a kiss.

‘It always seemed to me that the conversion had to be... painful,’ she gasped in amazement.

Dracula smiled, looking up.

‘After all this time, did you think, I`d let it hurt?’

#dracula 2020 #bbc dracula #count dracula #agatha van helsing #dragatha #fanfic

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hotchscvm · 3 years

Text

prologue [dirty secrets]

Summary: At 17, you witnessed your father murdered by vampires. Two men save you, taking you in. But the hard part is, you were thinking about them a little too much.

Series warnings: underage reader, consensual underage sex, explicit sexual content, underage drinking, language, violence, gore, angst, major character death, major age difference, size kink, unprotected sex

Word count: 2.4k

dirty secrets masterlist

Taking a sip of the cooler, you relaxed in the lounge chair, feeling the sun beat down on your skin, relishing in the summer heat. Ariana Grande sang in your ear, the upbeat music hyping you up as you laid beside the pool, watching you skin sizzle underneath the bright sun. The pool sparkled in front of you, the waves of light bouncing off the water. If anything, it was heaven.

A much needed rest, a summer break was exactly what you had awaited for a week ago after a few days of stressing about finals had been worth it. Sitting on the pool deck, you let the hot, humid air consume you, enjoying the unauthorized alcohol you held. You knew your dad was around the house somewhere, probably in his office working like a madman, but you gave up trying to get him to relax after he incoherently mumbled something about a meeting with a Zuckerberg. You hadn't want to get anywhere near that alien.

A few messages from a group chat had showed up on your lock screen before you had enough of the interruptions, and put your phone on silent, listening to the music as you read the book splayed across your lap.

The adorable Doberman laying beside your legs perked up as you turned the page of Anna Karenina, the dog turning his head, looking at the glass door behind you, barking at the commotion in the spacious living room. Draco got up, waiting for you to follow him.

You heaved a sigh, taking off the AirPods you had implanted in your ear, and ear-marked the page on your book. As you got up you looked through the glass wall, spotting two suited men entering the gigantic entrance, talking to your dad. Draco scratched at the glass door, and you walked over to it, opening the door for the dog.

The three of them looked up, watching Draco run up to the men in excitement, wiggling his tail as he jumped on the taller man, whimpering to be pet. Before anyone could react, you cursed, running after Draco with only your hot pink bikini on. "Shit! Sorry, he gets really excited."

Your father threw you a look, and you rolled your eyes at her, not caring about the swearing while the shaggy-haired man lets out a chuckle, petting the Doberman's head. "It's okay. Hi, buddy."

"Agent." his green-eyed partnered interrupted, letting out a cough as if to break his partner from the puppy trance. Green Eyes' eyes shifted to you for half a second, quickly noticing you were practically naked. He had an edge to him, a frat-boy sort of vibe as he looked around the spacious living room, his light brown hair pushed back into a clean hairstyle.

"Pumpkin, this is Agent Stark," he gestured to Green Eyes, then at the tall man who was still petting Draco before reaching into his pocket to reveal a badge, Gibbons following his actions. "and Agent Banner."

Dread ran through your veins, and you tensed up at the mention of the FBI. For no particular reason, you went through all the slightly illegal things you had ever done in the past seventeen years, quickly trying to come up with reasonable excuses for why you did them; including drinking the cooler you had previously held. But then realization washed through you, the FBI wouldn't send their agents for the small things, right?

With an arched eyebrow, you slowly took back your dog, a small smile resting on Banner's lips. "Like the Avengers?"

Genuine surprise flashed across Stark's face, an impressed look twinkling in his eyes as he took you in. A smack on his partner's arm, he smiled, his husky voice piercing the room. "Exactly like the Avengers."

Banner rolled his eyes, putting his golden badge back in his suit. Something about him pulled you in, maybe it was the amount of grief in his eyes that you related to or the way he carried himself. If only you were one year older. "Mr. Pierce, we'd like to ask you a couple of questions about your business associate, Andrew Daniels."

Your dad nodded, motioning for the agents to sit on the couch, doing so himself. Turning to you, he murmured, "Sweetheart, why don't you get dressed and take Draco on a walk?"

"Actually, we'd like to Ms. Pierce, too." Stark interjected, his green eyes meeting yours. To say you wanted both of them was the understatement of the year, trying to hold yourself back from flirting with a Federal agent. "If you don't mind."

"Of course not. Lemme just put something on and I'll be right back." you replied, walking back outside to put on the dress you had abandoned on the chair next to yours. You heard the low voices as you returned back, sitting on the leather recliner, across from the two agents, Draco sitting beside your feet.

"...and when was the last time you heard from Mr. Daniels?" Agent Banner asked, glancing at you as you sat down, giving you a quick smile.

"Several years ago. Unfortunately, we didn't end on the best of terms. We started the company but he left due to his wife's death, and gave me free reins. After a few years, I got a break and I think he resented me for having the life he lost." said your father, slowly shaking his head, glancing at you. "His son had died in a car accident shortly after his wife's passing; it was too much for Andy, and he snapped. He came into my office one day, started accusing me for stealing the life he planned, threatened to take my daughter. I had no choice but to call security and press charges."

The two agents shared a look, an understanding falling over them. Stark cleared his throat, his Adam Apple bobbing. "Other than that accident, has he done anything violent or threatening to you or your family?"

"Not that I know of. After that incident, I made sure there was always someone by my daughter's side, but she proved well enough she could take care of herself." the businessman gleamed with pride at you, the only family he had left. You gave him a small grin, rolling your eyes at the sentiment. "That was the last time we ever spoke. You're free to look around here or my building if you want."

Agent Banner nodded, clasping his hands together. "Would you mind showing my partner your office while I talk to Ms. Pierce?"

"Not at all." your father stood up, Stark mirroring his actions. Side-stepping the glass table, your dad motioned for the green-eyed man to follow him. "Right this way, Agent."

As they climbed up the glass stairs, you turned your attention back to the chestnut-haired agent, wishing you could make a deal with the devil to have him lock his lips with yours. Draco prowled over to him, unexpectedly jumping on his lap, the Doberman's head itching to be petted. You both laughed at his enthusiasm.

"I think that's my fault. I've been so busy lately I forgot to show my baby some love." you claimed, staring at the touch-starved dog as he was petted by the nice—and sexy—agent.

"Don't blame yourself too much. He's still a puppy and they're always so energetic." Banner replied, his lips pulling at the corner, as if he was one joke away from laughing. The sunlight reflected off the concrete from the pool deck hit his face at just the right angle to see the pool of brown swimming in his hazel eyes. "Um, what do you remember about Andrew Daniels?"

"Not much." you shrugged, trying to remember as much as you could about the man. You held up the angel wings that hung around your neck, showing him the diamond necklace. "He got me this when I was, like, three. I think that was the last time I saw him. My memory is a little blurry but he was nice. My dad told me that his wife died giving birth and his daughter died with her."

His brows furrowed, his lips turning down into a frown. The agent tilted his head. "How old are you, Ms. Pierce?"

"Seventeen," you answered, grabbing the glass of water your father had laid out on the table. Agent Banner watched your chug it down. "Can I ask what happened? Did he go missing or something?"

"We're not sure what exactly happened, but we think Mr. Daniels could be a suspect in a crime we're investigating. From what we've gathered, neither you or you father are in any danger. Yet. He seems to be straying from the city." Agent Banner informed. He continued to pet the Doberman, amused by the dog's panting. "You won't have to worry, your father's security was hard enough to pass that you'll be protected if he does come. If you don't feel safe, or you remember some more information, give me a call."

He reached in his suit pocket, placing the blank piece of paper on the table as he grabbed the pen beside the vase of Rosas. He scribbled a ten digits on the paper before handing it to you. Your nails slightly grazed his knuckles as you reached for it, clenching it in your fist prior to stuffing it in your phone case. "Thanks."

"Are you okay, Ms. Pierce?"

"Not really. You'd think by now I'd be used to this kind of stuff but—" you began, cutting yourself off before you could reveal the traumas you went through. But the hazel-eyed agent caught on, an eyebrow rising in interest. You wave it away, telling him your name. "You don't have to call me Ms. Pierce."

"Alright." he nodded, his lips curving as he said your name. You bit back a giggle, loving the way your name sounded on his lips. You could only imagine how his partner would sound.

Your father and Agent Stark returned, making the agent in front of you get up. Draco returned to you, a whine leaving his snout at the absence of the friendly FBI agent. Focusing your attention on the dog, you barely heard them wrap up their little interrogation, petting Draco long enough to almost miss Agent Banner giving your dad a business card.

"If he reaches out, or if you need any kind of help, call us." Agent Stark muttered, seemingly unsatisfied by what he had uncovered. Both agents gave you a nod as they were led to the door by your father.

Confused by the questions and, overall, the situation, you stood, waiting until the FBI agents had backed out of the gigantic, gated driveway in their black Impala before following your father to the kitchen. When neither of you said anything, the silence grew deafening enough for you to speak up.

"Dad, you okay? You look very tense, and a little constipated." you murmured, more worried about your father's health than what the Feds had brought up. He nodded, waving away the question while he got himself a beer from the fridge. You sighed. "It'll be okay. You have a shit ton of security here."

"That's not what I'm worried about, pumpkin." he mumbled, ruffling your hair as he passed by. You followed him through the living room, once again waiting for him to explain. He watched Draco snuggle against your leg, the knee length dress hovering over the dog's head. "I've— I need to make a few calls and then head to the office. You stay in the house until this situation gets cleared up, you understand? Don't you dare leave this property until Andrew Daniels is in cuffs."

You blanched, surprised by the sudden strictness. Over the years, you had free reign on your whereabouts and even your activities, and you father had never commented about it unless it had been really unsafe. But you couldn't see the immediate danger of the current situation and this Andrew guy didn't seem to be a serial killer by the nonexistent murders on the news. "You're fucking with me."

"No, and I mean it. You're not going to that bonfire tonight, or shopping tomorrow. Cancel your plans for the rest of the week 'cause you're staying inside, you understand?" he instructed, taking his phone out of his pocket.

Reaching out, you grabbed his phone, drawing his attention back to you. Your complaint came out sounding a lot more of a whine than you had wished. "No, I'm not. You're overreacting, and I'm going to that bonfire."

"The hell you are." said your father, crossing his arms, a stern look etched on his face. You challenged him, raising a brow. "You're staying in, watch some movies, invite anyone you want but you're not leaving this house. Not tonight."

"No."

"I'm not asking."

"Good thing I'm not listening." you snapped back, giving him back his phone, shoving it into his hands as you walked past him, practically storming away. "I'm going to that party, and you can't stop me. But have fun trying, daddy."

The CEO crumbled, unable to grow a pair of balls to stand up to his stubborn daughter. After all, you were his soft spot that he sometimes considered a weakness. He sighed, groaning in defeat. "Fine. Fine. Give me your phone."

Reluctantly, you handed your phone over, your curiosity growing as he took out the business card from the Feds. He looked back and forth between the screen and the paper, his finger tapping away at the screen. After a minute, he gave the phone back, the new contact information staring at you. You arched an eyebrow, seeing the agents' names on the screen.

"Really?" you questioned, reading the number.

He nodded. "You already have Edgar's number, but in the off chance he doesn't come, call them. And stay away from Matt Burke's kid."

"Jesus." you sighed, unable to sass back as he answered an incoming phone call. The phone in your hand vibrated, a text notification popping up. You swiped the banner up, too annoyed to text back when you saw the number. Taking out the paper you stuffed in your phone case, you opened it, comparing the numbers written on the paper and the ones typed on the contact information of business card Agent Banner had given your father.

It was different. You ignored the possible theories as you threw the piece of paper on the glass table. It had to been a simple mistake, after all, they did have the same area code.

With Draco by your side, you went back outside, taking off the dress to continue sizzling your skin. In the midst of the loud music playing in your ears and reading the spicy novel that you had forgotten your curiosity on what Andrew Daniels could possibly have done.

next >

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frenchpuppycormier · 3 years

Text

I had so much inspiration after last night, so I had to write a lil somethin'. As I'm sure lots of other people did too ;)

Lena went home that night with grief ripping out of her seams. Her heart felt heavy, like a boulder had taken up residence in her sternum, and there was no escape route. As she makes it into her lavish kitchen, she gently sets her phone on the counter then locates the decanter of scotch hidden in the cabinet beneath the television.

She pours herself two fingers and swallows it in one gulp, burning the whole way down. While trying to pour another, her hands shake and she doesn’t know if it’s from the nerves of losing Kara or if it’s because she hasn’t eaten all day. Realistically she knows it’s the latter, but if she were a betting woman, it’s only likely that it’s the former. It’s always been the former.

Minutes go by, as she stands there in her living room, the loud ticking of the clock on the mantle not-so-pleasantly reminding her. She kicks off her heels and collapses on the couch in a heap, the scotch sloshing over her wrist, and spilling on the carpet. Lena can’t even bring herself to care.

Normally, Lena isn’t the type of person to just give up. Her multiple awards, scientific breakthroughs and accomplishments, her MENSA certificate, the fact that she at one time owned two multi-billion dollar companies, all say otherwise. However, right now she’s at her breaking point.

She flips on the TV for a distraction, but it only works for about a minute. Lena downs another glass and another and another. When she pours her fifth it doesn’t even make it into the glass. The dark thoughts begin to swirl in her mind, and without warning her body takes over and she chucks the glass across the room. It shatters against the TV, leaving the expensive screen cracked and broken, and dripping in liquor. She screams in agony. Another thing that needs fixing.

Lena stumbles over and picks up the glass, the blood and cuts on her hands not even registering in her mind. She’s simply numb.

Her brain thinks apparently now is a grand time to rehash everything Kara told her before she essentially died. The Phantom Zone. She hears Kara’s words repeating over and over in here head. “I was stuck in the Phantom Zone replaying the destruction of my planet for nearly a decade.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lena weeps to herself. She buries her head in her hands, but when the warm, sticky residue stains her cheeks, she pulls them back and gapes with abject horror. She squeezes her hands into fists to try and stop the bleeding, but it’s no use. Realizing what’s she’s done, Lena falls to the floor on her knees and sobs uncontrollably. She curls into herself and gradually ends up in ball, visibly shaking and unable to do anything about it.

She thinks back to the time when Supergirl was fighting Reign. The moment she fell from the skyscraper with a loud crack on the pavement. Kara’s still and lifeless body. Lena had been watching along with James, and the rest of National City, not knowing it was her best friend the whole time.

She remembers when Supergirl told Reign to take her instead while her fingers were wrapped around Lena’s neck, choking the life out of her.

The sobs continue and her body wracks with guilt. Her throat tightens making it hard to breathe.

She recalls Lex bragging to her about the other Supergirl, Red Daughter, beating Kara to death. The rage in him and the sneer on his face, he was practically seething with intense joy over what he thought was the defeat of Supergirl. Alex had confided in her one night, not knowing what else to say to the woman who was at her sister’s throat, that Supergirl had died that night. She had died and Lena would have never known. What would they have told her about Kara?

Her memory finally serves her to the beginning when Supergirl sacrificed herself to Lillian to protect Lena. When she distracted the nanobots when they were trying to kill Jack. The time she willingly gave CADMUS an inside as to how her heat vision worked and vials of her blood, all so they wouldn’t hurt the ones she loved. Or every time she risked her life to save Lena.

And now her best friend will suffer in the Phantom Zone, again, and Lena doesn’t even know how to get there, how to save her, what she’s thinking, how to live without her, or how to process any of this. All these crushing realizations of what she feels weighing down on her, and she can’t move. Lena isn’t the type of person to just give up, but right now the only thing she feels is hopeless.

The sobs get louder and more enunciated.

That’s how Alex finds her; curled up in a ball, on the floor, shivering and quaking with choked sobs, dried blood caked on her hands and face, broken glass strewn all around her, and the TV flickering with glitchy blotches.

Alex glances around the room and with a weary face, she sighs. She walks over to Lena, glass crunching beneath her boots, and carefully kneels in front of her. “Oh, honey,” she cards a hand through raven hair, parting it away from the woman’s face. Her eyes are glazed over and splotchy. “Have you been here all night?”

Lena shoots up as if an electric shock went coursing through her system, and groans from the hangover. She glances around and flinches when sunlight hits her eyes. “What time is it?”

“Just after 7 in the morning,” Alex winces. “I tried calling you, but I see you’ve been busy…”

“Alex,” Lena’s voice is hoarse, “I didn’t get a chance to—” she hiccups. Her breathing is labored and she can feel another panic attack coming on. “I never told Kara.”

Alex frowns and helps her sit up properly, resting her hands on Lena’s forearms. “What?” she lowers her head to meet her eyes. “What didn’t you tell her?”

“I never told her how I feel,” her lip wobbles and she rips an arm away from Alex’s grasp and rubs away the tears roughly, like she’s angry at herself and has no one else to take it out on. Actually, that’s exactly how she feels. She’s furious at herself. “I never told her how I feel about her! I love her, Alex! I love her and I never told her!” she yells and thrashes and Alex takes it all like a champ.

Alex manages to wrangle her and wrap her arms tightly around the other woman’s shoulders. She rubs soothing hands along her back. “She knows.” Alex pulls her back and looks her dead in the eye, hands firmly planted on Lena’s shoulders, “Hey. She knows.”

Lena’s tear-filled eyes widen and the dam breaks once more. Alex pulls her in for another hug and they stay like that until the breathing is under control. “Will you tell me about the Phantom Zone?” Lena asks, hesitantly, when they pull back.

Alex nods. “Actually, that’s why I came over here. I’m not gonna stop until we find her and get her back. And I need your help.” Lena smiles lightly, the light in her eyes slowly coming back. “But first, we’re cleaning you and this place up,” she gestures around them with a pointed look on her face.

So, that’s what they do.

Alex tells her about the Phantom Zone, at least what she knows from what her sister has told her, while together they work tirelessly in finding a way to get there and save Kara from any more pain and torture inflicted upon her. They keep plugging away.

A few weeks later it happens. They find her.

When they arrive, Kara is hunched over herself, leaning against some type of space rock inside of what appears to be a cave. Lena and Alex share a look before Lena tentatively steps forward, and crouches down next to Kara.

“Hey,” Lena reaches a hand toward her. Kara flinches and makes herself smaller. Lena swallows thickly and tries again. “Kara. It’s me. It’s Lena.”

Kara peeks out behind her hands and looks at Lena with a darkness she’s never seen come from those deep ocean eyes. She’s almost lifeless. “You’re not real,” Kara rasps. A drop falls from Lena’s eyes and onto her lap. Kara watches it with rapt attention, and falters for a moment.

“Lena?” she touches her cheeks with the palm of her hands and lifts, “Is that really you?” Lena smiles widely and nods. Kara wipes away her tears with nimble thumbs. Kara sobs loudly and rests her forehead on Lena’s. “It’s really you,” she finishes with a whisper.

“It’s really me,” Lena replies. “We’re here to bring you home. Come on,” she pulls back, regretfully, and helps Kara to her feet. She takes one of Kara’s arms and puts it around her shoulder and wraps her own arm around the hero’s waist. While they’re hobbling toward Alex and the portal, Kara stops.

“Wait!”

“Kara, we have to go.” Lena glances around with nervous eyes and hears the telltale sound of phantoms whooshing around outside the cave. She continues her way toward Alex while making get moving gestures at Kara.

“I love you!”

Lena stops and stares in shock. The moment is here and knowing their track record for important conversations, it just had to take place in an area laced with death and rot. Alex looks impatiently between the two women.

Kara limps to Lena, who catches her before she falls. “Lena, I’ve been stuck here for who knows how long, and all I could think about the whole time was you and how much I love you. You’re what kept me sane.” Before Lena can reply, Kara is surging forward and pressing their lips together in a searing kiss. At first, Kara thinks she’s made a mistake, but then Lena returns the kiss with just as much fervor and excitement.

When they open their eyes they’re back on earth in the Fortress. They collectively frown and notice Alex smirking at them with a raise of her eyebrow. “You guys were taking too long so I just came to you while you were…” she motions around them with a wave of her hands, “You know, busy.”

Lena blushes and drops her face into her hands before stuffing it in the crook of Kara’s neck. Kara responds by chuckling softly and encircling her arms around Lena's waist. She rests her cheek on her love's head and smiles at her sister, “We’ll catch up with you later, if that’s alright?”

Alex kisses both of their heads and whispers to Kara, “We’re glad you’re back.”

___

(AO3) leave kudos please :)

#asdjflkdsjklfj #this took me all morning to write #and it probably sucks #but here it is anyway #btw i'm willing to write kara's version of what she went through #if anyone wants that #supercorp #supercorp fic #supergirl spoilers #kara danvers #lena luthor #alex danvers

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kookiepredictions · 3 years

Text

Jungkook Current Energy

Jungkook has a... little skip in his step right now. He’s in LOVE. There might be a person in the picture but more than anything else, he is in love with LIFE. He is gracefully twirling out of mental and emotional binds that have been keeping him captive and he’s never felt freer! He feels like he has wings and he can fly and he wants to share this flight with those he loves. His heart space is overflowing with bliss and he wants to share this joy with everyone. Yet, he also realizes slowly that this is not something he can just give to someone— the other person has to be ready to receive it as well. So he is also safeguarding his bliss from those that might try to distort it with their own doubts or agenda. Outside, people might not even realize that his inner world is changing rapidly. After years of living life from external programming, Jungkook is now writing his own rules for his own life. There is a tsunami of rebellion inside his heart, but this is not the restless, chaotic kind— it is peaceful and stable, but also kind of a middle finger to external control programming lol. His bliss is not just confined to him either; I see a bevy of angels, guides and ancestors dancing around him in joy— it feels like a celebration! His heart chakra is spinning in a vortex of power that is soon going to be radiated all around him. Soon, his life is going to feel like a treasure trail where everyday he wakes up, each day feels like a diamond he has found on a walk— full of endless possibilities and rewards.

The last few years has felt like going through a series of doors where he opens one door which leads to another and then another... endlessly, and he was getting tired of it. Now he is at the threshold of the door that opens up to infinite space— it’s such a beautiful picture you guys I wish someone paints it— he will be standing on the edge of the earth with the door opening up to the stars where he will feel one with the cosmos, his bare feet planted firmly on the earth with long roots growing and connecting right to the core of the earth— he is placed perfectly between the physical and the divine realms. Right at this moment though, he is at the point where he is still ever-so-slightly hesitant. As I had mentioned in an earlier read, Jungkook attributes his spiritual journey and lessons and basically all good things to his Divine Feminine. There is an overwhelming gratitude that he feels for her and wants to share every beautiful experience and emotion that he feels with her. He is in a space with here where he trusts no one else with his happiness more than her. This is why, in happiness or in grief, in pain or in pleasure, he inadvertently wants to reach out to her. The “twin”, “I am you and you are me” aspect of this connection is dawning heavily on him and he can’t wait to experience this miraculous existence with her in the physical realm. This beautiful feeling when stretched out to the extreme, results in him being overly dependent on her which in turn makes the connection co-dependent which ultimately results in them repelling each other. This is why the more he tries to hold on to her tightly out of fear-based beliefs, the more he seems to be getting further away from her. This was the energy of the past, and Jungkook is slowly learning to let her go and ever since he has started to let go, she seems to be magically drawn to him. Right now he is in the energy of stepping into the realm of infinite possibilities and yet is just that bit hesitant and fearful where it’s like he is holding on to the pinky finger of her hand lol, unsure and fearful of what lies on the other side— kind of a “1 bird in hand is better than 2 in the bush” mentality. But what he is holding on to is only an old and outdated version of her; his Feminine has long since crossed over to the other side, so he’s only holding on to ashes, an illusion. It’s safe for him to fully let go and surrender. The upcoming theme for him is “sovereignty”. He is being led into direct connection with the Divine, who I see as his ultimate Guardian overseeing his whole life and his Twin Flame connection, where the Divine is like the father ushering in both of them into a life of bliss— I see 2 kids, a girl and a boy, frolicking in the fields— this is their inner children stepping out to play. His Feminine is already there and she and the Divine are waiting for him to let go of the past reality and step into this new one. For this, he has to go through the phase of spiritual sovereignty. He is being guided to be independent in his thoughts, beliefs and decisions— not just independent from those who he thinks are harmful, but also from those who he thinks are helpful, including his Feminine. Here, the point is not who is helpful, who is harmful, or who is good and who is bad, the point is only he can decide for himself from now on. Anything else will be rendered useless in his life. At this very moment, Jungkook is not entirely confident he can do it all by himself, plus as a perfectionist, he is extremely scared of making mistakes and putting himself and everyone else connected to him in jeopardy. But with energy, stagnation is more harmful than mistakes. In the bigger picture of the grand scheme of life, there are no mistakes. For every action is a step forward, so you can never really go backwards or do “harm” from a future perspective. The only harm therefore is to not make a choice, because if you don’t make a choice, someone else will and then you are in someone else’s reality rather than your own reality that you created from your own sovereign choice. There is also no rush or missed opportunities or moments, so take as long as you want, but be mindful that your life is a product of your own sovereign choice. Jungkook is being guided to step into the confidence of being a Creator, and is being encouraged by his guides and ancestors via synchronicities, rewards and surprises and of course, his intuition. In some recent happenings, he has had a taste of truthful sovereignty and he wants more. He is tuning into his intuition and realizing he is a lot more capable and connected than he has ever given himself credit for. He is slowly but surely learning to trust himself to take control over his thoughts, emotions and ultimately his life. Like I said, a tsunami of changes, but this tsunami is clearing away his old beliefs and programs and therefore, creating more calm and peace within him, that has also been gradually radiating outside where there will be visible changes in his aura and his beingness.

Nonetheless, Jungkook is happier than he has been in a while. Now on your spiritual journey, you will be met with a lot of happy moments and as a traveller that feels weary, it’s natural to want to settle for these happy moments and a lot of people make the mistake of doing so, not realizing that these are only the oasis in the desert. The actual goal is to cross the desert, because an oasis will not sustain you forever. Sooner or later, you will feel that this happiness is not enough and you need more, and that’s because as fulfilling as it is, it is limited. Jungkook is kind of wanting to settle in this moment of happiness because Lord knows how scarce this has been for him. And so, from time to time, he wants to hold on tightly to this, from fear that this might be taken away from him. But what he doesn’t realize (or know) is that the Divine has plans far, far bigger than this. This happiness will not be taken away from him, it will be magnified— should he dare to dream bigger. Right now, Jungkook’s conscious dreams and goals are not at par with what his soul had planned prior to his incarnation. He keeps limiting his goals from a lack of self worth and fear of the unknown, but he has been coming out of this energy for quite a while now, which has led him to this door of limitlessness. I’d say most of his hesitation is surrounding his Feminine because he fears if he lets go of her and focuses exclusively on himself and his life, he might lose her and mistakenly create a life where she is not with him. But the irony is that as Twin Flames, their souls have made a promise to each other: to only be with each other’s highest selves. This is why, when in their lowest selves, they repel each other and are stuck in the runner-chaser dynamic, but when operating from their higher selves, they attract each other. So to be with each other, they must be their true sovereign selves— devoid of any fear or doubts and instead, full of faith and that unconditional love that doesn’t seek to control or own but shares their own wings and flight with the other so both can fly free in a sky of infinite possibilities. Therefore, what Jungkook sees as letting go of her, is just him letting go of her illusion— she does not exist in that limited realm anymore. This is why Jungkook feels his fear of losing her slowly fading. As their souls are connected, it is simply an energetic reaction to her levelling up. This is the beauty of this connection— if one sets themselves free, the other will feel that urgency to follow suit, whether it makes sense or not. As his Feminine surrenders herself to the Divine, Jungkook is feeling this sense of surrender washing upon him too. Yet, his mind continues to challenge this phenomenon, wanting to stay back just a bit longer. However, given how long he has been in the healing, his mind is only putting up a weak fight; the surrender looms stronger. He is answering to his inner call, trusting that what he wants will not pass him by.

Another upcoming theme in his life is “explorer of the world”. In the last few years, Jungkook has been, knowingly or unknowingly, in the process of integrating 5D energy into his being. As this integration is complete, he will feel a strong urge to explore life, because this integration will feel like a rebirth or as if he has been transplanted with a new set of eyes and the world as he knew earlier, seems so different. Where previously, the world was a dull, colourless existence full of misery and struggle, now the world will seem bright, colourful and full of possibilities. When he has this new eyesight, he will want to re-engage with the world in a new way and re-experience it all over again. Therefore his call to “sovereignty” is a preparation for this new life. As I said earlier, his soul believes that his conscious plans are not at par with his unlimited capabilities, so this upcoming stage in his life will be about re-imagining his goals and dreams. If he could have ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING in this world, what are the things would he truly want? So far Jungkook’s goals have been very practical and dare I say, from a lack mindset where he focused more on what is practically possible and what is not. Still, it’s because of his sincerity and purity of heart that the Divine has blessed him with so much more than what he had originally expected. Therefore so far, his achievements have been more of a Divine intervention than a conscious creation on his part— kind of like, wow, big things happened and let me just roll with it and work hard to keep them going. That reality is now ending for him. Through his Twin Flame connection that gives him so much happiness, the Divine is now asking him to be a conscious creator. It’s like holding up a shiny toy in front of him like, you want this? You want to have exactly what you want? Then get comfortable being a sovereign creator. Of course, he will still be supported by the Divine because his soul has literally signed up to be in this role. The only thing that is standing between his present self and the self that gets everything he wants is Faith— faith in his own abilities to navigate his own path to his own highest self, and faith in a higher Divine guardianship that is always, always watching over him, protecting him, guiding him, always ready to give him whatever support he needs. As long as he places his faith in any other person of this world, no matter how capable they are, he will keep hitting a wall, because it’s now time for him to be his own guide with support straight from the Divine. This includes his Feminine— powerful as she is in her spiritual abilities, she can never replace the Divine in his life; in fact as his Divine counterpart (it’s in the name), she will always nudge him towards the Divine. The more he tries to get close to her for guidance, the more she will push him away and guide him towards the Divine. She won’t even have to do it consciously; this will happen energetically.

Jungkook has been yearning to manifest his Twin Flame connection into an earthly relationship as fast as possible, but the Divine is like, are you sure you know exactly what you want? Because it’s not just about a person, it’s also about everything else in the relationship. And what about your life? Do you know exactly what you want in life? Jungkook’s manifestations are actually being delayed because his soul had made far bigger plans for his life and is like, nah uh, your earthly plans are wee compared to mine, and is egging him on to expand his consciousness beyond his perceived limits. His connection is not manifesting because this alone time is meant for him to re-evaluate his goals and plans. Like I said, so far, Jungkook has been in the habit of planning practically. This time, armed with an open heart space and a limitless consciousness, he will be able to foresee his life more clearly and more in alignment with his soul plan. His manifestations are being delayed not because the Divine doesn’t support him, but because the Divine refuses to let him settle for anything less than he deserves. To top it off, the Divine wants him to have the pleasure of co-creating all of this as a conscious creator. This is that unconditional love that he has been seeking from his Feminine and yet is rejecting from the Divine, not realizing that that is where this love flows from.

So, as soon as that final door opens, he will find himself in an exciting adventure of literally creating and building a new life for himself— all from what he wants and what makes him happy, rather than what he was told was possible or impossible. As they say, the sky will be the limit for him— the sky will be his huge canvas for him to fill with every colour and pattern that he wants his life to be filled with, right from the tiniest, silliest things to jaw-droppingly grand ones. It’s an open ended question with unlimited potential: what does he want? Does he want to be the king of the world? Or maybe he wants to go to a small seaside village, swim with the sharks, sleep under the stars and write poetry by the fire? Or maybe he wants to dive into world music, make little playlists and fall in love with the idea of love itself? It’s a main character energy he will be getting into where he explores life again, but this time with joy and bliss in his heart instead of fear and limits. Maybe he doesn’t see it yet but this “alone” (I mean separate from his Feminine) time is crucial because 1) how disappointing it would be if he ended up manifesting a life that doesn’t have everything that he would want, simply because he did not put in the time to think of everything he wants, and 2) this little adventure will lead him to himself like no one else ever can. Okay, so flashback, one of the first things I noticed about Jungkook is his self denial. I mean in a world full of narcissists, it is refreshing to see someone who doesn’t think he’s all that lol, but it is also sad because self denial is not the same as humility. Jungkook doesn’t have imposter syndrome either, much less even being an imposter, no, he’s always himself, but it’s more like he doesn’t completely put himself out there. Ad I don’t mean in the privacy kind of way, that is different, but Jungkook holds back from a very deep sense of something like “I’m not all that amazing to be putting myself out there so much”. Maybe he even thinks that he’s “too much”. It’s a miracle that even after holding back so much, what we see of him still impresses and amazes us, but it’s like, there’s so much more where that came from! I always feel like I have to look at him through a magnifying glass because of how much of himself he holds back, and yet it’s contradictory because his energy is so strong! Therefore I believe it’s more of a conscious habit to constantly “hide” even when he is in full show. This definitely stems from his harsh self judgment. I do see him coming out of this mindset, but the flip side of this is overgiving and overdoing to a point of being performative. So even when you think he is giving his 100%, most of the time he is performing. What I mean by this is, he might DO 100% (or even 200%), but he isn’t BEING 100%. The problem with this is that no matter how much you do, you will come across as “not enough” because you’re not being your whole self. In spirituality these days, there is a lot of emphasis on being and rightly so, because being a 100% will naturally attract things to you that doing a lot more than that won’t. This is why this upcoming phase of his life where he exclusively explores his own mind and his own life will help him gather all of his scattered bits and pieces so he can be a 100% wherever he goes and whatever he does. Because the only time he is able to be 100% is when he lives from a place of joy and bliss. This is also why he craves his Feminine so much— doing even the littlest, most random things for and with her makes him feels whole and complete, because he does these things straight from the heart, with joy. But this is only a temporary fix and also toxic because she can’t keep making him complete; it’s draining for her if it turns into her responsibility. Instead, if he focuses on making himself whole, whatever she does for and with him will feel even more joyful because it’s freeing. And also, no matter how amazing your goals and plans are for life, the most important element to enjoy life is you— if you do not feel whole and complete, no matter where you go, who you are with, and how great of a person they are, you will still feel empty. The Divine said that’s not going to happen with Jungkookie lol. So yes, in the near future, you will find him focusing on this area of his life. The era of “holding back” Jungkook will soon be over, and given that he has been so entertaining and endearing already, God save us when he steps out in his full form, without doubts, questions, denials and also without the need to people-please an instead just being his whole complete self, secure and peaceful in the knowledge of who he is and that he always gets what he wants. It is this self-assured beingness that will give him the confidence to step forward knowing that any outer problem or resistance will have to fall back because when you’re on your Divinely destined path, literally hell and heaven both support you. Of course this is not to say that he will never face problems, that is not the point of life at all, rather he is working on being centered in himself so that no matter what the external situation is, he always knows exactly what he wants and doesn’t stop until he gets it. Jungkook 2.0 is coming soon you guys! Of course I say Jungkook 2.0 but it’s more like him going back to the point of starting his career, because that’s where he sort of started living this life. He’s going back to the wide-eyed wonder he had about this career— a place of art, beauty, creativity and love from millions. He’s going back to re-discovering the fun aspect of this life as it used to be back in the day when they were at point 0, where they had nothing to prove, no one to please and nothing to lose. Just a path of endless possibilities and the excitement of trying out new things and the pure joy they received from the love of their first batch of Armys when none of the big shots in the world was looking their way. Although that exact external situation won’t come back, he can still recreate the freshness of the inner mindset. The demand of the moment is to let go of expectations regarding outcomes and dive into the joy of creating. The Divine only has the best of rewards in store for him and won’t budge unless he aligns his conscious wants with the best. That’s all folks, I wish him well in his what I know is going to be a magnificent journey. The Feminine is just the cherry on top, but also like, the cake and the icing needs to be ready first :)

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emilyplaysotome · 3 years

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Queen’s Choice: Part 4

This is the fourth chapter to a multi-part smutty fic with the MLQC boys.

Catch up:

part 1 part 2 part 3

I don’t feel nervous until I’m in the elevator, on my way up to see him.

You’d think I’d be used to seeing Victor by now, and even more used to him giving me grief about my presentations but I’m never prepared enough when it comes to him.

I realize it’s because I owe him in more ways than I feel comfortable admitting.

I owe him for helping my company and for saving me.

Again and again and again.

I know that they all care about me, but Victor has this uncanny ability to appear and whisk me out of harm’s way. I shudder when I think about what might have come to pass had it not been for him.

Goldman is the one who breaks me away from my thoughts and I make small talk with him as he leads me to Victor’s office. I’m dressed slightly different, with a tight pencil skirt that’s flirting with being a bit too skimpy for me and a conservative blouse so it looks like a mistake.

I’m not wearing underwear and I can feel my heart racing as I interact with a man outside of my target, worried that he can tell and I’ve accidentally exposed myself.

That doesn’t seem to be the case though, thanks to my blazer that covers my chest and I take a deep breath as I enter Victor’s office, the door shutting behind me.

He looks even more handsome than I remember and I remind myself that my intention for today is to tease, not necessarily seduce - though I’m open to the latter. His eyes are glued to his computer screen, and he doesn’t so much as glance up in my direction as I take off my blazer and sit in front of him.

The fabric of my blouse rubbing against me combined with the chill of the offices has made my nipples erect, and I resist the urge to cover up, instead arching my back to give the illusion of a fuller bosom despite barely filling out an A cup.

When he does finally look at me I see a flash of irritation in his face before he says, “Your presentation was filled with errors.”

“What!? Really?”

I’m genuinely shocked because I spent so much time checking and rechecking my work and without thinking I run beside him, behind the desk and bend over to see the computer screen. As a result I can feel my skirt riding up and I wonder if I’m as exposed as I think I am.

Victor doesn’t seem to notice this though, exasperated he walks me through what I need to do better and I end up forgetting about teasing him and take notes diligently. It’s because of this that when he finally asks, “Are you trying something funny with me?” I don’t understand what he’s talking about at first.

“What?”

“You really are a dummy, you know that?”

With that he pulls at the back of my pencil skirt, his fingers accidentally brushing against the top of my thighs. I blush uncontrollably and nervously scuttle back to my chair.

“I didn’t want panty lines,” I whisper so softly it’s barely audible but he hears me and sighs again.

“I’m driving you home and you’re changing so no one else sees you like this.”

“Is it that bad? You don’t...like it?”

It’s then that he pauses and with an eyebrow raised asks, “Is this for me?”

“Maybe.”

He grins now and I’m worried about what will come next.

“Have you dumped those other 3 and come here to confess?”

“What other -“

“Let’s not act like I don’t know and you don’t know. Call me when you’re done with them and then I’ll fuck you silly right on my desk if you want.”

He goes back to work and I’m stunned by his the straightforwardness of his response.

“I...”

“Was there something else?”

He’s smirking when he looks at me and I can’t help but feel like he’s enjoying playing with me like this.

“I want to negotiate.”

I can tell that this intrigues him. He puts down his pen and sits back in his chair, crossing his legs and waiting for more information.

“I agree to stop seeing one of them and we see what we are like together.”

He laughs and my face instantly feels hot.

“Why is that funny? Aren’t you curious too?” I say a little too loud and with an indignant expression I can’t help but have.

“Dummy.”

He leans forward in his chair, putting his weight on his elbows as his closes the distance despite his grand mahogany desk between us.

“I’m not curious because I already know.”

My face burns but I don’t back down.

“Well I don’t. Offer stands.”

He considers this and with a smirk says,

“Three.”

“That’s basically confessing! I’m not ready!”

“I thought we were negotiating? I have the upper hand you know....”

“Two! And that’s my final offer.”

“I’ll consider it. But for now, let me take you home.”

—

I feel rejected as I sit in the passenger seat and far more disappointed than I expected to feel.

None of them have denied me, and I can’t stop fantasizing about what it would have felt like to have him capitalize while I was next to him, bending over. I think about how his fingers could have entered me and how exhilarating it would have been to fuck on that grandiose desk of his.

But it looks like I won’t find out.

The car pulls up in front of my building and he says, “I’ll be in touch. Cover up in the meantime if this was really for me...”

“Huh?”

He sighs but he doesn’t look exasperated. He looks gentle and tender and loving and he says, “I’m trying to tell you that I love you as you are.”

He drives off before I can reply.

—

My head is filled with fantasies of Victor beyond the ones in his office after he denies me. I check my phone to see if he has agreed to my terms but I don’t see anything from him.

I feel frustrated but I also don’t know who I would pick.

I really don’t want to choose.

In the days that follow the intensity of the fantasies increase and I find myself alone in bed touching myself to the thoughts of being with him. I get messages from the others but I’ve got tunnel vision.

I’m a woman obsessed and whose curiosity needs to be satiated.

I eventually buckle and write him, asking if my terms have been agreed to, all the while not knowing who I’d pick.

I get no answer.

—

I’m thinking about what my next move is a week after our encounter in his office. I’m home, wearing a comfy pj set, hair still wet and fresh out of the shower when there’s a knock at my door. I’m honestly wondering if Lucien has returned next door but it’s Victor who I see through the peep hole.

He’s holding something and looks impatient and I eagerly open the door, forgetting that I’m not exactly in sexy attire.

“I’ve brought a contract,” he says, breezing by me and heading to kitchen to fix himself a drink before walking over to my couch. He’s clearly come from work, but he’s loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, indicating that he’s done for the day.

I sit beside him and confused mumble, “a contract?”

There’s a snort and he says, “Our negotiation? Or have you already forgotten?”

“No!” I exclaim, but my heart sinks knowing what’s most likely in here.

When I look over the papers, I’m surprised to discover that there’s no mention of parting ways with anyone. Instead the demands are...far more accommodating to my desires.

The contract outlines in details how we shall entire an exploratory phase with each other, and will not finish until both parties are satisfied. This period has no deadline other that it will last until both parties are satisfied.

There is one catch.

With each week that goes by, I have to say goodbye to one suitor. Two weeks, two men total. Three weeks...well, the decision will be made by then even should we not have a label on our relationship.

Victor smiles as I realize the contract is outlined in a way should I have unlimited men, one would be sacrificed per week.

He hands me an expensive looking fountain pen and asks, “Do we have a deal?”

I nod, taking the pen from him and signing my name next to where he’s already signed.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you,” he says and extends his hand for me to shake it. When I take it, he grabs me and pulls me into him, his other hand wrapping around the back of my head as he kisses me.

It’s brief because of how we are situated on my couch, and he pulls me onto him so I’m straddling him as he unbuttons my top, before sucking on my breast. His tongue flicks at me while his hand gently pinches the other and I moan helplessly.

“Is this what you wanted when you appeared in my office in that sheer blouse?” He teases, but I can’t formulate a reply.

“Well?” He pushes again, not accepting my half moan half whimper as a response.

“Yes but more.”

“What more? Describe it.”

It’s embarrassing to tell him everything I fantasized but I do and as I do I can feel him getting harder and harder underneath me. I can tell he loves hearing about the nights spent with nothing but myself and thoughts of him and he carries me to my bed, stripping me of my bottoms, and demands I show him what I did those nights.

I’ve never touched myself in front of anyone before and it’s both nerve-racking and exhilarating. As I start to do it, he strips down in front of me and does the same.

It’s the first time I’m seeing him like this, not just naked, but animalistic in the way he watches me. I can tell by the way he’s stroking himself that things are escalating for both of us. I don’t want to come because he still hasn’t really touched me, but he demands that I show him exactly what I did and I feel compelled to obey.

I cry out as a wave of pleasure rushes over me and moments later he’s kneeling between my legs on the bed, hovering over me as he finishes on my stomach.

We’re both panting as I hand him a tissue to wipe himself and I’m about to get dressed when he grabs my arm and stops me.

“We’re not done,” he says with a smile.

For a moment I’m surprised, but then excited at the thought that our first night together is only beginning.

Part 5

I hope you liked the fourth chapter of my steamy fic. As I’ve said before this is very out of my comfort zone but I tried to kick this up a notch! If you liked this, please comment, share, and like! I love seeing that :)

As always, if you’ve enjoyed the story, please show your support by sharing it with a friend, liking it, or buying me a coffee!

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#mr love kiro #mr love lucien #mr love victor #mr love gavin #mr love queen's choice #mr love queen's choice fan #mr love queens choice fanfic #mlqc fanfic #mlqc #mlqc fic #mlqc lucien #mlqc gavin #mlqc victor #mlqc kiro #mlqc smut

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bippityboppitybibuck · 3 years

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@valleydean As of the start of writing this it's nearly 3:30 in the morning, I am almost exactly 13 hours away from the minute I was born on this day 23 years ago and I am awake thinking about Dean fucking Winchester so here you go. As a weird birthday gift from me to you on my birthday, I present mild angst but also of course fluff. By the time you get this my birth minute will have passed and I will be 23 ((oh my god just like Dean and Cas AGS.)) As with all of my ags posting this contains spoilers for the story, you’ve been warned!!

Dean’s 27th birthday snuck up on him. Well, as much as a date that comes around every year without fail can sneak up on a person who also has a solid five people clamouring to remind him. Somehow even Jack memorized the date after he heard Cas talk about it one time years ago and now the kid won’t stop bringing it up, which yeah is cute as hell but also Dean’s never been one to make a big deal of his birthdays before.

But 27 fucks him up. And hard.

He’s officially lived longer than Dean Wesson did, which sure, he technically did when he made it to the end of December, but the milestone feels bigger now that he’s 27. He’s 27. Dean’s never been 27 before because Dean Wesson never made it to 27.

It shouldn't mean anything, Dean Wesson is as much him as he is, even more so now that there’s no door keeping the memories from the light of day, but as he'd watched the clock flick from 11:59 to 12:00 with Cas beside him ready to give him his first of 27 birthday kisses something within him had felt morosely finalized.

A chapter closed, one that he’ll never be able to reopen the same way he did the first time around. Dean Wesson’s story is over. Dean Wesson’s story is his, but a part of it, the largest, hell only, part of that story came to a close when those red numbers switched over.

He doesn't know what to feel. He doesn’t know how to feel the loss, he died so young, he died with so much life still to live, he died and left Sam to live his decades out alone. He was young.

It never registered, even back then, how young he was, and he’s sure that with every birthday he has going forward that feeling is only going to get worse.

He and Charlie spent the Halloween of their 21st year watching the clock in a similar way. Waiting for the moment they lived longer than the Potter’s did - Charlie's idea that Dean went along with without putting up a fight - and it felt like this did. A shock to the system, a race won that you hadn’t known you were running. The realization that they were barely adults and now you are there living past what they ever got to.

Except, this time, it’s him he outlived. He outlived himself. It’s different for Cas, or at least Dean thinks it is, because there was never that separation, that differentiation within Cas of his two lives because there was no distinct difference when it came to his knowledge and understanding of his old life - and therefore no disconnect from himself in that way. Cas’ disconnect came in another way but Cas has already outlived himself sorta… it’s hard for Dean to tell when technically Cas has only really been alive for a short time but still was resurrected at the age he died at. Either way, Cas never made a fuss about being older than his past self.

The clock reads 12:02 now, Cas is sitting behind him, arms wrapped around his middle and Dean can’t think of what to say. 27 isn't a big birthday milestone, there's no grand party waiting for him with cards that list his age or balloons or any of the hooplas that 30 or 50 gets but this birthday feels more momentous than any he’s had or will ever have. He just doesn’t know how to deal with that yet, so he just goes and grabs it all right by the horns.

“I’m older than he was,” he says into the stillness of the dark room.

“Who? - oh, yes I suppose you are,” Cas responds, dropping his chin against Dean’s shoulder and resting it there.

“You never loved me at 27 before, is it any different?” There's a fear there he can’t name, something brought forth from etches in his bones that whisper that Cas may never love him like he did Dean Wesson, shared memories be damned, years spent together be damned.

“Mhmm, no it’s not, I love you all the same. Maybe even a little more now. A little more love with every year we get together that we never got before. Also, I’m loving you right now, that counts as loving you at 27 doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess it does.” He drops his head back against Cas’ shoulder, their cheeks brushing gently together with the ebb and flow of their breathing.

“Do you feel any different?” Cas asks lightly, tentatively, as though he knows Dean is struggling with this new reality.

“Outrageously so. But I couldn’t begin to tell you why. There's just this thought that he’s not there anymore, he doesn’t have any side-by-side memories now. I don’t have any memories anymore… I sorta got used to them always being there, following me through the things I experienced in real time. But now I’m going to do things and I won’t be able to think back to what I did before. He’s not felt so separate since before Dorthey and the manor and I don’t really know what to make of it.”

“You know you can mourn him Dean. That is allowed. You can mourn that loss of yourself. Grieve for the future you didn’t get before.”

“But why should I? I mean I’m here now, with you, Sam, Mom, Charlie, Kelly and Jack too even if they are thousands of miles away. I’m getting to live, I’m getting my future and Dean Wesson is getting it too because he’s me, I’m him. I just - he feels disjointed within me now and I want the peace back but I don’t know how I’ll ever manage to get it when from here on out Dean Wesson stops being there alongside Dean Winchester. I’m moving away from him and like everything that dies, he’s stuck perpetually at 26. He’s stuck and I have to leave him behind.”

Something thick coats his throat with the words, a darkness that seeps in and threatens to choke him if he’s not careful. Grief is such a finicky thing.

“You don’t have to Dean, same as you don’t have to leave your middle school self behind or your pre my resurrection self behind. It’s all you in there still. You get to pick what you carry with you for the rest of your life. If you don’t want to leave that part of yourself in your past, then don’t and keep it with you.”

Dean’s quiet for a while, thinking about a lot of shit, including how the hell Cas managed to get so good at this shit, because that little speech would put Dr. Phil to shame in an instant. But then of course Cas would probably have had to do the very thing he’s telling Dean now.

“Do you remember how we spent my first 25th birthday?” Dean asks.

“Hmm, I do, and I gotta say the frozen ass I got from the fence was completely worth it.”

Dean huffs a laugh into the darkness, picking his head up from Cas’ shoulder as he asks, “Do you think that for the first birthday he won’t have we could do that again? Fly back to Amherst, maybe see Kelly and Jack too?”

“Absolutely, but no smoking this time, even if I did get a rise out of you back then.”

“You bastard, I knew that was intentional!”

“You caught me,” Cas says, the phrase all but dripping in sarcasm. “Jack will be thrilled to see us again, Kelly too.”

He smiles picturing it. Cas playing with Jack, running around the backyard of the duplex Kelly bought only a year ago, smiles wide, Jack’s blonde hair sticking haphazardly out of his puffball touque, Cas’ hair tucked into a hat he’ll surely steal from Dean. Their joyful shouts echoing around them all. So like they used to all those years ago when Jack was barely five, and now he’s almost double digits and Dean can’t remember the years flying by until he looked back and they were already so securely in the rearview.

“I’m old now,” Dean says a little while later.

“If it makes you feel any better, regardless of what that fake ID you made says, my birth year is technically 1845 so… I’ve got you beat in the old age department.”

“Oh Cas, you don’t look a day over a hundred and twenty, you’re fine,” Dean jokes, Cas’ light mood rubbing off on him.

Dean gets a pinch to the ribs in retaliation and awards Cas an indignant squawk and a begrudgingly given laugh before he settles back against him, his eyes slipping closed though he wants not for sleep.

“What should we do now, I’m not particularly tired, and I feel certain in assuming that you aren’t either,” Cas murmurs lowly, breath dusting the shell of his ear soothingly.

“I dunno, maybe we should just keep sitting here,” Dean says, a memory playing behind his closed eyelids. In the heat of the room, frozen air bites at his skin just as it did back then.

Cas answers this time around, but instead of using words he pulls Dean in for a kiss - the second of his 27 birthday kisses - and within that press of lips Dean knows he remembers too.

Their skin pressed firmly together, neither move, their eyes kept forward, staring through the window at the still portrait of the winter stars.

#ags #a ghost story #destiel #destiel ficlet #my writing #ags ficlet #its my birthday and i am thinking about the sadness of birthdays no longer celebrated #valleydean #read the og story for real tho #you will not regret it

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juniorgman187 · 3 years

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The Bones (Reid Series) Part 1

Summary: Almost a year after Maeve’s death, Spencer reaches out to the recipients of Maeve’s donated organs to reconnect with his lost love. However, when the receiver of her heart, Reader, doesn’t write back, Spencer goes on a poorly-motivated mission to find her.

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing)

A/N: There is an OC in this story because to me, writing “(y/n)” over and over again cheapens the story and doesn’t flow well. It was a personal decision, and to anyone it sincerely bothers, I’m sure there’s a way you can insert your own name instead. This fic is also inspired by “Things We Know By Heart” by Jessi Kirby. Category: Series, Soft Angst, Eventual Smut + NSFW content* Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC Content Warning: allusions to death, mourning, loss, recovery, arrhythmia (this is an intro chapter, so it’ll get more interesting from here I promise) Word Count: 2.2k

This will be a multi-part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It all started that first autumn after Maeve’s death - just five weeks past a year since I parted with her. I was absentmindedly reading when, rather out of the blue, Mary Donovan called to inform me about a Mrs. Rachel Larsen.

Although we didn’t learn her actual name until later, she was first known to us as the recipient of Maeve’s liver. Not a single one of the three of us - Maeve’s parents and me - had expected a recipient to be in contact with us. That inability to predict such an event was caused by my neglect to remember Maeve was an organ donor. It wasn’t particularly relevant in the grand scheme of things, and for that forgetfulness, I was truly ashamed, but after reading Rachel Larsen’s letter together with the Donovans, it all came back to me.

Every single thing.

You see, despite the anonymity of the person writing to us, it was as if I could actually feel Maeve’s soul coming alive again, as strange as that sounds.

She was still here with me ... in some form.

Later that night, when I would return to an empty apartment, I would wonder why I hadn’t thought of reaching out to the recipients before. Even though I’d already started writing a thank you letter back to Rachel, the thirst for more of Maeve became increasingly insatiable.

While I did have fond memories of her to live by, I couldn’t thrive off of them in the way that I did with that letter. Our only moments together worth reliving were those spent over the phone, a time when I didn’t even know what she looked like. But that letter from Rachel Larsen ... it was somehow more wholesome and pure than any memory of the living Maeve that I could cultivate.

You could say I was doing this to ease my mourning, meaning it should’ve made me feel better, but that didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at me piece by piece as I wrote letters to the rest of the recipients.

The Donovans had no idea I was doing this, but I reasoned to myself that they would appreciate the surprise. Though they were still undeniably riddled with grief, smiles embellished their sullen faces when they read about Rachel’s quality of life now with a new liver. So maybe, just maybe, hearing from the rest of the receivers would be good for us all. At least, that’s what I told myself.

In one of those rare moments when inspiration strikes and it courses through your veins at the speed of lightning, I found myself being more productive than I had been in nearly a year. By midnight, I’d successfully composed five letters, each dedicated to the receiver of one of Maeve’s major organs - none of which, though, included my identity.

Given the fragile process of contacting the transplant coordinators, getting consent forms, and premeeting counseling, it would be months, if not years, before I would be able to really speak with these faceless people. Nothing against Donor Family Services - I’m sure they do the best they can - but for me, their best wasn’t good enough. So instead, I enlisted the help of someone I knew could never let me down.

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Penelope peered up at me from her seat, her pinky finger hesitantly hovering over the ‘enter’ button.

“Yes.”

With just one click, she discovered the addresses of each one of those faceless people. This singular operation, albeit somewhat unethical, was the final piece to my puzzle. All there was left to do now was send the letters to them, with the tenuous hope they might send one back.

Luckily for me, not a single recipient questioned how I managed to find them or why this process wasn’t being handled by Donor Family Services, but I suppose if they did wonder those things, they didn’t feel comfortable asking me. Especially not after they learned who I was in relation to their donor. I didn’t intend to guilt-trip anyone with what I wrote in my letters nor did I want to take advantage of anyone’s empathy, but how could you possibly make a foe out of your organ donor’s grieving boyfriend? Exactly - you can’t. So you don’t. Instead, you send an inviting letter back, telling me you’d love to meet. Which is what four of them did.

Only one person didn’t reply, and while an 80% success rate was great, I simply couldn’t let this one go. Trust me, I would have ... had it been any other organ.

For quite some time, I was the one with Maeve’s heart.

I just needed to see where it was now.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The heart has several definitions and corresponding connotations.

Scientifically speaking, the heart is a hollow muscular organ that pumps the blood through the circulatory system by rhythmic contraction and dilation. However, figuratively, the heart can be seen as the central or innermost part of something. The heart of a city, for example. But in literature, the heart is symbolic of love. It is often regarded as the source of all knowledge, which is where the comparison between the head and the heart comes from. The head operates logically, whereas the heart functions emotionally, but despite the rationality the head holds, the heart is what people advise you to listen to because it holds the ultimate truth.

The heart, because it is equipped with your truest feelings, supersedes any logic and reason the head might hold.

But you see, I only ever knew Maeve’s mind. I could understand the inner workings of it - I’d probably be able to navigate through her consciousness if I entered it given the fact that our intellect matched one another’s - and I shared nearly identical thought processes with her, but that was all that I ever knew.

And if that was how much knowledge she held in her head alone, then, undoubtedly, her heart held so much more.

Science defines the heart as an organ. Figurative language uses the heart to establish a focal point. Literature likens the heart to love. But I compare her heart to the ocean. Like the sea, Maeve’s heart was 80% undiscovered, and exploration was simply calling my name.

For that reason, and that reason alone, I couldn’t abandon my pursuit of it.

That’s not to say I wasn’t ashamed of this mission, though. If anything, shame for the man I had become in the face of Maeve’s death was the only feeling I was truly capable of anymore. Any other emotions were fleeting or insincere.

Unfortunately, that slimy, disgusting feeling was only amplified times ten when I found myself driving two hours and forty-five minutes to get to Virginia Beach.

No sane man would drive this far on a weekday for even their most prized possession, and yet here I was, exactly 180 miles away from home, seeking out someone who hadn’t had the courtesy to even write me back, let alone agree to meet with me. Who knows if she’d even give me the time of day.

She being Valerie.

“Valerie Elise Bishop was born on August 5th, 1988 in Henderson, Nevada, to parents Andrew and Sara, but when Valerie turned seventeen, she was diagnosed with arrhythmia,” Garcia explained to me over the phone on the car ride here. “It’s when-”

“When the electrical impulses that coordinate your heartbeats don't work properly, causing your heart to beat too fast, too slow or irregularly,” I accidentally cut in. Realizing I interrupted Garcia, I brought her back into the conversation by asking, “I know there are more than 3 million cases per year in the U.S, but isn’t it usually common for ages 60 or older?”

“You are most certainly correct, Boy Wonder. It is more common in ages 60 and older, however, her maternal grandmother passed away from arrhythmia, so the family history increased the likelihood.”

At the sound of this news, I had to pull the car over and physically stop just so I could grasp the weight of what I was really doing.

“In Henderson, Nevada ... maternal grandmother passed away ... family history increased the likelihood …” Garcia’s voice rang in my head.

It was then that I came face to face with the gravity of reality.

Valerie wasn’t just a faceless name or a recipient of Maeve’s heart, she was a person. And her humanity only became more apparent to me the more Penelope spoke.

For god’s sake, she and I grew up in the same state. She and I saw the same sunsets from the same little corner of the earth. She drove down the same highways and byways - we might’ve even crossed paths at one point or another! Not to mention that she lost her grandmother to the same disease that she was suffering from, and if there was one thing consistent about arrhythmia, it was very likely she’d been living with it for decades, if not her entire lifetime. It’s a long term disease that takes years to improve but only seconds to kill. All it would take is just one irregular beat, and she’d be dead. How can you possibly live with that constant fear looming over your head?

She is a person. I had to remind myself. Not just a means to explore more of Maeve.

“Hey, Garcia,” I turned the car back on. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?” I could just feel panic begin to rise in Garcia.

“No, I’m not talking about life, I’m talking about this.” Though she couldn’t see, I grandly gestured to the location, the car, and the passenger seat that was cluttered with files on Valerie. “I don’t feel right invading her privacy like this. It’s just selfish.”

I wasn’t the only one mourning something here.

“Are you sure?” Penelope clarified. Which was ironic considering she was the one who was unsure of doing any of this, to begin with. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have dragged Garcia into this. Something as immoral as this was totally against her character, but she did it anyway because her loyalty to her friends conquers all.

Like I said, my shame multiplied times ten. If not for Valerie, then certainly for Penelope.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m heading home.”

“Okay,” She softly returned. “Be safe.”

“Oh, and Garcia?” I asked before ending the call. “Thanks.”

“Of course. Anything for you, Dr. Reid.”

By the time I ended the call, the sun was already setting - that’s how long I’d been on the road for. The nearly-three-hour drive I would have to make for the second time today meant I wouldn’t be home in time to beat the pitch-black sky, so considering I was already in for a long night, I made a little detour for the one thing I couldn’t go home without.

A piping hot cup of coffee.

I felt something as rewarding as caffeine was well deserved for the self-restraint I demonstrated minutes ago. And maybe it was my exhaustion, both mental and physical, that brought me to the near conclusion that I would truly let this go, but I was honestly feeling like I could accept this. An 80% acceptance rate. Not bad, right?

Though I was basically half-asleep while waiting for my coffee, I could not miss the barista when she said, “Valerie! Your order’s ready!”

What are the chances?

A jolt of energy surged through my body and brought me back to life, causing me to whip my head around at the slightest semblance of movement. On instinct, my gaze gravitated to the woman walking towards the front counter. My pull to her was so strong that even if I hadn’t studied file upon file on her that included pictures of what she looked like, I still would’ve recognized her in a heartbeat.

I just knew. That’s her.

I had no plan whatsoever for how I should approach this, and yet I still rose from my seat, motivated by nothing more than the single belief that I needed to.

Was this the universe telling me that I was meant to run into her after all? That I needed to meet the woman with an oceanic heart?

But when I finally got to where she was, she glided effortlessly past me, not paying any mind to my presence. Why would she though? To her, I was no one. To her, I was the faceless person.

“Excuse me!” I bolted to the front counter after realizing I might’ve just missed my opportunity. The barista, stunned and concerned, furrowed her brows while she waited for my question. “Is that girl a regular here?”

“Valerie?” She pointed in her direction, to which I nodded rapidly. “Oh, yeah. She comes in here all the time. She works just across the street.”

When I came to this coffee shop, it was simply by chance. It wasn’t even the closest cafe, but it was the one I chose to go to for some inexplicable reason.

I’d like to think it was fate. I was meant to be here after all. Because right behind me stood the storefront of a building I had only briefly read about in Valerie’s file.

The Bones, Art Gallery & Studio

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 2 HERE!

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #the bones #the bones pt 1 #juniorgman187

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lomlmarvel · 4 years

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As The World Caves In (Fred Weasley x fem!reader)

Summary: Song imagine based on “As The World Caves In” by Matt Maltese. We see Fred and the Reader’s relationship timeline leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Word count: 3k

A/N: so sorry in advance. it’s angsty but with some fluff¿

My feet are aching

And your back is pretty tired

And we've drunk a couple bottles, babe

And set our grief aside

Fred Weasley remembered the summer after the Triwizard Tournament. It was a dark time for everyone. The days felt cold and gloomy, with a presence of death. Cedric Diggory’s death had shaken the wizarding world. No one imagined that a teenage boy would die in the first reinstallment of the Triwizard Tournament. No one imagined that a boy would die.

Many didn’t believe Harry Potter when he stated that He-Who-Shall-Be-Named was back. They thought that Harry killed Cedric in the maze and lied to cover up his cruel act. But Fred knew Harry, and he believed him. He remembered when Harry apparated with Cedric at his feet during the last challenge of the tournament. Fred’s best friend, Y/N, who also happened to be Harry’s older sister, was the first to jump out of her seat when she saw the younger Potter on the arena floor.

He remembered her screams and sobs. Sometimes at night, when it got tranquil, the painful cries sounded through his mind. The rest of that day was a blur. He remembers dragging Y/N away from her boyfriend’s corpse. Not even his dad was able to pull her out, but somehow he and George managed to ease her back from Cedric. Cedric’s dad clutched onto his body as his cries were heard from the entire audience. Dumbledore made quick to move Cedric away from the students’ prying eyes. Still, once he was able to, everyone knew what had happened.

After the term ended, Arthur had invited Y/N to stay at the Burrow over the summer. She turned of age a few days into the summer and therefore wasn’t legally bound to stay with the Dursley’s. Harry admitted that it would be best for her to take some time for herself and enjoy a stay with the Weasley’s. He assured his older sister that he would be fine alone with them.

Ginny had generously agreed to share a room with Y/N, stating that she didn’t mind at all and had wanted to spend more time with the eldest Potter. Over summer, the Weasleys tried their best to console the young teenaged girl as she grieved her former boyfriend. After a while, Molly and Arthur began to notice a change in her attitude. She seemed like she was starting to move on, and she smiled on most days. The letters between her and Harry became less consistent as the younger boy stopped replying to every message she sent.

One night, after a big dinner with the Weasleys, Y/N and Fred hung out in the field to watch the sunset. Fred had stolen a Firewhiskey bottle from his parent’s secret cabinet, and the two shared the full bottle. Fred had laid on his back to look up at the sky as the girl in front of him sat with her legs crossed. She had managed to sneak back into the house and steal another bottle as she swung a big sip of it.

“Harry stopped replying to my letters, and I think I know why,” Y/N hiccupped. She was halfway done with the bottle, and her world was upside down.

“He feels alone, I know it. He just doesn’t wanna talk to me. He thinks he’s at fault for—for what happened to Cedric,” Y/N managed to let out. Fred leaned over to take the bottle from her hands. She pouted at the loss of alcohol at her reach and waited for Fred to finish taking a sip.

“I know you’re still not over it, Y/N. You can’t lie to me. I see right through you,” Fred admitted. He had watched as his best friend had put on a show for the rest of his family. She pretended that she was okay, that she had finally accepted his death, and was ready to move on. But he could read her like an open book.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Can we talk about the shop instead?” She asked her best friend. The one who had been in love with her since he stopped thinking girls were gross. The one who had put his feelings aside in fear that she didn’t feel the same way as him. He silently watched as she dated a Ravenclaw named Mark and then Cedric. The most painful part was watching her fall in love with Cedric when he was still in love with her.

The Papers say it’s doomsday.

The button has been pressed.

We’re gonna nuke each other up, boys.

‘Til old satan stands impressed.

Fred remembers that day he and George decided to drop out of Hogwarts and pull one last prank before they left in style.

Umbridge had made Hogwarts a living hell. She had taken away everything that made school fun. The last straw was when they caught a young boy outside of her office, crying in pain because of the new scars on his forearms.

That night the twins talked about leaving Hogwarts, something that had been on their minds since Umbridge began setting rules. The following morning he met with his best friend, privately telling her the new decision he and George had decided to take. They would plan their grand exit for three days and leave just before the weekend to catch their parents by surprise.

Y/N knew that the boys had a dream job of running their own joke shop. She knew they had the talent to run a shop successfully. Hogwarts hadn’t been the same upon her return. Even though a whole summer had passed, being back on school grounds brought back memories that she wanted to push away. She spent the first few weeks crying, unable to contain the emotions she felt while the memories flooded through her head.

When Fred had told her about their plan, she asked if she could tag along. She was willing to drop out of Hogwarts to help the boys start up their joke shop. She never really knew what she wanted to do after school, but now she knew she would never get the chance at a proper education with Umbridge in charge.

Their prank coincidentally fell on an OWL’s exam. As Fred and George lit up their fireworks and flew above castle grounds for the crowd of students, Y/N filled Harry in on the details. Saying goodbye before hopping on her broom and flying away. The magical fireworks canceled exams for that day, destroying all the encased rules that Umbridge had set. The Weasley Twins left in fashion and established a loyal customer group for their new business career.

And here it is, our final night alive.

You put your final suit on

I paint my fingernails.

Oh, we’re going out in style, babe.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron were on a mission to destroy all of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. The Order of the Phoenix, now joined by Fred, George, and Y/N, kept themselves on a low radar. After the attack at Fleur and Bill’s wedding, they needed to remain alive and safe. Fred and George continued to open their shop and operate like a regular business. The Ministry began to arrest Muggle-born witches and wizards, causing the wizarding world to fog up in the presence of an incoming war.

The death eaters and Ministry were hunting the Golden Trio, but no one knew where they were. Y/N laid awake one night, staring up at the ceiling as she thought about her younger brother out in the world fighting to end this war, as she laid in a warm bed in the arms of her boyfriend.

She thought about her journey to where she had gotten. After leaving Hogwarts with the twins, they were met with an angry and disappointing speech given by Molly to the three of them. After discussing the joke shop idea and showing Molly all the work and thought they had put into it, she knew her children were following their dreams, something she had taught all of them.

As the weeks went on, Y/N started to realize that she was beginning to feel better. Moving into a small flat with her best friends and starting up a new business gave her time to start doing something in her life. She no longer grieved Cedric. Before, he was a painful memory that she couldn’t even think about without crying herself to sleep. Instead, he became a memory that warmed Y/N’s heart whenever she thought about him. They had had a generous and loving relationship, and he was no longer in the world. It still hurt that he was gone. But the world kept spinning, and if she didn’t start to keep up, it would leave her behind.

After a few months, she began to notice something different about Fred. There had always been something she felt with the way he looked at her. It was like if he was feeling real joy whenever they shared looks. She had always felt the pit in her stomach whenever he put his arm around her or made a flirty comment, but that was Fred. He was casually flirty and had always been that way. But because he was her best friend, she had pushed away those feelings to the back of her mind. However, they lived and worked together, and the emotions she was feeling for Fred only began to grow.

She couldn’t remember how it had happened. But on a night out after drinking, the two laid in their living room and drunkenly confessed their feelings. Things led to another, and the two had finally kissed after years of being in love.

“Hey, is everything alright, love?” Fred’s groggy voice took Y/N out of her thoughts. She turned to see her sleepy boyfriend staring at her figure.

“Yeah, I’m just worried. Harry managed to send me a message with the fireplace the other day. I didn’t want to alert you or George, so I let your father know,” Fred sat up to comfort his girlfriend as the tears began to build up in her eyes. “They’re headed to the Lovegood’s for help. That’s all he was able to tell me. He just wanted any one of us to know.”

“They’ll be fine. Those three have managed to survive and defeat any obstacle set in their way. They’ll be alright,” Fred assured her. She nodded and leaned to rest on his chest as he comfortingly soothed her arm.

And everything’s on sale.

We creep up on extinction.

I pull your arms right in

I weep and say goodnight, love.

No one had heard anything from Harry, Hermione, or Ron. No one wanted to admit anything, but they hoped that they were all safe and alive. For the past two days, tensions had been high with the Ministry and the Order. A close watch was being held on previous order members.

Molly and Arthur advised Fred, George, and Y/N to close up the shop and travel to the Burrow to be with the family. They had rejected their offer, stating that during dark times was when they were needed the most. They had to keep hope running, even if it meant keeping their joke shop open. But as the days got colder and darker, fewer people traveled through Diagon Alley, forcing the three to close shop and travel back home.

Molly and Arthur received them with broad smiles and open arms. The relieved hugs that they offered were not hidden insight as their worries faltered. It was nice to see their sons’ faces again and welcome in Y/N once again. She, Harry, and Hermione had already become part of the family, and it was nice to know that they would have company for the next few days.

“Mum loved the Muggle cookbook you gifted her. She was showing me some of the recipes earlier; she was excited for me to try some of her favorite dishes,” Fred explained as the two got ready for bed.

During the rebuilding of the Burrow, Molly and Arthur had received tremendous help from Harry and Y/N. They offered to help rebuild the Burrow. Molly and Arthur had at first refused to take money from them. Still, the Potters agreed that they deserved so much more, and they were doing it to return the hospitality and love the Weasleys had given them for years.

The Burrow rooms were now more prominent; with only Ginny living at home, they didn’t need as many rooms to fit their children. This resulted in two guest rooms that were occupied by George and, in the other, Fred and Y/N.

“Yeah, we baked a recipe earlier for your dad, who loved it. If you and George would’ve finished clearing the garden from gnomes faster than you did, then you might’ve been able to try the dessert before your dad ate it all,” Y/N chuckled at the memory of Arthur not resisting the temptation to finish the entire batch of brownies.

The two settled into the bed and cuddled up against each other—the quiet of the night set in as the two laid wide awake.

“I love you; you know that, right?” Fred broke through the silence. His voice calmed Y/N down. She relaxed in his arms and nodded.

“I love you, too,” she replied, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“I know you’ve been feeling anxious lately, and I just wanted to let you know that I’ll keep you safe,” Fred whispered. Y/N felt his grip on her tighten a bit before he relaxed against her skin. “Tonight, tomorrow, and every day after that. I’ll be by your side.”

“I love you, Freddie. Goodnight,” Y/N leaned up to kiss him goodnight as the older twin laid wide awake till the early hours of the morning.

And here it is, our final night alive.

And as the earth runs to the ground.

Fred and Y/N walked through the sea of Hogwarts students, offering aid to whoever needed it. As Harry, Hermione, and Ron delegated roles to Dumbledore’s Army; the Order worked to protect the castle in whatever way possible.

As they waited for the inevitable arrival of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the twins rested against the hall bridge fence that overlooked the grand entrance and the great hall. They spent years finding the knicks and knacks of the medieval castle. At some point, these walls were victims to their pranks and were filmed with memories of laughter of students and causally professors. It had been their second home for years.

“Remember when Filch ran into that wall after he was the test subject for the first successful boxing telescope,” George asked his older brother, pointing to a brick wall by the grand entrance.

“You two tried the daydream charm on me when I was walking down those stairs,” Y/N pointed out as she joined the twins on the upper levels. The twins erupted in a small chuckle. That day they had caused Y/N to score detention with Snape after she had fallen to their prank during Potions.

The three mellowed in their silence. They tried to enjoy the memories that appeared in their heads, but all that they could think of was that they were going into a battle. A battle that they had no assurance to come out of alive.

“It was a pleasure, mates,” Fred jokingly stated, causing the two people at his side to shove him playfully.

“I would do it all over again with you two,” George added.

“Me too,” Y/N stated. The three looked at each other in gratitude and with love.

Oh, it’s you that I lie with

Yes, it’s you I welcome death with

As the world, as the world caves in

George laid defeatedly against the ground. He had stopped crying hours ago. The aftermath of the battle consisted of a mixture of emotions. They had won, but they had also lost.

George leaned over to soothe the back of the woman still clutching onto his brother’s dead body. Arthur had tried everything to pull Molly away from the body of their deceased son, but he had had no success. Just like Ron had failed to remove Harry from the grip he held on his sister’s corpse.

The two had fought together till the end. Successfully deflecting hexes and curses sent by death eaters, until they were ambushed and both lost their lives protecting their loved ones. They hadn’t died instantly. Y/N and Fred laid on the clock tower grounds, staring into each other’s eyes with their hands intertwined and held on tightly until they both shared a mental and mutual decision to let go. The fallen heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts were never forgotten, but it never stopped hurting.

Fred Jr. nervously walked through the castle grounds at night, whispering lumos to guide him through the dark. It was his first time trying to sneak into the kitchen after curfew, having heard that many students managed to do it successfully. He had been lost for the past ten minutes, and his worst fear was being found by the groundskeeper or a professor. His small body turned cold when he heard a voice in the back of him.

“I think the kitchen is that way,” Fred Jr. turned around to see a familiar face. Only that she didn’t look exactly the way he had seen her. Her pictures hung in his house and at his grandparents and uncle’s house. Her grey appearance didn’t frighten him but instead made him feel at home.

“It’s never too late for a midnight snack, don’t you think, Y/N?” Another voice sounded through the dark hall. Fred Jr. spun around to see another ghost, one that looked a lot like his father.

“Never, Freddie. So, how about we help Fred Jr. here find the kitchen?” Y/N responded, flying down to meet Fred Jr.’s level.

“Are you sure we won’t get caught, Aunt Y/N?” Fred Jr. asked, tightly holding his wand.

“With us? You have nothing to worry about,” Y/N replied smiling widely at the young Weasley. A smile broke out on his lips, and he followed after the two ghosts.

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