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babytaes · 3 years ago

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†hê Ðêmðñ (the beauty of sin)

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You're a guardian angel who's never been tasked with protecting anyone. Since you've been here since Creation, sitting around in heaven hasn't brought you any rewards. You were looking forward to the day when you'd be assigned a human to look after. When that day finally arrives, things take an unexpected turn when you are assigned to Heeseung, a demon from the underworld.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: heeseung x female reader

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: angst, suggestive/smut

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 4k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: profanity, smut scenes, bad boy heeseung (lol),

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖘: click me before reading!

➳ part of the drunk & dazed series

☆ ҉ ◢▅◣

Sin is a spiritual virus that invades the whole being. It makes you morally and spiritually weak. It’s a deadly disease that infects every part of you: your body, your mind, your emotions, and your motives—absolutely everything. Nobody has the strength on their own to overcome its power.

Nobody should ever commit sin, never giving in to their worldly and sinful impulses. It's unjust and wrong. However, what is it about sin that makes it so fascinating and enjoyable?

It gave you joy to see it in his smile or the way his hands caressed your body. What a lovely thing sin is!

Even though some sins are innocent and enjoyable, sometimes regulations are supposed to be broken. Everyone, after all, is a sinner.

“WHAT!?,?” You began to sweat as you worriedly communicated your concerns to your overseer, “You must be mistaken, High Lord.”

“I understand the protocol; angels are supposed to serve as "guardian angels" to beautiful or broken souls on Earth. You know we're expected to look after them and keep an eye on them to make sure they stay on track. With all due respect, ma'am, I don't believe I'm qualified for this position; at the very least, someone of level 10 would be ideal.”

Her cream-colored wings swept her off her feet as she chuckled and waved for you to follow her. You sighed as you flutter up and away with her, trailing behind her, feeling a twitch in yours.

As you eventually caught up to her, dodging angels left and right, you apologized to random angels in your path, uncomfortably smiled at the people you bumped into with your wings.

You retracted your wings closer to you and walked uneasily beside your overseer as you carefully stepped down on the golden road.

Before you could say anything, she quietly took your hand in hers and gently kissed it, assuring you that everything would be alright. As you approached the center of the commotion, you bit your lower lip and remained silent.

Looking around at the community, it warmed your heart to see so many people, young and old, out here. Some you've known since the beginning of time, while others were born only last week. Everyone had gathered to witness the masterpiece that would emerge in an instant.

“You know Y/N I have complete faith in you that this first expedition will be a breeze,” you smiled, looking up at her with excitement and a tinge of fear in your eyes. “We wouldn't have suggested you for the job unless we knew who you really are, and you've earned it.” Don't worry, you were expecting this; now have a look.”

With her finger pointing to the stage forward, you were treated to yet another spectacular show. They're known as the "Grand Turning" in Heaven. This is where a new or seasoned angel has completed his or her training with a human or demon and earned their proper place in the community.

It could be a badge, a ribbon, or something more unique, such as the opportunity to talk with the all-powerful, our God.

Despite the fact that you were assigned to him, you were determined to get those jobs because they were the only way for you to ever get that honor. You weren't going to allow Mr. Unperfect take away that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Nobody could and will ever be able to make you fail this assignment; you were meticulously prepped. You were taught the correct and only way to do things, and now was your opportunity to shine. You were not going to be a Lucifer, cast from Heaven

“I'll do it,” you said to your supervisor, a smile on your face and confidence in your eyes. She turned to face you and hugged you passionately, rubbing your wings with a motherly devotion.

“I knew you could do it; now it's time to get you ready.”

---

When people have a near-death experience, they always remark that life flashes before their eyes. Unfortunately for angels, it's the contrary; when we're approached with a high-alert danger or warning, it's more of a gentle whisper in our ears. Normally more attentive while traveling to Earth.

The best place to be humans say.. What is with these fickle minded words?

You take a deep breath and turn to face your overseer, who is polishing her wings to ensure that they are kept in order. When having wings, a routine is taught from the beginning to keep them in a good up do. Nobody wants to look simple when you can look stunning.

She took your hand in hers and walked toward the end of the route, issuing some documents to the Pearl City Gate guards. You noticed the circular orb while glancing around.

"How can some humans believe in the world being flat, we literally have an air-like view. To me, it's definitely round.” She chuckled as she pinched your cheeks and turned your puzzled face to her.

“When you get down to earth, you'll see a lot of that, people with a lot of opinions. But what did you learn in your training?”

Standing up and smoothing your wings, you calmly shouted out the words as if they were written on the back of your palm.

“Although humans are the destroyers of their own precious planet, everyone's opinion matters, regardless of race, gender, or identity.”

“Well, not all,” you began scratching your head, “I've seen some harsh individuals in our study books, God should strike them down-“

“Um no ma'am, let us put it aside for the time being and focus on what needs to be done.” She started going over a list of laws and regulations for your descent to Earth. As you gave her a thumbs up, you were attentively listening and mentally bookmarking everything in their designated area.

I believe I have a good understanding of everything, and I think I am prepared.” She offered you a short hug before letting you go, showing her affection for you. You were going to miss her, despite the fact that it was a mutually-surface relationship.

“Last but not least, this ordeal will be different in that people will be able to see you. But if you have to use your wings, the lad is the only one who can see you. When you arrive, he will be waiting for you. My child, best of luck and may God bless you.”

You let go of her and moved toward the road's edge, gripping your bag as you turned to face her and waved farewell as you stepped over the brink.

“Wait a minute, what if-“

When you felt a push from behind, you tumbled off the ledge and spun around in the sky, where you saw a smiling face as you glanced up. They didn't tell you that you'd have to be pushed. As you plunged to Earth, you closed your eyes, terrified. Oh, how nice.

Screaming, you descended into the atmosphere, your narrowed eyes seeing glimpses of land here and there. Not letting up you let your wings cover your whole body as you plopped down onto soft green grass.

You peered out from your wings, gasping for air, and glanced up.

“Oh, Heavens”

His physique was slender, active, and well-groomed, with a trace of bad boy behavior in his scent. The first thing that struck your eye were the rips in his jeans. How could a man-made mistake seem to be so appealing? As you raised your eyes, you noticed tattoos splattered across his arms and up to his neck. His black velvet-like wings fluttering in the breeze, he raised his palm to his hair and stroked through the old curls, deconstructing the pattern they had once formed.

“Did you just pull a Lucifer or was this all planned?” he coughed as he put out his hand to you, taking a good look at you.

Stuttering in your words you quickly got up and patted yourself off and finally looked him in the eyes, noticing his dark eyes.

“Well, that wasn't supposed to happen, I hoped to fly down here and appear more Angel-like, but I think my overseer had other ideas.”

He said, "Ah," with a bored expression on his face.

“My name is Heeseung, and if you don't mind, I assume you don't.” I guess my name is well-known in Heaven. You're probably the fifth Angel who has appeared in the last year to “assist me.” What a load of bullshit; you can't hide what's already there, you know.”

He made a pouty look as he smirked closer to you before covering his hand with his mouth and saying, “oh forgive me, I suppose I have a potty mouth.”

Panicking at this new light, you smiled and coughed loudly and suddenly, “Before you say anything else, I'd want to inform you that I'm not like those angels we don't talk about. I have a holy standard that I adhere to.

He rushed to your face, rolling his eyes at your innocence, and murmured to you, "well see about that little Ms. Purity."

As you moved back and shook your head, spurring out prayers, you tugged the strings of your bag close to you, seeming irritated. Looking up, you noticed him hovering in mid-air with his arms crossed, waiting for you.

“Whether you're coming or not, I'm in the mood for a cup of coffee. Allow me to go fetch you one so that this whole ordeal between us may be over soon and we can both return to our respective worlds.”

You instantly snap open your wings and shot up into the sky, scoffing at his rudeness, and dash by him, racing to the left.

“It's this way, dummy,” he cackled as he immediately shot out. Embarrassed and annoyed, you flipped over to his side and flew alongside him, praying to the Lord for peace as your rage subsided.

“Lord, so help me”

---

“So, what's on the agenda, Ms. Purity? There are a lot of things I'd want to do with you. You know, if you just ditch this whole act, we might be able to have some fun. He winked at you as he sipped his drink while peering across the table.

You shook your head and chuckled, gagging at his remark, "You must get all the girls, you appear really, what's the word, competent" I'm astonished since I assumed everyone down under was inept.”

He smirked and crossed his legs as he lay startled in his chair, cocking his head to the side. It's not that you were trying to be mean; it's just what you were taught. There are no hard feelings.

“Well, as much as I'd like to keep this delightful little date going, I have a commitment to fulfill. You know, duty calls.” You quickly got up and hurried after him, confused as to where he was going, as he shot up in the air and chuckled, waving farewell to you.

“Wait, Heeseung, you can't just go away like that. We need to figure out how I'm going to find you. You're being impolite by getting up and leaving.” You made yourself look insane since you didn't realize no one could see him. You wouldn't want to be labeled as one of these Earthlings.

You beckoned him down, mentally terrified, “Please can you just come down for a damn second.” Your jaw dropped as you hurriedly covered your mouth. Heeseung's jaw dropped when he appeared in front of you, stunned.

“Gasp, I'm hearing a term I'm sure they don't say in Heaven. Hmm, I suppose the Earth changes people.” He went closer to your ear, his warm arm bouncing on your skin as he giggled, his lips inches away from yours.

“I've already entered my phone number into your phone; you do understand what a phone is, right?” Doesn't matter, I have to get somewhere, and you can locate me later. Okay, I'll see you later.” He swept up in the air and rushed over to the bridge as he vanished into the horizon, rushing out in a haste once more.

You sat back in the coffee chair, wiped your brow, and focused mentally and spiritually, pleading with the Lord for help and forgiveness. You had a feeling this mission was going to be a disaster.

Whining, you threw your hands in the air and sat face down on the table, groaning as you realized this trek. It's no surprise that these honors are well-deserved; it takes a lot of effort.

You cautiously lifted your head and faced the barista after hearing a soft tap on your table. She smiled at you as she set down a piece of paper. You scowled as you inspected the weird set of paper.

“What a jerk, he didn't just leave me to pay for both drinks.” With a shake of your head, you reached inside your bag and drew out a wallet. Your overseer informed you that many people like flaunting and spending their money, so she provided some for you just in case.

As you cleaned up, you began to mentally map out your route through town, mentally picturing the locations and navigating your way home. As you walked over to the cashier, you handed her some money and thanked her before heading out the door.

At the very least, you landed in a fantastic location. It was in the heart of South Korea, and the city was called Seoul, a wonderful metropolis to be sure. You were taught to master specific languages for specific tasks, so communicating wasn't a problem. Despite the fact that you were new in a strange place, you were determined to make the most of it. The first step was to return home and examine the situation.

How to manage Lee Heeseung.

Arriving at your small abode was an adventure in itself; it didn't take long for you to connect your GPS and get going. It was actually fairly pleasant and provided a change of scenery to enjoy. It's not quite Heaven, but it's still lovely. When you finally arrive at your destination, you look up to see a little, charming apartment in front of you.

They really went all out for you, and it's very much in your style. You'd felt right at home as soon as you stepped inside, as it was more modern and sophisticated.

To be honest, you had no idea what you were doing, but it felt good to have your own little place to do anything you wanted. You could get used to this, no wonder why humans never leave their house. Who would want to leave when you have everything here. Food, entertainment, and a BALCONY!!

As you finished exploring the apartment and basked in its magnificence, you laughed to yourself as you made your way to the couch, sinking into its coziness as sleep took over your mind and body.

*Crunch, thud, bang*

As you lurched forward, you flew up your wings in defense mode, trying to understand what you'd heard.

“Who's there? I have a weapon, and I'm not afraid to use it.”

When you hear a familiar giggle, you look up and see the attractive intruder. Walking over to you and snatching the pillow from your grasp he took your hand and pulled you over to the island where he had prepared some food.

As you took it all in, you smelt familiar scents and smiled, completely forgetting about it until you were reminded again.

“Wait, what are you doing in my apartment, and how did you get in?”

He began to remove some pots and pans from the stove while he placed some food on a platter, saying, "I have my methods."

“I'm not sure what you eat up there in Heaven, but I'm guessing it's all healthy and nutritious food.” You laughed and shook your hand in disbelief while shaking your head.

“I don’t think out of all places we would be eating so strictly. It's basically whatever you can get your hands on.. It's guaranteed to be better food than what you'll find in Hell.”

Pulling the dish away from him, you began to pick at the fries, popping one into your mouth and savoring the flavor, “not bad.”

He bowed in front of you, wiped the sweets from his brow, and returned to sit next to you, grabbing a dish and feeding himself some. As the night progressed, you told him the rundown for the next three months.

“So, despite the fact that you're definitely one of the worst jerks I've ever encountered. For this to function, we'll need to create certain ground rules.” Aiming a finger between you and him. “I'm not sure whether you've ever had to do anything for anyone else in your life, but it's all about serving people around here, and that's why I accepted this assignment. Even if you don't want to help yourself, I want to help you.”

As Heeseung shuffled around in his chair, avoiding eye contact with you, the atmosphere became tense.

“Harsh, but keep going.”

Smiling you continued as you tried to wrap your head around this complex creature.

“I understand that we are supposed to protect and guide you to do good, but it appears that we have progressed far beyond that, and we need to start at the source of your problem, which is most likely your heart or mind. What's going on in both?

As his words danced across your lips, he smirked and drew you closer to him.

“Now there's a secret.”

Smirking as your face felt warm, you cocked your head to the side and touched his shoulder before getting up and setting your dish in the sink, cleaning up as piercing eyes stabbed your back.

“I understand what you're thinking, and I've got it all under control.”

He approached you and said, "If you say so," as he put his head against your ear.

2 months later

Everything was certainly out of hand, and he was to blame. Your strategy not only failed, but it was only a matter of time until your overseer found out. And you didn’t want to end up like the last guy tossed from Heaven.

It wasn't all that bad, but who were you kidding, it was a disaster. It wasn't a major shift; rather, it was a series of modest changes. Things like accidentally cursing or hanging out with him at ungodly hours. You convinced yourself that everything was OK.

He drew you into your room and sat you down while hovering over you, gently caressing your body and kissing you.

You smiled and drew him closer to you, wrapping your legs around his waist and bringing him down on you, closing the distance between you.

Heeseung has been on a mission to damage your "innocent demeanor" for the past two weeks. He intended to show you that it was all a charade and that no one is actually perfect. Despite not knowing what he was going to do, you were up for the challenge. That core part of you didn't take long to succumb to his immoral impulses.

What was the problem as long as you were both happy?

“Heeseung,” you say as he draws you closer to him and unclasps your bra with his free hand. As you slowly rise to assist him, you toss the material to the ground and reach for his sweatpants.

“Someone a little needy, but we are not doing that today. Today is all about pampering my lovely angel. Is it all right?”

Nodding your head, you keep an eye on him as he goes between your legs, halting at the bottom as he eyes your breast and grasps softly as your body adjusts.

“Hurry up,” you grumble as you stare at his sinister grin. As you moan, he places gentle lips along your folds, leaning down to your core. As you twitch under his touch, his finger makes a fast dive between your folds, inciting dampness.

As you whine from the pressure, your eyes flutter shut as he switches his finger out with his tongue, softly licking up your surface.

“mm, close,” you exclaim, your lips wide open as he notices your clit, tongue flicking lustfully against it. As he presses harder on your sensitive region, he laughs as you break apart under his power.

“Oh God, right there.”

“Please don't involve Him in this.” He hits a place as your high comes crashing down on you, chuckling at your reaction. Heeseung is holding you down and watching you quiver wildly as you release juice, which causes him to swallow it before wiping his mouth. As you fall onto his body, overwhelmed and still sensitive to the sensation, he pulls you up.

He lays your exhausted body next to his and wipes any excess arousal from his mouth before kissing your lips.

You both lay in a comfortable stillness for the remainder of the night, your breathing slowly returning to normal as you sign into his arms.

“Perhaps you're right; we're all just horny, messed-up creatures; I mean, even though what we're doing is completely wrong, it was fun to break the rules. My entire life has been focused on doing the right thing and being this upstanding angel. It's fun to deviate from the norm.” As Heeseung witnessed you erupt in rage, you became agitated.

“You’re cute when you’re mad, also I told you.” You both chuckled as you pushed him to the side before coming to a halt in the middle of your conversation, looking concerned at him.

“However, I leave tomorrow and I don't think I'll be ready to see you off, and this was not in my plan.”

“Shhh, I figured it out; just stick to my plan and we'll both come out on top.”

You sat closer to him, nodding your head and clasping your hand in his as you allowed sleep to take over your body.

As you may know, angels and humans have quite distinct punishments; some humans are never punished for their wrongdoings, whereas angels' actions are usually discovered one way or another.

And you were terrified that they would find out. The person who fell from the edge was not the same person who was returning back and everyone was going to know it. Just not right now, you had to maintain your composure as you approached your overseer.

As you were greeted with the overseer and some guards, you held Heeseung by his chains and whispered something into his ear.

“I see you were having a good time?” You shook your head and looked down, worried. You looked up at her with sad eyes.

“Yes, High Lord, I am aware of my error and what needs to be done in order to be purified once more. I accept complete responsibility for this assignment, but I crack him first, and we have all the secrets we need.”

As he observed you return to the opposite side with the overseer, Heeseung's gaze shifted up in fright. Fearing for his life, he flailed his wings in an attempt to flee.

“What the hell, Y/N, I thought we were on the same team.” How could you betray me in such a way?” You walked over to his trembling body and pushed him down so you were above him, laughing loudly. You patted his shoulder as you cackled.

“And they said angels could be trustworthy. I know what I'm worth, and it has nothing to do with you. Heseeung, please accept my apologies. Get him out of here.” The guards grabbed his chains and dragged him to a chamber across the room from you.

As she began to compliment you on your efforts, the supervisor wrapped her arm around your shoulder.

“I'm proud of you, Y/N, even though you used some terrible techniques. I knew you'd be able to pull it off.”

You grinned joyously and thanked her for her faith in you as you looked up at her face. You cast another peek at Heeseung as she stepped forward, and he winked at you. Smirking before he disappeared into the room you chuckled at his behavior.

Everything was going swimmingly, and no one had a clue. I suppose taking over Heaven would be a simple task; if you can blow up the inside, everything will fall apart on its own.

"How could you hide this from all of us?" "Oh God, you underestimated me."

The Beauty of Sin.

☆ ҉ ◢▅◣

➳ Navigate to the Maze

#enhypen #enhypen writers #enhypen series #enhypen angst #enhypen suggestive #enhypen smut #lee heeseung #heeseung #enhypen heeseung #enhypen lee heeseung #enhypen reactions #en-#kpop au #enhypen au #enhypen x reader #enhypen x female reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen masterlist #babytaes works

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lovinpages · 2 years ago

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SPOILERS FOR THRONE OF GLASS (and Crescent City a bit too)!

I finished KOA. How do I even move on from this series now 😭

I absolutely can’t stop thinking about it! Rowan and Fenrys omg but all the men are amazing in this series. Yes, even Chaol in the last two books. But Rowan my goodness a new bookboyfriend for sure 😂

So here comes a dump of my thoughts on the last book.

- The first part of the book was the most intens for me. And the best part of the book too.

- I can’t stop thinking about how Fenrys and Aelin had this communication blinking thing I absolutely loved that! How she escaped and the first thing she did was go to Fenrys. But my god he couldn’t do anything for Aelin in there and still they found a way to be together, even though the pain they both had to go through. How he cried when he had to take the glass out of her legs… 😭

- I loved how she couldn’t really talk or touch Rowan after the escape. But when she had the chance, she went looking for wedding rings. It was such a beautiful moment.

- Rowan did everything he could for Aelin. How broken he was when she was with Maeve. Just how his pov was about her, it was all so amazing. His pov was my absolute favorite thing of the entire series. He would do anything to get to her, even if it would hurt him. Like cutting himself in his shoulder to get that piece of iron out, to get to her. It blew my mind. Not even sure how to describe it all. He is amazing in every way possible.

- Also it kinda bothered me how Aelin wouldn’t let Dorian help her. She never planned doing it together, she would safe him at that Lock even though they decided to do it together. She would just do everything alone, only sacrifice herself. It got irritating at some point. Aelin didn’t even think about what Rowan would have to go through if she actually died. Yes she would safe the world. But it felt like she only cared about that, about wanting the war to end. Rowan lost a ‘mate’ before. And if she would die, like she planned several times, he would have to live without her. He would do anything to solve it, so she wouldn’t have to die, but she only thought about ‘it was her fate’. Come on Aelin, think about the pain Rowan would have to go through?! It broke my heart when she just went in that Lock and Rowan could do nothing but just stand there and watch. HE HAD TO WATCH. How could she do it to him, just sacrificing herself and if it wasn’t for the Lock, it would be to kill Maeve. She knew she would die, and I can’t believe the pain Rowan would have to go through. She didn’t even let him talk or try to solve it so she wouldn’t have to. I don’t know what it was, but it irritated me.

- I never thought it would hurt so much that the thirteen died. What it did to Manon. 😭

- And how hard it was for Aedion that his father died. He would’t really talk to him, didn’t even want to be near him at first. But in the end he cared about him so so so much. I still don’t really get why SJM needed to kill him…?! It happened so fast and it wasn’t like he needed to sacrifice himself at that point?! The thirteen, they had no choice, if they didn’t sacrifice, everyone would die. But Gavriel, he just went through the gate, it closed, and he killed a bunch of Valg. But there were so much more Valg left, what was the point of going through that gate?! It felt as such an easy way to kill him, not needed at all. 😭

- And Connall. I wish we learned more about him. What happened in that throne room with Maeve, who Connall was to Fenrys (except his twin brother, that was clear).

- With this many pov’s, it would’ve been so much better for me if it was devided into two books. I wish we got more time with each couple. Elide and Lorcan, Aedion and Lysandra. I wanted to learn so much more about them together. I read that they’re both mates. But I didn’t really read that in the books. Not only do I want to know what Lorcan did with Elide OMG. But also Lysandra and Aedion. It was detailed at some points, but in the end it felt rushed and absolutely not complete, even though they got married. Talking about getting married. WHY DID SJM WRITE ALMOST NONE OF THE WEDDING SCENES. I wanted to read those sooo bad!

- It also felt so rushed when Aedion did the blood oath. It was so important to him and yes he was crying through the entire process (omg 😭) but still I wish they would talk about it so much more, make it much bigger than it was now.

- I just wished the book would’ve had more moments of calm with the characters. Not even sexy times. Of course I wouldn’t mind though 😏 but just talking with each other. Not talking about the war, but personal talks. Getting to know each other and telling secrets, spending time together. Sometimes it felt like we were going from one battlefield to the other. And planning, planning and even more planning. It got frustrating at some point which is sad because all SJM books are absolutely 5+ stars to me. And some books feel like they deserve like 18 stars but this one… I did rate it with 5 stars. But that was mostly for the first part of the book. Even though we get most answers, for such a complicated story, with so many pov’s and details, it’s still incomplete. Please please pleaaase let there be more. Crescent City 3 please?! With Rowan pov as well please?!?!

- Crescent city must be a book of at least 2000 pages my goodness how is she gonna bring everything together with so many amazing stories?!

- But okay about tog: I still don’t really get what Maeve wanted. Yes she wanted the keys but why? And what does it mean that she’s a Valg queen? Was she possessed by a Valg? Was there a person before the Valg? Where did she come from, who was she? Or was she and Erawan and his brothers a Valg in the other worlds, and was there never a person to begin with? I still don’t get it. And the gods too, I don’t understand it all. It was such a complicated story. Amazing, but complicated. And how that all ended… it just didn’t feel as strong as the rest of the story.

- Also. If that Lock was made to lock Erawan. Why didn’t they lock them in there. Why did he had to be killed, what was so important that someone from Mala’s family had to die, and in the end not even locking Erawan with it, but needed to kill him? The gods had to be locked… but the story was about Erawan who was locked when Evalin (or what was her name?) made that mistake. That also was a bit weird to me. Only because of a mistake, the whole world was in danger, only to safe her mate? And now Aelin can’t be safed for her mate? That whole Lock part was so confusing in this last book. I still don’t really get it, and it feels incomplete somehow. What happened exactly, why were Erawan and Maeve in this world, why did they create the Valg, who were they, where did they come from, why did they need to be locked, where did that portal came from in the first place, how did they get in this world? What are their exact powers? What did the gods do, where did they come from, why couldn’t they help and safe them? I do believe I just missed some things in the book, I mean it’s so complex and so much. But still, I missed something in this entire story.

I loved the entire series. It was such a strong story. But the ending of it all, it wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t a bad ending, it was written well, and I can’t really tell why it feels incomplete, rushed, as if it’s missing information. I love everything that Sarah writes. Absolutely everything. But a complex and strong story like this one needs an incredible ending, which it just wasn’t to me. This book was the least of the entire series somehow. And that makes me a little sad. I loved that series so much. I started caring about everything so much.

I have to mention that I read KOA in two days though 😂 which is a LOT of information in two days hahahah so yeah I definitely need to reread them and see what I missed the first time. Sometimes I just read stuff online and I’m like omg was that even said in the book?!

Okay for now this is it. Applause to everyone who made it to the end of my ToG feelings dump 😂 I’m sure there will be more soon 🤣

#tog #rowan #aelin #koa #kingdom of ash #sjm books #sjmaas #sjm multiverse #aedion ashryver #lorcan salvaterre #elide lochan #chaol westfall #yrene towers #aelin ashryver galathynius #dorian havilliard #rowan whitethorn

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ephemerlskies · 4 years ago

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of honey and cinnamon | jjk

⇢ pairing: jungkook x reader

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

⇢ word count: 14k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, where are you going?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, are you going home?"

"Yes... are you?"

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

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

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

"You already asked that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, sorry. I didn't-"

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

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

Just this once, you thought.

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

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

"Am not." You muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Quietly? This process is anything but quiet."

"Then try your very hardest."

"I'll try. Emphasis on try."

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

"What's a time signature?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That sucks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I suppose you hate everything I love.”

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

“What are you looking for?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“___? Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. It's okay.”

“But-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Done!”

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

“Done with what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m always with you, darling.”

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

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

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

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

“You know, love. You know.”

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

Day Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?” He said groggily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about you? Where would you go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re an idiot, Jungkook.”

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

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

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

Someone you would inevitably begin to fall in love with.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you.”

And all he needed to say was:

“I love you too.”

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

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years ago

Text

Secrets ~ 5

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

So, I managed to come back to this one. So sorry for taking so long! My mind wanders easily but I really do enjoy this series!! I'm hoping to get a few more chapters done in the next week or two if I can. As it is, my time is a bit up in the air with a looming lockdown.

That being said, I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don't shy away in the comments and I promise to keep doing what I can for all my ongoing series.

As for tumblr, I’m just kinda in and out. I’m not here here in a way as I’m trying just to stay sane.

You sat across from Barnes. Rigid, as you kept in mind not to slouch. Tense, as you brooded over your hopeless situation. Silent, as you inhaled the scent of the savoury meal but found yourself curtailed at every attempt to eat. His eyes followed every move and you were met with either a tskk or a remonstrance; ‘not that fork’, ‘small bites, smaller sips’, ‘smile’, ‘keep your lips closed’, ‘elbows off the table’...

You sighed as your last attempt to sate your growling stomach ended in another reproach. His words, his even voice almost taunting, stoked your anger and made it difficult for you to follow his direction. You sat back and peered up and down the long table, the chairs empty and table cloth crisp and white.

“How much longer do I have to do this?” You bemoaned. “I’m hungry. Let me eat.”

“Duchess, you will be expected to act as a lady for the rest of your life.” His mouth twitched at one corner as if he would grin. “Do not be unhappy with me, it was not I who neglected your education.”

Your nostrils flared and you looked at the longest knife among the row. He chuckled and you squinted over at him. You sighed.

“Do not be a child, Duchess. When you are queen, you will be the beacon for all other women at court. And if you cannot set a good example, they will make sure you know it.” He pushed his shoulders back.

“I don’t care about those women. I don’t know them.” You sniffed. “This isn’t my home.”

“It is.” He said plainly. “As close to as you’ll have given that yours would be entirely lost to you.”

You stared at him. You tilted your head and frowned. “You don’t realise how absurd this is? Do you really think I could ever want to be here?”

“If you don’t even give it a chance, then no.” He shrugged, “But you haven’t. You were in school, you liked it?”

You ran your tongue along your teeth and nodded.

“We have tutors; the finest money can find. If you are agreeable, your husband might be too.” He ran his thumb along the line of his palm. “You like museums, well we have one of the grandest in the world. You must know of it given your interests.”

You looked away. It wasn’t the same. What would you do with an education if you were trapped in a royal marriage? How could you enjoy a museum if you just went to look? Your former life felt so far away, yet that before you, felt even further. You weren’t a queen; you didn’t want to be a queen.

“So what? I’ll beg for scraps from my husband? 'Oh, please, I would love to visit the library today, my king. May I? May I really?'” You spat as you clutched your hand together dramatically.

“The King can be amenable but if you approach him with the same attitude as you have me, this marriage will be exactly what you expect it to be. Perhaps you might consider how you could make it at least tolerable?”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes. “You want me to change everything about myself; how I walk, how I sit, how I dress, how I eat. That is not tolerable.”

His lips parted and he tore his eyes away from you as he thought. “Well, to be frank, the king won’t care what you tolerate and he does not tolerate much. So whether you wish it or not, you will at least pretend to change.”

“Mmm, sure.” You huffed.

“I am offering you advice and it is good advice. The king… He will not be as patient as me. If you embarrass him in front of his court, in front of the world, you won’t ever forget it. He’ll make sure of it.”

“You know, the more you tell me about him, the better he sounds,” you said dryly, “A hell of a catch.”

Bucky exhaled slowly and a deep line formed in his cheek. “Go on. Take the salad fork-- no, wrong one.”

You bared your teeth as you blinked at the line of forks. “I’m not very hungry anymore.” You grumbled.

“Hungry or not, you need to learn how to hold a fork, Duchess,” he rebuked, “Sit up straight.”

👑

When you were finally allowed to retire from your first day at Regia, you were exhausted. Your chambers were welcoming as you left your personal tormentor, Barnes, without and trudged over to the bed. As you dropped onto the bouncy mattress, you looked around and your irritation piqued again.

Your suitcase was gone. Only your toiletries remained in their beige leather pouch and a stack of books. You frowned and stood reluctantly. Your neck and shoulders ached from the tension nestled there from a long day of Barnes’ tutelage and his nuisance.

You grabbed the first book, the title wrought in gold on the fading spine; ‘Queens of Astrania’. You fluttered through the pungent pages and took the next; ‘A Lady’s Place’. You set that one aside and scowled as you went down the stack; ‘Manners and Etiquette’, ‘The Provinces of Astrania; Lands and Rights’, ‘Astrania the Bold; A Kingdom Without End’, ‘Queen Loren: The Royal Mother’....

You left them in the pile and covered your face with your hands as you resisted the urge to scream. You turned away and went to the dresser. You slid open the drawer but it wasn’t your clothing inside. Instead of your plain cotton tee and jogging pants, you found satin and silk night clothes in every cut. You opened the drawer beside it and found bras and panties you’d never have wasted a penny on.

You slammed the drawer shut and went to the closet with the thick wooden doors etched with curlicues. Inside, blouses, skirts, and pants hung, pressed and pretty. The wardrobe of a lady. You could see Princess Kate in your head wearing any piece of it and yet, each garment looked sharper, more modern than the British fashion.

You shut the doors and crossed your arms. Three weeks. Well, one day down. That was all you had left. You thought of the women who had come before you; the medieval maidens, the romantic ladies in their puffed sleeves, the Victorian stiff neck marms. Had they wanted it? Or had they been trapped like you? Did they feel the same hopeless despair?

You went to the window and looked out at the green lawns painted in silver moonlight. Clouds framed the shining crescent, the sky streaked in greys and blacks that sent a shiver through you. The gates stood closed and ominous at the end of the winding drive and trees stood sentinel around the palace.

Once, you’d dreamed of visiting a royal home. Your love of history held you reverent in awe of the remarkable architecture, the years marked by renovations and the contrast of styles often found between one room and the next. Visions of spectres stirred your imagination and you thought of the dead haunting the corridors as they retraced the footsteps of their existence.

No, it all just felt horribly empty. These places were prisons. History didn’t need to be kept alive, only remembered as an omen for those living. Let it go but do not forget.

You drew away from the window and slumped in the upholstered chair not far from it. Barnes had your phone, you didn’t expect to get it back. It wouldn’t be of much use. As much as you missed your mom, you had nothing left to say to her and hearing her voice would only make you feel worse. She would only remind you of what she’d done; of the secrets she’d kept from you.

It was only you and the whispers of the dead. They carried on the breeze outside the window as if to warn you. ‘You are one of us…’

👑

The second day went much the same. Barnes woke you early, his gaze tinged with judgement as he chose your outfit for the day and bid you to pay attention. You ate, slowly and with the same endless critique, and he took you to the palace library and sat you down with a large volume. He paced as you read and occasionally listed off all that you had yet to learn. In all your years of school, you’d never had a teacher as overbearing and relentless as him.

When you were thoroughly restless from the tight font and stiff pages, he took you for a walk around the lawns and pointed out the statues of your predecessors. When you returned to the palace, he gave you another lesson in posture, a book on your head as he had you strut across the foyer over and over again. When you were dizzy from the repetition, it was time for another meal and you growled at your cutlery in frustration.

The days went on as such. You snapped at Barnes when he breathed down your neck but he never again bent you over and spanked you like a child. Instead, he merely grinned and thought of another ridiculous activity. But when he caught you with a sandwich secreted from the house staff and your hand streaked in mustard, he looked close to another lashing. He only took the last of your crust and scrubbed your fingers himself.

On the fifth morning. You woke with difficulty. You were exhausted and angry and about to give up. Barnes tore away your duvet and tossed a dress at you. He stood before the rack of dresses you’d gone through on your first day. You groaned and snatched up the petal pink swathe and rolled out of bed.

You dressed as he waited in the hall and you stumbled out in the pair of steep heels. You held in a yawn as he bent his arm and you merely stared at it in detest.

“Duchess,” he sighed, “Let’s not do this today. We have a packed schedule.”

“What is it? Am I to balance on one foot and recite the royal family tree?” You spat.

He snorted and shook his head. He took your arm and hooked it through his own. He turned and led you down the hall. “Well, no, but I fear you might look just as silly.”

You narrowed your eyes and your stomach knotted. You wondered at his meaning but went along with him. Your days at Regia still felt like a dream; you just couldn’t accept that any of it was real.

He led you down the stairs, with some trouble, as your ankle bent and you caught the railing in panic. He righted you and continued lithely down the staircase. Your heels clicked on the marble as he turned you and guided you to the tall doors that opened into a grand ballroom. Long tables lined the perimeter with straight back chairs and portraits of women long dead and their respective husbands hung from the walls. The high ceiling was pointed and arched in the style of the seventeenth century and velvet curtains were tied back with tassles at the other end of the chamber.

A woman in black, a stiff white collar poking out from beneath her blazer, and a prim twist to her lips, stood expectantly at the centre. She held a stick that reminded you of a 1900s schoolhouse teacher and her round framed glasses magnified her cold glare.

“Priscilla,” Barnes released you and approached the woman. He greeted her in all courtesy, a small nod and a kiss on her hand. “Timely, as always.”

“Lord Barnes,” she arched a brow and her hazel eyes peered past him at you. “Duchess?” It was barely a question as she bent her knee and gave a stoic bow.

“The very one,” Barnes affirmed.

“An honour,” she stepped past Barnes. “I was present when your mother and her father visited our kingdom all those years ago.”

Your lip curled and you looked between her and Barnes. “I never knew my grandfather. Apparently, I never knew my mother either.”

Her eyes rounded and her face contorted as if she had tasted lemon juice. She looked at Barnes who shook his head.

“You know the nobility well, Pris,” he said, “They have the temperance of toddlers.”

“Wouldn’t you know it, my lord,” she quipped. “A blessing to her it is not Austin in my place.”

“I made certain it wasn’t,” Barnes approached you and took your hand, “I do appreciate your expedience.”

“I would never disobey the king,” she held the stick horizontal in both hands, “Very well, first position.”

Barnes turned you and drew you to him. His other hand went to your back. He held you to him, a small space between your bodies and you wobbled on your high heels.

“What the--” His sharp look kept your form profanity.

“You must learn to dance,” he said, “And if you can barely stand straight, I trust we have much to do.”

Priscilla came around you and touched your shoulders with her stick. “Head up,” she chided, “Straight, straight, straight.” She tapped the tip along your spine. “You are lucky.” She girded, “To learn with such a partner. Barnes… I hope that even you might sharpen this one.” She tutted, “There is much work to be done.”

“Would you stop that?” You tore your hand from Barnes’ and wipped at the stick against your back, “I’m not a dog.”

“Mmm,” she hummed and smacked your ass with the stick as Barnes took your hand again, “Move your feet.”

She rescinded the stick and tapped the butt of it on the floor as she began to count. You trod on your partner’s toe as he led you. You looked down at your feet and he hissed, “Don’t look down.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” You stomped his shoe again. “Or do you like broken toes?”

“Just back, forward, side, side, back…” He raised your hand. “Stand straight. Head high.”

“I hate you,” you snipped as you scrambled to keep the beat.

“A good thing you are not my fiancee, then,” he smirked.

“We can agree on that,” you sneered but found yourself pressed against him as you tripped. He caught you and chuckled as he stood you up straight.

“Graceful as ever,” he kidded, “My apologies, Priscilla, it is going to be a long day.”

“You’re apologizing to her?” You grimaced, “What about me?”

“You’ve tread on me nearly a dozen times, so far,” he turned you, “I would say you owe me a few ‘sorries’ yourself.”

“I’d say we’re even,” you snipped. “My freedom, your toes.”

His lips curved again as he watched you. You looked past him and focused on the numbers; one, two, three, and four… Your gaze caught on a queen with sad eyes painted in fading pigments. She had no husband beside her, only an urn on a plinth. A chill rippled through you as you were spun away from the sight. For all its radiance, there was something very grim about this palace of betrothed.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #fic #series #dark!fic #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #secrets #dark fic #mcu #royal au #au #marvel #captain america #king!steve

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softlyjiminie · 4 years ago

Text

black swan | three.

⇢ pairing(s): professional dancer!park jimin x figure skater!reader.

⇢ word count: 4.1K.

⇢ rating: 16+, mature.

⇢ genre: angst, eventual smut, fluff, e2l, fake dating!au, corrupted idol!au, dancer!au, figure skater!au.

⇢ summary: a life of skating was all you’d ever known, your heart craving the feeling of ice beneath your feet and the light brush of cool air against your skin under thousands of sparkling lights… what a shame, if only you’d known that one night, one accident could rip you from the life you’d grown to love, leaving your career in the unsteady hands of the prince of ballet, park jimin.

⇢ warning(s): please read for this chapter! heavy angst, social media bullying, mentions of drugs ( weed ), mentions of alcohol and drinking, angry jimin!

⇢ author’s note(s): hello my loves! sorry for posting this so late but i really hope you enoy this chapter. i might have to delay chapter four, for a special post in order of joon n koo’s birthday! love you lots.

⇢ previous | series masterlist | next

“park... you’re out, bail’s been paid.”

jimin rolls his shoulders at the call of his name, standing from his seat on the cold metal bench. he shakes out the blonde in his hair, deciding that the colour was too good and that he’d probably dye it a darker shade as soon as he was back in the safety of his penthouse. smirking, he grabs his discarded leather jacket... designer of course and slings it over his left shoulder— poking his tongue into his cheek as the officer unlocks his cell with a deep blush.

“you sure you don’t want to join me in here one last time sweetheart?”

the officer looks down, fumbling with the keys in her hand as a blush paints her heated face. “wouldn’t you get in trouble for that? another scandal wouldn’t be good for your career,” she bites down on her lower lip and the cat like smile on jimin’s face only grows wider— his forefinger and thumb touch at her chin, tilting her head up to meet his dark eyes as if he’s going to kiss her. “especially now that the paps are outside...”

he only lets out a simple tut, staring down at her with a hooded gaze. “you wouldn’t have a career if you opened that pretty little mouth of yours, sweetheart.” the cop falls silent, not having the chance to reply as jimin parts ways with her— collecting his belongings on the way out. inmates clap and cheer for him, although he’d only been in this station for a night, he’s already built up a reputation for himself around town...drunk driving, speeding, possession of drugs. park jimin was booked in for nearly all of it; but got away with it practically every time.

the sunshine from outside blinds the dancer, harsh golden rays warming his skin in the most irritating of ways. instead, he tilts his shades down over his eyes and way from the mass of bleach blonde hair that swoops messily over one side of his face. cameras are situated around the station, jimin knows that for sure, he can’t see them but he can hear the clicks and flashes from paparazzi that hide in bushes around them. they all want jimin for this week’s front cover, it’s only obvious that he’ll make the headlines for the fifth week in a row but who’s to say he cares? flashing a toothy grin as he flips the middle finger to sneaky photographers that pretend not to be seen.

“you’re so immature, jimin,” hoseok, his manager scolds, fixing the hem of his tight and light grey christian dior suit. the man himself is only a little ways taller than jimin, hair parted and slicked down with brown tinted shades that hide the tiredness in his eyes. hoseok is not that much older than jimin, but they’ve worked together long enough for jimin to consider the elder his family— or more like a pestering older brother. his manager pulls him into a sleek black van parked not even three minutes from the police station, the walk taking longer as jimin stopped to wave at fans. he was a dancer, a performer— it didn’t matter where he was, he always had an audience and he always appealed to them. “get in the fucking car.” hoseok seethed through gritted teeth, opening the door for his client, who only smiled mischievously as he entered it.

slamming the door, hoseok circled the vehicle and climbed in from the passenger side. “what’s got you in such a sour mood hyungie?” jimin hums lazily, leaning back into the plush, cream leather seats of his mercedes while his manager tuts in annoyance— gesturing for their driver (and body guard), seokjin, to head towards the dancer’s gated neighbourhood. running a hand through his blonde locks, jimin’s caramel eyes light up at the sight of his day bag of which he carries around on a daily basis— diving in he pulls out a box containing a few of his rolled joints. grabbing one and bringing it to the flesh of his plump lips, jimin frowns darkly, at the lack of lighter in his bag. “the fuck his my lighter?”

“i took it,” hoseok mumbles simply, rubbing his temple with his free hand, the other twirling jimin’s pink lighter between his own slender digits. the younger leans forward in his seat, restricted only by his seatbelt as they make their way through the L.A traffic— making a grab for the lighter which his manager swiftly pulls away and pockets. “you’ve been acting up again jimin, it’s not looking good for you—“

the dancer in question lurches forward once more, making seokjin swerve ever so slightly. “give me the damn lighter hoseok.” jimin seethes through gritted teeth, the hand that launched at his manager now digging into said man’s head rest. anger flares up in the dancer’s chest— he’s just spent the night in a fucking cell and all he wants to do is have a few puffs of his joint so that he can relax a little.

but hoseok doesn’t budge, easily sinking into the comfort of his seat. “you can’t keep doing this ji,” he scolds, watching the scenery pass by through their tinted windows. “this is the third time in the last two months that you’ve gotten booked into a station for something...” the younger rolls his eyes knuckles turning white. the manager feels a temper tantrum coming on, from the way his client breathes hotly down his neck. jimin had never been good at managing his anger, no one had ever known why— he was a brat for no damn reason but hoseok sensed there was always more to the blonde, that’s why he took him in. “speeding? when you could have waited for jin to pick you up. not to mention how the company shouldn’t be putting their money towards paying for your bail—“

“money that i bring into that fucking company? they wouldn’t have it if it weren’t for me.” the younger points out childishly... and to be fair, he’s not wrong. people from across the world came to see park jimin perform— if they were lucky enough. his graceful movements and talent for following the music no matter how it changed was always something that entranced his fans. jimin was their biggest source of revenue and a major asset, one of the only reasons they hadn’t fired him yet— hoseok supposed. “i’m park jimin, shit...they need me!”

hoseok sighs in defeat as their bodyguard pulls into jimin’s gated neighbourhood. the brunette turns to face his client, a worn out expression pulling at his heart shaped face. “just think about it jimin, if you don’t fix up and don’t stop your bitch fits... it could be over for you.” hoseok hates to scold jimin like this but he also knows it important that he learns. he flinches when the dancer scoffs, begrudgingly pulling out the pink lighter and passing it to the latter.

the younger simply snatches the small device from his hyung’s grasp, brining his joint to his lips and lighting it as he slides from the car.

he didn’t need to think about shit, he was park jimin for goodness sake.

social media was an evil place.

jimin was used to all types of comments across his socials. he knew he was meant to be in the studio for practice, but he was too deep into the internet to turn back now. so more often than not he found that he was drowned is all sorts of praises and love from his fans, complimenting him on his skills, his physic and his oh-so-beautiful face but sometimes, if he looked hard enough— there were those full of hatred and malice, intended break down the souls of those they were targeted at, break the soul of park jimin.

‘i used to love jimin, but he’s getting caught up in all this bad stuff... we might have to unstan...’

‘he’s still a great dancer, but i’m disappointed in how he’s acted recently.’

‘why do celebs think it’s funny to get arrested? it’s fucking cringe especially since they can afford bail? lol no offence park jimin.’

each word cuts sharply at his heart, like knives, creating deep wounds. it hurts to read them, so much so that it brings stinging tears to his eyes but he doesn’t let them fall— he hadn’t in a long time. moments like these lead the blonde to believe in his hyung’s words, was he a has been? was his career coming to an end? familiar insecurities rot his brain, draining what was once left of the boy who loved to dance.

he takes a sip of the bitter, honey liquid that fills his crystalline glass, eyes blurring and throat tightening at the burn the alcohol brings. a filling pain to ease the hurt in his heart. ‘fuck,’ jimin thinks, he’s fucked and he knows it. the dancer wonders if he had been different had his brother not fucked up his life, the older park was probably off somewhere doing god knows what with who knows who and jimin can’t help but let his mind wonder to what he would be doing if his brother wasn’t there. if his brother hadn’t caused that accident. before that day, jimin only ever dreamed of where he is now— practicing hard wherever he was; the canteen in high school, his bedroom, the kitchen when his mother was making his favourite dish.

god he missed those days.

slamming his glass down onto his island counter, jimin stretches his arms above his head so that his black fitted shirt rises up— brushing his tummy briefly. the news hums from the TV in the background, as he sways with sleepiness. something about an accident, something about a skater...he’s not listening. sighing in defeat, jimin grabs the bottle of special edition brandy and takes a lengthy swig while he makes his way to his on-suite bathroom. the dancer’s nimble fingers brush through the roots of his overbearingly blonde locks, fisting them as he looks into the mirror with reddened eyes and a broken heart.

taking another sip of his liquor, jimin finishes the substance off with a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest before throwing the bottle in the trash and opening his cabinet, reaching for the dark hair dye that sits on the middle shelf.

stopping his mercedes benz, jimin parks his car outside of hangsang studios, the dance company that hired the boy. his eyes that reflect black under the artificial lights of the street lamp flicker up to the company logo cast into the side of the towering building— a scoff emitting from between his plump lips. the door to his car opens not a second later, aeri, jimin’s girlfriend slipping into the passenger’s side with a huff.

she throws her practice bag onto the back seat, making the dancer flinch as he presses his forehead to the steering wheel. “practice started at five, you know that right?” aeri seethes, buckling herself in and pulling down the mirror, she fluffs her blonde hair— colour similar to the one the dancer once possessed as she insisted on matching. “of course you don’t, god sometimes i wonder why i’m even with you...”

her words do nothing to the dancer as he sits up in his seat, pressing his foot into the peddles as he sets the gears into drive. ‘i sometimes wonder the same thing...’ jimin can’t help but think, sourly. he loved aeri, he did, but she was draining to be around— obsessed with the idea of being at the top, even if it meant criticising her lover at every point. he’d grown numb to her abuse by now. “i’m sorry, ri... i’ll be at practice next time.” he says instead, knowing very well that speaking his thoughts will only set the girl off. the streets are clearer than they were earlier in the day, fewer cars allowing jimin to pass through lanes with ease... his eyes focus on the road, but he longs to take in the scenery— just for a moment. to feel like the world has stopped in place. “i’ll make it up to you, babe.”

aeri scoffs, wrapping her arms around herself after she pokes jimin’s arm. he slows the car at the stop sign, watching with thin patience as the signals change from green to red, colour by colour. the girl turns to face him, lips drawn into a scowl and small hand taking a fistful of jimin’s darkened, navy locks. “dying your hair? is this what you skipped practice for? when will you take this showcase seriously jimin? fucking hell.”

the pinch in her tone irritates the life out the aforementioned dancer, so much so that his shoulders pick up while he begins to drive again. aeri wasn’t always like this, there was a time, back when they were trainees where jimin would have tripped over his feet to get her to notice him, they were usually paired for dancing events— closeness eventually leading them to dating. but now, she fancied the idea of being a star rather than the blue haired boy himself... the infamous new york showcase had always been her dream and jimin supposes he was only a stepping stone to that path. his name being a direct lead there, his money an added bonus. he knew that skipping practices made her mad, maybe that’s what why he did it— to get back at all the horrid words she’d spouted at him in the last few years.

“— and i swear, if you don’t clean up your act, i’ll leave you and find a new dance partner—“

jimin tunes back into her words, an empty threat that he’d heard from her many times before— looking into the rear view mirror he catches her humid gaze before making a turn towards her house. “i know baby, i’m sorry...i’ll do better, let me make it up to you, yeah?” he mumbles absentmindedly, using words that he knew would satisfy her appetite to being him down until the next time. “i’ll buy you that bag you wanted, hm? or those dance shoes you were after... will that do until i’ve caught up with dance?” aeri pulls at her hair in frustration, reaching behind her for her dance bag as she kicks her feet and screams like a petulant child.

“pull over!”

jimin does as he’s told, pushing his hands through his hair as anger rises in his chest— rattling inside his body as if asking for permission to break free. aeri waits for cars to pass before opening the door and storming out, not even giving her lover time to react. the blonde girl whips out her phone, texting someone jimin can’t see before the dancer’s wound down his window.

“aeri, come on doll, let’s not fight.” he tries to reason with her, but the will to keep her close has gone from her voice as she looks up at him with a fiery gaze. her chest rises and falls with anger, causing jimin to roll his eyes and bring his head back into the car. “you’re really gonna walk home?”

“no, my new dance partner is coming to pick me up because he’s not a lazy bum like—!”

jimin doesn’t stay to hear the rest of her cold insult, having had just about enough of her attitude, reversing the car and heading in the direction of his home, his anger still simmering brightly.

“well well well, if it isn’t our handsome ji. look who’s finally coming around!”

the boy in question rolls his eyes despite the little smile that plays at his lips, he’s glad to see that hoseok hyung’s mood has sweetened slightly— his expression matching the brightness of the L.A sun that highlights the blue of jimin’s hair, yet causes him to squint at the same time. he pulls his shades over his eyes, ignoring hoseok’s outstretched hand and going in for a quick, apologetic hug. the manager knows jimin isn’t one for displays of affection, but knows him well enough to recognise an apology from the younger when he sees one.

but jimin’s warmth retreats just as fast as it came, the younger pulling away as if hoseok’s new alexander wang suit has has scorched his tan skin. jimin seems to be grumbling as he slides into the van which seokjin drives and buckles himself in. the annoyance the blue haired boy felt from last night has yet to fade, but he knows he has to keep his anger in check— hoseok texted him early this morning about a meeting with the board... which usually never means anything good.

the car ride is mostly silent, the slight hum of the radio in the background as jimin rests in the back seat. there were few times he’d ever met the board, the first being after his accident, when hoseok had recruited him. the second being when he’d made it big, when the CEO had told him he’d made it big just like his parents would have wanted and the third, well...that would be now. seokjin pulls up to the tl the hangsang company building, quickly helping the dancer out before heading with into the building with hoseok by their side.

walking through the company building, jimin attracts a lot of attention— many have said that he exudes an intimidating, strong aura but the dancer only reckons it’s because of his name...after all, his family does come with a reputation. rookies and senior dancers alike blush and bow as jimin makes his way towards the head office, his slicked back blue hair shines under the false white light and reflects off of the black shades that match his jeans, chelsea boots and turtle neck. of course, the boy knows that he looks good, fingers coming up to fix the denim jacket he wears but his stride slows when passing his usual practice room— gaze faltering as he spots aeri tangled with a younger dancer, a rookie who jimin recognises as choi san. the familiar emotions from yesterday crawl up his spine and mix with the blackened jealousy that blooms across his firm chest— but jimin doesn’t have time to linger on his feelings as hoseok ushers the trio into an elevator and presses the button for the tenth floor. aeri looks away from the dancer just as the door closes.

“it’s not looking good for you jimin,” the CEO, explains— he goes by the name of mr.chan. jimin himself admits that he hasn’t been listening since the moment they entered the room but he picks up the tone of disappointment in the CEO’s voice. shaking out his dark locks, jimin scoffs likely and rolls his shoulders— feeling annoyance build up behind his eyes... he’s got a headache now, which is only worsened by hoseok giving him a scolding glare.

“jimin don’t.”

he sits up at the second mention of his name, jimin knew not to test his manager at this time and also knew hoseok would give him the scolding of a life time if he didn’t listen. tilting his gaze to the CEO, jimin finally tunes into mr.chan, even if he doesn’t like what he’s saying. “you’re our prized dancer park, a household name...but you’ve had fewer performances then any other dancer this year, your recent bad reputation is...driving clientele away,” the old man lets out a wheezing cough, making jimin grimace. mr.chan was a greasy old man, with oily hair and beady eyes. he was harsh to the eyes, jimin supposed it was lucky that he was rich or mr.chan was doomed to be single for the rest of his life. “not to mention the bail we’ve been paying, you’re more of a burden than an asset at this point.”

“you’re fuckin’ kidding me right?” jimin rises from his seat like the anger that boils and bubbles through his veins, having enough of the ugly man that rattles on before him. all he can think about his punching the CEO square in the face. “you fucking need me here. if im a burden to you, i’ll cut my loss and join another company that wants me. they all want me. i made this place what it is and i’ll tear it right back down. you need me.” the dancer seethes, pointing his finger right at the CEO’s face, mr.chan and his fellow associates swallow thickly, because after all— jimin is right. his raw talent alone is what built this company up from what it was, and anyone would kill for the money that he brings in however he may act.

the panel of staff mr.chan has with him, are rendered silent as is the CEO himself— who are they to challenge park jimin? but a lowly assistant speaks up, grabbing the attention of the congregation. “but raw talent will only last you so long...after that, what will you have? a pile of scandals?” she says meekly, as if no one would hear her— but the scowl on park jimin’s face tells her otherwise. usually, she’d have been fired on the spot for talking in such a manner— jimin might have even had a field day with making her run errands for him but mr.chan and his associates need an argument against the dancer’s case, promptly taking the assistant’s statement and running with it.

the blue haired dancer sits back in his seat with defeat as the group of fat heads before him smile and cheer as if they’ve just discovered wine. although hoseok chooses this time to interject, sensing jimin’s temper tantrum reaching its peak once again. “but we have a solution, don’t we mr.chan?” the manager cuts through their wheezing laughter in a way that would make you think he was the boss around here. “remember what we discussed?”

the old man nods suddenly, almost in fear as he gestures to the assistant to pass a file to jimin. honeybrown eyes narrow as the girl makes her way over with a brown file full of documents— a sense of nervousness emitting from her. the dancer knows it’s partly because everyone is scared shitless of him and his reputation, the other part is that he’s damn well attractive up close. jimin bites down on his lower lip, looking the girl up and down before he snatches the file from her and opens it up — revelling in the way she blushes with embarrassment.

“we’ve proposed that you start dance therapy with a world renowned physical therapist, min yoongi,” hoseok explains slowly, knowing that anything mr.chan says from now will surely set the dancer off. the aforementioned male grips the arms of his seat, knuckles turning white as he tries his best to suppress another outburst and listen to his manager. “he’s excellent at what he does, the best of the best— he’d be sure to get you back on track...”

jimin scoffs, staring daggers into the spot between mr.chan’s unbearably bushy eyebrows. if looks could kill, he’d be dead within an instant. “so you want me to join a beginners class? do i need to remind you of who the fuck i am?”

“no, you’ll have private sessions,” his manger says lowly, grabbing the younger’s attention. “we want him to motivate you, we’re not denying that you’re a phenomenal dancer jimin, you’ve just been heading in the wrong direction for a few years...”

all this new information causes a feeling of unease to reside within park jimin, the changes that are to come don’t sit well with him... but with hoseok’s words from a few days ago swirling and twirling with his thoughts like a waltz, jimin can only agree to their proposition. “so, what’s the catch?” he whispers now.

“they’ve got another client in south korea , we’re thinking of bringing them over too—“

“well then do it!” jimin stands, raising his voice, the conversation is too tedious and all he wants it out. he needs a drink or a smoke or something other than people telling him what he was or what he isn’t. running a hand through his navy locks, the dancer grabs the file and begins to head out, not caring about what’s left to he said. but before he has a chance to storm out, hoseok slips a piece of paper into his hand and lets him go with a saddening smile.

“it’s the name of the client,” he whispers.

and so with that, jimin strides out of the office, the company building— not even bothering to greet seokjin properly as he jumps back into their black van. his bodyguard promptly drives him home, knowing better than to question the silenced dancer, who unfolds the paper to reveal a name.

‘LN YN’.

⇢ taglist ! ( comment, like or dm to be added! )

@periminkle @ggukkieland @aishots @ownthesunshine @codeinebelle @taeass @trviahope @singular-itae @preciouschimine @yoongismykink @idiakh @honeyspillings@kimsdior @chimshoe95 @cypherft-v @tangledsparkles -@ultraanonymousey @rjsmochii @thenoblr @icedoutmywristtitanic @chiminies-noona @mrsfortune1306

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 4 years ago

Text

The Magic of Las Vegas

Day 9 of 2020′s 31 Days of Ficmas. Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!

Prompt: Snowflake

Rating: T for sexual situations; nothing explicit

Pairing: 11xRose AU

Summary: A snowstorm in the US Midwest delays eastbound flights just before Christmas, leaving rival children’s novelists stranded in Las Vegas for the night. A single, shared drink leads to far more than the intended one-night stand.

2020 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist

AO3

---

Standing in the ladies restroom at McCarran International Airport, Rose blinked rapidly as she waited for the eyedrops to take effect. She’d had a full day in Las Vegas, and not the kind that made for good telly. The last stop on her book tour, she’d soon be on her way towards home and Christmas - provided her flight could stop getting delayed. The tree was up, presents wrapped neatly beneath it, and if the loved one waiting anxiously by the door was her mother rather than a boyfriend… so be it. If nothing else, Jackie made the eggnog strong.

Gathering her things she returned to the gate, hopes falling - it was even emptier than it had been five minutes before, and in fact, only one potential passenger remained, arguing with one of the attendants at the counter. I must have missed an announcement. Shit. Hurrying up to the check-in desk herself, she gave the unoccupied woman her best, kindest smile. “Hi, sorry, is there any update?”

“Cancelled.” The woman, Madison according to her nametag, didn’t look up, typing away at her computer. “The storm in the Midwest is just getting worse, so they’ve decided to try again tomorrow.”

She tried not to groan. Fucking snow. All she wanted was to sleep in her own bed. “Ohkay… Can I get a seat on that flight? Or the next one to London, really. I’m not picky.”

“Boarding pass.”

Rose handed it over, trying not to be irritated; the woman was just trying to do her job, and while her customer service could use some work, it was after one in the morning. Everyone was exhausted.

“Oh!” Madison let out, scanning Rose’s boarding pass. “I’m sorry Miss Tyler, let me find you the next available flight.” Attitude doing a one-eighty, she gave Rose a smile. “My niece is a huge fan of your books. I’m actually the one who introduced her to them.”

Rose merely gave a polite smile in reply; while such a sentiment usually warmed her heart, she’d heard some variation of it from nearly everyone she’d met over her fifteen-day book tour throughout the States. Now, though, she just wanted to go home. I should be halfway to New York by now.

“All set, same seat, leaves at 4:30 tomorrow afternoon with a layover in LA.”

“LA?” Her brow furrowed, trying to picture a map of the country. “Isn’t that the wrong direction?”

Madison nodded, already printing off the new boarding pass. “Yeah, but it’s that with a one-hour layover or Miami, with an eight-hour layover and a plane change. It’ll be fine, and actually does save you time.”

It only took another minute to finalize the transaction, and soon enough Rose was headed for the airport exit, lugging her carry-on with her and so, so glad she’d taken her mother’s advice to keep a set of clothes with her and not check it all. She hadn’t liked the idea of keeping the small rolling suitcase with her when she checked in, wanting to be less bogged down, but now, she was glad to have resisted the urge. Thanks, Mum.

Footsteps behind her caught her attention, and a moment later, the man who’d been talking to the agent next to her pulled astride. “Terribly unlucky, aren’t we?” he lamented in a slightly posher version of her own accent. “Best case is home for Christmas Eve.”

“The storm should be over tomorrow, so it’ll be fine,” she replied politely, taking him in out of the corner of her eye. Roughly her age, he nonetheless had the distinct look of a sixty-something maths professor, complete with tweed jacket and elbow patches. But his eyes were kind, and he was attractive in that tall, lanky sort of way, with floppy brown hair and a bowtie.

“Hope so. I promised my niece I’d be there.” He seemed to deflate slightly, before rallying. “Listen, this may be terribly forward of me, but- would you like to get a drink? I realize it’s ‘Las Vegas’, but the idea of drinking alone at Christmas just seems… sad.”

They reached the escalator then, and Rose took the opportunity of the ride down to consider the idea. And the likely outcome. He was reasonably handsome, if in a dorky way, and certainly seemed kind enough. She could use the release of an anonymous shag – if nothing else, it would probably make for a good story once home.

“Sure. Why not?”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The bleating of the alarm startled Rose awake, her head feeling as though it had been split open, her mouth dry and fuzzy. A lucky swat silenced the alarm, none too soon. “Oh, fuck,” she moaned, sinking back into the mattress and squeezing her eyes shut against the brightness. “Ow.”

A pitiful sound of agreement came from her right, reminding her of how she’d gotten into such a sorry state. As she’d predicted, one drink had turned to two, then three, then… Damn. I actually take the chance on a one-night stand, and don’t remember the actual sex? Just my luck.

“Why is it making that noise,” her bedpartner mumbled, sheets rustling as he shuffled around; a moment later, the heavy weight of his head settled on the dip in her bare back. “Wanna sleep.”

“Flight home. Miss it, and won’t be home ‘til Christmas.” She took another chance at opening her eyes, managing to keep them that way this time despite having to squint. “Better get ready.”

He grunted in reply, instead pressing kisses to her lower back. “I can think of much more enjoyable things we could be doing.”

Rose merely swatted him away, rolling out of bed and managing to land on her feet, if somewhat shaky. I hope I remember his name soon. This might get awkward. “Lovely as that sounds, ‘m not missing Christmas for it.” She stretched her arms overhead, pleased at the lingering ache in certain muscles as her body started to wake up. She might not remember their escapades, but it appeared she’d more than enjoyed them. “Shower.”

He didn’t try to join her, which she was equally happy and disappointed with; she needed some time to let the warm water bring her back to vaguely-human levels of processing ability, but a quickie sounded good too.

This sent her mind down a warm and steamy path, and by the time she’d toweled off and donned a dressing gown, she was very much interested in a morning shag, strolling out to the bedroom to tell John- his name had come to her in the shower, thankfully- about her change of opinion, only to find him standing naked at the desk, hands on his hips.

Taking a moment to let her eyes linger on his generous assets, she didn’t immediately recognize his tense posture. “Something wrong?”

He jumped, turning to face her, eyes going wide and one hand scrambling to cover his package. “NO!” His gaze darted down to the desktop, expression growing a bit more fearful. “Well…”

“What?” Concerned now, Rose stepped up to his side, distracted at first by how good he smelled. How’s that possible, after a night of sex and drinking and hours spent at the airport? Then she looked down, and her heart stopped. “Please tell me that marriage license doesn’t belong to us.”

“Uh… I dunno about you, but, yeah… that’s me.”

Rose read it over again, unable to comprehend what her eyes were telling her. Certificate of Marriage… 22nd of December… Rose Marion Tyler… John Matthew Smith… “I don’t believe it,” she said faintly, looking up at him. “This isn’t- I don’t do this sort of thing.”

“Neither do I!” John protested. “Erm, is that- are you- the Rose Tyler, of the Bad Wolf books?”

Hesitantly, she nodded.

“Ah.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t know. It’s just- well- I’m…” He took a deep breath, anxiety clawing at Rose’s stomach as she waited. “I’m J.M. Smith. I write the ‘The Doctor’ series.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, fuck me.” Rose closed her eyes, groaning. Of all the people in the world, I hook up with my closest competitor. They’d spent the last three years dueling on the bestseller’s lists, fighting for first in children’s fiction. It was infuriating, and now here they were, post-coital, and married. This cannot be real. “How?” Then, realizing what she said, her eyes snapped open. “Don’t answer that.”

He nodded. “What… do you want to do?”

“You’re on the same flight I am, right?”

Another nod.

“Let’s just… get ready and go back to the airport. I can’t even begin to think about dealing with this yet.”

Upon arrival at the airport Rose was able to slip away from him, pulling a beanie on and parking herself at the next gate over; close enough to hear the announcements, but hopefully harder to spot. When he rolled up to the gate several minutes after her, obviously looking around, she just sank lower in her chair; thankfully he seemed to overlook her, choosing a seat that put his back to her, and she relaxed marginally.

Pulling out her mobile she connected to the airport wifi, a quick search confirming that marriages in Las Vegas were legal, and worse, were recognized by the British government. Shit. An annulment appeared to be reasonably possible, thankfully not requiring Nevada residency.

Right. So. Once we get home, file for annulment, and if we’re lucky, no one ever needs to know. Including Mum.

Still stowing her carryon bag under the seat in front of her, Rose paid no attention to the person who plopped into the seat beside her, resettling herself before turning to look at who it was – and sighing heavily.

“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me.”

John arched a paper-thin eyebrow in response. “I’m starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

“Oh, gee, what gave you that idea?” Huffing, she turned away from him, lifting the window shade to peer out the window. There wasn’t much to see other than the plane at the next gate and blue skies, but she’d spend every second of the flight staring out if it meant avoiding her seatmate. Husband.

Thankfully, he left her alone until take-off, but the reprieve was short-lived. As she pulled out her laptop to keep working on the next draft of her story, John made a noise beside her.

“Don’t you think we should talk?”

“No.” With more force than necessary, she pecked out her password one-handed, using the other to hide the keys. “What’s to talk about? We go home, we file for annulment, and with any luck, by New Year’s this will be a distant memory, and someday, perhaps even a funny story. But today- today, this is nothing.”

Opening her manuscript, she glanced over to find him staring at her, and angled her body- and the screen- away from him. “Now you’re being creepy.”

“But aren’t you curious?”

“About what?”

“What happened? And why?”

Rose looked at him blankly. “We got drunk. In Las Vegas. And apparently have watched too many movies with that very premise. End of story.”

“I don’t believe that,” John shook his head, fringe falling across his brow. “What if there’s more? What if it was fate bringing us together?”

“God, do you hear yourself? It was a terrible coincidence. We’re competitors. End of story.” She glared at the screen. “It was nothing, it meant nothing, and it will be nothing once we’re home and able to call a lawyer. Now piss off, I have a deadline due.” Shoving earbuds into her ears and cranking some music, she did what she could to drown him – and herself- out.

Focus on work. That’s all that matters right now.

The flight to LA was short, and given that she didn’t need to change planes, she didn’t have to move, though she was given the option to deplane. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed John leave, which relaxed her somewhat; by the time passengers started boarding she’d put the earbuds away and was sitting back with her eyes closed.

A small voice chattering away caught her attention, particularly at the words “and that’s why I like the Bad Wolf books more! Sorry.” Opening one eye to see, she found to her amusement the child, a girl around eleven, was talking to John, settling herself across the aisle from him as he reclaimed his seat.

Her eyes snapped shut, and she kept her breathing deep and even, curious as to his response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Rose squinted, and was positioned in such a way she could see the girl nod.

“I like the Bad Wolf books too.”

“You do?” For being a pre-teen, the girl had skepticism down pat, and Rose had to hold in giggles.

“Oh, very much so,” John said seriously. “There are lots of books out there like mine for boys- though I try to write so anyone would enjoy- but the Bad Wolf books are special. I think it’s so cool to see a character like that – when I was your age, pretty much all the books of the genre were about boys. But the Bad Wolf books… anyone can connect with Thorn, and see themselves in her- she’s so real. She’s not perfect, and she doesn’t always get it right, but who does? In Book 3- did you read Book 3? Good, I don’t want to spoil it- but at the end… I had almost the same thing happen to me, only it was both of my parents, and Thorn reacted exactly as I did. And above all – never apologize for liking something more than something else. Your opinion is exactly that – so as long as you’re not trying to hurt someone, then don’t be ashamed of what you like. Okay?”

The girl nodded, staring at John in fascination. “You really like the books then, huh?”

“I really do.”

“What’s your favorite part?”

John inhaled through his teeth. “Ooh, that’s a difficult one. I think- the one scene I keep coming back to is when Thorn realizes she’s grown apart from her childhood friends. It’s really sad, yeah? But that’s life- nearly everyone experiences that at some point, everyone drifts away from people they loved. I’ve never read of another series or character that makes that moment so visceral. But what about you? What’s your favorite part?”

Turning over so her back was to them, Rose half-listened to the conversation as her mind raced. The scene he’d referenced was fairly small, and by its nature, would only be known by someone who had read the book.

Does John Smith read my books?

Once they were underway and the conversation between her seatmate and the girl had long since stopped, Rose started moving around as if just waking up, complete with yawning and stretching.

“Hi.”

“Oh!” His yelp drew her gaze; he’d been reading, the book snapping shut and quickly tucked out of view, but not before she recognized her own artwork for her most recent release; in fact, the very book she’d been crossing the country to promote. “Hello.”

“Hi,” she repeated, sitting up and looking at him curiously. “Were you reading my book?”

His cheeks flushed, and after a moment, he returned the book to the tray table; based on the bookmark, he’d started it before they’d met, as he hadn’t done much (or any) reading since. “Erm, yeah.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “You’re a fantastic writer.”

“Thank you.” She’d had time to think, about what he’d said about her books, how willing he’d been to discuss them- and not his own- with the young girl who appeared to be flying solo. It had softened her approach towards him- somewhat. “I think there’s a chance we got off on the wrong foot.”

“I agree.”

When he just stared at her, she knew she’d have to make the first move. I was kind of a bitch to him, wasn’t I? “Hi, I’m Rose.”

“John.”

They shook hands, Rose’s skin tingling where they touched.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

He arched a skeptical eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t care, that we’ll just pretend none of this happened. Harder to do knowing things about the other.”

Rose bit her lip, eyes darting down to her lap. “Like Thorn, my dad died, only when I was a baby. Mum always said to hold on to precious moments. And… I don’t trust easy, so clearly, something about you made me give you the benefit of the doubt.” Taking a deep breath, she met his gaze again. “You’ve got until we land in London to convince me to- to extend that faith. If you want to. We’ll see from there. What do you say?”

Green eyes searched hers, and she kept her expression soft, nervous despite her words. They would both be interviewing the other for position of spouse, and suddenly, it was one she wanted to pass with flying colors.

“All right,” he agreed slowly. “Let’s see what happens.”

The next book in each series was a cross-over, where secret agent Thorn, codenamed Bad Wolf, is rescued by an unlikely hero, The Doctor, and his strange-looking timeship, and it is only through a combination of their unique skillsets they’re able to save the day. With cover-art by Rose Tyler and a foreword from John Smith, the book was an overachieving best-seller, outdoing the previous books in each series and earning an armful of awards.

The picture on the back featured the authors with their arms around each other, he in a suit, and she in a white dress.

Both bios, at the end of the book, ended with the same phrase.

And they lived happily ever after.

#bbatcfic #doctorroseprompts #31 Days of Ficmas #31 Days of Ficmas 2020 #ficandchips #Doctor Who #11xRose #11th Doctor #Rose Tyler #AU #Snowflake #The Magic of Las Vegas

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exo-cosmiclatte · 5 years ago

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Hello, Goodbye - Part 1

Sehun Series #1

Summary: When Oh Sehun, out of the kindness of his heart, decided to stay with a stranger during her final moments on earth, he never thought it would come back to haunt him. Literally. Now he’s stuck with the ghost of a spiteful and bitter stranger until they can both find a way to help her cross over.

Genre: Romance, Drama, Comedy, Supernatural

A/N: Please enjoy!

Part 1

“I kept telling you to double-check your things!” She huffed out in her phone’s receiver, adjusting the strap of the duffel bag she carried on her shoulder. “I told you so even last night!”

“I know! I’m sorry!” Hee Young whined back. “But I forgot I transferred all my hair irons in another bag after I broke my old one last week.”

“How do you forget something like that?!” Looking up at the stoplight, she tapped her foot impatiently against the pavement as she waited for the light to turn red. “You’re lucky I didn’t have any appointment this early in the day.”

“Yes, yes I know I’m lucky.” Her roommate was always so clumsy and forgetful, but at least she was tolerable. “I’ll owe you one I promise!”

“You’ll owe me another.” She clarified, sighing in relief when the light for the pedestrians turned green. “I’ll be there in a bit, wait for me around the corner okay?”

“Of course! Thank you so much for this. I swear it will never happen again.”

“She always says that.” She muttered, ending the call without any farewells, shaking her head as she walked forward across the street. The bag was surprisingly heavy for just a couple of hair irons, but she figured that Hee Young must have stashed something else in there that she didn’t bother to check anymore.

As she was crossing, a couple of students ran past her, roughly pushing her to the side and causing the heavy bag to fall from her grip. “Yah!” She shouted after the teens, rolling her eyes when they didn’t take any note.

The cars in line honked at her, and she irritably waved a hand at them but hastily picked up the bag, moving to walk forward again. She was close. She would have made it. It was only a few leaping steps away.

“MISS LOOK OUT—”

Tires screeched, cars honked, and there was one lady who shrieked like a banshee.

Then pain. White hot searing pain. That was all she felt in that instance.

When consciousness next seeped into her, numbness replaced the pain.

“Miss!” A voice said. It sounded like it was far away from her, but it could have been right beside her too. “Miss, can you hear me? Hey! Open your eyes!”

“Idiot.” she thought to the voice. “My eyes are already open.” But then she blinked, not having realized that she had had them closed all this time.

She was flat on her back; she should have been looking at the sky. But instead there was someone hovering above her. In the back of her hazy thoughts, she noted that it was a very handsome man. Maybe this was an incarnation of death, coming to claim her soul.

But then again, death probably didn’t have his own mobile phone. Death probably wouldn’t be calling for an ambulance either. Death wouldn’t be telling her to open her eyes at all.

He wasn’t death. Not even close.

Page Break

It took a while for her to get a grip of how being a ghost worked. You couldn’t simply touch things on the physical plane. It took a lot of effort and willpower on her part. It took her almost a month from the day she became a conscious specter to start even rattling doorknobs.

3 months from her death day, she could successfully open and shut doors with great effort. In 6 months, she could push glasses off the counter top, cause electronics to malfunction, and cause the lights to fluctuate. 8 months, she could leave cold spots and brush her vict— anchor’s arm and cause goosebumps.

There was a twisted sort of satisfaction she felt whenever he would get up with dark circles, or when she’d watch him fall asleep while working, or when he’d turn pale when he thought he’d caught a glimpse of her in the mirror. It was petty of her, that she knew. But there wasn’t much else for her to do anyway as long as she was stuck with him.

Her anchor, Oh Sehun.

She didn’t have anything against him personally, it was just that he was an easier target for her ire towards whatever higher power decided she would be kept as a ghost indefinitely. When she wasn’t actively trying to make him miserable, she found him to be an interesting person to study.

He was a freelance photographer, working on call for anyone who wanted to book him for an event. He also had the cutest dog, Vivi, the only one who could see her as she pranced around close to him. It freaked Sehun out a lot when his precious pet looked as though it were playing with thin air.

It was a lonely existence for her, despite never straying far from her anchor’s side. No one could hear her, no one could see her, no one but Vivi knew she was there. Even as she actively haunted him, Sehun wasn’t even a companion. Because he wouldn’t be able to respond to anything she says.

“You’re putting too much salt idiot.”

“You really need to let Vivi lay off on the snacks, she’s looking like a dinosaur.”

“Your rent’s overdue for 2 weeks now, the landlord’s gonna come knock your door down if you don’t settle the payment.”

“Oh, that’s a nice picture! You should try taking a picture of the flowers by the bridge!”

“Your mom left a voicemail; she misses you and wants you over for dinner. You should go.”

She was miserable. She couldn’t even sleep the misery away because apparently ghosts never feel tired or sleepy. And not for the first time, did she wish that she had just crossed over. But no, she was stuck because Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes decided to stay with her as she died.

So, for almost a year, she stayed with him. Unseen, unheard, barely felt.

Then 10 months to her death day, things changed.

She had discovered that with a lot of concentrated effort, she could enter his dreams and cause nightmares. She started out just as a face in the periphery of his unconscious world. But eventually she could take center stage and cause nightmares.

After a particularly cruel nightmare (that she honestly felt immensely guilty for as she watched him rush to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet bowl) her anchor had had enough.

She followed him that morning, watching the determined look on his face as he marched down the streets. There was a sense of great purpose and urgency in his strides, strides so quick she wouldn’t have been able to keep up had she still been alive. But once again, ghosts can’t feel fatigue.

“Yah Oh Sehun!” She prattled on even knowing he would never be able to hear her. “Don’t you have to bring Vivi to the groomer later? Where are you going this early?”

As expected, there was no response, so with a long-suffering sigh, she trailed after him.

Eventually he did come to a stop, to a seedy looking house at that. Looking over at the small metal plate attached to the gate, she couldn’t help but let a laugh of disbelief leave her lips.

“You’re going to fricking Shaman?!”

A/N2: I hope you liked it! Leave a message or a comment or something.

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo scenarios #oh sehun #sehun #exo sehun #sehun fanfic #sehun x reader #xiumin #suho #lay #baekhyun #chen #chanyeol #d.o #kai

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sondepoch · 5 years ago

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XXII: Saeyoung's Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

You had never sprinted so fast in your life.

It was a short distance, but you jumped as you grew close, throwing yourself at Saeran, hugging him through the gates.

By some miracle, the boy caught you, wrapping his arms around you and held you tight as you sobbed in relief.

The sense of catharsis when you saw his face was unlike anything you'd ever felt in your life. For three years, you'd been waiting for his return with Saeyoung. In that period, it felt like time had halted for you so that, at Saeran's return, the three of you would be able to move forward together.

On your left, you heard Saeyoung frantically undoing the padlock he had placed on the gate, ripping it off the second it was open.

Everything after that point was a blur. The five of you wound up in the bunker once more, no one commenting on how untidy the living room was with everyone being so damn happy to see each other.

V and Vanderwood stayed off to the side, talking among themselves as you embraced Saeran. Again. For days to follow, you would find it difficult to leave the boy's side, so relieved that he was back. Relieved that he was with you. Relieved that he was alive, and that you could hug him and kiss his cheek and feel him.

"Take your jacket off, Saeran!" You exclaimed, pulling the leather off him.

"A-ah, let's leave it on for now," Saeran mumbled, looking away. You realized there was something he wasn't telling you, but in the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care, only hugging him tighter.

It was practically a full hour before anyone thought to ask what exactly the other group had been doing.

When all five of you were settled on two couches (there were far more in the spacious room, but you and Saeyoung refused to apart from Saeran, even in the living room), Vanderwood asked what you and Saeyoung had been doing.

"There's really not much to tell there," Saeyoung said, chuckling.

You found yourself agreeing with him, realizing that, objectively speaking, the two of you hadn't done much in the three years you'd been hiding from society.

"Except, of course," Saeyoung flashed a grin at you, "We got engaged."

You felt a flood of happiness rush through your body, still getting excited every time he said that or called you his fiancée.

"Told you so," Saeran said to Vanderwood, flashing him a lazy grin. "You owe me one hundred thousand won."

The agent rolled his eyes in response, turning to Saeyoung once more. "You set a wedding date and venue, yet?"

"Well," Saeyoung chuckled hesitantly. "We were sort of just planning on getting married here at the bunker whenever Saeran came back."

"Oh?" Vanderwood said, arching an eyebrow. "I'm ordained. I could get you two married by tomorrow if you want."

No doubt, Vanderwood had said that as a joke. But at his words, your eyes immediately darted to Saeyoung's to gauge his reaction. You'd wanted to marry Saeyoung the night he'd asked you, but the two of you agreed that nothing would happen without word of Saeran.

But that period of waiting was brutal.

And now that Saeran was back, you didn't want to wait any longer.

"What do you say, (Y/N)?" Saeyoung asked, waggling his eyes in a joking manner. But you saw the hopeful tint in his eyes.

"Nothing in my life has ever been normal," You mused. "I don't see why my wedding should be any different." You leaned over and kissed Saeyoung, briefly but passionately.

"Are you two for real?" Vanderwood inquired, definitely not expecting his offer to be accepted. He groaned in annoyance, but you could tell wasn't actually irritated. Annoying as Saeyoung must have been, it was easy to miss the redhead when he was gone. "I was planning on making Saeyoung work tomorrow, but I guess I'll have to give him the day off."

Saeyoung pouted, about to pipe up with something that would doubtlessly irk his boss, but you opened your mouth before he could.

"So how did things go on your mission?"

The three men instantly looked at each other, eyes communicating words that would never be said aloud.

"The Mint Eye is gone," V started. "None of us need to worry about that ever again."

You and Saeyoung stayed silent, expecting more, but no one said anything else.

Saeyoung coughed awkwardly. "Anything else you want to tell us?"

"You know better than anyone else here that agents never talk about some of the things they have to do on missions," Vanderwood blurted, crossing his arms. "All that matters is that our mission was a success."

"Okay," Saeyoung said, understanding. "But tell me this. Why won't Saeran take off his jacket?"

In that instant, all eyes in the room darted to the second redhead, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Saeran," Vanderwood said with a softness in his voice that you'd never seen from him before. "They'll see it eventually."

Saeran looked at V, then at Vanderwood, and then back at V, as if looking for something in their eyes that he never found. Finally, he sighed and began pulling his jacket off. When he dropped it on the ground in front of you, you had sucked your breath in, surprised at the image before you.

Sitting on his left, you knew that his right arm would be tattooed with the emblem of the Mint Eye. But directly in front of you, on Saeran's left arm, was the very same tattoo copied over but expanded over his entire arm, with new, foreign patterns trailing down to his fingertips.

You were so preoccupied with the artwork on his arm that you almost didn't look up. And then, you did.

Mostly covered by his red tank top, the boy's neck was discolored by stray whip marks and bruises that had yet to heal. You looked away, trying not to picture how scarred and ruined the boy's back must be, horrified when you realized that Rika had been far from merciful on him when he'd returned.

He opened his mouth to say something but you silenced him with another hug, one given not to satisfy your endless desire to hug him but one for his sake, so that you could comfort him. Three years, he'd been without you. And you had to make up for it.

Next to you two, Saeyoung stayed silent and bit his lip. "You've been through hell and come back," he whispered to Saeran. "I'm never letting you go again."

For once, Saeran smiled. Not a lazy half-smile or even a forced grin, but a genuine smile where the boy wrapped an arm around his brother in a strange imitation of a hug as if to say I missed you.

You didn't dare ask what Saeran had been through, not now, at least. You knew that there would come a time for that much further in the future. For now, it was simply enough to be together again.

"You're going to be living here with us," Saeyoung said, not even giving Saeran an option. "Vanderwood and V...I don't know what you guys had to do to take down the Mint Eye, but whatever happened must have forced the three of you to trust each other pretty hard. Shit's going to be tough in the bunker...and kind of weird. But you guys can stay for as long as you want. Saeran is my family and...I guess after three years with him, you're his family too. You're welcome here."

"That's a kind sentiment, Saeyoung, but I think I should head out. I need to speak with Jumin about the events that transpired." V mumbled, smiling softly through his sunglasses.

"Aw, come on!" Saeyoung groaned. "At least stay till tomorrow, won't you? You should be here for the wedding."

"You guys were being serious about that?"

"Of course," Saeyoung whispered, kissing you on the cheek. "We're going to have Saeran walk her down the aisle...or, the hall, I guess. And, oh, Vanderwood can be my best man!"

"Oh! Does that mean V will get to be my maid-of-honor?" You asked, giggling.

The blue-haired man was abashed, stuttering out incoherent syllables as the five of you laughed together for the first time, finally free from the past.

The Mint Eye was behind you now, the darkest part of your life finally sealed. You glanced at Saeyoung, your future husband, and Saeran, your greatest friend. No doubt, those two men would be with you for the rest of your life.

Things would be difficult. There were so many scars to heal—scars even deeper than the ones on Saeran's back.

But now that he'd returned, time could move onward once more, and you were ready to explore your future with the two of them by your side. It would be an unorthodox living situation, for sure. Times would get tough. But it would work out. Because it had to.

After all, didn't the three of you at least deserve a happy ending? After all you'd been through, you would do anything for them.

There was no way you could have known that Saeyoung and Saeran were thinking the exact same things, but on that couch, the three of you solidified the emotions you'd been feeling for the past three years with a vow: to sacrifice anything and everything for the sake of each other.

And with that silent promise, the future was locked in place. No matter how fucked up the past was, it was gone now. Left behind.

The future would be different.

The future would be better.

And now that the three of you were finally together, your shared future could finally begin.

Fin.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 1.8k

Notes: And with that, Saeyoung's route is complete! But, dear readers, his life with (Y/N) and Saeran has only just begun. My book is titled Where Futures Begin because this is where it starts, this is where shit finally gets better for these precious characters. Their future is different. It's better. I won't write the fluffy, fun stuff because I wanted to show the journey that got them there (and if you really want to read some stuff like that, there are soo many fanfics already based around that idea).

I hope you enjoyed the ride, and I thank you for staying with me to the end~ but it's not the final conclusion because next up, we have Saeran's route! Let me know what you thought about this route and give me feedback (good and bad!) so that when I write Saeran's route, it's even better! I'm going to give myself a break so I won't update next Monday like I usually do, but instead one week from now on Thursday - so drop a comment and tell me your thoughts! I'll see you soon with Saeran ;)

Comment & Like

Next Update: 03/26/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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essieeeeeeeee · 5 years ago

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here’s part 1 of gratuitous Shobbs kidfic, aka sugar, spice, and everything nice

---------

“Remind me why I’m doin’ this again?” Shaw mutters.

Sweat is pooling at the small of his back under heavy black tactical gear; it drips down the sides of his face, trails into his eyes. Shaw squints against the sting of it.

The heat is just short of ungodly, in his very British opinion, and it’s only worsened by the kind of humidity that hangs in the air like molasses, thick and choking with every breath. A pervasive stench of rot wafts up from the earth around him, and as Shaw lays belly-down in the mud and slop, sinking further and further into the wet swampland with every passing hour, he’s certain that the putrid mess has immersed itself into his very flesh at this point.

Two days, laying there, hardly moving an inch in his vigil.

Two. Fucking. Days.

"Suck it up, princess," Hobbs' voice murmurs into his ear, and Shaw clenches his jaw at the sound of it.

He’s been on worse missions - in worse locales even, for longer periods, and with less payoff - but none of those involved Luke Hobbs with unfettered access to his earpiece for two goddamn days.

“I believe, Mr. Shaw,” and Nobody’s voice is surprisingly clear over the earbud, considering the man was a continent away, “that the saying goes ‘you scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours’.”

Not too difficult to say, Shaw thinks, from an air conditioned office in Los Angeles.

Unfortunately, the man’s not exactly wrong - they'd made a deal, and these were the less than pleasant terms. After two months of separate tracking, going their own ways in the aftermath of Samoa, beating the smallest scraps of intel from every fringe of Eteon’s grubby little tentacles that they could find, he and Hobbs’ leads had finally run dry. Not a word - not a single fucking whisper - of Eteon’s operations had made its way through their varied contacts. The tech-cult had seemingly vanished off the very face of the Earth nearly overnight, to the point that it was almost questionable that it’d ever existed in the first place.

The bastards were good.

It was Hobbs who’d suggested the God’s Eye.

Deckard remembered it - vaguely, from his brief and regretful acquaintance with Jakande, and more so from Toretto’s less than legal applications of it in his brother’s favor. An ingenious piece of tech, admittedly.

One that, unfortunately, didn’t quite belong to them.

And such was the crux of Nobody’s deal: access to the God’s Eye, in order to hunt down Brixton’s known associates, and further their search for the enigma that was Eteon - and in exchange, he and Hobbs would play nice, and dismantle the latest thorn in Nobody’s side.

Simple enough, really.

But right now? This whole deal of theirs is feeling less like a scratch on the back, and more like being fucked up the arse, without even the decency of a reach-around to make the experience at least somewhat enjoyable.

Shaw’s only consolation is the fact that somewhere nearby in this god-forsaken jungle, Hobbs is just as neck deep in mud and shit as he is.

"I've got movement," Hobbs' voice crackles across the line. “Transport incoming.”

"Fuckin' finally," Shaw mutters.

He trails the view of his scope slowly back to the gates of the compound below. Two days of surveillance had yielded next to nothing so far, aside from a detailed understanding of the guards’ gambling habits, and one rendezvous that Shaw would have paid good money to have avoided ever witnessing in the first place.

He narrows in on the cadre of men playing poker at the edge of the gates, next to the station housing the exterior security system. Deckard snorts; the guard on the right doesn't have a chance of winning, going by his terrible hand.

If he has to watch the man lose one more round of poker, Shaw’s going to snipe him himself and put the poor bastard out of his misery.

"Too dirty for your delicate constitution there, your majesty?" Hobbs asks, amusement in his voice. Deckard scoffs.

"Yeah, and I’m sure the pig feels right at home, sloppin’ around in the mud like a -"

"Cut the chatter, boys," Nobody interjects cooly. "What do you got for me, Shaw?"

Shaw scowls, but falls silent nonetheless in grudging obedience. Nobody’s right, after all - he’s usually not quite so unprofessional on a mission like this, but something about Hobbs puts an itch under his skin. A need to bite back, and harder.

But it’s not the time. So Shaw lets his hands still; his breathing slows, deep and patterned. The steady, sharpened focus that’s aided him countless times before this has been difficult to dredge up, with the constant distraction of Hobbs’ taunts in his ear, but now he slides into it with the ease of long habit.

He focuses in on the line of vehicles that rumbles into sight from around the corner of the road. “Caravan,” Deckard murmurs quietly. Heavily armored trucks, he notes. Guards stationed at the back of every one of them, clutching to the railings, hefting rifles on their shoulders. Deckard slides his scope over the windows of each vehicle as they move by, searching, hunting - and then quickly skips back to the third car, as the man in the passenger seat glances out the window into the jungle, providing a clear view of his face.

Black hair, with greying wisps at the temples. A pair of deep crow’s feet bracketing dark grey eyes. And a distinct, thin scar at the edge of the right eyebrow.

Jackpot.

"Got a visual," Shaw confirms, pulling away from the viewfinder. "It’s him."

Rafael Somoza. Billionaire, cartel leader, international arms dealer, and, apparently, massive pain in Nobody's arse, if the agent was hard-up enough to manipulate them into helping bring him down. From the dossiers he and Hobbs had been given, it was clear the kingpin had his fingers in far too many pots around the world for the American government's comfort, and now a nice, dazzling assassination was on the menu.

Shaw could easily take him out, here and now. His finger itches on the trigger as he trains his target between the man's eyes, imagining the neat little hole he could make just there, right above the faint gray line of his scar. The windows of the car were likely bulletproof, but it wasn’t anything a nice bit of armor-piercing rounds wouldn’t fix.

But none of that was in the books. Nobody wanted big, fiery, decadent chaos, not a simple bullet to the head. He wanted a message sent to Somoza’s cronies, many of whom would likely shit themselves over the opportunity to fill the vacuum of power left behind.

It didn’t hurt that the compound was stocked with more illegal weaponry than even Eteon could shake a stick at; it’s destruction would be a feather in Nobody’s cap.

And on top of it all, the fact that Somoza's fortune was carried on the back of his lucrative slave trade?

Shaw didn’t mind all that much playing messenger boy, in this case.

“Alright boys,” Nobody says, voice just as jaunty as ever. "Time to do what you do best."

“Hobbs?” Deckard asks.

“In position.”

“Good. Watch and try to learn something while you wait outside like a good little boy.”

Hobbs' snort follows him as Shaw pulls himself out of the mud with a soft squelch, ignoring the stiffness of joints that haven’t moved for hours on end. The caravan is waved through the gates, and behind them, Deckard slips silently down towards the compound wall below.

******

Fifteen minutes later, Shaw’s silently wrapping a hand around the mouth of the last perimeter guard to muffle his shout of surprise, and driving a knife into the side of his skull. The man slumps in his grip; Shaw lets the body fall to the ground with a muted thud. He glances down at the dead man's face as he sheathes the blade at his hip, and clucks softly at the realization that it's Mr. Terrible Hand.

Poor bastard. Never even got a chance to win a round.

“All clear," he states quietly. He leans down, and hefts the limp body back up into his arms by the biceps. Couldn't just leave the trash lying about where anyone could trip over it.

“Took you long enough.”

"Oh, I'm sorry," Deckard huffs, dragging the dead weight back towards the guard station behind him. "Was the peanut gallery bored?"

Hobbs snorts. "Could'a sworn you mentioned learning something, but all I see is the clock ticking -"

“Boys,” Hattie rebukes softly. Hobbs chuckles at Shaw's irritated grunt.

"Alright tough stuff, I'm coming in."

"Yeah," Shaw mutters. He glances at the mansion at the center of the compound - a big, elegant affair, complete with sprawling garden near the east wing and a sizable, vine-covered balcony overlooking it - and carefully keeps out of line of sight of the windows.

His lips twitch into a smirk.

"Forgot to mention - left ya a little gift at the gate, Hobbs."

The distinct sound of a displeased snarl rumbles over the earpiece. It's followed by a series of ravenous barking, and Hobbs' alarmed cursing.

"You motherFUCKER-"

Hobbs cuts himself off with a yelp. Deckard snorts out a laugh.

Enjoy, you fucking twat, he thinks with satisfaction.

With the last external security measure suitably distracted by the DSS agent, Shaw knocks open the guardhouse door with his foot, and promptly drops the dead man atop the pile of bodies already stacked in the corner. He dusts his hands - flakes of drying blood peeling off into the air with the gesture - and moves on towards the desk at the front. It’s laden with televisions broadcasting security footage from throughout the outside of the compound: gates, wall, yard, garden. Shaw scans each of them, and lets his eyes linger appreciatively for a moment over the Aston Martin parked smartly in the garage.

He's pleased to find no evidence of his handiwork on the screens.

He’s also pleased to see Hobbs, looking somewhat battered and with a tear in his trousers, on the bottom right monitor.

"I'm in," the other man pants. Shaw catches the irritated glare Hobbs shoots at the camera facing him, and it's honestly gratifying. "No thanks to captain assclown here."

"Couldn't take all the fun for myself," Shaw answers distractedly, trailing his hands over the wires in front of him down to the console tucked away out of sight. "What, the great Agent Hobbs can't handle a couple of pooches?"

"Pooches I can handle. That was a pack of goddamn hellhounds."

“Deck,” Hattie cuts in. “Use the USB to get us access to the terminal. Ramsey and I will take over from there.”

“Got it,” he mutters. He pulls the USB from his belt, and slides the device into the computer’s access port.

Working alone may be Shaw's default preference, but even he has to admit that technical assistance during these sorts of operations was helpful. Stealth in this particular mission would have been impossible, otherwise; the security system that Somoza employed was far too complicated, even for the respectable measure of skill Deckard possessed.

Not that he didn't enjoy an old-fashioned guns-blazing entrance, but sometimes the finesse of avoiding a confrontation could be just as thrilling as causing it.

The screens flicker, briefly, and he stiffens. A moment later, though, they settle back into their previous feeds. Deckard lets his shoulders relax as Ramsey’s low, impressed whistle filters across the line.

“The man’s definitely paranoid. I haven’t seen a system this intricate since Abu Dhabi. Cameras, door alarms, pressure sensors...”

“Can you get in?” Hobbs asks.

“Of course. Give me a minute, and - oh." Ramsey pauses. "Oh, no.”

“Oh no? What’s ‘oh no’?” Hobbs snaps, as Shaw asks a terse, “Ramsey?”

'Oh no's' were a shit sign - particularly from a mission’s tech specialist. In Shaw's experience, the term could mean anything from 'I spilled a soft drink on the keyboard' to 'there's an air-to-surface missile currently locked onto your position as we speak.'

Ramsey didn't exactly come across as the drink-spilling type.

“It’s the interior cameras.” Hattie’s voice is clipped and tense. "They operate on a separate relay. We can't access them remotely from here."

"Not completely, at least," Ramsey concedes. "I can't access the footage itself, true, but - I think we can freeze the clip if you tell me which rooms you're entering, to hide you from the monitors. But you'll have to make sure they're empty first, otherwise - well…"

"They'll know something's up," Hobbs finishes for her. "Think you can handle that, Tiny Tim?"

“Like I said,” Shaw says, sliding the USB out and pocketing it again. A flicker of hungry anticipation wells up in his chest. “Watch and learn.”

“Hobbs, the cameras to the garage are all external - we’ll have eyes on you.”

“Alright then,” Hobbs says. His eagerness is obvious. “Let’s roll.”

*****

Keeping out of sight over a long stretch of yard, in the middle of the day, with bright sunlight streaming down and not a single bush to duck behind, is bloody fucking difficult.

Deckard assumes he manages it, though, when a contingent of guards fails to appear as he starts his climb up the vines draping down from the deck above the garden. He smoothly hauls himself up and over the balcony ledge, and crouches down by the glass doors, keeping low and leaning forward slowly to get a glimpse into the room beyond. According to the blueprints, it should be a guest room - decked to the fucking nines, like everything else in the mansion, but burdened with less foot traffic from the guards than, say, Somoza's own bedroom. Perfect entry point.

It's empty, as far as he can tell.

"Hats?"

The soft clicking of a keyboard is audible over the line. "You're good to go. Ramsey and I have disabled all door alarms. Freezing the camera in three, two - one."

He jimmies the lock to the door with the ease of long practice, and silently steps into the room.

And it’s - as expected, honestly. All fine paintings and heavy, voluptuous drapings, a four-poster mahogany bed, thick carpets that a man could comfortably sleep on. And all of it likely cost an inconceivable fortune. Everywhere he looks screams of wealth and luxury, in an obnoxious, ostentatious way.

Shaw stares down at it - and then slowly, deliberately, wipes his muddy boots along the length of the rug beneath him.

Human trafficking cuntwads.

“Deckard?” Ramsey’s says, and he lets his attention stray back to the task at hand.

"We're clear." Shaw strides to the heavy wooden door, opens it an inch to peer through. The hallway beyond is empty. "I'll guide. Just freeze 'em when I say."

And so he does. It’s almost absurdly easy, truth be told - Shaw feels somewhat disappointed by the lack of challenge in it all. He slips through the halls like a ghost, footsteps soft on the wooden floors, ducking silently behind doorways and into nooks and crannies as the occasional guard surfaces. It's largely quiet, though. It seems the intel on this one was good - the compound was being cleared out, with a bare bones staff on premises, consisting only of Somoza's men. The rest of the 'staff' - a fancy word for slaves, likely, knowing Somoza's tendency to dabble in that filthy practice - had already been relocated to his newest facility.

A lucky break, that Nobody had snatched that piece of information.

Blowing up the whole fucking building with the man still in it wouldn't have been quite as fun with civilians on site.

"Hobbs, right there - the center column, three to the right," Hattie says, as Shaw tests the handle of the door in front of him. Locked. "Plant the charge there. It's the main support for the upper floors. If the blast doesn't take them out, the collapse of the building will."

It's faint, but Deckard has known his sister his entire life, and can pick out the sound easily enough behind the cool professionalism in her voice: a hint of bloodthirsty glee.

That’s my girl, Deckard thinks.

The door opens easily enough under his deft hand, and Shaw quietly pushes it open. The guard sitting in front of the bank of monitors ahead of him swivels in his chair, but before a sound can pass his lips there's a knife conveniently lodged in his vocal cords. He gurgles. Shaw calmly slides the blade out, then slips it back under his ribs in one smooth motion, and that's that.

He pushes both chair and corpse away and steps up to the monitors.

"I'm at the mainframe. What am I lookin' for here?"

"It's a chip," Ramsey says quickly. "There should be an access hatch in the bottom left of the terminal. You can take it from there, easy."

"Right," he mutters faintly, staring at the massive network of consoles and controls in front of him. "Easy."

It's not easy.

"You're cuttin' it real close, Shaw," Hobbs grumbles ten minutes later, as Shaw runs his hands over the next terminal in line. He scowls.

"Maybe if you’d quit fucking yappin’ at me…”

Loathe as he is to admit it, Hobbs is right: time is of the essence. The guard rotation's due in just under an hour, and they both need to be off premises at that point, or risk getting caught up in the fallout. The chip is essential, though - filled with data regarding the particulars of Somoza’s wide-ranging trafficking activities, according to the informant that had tucked it away for them.

If only the idiot had been a bit more specific on the location.

Finally, his fingers skim over the hatch. He wrenches it open, and slides the chip out with a soft click. “Done."

"Great. Now, if you're all finished with tea time, maybe we can get back on mission."

"Feel free to go and fuck yourself at any time, Hobbs."

"Oh, well I guess if I have her majesty's permission -"

"Are they always like this?" Ramsey asks quietly, as the bickering continues.

"Only most days," Hattie answers, bored.

"Lovely as it is to see you kids getting along so well," Nobody cuts in, "I think it's time that we set that charge, don't you boys?"

Shaw snaps his mouth shut on the next stinging retort, and straightens. "Set it for thirty minutes."

"Those hobbit legs of yours gonna be able to get you far enough away by then, short stack?"

Deckard snorts, and slips back out into the hall. "I'm touched by your concern," he sneers.

He goes silent, though, as his ears prick at the sound of footsteps from around the corner. Deckard glances down the hall, and his eyes alight on a door from the direction he’d just come. His hand hovers over the handle as he racks his brain - another guest room, if his memory of the blueprints serves him well, and thus likely empty - and as the footsteps get steadily closer, Shaw grabs the handle, tugging it open, swiftly stepping inside to escape detection, with a sharp, "Hats, freeze guest room three."

He closes the door behind him, and then - stills.

And... stares.

"Shit," he hisses lowly.

"Shaw?" Hobbs snaps immediately. There's concern in his voice.

But Shaw barely registers it. His eyes dart around the room as he lingers in the entryway, alarm freezing him in place.

Deckard takes in the changing table, the rocking chair, the small, soft toys littering the corners of the room. The murals of baby animals dancing cheerfully across pastel walls. A quiet lullaby plays from a speaker on the table, gentle and soothing, with a tinkling melody behind it. And in the center of all of it sits a crib - a beautifully carved, mahogany work of art, with the hangings of the four posts left half-open, gauzy and fluttering in the breeze from the ceiling fan.

"Deck?" Hattie asks.

Dread grips at his chest.

Because it's not a guest room.

It's a goddamn nursery.

"Shit," Shaw breathes again, staring through the crib's wooden slats.

The curious little face of an infant stares right back up at him.

#deckard shaw #luke hobbs #shobbs #hobbs and shaw #i'm not happy with this #*pokes at it*#but I couldn't concentrate on writing other things until I just threw this out here #so I'm done nitpicking it #whatever #i'll try to do better on the next chapter #my drabbles #sugar spice and everything nice #in which the author knows next to nothing about technology #and just makes up shit as she goes along in order to fit the story

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birbleafs · 5 years ago

Text

[fic] An Interlude Between Friends

Series: Artemis Fowl Rating: G Genre: Friendship & Humour, Post-series Character(s): Holly Short, Artemis Fowl II, Foaly Warnings: Feels, probably. Mentions of past (major) character death Summary: One cursory glance from the report scrolling across her visor screen and she’d already caught on that this was less a scouting mission and more Friendly Intervention, A.K.A. Maybe Get Whatever’s Gnawing At You Off Your Mind With A Friend. Or, in which Holly Short comes to terms with the changes in her life but remains grateful for the little constants—one being her friendship with a certain Artemis Fowl.

A/N: For indefiniteimpala, as part of the AF Yuletide Exchange 2019. Happy holidays! I had a lot of fun writing about Holly and Arty again and hope you'll enjoy this story :) This fic is set post-TLG, without taking into account the events in The Fowl Twins as I started drafting ideas before the new book was released (so no spoilers for TFT). Many thanks to Digi-bro for the last-minute beta work ♥

Fic can also be read on AO3 _______

She could hardly hold back her laughter as he recounted the incident where, out of his love for his darling mother and against his better judgement, he had offered and participated, several weeks ago, in an amateur bake-off organized by Angeline Fowl and her colleagues as part of the Trinity College fundraising event for Dublin’s homeless.

Needless to say, it had been Artemis Fowl the Second’s most excruciatingly embarrassing attempt (and subsequent failure) at making cherry soufflé. “Couldn’t you have gone with the chocolate cake instead?” Holly grinned, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “First of all, it’s not simply a chocolate cake,” Artemis said, brows creased as though offended by such blasé abasement of a world-renowned delicacy. “Sachertorte is a Viennese speciality, with an illustrious history as the centrepiece of a long-simmering feud between Hotel Sacher and Café Demel that spanned two whole centuries. And second, despite the clean simplicity of its look and flavour, it is far more tedious to bake than your classic soufflé.” Holly groaned, her grin quickly morphing into a wince. “Spare me the sordid details, Arty. Does it matter anyway? You make working the kitchens seem like an extreme sport, exploding sandwiches and all.”

This time it was Artemis’s turn to grimace, her words hearkening back to yet another old, embarrassing memory. Still, he had the grace to accept the jibe, conceding defeat. “Touché.” They sat, side by side, in the shade of a towering oak overlooking the remnants of the Martello tower and where the old Berserker Gate once stood. Clusters of orange roses bobbed between blades of green, the summer breeze a gentle ripple through the meadows. Holly closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun over her skin and the scent of the fairy roses wafting all around them. As much as she loved her home and friends back in the Lower Elements, there was always a bone-achingly deep sense of yearning that she shared with all fairies for the world above. She would always miss the unbridled joy and freedom she’d bask in whenever she soared through the endless skies, taking in the view of the lands before her, watching the sun slowly inch its way back into its woodland nest of aspen and silver birches that lined the horizon while the skies rippled from shades of burnished gold and vermilion into a deep, velvet indigo canvas where the stars would flicker, one by one, a scattering of candlelight in the night. The two friends—human and fairy—had taken to spending what little time they had together like this, whenever Artemis wasn’t traipsing halfway across the globe for weeks on end as a guest speaker for various academic conferences, or whenever Holly could spare a few days or hours off, depending on her schedule and on Commander Kelp’s fluctuating moods. Or in this case, depending on a certain centaur’s propensity for sticking his nose into other people’s business. Holly frowned. Truth be told, ever since she’d finally (albeit with a little half-hearted reluctance) accepted her promotion to Wing Commander of Recon Special Ops, she had, quite surprisingly, been in a dour mood, short on patience, and even sharper with her tongue. Foaly was used to her smart comebacks, of course, and usually he enjoyed trading witty jibes with the elf. But even he had found her words to be a touch more churlish than usual. And that was saying a lot coming from the centaur, whose hide was as thick as it gets. Holly knew Foaly was concerned, as any decent friend would be, and had tried to nudge her into talking about whatever it was bothering her, to no avail. What she didn’t realize was how far he’d been willing to go to get her to talk—if not to him, then at least to someone, even if that someone was a young Irishman waiting leagues above Haven. “‘Sightings of the extra-terrestrial inhuman kind’? I can’t believe you of all people would pull a stunt like this behind Trouble’s back,” Holly had muttered when she arrived at E1, easing her pod into the docking station. One cursory glance from the report scrolling across her visor screen and she’d already caught on that this was less a scouting mission and more Friendly Intervention, A.K.A. Maybe Get Whatever’s Gnawing At You Off Your Mind With A Friend. “I didn’t go behind the Commander’s back,” Foaly’s protest crackled over her comm speakers. “He agreed that you needed a time-out. But with your promotion to Wing Commander, and as a friend, he didn’t want to impose a forced leave upon you. I just convinced him that a tiny bluff was probably easier and way more efficient.” Holly only snorted, a flare of irritation rising from her gut. She held her tongue, however, not trusting herself from vocalizing a scathing remark. As if he had sensed her indignation through the static, Foaly gave an apologetic cough and said, “Listen Holly, I’m worried about you, all right? This probably isn’t the best way and I’m sorry for the bluff. But whatever’s been bothering you... You can’t keep it bottled up like this. Besides, it’s been a while since you two met. So, try to make the most of it, yeah?” The centaur gave a short, breathy chuckle, to lighten the mood. “Even newly minted Commanders need to gambol about in strawberry fields sometimes. I heard that in a Mud Man song once—or maybe it was by that gnome and dwarf act, Dung Beetles? Huh, I’m always mixing up the two.” And so here she was, sitting beside Artemis Fowl, ex-criminal virtuoso and now friend of the People, listening and laughing together with the young man as he recounted stories of his latest misadventures of the non-magical kind and with hardly any actual thievery involved. Holly hated to admit it, but even a few moments spent with Artemis like this, away from the cacophony of city life in Haven, from the growing weight of all these new responsibilities, expectations—fears, uncertainties, disappointments —it was strangely comforting. She found some solace in his company and was grateful for it, but... She sighed, hunching forward. Despite her best attempts, she couldn’t stave off her earlier sullen mood from creeping through the brief respite. The sudden shift of moods between them hardly went unnoticed by Artemis, of course. She was all too familiar with how attuned he was to the slight changes in her body language. “Something on your mind, Commander?” Artemis ventured, his voice still light with teasing. Holly flinched visibly at his use of her newly conferred title as though he’d thrown a stifling cloak over her. An uncomfortable knot twisted in her gut. “This feels wrong,” she said abruptly, feeling the pinpricks of unshed tears sting the corners of her eyes. Artemis turned towards her, a flicker of puzzlement and concern crossing his features. Still, there was something in his gaze that suggested he was already making a calculated guess about the nature of her sudden distress. But he only leaned closer, nudging his shoulder gently against hers, even as Holly kept her arms wrapped around her chest as if to shield herself from opening up. From giving voice to the dull ache of grief and loss—fears, expectations, disappointments—she had carefully kept tucked away in the background amidst all the congratulatory wishes she’d received when her promotion had been officially announced internally to the rest of LEP. “What feels wrong?” Artemis asked. He paused, uncertain at first if she’d allow the contact, then gingerly reached for her right hand with his left to lace their fingers together. “All of it,” Holly sighed in frustration. She unconsciously tightened her grip around his fingers. The warmth of his touch was consoling and seemed to soothe something within her; she felt her vulnerabilities gradually surfacing as she spoke. “I know what this promotion means to the People, and it’s an achievement to know that I’ve worked through so many hardships just to come this far. I know it, I really do! But even so... There’s a part of me that almost can’t do it. It feels almost wrong to be a new Commander. To be standing where Julius and Vinyáya once did. To replace Julius.” “Technically, it’s less a replacement since you’re assuming command of a number of squadrons and thus continue to serve the People with your skills and experience,” Artemis began, before he caught himself. “But I digress. This isn’t the time for semantics. Especially since in hindsight, you had very obviously meant it in spirit.” Holly scowled, but she couldn’t stop a tiny smile from ghosting her lips. “Artemis, you’re my best friend and I love you, but you’re incorrigibly bad at cheering people up sometimes.” “That I am, and for that, my sincerest apologies.” Here, the young man attempted a contrite grin, even as his blue eyes softened with a touch of fondness. A rare sight indeed for Artemis Fowl, reserved wholly for those dearest to him, but one that never failed to draw a soft chuckle from the elf. “Look, Holly. You’re not replacing Julius,” Artemis continued, squeezing Holly’s fingers again in reassurance. “No one can replace Julius, much like no one can replace you. And I’m not going to drown you with platitudes—I’m sure you’ve already heard more than enough in the last couple of days. But I will say this: Julius would be immensely proud of you, as much as any of us here today. You know this, and I daresay there isn’t anyone else as qualified as you to carry on his legacy and all that he stood for.” Holly found herself matching his grin with a smile of her own at his words, the dull ache of sorrow and anxiety within her lessening. She squeezed Artemis’s fingers back, and was reminded again how much she appreciated their continued companionship over the years. And not for the first time in many years, she wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn’t known him, and Butler and Juliet. (She imagined it might have been quieter, simpler no doubt, but she was a maverick adventurer at heart and knew the boring life wouldn’t suit her anyway.) Holly chuckled softly, her mismatched eyes—one hazel, one blue—gleaming with warmth now. “Maybe you aren’t too bad at this cheering up business.” This time, it was Artemis’s turn to laugh. He inclined his head and gave her a polite nod, accepting the compliment with as much humility as his natural inclination towards smug victory would allow. “I learned from the best.” “My word, and flattery now too?” Holly was smirking now. “If I didn’t know any better, I might suspect the mastermind Artemis Fowl has been replaced with a clone. Oh right, that had been your own idea too. What do we call you now, Artemis Fowl the Second Version 2.0? Artemis Fowl Squared?” A somewhat pained and mortified expression crossed Artemis’s features, before he let out a long-suffering sigh. “Please don’t call me Artemis Fowl Squared,” he protested weakly, fingers massaging his temples. “That joke is wholly pun-based, and is neither mathematically nor biologically correct since a clone is never 100% percent an exact copy.” But his chagrin was fleeting, and he was soon laughing again with her as he conceded defeat to the same elf twice in the span of less than an hour. Then again, Holly had always been the reigning champion of their friendly verbal banters. They sat in a comfortable silence for several moments, watching the clouds drift lazily above them, listening to the thrill of birdsong in the distant woodland. “Thanks, Arty,” Holly said at length, her voice soft and grateful. “For reminding me of what Julius would do. You’ll be there at the ceremony, won’t you? You, Butler and Juliet?” “Of course. That’s the reason why you’re here today, right? To invite us to the promotion ceremony.” Holly grinned and punched his shoulder playfully. “Don’t act all innocent. You’ve probably known all about my promotion long before today and that’s how Foaly roped you into this cheering up business and what-not. Rascals, both of you.” “You have to admit, it wasn’t too bad a plan. And it worked. Besides, we hardly get to see each other—I’m almost inclined to think that either the universe has been conspiring to keep us from spending a little time together, or that you’ve secretly been avoiding me.” Artemis’s brows were arched as though scandalized by either suggestion, even as his eyes remained bright with mirth, and Holly continued to chuckle. Then his gaze softened, lips curved into a smile as he allowed himself a moment of heartfelt sincerity. “I’ve missed you, Holly. It’s good to be with you like this again.” “Me too, Artemis.” It wasn’t long before they spotted the approaching figures crossing the meadows from the direction of the manor. Butler was leading the small group, a huge wicker basket—filled with a selection of cheese and canapés, and a bottle of Jean François Ganevat Vin Jaune—in one hand, and a picnic blanket draped over the other. Juliet trailed several paces behind him, with one of the twins, Beckett Fowl, dangling from her shoulders like an energetic spider monkey. And marching stiffly with his pale fingers gripped around Juliet’s left hand was Myles Fowl, his eyes bright and piercing behind his round spectacles. “I’ll go help Butler with the picnic blanket.” Artemis stood up, brushing grass and fallen petals from his trousers. “Be right back.” Holly watched his retreating back as Artemis walked down the grassy knoll towards his family. And it struck her then just how much her friend had grown and changed (even in a cloned body) over the last two years: his frame still angular but less gangly and more lithe; his posture relaxed, almost unguarded and amiable at times. Growth and change... For the barest of moments, in the sudden gust of wind around her, Holly thought she could almost hear the ghostly whispers of Julius Root from memories past— “This promotion is not for you; it’s for the People.” “If it makes any difference, I’m proud of you, Holly.” “... Be well.” —And she smiled then, exhaling softly as she rose to her feet. “Arty, wait.” Artemis paused, glancing back at her with a puzzled look as Holly jogged up to his side and reached for his hand. “I’ll come with you.” —End—

#artemis fowl #holly short #foaly #fanfic #yuletide exchange #q

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domesticatedantelope · 5 years ago

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star-crossed

Pairing: Logan x MC

Rating: E, NSFW 18+

Word Count: 3686

Summary: The one under the stars. For RoD Appreciation Week.

Mercy is four hours deep and only halfway through her second problem set when Logan scoops her from the desk and sweeps her smoothly over his shoulder.

“Hey!” She gasps as the world spins around her, stunned by the sudden upheaval. Her hands grip instinctively at the line of his shoulders for balance; and despite her indignation an appreciative warmth still flushes through her at the firm span of muscles there. She almost forgets to be mad, until the sight of her work growing steadily further out of reach reminds her that she was just piecing together a particularly difficult equation, and she is being actively carried away from its solution. “Logan! I was working on that!”

His touch is the same gentle reverence that she’s learned to expect from him when he shifts her against his chest, where she hangs in the cradle of his arms like an oversized doll. “I know.” He offers her a sympathetic smile, pressing his lips somewhere among the dark waves of her hair. “But even big smart brains like yours need breaks sometimes.” Then he pauses, rocks back on his heels, reconsidering; hesitation wavers in his features. “Let me help you unwind for a little bit.” It’s not exactly a question, but she knows that he is waiting for permission, and harbors no amount of doubt that he would put her right back where he found her with the utmost care if she requested.

Reluctantly, the irritation fizzles out, worn over like erosion by her own fatigue, and that fondness for him that is just as much a part of her as the beat of her heart. She presses her hand to his cheek, and a warm curl of affection flutters in her chest when he turns to kiss the palm of her hand. “All right, hermoso. What did you have in mind?”

The smile that unfurls across his face ought to be criminal, every atom of his body so openly pleased and easy to read - like the pages of a book she’s learned and loved a thousand times before. “Wanna go for a drive?”

She leans up to kiss the hollow underneath his jaw. “Always.”

With enviable ease, he carries her outside and tucks her lovingly into the passenger side of his car. And when he reaches past her to buckle her seatbelt, he sneaks a kiss to her lips while he’s there, full and sweet and slow; and she thinks if his smile should be criminal, the other things his mouth can do are downright dangerous.

She’s still blushing when Logan slides into the car beside her. Behind the wheel, he’s the absolute picture of ease, a man most firmly in his element, and it looks so unfairly good on him. He grins at her, puts on a song he knows she likes and starts to drive.

They wind their way out of the city, buildings racing by in flashes of dark colors and bright lights. She luxuriates in the impermanence, how quickly all the streets and people flicker past and disappear as they speed down the freeway and leave everything behind them.

When his hand reaches across the center console, she meets him halfway, and their fingers thread together with all the ease of second nature. She traces the ridge of his knuckles, touch soft against the hatch marks of old scars that split the skin there. Lifting his hand against her lips, she soothes them over with a series of tender kisses, and his thumb strokes gentle as breath across the rise of her cheekbone.

“You know, I remember when you used to help me study.”

Logan laughs. “Did I really, though?”

“I recall doing quite well on that exam.”

“You’ve never needed anyone’s help for that, Mercy.” He meets her gaze just long enough for her to catch the earnest warmth in his eyes before turning back to the road. “But… this should help, too. Trust me.”

She squeezes fondly at his fingers. “I do.”

When they merge off from the freeway, Mercy starts to recognize the route they’re riding up into the mountains above the city. Her eyes glance over to the clock on Logan’s dash, where the late hour glows in bright block yellow numbers. “Is this where we’re heading? Won’t it be closed?”

He flashes her that reckless smile, the one she fell so irreversibly in love with, and her heart leaps with the same wild excitement that only Logan can inspire in her. “When has a little chain link ever stopped us before?”

She bites her lip, fighting the grin that threatens to break free across her face. “Never.”

“That’s my girl.”

After a dizzying drive along the twists and turns that hug the Santa Monica mountains, Logan kills the headlights and pulls up to the front gate of an expansive and very familiar parking lot. He reaches into the back seat and retrieves a neatly-folded blanket, tucking it under his arm and turning to her with a mischievous grin. “Shall we?”

He catches her by the hand when she steps toward the front gate. “This way. I know somewhere a little more private.”

Despite the chill of night, a blush warms her cheeks. “Want me all to yourself, huh?”

The glance he aims her way is lingering and dark with desire. “Since the moment I met you.”

Their fingers laced, Logan leads her away from the parking lot, through the chapparal and underbrush that skirt the side of the observatory. Their boots crunch over dirt and vegetation, marking the sound of their travel until finally they break around the corner, and the dazzling lights of Los Angeles sprawl out like so many stars before her.

Logan eyes the fence that stands between them and that breathtaking view with a smirk. “This all they got to keep us out?” He tosses the blanket over first and braces back against the fence, locking his hands over his knee. Then he shoots her a wink. “C’mon, troublemaker. You know your criminal trespassing by now.”

Mercy rests her boot between his cradled palms. Before she leaps, she fists a hand in Logan’s shirt and yanks him up into a kiss, feeling him stiffen with surprise before he smiles and eagerly responds.

“For good luck,” she says, when he lifts a brow at her.

Staring at her mouth, he licks his lips and hums an eager noise, deep in the base of his throat. “All my luck is yours,” he promises, easy as breathing. He boosts her up and over the fence in one swift, practiced move, and she clambers expertly down the other side. Her feet touch ground among soft blades of grass, and when she turns -

Wow.

The city stretches out as far as she can see, miles and miles of glittering lights and glassy silver skyscrapers that reach up with jagged hands to graze the dark night sky. She must have come here a dozen different times when she was a child, but this isn’t the same view she remembers.

Then Logan fills the space at her side, leaning close to take her hand, and she thinks that the company might have a lot to do with it. “What do you think?”

“Honestly, it’s… beautiful.” The word feels insufficient; she knows so many words in many different languages and none of them seem right. “More beautiful than I remember.”

“Good. ‘Cause I saved you the best seat in the house.” He flops down onto the blanket with an inviting smile, patting the empty space beside him.

Blushing - because even when she’s feeling bold, she’s always blushing - Mercy folds herself decisively in Logan’s lap instead. “Best seat,” she declares, and taps the tip of his nose with her finger.

His arms hook eagerly around her, sweeping her tight against his chest as he nips playfully at the curve of her neck. “And don’t you forget it.” Giddy laughter rises from her lungs, fond and freeing, and his eyes soften at the sound. “Haven’t heard you laugh all day. I was starting to miss it.”

She smoothes the hair back from his face. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Always.” Framing a hand against her cheek, he draws her close to claim her mouth in a gentle kiss. His fingers lace through the thick tresses of her hair, his grip an anchor locking them together when she pushes him onto his back. Eyes dark and ardent, he stares up at her and submits freely to her lead, his features taken with a sudden hunger that makes her skin ache to be touched. “What’s on your mind, troublemaker?”

Mercy smiles and dips her mouth against his jaw, shaping a slow, teasing kiss there. “You,” she answers easily, and slinks lower to kiss his throat, his collarbone, the muscles above his heart. “You, and you, and only ever you, hermoso.”

He trails a rough hand down her waist to the curve of her hip, where his fingers chart slow shapes over her skin. With the winds of late night LA cold against her back, the scorching heat in his palm summons liquid shivers through her body. “You’re warm,” she moans, sinking down against his chest and nestling greedily into his body heat.

Logan chuckles and runs his palms up her arms, trying to press his warmth into her skin. “Maybe I ought to be warming you up.”

“Mmn, you can do that?”

“I have my ways.” He rolls her under him with a low, rumbling laugh, until his body shields her protectively from the cold. His lips find the pulse in her throat and linger there just long enough to make her gasp. “Where should I start?”

“My fingers are actually freezing,” she confesses, flushing, but he only smiles and wraps his hand around her wrist, bringing her fingers to his lips, where he breathes warm air across her palm, dragging his mouth down the line of her knuckles. When his teeth nibble softly at her fingertips, she bites back an unexpected groan as desire circles down in the pit of her gut, nerves tingling under the languid path his mouth tracks. He catches her gaze as he reaches for her other hand, seeing to its care with the same meticulous devotion. His lips part against the valley of her hand, and she sucks in a sudden breath as the flat of his tongue travels hot and wet across her palm.

“O-oh! That’s -” Mercy bites her lip until it hurts, tossing restlessly through her vocabulary for the proper words and coming up forever short.

Thankfully Logan continues, seemingly encouraged by her speechlessness. He attends to the sensitive skin of her wrist with several tender kisses, then charts his way across the palm fronds that fan leaves of dark ink down the length of her arm. She buries a hand in his hair, tugging lovingly at the soft strands as his teeth find a nerve in the slope of her shoulder that makes her whine.

He sneaks one last teasing bite at the rise of her throat before his eyes find hers once more. “Anywhere else?” he asks, and her heart pounds at the rasp of want in his voice.

Mercy has come to terms with the fact that Logan puts her far beyond the realm of words. She drags her fingertip down the center of her chest instead and whispers a shaky please, hoping he will understand.

The first soft kiss he drops against her sternum is barely there at all, a ghost of lips and gone again. The second lands with more conviction, and once he works through the top buttons of her blouse, the third and fourth are sinful with tongue. His breath spills warm between the curves of her breasts, that tickle followed quickly by his searching mouth and the barest hint of teeth.

She thanks a god she hasn’t prayed to since her childhood for front clasps when he easily unlatches her bra and frees the stiff peaks of her nipples. A shiver of discomfort grips her from the frigid air, and Logan is quick to cover her bare skin with a series of attentive kisses and love bites to compensate.

His name frays on her tongue, and she is hurtling toward incoherency.

“Mmn.” He glances up at her through his lashes, a wolfish smile curled across his face. “I’ll never get tired of hearing that.”

She licks her teeth and manages to scrape the words together with great effort. “Then keep making me say it.”

“Oh, I’ll keep you here all night, troublemaker.” Logan laughs under his breath, his voice just as satisfyingly wrecked as her own. He reaches back with one hand to tug his shirt above his head, and then she’s clutching eagerly at the delicious heat of his bare skin and nearly sobbing at how good he feels against her.

“You are so soft,” he groans against her throat, his fingers burning trails of warmth like hot coals down her waist. “And sweet…” His tongue laves hungrily over a muscle in her neck. “And you smell like cookies all the fucking time.”

A delirious laugh bubbles like champagne up her throat. She swallows it back, squirming as he pops open the last few buttons of her blouse and splays the full roughness of his hand over her stomach. His eyes drag ravenous with need down the curves of her body, and he bites a groan into his teeth. “God, it makes me want to just…” He trails off, a sudden ruddy flush coloring his cheeks.

“Just…?”

Logan pins her with a searing look. “Mercy, I want to eat you ‘til you’re screaming.”

Well. Her throat works when she swallows empty air, her own face flaring red with vibrant heat. She offers him a timid smile and taps her finger at the end of his beautiful mouth. “Show me, handsome.”

He crushes his mouth to hers, slipping a hand under her skirt to tease the soft lace of her panties down her legs. His knuckles graze the slick heat where she throbs for him, and they shiver together at the contact. Groaning her name, he locks his arms under her hips and drags her back on top of him, and it will never fail to thrill her when he shifts her around like she weighs nothing at all. And then he grabs her by the thighs and yanks her up his chest until her knees tumble apart above his shoulders, holding her open and exposed and inches from his face.

Her confidence threatens to buckle, and he seems to feel it in the way her thighs tense around him. His thumbs soothe gentle circles into the soft skin there, head turning to kiss the inside of her thigh but never dropping her gaze. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

“Yeah?”

A positively devilish smirk forms on his face. “Let me show you.”

Lip caught between her teeth, Mercy gives him a determined nod.

Logan starts slow, kneading his fingers at her hips as he bites sucking kisses up each thigh, never hard enough to hurt. Gradually she eases into his hold, threading her fingers around a fistful of his hair, and he hums beneath her in approval. His eyes flicker up to meet hers from between her legs, and there is an unspeakable rush that flutters in her stomach at the sight of him there, staring up at her like she is something holy.

When he drags her down against his mouth, she gasps at the first searching stroke of his tongue. Her back arches as white hot pleasure bleeds across her nerves, heat etched into her skin from the tip of his tongue, each languid shape dancing like cast shadows through her body. Broken words bounce uselessly behind her teeth, half-syllables of curses and sacrilegious invocations.

Emboldened, he grips tighter at her legs, working his lips and tongue in firm rhythms against her skin as she sobs and starts to tremble. His name shivers up from her lungs, and he groans beneath her, hunting rough fingers up her thigh until he finds the point where they connect, slick folds parting around his tongue, and then she feels him pushing in, thick fingers filling, fucking, crooking softly and wrenching the last of her breath in a shattered gasp.

“Oh, god!” Her hips begin to rock before she can stop them, and Logan slows to match her pace, that hot, hot tongue like a scorching sun between her thighs as he spirals blazing shapes around her clit. His mouth spells out the most exquisite bliss, and he is unrelenting, like a man at his last meal, feasting on her as if he might never get another chance, and though she lacks the faculties to reassure him, she would tear the world apart before she let anything take him from her.

Love and rapture sing in her heart, dance with blissful fingers down her nerves. Logan never tears his eyes from her face as her legs start to tense around his head. The brutal flat of his tongue glides in tight over her clit, sucking her between his lips when he staggers a third finger in beside the others, and that devastating stretch is what finally tears her apart. Her eyes twist shut into darkness, and she screams as blinding pleasure overtakes her.

It feels like a thousand tiny deaths ripping all at once across her every nerve, and if this is how she passes on - straddled over Logan’s face for all the stars and the city of angels to see - then she submits to her undoing with no regrets.

Little seismic echoes drift through her twitching body as the pleasure gradually recedes, and Mercy blinks her bleary eyes until her vision clears to reveal Logan smiling triumphantly up at her. His wet mouth scatters kisses down her shaking thighs while she recovers.

“I could watch you come all night,” he sighs, lashing his tongue over a mark his teeth left in her skin. She lifts away from him on unsteady legs, and he eases her gently back against the blanket, rolling to occupy the open space between her thighs. Her hands roam lovingly over his shoulders, down the first few notches of his spine, tugging his mouth down against her own. Her lips are clumsy in the wake of coming, so he kisses her slowly, lifting his hips to let her fumble with his belt.

“Need you,” she breathes, feeling him tense against her when his cock fills her hands. “Please, baby.”

“I’m here.” He soothes a few steadying kisses down her jaw, licking his fingertips and slicking them over the head of his cock. She whimpers at the hot, hard feel of him against her, and he watches her expression twist with relief as he pushes in, inch by perfect inch until they’re seated firmly together, and the world is squeezed abruptly down to the exquisite width of him inside of her.

Logan chokes out a strangled noise against her throat. “Oh, fuck… Mercy.” His lips shiver down the column of her neck. “Perfect, you’re so perfect.”

Scoring her nails up his sides, she urges him into motion with a hushed moan. “Logan, please.”

His hips surge against her, and the dull stunning pleasure steals her breath every time he sinks home. The dark strands of his hair spill over his face as he ducks his head against her shoulder, his hands roaming greedily down her back, over her hips, gripping the curves of her ass to drag her hard onto his cock, forcing a wordless squeak from her lungs.

He catches her mouth in a messy kiss, moaning against her lips when his tongue dips between them. Her knees hug in around his waist, and she pleads for him in shattered syllables, head falling back as pressure carves a hot path through her belly from the wet, tight point inside of her where they connect.

Tears bleed at her lashes, gushing down her face as she presses clumsy kisses to his temple. “I love you.”

Logan muffles a groan against her shoulder, lifting the frantic black of his eyes back to hers. “Say it again,” he breathes, and strokes his thumb down the soft plane of her cheek. “Please.”

“I love you.” She says it on the back end of a gasp, and again when he fucks into her with renewed urgency. She pants the words into his skin, over and over, soft as prayer, and when he seizes up against her, fingers biting at her hips as he comes inside of her, she presses her mouth to his neck and shapes the words against his racing pulse.

Gradually the tension fades from his clenching muscles, and his body relaxes into her embrace. He kisses her forehead, her cheekbones, her nose, and finally the swollen curve of her mouth before he smiles down at her. “Love you too, beautiful.”

After slipping clumsily back into his jeans, Logan dresses her with reverent hands, replacing her clothes with the same attentive care that he removed them. The strength slowly returns to her limp muscles, and she helps tug his shirt back down his chest with a carefree giggle that doesn’t quite form, her voice still weak from screaming.

By the time they stretch out side-by-side under the stars, the moon hangs high in the night sky above them, glowing white against the darkness. Mercy reaches up to trace what little constellations she can find amidst the endless LA lights, naming them from memory. Logan plays with her fingers as he listens, and when she glances over, she finds him watching her with a smile to rival the stars on his face.

Eventually the temperature dips too low for even Logan’s body heat to keep her warm, and they trek back toward the car on somewhat unsteady legs.

She falls asleep on the drive home with Logan’s hand cradled between her own, and dreams a sea of stars that fills the sky from horizon to horizon.

#rodaw #ride or die #choices ride or die #rod logan #logan x mc #ns*fw #happy rodaw y'all!#let's start things off real sweeeeet #did i spend way too long deliberating whether sneaking into griffith observatory and banging on the grass is actually feasible? yes #this is fanfic please just let me have this #it's what they deserve #mercy booping logan's face: best seat #logan: then sit there #these kids are fun #mc: mercy castellano #dom writes #ship: grand larceny

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