#*gasping for air and breath* FEELS LIKE 102???

[clownboymcchucklefuck]

OH MY FUCKING GOD

[cherrys-writings]

Grayson hawthorne x reader where reader is badly hurt and is in hopsital or something !!

Thank you for being so patient!

ICU

Brief description of panic attack

Grayson

Grayson was sitting in his office at the Hawthorne Foundation when he got the call. The news wasn’t coming from you, but your friend, she was sitting in the ER with you.

“What do you mean you took her to the ER, Marcie?” Grayson couldn’t wrap his head around it. You assured him it was just a headache, you would be fine, he should go to work. 

Marcie’s harsh tone pulled him from his thoughts, “She texted me saying she really didn’t feel well. Her head hurt and she was throwing up, dizzy and she said it didn’t feel right. When I got there she was burning up. What else do you want me to say?” 

There were voices in the background, Grayson heard the muffled sounds of the medical staff, “What hospital?”

“It was hard enough getting them to let me back, I had to explain how far away her parents were, I doubt they’ll let you.”

“What. Hospital.” Grayson was starting to lose it. His heart was already racing, shaky hand practically crushing the phone when Marcie finally answered. He took a deep breath and stood, forcing himself to walk out of the building. 

He’s not there. You’re not okay and he’s not there. Tears blur Grayson’s vision, what if you’re dying. He’s not there. Terror churns in Grayson’s stomach, his steps quicken away from the exit and towards the restroom. Grayson pulls harshly at his tie then the top buttons of his shirt, the building’s too hot. Grayson’s breaths come in gasps as he splashes cold water on his face, sweat dripping from his temples. If the building weren’t so goddamn hot, he might be able to get a full breath of air. 

Why is he taking a detour when he needs to be with you?  

Your POV

You whined when the lights were turned on again, the beams like needles through your skull, and squeezed your eyes shut. You barely heard the nurse explain that the strep and flu tests were negative and they were waiting for the bloodwork to come back. He dimmed the lights before leaving and Marcie thanked him. 

“I called Grayson. He’ll probably be here soon,” Marcie slowly ran her fingers through your hair. 

“Grayson?” you hadn’t seen Marcie leave. When did she have time to call him? You’re pretty sure she never left your side.

You clutched your stomach against another rush of nausea, gritting your teeth through the accompanying cramps. Marcie kept petting your hair, when you heard a familiar, modulated voice just beyond the door, “Will this be an issue?”

Through the brain fog, you can almost picture the expectant look on Grayson’s face when he said that, mouth in a hard line, gaze slightly narrowed. Based on the delay between his question and the poor victim’s response, he did the eyebrow thing. Light-headedness washed over you again when you turned too quickly toward the opening door. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your sight to focus. Grayson was sitting in the chair beside your bed when you opened your eyes again, blue surgical mask covering half his face. You leaned into his touch when he brought his hand to your forehead.

Grayson’s red rimmed eyes widened, “what was her temperature when she arrived?” 

You hadn’t noticed your nurse was back, giving you anti-nausea medication through your i.v. “It was 104℉, but we’ve gotten it to come down to 102℉,” he said, “our doc wants to do a lumbar puncture. That will give us a better picture of what’s going on and then we can get you feelin’ better.”

Thankfully, the nurses set up the equipment for the lumbar puncture quickly, the ER not yet flooded with patients. It was hard to concentrate on what the doctor was saying, but you got the gist. Lay on your side, be still, they’ll give you a little bit of medicine to help with your pain and make staying still a little easier. Only when they started to explain that Marcie and Grayson needed to leave did you protest.

The previously steady heart monitor began to beep, giving away your anxiety. “Wait, no,” you sat straight up, room spinning again. 

To no one’s surprise, Grayson hadn’t moved from his chair when he was instructed. Marcie was halfway out, eyes flitting between you, the medical staff, and Grayson. It was Gray who spoke first, cool voice taking control of the situation.

“She’s obviously terrified. I’m not going to leave my girlfriend alone for this test when she’s already a bit confused from this illness. We all know things go smoothly when the patient is calm.” 

Grayson had moved a chair to sit right by your face, stroking your cheek. He let you take his other hand in yours, eyes never leaving you. There was no warning for the floating sensation as the nurse injected medication into your i.v. and immediately the pain in your head eased. Cold spread across your lower back and the doctor asked you to take a deep breath before inserting the needle. You let out a whimper and squeezed Grayson’s hand against the pressure.

“Stay still darling,” Grayson hushed, lightly running a hand down your arm, “you’re doing great. They’re almost done.” 

You watched the nurse in front of you hand the doctor gauze and a bandage. With Grayson by your side you didn’t try too hard to concentrate on what was said following the procedure. Laying flat on your back for the next hour waiting for results, you tried getting some rest, knowing Grayson would take care of you. 

********************************

You woke to Grayson gently shaking your shoulder and the doctor standing in front of you. 

“The results of the lumbar puncture came back, you have bacterial meningitis. We’re going to start you on some i.v. antibiotics down here and you’ll be taken up to the ICU shortly. They’ll monitor you the next few days and, depending on your condition, move you to med/surg where you’ll finish treatment.” 

Despite the change of scenery, it was still freezing. Grayson perched on one side of your bed, fussing with another blanket and tucking it around your shoulders. From this angle you could see the lines of worry on his face, tension in his jaw, and the tears once again trickling down his cheeks. You reached out, wiping his face with your hand, “I’m okay, Grayson”

He kissed your palm, “You’re in the ICU, sweetie. Doesn’t exactly qualify as okay.” 

“Look at me Gray,” you lifted his chin, “I’ll be okay.”

Grayson sighed, “you could have–”

“But I didn’t. I’m not going anywhere, my love.”

Before he can respond, there’s a gentle knock followed by a nurse entering. She introduces herself and takes your vitals, explaining your treatment plan and the general rules of the ICU; only one visitor at a time. It was hard keeping your eyes open and paying attention to her words. She looks at Grayson, “If you’re around each other often the doctor will want to have you on antibiotics as well, just to be safe. Is there anyone else who’s around frequently?”

“Marcie.”

“The friend who brought her,” Grayson clarified, “ I can give you her contact information.”

The nurse nods, “Please tell anyone that might want to visit that they need to be wearing a mask. Until she’s out of the ICU at the very least.”

When the nurse left you finally let your eyes shut, drifting to sleep as Grayson’s fingertips glided along your hand. 

You were awoken a few hours later to someone taking your vitals, quietly letting them take your temperature. Gray’s hand still on yours tightened when the thermometer beeped. You watched him straighten in the chair, clearly having dozed off earlier. His voice gravely when he asked, “how you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a bus.”

Your nurse removed the blood pressure cuff, “it’s a good thing you came here when you did. With a fever that high it’s a wonder you were even conscious. Get some rest, if you need anything just press the call button.”

You thanked her and looked back to Grayson, “you can go home. Get some sleep in a real bed. I’ll be okay here.”

Grayson stared into your eyes, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

The first few days passed like that, Grayson by your side as you slept. Sometimes you woke up and he would be reading, other times he would be asleep too. His hair falling in his face, light stubble on his face, and the worried crease in his brow gone even for a small amount of time. By the fifth day when you were no longer contagious, you were moved to a regular room; private at Grayson’s insistence. Several bouquets of your favorite flowers sat on the tables around the room. 

Now that you were allowed more than one visitor at a time there was almost a revolving door of Hawthornes. Nash making sure Grayson wasn’t being overbearing, Libby bringing cupcakes for you and medical staff on the floor. Day seven had you going stir crazy. You were still on iv antibiotics to make sure the infection was completely out of your system, but you were feeling considerably better. Xander visited for the first time that day, bringing with him a book of magnet block challenges. He even offered to make Rube Goldberg machines for the light switch and curtains. 

Grayson drove you to Hawthorne House the day you were discharged. “Gray, you don’t have to babysit me. I’m fine now,” you insisted.

“Sweetie, you had a serious illness that might have neurological side effects. I want to make sure you’re still recovering well.”

You hadn’t told him about the lingering brain fog, but somehow he picked up on it.  Grayson had no idea how his actions warmed your heart. Of course, he had a bedroom ready for you, but you opted to stay in his room. Grayson crawled into bed next to you, finally able to hold you close after this scare. “I love you, Gray.”

***************

Thank you for being so patient! Other requests I promise I haven't forgotten about you and will be posting them soon.

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 102 }

home is calling.

barnabas tharmr x fem.reader

{ on dreamless nights when i feel blue and lonely, i call out for you- home is calling out my name. }

she was lost in the midst of the chaos.

"my love, where are you?!"

the flames that surround the kingdom that was once her home chokes her, the black smoke lifting up toward the air as it seemed to mar each and every one of her senses. surrounding her was a hellfire blaze that turned all that she loved into ashes.

yet she found herself not caring, for all she wanted to see was him, the one who gave her the utmost strength in the most trying of times. the man who accepted her love, and made her dreams come true the moment it had been requited.

despite how she could feel the flames licking at her skin, the woman pushes forward, uncaring of the wounds she would sustain so long as she could forever remain by his side. for if her beloved was no longer a part of this world-

then she would have nothing to live for.

smoke was quickly filling at her lungs, making the tears dot her vision as it seemed to blind her. it was suffocating, getting so much harder to breathe due to the heat of the flames and the destruction left at its wake.

yet still, she pushes forward.

her cries and aching feet lead her to the great hall, where she was certain her beloved remains as she pushes the door open. as her eyes trail towards the front of the room, hope began to blossom from within, filling at her veins upon seeing his familiar form settled against the throne.

"barnabas!" his name falls from her parted lips, tasting as sweet as a reverent prayer when she comes to him, ready to take him in her arms and away from the wreckage had it not been for the truth that ends up stopping her.

his eyes were lifeless, the once powerful, steel blue gaze lost within the expanse of darkness. he was unseeing, with a trail of blood trickling down from the corner of his open lips, as if he had been crying out to someone just as the dagger was driven straight into his heart. midnight locks of hair appeared like ink when they fell across his ashen face, and her heart was pounding, pumping ice through her very veins when she reaches out to him.

his name falls from her lips once more, this time with an anguished cry. gently, oh so gently, she takes her beloved king within her arms, slumping against the cobblestone floors with him. she holds his lifeless form tightly against her, cradling his head within her chest while crying, holding on to him as the world went up in flames.

it was a cruel world, their people not wishing to give her king even the slightest chance as they made their revolution against him evident. they had destroyed everything she had ever held dear to her, yet, the young queen found herself not caring, for at least she could perish peacefully while embracing him.

she clenches her eyes shut, placing her chapped lips against his temple, kissing him one last time as she murmurs to him, "the world is on fire, but i don't care-as long as we are together..."

the flames had risen now, the ash and fire spreading as she presses her lips against his cold ones, tasting the coppery taste of blood as she said against his lips, "let's perish together, my love."

{ ... }

a startled gasp was ripped from her throat, her heart pounding as she could still feel the pinpricks of agony coursing through her veins. her skin was hot to the touch, becoming damp with a considerable sheen of sweat.

tears were streaming down her face, the pain of losing him becoming so palatable that she couldn't even breathe. as if recalling that it was all just a dream, she looks over to her right to see her husband sleeping peacefully beside her.

his arm was laid across his eyes, and she could see the way his chest rose and fell in tune with his soft breaths. biting down on her bottom lip, she chokes back a sob before landing on top of his form. she could hear the light grunt that escapes from his lips, yet she was too desperate to bask in his mere presence alone to realize how quickly she had awakened him. hiding her face within the curve of his neck, she breathes in the scent of steel and the ocean wafting off of his tan skin, running her lips across it all while saying his name.

"barnabas...barnabas, i-i..."

"what's the matter with you?" his voice was hoarse, becoming a tad bit grumpy from being awakened so suddenly. yet the moment he could feel her salty tears dropping against his skin like rain, his response was immediate.

the king of waloed wraps his arms around her, blue eyes losing its hazy quality due to sleep as he allows the tip of his nose to run against her hair. he calls out to her in an uncharacteristically soft voice. "what happened? why are you crying so much?"

she takes a moment to bask in the way his hands drew gentle circles around her back. his warmth was steadily seeping through her veins, yet still, she made sure to breathe him in. while she was holding barnabas tightly, he lets out a soft grunt of her name, all while adjusting himself so that he was sitting up in bed.

the deep burgundy mantles falls off their forms, and barnabas remains quiet, allowing his wife to run her lips along his skin, tracing against the curve of his neck to his shoulder. he lets out a huff, tracing his nose against the crown of her hair as he waited patiently for his queen to tell him what was bothering her.

barnabas' skin had become damp from the sheer amount of her tears, yet still, he held on to her, never letting her go as he kept whispering comforting phrases to her. after what felt like an eternity of being subjected to her tears, he hears her voice whispering, making him strain his ears to hear her. "i had a nightmare that you had died, that our kingdom was drowned in the flames of a revolution a-and someone had killed y-you w-with a d-dagger through the heart!"

the anguish was evident in her tone, and barnabas listens as she broke down once more. he remains silent, simply tightening his hold on her as he allows his wife to cry on him.

"just seeing your lifeless eyes and ashen skin t-tore me apart! the fact that y-you were no longer with me made my soul ache as i cried for you. i cried so m-much because if you w-were no longer here with me, i would never be able to bask in your embrace, would never to feel like i was home ever a-"

when barnabas had enough of hearing her words of agony, he takes a hold of her chin, deep blue eyes unreadable as he let out a murmur of her name. his eyes were lidded, leaning closer to her as he captures her lips in a searing kiss. he could taste the saltiness of her tears lingering against her skin, and despite how much she was crying, all barnabas could taste was hope and love wafting off of her.

the need for air proved to be too strong when he feels his wife pull away from the kiss first, making him let out a grunt of displeasure when he chases after her lips. he feels the way she whimpers against him, hiccuping as barnabas whispers against her lips, "aye, what a silly woman you are, crying over what happened in a mere dream."

barnabas adjusts his hold on her, allowing her to settle herself against his lap. the tears were still brimming against her eyes, cascading down her dampened cheeks like crystalline tears. he repeats her name again, allowing the pad of his thumb to trace at her bottom lip. "when i was a mere boy, i lost my mother. her absence left a deep wound in my heart and soul, and i felt as though i would never find a place to call home ever again."

her lips begin to tremble again, recalling barnabas' stories pertaining to his mother. how she was a beautiful woman with a kind soul; one who loved him unconditionally. the way barnabas had described her, the queen knew that she was truly his entire universe.

"i was lost without her, willing to do almost anything to see her again. for i truly believed that my mother was the only woman who could ever love me. i was almost going mad with the desire to see her again- but then, i met you."

he frames at her face, looking deeply into his beloved's eyes, the pad of his thumb now stroking at the bottom of her eyes, wiping away at her tears. a tiny smile crosses his features, the sight of it being so beautiful that it was enough to take her very breath away.

"you who fell into my life when i needed you the most." barnabas shakes his head while threading his fingers through her hair, pulling her even closer to him as he presses his lips against hers, tasting her as he begged her to open up for him. she whimpers, practically melting against her beloved as he continued to comfort her with his love and affections.

he pulls away from her once more, steel blue eyes shining with mirth, "your dreams are all false, my love. for i shall never leave your side. you are stuck with me for the rest of our lifetimes. and i swear to you, the only time i will die is when i am in your arms, turning old and grey as thy soul leaves thy form-"

"and even in death, i will still find you. we are still bound, and that is the oath we have taken when we tied our lives together."

the young woman was deeply comforted by his words, surging forward as she wrapped her arms around his neck. barnabas responds with a quiet chuckle, returning her embrace while pressing his lips against her skin, giving them soft, chaste kisses. he allows her to hide her face within his neck for a few more moments before using his strength to pull her away from him.

she gives him a questioning glance, earning a smirk from barnabas when he reaches towards her face, kissing away her tears with a plethora of kisses. audible smooches were heard, and she could feel the faint hairs that border the fringes of his face tickling at her soft skin, making her giggle in response, her melancholic state all but forgotten in an instant.

with her clinging on to barnabas' chest, he pulls away from her, not saying a word. but truly, no words needed to be said, for shining in his gaze was an emotion she was certain was reflected even in her own eyes-

love.

a.n. - don't mind me, i wrote this simply as a reminder that i will always always always love barnabas tharmr 🥹

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[isamajor]

Whump drabbles : Lucien Flavius

I- « Does that hurt ? » / Stabilization

They had been attacked by an entire troop of conjurers while passing near a fort in Eastmarch. The fight was long, difficult, and in the end, victory tasted bitterly of blood. Lucien had been able to preserve himself by fighting the mages from a distance and now acted as a healer for his crippled friends, stabilizing their wounds with his healing spells, so much so that in the end, his arms were shaking.

"Does that hurt?" asked Inigo, concerned.

Lucien bit his lip. Using to the last of his Magicka's resources was painful, yes. But that was the price for saving the others. (104)

•

II- « You're doing great »

Compared to the rest of the troop, Lucien generally acted like a spoiled baby, struggling to defend himself alone, relying on the ability of the other members of the group to ensure his survival. But gradually, he was developing certain reflexes and when Draugr were about to strike with their icy blades, the young Imperial was able to quickly ignite them with his spells. It was almost getting scary. But it made Inigo smile with all his fangs, who never stopped encouraging Lucien.

« Good job, Lucien. You did well here. You are becoming a very powerful mage. I will try to tease you less... » (104)

•

III– Bite

Remiel smirked as she wrapped Lucien’s bleeding hand in a linen bandage.

"You told us you were good with animals, Lucien."

Lucien emitted a small cry when the Breton added a bit more pressure to the wound.

"I usually am, but I didn't imagine that puppy would try bite my hand off."

She rolled her eyes with an audible sigh.

"It was a wolf, Lucien ! Even if it seemed fluffy and friendly it's a beast, not a dog ! And it probably has rockjoint and Mara knows what other disease ! Anyway, you should ask Xel to brew you a potion." (102)

•

IV - Self-defense

The bandit's dagger lightly nicked Lucien's cheek, who, with a squeak, casted a ward to try to protect himself from the guy who wanted to kill him and rob him. With little hope, he tried to parley with his assailant.

“Radical suggestion here, but I was wondering... Have you considered not trying to murder me ?”

In response, the bandit tried to stab him again, until his magical ward broke, leaving Lucien helpless and staggering. Without thinking, in self-defense, the Imperial cast a flame spell. Lucien looked horrified when he saw that turned his foe into a living torch. (100)

•

V - Choke

The anger had clouded his mind. His friends were down, deceived by what had turned out to be scoundrels of the worst kind. Lucien's blue gaze darkened. Instinctively, he casted the Choking Grasp spell on the bandit in front of him. Every attempt of the guy to suck in some air was met with a suffocating struggle.Lucien could see in the bandit's eyes the panic welled up in him as he choked and his eyes clouded over, clawing at the invisible magical hands, desperate for release, but the Imperial, with a cold rage look, held him captive of his spell. (103)

•

VI– Panic attack

It snuck up on him out of the blue. Lucien was standing in the inn, talking to some merchant. Abruptly, he felt his heart racing beyond any semblance of control. His big blue eyes widened as he began to feel light-headed. Lucien's breathing soon followed, desperately gasping for oxygen yet feeling like somehow there wasn’t enough in the room. It was the first time it occured to him. The enxiety grew on him and he laid down on a bench, fully convinced that he actually dying. Until that feeling came to an end, letting him shaky, confused and exhausted. (102)

•

VII– Knife to throat

Lucien squeaked when the bandit grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and dragged him up to his knees. He was ready to fight back with his magic, but the shining blade in the bandit's hand made him hesitate a second too many. The brigand pressed the knife to his throat and Lucien went very still. The knife pressed firmly under his Adam's apple began to notch lightly the skin of his throat. He had to focus to prevent himself to shiver too hard. Lucien closed his eyes, hoping his friends would get him out of this tight spot.

•

VIII– Bruises / « Who did this to you ? »

They found Lucien laying down on the grass. His lips were swollen, his nose bleeding and had some big visibles bruises on the jaw and shoulders. But he was alive, it was all that mattered. Already his companions had rushed to hand him some healing potion but the blow he got to the mouth prevented him to drink it. He tried to move. It only made the Imperial whine, his bruises being too painful.

His ears back and his fangs curled, Inigo growled, visibly furious.

« Who did this to you, my friend ? Tell me, so I can put an arrow through his eyes. » (103)

•

IX – Friendly fire

Lucien was becoming a very powerful mage. It was fearsome to see the young man, with his big blue eyes and his friendly face, being able to unleash a complete inferno on ennemies threatening his or his friends' lives. But, alas, he was often as clumsy he was powerful. And sometimes, his friends who were too close to an enemy would suffer of his spells. Inigo would roar in pain his tail was on fire, his fur was singed or his whiskers burned. Kaidan would groan that's why he hates mages, unable to control their magic. (97)

•

X – « I said I'm fine »

« Steady on there, Kaidan. You've lost a bit of blood. »

Kaidan sighed, a little annoyed, replying to Lucien he was fine. The cut wasn't that deep, even if the blood smeared on his whole leg. He knew Lucien was just worried about him. He always was. About everyone. As if the team wasn't worried for this milkdrinker, so fragile and clumsy. The Imperial brandished a health potion in front of his face.

« I said I 'm fine. ». Kaidan's voice was a bit harsher this time. It wasn't the first his first wound. He would get through it. (102)

•

XI– Self-treatment

Inside the crypt, a thick metal gate separated Lucien from the rest of the group. The scholar was injured in the process but tried to hide his wound. When most of the squad left to find a way to open this gate, he whispered to Inigo :

« I... I don't feel so good, Inigo. I'm bleeding. »

With horror, the Khajiit realized he hadn't any health potion in his backpack.

« I will... put some pressure on it. I'm sure that will be fine... » said Lucien, trying to reassure him, adding « ...Any linen wrap ? So I can... try to make a bandage ? » (103)

•

XII– Choking

Lucien had found some strange spell tomes, with ominous names on them. He was a bit worried, should he learn things like this ? But curiosity was always stronger. He opened the tome named "Chocking Grasp" and read it. Lucien suggested the Dragonborn to train with him.

« Be careful not to... Choke on your aspirations. How's that ? », the Imperial scholar tried to joke. He watched his wide-eyed, breathless, guinea pig gesturing frantically around their nose.

« Oh ? Too much on the nose ? I'll work on it. » he added a bit nervously, serching how to undo the spell before his friend runs out of oxygen. (105)

•

XIII – Fracture

Attacked by bandits. Again. Was this where all of the fighting age population of Skyrim ended up? To escape conscription in the civil war that was ravaging the region? Deep in thought, Lucien saw the sledgehammer coming too late. By reflex, he protected his face with his arm, but nothing protected his arm from the iron that fell forcefully on him. He howled. He felt his legs give way beneath him and rolled to the floor whimpering, holding his good hand to his bloody forearm. He could see a spike of broken bone protruding through the gaping wound. His arm was done for, broken. (104)

•

XIV– Surrender

All that for a stray arrow that had mowed down a chicken in the town. The population had become hostile and a horde of guards was already running, swords out. The blows rained down and they defended themselves as best they could. Lucien squeaked "We surrender!!!" while holding his hands high, hoping for mercy from the guards. The others watched the scene apprehensively. Instead of politely apprehending him or letting him speak, the guards threw him to the ground, shoving him facedown in the mud. Seeing this, his friends saw red. Despite Lucien's protests, they violently attacked the guards. (100)

•

XV – Human shield

Before these Draugr, these ancient Nords reanimated by who knows what old magic and who watched over the secrets of Dragon priests, Inigo the Brave was nothing more than a terrified little kitten. These undead froze his spine, and the memories of receiving his facial scars from their withered fingers were still painful. Lucien stood between the Draugr's blade and his friend, like a shield, with glints of defiance in his eyes, chin high and fire magic in his palms. The scrawny blond Imperial was just as frightened, but he couldn't afford to show it: his friend needed him. (101)

•

XVI – Gag

They had found themselves in a Falmer-infested cavern. The darkness, barely lit by the reflection of the glowing mushrooms on the dripping walls of the cavern, was stifling. Lucian squeaked. Instinctively, Auri clapped her hand over his mouth, telling him to be quiet. The Falmer were blind, but their hearing was very keen, even allowing them to fire their bows with surprising accuracy. Everyone here preferred to try to avoid confrontation as much as possible. Auri whispered into Lucien's ear that she wouldn't hesitate to gag him at the next moan that came out of his lips. (100)

•

XVII – Strangle

He saw the undead set upon Inigo, whose blue fur was stained with red. Lucien had exhausted all his Magicka against these constantly rising enemies. He felt helpless to rescue his companions. Staggering backwards, his foot stumbled against a chain. He looked up. The necromancer was there, back to him. Gritting his teeth, the Imperial leapt up and slipped the chain around the sorcerer's neck, squeezing and turning, falling with the necromancer clawing at his neck desperately for air, frantically kicking his feet. Lucien was crying, shaking, but didn't let go. He would save his friends. (98)

•

XVIII– Bedridden

Kaidan groaned as he struggled miserably to prop himself up on one elbow before sinking back onto the pillow. Lucien reprimanded him, telling him to calm down because he was burning with fever. He made it clear to the colossus that he would not leave this bed as long as he was not recovered.

"I'll bet 100 septims it's from an infected wound."

Kaidan looked away in response, muttering that it was going to cost a fortune to keep him in an inn bed all this time.

"Then it's fortunate my wealth is useful. But please, don't be stupid, you need to take care of yourself."(108)

•

XIX – Distrust

When they arrived at Winterhold, cold stares greeted them at the Frozen Hearth inn. The city now was nothing more than a heap of ruins, half-collapsed in the Sea of Ghosts. Only the famous Academy of magic seemed intact and majestic. When Lucien politely asked how to access it, the looks turned hateful. People spat on the ground at their feet. The mages had lost the people's trust in Skyrim. Between the Oblivion Crisis, the collapse of the city of Winterhold, and the rise of Altmer supremacism, the Nords had now plenty of reason to hate magic. (99)

•

XX – Ensnare

The problem with venturing into not very reputable places with people much more experienced than you, is that them, they were used to spotting and avoiding traps.

Lucien yelped in pain. He had stepped straight into a bear trap and now his calf was trapped between two strong iron jaws. He had wanted to avoid the bone garland that served as an alarm, and hadn't seen the metal trap stretched under his foot. And with his scream, obviously all the bandits would be aware of their presence, come for them, and try to murder them... (96)

•

XXI – Blindfold

His curiosity had been the strongest. Stronger than knowing the dangers of laying eyes on an Elder Scroll without the usual training and preparations of Moth Priests. But the thirst for knowledge was as much Lucien's greatest quality as his greatest flaw. When he rolled up the parchment after staring at it for a few long seconds, his gaze was blank, his pupils dilated. He felt sight leaving him. The Imperial tied a piece of cloth around his eyes in a blindfold to keep them out of the light, hoping that this blindness would be reversible... (97)

•

XXII – Sore

He was unaccustomed to the harsh, cold life of the Nords. Neither to hunger, thirst, nor to forced marches until they find good shelter. Having to fight for this shelter. To fight with the intention of dearly saving his skin, despite the protectors he had at his side. Lucien wasn't used to the pain every night in his aching muscles. To the bruises that marked his sides after a bad shield blow. He was crippled with small pains, of course, but the adventure and all that he discovered day after day pushed him to continue every day, despite feeling sore all over. (103)

•

XXIII – Pinned

The bump of his head against the wall made him squint and wince. Kaidan had pushed him away with some violence, out of anger. His harsh and sarcastic words had hurt the mercenary Akaviri. Lucien felt intellectually superior to this man who had spent his childhood wandering half of Tamriel. But he realized now bitterly, that intellect did not mean sagacity, facing a colossus who had pinned him effortlessly against the nearest wall. Lucien did not dare to move. He didn't want to piss him off anymore. He knew that Kaidan's big gloved fists could easily smash his face, if he wanted to. (104)

•

XXIV – Shock

The shock made him drop the sword he was holding in his hand. With difficulty, Lucien turned his head. The mage was there, crouched in the tall grass, sending out lightning bolts. Lucien moaned at the painful, aching sensation of his muscles contracting. It hurt so much... He wanted to push back those electric arcs with his own magic, but to his great despair, he felt his Magicka reserves draining at a maddening speed. He dropped to his knees. His body was riddled with involuntary tremors. The repeated electric shocks threatened to knock him down for good, if someone didn't intervene... (102)

•

XXV – Helpless

Lucien's usually sharp mind and vast knowledge were of no use in this situation. Cornered by a group of scoundrels who had seen him arrive with his nose in his books, his attempts to reason with them were met with harsh laughter before they decide to hit and rob him. Lucien, trying to protect his books, couldn't even cast a spell before being knocked down by a punch, leaving him breathless and defenseless. He felt totally helpless in this alley of Riften, feeling his clothes being ripped off in search of money or jewelry, under the threat of more blows. (102)

•

XXVI : Blood

The adrenaline of the fight was waning and Lucien discovered with a dazed air the grass of the reddened plain and the acrid smell of metal everywhere. Lucien had fought for his life, fear in his stomach. He looked down at his feet and the reddened, sticky leather of his shoes. His usually white, clean hands were dripping with blood. He felt the blood sticking to his face. He saw him staining his fine clothes. He couldn't tell if it was his own blood or that of the bandits who had attacked them. Lucien felt his head buzzing and his legs shaking. (103)

[wonpilsonefeel]

Here’s a prompt list for request.

Ask for a minimum of one number (can be more) and pairing. Also add if you want it to be angst, smut or fluff.

ALSO MY ANON PART AINT WORKING BUT I WILL KEEP YALL ANON.

I didn’t come up with these prompts.

1. "How long have you been staring at that screen?"

2. "Do you really want to test me?"

3. "How did I end up watching this?"

4. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just worried someone is going to take you away from me.”

5. “I just want to hug you and never let go.”

6. “You’re an adult! Act like it!”

7. “Did you seriously patch up a stab wound with scotch tape?”

9. “Are you stuck?”

10. “Man, you sure got knocked around a lot today.”

11. “Just the idea of anything happening to you makes me feel physically sick.”

12. A miscommunication leads to everyone being told Person A is dead, and Person B does not handle it well. When Person A shows up completely fine, Person B is overjoyed. 

13. “It shouldn’t be physically possible for me to love you this much.”

14. “What would you do if I died?” “Can we not talk about this?”

15. “They’re too good for you.”

16. “You look so cute in pajamas

17. “You’re my favorite person ever.”

18. “I love you so much I don’t know what to do.”

19. “You need to be more careful!”

20. “Why are we on the roof?”

21. “I know it’s wrong, but I love you.”

22. Why are you like this?”

23. I can handle myself. You don’t need to protect me.”

24. I miss you.” 

25. You are not fine, you’re bleeding!”

26. Look, I really screwed up and I need advice.”

27. I hope you’re here to apologize.” “Is there something you want to tell me?”

28. You are sick, therefore I am going to take care of you. End of discussion.

29. I’m fine. It was just a nightmare. You don’t need to worry.”

30. I just want to cuddle.”

31. Every day I get to spend with you is the best day.”

32. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

33. “You have the most amazing smile.”

34. “You’re just not intimidating. Sorry.”

35. “Stop whacking me with that stupid rubber chicken!”

36. “Stop kicking me under the table!”

37. “What are you, five?”

38. “I heard a loud sound. Are you okay?”

39. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

40. “How on Earth did you get so muddy?”

41. “Close your eyes. Don’t peek.”

42. “You know, it’s hard to stay upset when I’m holding you this close.”

43. Person A spends the entire day throwing things at Person B, just for fun.

44. Person A keeps stealing Person B’s snacks.

45. You should really get some sleep.”

46. I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

47. I hate children. They’re the worst.”

48. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

49. I wish you’d stop saying that.”

50. Person A tries (and fails) to convince everyone they aren’t in love with person B. 

51. I’m having a long day, okay?” 

52. Stop treating me like a child!”

53. I hate it when you rhyme my name with things.”

54.

55. Small kisses littered across the other’s face.

56. A small, fleeting kiss - which is immediately followed by a passionate, hungry kiss.

57. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond.

58. An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

59. Throwing their arms around the other person’s neck, hugging them close before kissing them passionately on the lips.

60. Wild, breathless kisses brought on by a heartfelt gift.

61. French kisses where they trace every tooth with their tongues as though trying to memorize them.

62. Laying a gentle kiss to the back of the other’s hand.

63. A kiss that lasts so long, they are sharing each other’s breaths.

64. A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it.

65. Morning kisses that are exchanged before either person opens their eyes, kissing blindly until their lips meet in a blissful encounter.

66. Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss.

67. Butterfly kisses against the other’s cheeks.

68. A kiss so desperate that the two wind around each other, refusing to let go until they are finished.

69. A fierce kiss that ends with a bite on the lip, soothing it with a lick.

70. One person pouting, only to have it removed by a kiss from the other person.

71. Tucking their hands beneath the other person’s shirt, just to watch them break the kiss and gasp in surprise at the sensation of cold/warm hands on their skin.

72. Teasing kisses where one person blows air into the other’s mouth and runs away.

73. One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss.

74. Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference.

75. A chaste kiss given to each other because they are in mixed company.

76. A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party.

77. A kiss that tastes of the food/dessert they are eating.

78. Deep kisses where they have their hands tangled in each other’s hair to pull them closer.

79. Wet kisses after finding refuge from the rain.

80. Brushing a kiss along the shell of the other person’s ear.

81. Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

82. One person tracing the other’s lips with a fingertip until they can’t resist any longer, tilting their chin towards them for a kiss.

83. Staring at each other’s lips for a moment before moving closer, as if drawn together by some unseen force.

84. Weak, sweaty kisses because it’s unbearably hot.

85. Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.

86. A kiss so passionate, so perfect - that after they part, neither person can open their eyes for a few moments afterwards.

87. An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it.

88. Kisses that start on their fingers and run up their arm, eventually ending on their lips.

89. An awkward kiss given after a first date.

90. Starting with bunny kisses before moving on to soft kisses.

91. Cleaning the other person’s lips with a lick and a kiss.

92. Whispering “I love you” before a chaste, delicate kiss.

93. Kissing tears from the other’s face.

94. A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

95. Kisses shared under an umbrella.

96. Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.

97. A kiss pressed to the top of the head.

98. Tentative kisses given in the dark.

99. Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

100. A lingering kiss before a long trip apart.

101. A kiss paired with a tight hug, knocking the breath out of the person being hugged.

102. One person has to bend down in order to kiss their partner, who is standing on their tip-toes to reach their partner’s.

103. Short and sweet kiss after meeting up for a date.

104. A kiss, followed by more that trail down the jaw and neck.

105.

106. Little one jumping in puddles wearing rain boots.

107. Shopping for nursery furniture for little one.

108. Holding the little one for the first time.

109. Being immensely proud when little one takes their first steps alone.

110. Little one’s first reaction to seeing/feeling snow.

111. Singing nursery rhymes to get little one to sleep.

112. Finger painting with little one.

113. Little one getting food all over their face.

114. Going on a walk together with little one.

115. Little one coming to sleep with you after having a bad dream.

116. Picking out little one’s first Halloween costume.

117. Little one’s first birthday.

118. Keeping little one from trying to eat crayons.

119. Little one’s first trip to the zoo or aquarium.

120. Showing little one a lightning bug for the first time.

121. Little one sticking their toes in their mouth.

122. Little one pulling on your hair with surprising strength.

123. Helping little one go down a slide at the park.

124. Little one needing an emergency bath.

125. Tickling little one’s chubby thighs until they laugh.

126. Singing songs and rocking little one to sleep.

127. Reading a book with little one on your lap.

128. Having to show little one that the food tastes good by having some too.

129. Playing airplane/train to get little one to open their mouth and take a bite of food.

130. Little one chasing after bubbles to pop them.

131. Playing peek-a-boo with little one.

132. Little one snuggling with a stuffed animal.

133. Playing “This Little Piggy” on little one’s toes.

134. Having little one help mix cookie dough.

135. Little one eating a slice of fruit and getting juice all down their chin.

136. Kissing little one where they got hurt to make the pain go away.

137. Little one stripping their clothes and running around in their diaper.

138. Waking up to little one crying out in their sleep.

139. Little one biting everything they can stick in their mouth as they teethe.

140. Little one sticking pretzel sticks up their nose.

141. Little one leaving sticky fingerprints on everything they touch.

142. Having little one help flip pancakes.

143. Giving little one a raspberry on their tummy after changing their diaper.

144. Watching little one go in and out of the kiddie pool.

145. Little one pointing out colors and shapes that they recognize.

146. Having little one wear their first formal wear.

147. Little one drifting off to sleep with a smile on their face.

148. Little one settling down after you finally figure out what they need.

149. Choosing little one’s name together.

150. Watching little one attempt to blow the seeds off a dandelion.

151. Little one getting in a laughing kick where everything is funny.

152. The first time little one picks their own outfit.

153. Little one chasing down the pet to rest their head on them and hold them tight.

154. Being unable to stay mad at little one when they give you puppy dog eyes.

155. Little one playing dress up with a grown-up set of shoes.

156.

157. Holding their hands when they are shaking.

158. Tucking the sheets around them when they stir during the night.

159. Traveling long distances just to see them.

160. Making their favorite meal when they are having a hard day.

161. Giving them a kiss before going to work and they are still in bed.

162. Tucking your head into their neck during a hug.

163. Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise.

164. Buying them something unrequested because it made you think of them.

165. Participating in their hobby even if it doesn’t personally interest you.

166. Sitting in comfortable silence while eating a meal.

167. Telling them a dumb joke just to see their smile.

168. Following their family traditions that they enjoy.

169. Playing your fingers through their hair while sitting next to them on the couch.

170. Singing and dancing to their favorite song.

171. Calming them down when they have a bad dream.

172. Having a tickle fight until you’re breathless.

173. Folding their clean laundry and putting it away.

174. Sharing a soft smile across a crowded room.

175. Bringing them a plate of their favorite sliced fruit.

176. Washing their back/hair in the shower.

177. Sharing your umbrella with them in the rain.

178. Listening to them while they vent.

179. Taking a picture together to print and hang later.

180. Tracing your names together in the sand.

181. Wearing clothes in their favorite color.

182. Doing a chore for them that you know they aren’t fond of.

183. Leaving a plate of food in the microwave for when they have a late shift.

184. Sharing a drink with them from the same straw.

185. Tucking their hair behind their ear to help them get it out of their face.

186. Helping scratch that itch on their back they can’t reach.

187. Pulling a chair out for them to sit down at the table.

188. Wrapping a blanket around them when they are sitting on the couch and watching a show.

189. Throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold.

190. Mending an item of their clothing that was ripped.

191. Running out in the middle of the night to get a food item they’re craving.

192. Helping brush their hair after a shower.

193. Making sure to be quiet while they’re taking a nap.

194. Letting them warm their cold hands under your shirt.

195. Giving them your dessert when you eat out because it’s their favorite.

196. Making a goofy face until they notice and laugh.

197. Giving them space when they express wanting to have some time alone.

198. Holding their hand while walking, even if there isn’t a crowd.

199. Holding shopping bags that are too heavy for them.

200. Standing between them and a busy road.

201. Rubbing the back of their hand with a thumb.

202. Giving them a back massage when they flop on the couch or bed.

203. Staying up half the night to finish a game with them.

204. Getting them a coffee just the way they like it.

205. Giving them a tight hug that makes them lose their breath.

206. Buying them a special treat when you go out shopping.

[ephemerlskies]

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.” 

[secretobsessionstuff]

Been thinking about Mateo and Shawn lately !! They remind me of myself and my own partner, so I figured maybe i’d... request something based on one of my own experiences. Long story short, I had been with them all day but I was feeling really dizzy and nauseous. I was thinking about my partners gentle way of comforting me, by holding my forehead while i was getting sick or gently running their fingertips on my back. Perhaps you could do something like this with mateo and shawn? Maybe shawn is really out of it and mateo is worried he might bother shawn if he touches him too aggressively (?) i guess? I love their dynamic <33

Thank you all for being patient as I slowly get to requests. This was a super cute one 💕

It was nearing the evening when Shawn started to get tired. As the sun began to set, with golden hour in full swing, he too wanted to dip below the horizon to sleep. He and Mateo had been out all day doing errands and planned to get dinner at a new restaurant, but now Shawn just wanted to go home.

The fatigue and dizziness hit suddenly. It was the nausea that grew steadily stronger as the sun continued to leave for the day. He lazily moved through the store, holding onto the clothing racks to keep himself upright. People must have thought he was drunk with the way he swayed down the aisles.

He eventually found his boyfriend in one of the aisles trying on shoes. Shawn sighed as he found a place to sit next to a pile of shoes that Mateo was considering buying. It was only when he sat down that he realized how weird he felt. He realized that he could have passed out right there if he wanted to. Suddenly his lunch wasn’t sitting so well in his stomach. He looked up at Mateo with half-closed eyes.

“What do you think of these?” Mateo asked as he admired the leather shoes in the mirror.

“You look good in everything,” Shawn said through a yawn, not really looking at the shoes. Still, it wasn’t a lie. Mateo could walk out of here with slippers, and Shawn would be eager to see them kicked off haphazardly at the foot of his bed. Just not today. “Are you almost done? I want to go home soon.”

Mateo spun around, feeling fancy in the new shoes. He wasn’t going to buy them though because he needed more time to decide, and it didn’t look like Shawn had more time – he looked like he was going to fall asleep in the middle of the store. “You don’t want to get dinner at that new Thai place?”

Shawn scrunched up his nose. “My stomach isn’t feeling so good.” The blurriness around his vision wanted to creep closer in, and his head wanted to fall off his shoulder. “Actually, a lot of me isn’t feeling so good.”

After switching the shoes out for his actual pair, Mateo sat on the bench and looked into his boyfriend’s eyes which were bloodshot and glassy. He touched the back of his hand to Shawn’s forehead and pulled back in surprise. “It does feel like you a small fever.”

Shawn groaned and let his head fall on Mateo’s shoulder. “My eyes are burning and I’m dizzy. Will you drive?”

Mateo helped his boyfriend up. “Sure. Anything else bothering you?” It was tough not to fall back into the script that he used for patients, but Shawn didn’t seem to care.

“My stomach.”

“You already said that.”

“Well, it really hurts,” he whined, only half joking because his stomach really was in knots. “Add short term memory loss to the list.”

Getting in the car did not sound like a fun time, but Shawn did so anyway. The ride wasn’t as bad as he thought because he fell asleep before Mateo left the parking lot.

Mateo enjoyed the quiet drive back. Shawn’s car drove smoothly and silently, letting his boyfriend stay asleep the whole time. That might have been a testament to how Shawn was feeling rather than the car’s performance, however. Mateo snuck glances at Shawn’s paler than normal face. The tattoo on his neck stood out even more against the ashen skin.

“We’re here,” Mateo said as he parked the car. Shawn stayed asleep. “Babe, wake up.”

The snoring continued so Mateo got out of the car and came around to the passenger side. He unbuckled Shawn’s seat belt and felt the heat rolling off his body. “Oh boy, you’re really warm,” Mateo mumbled to himself, but it seemed to have startled Shawn from his sleep.

Shawn looked around and squinted. The first thing he registered was the fresh new wave of nausea coursing through his veins. With Mateo’s help, they walked to the door. Shawn’s legs really wanted to buckle under him. “Fuck, that nap did not help. I feel so much worse.”

“Yeah, your fever’s gotten worse too,” Mateo said as he opened the door for his boyfriend. “How’s your stomach?”

“Sick. I think I might puke.”

“You could wait for me in the bathroom while I put our groceries away.” Mateo set their bags down on the counter. “I want to take your temp—or you can crash on the couch. That works too,” he said as he watched Shawn fall onto the soft cushions.

With the thermometer and a bucket, Mateo joined Shawn on the couch. He wasn’t asleep, surprisingly. The grimace on his face told Mateo that he was too nauseous to sleep. His body took up most the couch so Mateo gently lifted Shawn’s head and placed it on his own lap.

Shawn moaned as he was jostled around. When he was settled back down on Mateo’s legs, he let out a heavy exhale. Even while lying down, the room felt like it was spinning around his head.

“Sorry, hon,” Mateo said softly. “Will you put this under your tongue?”

While Shawn held the thermometer in his mouth, Mateo ran his hands through his boyfriend’s hair. He hated hearing Shawn’s heavy breathing which served as a reminder that he was miserable. Mateo decided he would keep gliding his fingers through Shawn’s hair until his breathing slowed down or until the thermometer beeped. Whichever came first.

The thermometer beeped first. The device told him that Shawn’s temperature was sitting just below 102°F. It wasn’t terrible but not great. Still, Mateo never liked to treat anything under 103°F. This was the body’s way of curing itself. Of course, Shawn’s body had other plans to deal with whatever was making him sick, but that was a more unpleasant process.

Shawn groaned and squirmed around on Mateo’s lap. He wanted to stay where he was because Mateo’s fingers felt great, but the nausea was reaching its peak. His belly gurgled loudly, making him curl in on himself.

Mateo heard the gurgled and felt his boyfriend tense up beneath his hand. “Are you gonna be sick? Need the bucket?”

With a hand over his mouth, Shawn nodded quickly. He lifted himself up with his arm, careful not to elbow Mateo in the crotch. He reached for the bucket, but his beautiful boyfriend held it up to his mouth so that he didn’t have to. Shawn still grabbed one side, just to help him aim and to keep him from falling off the couch.

He gagged emptily at first, making his whole body shudder. The nausea filled his mouth with saliva and caused his jaw to quiver. Another gag caught in his throat.

“I’ve got you, just let it happen,” Mateo said while holding the bucket steady. He could feel the strain that it had on Shawn’s body just from the way he shook.

Shawn gagged one last time before a real wave of sick came rushing up his throat. He lurched forward from the force of the heave. With his eyes squeezed shut and tears gathering on his lashes, he heard the splatter of sick as it hit the bottom of the bucket.

A mix between a cough and a heavy exhale followed a wet burp. Shawn’s chest moved rapidly as he tried to catch his breath in between retches. “Ugh everything hurts, Teo.”

Mateo’s go-to choice of comfort in this instance would be to rub Shawn’s back or stomach but he hesitated when he heard the pain in the boy’s voice. Shawn’s body was already tense and flooded with misery; he didn’t know if his boyfriend wanted to be touch that much. In the past there had been times when Shawn was too overwhelmed for any extra stimuli. Sometimes he couldn’t stand having his shirt rub against his skin when he was sick.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Mateo said gently, with his free hand hovering awkwardly in the air. “Will it help if I rub your back?”

Shawn swallowed thickly, aware that a second bout was coming. “Maybe. Can you do it lightly…you know, like the tracing.”

Mateo knew exactly what he was talking about. Sometimes when neither of them could sleep, they took turns tracing shapes on each other’s back with their fingertips. It started out as a game to guess the pictures, but it quickly turned into random patterns that left goosebumps on their arms.

With the lightest touch, Mateo started at the top of Shawn’s spine and slowly worked his way down. Then he circled back up to the base of his neck, taking his time to make each touch gentle.

When he felt the muscles in Shawn’s back tense up, he quickly lifted his hand in fear that he hurt him. Shawn just belched up another gush into the bucket. Without a second to breathe, he was bringing up the next wave of stomach contents. Shawn gasped for air and went right back into it with a groan.

“Shh, shh, it’ll be over soon,” Mateo whispered as resumed his gentle tracing.

For a long time, Mateo kept up the gentle movement of his hands, even when the vomiting seemed to have tapered off into plain old hellish nausea. It’s the worst feeling of still being nauseous when the puking stops, but that’s the land where Shawn found himself after wiping the bile from his lips.

Physically exhausted, Shawn slumped back down on Mateo’s lap. His throat was raw and his abdomen screamed from the work. Every breath hurt. But the one thing that made it easier to deal with was the pitter patter of soft fingertips on his back. It reminded him of peaceful rain during an afternoon nap.

“That feels nice,” he sighed and closed his eyes.

Mateo smiled. He kept his voice low because he could see that Shawn’s breathing was slowing down. “Do you feel better?”

“A little.” Shawn yawned. “I could actually fall asleep.”

“Then fall asleep. I won’t stop.”

Mateo was pleased that he didn’t hear a response. He was pleased to hear Shawn’s breathing even out. As promised, he danced his fingertips across his boyfriend’s back, at least until he too fell asleep.

[ahsokaismyqueen]

I would LOVE to see what you come up with for Marcus Marano using prompts 91 & 102? I really adore all your writing very much, but this is the first request I've ever made!! Thanks if you decide to do mine, either way I'm so excited to see what comes from awesome brain of yours 😁

I am so sorry for how long this took, but I hope you enjoy your request! Thank you so much for sending it in! <3

91. "You want me to give your phone back? Make me."

102. "Are you trying to turn me on, or are you really just that oblivious?"

You were done. In fact, you were past done. You were so far done the finish line, which had never been close in the first place, was a speck in the distance. Shoving him off of you, again, you stalked over to the bench where the rest of your things were laying. “Hand to hand is ridiculous. I can do anything with a damn sword, and I’m stuck here trying to learn how to fight like this when I could slice their damn hands off.” You mumbled under your breath as you gathered your belongings and started shoving them in your bag. You heard Marcus calling out behind you, but you ignored him, instead focusing on getting out of this training room as soon as possible.

Until you felt his hand wrap around your wrist. “I’m not going to let you give up.” He told you.

It was like a spark shot through your body. It was always like that when he touched you. From the moment he showed up at your job in an attempt to recruit you to the Heroics, there had been something about his touch that made your heart do all sorts of crazy stuff. You tried to ignore the reaction though, because as much as you liked Marcus Moreno, you were frustrated. “It’s not giving up if you never even started in the first place, Marcus.” You tugged your wrist from his grip and grabbed the remainder of your things, already pulling out your phone to get an Uber. “You know, when you said we were going to train, I thought you meant with our weapons.” You said, knowing he was a well established katana user, you thought he might be an actual challenge to fight.

“You might not always have your weapons with you -”

You let out a snort. Your weapons were always within reach. “Come on -”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The words made you pause, and you turned to look at him. There was something about the way he had said those words, and the look in his deep brown, almost black eyes as he stared at you that made your over exerted heart pump even faster. “Why?” You asked, the word sounds much more breathless than you would like. “Why do you care so much?” You added on.

You couldn’t miss the way that his chest was heaving, straining against the black combat shirt that he wore. It clung to every muscle on his body, and you moved your gaze back up to his eyes, hoping he wasn’t able to tell how much that affected you. “You’re a member of the Team,” He said after several moments. “I wouldn’t want anyone -”

Of course. Of course it had something to do with the team, and you had been stupid to think any different. Marcus Moreno caring about you in any way other than professionally was ridiculous. You turned back around tapping at your phone to get your uber, but before you could, your phone flew out of your hand and into Marcus’s. “What the hell, Marcus?!” You gasped, shocked that he had done such a thing.

“You want me to give you your phone back?” He asked, raising it up, and you couldn’t believe the smirk playing at his lips. “Make me.”

The words sent a warmth through your body even though you were sure he hadn’t intended them the way that your mind took it. “Are you being serious right now?” You sputtered.

He raised his eyebrow at you. “Are you backing down?”

He knew you too well. It was one thing to say you didn’t want to do something, it was another to insinuate that you couldn’t. You reached for your phone as fast as you could, but it was pulled out of your reach by the time you had moved an inch. Marcus used your mistake to his advantage, grabbing your arm and twisting it behind your back. He held it tight enough for some uncomfortable pressure, but that was the last thing on your mind when you felt his strong body against your back. “Let me go.” You said, but your voice didn’t have near the command that you wanted it to.

“Make me,” he repeated, so close you felt his breath brush against the back of your head.

It was amazing how two little words could have such a strong effect on your body. Your heart began racing, your mind filled with images of how you’d like to ‘make him’. “Are you trying to turn me on, or are you really just that oblivious?” You murmured under your breath.

“What?” He asked, his grip loosening somewhat in surprise.

“So you are that oblivious, good to know.” Pushing the embarrassment aside, you used your momentary distraction to your advantage, using the move that he had taught you to twist out of his grip and slip your phone from his unsuspecting hand. “Can I go now?” You asked, breathless as you held your retrieved phone up to his eyes.

“I - yeah,” Marcus replied, looking dazed by what had happened moments ago.

That was the fastest you had ever made it out of that training room.

____________________

From the moment that you stepped outside the building, you hoped that he had decided he misheard you. By the time that you made it home, were clothed in your oversized shirt and shorts with a pizza in front of you, you were wondering if the Heroics accepted sick days.

It was at that point there was a knock at the door. Hoping it was the pizza guy with your forgotten sauces, you didn’t even check to see who it was before you answered the door. You probably should have.

“Hi.”

Marcus Moreno was standing there, still in his work out clothes with an odd flush to his cheeks that would make you think he ran there if it wasn’t for his car parked outside. “Um . . . hi? Did I - Did I forget something?” Oh God why was he here? Please don’t let it be to ask you about what you said . . .

“Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Oh fuck. “What are you talking about?” You asked, trying to sound as confused as possible, but you were pretty sure Marcus knew you were full of it, even if he was too nice to call you out on it.

“Did you mean it when you said I was - uh -”

How you wished he didn’t look so cute when he was all flustered, shuffling from one foot to the other, a hand running through his messy hair, and then finding a home in the pockets of his sweats. It made him not being able to say the words all the more embarrassing. “Marcus, they were just words.” You said, biting your bottom lip. “They don’t have to mean anything.”

You thought that might bring the conversation to an end, and Marcus didn’t speak for so long you thought it had. But as soon as your hand started reaching to pull the door closed, he stopped you, making you look back up at him. “What if I want them too?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. Almost as long as you had known Marcus you had thought he was the best man you had ever met. Sweet, strong, thoughtful, intelligent, and not to mention good looking. All things that added up to make him way out of your league. It had never even crossed your mind that he would be the slightest interested in you until this moment. This time, it was your turn to be surprised. “You do?” You asked in shock.

Never had you ever seen Marcus look so nervous, even when facing down the most dangerous of criminals. “Earlier, when I said I cared about you because you were a part of the team . . . that wasn’t the only reason.”

Your heart felt like it was stuttering as he looked at you, and your grip on the door tightened. “What’s the other reason, Marcus?” You asked.

He seemed to be struggling to find the right words. You watched him, but couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit disappointed when he didn’t say anything. If he couldn’t even form the words, how strong could any possible feelings he had be?

You opened your mouth to tell him it was okay, but it was at that moment he took a step forward, cradling your face in his hands and meeting your lips in an intense kiss that you didn’t know he had in him.

It turned out you didn’t need words for his answer.

At once a blast of heat engulfed you, and it felt like your whole body melted. Your eyes fluttered closed at the fierceness of his kiss, and you could swear that you heard your own heart pounding in your ears.

It was natural to respond to lips in kind, natural to wind your arms around his neck and pull him closer while his wove around your waist. It was natural to part your lips and let his tongue slip into your mouth and make out with him on your front porch like a couple of teenagers saying goodnight after a date. In fact, it was so natural that when Marcus did pull away, it felt like your source of air had been cut off. You took a sharp inhale, trying to get oxygen back in your lungs as you opened your eyes and looked at him with what you were sure was a dopey grin.

It helped a little that your smile was mirrored on his own face.

“Mhmm . . . That was almost good enough to convince me to come back to training tomorrow.” You teased, sliding your arms from around his neck to pat his firm chest.

Marcus raised his eyebrows. “Almost?”

With a little smirk of your lips, you remembered his earlier words. You gave a little tug on his shirt, and then stepped back into your house. “Guess you’ll have to make me.” You said, turning your back to him, but leaving the door open so he could come inside if he wanted to.

There was silence for a couple of seconds, and you worried for a moment you had been too bold.

Then you heard footsteps, and the door clicking closed behind him.

[roberttchase]

Manner minded or double trouble? Both SO matty? Maybe Christie looking after him?

double trouble: [character] is sick and injured.

I will be writing the manner minded one separately :) I hope you enjoy this (somewhat more detailed than I'd originally planned) ficlet.

Send prompts to my inbox.

+ + +

If you were to ask Matt Casey if he thought he was lucky, for the most part he would answer with 'no'. Yes, he's lucky enough to have Sylvie Brett as a girlfriend, lucky to have gone to the fire academy, lucky to have been promoted to a lieutenant and then captain. But he also had an emotionally abusive father as a teenager, a murderer for a mother, his girlfriend of eight years was killed, his wife left him. For every good thing, it feels like there are three bad things in his life.

So he can't even really say it's a surprise when, while on scene helping squad rescue two victims in a car that's balancing precariously close to the frozen Chicago River, Matt loses his balance, slips from the hood of the car, and falls almost twelve feet onto the ice that then suddenly cracks underneath him, submerging him in below forty degree water. Nothing in his life is ever easy. Intense pain radiates from his chest, his body feels like it's on fire, and then nothing.

From there, the scene is absolute chaos. Sylvie and Violet are both off shift, spending the entire week in Joliet helping teach at a conference. The two paramedics that are on scene are instantly calling for backup, while both Severide and Tony frantically suit up in scuba gear for precaution. Boden's yelling orders, but the three other members of truck are all frozen, staring at the large hole in the ice, from which their Captain is currently very much not getting out of.

+ + +

"Christie, you really don't have to do this, Severi-"

"I know what Severide said, but I'd feel more comfortable if you stayed with me." Christie Casey frowns, looking at her younger brother. He's at least four shades paler than he should be, cheeks flushed and eyes dull. Stubble consumes the lower half of his face, and the firefighter looks exhausted. She can't say that she blames him, not with the hell that he's gone through the past thirty six hours.

She'd gotten the call from Stella Kidd yesterday, a kind but shaky voice telling her that Casey, Matt, had fallen into an icy river, and was at Gaffney Chicago Medical Center being treated for two broken ribs and mild hypothermia. Arriving half an hour later, she'd been taken into Matt's room, where they had him on enough pain medication he was basically incoherent. One of the doctors had explained to her that the next few hours were important for any person who'd almost drowned- inhalation of the river water had occurred, and aspiration pneumonia was a large possibility. For a naive moment, Christie was certain that Matt would be fine.

Matt's never that lucky.

It's how she finds herself now, half glaring at her brother, who's been given instructions to stay with someone for the next forty eight hours, while his body wars with itself. The red haired doctor had explained that unless the mans fever reaches over 102, or his breathing deteriorates, he's allowed to stay out of the hospital. Severide's offered to let him stay at the loft, to take next shift off and watch over his best friend, but she tells her brothers best friend no. She needs to be able to watch over her little brother, if his paramedic girlfriend can't.

She's already talked to Sylvie, had called her only an hour after getting the call herself. They'd come to the conclusion that as long as someone was there to watch Matt, she needed to finish up the week for the CFD and CEMS.

"You ready to leave? I'm bringing you back to my place. Violet's got the guest room all ready for you."

Matt blinks and then nods, shoulders curved in slightly, one arm wrapped around his side. He looks a little woozy, though that could be from the pain pills being pumped through his body. That, or the fever he's sporting. April wheels him to the front of the hospital while Christie grabs her car and pulls it up to the curb.

Half an hour later, Matt's being helped into the guest room, where, sure enough, the bed has fresh sheets and a few extra pillows have been added for the man who isn't supposed to lay flat on his back. She gets him under the covers, thankful he's cooperating, and by the time she's back with the meds in a little plastic cup, as well as a glass of water, Matt's asleep.

"Matt, hey, you have to wake up and take your medicine, then you can go back to sleep, okay?" She shakes him as gently as possible, not wanting to hurt his ribs any more than they already are. She must knock something loose though, because not a second later he starts coughing, low and harsh, and his eyes flutter open. Gasping for air, they wait for his chest to stop spasming. His arm is cradling his side and she feels terrible, wishing she could help.

"I just need you to take this medicine, then you can sleep again," she promises, holding the cup out for him. When he nods, the woman lets the small pills tumble onto his open palm, and soon he's swallowing them tiredly.

"C-Can you stay?" The words are quiet and hang in the air as she turns to leave. Pausing, Christie turns back and is struck by just how young Matt looks, laying there with fever flushed cheeks and sallow skin.

Moving slowly, the woman gets into the other side of the bed, carefully shifting to get comfortable.

"Just like old times huh?"

She knows he's referring to their childhood. Christie can't help but smirk a little at the memories.

"Are you talking about when you would come crying to me because you were afraid of the dark?" Her tone is teasing, and instinctively she lets her fingers find his hair, running them through it just like she did when they were young teens and their father had been yelling at them.

A laugh bubbles out of Matt's throat, but it quickly changes to coughing, and it takes a moment for Matt to calm down, sipping water before replying.

"I was actually talking about when I was eight and caught whatever that punk across the street had after he coughed on me. I remember I was out of school for a week, and you stayed with me as much as you could."

She remembers it well.

+ + +

Matt never gets sick, not when he was a baby, and not now. She's always been the one to come down with colds or strep throat, and Matt always manages to avoid germs. He had been sick once when he was a toddler, once, but other than that, she can't remember him ever even getting a runny nose. And then Michael Jeffries goes and coughs all over him on the bus when she's in fifth grade and he's in third, and Matt's record of not getting sick goes down the drain.

It had been on a Monday. That following Thursday afternoon, Christie's waiting for Matt to get on the bus when their bus driver tells her that her brother has apparently gone home early. The whole ride home, the eleven year old is upset, not for her brother, but at the fact she wasn't taken out early either. Why did Matt get to go home and play when she didn't? By the time she's walking into their small home, the blonde is stomping her feet and slamming the door behind her, ready to ask why her stupid brother gets such special treatment.

Instantly though, she realizes something is wrong. Mommy isn't downstairs like she normally is, but instead of being worried, the girl let sher anger build. Running up the stairs, her ponytail swaying behind her, Christie's ready to yell and throw a tantrum, but she freezes when she sees her mom sitting on Matt's small twin bed. She's holding their big blue bowl that she always gets out when Christie's stomach is sick, and Matt is throwing up, coughing and spluttering after, while she rubs his back. Cautiously, Christie walks into the doorway.

"Mommy...what wrong with Matt?"

Nancy and Matt look up, the older woman rubbing her sons back.

"Matt's just not feeling well honey, he'll be alright."

Christie frowns and looks at her brother, whose cheeks are a startling bright pink, his skin pale.

"He looks really sick..." Suddenly she's not mad at all anymore, instead she's worried, no, scared. Matt doesn't get sick. That's his superpower, just like hers is liking vegetables.

Before any more words are spoken, Matt coughs and lets out a strangled little whine. "M-Mommy..."

Christie turns her face away as Matt gets sick this time, not wanting to watch anyone throw up. Instead, she goes and busies herself with finding paper and her crayons. Sitting down on her bedroom floor, the eleven year old goes to town with making her brother a get well soon card, the only thing she knows she can do in this moment.

That night, while she and mommy eat downstairs, Christie can hear Matt crying with Daddy. The second she finishes her food and washes her plate off, the blonde runs upstairs, wanting to make sure the younger boy is okay. She stops in front of his room, but no one's there, the twin sized bed with dark green sheets is empty, even his beloved stuffed bear is gone. Walking further down the hall, she sees the two she's been looking for in her parents king sized bed.

Matt's laying against Daddy, Bear clutched in his hand, his ear against the boys lip. Daddy smiles at her and puts a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet. Nodding, Christie tiptoes in and peers at them both, before climbing in putting a delicate hand on Matt's shoulder, hoping he'll be ok.

+ + +

Brought back to the present, Christie feels Matt's forehead and sighs. "just try and sleep okay? I'll be here if you need me, okay? I won't let anything bad happen to you Matt."

It's as if it's all he's been waiting to hear. It takes him all of two minutes to fall back asleep, head resting against his sisters shoulder. She supposes that this can be the start of all the years she'd missed taking care of him after she'd left for college. He deserves it.

[txemrn]

The Picture Show

Book: TNA

Rating: fluffy; smidge of sensuality, smidge of angst

Word count: exactly 2000

A/N: Oof! I wanted to participate in wacky drabbles #102 this week, but long story short, the week got away from me, and I am painfully late in posting! That's okay, though! It's going up anyway, and I'm sure they won't mind me using their prompt (prompt will be in bold)! Huge thanks to @kat-tia801 for brainstorming this fic with me, and thank you to @chemist-ana for pre-reading (and convincing me it wasn't dumb lol). As always, these characters belong to our friends at Pixelberry (also, Caroline is the name I've given Sam's first wife; even though we know her real name now, old habits die hard... wow, pun not intended!).

***

A crisp, cool breeze manifests a gentle oasis for the gathered movie-goer crowd on the humid city street. Waiting in line to purchase tickets for their impromptu date night, Brynn casually ties a knot in the front of her knit band tee, exposing a thin strip of her Tuscany-sun-kissed skin. Finger-combing her almond waves, she tosses her careless strands into a perfectly teased bun to enjoy the reprieve from the stifling August heat.

“You’re making this too easy for me.” The familiar, smoky whisper sends a pleasure-filled jolt down Brynn’s spine as his breathy chuckles tickle her ear. His fingertips pad across her midriff, tucking his sizable hand into the front of her jeans. His other hand cups around her head as he presses his plump pout to the sensitive spots of her neck. “So, what’ll it be tonight: Melissa McCarthy telling jokes for two hours or scary paranormal demons?”

“The difference being?” Brynn jokes, pulling Sam’s hand out of her pants, lacing her fingers with his.

“Touché,” he chuckles, hiding a wide grin. Their lips meet together for a simple kiss just as the ticket booth attendant motions for them to approach. After collecting their tickets for the latest horror flick, the young couple approach the concession counter. “Wanna share a popcorn?”

Brynn’s eyes light up as she eagerly nods her head. “And gummy worms, please!”

“You are just as bad as the boys--”

“What does that mean?” Brynn jovially pinches Sam, aiming for his chest.

“Let’s just say that gummy worms were never on the weekly grocery list until you came around,” he smirks, raising an eyebrow while guarding his nipples.

“See? I improved your life in more ways than one,” Brynn quips.

Sam lets out a hearty laugh, pulling Brynn’s body closer to his. “Mmmm--” he kisses one side of her neck, “--so many--” he kisses the other side of her neck, his hand grazing the curve of her ass, “--different--” he suddenly squeezes hard, making Brynn yelp, “--ways--” he captures her lips in a hungry kiss.

A clearing of a throat abruptly interrupts the moment. “‘Scuse me, but did you want butter on your popcorn, sir?” Sam’s cheeks burn red as Brynn chuckles through a nod. “That’ll be twenty-eight eighty-one.”

Sam quickly double-takes as he pulls out his wallet. “I’m sorry,” he grins politely, “did you say almost thirty dollars? For popcorn and gummy worms?”

“And your wife wanted a large Coke Zero.”

Brynn smiles brightly as she dramatically slurps on a straw. “Yes, husband, your wife wanted a large Coke Zero,” she sardonically mimics the concession worker, batting her eyes innocently.

Sam lowers his voice. “For thirty dollars?”

“Actually for twenty-eight eighty-one,” the teenage attendant corrects.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Brynn pats Sam’s chest, winking at him endearingly before turning her attention to the cashier. “He hasn’t been to the movies since de Blasio took office.”

The attendant gives a confused look. “Who?”

Brynn stifles a laugh. “Exactly.” She looks warmly up at Sam as he boops her on the nose, grinning smugly at her. She puts her hand in his hand that is holding his wallet. “I’ve got this, old man.”

“Absolutely not.” Sam pulls his hand away from hers. “What kind of gentleman do you take me for?”

“Sam, it’s not a big deal,” she reaches for his wallet. “You are always paying. Let me do this tonight. My treat.” He quickly snatches his wallet, lifting it above her head while shaking his head. “Samuel!” she titters, stretching to grab his wallet. “Why are you being so difficult? Put that away.”

“Brynn, c’mon, there are people waiting--”

“Exactly. Let me pay.” She pushes her petite body in front of Sam’s as she reaches for her own wallet. “Here, sir,” she motions to the cashier as she begins to pull out two twenty-dollar bills.

“No. Brynn!” Sam loops his arm in front of Brynn’s body, shielding her from pulling her money out. “Stop that!” He turns to the concession attendant. “Here, take my card--”

Brynn swats at Sam's hand, accidentally knocking his wallet out of his grasp, the contents of the billfold dumping out onto the counter. Brynn cups her mouth, laughing at an irritated Sam who is taking a large deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. She quickly hands her money to the attendant before turning her attention to Sam. “C’mon, let’s get this cleaned up--”

And suddenly, there it was, splayed out for both Sam and Brynn to see together: a picture of Sam’s late wife. In the nude.

Sam quickly snatches the picture up as well as his cards and cash, hoping Brynn didn't notice. When he looks back up, Brynn is already giving their tickets to the attendant to be admitted into the theater.

She noticed.

“Brynn--”

“I--I think I’m gonna need some more napkins,” she nervously interrupts, an out-of-breath pant to her voice.

“Ma’am? There are napkins inside," helpfully offered a worker.

“Oh,” Brynn appears defeated, refusing to look at Sam. “I’ll go grab our seats then,” she offers, power-walking away from her boyfriend.

“Brynn? Brynn?” His voice carries over the bustling hallway, but she doesn’t slow down. Once in the theater, Brynn anxiously stumbles in the low-lighting, picking out seats. Catching up to her, Sam’s hands kindly grip her shoulders. “Brynn. Please. Talk to me.”

She cordially smiles at him. “Talk about what?” She sits down, nervously pawing to open her bag of gummy worms.

Sam steals the bag of candy from Brynn. “Are you seriously going to pretend that didn’t just happen?”

“Pretend that what didn’t just happen--”

Putting his hands on his hips, he raises his voice. “You seeing my wife’s tits.” With the sudden cascade of snickers and gasps from fellow patrons turning to stare, Brynn grabs Sam’s arm, yanking him down into his seat.

Sam leans over, whispering into Brynn’s ear. “Please, let’s just talk about this--”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam,” her eyes stare intently at the large white screen.

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.” Brynn begins wringing her hands as her foot nervously bounces. “I just,” she sighs before becoming quiet, her voice audibly shaking, “I--I didn’t know. I mean--damnit, Sam, you keep a photo of her in your wallet?”

“Of my wife?" He enunciates, making Brynn feel foolish. "Is that wrong of me?”

“No,” Brynn’s lower lip begins to tremble, “yes? I--I don’t know, Sam. I don’t know what I’m supposed to think right now. I figured you'd have a picture of her. Just with, uh, I mean. She would be, um--"

"Clothed?" Sam smirks.

Brynn gradually looks into Sam's eyes, but finds herself abruptly avoiding his gaze as questions flood her mind. Why would he be keeping a nude photo of his late wife? How often does he look at it? Is that even her business to know? To care?

The house lights turn down as the roar of advertisements brightly flood the screen. Brynn rests her chin in her hand, fighting tears. Even though the excitement of the music and vivid colors enthralls the audience, Brynn is a million miles away. She feels completely confused as to how to feel about this situation. Was she even allowed to be upset about this? Why couldn’t things just be simple for once in their relationship?

“Brynn?” Sam beckons for her from the clouds, bringing her back to reality. He lifts up the armrest between them. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he pulls her into his chest, peppering her hair with kisses.

As the movie ends, Sam and Brynn remain silent, making their exit to the streets of New York. After a few blocks, Sam stops, sensing Brynn’s heightened emotions. He can tell she’s still bothered by what happened before the movie.

He sighs heavily. “Let’s talk about it.”

Brynn lets go of his hand, scoffing, spinning around to see if anyone was watching. After a few moments of silence, she can feel the heat budding in her cheeks. She crosses her arms, and while staring at Sam, she lets out an inaudible ‘okay’.

With sincerity in his voice, Sam locks eyes with Brynn. "I honestly haven't looked at that picture in months. I completely forgot that I even had it. But--” he hesitates for a second, choosing his words wisely, “--throwing it away seems like the wrong thing to do."

"Caroline* and I didn't have sex until our wedding night." Brynn's eyebrows furrow before her eyes widen in shock. Sam continues. "She wanted to wait until marriage, especially given," he takes a deep breath, "my past--which you know about." Brynn nods. "But then the night before our wedding,” a smile blossoms across his face in remembrance, “she gifted me this wallet. With this picture. She said it was her promise to me--her all to me. I know you see a nude picture. But,” he sighs nervously as his eyes glaze with tears, “it’s always been so much more than that.”

Brynn considers his words, a warm smile growing on her face. She finally holds out her hand, for Sam to take. “Let’s go home.”

The next night, Brynn did bedtime alone with the boys. The penthouse had been fairly quiet throughout the day, even after Sam came home late from work. There is still an awkwardness in the air, and even though Brynn and Sam weren’t angry with each other, they also didn’t know what to say.

Closing the twin’s bedroom door, Brynn quietly tiptoes to the home office in her robe, knowing Sam is lost in his paperwork. She cautiously knocks on the door. After a few moments, the door whips open, Sam grabbing Brynn and jerking her inside.

“Since when do we knock on doors, babe?” Sam sits back into his leather tufted chair, pulling Brynn onto his lap, endearingly rubbing circles on her lower back.

“I--I wasn’t sure if you were busy, or--or if you--”

Sam holds his hand over her mouth, a smile growing across his face. “You know better.” He grabs her hand, kissing the back of it. “Now, what’s going on?”

Brynn coyly looks up at Sam, clearly nervous to ask her next question. “Can I see your wallet?”

Sam’s face falls, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Why?”

“I want to see it.”

Sam can’t bring his attention to Brynn. He never removed that photo of his first wife, nor did he know how Brynn was currently feeling about the nude picture. All he does know is he better pull out his wallet. And start praying for mercy.

Brynn stands up, circling around Sam’s office chair. Sam reaches in his back pocket, pulling out the wallet. Brynn wraps her arms around his shoulders, brushing her nose against his ear. “Open it,” she commands with a sensual, husky tone.

Sam dutifully opens his wallet to the plastic picture holder. His cheeks begin to swelter with pink growing down his neck. He can feel a queasiness growing in his gut as he lays it out for Brynn to see.

“Aren’t you going to look?”

“Brynn?” He throws off her arms, becoming irritated. “What kind of game--?”

And that’s when he sees it: a picture of his stunning girlfriend, carefully photographed in the nude with her hands posing perfectly across her assets.

Sam’s eyes quickly dart around the room, finding Brynn locking the door and uncinching her robe. Letting the fabric pool on the floor, she straddles her naked body across his lap, his hands unable to resist.

Brynn grabs the wallet, pulling out the nude photos of herself and Sam’s first wife. “This may have been her promise to you, and you can keep it for as long as you want,” Brynn pulls out her photo, handing it to Sam. "But, this. This is my promise to you, Sam Dalton." She leans over, stealing his breath with a fervent kiss. “I love you.”

Cupping her cheek, Sam’s eyes gather tears as he looks admirably at his new forever. “I love you, too.”

***

Tags: @ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @forallthatitsworth @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @phoenixrising308 @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @taniasethi @thefrenchiemama

[sneezyminniejo]

can i request yoongi and jin taking care of hobi and namjoon with high fevers and colds, but they start paying more attention to hobi than namjoon so namjoon just starts to get more and more sick until someone notices

Here it is. Hope you enjoy.

Tw high fever

Turtles and Walruses

It was a brisk fall morning for the members of Bangtan. The maknae line had already left for their schedules and the two oldest were trying to convince the 94 liners to stay home for the day.

"Namjoon and Hoseok, for the last time you're both sick and should be in bed." Yoongi was losing his patience with his two eldest dongsaengs, as they were seemingly refusing to listen to reason.

"Hyung, it's just a little cold. I'm fine to go to sche-" Namjoon was abruptly cut off by a fairly intense coughing fit that had him doubled over for a good minute. Once he recovered Yoongi spoke up. "Joon-ah, you can't dance, rap, or sit through whatever meetings you may have if you're coughing like that. Your body is telling you to rest, so rest."

Namjoon knew his hyung was right, so he sat down on the couch and watched Hoseok be the next one to be lectured. “Seok-ah, you haven’t been able to say anything above a whisper all morning and you nearly fell asleep in your breakfast. How do you intend to get anything done if you can’t speak and you’re nodding off every five minutes?” Yoongi gave Hoseok a pointed look and gestured for him to join Namjoon on the couch.

Hoseok sighed, knowing his hyung was right and he went to the couch. Shortly after, Jin joined the others in the living room carrying a tray with four mugs of tea. The two older men then watched as Namjoon called the manager to tell him that he and Hoseok were too sick to attend the day's schedule. Seokjin and Yoongi already had the day off, so it wasn’t any problem for them to stay and look after their dongsaengs.

As soon as Namjoon finished his phone call with the manager, Seokjin gave the younger two the tea he had made, while Yoongi went to grab the thermometer. A quick scan of the forehead revealed that Namjoon barely had a fever with a temperature of 100.6, while Hoseok definitely had a fever of 102. The moderate fever coupled with the fact that he couldn’t speak, put Yoongi’s and Seokjin’s worry for Hoseok a little into overdrive.

Once the younger two had been given tea, Yoongi gave them each medicine. He gave Namjoon a cough suppressant and Hoseok a fever reducer and cough suppressant. He then ushered the two back to bed, in hopes they could get some sleep.

After about an hour, harsh coughing could be heard from the hallway as Hoseok and Namjoon emerged from their respective rooms. Upon reaching the couch Hoseok doubled over in a coughing fit that was even harsher than Namjoon’s. Almost sounding like he was gasping for breath in between coughs.

Seokjin was quick to start pounding the younger on the back in hopes of aiding him in expelling whatever was irritating his lungs or throat. “Yoongi-yah, please go get the humidifier and set it up out here.” Yoongi nodded and left the room to get the requested device.

By the time that Yoongi had returned with the humidifier, Hoseok had finished coughing and was now drinking some more tea. Both Seokjin and Yoongi were fairly concerned about the elder of the two sickies. He was seemingly getting worse by the hour, but he was adamant about not going to the doctor.

“Hyung, can I please do some sort of work? I’m bored.” Namjoon whined to no one in particular. Seokjin sighed. “Joon-ah, If you want you can work on writing some songs, but no going on the computer.” Jin was speaking with his no nonsense voice and gave Namjoon a ‘don’t test me look. Namjoon was quick to agree and retired back to his room where he kept his notebooks.

Namjoon had decided to stay in his room while he wrote some lyrics. At one point he began to develop a headache and left his room to see if he could get his hands on some pain reliever. On his way to the living room, he found himself coughing for the millionth time that day.

Namjoon groaned a bit loudly as he entered the living room. “Hyungs” Namjoon whined, “I have a headache, can I get some medicine?” To Namjoon’s surprise, he was met by a glare from Seokjin instead of Sympathy.

“Namjoon.” Jin said with a harsh tone. “You probably disobeyed me and went on your computer, that’s why you’ve got a headache. Furthermore, Hoseok was asleep and you decided to be loud, which woke him up.” As if on cue, Hoseok began coughing rather harshly again.

“You don’t need pain meds for a headache you got from staring at a screen, you need rest. Go back to bed and take a nap.” Namjoon dejectedly turned to go back to his room and heard Jin say as an afterthought, “By the way Yoongi went to the store to restock on soup and medicine.”

Back in his room, Namjoon was feeling bad about the fact that he had unintentionally woken up Hoseok. He also was unhappy that Seokjin assumed his headache was from staring at his computer, when he didn’t even power it up. Namjoon put on a heavy sweater and crawled underneath his blankets, wishing he had more, because he was now really cold and wasn’t really sure why.

When Namjoon woke up, he wasn’t entirely sure what time it was, so he looked out the window. He noticed the sun was still out, but he also noticed something rather peculiar on the balcony. A turtle hovering above the chair that was always there.

Namjoon knew the turtle wasn’t supposed to be there and also knew there was only one way to get rid of it. He needed to fight the turtle to assert his dominance over his territory. He left his room to get the necessary supplies.

When Namjoon walked past the living room, he noticed that Yoongi and Seokjin had both passed out on the couch. Hoseok, on the other hand, was wide awake. Namjoon quickly waved at him then made his way to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Namjoon grabbed a colander, a whisk , and a lid for one of their frying pans. After he collected the necessary items he made his way to the balcony using the door that’s in the living room.

Hoseok was concerned about the leader’s strange behavior, but didn’t really know what to do about it. He still couldn’t really speak above a whisper and he wasn’t sure he had the strength to drag the leader back in anyway. Hoseok did the only thing he could actually think of, throw a pillow at his nearest hyung, Yoongi.

Yoongi woke up fairly quickly after being pelted by the pillow, and glared at Hoseok, until he saw the worried expression on the younger’s face. “Seok-ah, what’s wrong?” Hoseok merely pointed at the door leading to the balcony.

Yoogi got up and stuck his head out the door, where saw Namjoon wearing a colander on his head, holding a frying pan lid in one hand, and a whisk in the other. Namjoon was swinging the whisk through the air at seemingly nothing.

“Namjoon-ah, what are you doing?” Yoongi asked, trying to figure out what exactly was happening.

“I’m fighting the walrus, hyung.” Namjoon stated as if it were completely obvious.

“And why are you fighting the walrus, might I ask?”

“The turtle says I can’t use the bathroom, and that I need to fight the walrus before I can fight him.” Namjoon was sounding completely serious with his explanation, which was just worrying Yoongi further.

“Joon-ah, come take a break, the walrus will still be there to fight later. Are you hungry?” Yoongi was fairly certain that Namjoon was delirious and needed to check the younger’s forehead. He hoped that by playing along, he could sway the younger to come inside.

Luckily for him, Namjoon’s stomach decided to growl at that exact moment, so he put down the whisk and came inside, but not before shooting a glare towards the non existent threat.

As soon as Namjoon got close enough, Yoongi put his hand on the younger’s forehead. His eyes widened at the heat coming off of him. He quickly ushered the sick leader inside and told Hoseok to wake Seokjin while he took the younger to the bathroom.

Yoongi quickly began to run a lukewarm bath and told Namjoon to strip down to his boxers. He then made Namjoon get in the bath. Soon after there was a knock on the door. “Yoongi-yah, Hoseok said that you brought Namjoon in here looking worried.”

Yoongi nodded, “Hyung, he spiked a fever and was hallucinating that the pillows on the chairs for the balcony were a turtle and walrus that needed to be fought.” Seokjin looked in concern as he grabbed the forehead thermometer and scanned that sick leader’s forehead.

“103.3, If it gets any higher, we’ll need to bring him to the hospital.” Seokjin sighed as he went to grab the fever reducers that he had left on the coffee table. When he returned, he was looking a bit guilty, Hoseok trailing behind him.

“While you were at the store, Namjoon came looking for some medicine, and I brushed him off. I assumed his complaints were from going on his computer even though I told him not to.” After Seokjin handed the medicine over to Yoongi, he checked Hoseok’s temperature, which seemed to have gone down.

“Hyung, no offence, but you’re an idiot.” Yoongi snorted at Hoseok’s comment. “Hoseok’s right, you knew that Namjoon was sick and didn’t do anything when he complained of worsening symptoms.” Yoongi then gave Hoseok a look, “Seok-ah, I’m glad it sounds like your voice is back, but you still shouldn’t be talking so you can put as little strain on your voice as possible.”

Hoseok did the motion of zipping his mouth closed and throwing away the key before heading back into the hall. Seokjin was still looking extremely guilty. Yoongi gave him a sympathetic look. “Hyung, why don’t you get lunch started. You can apologize to Namjoon when he’s doing better.”Seokjin nodded and went to the kitchen.

Yoongi made sure that Namjoon took the medicine then made him soak in the tub for several minutes until he decided enough time had passed. “Ok Joon-ah time to get out of the tub.” Namjoon nodded and got up. He got himself dressed then went to the kitchen with Yoongi.

Seokjin had made jook and ramen. He and Hoseok were already at the table eating. Yoongi and Namjoon were quick to join the other two and begaan eating. Lunch didn’t really have any issues, although Namjoon kept glaring at the balcony window. A clear sign that his fever was still high.

After lunch, Seokjin made Namjoon lie down on the couch and grabbed a bowl of ice water and washcloth. He dipped the cloth in the water, then gently placed it on the younger’s forehead. It wasn’t long for Namjoon to drift off to sleep.

Namjoon wound up sleeping for a good chunk of the afternoon, Yoongi and Seokjin keeping a close eye on his fever. They also made sure to keep checking on Hoseok, who was doing much better than he had that morning.

Namjoon woke up to the sound of the maknae line returning to the dorm. Namjoon was fairly coherent when he woke up, but was a bit surprised at Seokjin shoving a thermometer in his mouth when he sat up.

After a moment the thermometer beeped. Seokjin took the thermometer and looked at it, sighing in relief when it had gone down. “Good news Joon-ah, your temp went down and you’re out of the danger zone for now” Namjoon looked confused as he didn’t really remember what happened earlier.

Seokjin fully explained what happened, then began apologizing for not being a good hyung earlier. Namjoon accepted the apology. A moment later, Jungkook spoke. “Now that we’re all caught up on everything, I bought banana milk for everyone.” He began passing the cartons out to all of his hyungs, and they all settled down in the living room and turned on the tv to watch whatever was on that evening.

[marcykinsmaki]

The despair disease request anon, yes the reader has the despair disease, sorry if the original ask was kinda vague :( thank you! Also I love your writing!

hi hi!!! thank you so much, i’m glad you like it! even though this is my second piece, i really enjoy that people are so enamored with it already. thank you guys for being patient and here it is!!

Kazuichi Souda x Reader.

Words: 2,267 (medium)

CW: 90% of this pierce is in the hospital, mentions of hospital equipment, DANGANRONPA 2 CHAPTER 3 SPOILERS, flirting at inappropriate times, suggestive moments

Rating: Teen 

--

[Your POV]

You felt horrible. Your body ached, your temperature was a high 102 degrees, a migraine raged in your head. You weren’t sure what happened, feeling just fine before you went to sleep and by the next morning you could barely get out of bed without some help. That would have been fine if every word out of your mouth didn’t come out some degree of seductive or flirty. Of course, you didn’t think those things, but your body just forced it out like that. You tried to apologize, but it just came out all wrong. Everyone was looking at you weird all morning. You were brought to the diner by Sonia that morning, complimenting her looks and personality the entire way there. Thankfully, she was understanding that you weren’t feeling yourself. A few others arrived looking and feeling just as sickly as you are, all with different ‘symptoms’. Monokuma suddenly appeared, giving us our next motive.

“The Despair Disease!” He announced, looking among you all.

“The what?” Hajime squinted. Monokuma bore his sharp teeth.

“The Despair Disease! A disease carried around by  little bugs that carry certain…. Side effects. Well, good luck! And be careful, wash your hands, you filthy teenagers!” The bear snickered before disappearing. You almost fell down, Kazuichi, who is your crush of all things, quickly scooping you up before you could hit the floor.

“Woah there, Y/N, you almost hit your head on the table! Are you alright?” He didn’t seem worried to catch the disease, looking down to you. You took a deep breath, before a smirk grows onto your face.

“Oh my, have you come to save your royalty in distress?~” You look deeply into Kazuichi’s eyes, swearing you almost saw the embarrassment in his eyes. He quickly set you down.

“H-hey, how about we slow down a bit…” Kazuichi laughs awkwardly, looking desperately to Mikan.

“R-right, we should g-go now, before they g-get worse!” Mikan nods, everyone helping assist everyone who has been affected to the hospital two islands away. Kazuichi helps you, since you’re closest, and you can see him dreading the trip. You don’t blame him. You were quiet, reserved, kept to yourself and stayed out of people’s ways. But now you’re a huge flirt who can’t keep to themselves. You felt really bad, your heart is racing and you’re sweating beyond belief and that just makes it worse.

“Kazuichi, darling, you should stay in my room with me!~ I get so lonely, and I think I’ll need your company.. It’s what you deserve after you saved me.” You coo into his ear. He groans, biting his lip a little.

“Do you really need me to? I-it was no trouble-”

“God, Kaz, just stay with me, pretty please? I’d die if you didn’t!” You call out loudly, people looking back to you two, Kazuichi’s cheeks flushing over.

“Alright, alright! J-just stop yelling, people are looking!” He shakes his head, causing you to giggle softly.

You all eventually make it to the hospital, Kazuichi setting you down on the hospital bed and Mikan quickly handing you a change of clothes, Kazuichi turning to leave before you hook onto his shirt with your finger.

“Now where are you going, handsome?” You look onto him with a flirtatious gaze.

“Uh, o-out of the room so you can change?” He gasps as he falls back onto the bed, looking up to you.

“You can just turn around, I don’t mind.” You smile. He shakes his head, quickly making a bee line for the door. Your heart aches with sympathy for him, definitely needing to make up for this later.

“You’re not well right now, Y/N, I need to keep my distance anyway!” He calls out, before he finally leaves the room and slams the door behind him.

--

[Kazuichi’s POV]

I pant as I finally escape them. Geeze, what a workout.. It’s a damn marathon to run around flirting back with them. And I got to carry them… b-but I need to calm down, before they get well again and never talk to me again! Y/N is so nice to me, they hang out with me and listens when I speak to them! I try my best to treat them as nicely as I can, but every time I look into their eyes they make me swoon... everyone calls me obsessed but I’m just admiring them! Plus, I’d totally stop if they asked. But what am I gonna do? I can’t keep up this facade for long, they’ll totally notice!

I turn back to the room after a minute, knocking on the door.

“Y-Y/N? Are you done yet?”

“One sec!” They call out, spending a few moments to myself before they open the door and look at me, their legs shaking, but seemingly ignoring it as they lean against the doorframe. “Hello, Kazuichi~ You may come in now-” They began to fall again, quickly going to save them before they hit the floor again, shouting out a little before I get them into my arms again. Thank God I’ve been putting a little more elbow grease into my work lately, have they noticed I’ve been working out?

“You have to be more careful, Y/N, you’re still sick!” I sigh, bringing them to their bed. “I-I’ll go get Mikan, you stay here. P-please.” I kinda beg them. I don’t want them falling again. I feel them grab onto my shirt again. They pout up at me, they look even worse.. They’re sweating really bad! I grab onto their hand, and we both blush. I peel their hand from my shirt. “Please.” They sigh, nodding, still pouting. I smile, nodding down at them and turning to go get Mikan.

--

[Your POV]

You still feel horrid. Kazuichi has refused to come by your side, and you’ve flirted up a storm with Mikan, which she could only blush and say thank you, offering a few things that you thankfully declined, quickly and silently reminding her that you’re still sick and most likely don’t mean it. Oh, crap, you forgot Kazuichi probably thinks that, too.. Oh well, there go your chances. You’re alone, eating a cup of jello before you hear a knock on the door.

“Come in~” You speak up enough to let whoever’s behind the door hear you. You reach your hand up to cough into your elbow. You were getting better today, your fever down to 101. The door creaks open, Kazuichi stepping in and poking his face in. Your smile widens. “Don’t be shy, I don’t bite.” You wink. When will this be over.

“Right, t-thanks, Y/N. I kinda wanted to talk to you, actually.” He grabs a chair, sitting next to you. You look down to him with curiosity. “Uh, you don’t mean the things you say, right? L-like, this is all part of the illness you have?”

“Well of course it’s genuine, Kaz, why would I lie to you?~” Well, you weren’t wrong, in a way. You did like him, but you weren’t this flirty. It’s more like a truth-telling disease than a flirting disease.

“Ugh, I’m so stupid, I know you’re only saying this stuff because you’re sick.” Kazuichi groans, looking down to his lap. You reach down, taking one of his hands.

“How about, we go out sometime?” You lean in towards him. He looks up with an even deeper blush, lips wobbling.

“R-really?” His eyes kinda light up. You feel super embarrassed. You’re not ready to go this far, but apparently your illness is. Oh well, why not? It’s already on the table, just go on with it. What’s the worst that could happen?

“We could go and take a walk on the beach once I’m out of here~” You turn over a bit. Your body ached. Your throat was sore from coughing all night. Kazuichi looks hopeful.

“Wow, that’d be great, Y/N. So get better soon, o-okay?!” He stands up with his hands on his hips in a sort of hero pose, which makes you giggle. It was genuinely cute.

“I will. Don’t worry, baby~” You coo up at him. He looks back down with a blush as pink as his hair. He nods.

--

You wake up the next morning, your condition significantly improving. Your headache is gone, your body aches have gone down, your body temp is at a normal 98.5. Still have a bit of a stomach ache, but nothing a few tums can’t fix. Mikan shuffles out as she’s done with your daily examination, and a few minutes later, the body discovery chime goes off. You sigh, watching the screen in the corner of your room play through Monokuma speaking to you and hearing the same dreadful, tension building announcement sound through the air. You push yourself up slowly and redress yourself, going to go join everyone in the music venue. You tear up a bit seeing Ibuki laying on the stage and Hiyoko propped up against the pole, joining everyone in the investigation. You join Kazuichi as a silent ‘I’m better’ and stay back to your reclused self.

--

The trial passed and the execution almost flies by. Everything was blurry when it got like this. It was terrifying, though, how the rest of us could have died as well from the same person who swore to make us better. We silently think about if the body discovery would have been for us, but I didn’t spend too much time on it. You return to your cottage, only to hear a knock at your door. You grunt, dragging yourself to the door and opening it. You were met with vibrance, your heart thrumming with nervousness.

“H-hey, Y/N, sorry for bothering you so late.. But can we do that thing?” We both stood in silence for a minute. A blush was brought to both of our cheeks. “N-not saying that you have to! I’m just r-really excited that you want to hang out!” He waves his hands in front of him. It makes me giggle.

“That was a genuine statement, Kaz, don’t worry. I would love to.” You said this… easier than you thought you would. This was crazy. This is crazy. Oh well, there’s no going back and this was your chance. He held an arm out excitedly, and you take it anxiously, closing the door behind you and walking off to the beach. You almost shook with nerves. You two exchange small talk until you get there.

--

You arrive at the beach, you both taking off your shoes and carrying them as you approached the soft and increasing sound of the crashing waves as they settled on the shore. The twinkling of the stars and bright light of the shining moon casting its bright rays onto the beautiful scene. It’s breathtaking, but if walls could talk, the beach would lose its worth. You two quietly stand in front of the ocean, watching the water.

“Thank you for doing this with me, Y/N.” Kazuichi mutters quietly. You notice him looking at you, returning it with a small smile.

“Of course. I know the Despair Disease really threw me off, which I am very sorry if I made you uncomfortable, but…” You drifted off with your words. He quirked a brow.

“But?”

“... I have something to tell you.” You turn completely towards him. Body facing him and everything. Your heart thrums again, reminding you of your anxiety. You shove it down for now. “I am terrified of how this will end. If we’ll be walking out of here hand in hand, if that’s even possible.”

“Hey! Don’t be saying stuff like that-”

“What I mean is,” You interrupt him. “, I need to tell you this, before it’s too late. I love you, Kazuichi Souda.” You look at him deeply into his eyes. He looks relieved. 

“I love you, too Y/N. I know saying I love you this early is really fast, but ever since I met you, I knew you were the one for me. And you actually gave me the time of day unlike everyone else. I can be myself around you.” He nods. Your blush from earlier returns, as if it’s never left.

“I… feel the same. You don’t egg me to speak or be included in conversation. You can tell when I don’t feel like it, and just respect my boundaries. I didn’t catch right away, but eventually I just fell.” You shrug. It also baffled you how open you were being right away, but the Despair Disease make you worse than this, so it didn’t really matter. He’s opening up, too, so you’ve gotten a vibe that you both enjoy on the table.

“Can I kiss you?” He suddenly spurts. Your eyes widen. You aren’t  sure what to do, but it’d be hypocritical if you didn’t follow through with your whole ‘confession before tragedy’ narrative.

“Yes.” And that sealed the deal. His surprisingly soft lips were onto yours, his hands slowly snaking on your hips. He was reluctant about his hands, but yours slowly guided his to stay there. You could feel his slightly rougher hands, tracing across his physical efforts as proof of his Ultimate. He smiles into the kiss, and you do as well. A soft breeze blows through the gentle warmth of the summer night heat. The stars and moon feel brighter before, almost as hot as the sun itself. He slowly dipped you, one of your knees bending so your foot relaxes onto the soft sand. 

Maybe having the Despair Disease wasn’t that bad after all.

--

AAAAAAA OKAY HERE YOU GO! I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED!!!

edit 1: i wanted to mention that the reason i chose the point of view/style of writing i did for the reader is because it’s what made sense to me. it was starting out as a description but i like it to be a “surprise” until you read it fully. i felt like the jolt would be too sudden from that “you/your” style to a “i/me”. so yeah just wanted to say that

[hi-hey-haechan]

This isn’t showing up in the tags again. See, when I post at 3 AM, I don’t have this problem, but instead, it’s the middle of the afternoon.

102: “I know for a fact that you can be hell of a lot louder than that.”

110: “Do you think they can hear us through the tent?”

“The stars are so beautiful tonight,” Ten sighed. He was sitting next to you on a log that faced into the fire. There were three other logs, making a square around the flames, and the rest of WayV were occupying them. The six other members were staring at Ten, perplexed by his sudden statement regarding something so serious and meaningful. You were slightly puzzled, as well. He looked straight at Yangyang. “You know what else is beautiful?”

Yangyang rolled his eyes. He, along with Ten, were savages, roasting everyone left and right, especially each other. “I don’t know, what?” You could catch the tint on his cheeks, as though he believed for a second that Ten was talking about him.

Ten stared at him with a faint, condescending smile. “Y/n.”

Xiaojun struggled to restrain Yangyang from tackling Ten. You hit Ten in the shoulder affectionately before burying your face in your hands, slightly embarrassed. “Sleeping is much less painful than this,” Sicheng said, sending everyone a hint.

It was around midnight, and everyone had been sitting around the campfire, talking for hours as the daylight slowly drained out of the sky, cut open by the branches of the giant trees surrounding you. They were dark shadows now, the only illumination coming from the campfire and the lanterns inside of the four tents, standing in a line. The flames were smaller than they once had been, and there were embers that sat around the actual fire, ablaze in brilliant hues of orange and red and blue. The embers glowed brightly, contrasting against the dark coals, sticks, and woodchips, looking as though you were in an airplane, flying above a busy city at night, illuminated by all its lights. It was beautiful.

Before long, Kun was putting the fire out, and everyone was heading back to their tents, flashlights leading the way.

Your tent provided no warmth, and the cool night air was chilling you to the bone. The lantern illuminated the entire tent, and the silhouettes of moths and mosquito hawks were visibly standing on the outside of your tent, attracted to the contrasting illumination from the pitch-dark woods. Ten removed his shirt, flinching against the cold as he looked for the hoodie he’d brought to sleep in. The lantern bathed his skin in gold, the muscles of his back flexing as he looked around for his sweatshirt. His shoulders were broad, and you knew the skin was soft to the touch, as well as warm. You wanted to reach out and receive some warmth from his body, but he’d flinch away from your ice-cold hands. He laid back against his pillow and kicked off his jeans, exposing his long legs. You were immersed in the sight of him, barely able to believe how gorgeous he was. He quickly changed into sweatpants, not enjoying the cold air against his bare skin. The show was nice while it lasted, and you quickly scolded yourself for having those thoughts at that time.

You then removed your shirt, inhaling sharply as the nighttime air chilled you to the bone. Luckily, Ten’s hoodie that you’d brought for sleeping was sitting on top of your bag, so you didn’t need to look around for it, meaning less time exposed to the cold.

You braced yourself before removing your jeans, flinching as the cold air attacked the bare skin. As you leaned over to look in your bag for your sweatpants, you felt a decently warm hand gently run up your bare thigh. Your head swiveled around to see Ten’s face. His eyes were fixated on your legs.

“Can I help you?” you inquired, sort of sarcastically.

“Wha-? Oh, sorry,” Ten murmured. “I just...I really like your legs”

“Well, my legs don’t like the cold,” you said, pulling on your sweatpants.

“I mean, if you let me have my way with you, more than just your legs would be warmed up in no time.”

When Ten was blunt like this, unyielding and refusing to shy away from what he wanted, you had to admit that it was hot. Plus, seeing him change definitely made you feel some type of way. “But we’re in a tent.”

“But I want you. Plus, it will warm us up.” His face was persistent in the lantern light, and his eyes were pleading.

You let your hormones decide your next answer. “Fine.”

He gave you a grin then, his beautiful smile that melted your heart and could convince you of literally anything. In a flash, his lips met yours in a searing kiss. Every nerve in your body turned to liquid fire, warmth becoming prominent in your body and fueling your desire.

Before long, you two were inside of Ten’s sleeping bag, with him on top of you. Both of you had removed your sweatpants and underwear, but you kept on your hoodies, needing as much warmth as you could get.

“Don’t be too rough,” you warned him. “We can’t let them hear us.”

Ten lined himself up at your entrance, lubricating his cock in your arousal. He didn’t hesitate a second longer to slam himself inside of you. “Why not?” he inquired as you bit down on his shoulder to muffle your scream. The initial move was harsh, bringing in a sharp pain as he literally was splitting you apart. Your walls clenched around him like crazy, attempting to get used to the sudden intrudance that was stretching you open. You wanted to cry out, both in the familiar pain and the slight pleasure that came with the hurt.

“Do you think they can hear us through the tent?” you asked as you exhaled through clenched teeth.

“Probably,” he replied as he slid out slowly, teasing you, before slamming back in. His length delved into your wet walls, which were powerlessly clenching around him. “You’re so tight,” he groaned.

You cried out, not able to muffle your shout in his shoulder at the moment. You heard a raccoon scamper off from outside of the tent, and you could feel Ten’s laugher as his body shook with giggles. “Ten, please.”

“What? Please what?” He began to move again, thrusting his huge length in and out of you. You were conscious of every vein and ridge of his cock against your walls as he dragged through your dripping pussy.

“W-what if they hear us?”

“Then they’ll find out exactly how good I’m fucking you.” His lips connected to your neck, and you felt his hair tickled your jawline as he kissed your sensitive skin. His lips were hot against yours, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His breaths and the heat of his mouth was sending goosebumps and feelings of pleasure through your body. Ten’s tongue flicked outward, making you shudder, but you pulled yourself infinitely closer to him. When he brought some skin in between his lips, sucking lightly, you let out a mewl before inhaling sharply.

When you gave him the okay, Ten began to move his hips. You had to will your body to relax, to adapt to the pain that came along with his thick length filling you up like that.

The spots that had once hurt were now stinging less, and every spot he was pressed up against was feeling good. Upon this, you found it more and more difficult to contain your sounds of pleasure, moans and gasps and whines spilling from your lips as your bodies stirred with incandescent life.

Ten’s mouth was still against your neck, attempting to muffle his moans but failing. He wasn’t the best at keeping quiet when he was feeling good, and you loved this. The sounds he made could only be described as “pretty,” and they were hot, as well, causing your core to gush a bit with arousal.

His thrusts were neither fast, nor slow, but they were deep. The sound of skin hitting skin was fairly loud, and you knew that the others could hear. You knew that you two should stop, but no part of you wanted to. Your entire being just wanted Ten closer, closer than he already was. Your legs moved to wind around his waist, and your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

You could physically hear how wet you were, the squelching sound of him inside of you matching with the sound of his thighs and hips making contact with yours. He smirked against your skin, knowing all too well the inevitable effect he always managed to have on you.

“Admit it,” he whispered in your ear. He was breathless, and his voice was rough and hoarse. “You like the idea of the others hearing us. You like the fact that they know how good I can make you feel, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, fuck,” you whined. Your eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, jaw hanging slack as Ten hit the spots inside of you that sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Then why are you trying to stay quiet? I know for a fact you can be hell of a lot louder than that.”

Just then, his tip found the bundle of nerves deep inside of you, making you cry out, back arching up off the bed. He pulled back from your skin and gave you a cocky grin, knowing that he could force you to scream his name if you had to.

His hips sped up, pounding into you swiftly but deeply. He had the hips of a dancer, which could make you literally beg for more, as well as turn to putty at his expense as he skillfully rolled his hips into yours. Even with his face buried into your skin, the sounds he made couldn’t be contained. Breathless gasps and moans filled the tent from both of you, failing to stay quiet completely.

“Will you guys shut up? We’re trying to sleep, not listen to a pornography tape,” Yangyang called out from his tent.

You could hardly hear him. Ten filled your senses, and he was all you could hear and see and feel and adore with everything you had.

“Ten,” you gasped out, squeezing your thighs tighter around his hips, “I’m gonna cum.” A loud, breathless whine left your lips, and your legs shook violently, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. Without another second to spare, the most intense wave of pleasure hit you, and your hands balled into the fabric of his hoodie as you thrashed under him, core violently clenching as you came on his member. You cried out his name, quite possibly the only word your mind could think of.

He continued to pound into you, chasing his own high, which hadn’t yet fallen upon him. The friction of your wet walls that were clenching around him so tightly, causing stars to shine in his vision, was bringing so much pleasure to him. Ten couldn’t contain his own moans when he came, a mix of swear words, moans, whines, and calling of your name as his hips stopped moving. His seed shot up inside of you, a sensation you craved more than you would ever admit.

Eventually, after milking out the last of his high, he collapsed on top of you, gasping.

“Are you still cold?” Ten asked cheekily. Your bodies were both sweating, hair clinging to your foreheads as you both breathed heavily. You let out a faint giggle, shaking your head. His lips then connected to yours sweetly, his mouth curled into a grin against yours.

Stomping from outside caused you to jump a bit. However, Ten recognized Sicheng’s voice as he said, “If you guys plan on going again, I suggest you go a few miles away. Maybe then we’ll be able to sleep in peace.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 102

Okay, trying to queue this again after it apparently got eaten along with chapter 101.

Y’all pray for me to whatever higher powers you believe in or can make up on the spot. Thanks.

Thanks for this chapter goes to the fabulous anon who sent me an ask about Jedis. I really, really hope you are seeing this chapter and I hope you like it. I also want to thank @baelpenrose​ as my resident Star Wars expert, who checked, double checked, and triple checked my writing to make sure everything was as entertaining/accurate as possible.

Before you all cringe at some comments Sophia makes, she is deliberately downplaying her knowledge of Star Wars in an attempt to see if she can give some of the other characters a twitchy eye.

After an extraordinarily bizarre situation regarding my former foe and who I assumed was his partner, I was profoundly relieved to find myself in a very boring, very normal situation a couple of weeks later. Even the regular family dinner was pretty normal: grilled cheese on a very good sourdough, with a tomato soup so garlicky that even I had no objections to it. I made a point to puree it, so Derek was very happy with the texture and I was happy with the flavor. Arthur shot me odd looks once in a while, but it was a happy, calm dinner.

And things were going… so well… I thought as Maverick dragged everyone into his quiet argument with Sam.

“Sam,” He stated emphatically as he dunked his sandwich and ripped a tomato-soaked piece from it. “We all want it to be real but… humans don’t exist outside of Earth and the Ark.”

“Yoda is not human,” Sam insisted loudly, grinning the entire time.

I choked on my soup. “Yoda? You two have been arguing Star Wars this whole time?”

“Maverick insists they are not real,” Sam enunciated carefully. When he got excited about a topic he loved, he had a tendency to rush everything and drop syllables, making his words nearly impossible to understand.

“They meaning Jedi?” Arthur asked, eyeballing the pile of sandwiches on the table. Finally he snagged his third half-sandwich and dunked it without ceremony. “As much as I wish they were real, I have my doubts.”

So did I. “Human beings who can use telepathy, telekinesis, and distance-empathy?” I scrunched my nose. “I think that’s a bit far-fetched.”

“But extraterrestrials exist,” Sam pointed out.

Conor nodded. “They do, obviously. Otherwise, Noah would be a bloody big figment of our imagination.” Shaking his head, he smiled. “If we didn’t make Santa real as children, I doubt we could make up someone like Noah, right?”

Sam only got more serious. “I was always taught that aliens don’t exist. My teachers told me that the only life off of Earth were bacteria. But, even if Else is bacteria, Noah isn’t. So, maybe other things we thought were pretend are real.”

The table was silent for a moment, shattered only by Derek dusting bread crumbs from his hands as ceremoniously and loudly as humanly possible. “Sam has a point,” he signed. “Fabricators exist, aliens exist.. Hell, telepathy exists - “

“Not telepathy,” Miys interjected from above.

“Neuro-pheremonal communication exists,” Derek finger-spelled, making a point of how cumbersome the term was in a way none of the rest of us really could. Seven minutes later, he took a slurp of soup and continued. “Unicorns exist, even if they are chubby. Why not Jedi?”

I opened my mouth to refute, then realized I couldn’t: we had the genetic code for both narwhals and rhinoceros in the gene bank. Good effing luck convincing anyone unicorns don’t exist, I guess. Instead, I grasped on my one last leg of logic. “But humans, like Luke Starkiller and Obi-whatsit Kenoshi don’t actually exist.”

Maverick looked absolutely revolted by something, which confused me. He liked tomato soup, and actually chose the cheese for the sandwiches himself. “Sophia. Have you even seen those movies?” He was absolutely aghast as he posed his question, and I suddenly understood what he was revolted by.

“Of course I did,” I sighed, rolling my eyes. “In college, in Intro to Adolescent Literature.”

Soup abruptly coated everything on the table as both Arthur and Conor spat violently at my clarification. Arthur scrubbed his chin the fastest, so had the honor of levelling his incredulity at me. “Sophia Reid. Do you mean to tell me that you have only seen Star Wars ONE TIME?”

I shook my head, confused. “No. I’ve seen all three.”

“ELEVEN,” Sam corrected me loudly. “There are eleven movies.”

“Please, please tell me you at least saw Rogue One,” Maverick begged. “You may not have known it was a Star Wars movie?”

“Is that the one where the robot hits the guy and says he has another fresh one?” I asked carefully.

Maverick nodded. Arthur, however, looked like he was about to start breathing fire. “I am going to force you to consume every bit of Star Wars media worth consuming if I have to get Charly and Derek to program the audio versions to play in every room you enter.”

“I can do that,” Derek signed, unhelpfully.

Arthur just nodded. “See? I can make this happen. Your quarters will feel like Hoth, all digital communications will sound like C-3PO, and many Bothans will die before your datapad functions.”

Alarmingly, Miys interjected. “Wisdom, Bothans are an endangered species. Please do not encourage Educator Farro to commit atrocities.”

I was still gasping in confusion when Arthur recovered from his choking. “Oh shit. Bothans are real? They were a very back-stabby race of dog-type people who fought against fascists in Terran media. I thought, at least. I wouldn’t actually kill a real one… I am far more high functioning of a sociopath than that, thank you.”

“Noah,” I choked out. “Are you serious? Are Bothans real?”

“Affirmative,” they responded, setting off an entirely new round of choking and sputtering. I would need to have something done about my floors if this kept up. “And while they do resemble Terran canines on a very superficial level, they are genetically more closely related to a Terran fern.”

Arthur looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. “That is the least back-stabbing and least threatening plant I can possibly think of.”

Conor, not to be outdone, was still curious. “Boston or Fiddlehead?”

“Asparagus fern, Human Conor,” was the reply that set off a thousand coughs.

Sam recovered first. “That does not mean Jedi don’t exist,” he insisted.

“Of course Jedi exist,” Miys answered in a tone that was as close to being confused as I had ever heard.

Almost immediately, Arthur, Maverick, and Sam started cheering and high-fiving. Conor looked confused, while I spat my soup out again.

“WHAT?” I choked out between attempts at keeping tomatoes and garlic out of my lungs.

“They are as real as any member of any other Terran religion.”

Silence ruled the room for a split second, broken first by Arthur throwing his fork in the air behind him.  Like a signal, it led to Sam and Maverick dropping their head to their forearms with a groan.

I managed to recover enough to slide my food away, lest I risk death over an absurd conversation. “Are there anything like Jedi in the known galaxy?” I asked, receiving a thumbs up from Arthur, who was still trying not to choke on his soup.

“Only in small measures.”

That seemed like the magic phrase to snap Arthur out of whatever coughing fit he was having. “Are there any species in the galaxy that have Jedi abilities?”

“You will need to be more specific.”

Conor, laughter out of his system, joined gamely. “Is there anything that can move physical objects without touching them directly?” he started.

“Several species can,” Miys conceded. “Those who only experience what you consider ‘sight’ as changes in air currents can, in fifty-four percent of cases so far, also change the air currents in a sufficient way as to move physical objects.”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “They can stare at something hard enough to move it?”

“Wisdom, if I experienced physical pain, I am certain that your oversimplification just now would have caused such a sensation.”

Without rebutting, I waved for Miys to continue and ignored the laughter caused by the comment.

“Similarly, there are species more limited than Hujylsogox, who can perceive the physical world strictly through sound,” they continued. “In such cases, it is not uncommon for these species to also alter their surroundings by vibrating physical objects at a frequency that causes them to move within physical space.” A brief pause before, “And no, Wisdom, that does not mean they scream at objects until such objects move. I would also like to point out, Educator Farro, that the same species can cause internal organs to vibrate as a sufficient frequency as to cut off air flow.”

“Force choke is real,” Arthur whisper-shouted, mildly horrified. Clearing his throat, he spoke more clearly for his next question. “What about ‘there is a disturbance in the Force, as if many voices cried out’ etc?”

Miys buzzed thoughtfully for a moment before replying more clearly. “There are number of species who are able to perceive and interpret with great accuracy any changes in interstellar radiation, no matter how small. Should, say, a star go nova or collapse into a black hole, they are very reliable in providing information to cartographers. Should such a species state with certainty that a planet ceased to exist, I would need to see the planet from orbit in order to disbelieve them.”

Maverick let loose a low whistle, but it was Sam who spoke next. “But what about living beings, on an individual level. I know you can do that, but can any other species?”

“It is, perhaps, the most common trait in the known galaxy,” Miys admitted. “Even humans can do this, to a degree, although you tend to ignore it against all logic.”

“Okay. What about force lightning, though?”

I actually started to respond to that, having an answer finally, but Miys beat me to the draw. “Species who communicate through electrical currents are more numerous in the galaxy than those who can see. In the same way, they need to be able to manipulate such currents. Their young are frequently sequestered on their home worlds in order to prevent electrocution of species whose neural organs can be disrupted by uncontrolled communication. The same species are capable of using those same currents to increase their own synaptic response and reflexes.”

I almost wanted to laugh at Maverick’s face. He looked frustrated and ashamed in a way that I could not figure out. Maybe because these abilities existed, but not in humans? Regardless, his tone was frustrated when he asked his next question. “What about force ghosts? Please tell me those are real?”

“Very much so,” Miys confirmed. “Though likely not in the way you think. What you consider ‘Force Ghosts’ are, in the galaxy as it is, the result of technological advancement combined with spiritual beliefs.” A few groans surrounded the table, but Maverick perked up slightly. “Many species believe, as a result of their evolution, that their predecessors’ life energy persists after death. In these cultures, it is so common as to be unremarkable for a person to have a synaptic recording chip installed shortly after birth, to record their entire lives. They, then, pass their chip on to their successor in  position.” Wait a minute… I thought, but Miys continued before I could put everything together. “In such circumstances, many species’s neural organs will manifest a… personality, separate from the original, in order to preserve mental stability. Such manifestations are very similar to what Terran media considers a ‘Force ghost’.”

“Hang on,” I ventured, holding my hand up emphatically to cut off any other questions from the table. “That. Stop there.” Taking a deep breath, I thought back through everything I had read in the past. “I thought the idea of deliberately having multiple, distinct identities was… a story, honestly.”

“Even in your own past, it was discovered that the human brain can host two distinct personalities with no difficulty, Wisdom,” Miys admonished. “These species, however, are uniquely adapted so that, along with the memory implant, they suffer no actual combination or confusion of experiences. What their ancestor experienced is their ancestor’s memory, and what the person experiences is the person's memory. A person cannot overwrite an ancestral core. Only speak to it.”

“Can humans do that?” Sam asked, dazed in wonder at this new revelation.

“Not yet,” Miys responded. “But I do insist on the word ‘yet’, as you were never meant to do many of the things you do now.”

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[seven-oomen]

Until the end of time | Sambucky | Chapter 1

warnings/tags/main post here

Notes:

It's been a long while since I wrote anything for the Marvel fandom but I decided to step back into it after watching fatws. I'm writing this fic through Bucky's perspective mostly because I'm also doing it as an exercise to cope with my own CPTSD. And many of the feelings like pulsating energy and sensory overload are things I myself experience. Considering the things Bucky has been through, it seemed like a logical thing for him to struggle with as well.

I haven't decided if I want to turn this into mpreg near the end, but I wanna bring it up because I'm thinking about it. Haven't made my mind up on it yet. It will get a lot happier and brighter though, near the end. And they will end up together before the fic is over. But the fun is in the journey right?

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this.

-

He didn’t have a family. Not anymore.

The only living family he had left could no longer remember him. She was 102 and living in a nursing home. He visited Rebecca at times but, well, it never really amounted to anything. She couldn’t remember his name, what he looked like. And he made sure he only ever visited when her children and grandchildren weren’t around. How was he supposed to explain all of it anyway?

I’m your uncle James but I never contacted you or stuck around because I got brainwashed, experimented on, and kidnapped? Yeah… that would go over well.

He only ever observed Rebecca’s children from a distance. She had two sons; James and Robert, and a daughter, Annie, who looked just like her. It gave him some comfort to know that at least her legacy would live on.

Sometimes Hazel’s children and grandchildren visited her as well, even though Hazel herself had passed away a decade ago at 90. He didn’t know if Grace had had any children. He never saw them visit Rebecca if she had. The only thing he knew about her was that she had passed away a year ago at the age of 97.

Though they were his descendants, they weren’t his family. They didn’t know him and he didn’t know them. Not really. Files could only tell you so much about a person.

And now that Steve was gone too, life had become nothing more than a dull thrum as he tried to navigate it to the best of his abilities. Which was a lot harder than he’d anticipated. Living in New York had changed in the last century, of course it had. He found it difficult to settle in and pretend nothing had changed. To live life, go to therapy. None of that truly held any meaning for him anymore.

Or at least, it hadn’t.

Crossing the names of his list had given some of it back, for a while. He enjoyed being able to use technology and his particular skill set for the common good for once, even if his methods weren't exactly... therapist approved. Not that he listened to her anyway. He didn't see the need most of the time.

His phone pinged once again as he left the scene, letting the sirens of the approaching authorities drown out the constant murmurs and images in his head. A quick phone check revealed a text from Sam.

[Barnes I need you to answer me.]

He ignored it. Again.

It had been the fifth text in three days. Sam clearly wanted something from him, most likely his help. He didn't care much anymore. All he cared about was finishing his pardon and finding something, anything to stay alive for.

Please. Please I didn't see anything.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the intrusive thought, shaking his head and clenching his hands until his nails dug into his palms. Body thrumming with a pulsating energy. No. No, not now.

A deep breath. In, hold it, and out. He repeated the gesture, navigating his way through busy streets purely on autopilot

In the sanctity of his apartment, he dropped down in the nest of blankets in front of his tv and wrapped his arms around himself.

He- he couldn't.

Images of flashing metal, blood dripping to the floor plagued his mind, and the overwhelming feeling of his throat contracting made him gasp for breath.

He couldn't breathe.

His phone pinged again.

"What do you want, James?"

Family. Love. Understanding. But above all... "Peace."

"That is utter bullshit."

"You are a terrible shrink."

It was and it wasn't. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts but he also wanted those same thoughts to just- just stop.

[Barnes, pick up your damn phone.] Sam's text read this time.

He just needed it all to stop.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed as he breathed in and out, letting the energy just flow through him as he tried to calm his mind. Blinking back the tears that threatened to fall once he was done, he rubbed his hand over his face and got up to grab some water and a snack.

The days passed as usual.

He went to therapy, spend some time with Yori, went on a date that failed, and revisited Rebecca again. He read the hobbit to her once again, just as he had back in the '30s. She smiled at him once he was done and asked; "Who are you?"

He'd taken his leave after that. Endlessly roaming the streets of Brooklyn until evening fell and he ended up back at his apartment in front of his tv.

He had nobody left.

His sister was as good as gone. Steve had left him. He was alone. And he would die alone. Out of his mind with the walls closing in on him.

The incessant ringing and vibration of his phone pulled him out of his thoughts. Jesus…

“What the hell do you want, Sam?” He said as he picked it up, probably a little more forceful than he meant to.

“Not Sam, and I’m just checking in on you.” Rhodey’s voice said on the other end.

Shit.

He sighed. “Rhodes, I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Rhodes paused, “Have you seen the news yet?”

He really couldn’t take this kind of bullshit right now, of course, he knew what Sam had done. “I know he retired the shield, Rhodes. You don’t have to keep checking on me. I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Rhodes clearly didn’t believe him, although to be fair, he wasn’t sure he would have believed himself right now, “And that’s not what I meant. They-”

His tv chose that moment to cut back to the news from the commercials that had been running. Almost as if it had a mind of its own with the world’s worst possible timing. There, in white letters on a blue banner, was the worst news he’d seen in a month.

John Walker named Captain America.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…”

“Barnes, I know what this looks like-”

“Please tell me you’ve tried to stop this.”

“I tried. They wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Fuck…” He couldn’t believe this, this was, just, fuck. He needed to punch something.

“Barnes,” A pause “do I need to call someone?”

He shook his head, though it only took him several seconds to realize; Rhodey couldn’t see him shaking his head. “No. No, I’m- I’m fine.”

Rhodey didn’t say anything for several seconds but he practically felt the man’s incessant gaze and knowing smile. “In that case, you should check on Sam, make sure he’s okay too.”

“Yeah…” He didn’t want to, especially not now. But maybe Rhodes had a point, he probably wasn’t the only one struggling with this news. “Give Pepper and Morgan my love, alright?”

Rhodey probably wanted to press on, judging by the hesitation in his breathing. He didn’t though. Something he was inherently grateful for. “Sure. I’ll pass it along. Take care Barnes, I’ll be a phone call away if you need me.”

“Alright. Bye.” He said, looking at the number on his phone screen for several minutes while the interview played in the background. He was grateful for all the strings Rhodes had pulled within the government to get him his pardon. He was grateful for Pepper’s non-stop work to get his bank accounts, social security, and money restored. He was grateful for the fact that they had helped and stuck their necks out for him, even though he didn’t deserve any of it. Especially considering his past and what he’d done to their family. They didn’t seem to care, and if they did, they were good at hiding it. They helped him anyway.

But he wasn’t part of their family. It didn’t feel like he was.

He sat there, watching Walker’s interview. And goddamn it was so stupid. The man didn’t know anything about Steve or the mantle he was taking on and yet there he was talking about him as if he’d always known Steve. Calling him his brother and whatnot.

He didn’t register the bleeding lip until a metallic taste filled his mouth, his hands clenched in his lap, and anger pulsing through him with an energy he couldn’t contain. What he wanted to do in that moment would have negated everything he had worked so hard for and would undoubtedly mark him an international terrorist once again.

Instead, he grabbed his keys, went to the nearest bar, and drank through so many bottles of booze that the bartender wanted to call an ambulance for him. He didn’t need one. It wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism in the slightest, but it was far better than tracking Walker down to pummel his ass.

Although he knew it wasn’t fair and part of him knew that Sam couldn’t have foreseen this coming. It was easiest to blame him. So he did.

It was all Sam’s fault. If Sam hadn’t given up the shield, none of this would have happened. If Sam hadn’t given up the shield, Walker wouldn’t have become Captain America. If Sam hadn’t given up the shield, hadn’t given up on Steve’s wish-

He shook his head and sighed. If Steve had been wrong about Sam being the right man, then Steve was wrong about him too. And that was something he couldn’t process, not now, not yet.

In the morning, he arranged an Uber to take him to the Air force base.

-

End notes:

So that's it for chapter 1, there will be seven chapters in total. Let me know what you think of it so far, comments fuel me and keep me writing.

What did you like this chapter? Are there things that aren't clear or not written clearly? Let me know and I will make sure to fix them.

I would love to hear your thoughts.

[lovely-angst]

dote on tanjiro

Standing behind the large wooden fence, you peek your head around the corner to see your husband talking to the new demon slayer, Tanjiro. You didn’t know if it was because Tanjiro and his sister were orphans or if you had extreme baby fever, but you wanted to take Tanjiro and Nezuko under your wing. 

You hadn’t exactly talked to Tomioka about your motherly feelings toward the younger slayer yet, but you wanted to sometime soon. 

Letting out a determined sigh, you walk around the corner towards the two, a bright smile on your face. “Hello Tanjiro!” you say sweetly as you wave toward the younger male. 

“Ah! (Name)-san!” His face brightens up upon seeing you. Your arm wraps around Tanjiro in a comforting hug before you pull away and brush his hair back in a motherly nature. “Have you been okay lately? Are you eating well? How is Nezuko doing?” You ask and Tanjiro responds with a smile.

“Nezuko’s well! I’ve been doing fine too, thank you for worrying about us.” Smiling at him, you give him another quick hug before stepping towards Tomioka’s side. 

“If you need anything, I’m always here, okay? Even if it’s just a hug, I’ll give you a thousand.” 

Tomioka watched as you doted on Tanjiro; he wasn’t that much younger than the two of you, but you seemed to smother him with a lot of affection.

“Thank you (Name)-san. Well, I’ll be off!” with a wave, he walked off, leaving you and your husband alone. 

“He’s such a good kid, isn’t he Giyuu?” You say as you watch Tanjiro in the distance. Tomioka glances over at you with a small smile, “You really like Tanjiro, don’t you?” A shy smile makes its way onto your lips as you turn to face him. “Is it bad that I want to take them in?” 

Tomioka’s looked at you slightly puzzled and your pink cheeks redden as you look down shyly. “You know I really want kids, but with how our circumstances are now, we decided to wait on starting a family.” Reaching over, you reach for his hands, “They don’t have a family anymore, Giyuu, we could be their family.” 

His blue eyes stare into your own silently before you give his hands a squeeze. “You don’t have to change the way you act towards them, but I want them to know they can count on me to be like a mother.”

Frowning slightly, Tomioka steps towards you before enveloping you into a hug, a sigh escaping his lips. “I’m sorry I can’t give you the family you want,” you shake your head into his chest, “It’s okay. I know you would rather wait until things die down.”

“But, please take what I said about Tanjiro and Nezuko into consideration.”

-

It had been three months since Tomioka and you had taken the Kamado siblings into your household. Tanjiro has been nothing but helpful around the house and Tomioka had actually taken the time to help train Tanjiro with the Breath of Water. 

Tomioka watched as you smothered Tanjiro with kisses around his face like a doting mother would, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly irritated by it.

“Tanjiro, you should go and get started on your training,” Tomioka said from the table and Tanjiro perked up from his voice. “Of course!” he stated, receiving one last forehead kiss from you before slipping away towards the open garden area.

Tomioka sighed before walking over towards you, slipping an arm around your waist as you smiled up at him, giggling. “What’s up with you? You never get this affectionate with me,” you reply, placing your hands on his chest. His blue eyes stare into your own before he frowns down at you. “Why do you dote on him so much?” 

Gears click in your head as you stare up at him, a chuckle escaping your lips. “What do you mean, why? Tanjiro is so cute, I love him so much!” you squeal as you place a hand on your chest in joy. “Why are you getting so clingy now?” You joke as he follows you around, his arms still attached to you.

“You spend less time with me now..” he responds into the back of your neck and you give him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m not forgetting you.” you giggle and he pulls his face away.

“This makes me not wanna have kids anymore,” he plainly states and you turn around with a gasp, slightly offended. “Giyuu!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” shaking your head, you chuckle before hugging him back, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Just letting you know, I’m ready whenever you are.” Tomioka lifted you up, causing your giggles to fill the air as the two of you basked in the presence of each other. 

- e x t r a -

“Tomioka-san and (Name)-san sure are in love with each other, aren’t they Nezuko?” Tanjiro states happily as he peeks around the shoji doors and into the room where Tomioka pressed a kiss onto your cheek. 

Tanjiro smiles as he looks around his shoulder at the box, hearing Nezuko grunt in agreement. Glancing back at the two love birds, he lets out a content sigh, “How sweet.”

i would 102% adopt tanjiro